Body in the Woods (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 3) (13 page)

“I can’t say I understand what that is like,” Annabelle said, “but there is no ‘fight’ to be had, Robert. If you don’t let Harper go, then you’ll never be happy.”

“I know, Reverend. But I don’t feel as if I’ll ever be truly happy without her, either.”

Annabelle looked at the pained man in front of her with a deep sense of pity.

“There is joy and happiness waiting for you in the world, Robert. As soon as you open your eyes to it.”

“Thank you, Reverend. You know, I was actually supposed to return to Oxford today, but I found myself feeling uplifted by the countryside here, however depressed I’ve also felt.”

“That’s good,” Annabelle smiled. “Perhaps you’ve already begun to forge a new beginning for yourself.”

“I’d like to think so, Reverend. Though I feel I’m struggling right now.”

“These things take time, Robert.”

Robert nodded, picked up his teacup and drank the last drops from it. He slowly pulled his hand away from under the Reverend’s, returned her smile, and stood up.

“Well, I’m sincerely grateful, Reverend. I know this has been an inconvenience, especially at this late hou—”

“Oh, tosh!” Annabelle interrupted. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Robert. I sincerely hope you find the right path, and I also hope this is not the last time we’ll talk to each other.”

Robert threw on his coat and made his way to the door.

“I hope so too, Reverend,” he gazed at the floor thoughtfully. “You know, I can sort of see why Harper moved to this area. It’s beautiful, full of history, and if you’re any indication, Reverend, the people are remarkably kind.”

Annabelle giggled a little as Robert stepped through the door.

“With charm such as that, Professor, I am sure you won’t be wanting of a woman for very long!”

Robert laughed as he waved at the Reverend and got in his car. Annabelle watched his car turn around in the yard and roll through the church gates before closing the door. She walked into the living room, and slumped onto the couch. It seemed that love was very much the theme of the day in Upton St. Mary, though unfortunately only the unrequited and rather destructive kind.

Annabelle had found herself too distracted to formulate the notes and thoughts she usually did when planning a sermon, but the unusual events that had transpired over the previous days along with the many stories she had heard inspired her to give an excellent sermon “off the cuff.” In her gentle, humorous, and friendly manner, she delivered a thought-provoking talk about secrets, honesty, and the spiritual benefits of letting go. The quiet, attentive crowd nodded their heads in agreement and smiled their approval as she dispensed advice to her flock.

Annabelle’s pleasure at the reception of her spontaneous sermon intensified as she bade goodbye to her congregation at the church doors. They poured praise and compliments on her, some even saying that it was the best they had ever heard. Annabelle accepted their good wishes politely, and when the last church-goer had expressed his gratitude and set off through the gates, she turned back inside with a large smile that seemed to begin from the depths of her heart.

After taking a few steps, however, the positive feelings that seemed to vibrate around her gave way to something more ominous and troubling. Philippa was standing in front of her, her skin once again pale and sickly, stress apparent in her face.

“Reverend…” she uttered reluctantly.

“Yes, Philippa? Is everything alright?”

“Your sermon was very good today, Reverend…”

“Why thank you, Philippa! I’m glad you liked it.”

“...It has persuaded me... to think that... I should tell you what’s been bothering me, however ashamed I am of it.”

Annabelle quickly walked up to her troubled friend and gently brought her toward a pew.

“Of course you should tell me, Philippa. You’ve no need to feel ashamed when you’re with me! After all, we’re friends!”

“Thank you, Reverend.”

Annabelle sat beside Philippa and patiently waited for her friend to begin.

“Take your time, Philippa.”

“Well, it happened about a week ago now… Oh Reverend, I hope you don’t think this is terribly un-Godly. I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before!”

“I won’t judge. Just tell me what it is, and we can talk about it.”

Philippa took in a deep breath.

“I saw a vision.”

“A vision?”

“A terrible vision. Horrifying. I’ve spent the past week wondering what it might mean. Hoping that it wouldn’t happen again.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Philippa. It was probably just a dream, or something just as innocent.”

“Oh no, Reverend,” Philippa said, looking up at Annabelle with her eyes wide, “this was so vivid. I would swear it was real.”

“What was it exactly?”

“It happened during the night, perhaps two or three in the morning. I woke up in order to visit the bathroom. I’ve been drinking a terribly large amount of tea lately, as I always do when autumn is approaching. I tell you, I always know when the cold weather’s about to hit by how many cups I find myself—”

“The vision, Philippa?”

“Oh yes, sorry, Reverend. I suppose my mind isn’t keen on remembering it. I was on my way to the bathroom when I heard an awful screaming. Oh Annabelle, it was terrifying. It sounded like the screams of hell, almost animal in its pain. I went to my kitchen window and pulled aside the curtain and....”

Philippa shook her head and buried it in her hands, gasping.

“What was it?  What did you see Philippa?”

“It looked like… like a ghost! Running across the field. It was all in white, lit up like the light of the moon.”

“A ghost?”

“It was monstrous, Reverend. It was covered in blood, and was wielding some kind of weapon. My body froze, I couldn’t move, I wasn’t even able to scream. I just went cold all of a sudden, as the figure tore across the field.”

“Did you see its face? Perhaps it was a real person?”

Philippa breathed deeply again.

“Its eyes were big and white, and there was a look of fearsome determination. I don’t know how, but I could tell this monster was intent upon wreaking destruction. It had the eyes of something evil, something with murderous intent. The eyes, the blood, the shrieking…. I’ve never seen anything like it. I know it didn’t come from my imagination. Even my nightmares aren’t as horrible as that!”

Annabelle rubbed Philippa’s back gently.

“Perhaps it was something else.”

“What else could it be, Reverend? The next day you were even talking about a dead body in the woods!”

“Oh Philippa, I told you that body had been buried for years!”

“Yes, but… perhaps the spirit… or…”

“Come now, don’t go letting your imagination run wild. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“Like what?”

Annabelle opened her mouth, hoping something logical and rational would pour forth, but she quickly closed it when she found herself out of ideas.

“I… don’t know. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t an explanation.”

“I sincerely hope you’re right, Reverend,” Philippa said, her eyes as pleading and as vulnerable as a child’s, “but I’m deeply afraid you’re not.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you. I should get back to tidying the church.”

“Indeed. I’ll help you.”

“No, Reverend. I’d prefer to do it myself. I… like to keep myself occupied. It helps me not to think about it.”

Annabelle nodded supportively. “As you wish. If you need anything, just tell me. Try to be patient, I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Thank you, Annabelle. I do appreciate it. I hope you don’t think I’m going mad.”

“Of course not! Why, I’ve even seen some sights myself lately that I haven’t been able to explain.”

Philippa grabbed the Reverend’s arm tightly and glared at her.

“Such as what, Reverend?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. And I don’t want to feed your already active imagination. I assure you that what I saw was both vivid and bizarre, and has an explanation. I just don’t know what it is yet. But I will find out, don’t you worry! “

Philippa stood up and began to collect the prayer books from the pews. Annabelle made her way home and considered putting on the kettle, before changing her mind, throwing on her coat, and heading back out to her Mini.

It seemed that Annabelle couldn’t take more than a few steps without encountering strange behavior, peculiar incidents, and yet more mysteries. She was used to conundrums, and indeed, she rather enjoyed using her charm and wits to discover the truth behind seemingly odd events. However, she was beginning to feel that the sheer volume of questions she had been trying to answer for days was overwhelming.

First, there was the Inspector’s behavior that had become increasingly concerning. He was waspish when she had encountered him in the woods after Dougie tripped over the bone, behavior that Constable Raven had told her had been a consistent theme for weeks. Following the incident with Terry’s dog, Annabelle knew that the Inspector was not only growing increasingly erratic and temperamental, but also that he would be fairly ineffectual in getting to the bottom of the very case he was in Upton St. Mary to pursue. His shouted phone call in the alleyway still resonated in her mind. Was he involved in some kind of love triangle? As far as Annabelle knew, the Inspector had divorced years ago and had been single for a while now. However, the romantic overtones of his cryptic demands were unavoidable.  As she frowned at the memory of the shouted phone call, Annabelle found herself feeling a little envious of whoever had managed to place such a stranglehold on the Inspector’s affections but quickly swept the feeling away before it took too firm a hold.

Now there was Philippa’s “vision.” Though she was deeply religious, Annabelle could not entertain any notion of it being a spiritual one, knowing only too well that Philippa had an imagination that ran as wild and free as the wind. But her friend had obviously seen something that had initiated such horror in her mind, although even Annabelle’s easy ability to jump to far-reaching conclusions failed her when she tried to explain it.

Finally, there was the increasingly complex matter of Lucy’s death. The body in the woods had been confirmed as Louisa’s sister, and the Inspector had revealed that she was murdered, but in her quest to discover a possible killer, or even a motive, she had been met only with contradictions and misunderstandings.

She could not shake the idea that Daniel Green’s behavior at the beginning of their meeting was highly suspicious, and the way he had loosened up when talking about Louisa perturbed her. As the most plausible suspect, it was the opposite of what she had expected. Likewise, Louisa’s mysterious and oddly-timed trip to a shed on the allotments had seemed very peculiar to Annabelle, though the Inspector was correct in saying that it indicated nothing very much of anything at all.

Most confusingly had been the difference in the stories she had heard from Katie Flynn and Daniel Green. Katie’s had no doubt been colored by her conflict with Louisa. It also wasn’t clear that she was a reliable witness. Daniel’s story had seemed almost too extraordinary to be believable. Had he constructed his story about having feelings for Louisa to suit some ulterior motive? If so, why?

Annabelle knew she had to get the story from an unbiased source. A person who had been around at the time, but who had not been involved. A person who was tuned in to all of Upton St. Mary’s gossip, past and present. Someone who was guardian of the village’s secrets, who saw people at their worst, but also at their best.

Annabelle parked her beloved Mini outside The Dog and Duck and stepped out of it. It was time she talked to Barbara Simpson, the pub landlady, once again.

“Reverend!” she called, as she watched Annabelle enter. “Have you come for that lunch I promised? Wouldn’t be surprised if you’d worked up an appetite, I heard your sermon was a good one today.”

Annabelle smiled as she stepped toward the bar, behind which Barbara was sporting a leopard-print blouse and hoop earrings so large they could have been frisbees. Her long eyelashes fluttered with glee, and she seemed to radiate a warm, inviting aura that encouraged the good-natured laughing of the Sunday drinkers as she chatted back and forth with them.