Free Up from the Grave by Marilyn Leach Page B

run-away, and the inevitable bones.
    It was almost time to meet Lillie at the Copper Kettle, and slogging through the rain certainly didn’t sound a treat.
    “Perhaps the weather will move on,” Berdie spoke aloud at the exact same moment three watery drops hit the glass.
    The spring shower tapped erratically on Berdie’s taut umbrella as she ambled towards the High Street. By the time she spied the Copper Kettle, the dance had become a frenzied torrent. She felt the wet creep into the edges of her shoes.
    The Copper Kettle’s jingling bell sounded comfort and shelter despite the prospect of gossip flowing at high tide. Berdie shook the excess water from her umbrella and drew it closed.
    There Lillie sat, looking a bit soggy herself, at a table with an awaiting chair and a brown betty teapot, steam rising from its spout.
    “Remove your fins before sitting, please.” Lillie swept her arm to the empty chair.
    “That and all.” Berdie sat right by the teapot.
    Looking round, only one other table was occupied, unusual for this time of day. By eleven on most days, the Copper Kettle was at full throttle, but it suited her purposes that it was less populated. Suddenly, she appreciated the downpour. Very discreetly she pushed her wet shoes just off the heel, well under the table, of course.
    Lillie poured a dash of milk into the cup closest to Berdie then added the hot, brown liquid. “Now, I can see by the wee lines beneath your eyes that you didn’t sleep well last night, so lay it all out then.” Lillie’s tone had a gleeful edge to it, much like a child embarking on an Easter egg hunt. “Mustn’t let the vicar overhear. That is why we’re here.”
    “You are the impudent one.” Berdie wore a half smirk.
    “That’s why I’m your best friend,” Lillie retorted and took a sip of the hot tea in her cup. “Out with it.”
    Berdie leaned forward. “It’s not just last night’s visit with the Preswoods that’s bothering me. It’s a whole bag of peculiarities. This bones discovery seems to have unearthed, pardon the pun, a whole rash of odds and ends.” Berdie added a spoonful of sugar and held the warm teacup in her hand. “The course man from the tour group, for instance. The moment he stepped from the coach he seemed to be set on going to the church back garden. Hugh actually had to strictly redirect the man into the church. I didn’t think much of it at the time, apart from the fact he was churlish, but I dare say his desire for a soon-to-be-served tea was not a driving force. Why was he so interested in the back garden?”
    “What we’ve seen of him, he didn’t appear to be especially social.” Lillie tapped a finger on her chin. “Perhaps he just wanted a moment’s peace away from the crowd.”
    “Precisely.” Berdie took a large gulp of tea. “Now, why was someone of that makeup on a crowded coach tour to begin with?”
    Berdie heard the clip-clop of sturdy shoes on the wooden floor. Villette Horn, the owner and operator of the Copper Kettle, was rapidly approaching the table.
    Her long horseshoe shaped face made her inset eyes seem even smaller. Berdie always thought Villette’s caramel brown colored hair looked as if it had been sprinkled with muscovado sugar.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Elliott, Lillie. We’ve some lovely cakes this morning just out of the oven, also fresh treacle tart.”
    “Cakes, please,” Berdie answered with haste.
    “Right then, cakes it is,” Villette nodded. “And have you heard more about the bones?”
    “Not really,” Berdie answered but her silence for a scant moment let the hostess know that this topic would not be pursued.
    “Yes, well, cakes.” Villette spoke with a slight tone of annoyance. She was not use to being denied any topic of conversation she chose to pursue. She turned abruptly and left the table.
    “Now, continue while she’s out of earshot.”
    “And there’s our dear Wilkie Gordon,” Berdie went on.
    “Yes, poor Wilkie,” Lillie