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Authors: Peter Lovesey
Tags: Mystery
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of shock after the burglary. They hadn't realised it amounted to black despair.
On Sunday, Otis Joy referred to the tragedy in church. "Stanley Burrows was a loyal member of this congregation for over thirty years. He served on the parish council as our treasurer, a very able treasurer. Stanley was a staunch friend to me, but of course most of you knew him much longer than I did, as your headmaster, or the headmaster of your children. His passing is hard for us to bear—the more so because of the tragic circumstances. I'm not going to speculate on what happened, and I urge you all—everyone in the village—to be restrained in your reaction. Stanley was a gentleman in every sense of the word. He, of all people, wouldn't wish this to lead to thoughts of revenge. He taught the virtues of civilised behaviour. Let us remember that as we pray for his immortal soul."
In his pew towards the back, Owen Cumberbatch exhaled loudly and impatiently. His sister, beside him, gave him a sharp dig in the ribs.
To end the service, the rector chose a hymn Stanley had often sung in school assemblies, "Lord dismiss us with thy blessing," and hands were dipping into pockets and bags for Kleenex long before the "Amen" was reached.
To Rachel, in her usual pew, the rector's words had been specially touching. He had this gift of striking exactly the right note for the occasion. On her way out of church she almost complimented him, and then decided it was inappropriate. Instead she smiled and put out her left hand (her right was still in plaster) and found herself holding two of his fingers and giving them a squeeze. He smiled in a restrained way. "I hope it's mending nicely."
"I expect so," she said.
"How long do you have to wear this?"
"Another four itching weeks."
"I've always said the best cure for an itch is to scratch it. Try a knitting needle."
"Well, it's not all bad," she managed to put in. "I got some lovely flowers out of it."
"Mind how you go, then. Watch out for Waldo's grave."
She was tempted to ask if he'd remembered what it was he wanted to see her about on the day of the accident, but that might have seemed pushy. She moved on.
By the lychgate she overheard a snatch of conversation she found mystifying. Bill Armistead was saying to Davy Todd, who kept the shop, "... out of order, totally out of order and told him so."
"Silly old bugger," said Todd.
"It's daft. He couldn't hold down a job like his, telling folk how to behave, praying and preaching, if he were up to things like that."
"Nobody could. What would be the point?"
"Mind, they do go off the rails, some of them."
"Yes, a bit of how's your father, drinking, gambling, but this is way beyond that. No, it's bullshit. Got to be. If he believes that, he wants his head testing."
Rachel edged around them and walked up the street. She couldn't believe anyone had been spreading malicious stories about Otis, and didn't want to find out.
TH E SENIOR churchwarden, Geoff Elliott, spoke to the rector after everyone else had gone. "It may seem indecently soon to be speaking of this, but we'll need a new treasurer now."
"Spot on, Geoff," said Joy. "The sooner the better."
"We churchwardens can act in a temporary capacity, but we need someone to take on the job properly. For the sake of continuity, he ought to come from within the PCC, as Stanley did."
"Is that a problem?"
Elliott cleared his throat. "I've, er, sounded out the others and nobody is too confident of taking it on. You need someone good at figure work. We have the power to co-opt, of course."
"And you have someone in mind?"
"That young fellow Sands is a chartered accountant, I understand."
"Burton Sands?" said the rector, unable to disguise his horror. "He's in my confirmation class. He isn't confirmed yet."
"He will be, won't he?"
"Well, as it isn't by selection, yes. I wouldn't have thought of him for treasurer myself."
"He's a regular church-goer. A serious young man. Very stable, I would think. And
On Sunday, Otis Joy referred to the tragedy in church. "Stanley Burrows was a loyal member of this congregation for over thirty years. He served on the parish council as our treasurer, a very able treasurer. Stanley was a staunch friend to me, but of course most of you knew him much longer than I did, as your headmaster, or the headmaster of your children. His passing is hard for us to bear—the more so because of the tragic circumstances. I'm not going to speculate on what happened, and I urge you all—everyone in the village—to be restrained in your reaction. Stanley was a gentleman in every sense of the word. He, of all people, wouldn't wish this to lead to thoughts of revenge. He taught the virtues of civilised behaviour. Let us remember that as we pray for his immortal soul."
In his pew towards the back, Owen Cumberbatch exhaled loudly and impatiently. His sister, beside him, gave him a sharp dig in the ribs.
To end the service, the rector chose a hymn Stanley had often sung in school assemblies, "Lord dismiss us with thy blessing," and hands were dipping into pockets and bags for Kleenex long before the "Amen" was reached.
To Rachel, in her usual pew, the rector's words had been specially touching. He had this gift of striking exactly the right note for the occasion. On her way out of church she almost complimented him, and then decided it was inappropriate. Instead she smiled and put out her left hand (her right was still in plaster) and found herself holding two of his fingers and giving them a squeeze. He smiled in a restrained way. "I hope it's mending nicely."
"I expect so," she said.
"How long do you have to wear this?"
"Another four itching weeks."
"I've always said the best cure for an itch is to scratch it. Try a knitting needle."
"Well, it's not all bad," she managed to put in. "I got some lovely flowers out of it."
"Mind how you go, then. Watch out for Waldo's grave."
She was tempted to ask if he'd remembered what it was he wanted to see her about on the day of the accident, but that might have seemed pushy. She moved on.
By the lychgate she overheard a snatch of conversation she found mystifying. Bill Armistead was saying to Davy Todd, who kept the shop, "... out of order, totally out of order and told him so."
"Silly old bugger," said Todd.
"It's daft. He couldn't hold down a job like his, telling folk how to behave, praying and preaching, if he were up to things like that."
"Nobody could. What would be the point?"
"Mind, they do go off the rails, some of them."
"Yes, a bit of how's your father, drinking, gambling, but this is way beyond that. No, it's bullshit. Got to be. If he believes that, he wants his head testing."
Rachel edged around them and walked up the street. She couldn't believe anyone had been spreading malicious stories about Otis, and didn't want to find out.
TH E SENIOR churchwarden, Geoff Elliott, spoke to the rector after everyone else had gone. "It may seem indecently soon to be speaking of this, but we'll need a new treasurer now."
"Spot on, Geoff," said Joy. "The sooner the better."
"We churchwardens can act in a temporary capacity, but we need someone to take on the job properly. For the sake of continuity, he ought to come from within the PCC, as Stanley did."
"Is that a problem?"
Elliott cleared his throat. "I've, er, sounded out the others and nobody is too confident of taking it on. You need someone good at figure work. We have the power to co-opt, of course."
"And you have someone in mind?"
"That young fellow Sands is a chartered accountant, I understand."
"Burton Sands?" said the rector, unable to disguise his horror. "He's in my confirmation class. He isn't confirmed yet."
"He will be, won't he?"
"Well, as it isn't by selection, yes. I wouldn't have thought of him for treasurer myself."
"He's a regular church-goer. A serious young man. Very stable, I would think. And
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