The Blue Virgin (28 page)

  Suddenly the shrill sound of a cell phone ripped through the air. Lottie turned her head toward the sound. Simon leapt forward and grabbed the knife, wrestling it from her. Lottie turned to him, then back to Nora, a look of confusion in her eyes. She lunged for the knife, making one last hopeless attempt to regain control, then moaned and collapsed at his feet. “I’m tired of pretending,” she cried. “I just want it to be over.” She huddled on the floor in a fetal position and sobbed. “I just want my Val.”

  Simon put the knife on the counter out of Lottie’s reach. Stunned, Nora reached automatically into her bag for her phone. She had it at her ear as Simon raised the hem of her blouse, checking her side. “Hello?”

  “Skin’s just broken,” Simon said, keeping watch over Lottie.  “You were stupendous! Declan would hire you in a minute,” he whispered.

  “Thank you,” Nora said to the caller and to Simon, letting the tension disperse, tears of relief streaming down her face. She shut the phone and laughed, big belly laughs she couldn’t contain, arms cradling her baby in the midst of this macabre scene. She looked up at Simon, her face blissful. “I win.” She took Simon’s hand and placed it over her belly. “It’s a boy!”

*

After Lottie was taken into custody and the knife bagged for evidence, Nora and Simon sat with Declan at the far end of the co-op, giving their statements. Nora explained the day leading up to the scene of Lottie’s confession. Declan raised an eyebrow at the news that Ted Wheeler had been Bryn Wallace’s father and that Belcher had attempted to blackmail Wheeler—an act to which Bryn had refused to be an accomplice. He in turn described his interview with Janet and Val.

  “Your circled list drew my attention to Lottie,” he told Nora. “Our murderer had deliberately changed the track on the disc that was playing when we arrived at Bryn’s flat. It was the song ‘No Matter What,’ with the line ‘I’ll be everyone you need,’ Lottie’s direct message to Val Rogan. Once I made the
Notting Hill
connection, I knew she had to be involved. I checked her statements and was ready to come here to interview her when Simon rang me.”

  “A movie about people who don’t belong together, falling in love,” Nora said. “It fits, in more than one way. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. Actually it was Lottie herself who alerted me to the fact that she was the murderer.”

  “How so?” Simon asked.

  “I was talking to her about Wheeler abandoning Janet—about how awful it must be to be abandoned by the person you love. Lottie stopped moving.” Nora shook her head. “Lottie
never
stood still. That’s how I knew something was wrong.”

  “Don’t think that because we got a good result you’ve escaped my wrath entirely, missy,” Declan warned. “If you had trusted me enough to tell me your suspicions about a second visitor right after you spoke with Althea Isaacs, I might have gotten to the bottom of this sooner,” he chided her. “And your own life wouldn’t have been in personal jeopardy.”

  “I’d already annoyed you with my snooping,” she insisted. “And I didn’t know how that would color any information I brought you.”

  “You always have to have the last word, don’t you, Nora Tierney?”

  They shared a smile, and for once Nora had the feeling that Declan didn’t mind her having the last word.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

“Freddi himself wouldn’t have wanted an elaborate funeral or any fuss made over his broken body; but funerals are not for the dead, only for the living.”

—
Upton Sinclair,
Wide Is the Gate

Sunday

1:50 PM

Nora stood in the churchyard in Chipping Norton with Simon and Declan, waiting for the start of Bryn Wallace’s funeral. The day was sunny and mild, and Watkins had wandered off to read headstones in the ancient graveyard. Nora was pleased to see the two detectives; their attendance was a sign of respect she knew Janet Wallace would appreciate.

  “I thought you’d like to know Cameron Wilson has been arrested for the murder of Tommy Clay,” Declan said. “Several witnesses saw them in the Magic Cafe just before the incident. We searched his flat and found the blackmail note Clay had sent him, plus a maroon cap from Kelmscott Manor, the one Louisa Rogan remembered. Wilson insists he was trying to get away from Clay and panicked, shoving Clay aside and bolting. He maintains it was Clay’s fault he fell over the railing because he was so short. That’s ridiculous, because Clay’s shorter stature should have prevented him from falling if he hadn’t been pushed so hard.” Declan’s expression told them what he thought of Cam’s excuse.

  “Will he go to trial?” Simon asked.

  “That depends on whether the Crown Prosecution Service cuts a manslaughter deal with him or not; out of my hands now. Oh, and Ted Wheeler declined to press charges against Miles Belcher,
but suffice it to say, Belcher is
not
getting the college contract.”

  “At least Louisa won’t have to testify,” Nora said. “May’s leaving with her right after the wake. I know Val plans to visit them more often in London. There’s been a softening there, good for all of them.”

  Watkins joined them. “I hope so. Louisa’s a nice young lady.”

  Declan thrust his hand out to Simon. “Good luck on the book project. And thanks for your help at the end there, saving the reckless one.”

  “You’re both welcome at Ramsey Lodge any time,” Simon said.

  Declan raised an eyebrow. “I love hiking in that area. Who knows? I’ve plenty of vacation time—I just may take you up on that offer.” He turned to Nora. “Best of luck with that little boy of yours. I hope you’ll let me know when he makes his appearance and what you decide to name him.”

  “I will, and thank you for putting up with me,” Nora said. She stepped forward to give Declan a heartfelt hug and shake the sergeant’s hand. The detectives planned to return to Oxford immediately following the service. Watching Declan walk away, Nora felt a small pang of sadness. Would their paths ever cross again? She found herself hoping so—although she didn’t look forward to the turmoil of emotions he was capable of stirring up.

  Nora and Simon were alone in a corner of the churchyard. Simon affectionately pushed Nora’s glasses up her nose and consulted his watch. “I figured since it had been three whole minutes since you’d last done that, I’d be a nice guy and do it for you.”

  Nora smirked. “I suppose you think now that you’ve saved my life I’ll be eternally grateful.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way for you to repay me.” Simon pulled her close.

  Nora didn’t resist. “You’re far too good to me, Simon Ramsey.” She pulled her head back to look up at him. “When Lottie asked if you were the baby’s father—”

  “And I said I was? Nora, a father is so much more than the cells that created a baby, don’t you agree?”

  She nodded gravely. “Are you saying you’re willing to parent this child without a commitment from me? What kind of fool would make a pact like that?” she teased. Nora put a finger on his lips before he could answer. “The kind of fool who loves me very much.” She hugged him warmly. “Just give me some time, but I think we might be able to make a deal. Life often takes great leaps of faith.”

  “Frost’s roads not taken?”

  “Or maybe an embracing of the roads one does take, without looking back.”

  They walked toward the church entry. “I happen to know Kate and Darby and even Ian are waiting anxiously for us.”

  They walked together slowly, his arm slung over her shoulder. A wave of emotion washed over Nora, and she tried to identify it. And then she had it.

  It felt like the evening after a long Thanksgiving Day at her grandmother’s. After the turkey dinner, after roasting chestnuts in the fireplace with her cousins while the men watched football, after the women set out pies and cider. There were cold, bright stars in the sky, and she was dressed in her pajamas for the long ride home. Her father tucked a warm blanket around her in the back seat, and the feeling she had now came over her then. It was a comforting mix of pleasure and security, a feeling of rightness, knowing she was going home.

  Entering the soaring nave of St. Mary’s Church, Nora pointed out the leering devils carved into the peculiar hexagonal porch. “Those are certain to terrorize young children.” She and Simon joined the line of mourners filing into the magnificent stone church, the women’s heels tapping on its stone floors. Slender supporting pillars with clerestory windows formed an almost continuous band of glass above the nave, giving the church a feeling of great height and lightness. The air smelled of old paper, polished wood, beeswax candles, and a trace of incense. As it had done for thousands of other souls since 1485, St. Mary’s watched over the remains of Bronwyn Wallace concealed inside a shiny oak casket. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows high over the altar, casting a purple-and-rose beam of light onto the brass plate inscribed with Bryn’s birth and death dates. A wreath of tiny pink and white roses trailed a shiny ribbon stapled with the words “Beloved Daughter” in gold foil. Draped over the foot of the coffin was a quilt of satin in brilliant jewel colors edged in narrow cluny lace.

  “It’s beautiful,” Nora whispered to Simon, nodding toward Val’s creation. Janet Wallace’s nephew escorted them toward the front, removing a ribbon so they could enter the reserved second pew.

  May and Louisa Rogan were already seated there. May nodded to them, looking regal in a navy suit decorated with a Monet-inspired silk scarf, caught on one shoulder with a discreet sapphire pin. Louisa looked demure but grown. Nora attributed this more to her recent experiences than to her lovely lilac dress or to the gift Val had given her, a straw hat with a black velvet ribbon and clutch of violets at the back.

  The choir was a mixed group of men and women, serious in their task. They must all have watched Bryn grow up, Nora reflected. When they were set, the choirmaster raised one arm, and on the down stroke the resplendent sound of the
Dominus Regit Me
filled the church. Janet Wallace and Val Rogan slipped into their places next to Janet’s relatives in the front pew. Val searched for Nora, and their eyes met in sad recognition.

  As the choir sang, Nora inspected the laminated card she had been given at the door by one of the ushers, Janet’s neighbor chosen for that honor. She scrutinized the stiff rectangle. On one side was a photograph of a glorious sunrise: lavender, pink, and coral streaks spreading across a verdant hill, the orange-gold ridge of the sun sending luminous tendrils over a serene garden with an empty stone bench.

  Turning the card over, Nora expected to see a psalm or a prayer but instead found a quotation from Goethe. She recognized Val’s input:

 
The world is so empty if one thinks only of mountains,

  rivers and cities, but to know someone who thinks and feels

  with us, and who, though distant, is close to us in spirit, this

  makes the earth for us an inhabited garden.

  Nora felt the pricking of tears at her eyes. She blinked and looked at Janet’s straight back beneath the black hat and veiling. Val’s dark head was bent to examine her notes.

  The baby boy inside Nora shifted and moved. Nora was struck by this new person waiting for his chance at life, while Bryn Wallace’s had been cut short by someone she’d thought was a friend. She didn’t know this child and already loved him, and Simon seemed to also, simply because he was a part of her. How would Janet come to terms with the loss of her child?

  The vicar welcomed them. As they bowed their heads for the opening prayers, Nora saw Davey Haskitt sitting alone in the crowded church to her right. Further behind him, the distinctive head of Declan Barnes, alongside Sergeant Watkins, rose above his neighbors.

  Looking over her other shoulder, Nora saw another man taller than his neighbors. Ted Wheeler sat in the very back, sandwiched between an old woman wearing a hat with a long feather, and an even older man with two hearing aids. The don looked miserable. Nora knew that she could never be as gracious as Janet had been. Despite everything, Janet had invited Wheeler to Bryn’s funeral. “Janet told me Ted, or Allen, made the choice not to be a part of Bryn’s life,” Val had said before the service. “She has twenty-eight years of memories with Bryn. He has none, and that is enough punishment.”

  We never know, Nora reflected, what kind of impact our choices will have. No matter where they come from—a teenaged whim, the hubris of certain entitlement, or the jealousy and anger of unrequited love—the decisions we make affect us in ways unexpected and sometimes unexplainable. Had she made the right choices this time? As she rested her hands on her belly, with the warmth of Simon beside her, she felt hopeful enough to think that yes, she had.

  The prayers ended, and Val rose to the lectern, shoulders back. Nora knew Val was fearful of breaking down, but Janet had reassured her that Bryn had not been afraid of showing emotion. Val took her place and smoothed out her notes, looking out over the congregation, clutching the linen handkerchief Janet had pressed on her. She met Nora’s gaze, and Nora smiled to bolster her. She took a deep breath, and Nora took one with her.

  “Edith Wharton said, ‘There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.’ Bronwyn Wallace is one of the few people to have been both. She reflected the light of life in the very humanness of her work, and she spread her own light on those of us fortunate enough to share in her love. It is very difficult to think of facing the days ahead without her—” Val’s voice slowed, and she paused. “And even harder to find words to express what I think she would want me to say to all of you today.

  “My American friend Nora Tierney gave me a collection of poetry by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, wife of the famous aviator, who had to learn to live with the loss of a child abducted and killed. I have chosen one of her poems,
Testament
, for Bryn to speak to us.” Val cleared her throat and paused as if to gather strength, then
launched into the poem, relaying Lindbergh’s words about a lost child listing the world’s beauties to comfort its grieving parent. At the poem’s end, Val shuffled her papers to regain her composure.

  “Those words were for Janet. I hope they will comfort her in her unimaginable grief.” Val made eye contact with Janet and continued. “Bryn and I loved our walks, and our favorite was when we went to Dover. We walked and talked for hours along the beach, watching the tides and the seagulls swooping and diving.  It seems fitting that I end with my dedication to Bryn, a poem by Sara Teasdale called
Tides
:

 
Love in my heart was a fresh tide flowing

  Where the star-like sea gulls soar;

  The sun was keen and the foam was blowing

  High on the rocky shore.

  But now in the dusk the tide is turning,

  Lower the sea gulls soar,

  And the waves that rose in resistless yearning

  Are broken forevermore.

  A sob caught in Val’s voice on the last word. Muffled crying sounded throughout the church as Val made her way back to her pew, the heartrending words lying almost palpably in the air. The choir broke once more into song, and the light of the sun, shining through the chapel, seemed to take on a special intensity. May put her arm around Louisa, and Simon reached out to clasp Nora’s hand as she wiped her eyes with a crumpled tissue. Val brushed the tears from her face and took her seat next to Janet. Then the mother who had just lost her daughter reached out to the girl who didn’t have a mother, drawing Val to her in a close embrace.