Smile and be a Villain (7 page)

Alan yawned and sat up.

‘Did I have nightmares?' I asked him.

‘If you did, you didn't cry out. I slept like a baby, which must mean you did, too.'

‘Maybe. Something's bothering me.'

Alan gave me a ‘no kidding!' look.

‘I mean something specific, not just the general anxiety about the whole situation. I've missed something.'

‘Another thing to erase from your mind until it comes back of its own accord.'

‘Yes, but how can I
not
think about it, when it's occupying every corner of my mind?'

‘Think about something else. I thought we could take a stroll over to the bookshop. We didn't bring very much to read, and we're bound to find books about the island there.'

‘That's a good idea. I'd like to know more about Alderney, and reading some nice boring history might be just what I need.'

It didn't take me very long to discover that the history of Alderney is anything but boring. From the dim mists of prehistory right up through the Second World War, the island has had its troubles. Annie, the owner of the bookshop, showed us books about shipwrecks, one of them Elizabethan, about the strong fortifications built against the fears of French invasion, and a whole section dealing with the German occupation from 1940 to 1945. We bought reams of them.

‘We'll have to ship these home,' said Alan with a groan. ‘We can't carry all that weight on the Trislander.'

‘I don't care. I want them all. There's so much good stuff here.'

Annie provided us with a couple of sturdy bags, and we hauled our loot back to the room, there to settle in for the evening with our pasties and our wine and lots of great reading material.

‘Alan, did you know that the Alderney people evacuated when the Germans came? The people who lived on Jersey and Guernsey stayed, but almost everyone here was sent to England or Scotland.'

‘Mmm. I've been reading about what happened to the island under the occupation.'

‘Nothing very good, I imagine.' And we went back to our own books. After a time I found the story of the evacuation too painful and turned to a rousing adventure book about famous shipwrecks near the Channel Islands.

The books succeeded in freeing my mind from its preoccupation with Mr Abercrombie and his unfortunate demise, but they didn't help me dredge up the elusive thought I was seeking. Well, I'd remember, or I wouldn't. Meanwhile, nap or no nap, I was ready for a night's sleep.

I
n the middle of breakfast it came to me. ‘Eureka!' I said. Softly, so as not to startle the other guests.

‘You've thought of it,' said Alan, who is used to me and not easily startled.

‘Well, at least I've chased down what was bothering me yesterday, and I'm not sure it's worthy of all the mental energy I expended on it. It's only a tiny thing. But I'm wondering how Robin knows about Mr A.'s family.'

‘Sorry, love. I've only had half a cup of coffee. Explain, please.'

‘He made that comment about us talking to the man's family, “if they can find one”, or something like that. Now, if his acquaintance with the man is as slight as he claims, how would he know that his family might not even exist? My pronouns are all mixed up, but you understand, don't you?'

‘I think so. You're right, it's a very slight indication, but worth following up. Shall we seek out Robin and ask him?'

‘I have the feeling he might not be terribly forthcoming. He's such a nice man, but he certainly clammed up there at the end. Maybe we'd do better to talk to people at the church who know Robin, as well as Mr A. We might get a feel for the kind of terms they were on.'

‘Well, then, get your skates on, woman. Morning Prayer's in fifteen minutes.'

We arrived in good time and took our places in the choir stalls. There were a few more congregants than before; we took up two rows rather than just one. We noticed that Alice wasn't there. We were greeted, not with smiles and busy arrangements for our participation as before, but with nods and muted words. The young locum, Mr Lewison, read the service in funereal tones and had to pause during his prayer for the clergy to get his voice in order.

As soon as the service was over, the attendees left the church rapidly. Alan and I looked at each other with puzzled frowns. ‘Have we suddenly turned into lepers?' I asked in a whisper. Alan shrugged. We walked out into the sunny churchyard.

They were all waiting for us. Oh, it wasn't quite that obvious. They stood in little groups of two or three, chatting, but when we came out they turned their attention to us. Mr Lewison cleared his throat in an embarrassed sort of way. ‘We – er – wondered if you – that is—'

‘We wanted to talk to you about Mr Abercrombie,' said Sylvia, ‘and it didn't seem quite proper to do it in the church.'

‘You see,' Mr Lewison went on, more confidently, ‘we thought you might have heard some – er – rather odd comments about him, and we wanted to make sure you heard the real story.'

‘But why? What does it matter what we think of him?' I wanted nothing more than to listen to people talk about him, but I thought it was peculiar, all the same.

‘My dear woman, you've been talking to the police.' Sylvia sounded as if that explained everything.

Alan said, ‘We have talked to the police because we had the misfortune to find Mr Abercrombie's body. Constable Partridge has been kind enough to keep us informed because he realized we had an interest in the matter. Come now! You know the constable far better than we do. You can talk to him any time, ask him anything you wish. He's one of you. We are outsiders.'

‘Outsiders to Alderney, yes. Insiders with the police, though. And he's Methodist.' That was one of the other ladies, one whose name we didn't know.

Alan sighed. ‘It's been a long time since I was an active policeman. But if there's something you want to tell us, I'm sure neither of us objects.'

‘Then let's go for coffee, and we can sit and talk.' Sylvia was taking the lead again.

One or two of the ladies left us at that point, apparently satisfied that things were going as they had wished. The rest of us walked down to Jack's Brasserie at the bottom of Victoria Street and settled like locusts on the terrace.

When we all had our coffee, Mr Lewison cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps the first thing we'd like you to know,' he said quietly, ‘is that Mr Abercrombie had a few enemies here.'

‘Not enemies,' said one of the ladies. ‘Oh, I should introduce myself. My name is Rebecca, Rebecca Smith.' We nodded acknowledgment of the introduction. ‘I do think that's too strong a word. Certainly there are – were – some people who didn't warm to him as the rest of us did. Most of them were English.'

I got the message. English people might be colder, more judgmental, than Alderney natives.

‘You mustn't think there's any prejudice toward non-islanders,' said Mr Lewison quickly, sounding very priestly. ‘I'm English myself, if it comes to that. It's just that people from outside don't always understand island ways. Mr Abercrombie certainly did. He realized that a small community relies heavily on volunteers, and he was always eager to volunteer where needed. A most generous man.'

‘And that's what some people didn't like,' piped up another woman, a small, sweet-faced lady who looked like everybody's grandmother. ‘They thought he was putting himself forward, making himself look better than anyone else. It wasn't like that at all! He simply saw things that needed doing and did them. He didn't expect thanks. He was a sweet, sweet man.' Her voice broke, and she fished in her purse for a tissue.

‘Sweet, yes, but not smarmy,' said Sylvia. ‘When plain-speaking was called for, he didn't mince words. You remember how he stepped in to organize the jumble sale accounts. We all love Lucille, but you know she's been past working with figures for years. It was time someone took hold of that, and I'm sure no one could have been more tactful about it than Bill.'

Ah. ‘Mr Abercrombie' had become ‘Bill'. Interesting. I refrained from looking at Alan. Sometimes a meaningful glance can be intercepted.

‘Actually, Mr Abercrombie ended up running the sale, and very efficiently, too,' said Rebecca. ‘Lucille was a bit hurt, I think, but she understood. She's nearly blind, bless her, and in the end she seemed grateful not to have to deal with it all.'

‘It's a pity some of her friends misunderstood,' said Sylvia, somewhat belligerently. ‘Their refusal to participate in the sale made the profits lower than usual, and that's certainly not what Lucille would have wished.'

‘Are there others who – um – thought they had reason to resent some of Mr Abercrombie's actions?' I received several hostile looks and hastened into explanation. ‘It's just that if someone seems to have disliked him, I want to try to understand why.'

Sylvia looked at me with narrowed eyes. ‘I hope you're haven't decided his death wasn't accidental, after all.'

Uh-oh. This woman was a little too observant. Was she the Miss Marple of Alderney? Alan frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Mr Lewison beat him to it.

‘Oh, please don't misunderstand, Mrs Martin,' he said, sounding distressed. ‘I'm sure Sylvia didn't mean to be critical.'

‘We've heard of you, you know,' said the grandmotherly lady who hadn't introduced herself. ‘Word does travel between southern England and the islands. You're a celebrated detective, aren't you?'

‘Certainly not!' Alan and I spoke together. I gestured for him to continue. ‘My wife has been fortunate enough to unravel a few problems. She has a keen mind and a healthy dose of common sense, and she's good at sizing up people. She is in no way a detective, nor does she go out of her way to look for trouble. I can assure you that we came to this island in search of a peaceful holiday, and that's what we intend to have.'

He didn't quite glare at the rest, but he came close.

‘Of course, of course,' said Mr Lewison. ‘Now, I wonder. Breakfast was some time ago, and I feel I could do justice to one of Jack's pastries. What about the rest of you? I favour a chocolate croissant, myself. My treat.'

I stifled the urge to giggle. A treat to placate the quarrelsome children. Not only that, but chocolate, the sure cure for a Dementor attack. Shades of Harry Potter!

It worked, too. The ladies all reacted the same way, first with half-hearted protests about their need to watch their weight, then with acquiescence and a ‘just this once'. The conversation turned to general topics, and gradually the group broke up with murmured excuses about errands, chores, duties.

Sylvia was the last to leave. ‘I hope I didn't offend you,' she said in a return to her normal friendly, efficient manner. ‘I find it hard to keep still when I sense injustice, and of course you're right. There were other people who had a quite mistaken impression of Bill. I won't name names, but there was one man in particular who seemed to bristle whenever the two of them encountered one another. I must say I don't know why, unless – but no, surely not.'

I raised my eyebrows and cocked my head and looked as interrogative as I could, but she shook her head. ‘No. It's too petty. For either Bill or – the other man. I must go. I can't say I have any appetite for lunch after our little indulgence, but my husband will be wanting some. Are you both still planning to take our walk this evening?'

For a moment I couldn't remember what she was talking about. ‘Hedgehogs, darling,' Alan reminded me. ‘And bats. It's Thursday.'

I refrained from shuddering at the idea of the bats. ‘Oh, yes,' I said brightly. ‘We're looking forward to it.'

I don't think I fooled anybody. Certainly not Alan.

We repaired to our room for a sandwich lunch and a conference. ‘Well, I don't know that we accomplished much with that little exercise,' I said, swallowing a mouthful of cheese and chutney.

‘Oh, I'm not so certain,' said Alan. ‘Hand over some of those grapes, will you? We now know that Sylvia was half in love with Abercrombie.'

‘Just because she calls him “Bill”?'

‘And the fierce way she defended him, even when no defence seemed necessary. She's a courteous person, but she was damn near rude to you.'

‘Yes, that was strange. And unexpected.'

‘And the other thing was the money.'

‘Money?'

‘The jumble sale. Abercrombie took over and the takings were less than usual.'

‘But that was because … oh.'

‘You've got it. You haven't forgotten Alice's story? The problem with her sister started with Abercrombie being accused of embezzling funds from his parish in America.'

‘Oh, good grief! And you think he was up to his old tricks here.'

‘It's certainly a possibility. It would be a foolproof way to steal a few pounds; no one really checks on prices at that sort of event. And once he'd alienated some regular contributors and/or buyers, he would have had a perfect opportunity.'

‘But, Alan, think! A jumble sale never brings in big money. My church back in Indiana was over the moon one year when their annual sale netted over a thousand dollars. A percentage of that sort of profit, even a large percentage, is hardly enough for the risk.'

‘What risk? Nothing could ever be proved one way or another. And you saw for yourself. He had many of the parishioners here, even the vicar, or this priest anyway, charmed. They refused to believe anything negative about the man.'

‘Then you think the ones who hated him, like Alice and Robin, were right in their judgements, and the others were wrong.'

‘At this point I don't think anything. All I'm saying is that there's room for reasonable doubt about his character.'

‘And that means there's also room for reasonable doubt about the way he died. Alan, what I've been wondering about is why the man came here. It's a lovely place, but it's not the hub of the universe. And if he was up to something shady, I'd think this would be the last place he'd want to settle. He could get by with some shenanigans for a while, but not for long, with everyone knowing what everyone else does.'