Body in the Woods (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 3) (17 page)

Annabelle chuckled. The two men looked at her and frowned deeply, causing her to drop the grin quickly and replace it with a look of embarrassment.

“Reverend,” the Inspector said, as he opened the door once again.

Annabelle stepped through it, and they stood closely in the hallway.

The Inspector said, “This has gone nowhere. Daniel’s more concerned with stories about an errant pig than a possible murder charge. He’s more innocent than I am, and without him as a suspect, we’re at a dead end once again. I’m going to close this case and get back to Truro.”

“No, wait!” Annabelle said, pressing a hand against his chest to stop him, before removing it with an awkward smile when she realized it was a gesture more intimate than the occasion, and indeed, the Inspector, demanded.

DI Nicholls sighed. “Give it up, Reverend. Sometimes you just have to admit defeat. We’ve searched the shed, questioned the butcher, and brought in an expert from London to assess the body. There’s nothing more we can do. The secrets of that dress died with Lucy.”

“Perhaps not, Inspector. Do you have a photo of Lucy?”

Nicholls shot Annabelle a quizzical look, before shrugging his shoulders and leading her to his office, where he sifted through the dozens of folders that had been scattered around his desk.

“I think… Somewhere here…Ah! Here it is,” he said, as he handed a photocopy of a picture to the Reverend.

Though the picture was black and white, it was clear to see that Lucy had fair hair, which fell about her shoulders in curls, the epitome of a fairytale princess. She was standing next to a strapping young man, obviously Daniel, her arms around his waist, as he pulled a funny face at the camera.

“How old was she in this picture, Inspector?”

He pursed his lips. “Fifteen years, I should expect. That was taken within a year of her disappearance.”

“Hmm,” Annabelle muttered.

“Are you quite done, Reverend?”

Annabelle looked up from the photo.

“Not at all, Inspector. And neither are you.”

The Inspector frowned his confusion. Annabelle stepped close to him so that he could see the photo.

“How tall is Daniel Green, would you say, Inspector?”

“About six foot on the button, I’d guess.”

“And knowing that, how tall would you estimate Lucy to be in this photo?”

“Well, she barely comes to his shoulder. I’d say around five-three, give or take an inch.”

“Precisely,” Annabelle said, firmly.

The Inspector’s confused frown remained.

“The wedding dress?” Annabelle reminded him, though his expression did not change. “There is no way that wedding dress would fit a woman of five foot three, Inspector.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m a vicar, Inspector. I’ve seen more ill-fitting wedding dresses than I’d care to, and I can tell you with certainty that that dress was certainly not meant for Lucy.”

“But then…” the Inspector said, trailing off his sentence as he finally realized what Annabelle was insinuating.

“Yes, Inspector. The dress was not Lucy’s. It was Louisa’s.”

“Are you sure?” the Inspector asked, disbelievingly.

“Almost certain, Inspector. I thought it peculiar at the time that Louisa would tend to her sister’s wedding dress. Plus the dress itself…”

“Yes?” the Inspector urged, now enraptured by Annabelle’s revelation.

“Well, I can’t say for sure, but a dress such as that tends not to retain its shape very well unless it’s worn occasionally. Especially when it’s hanging in a dank cupboard on an allotment. A dress of that elaborate nature would only appear in such pristine condition if it was worn now and again.”

The Inspector scratched his chin, shaking his head at the bizarre nature of it all.

“You’ve lost me, now. I’m beginning to feel like this case will go on forever.”

Annabelle sighed, sympathetic to the Inspector’s troubled look.

“Either way, it seems like the only thing we can do now is to talk to Louisa. At least to ask why she felt the need to lie to us.

CHAPTER 9

ONCE DANIEL HAD been released, Annabelle and the Inspector solemnly made their way toward Louisa Mongomery’s home. The sun had set, and Upton St. Mary was very definitely experiencing the crisp, coolness of emerging autumn.

Whether it was the suspicion that they had perhaps reached a dead end with little to show for it but an embarrassing story of a drunk butcher chasing a pig or the awkwardness they felt over their recent altercation and the revealing of the Inspector’s canine troubles, Annabelle and the Inspector drove in silence. DI Nicholls even stayed under the speed limit as he brought them to the brink of what felt like their last chance to understand the truth behind the murder of Lucy Montgomery. Annabelle watched the village that she loved pass by in the passenger-side window of the police car, reflecting upon all the joys, loves, mysteries, and tragedies that occurred beneath its seemingly placid and picturesque surface. She turned back to look at the Inspector and noted the pained expression with which he stared out of the windshield at the road. He didn’t seem to notice her. For the first time, Annabelle seemed to recognize the deep concern that had imprinted itself on his face over the past week.

“I’m sure you’ll get your dog back, Inspector,” she said softly.

The Inspector furrowed his brow for a split-second, before looking at Annabelle and relaxing his face. The worried grimace and cold eyes disappeared like clouds in spring for the first time since he had arrived in Upton St. Mary. He smiled meekly, before turning his attention back to the road.

“Thanks, Reverend. I hope so.”

A few minutes later, the detective brought the car to a stop outside Louisa’s home. Across the road, Katie Flynn was walking away, having just closed her tea shop for the day. The streets were empty, most people having gone home to squeeze a little more relaxation out of the weekend before the work week began once more.

Annabelle peered at Louisa’s house, searching for a light or an open window.

“I do hope she’s at home.”

“Let’s find out,” the Inspector replied, exiting the car.

They made their way up the path to her door, exchanging glances all the way. Annabelle rang the doorbell. After a minute of waiting, the Inspector sighed impatiently and rang it again, long and loud. The response, this time, was almost immediate.

“Who is it?” Louisa asked from the other side of the door, her exasperation and irritation evident in even those few, brief words.

“It’s Detective Inspector Nicholls and the Reverend Annabelle Dixon. We’d like to speak with you, Miss Montgomery.”

“Haven’t you two bothered me enough today?” came the increasingly frustrated reply.

“We’d just like to ask you some questions, Louisa,” the Inspector said firmly.

“I’ve said about as much as I’m going to say to you. Now if you don’t mind, please leave my property.”

The Inspector looked at Annabelle with increasing annoyance.

“We know the dress isn’t Lucy’s!” called Annabelle suddenly.

The Inspector cast another disapproving look toward Annabelle. He had not wanted them to reveal their hand this early. Seconds later, however, his vexation disappeared, as the door opened ever so slightly to reveal a sliver of Miss Montgomery’s face.

“What do you mean?”

Seeing the opportunity, the Inspector decided to take the lead once again.

“The dress that you said was Lucy’s; we know that it isn’t. And we also know that it’s most likely yours.”

Though only a little of Louisa’s face was visible behind the door frame, her raised eyebrow and concerned expression was clear. She opened the door a little more, cast her eyes around the street outside, and then gestured for the two to hurry in, as if they were the ones who had been dilly-dallying all this time.

They stopped in the hallway as Louisa closed the door and turned to them.

“Well, to the living room! Do you expect me to stand around in my own hallway chatting?”

They duly obliged, settling in to the floral-patterned couch that sat in the middle of a sparsely decorated room. Aside from an old, bulky TV and some elegant glass vases holding dahlias and other seasonal flowers, there was not much to Louisa’s house. It was tidy, restrained, full of hard surfaces, and slightly cold, much like Louisa herself, thought Annabelle.

“I hope you do not expect me to provide tea or other comforts for this rudest of intrusions,” Louisa said, sitting down carefully on the comfy chair beside the couch. “I would like to make this as short as possible.”

“If you would like to make it brief, Miss Montgomery, then I suggest you stop being so—”

Annabelle placed her hand on the Inspector’s arm to stop his anger getting the better of him, before addressing Louisa herself.

“Louisa, you told us that the wedding dress in your allotment shed was Lucy’s, when that’s patently not true. It does seem to be yours. It is your size and appears to have been worn occasionally over the years. Only you could have done that.”

“And what of it? I don’t see how or why my private property is of concern to your… investigation or whatever you call this harassment campaign you’re indulging in.”

“It seems rather strange that you would lie.”

“Strange?” Louisa said, her voice turning sarcastic and venomous with ease. “Who are you to decide what’s ‘strange?’ Do you make a habit of invading the property of others and passing such impertinent judgments? Personally, I find it rather ‘strange’ that a leader of the church and a police officer should be conducting themselves in a fashion more befitting the neighborhood gossips. What do you make of that, Reverend?”

“Now look here—” said the Inspector roughly, before Annabelle held him back by placing her hand once again upon his arm.

“It’s just that the wedding dress being kept in such a way casts certain doubts upon—”

“In case you have forgotten,” interrupted Louisa, “or merely failed to intrude upon that part of my past, I have been married before, Reverend. That is why I have a wedding dress.”

The Inspector and Annabelle exchanged one last look. Though he still wore his mask of skepticism, Annabelle could see the defeat in the Inspector’s eyes. He leaned in toward her and whispered in Annabelle’s ear.

“That’s it, Reverend. We don’t have anything else on her. We may as well leave now.”

“But why would she lie about it being Lucy’s in the first place?” Annabelle whispered back.

“The fact remains we have no evidence.” The Inspector pulled away, shrugging as he did so.

 Annabelle pursed her lips, deep in thought. She had come too far and discovered too much to give up now.

“Is there anything else?” Louisa asked, haughtily, though the question was intoned more like an order.

“There is one thing,” Annabelle said, tentatively but with an air of knowing. “You told me you didn’t love your husband, Gary. If that was the case, then why would you be so sentimental about your wedding to him? Why would you keep your dress and even wear it occasionally?”

Louisa raised an eyebrow, her face full of stern reproach.

“A wedding is a momentous occasion in anybody’s life, regardless of the emotional entanglements therein.”

“And yet I see no other signs. I don’t see a wedding band still affixed to your finger. Indeed, you don’t seem to have any photos of the wedding situated in your house, either.”

Louisa’s eyes narrowed into tightly wound beams of black light, so intense than Annabelle felt them almost physically piercing her.

“I prefer to keep my sentimentality private, Reverend. What exactly are you suggesting?”

Annabelle galvanized herself against Louisa’s formidable and intimidating presence as she prepared to risk everything in pursuit of the truth. She had taken a few gambles already today, and while her instincts regarding the shed had proved fruitful, her assumptions about the Inspector’s phone call had been ludicrously wrong. She prayed quickly that what she was about to say would be one of her better judgment calls.

“I believe that dress has never been near a wedding. It was intended to be worn in a wedding that never happened.”

“Bah!” Louisa snorted, dismissively. “What utter nonsense! Keep a wedding dress without using it? Why on earth would I do such a thing!? As I said before, Reverend, I was very much married, albeit briefly. That was my wedding dress from my marriage to Gary Barnes.”

“Maybe, but there is a very important fact that leads me to believe that that wedding dress wasn’t retained in order to remember your marriage to Gary, if indeed it was the same wedding dress you married him in, but for another purpose entirely.”

“And what would that be, might I ask?”

“Why would you pack a suitcase of clothes and preserve them just as lovingly as the dress itself, especially for all this time?”

Louisa’s eyes narrowed once again, only this time there was a weakness in them, a chink in the armor that Annabelle detected and that spurred her on.

“A suitcase full of clothes,” Annabelle continued, her words gathering force as she blustered through them, “makes a strange souvenir from a wedding which has already occurred, but for a wedding that never happened, a wedding for a love that never died, a love that you still, to this day, bear some small hope will be requited, it is oddly appropriate!” She ended with a flourish.