The Hour of Death Page 12

  Maybe the constable and medical examiner were right—this wasn’t a murder at all. But what if it truly was murder? Then the killer was out there and might kill again. And finally, the mysterious article left in her desk was intriguing but far from illuminating. She was at a loss right now, but she would not give up. Maybe she just needed to dig deeper.

  What would Inspector Rupert McFarland say? In a recent podcast, The People We Love to Hate, he had talked about how family members kill other family members. Could Kendrick and Tiffany be a case of sibling rivalry carried too far? Throw in the high stakes and emotional toll of an estate settlement and perhaps it had been enough to push Kendrick over the edge. Sister Agatha’s mind raced as she plodded up Church Lane. What was the relationship between Kendrick and Tiffany? Were they terrible rivals or supportive siblings? Had they had to fight for every scrap of love in the family? Were they pitted against each other by obsessive parents or were they loved equally? And, in the end, as the parents grew old and died, which sibling did the lion’s share of the caretaking?

  She stopped again as she reached the top of Church Hill. Kendrick Geddings was a well-respected businessman in the village who had ties all over the North. Would he risk losing everything to murder his own sister? She thought for a moment, and Inspector McFarland’s heavy Scottish brogue came to her: Never underestimate a person’s motive for murder. It can be as complicated as the discovery of a sordid love affair or as simple as the discovery that someone took the last piece of chocolate cake.

  Chapter Eight

  The Girl Guides’ Big Lunch in St. Anselm’s parish hall was off to a roaring start. In fact, Sister Agatha was pretty sure that the parish hall hadn’t seen this much activity on a Tuesday noon in a long while. According to Father Selwyn, the Bysowch Barod Cymru (Girl Guides in Wales) was launching a national campaign to bring people together in communities by sponsoring an event they called The Big Lunch. She looked around, taking in the chaos, conversation, and laughter filling a room where, less than a week ago, a dead body had lain slumped against the wall.

  Just about everyone who owned a business on Main Street had been invited, along with the sisters from the abbey and the village police. She noticed that Constable Barnes had declined and sent his young deputy, Parker Clough. She recognized a few teachers from the school and one of the bus drivers.

  Sister Agatha was a longtime supporter of the Girl Guides program in Wales, having been a Girl Guide herself. At age twelve, she had attended the Diamond Jubilee in Eisteddfod at Gregynog Hall, where over two hundred Girl Guides had gathered to greet Princess Margaret on her visit there. It was an experience Sister Agatha had never forgotten. Now she supported the Girl Guides as often as she could. Father Selwyn and Macie Cadwalader, the young female vicar at St. Grenfell, ran the St. Asaph Girl Guides together. She watched as the two of them tried to bring some order to the madhouse of Rainbows, all in uniform and thoroughly enjoying themselves.

  Each invited guest had been instructed to bring their favorite food to share. And the Rainbows had wisely decided to invite Sister Gwenydd, who had brought along a huge roaster filled with lamb stew and an enormous tray of Christmas cookies. The guests sat at small tables scattered throughout the room, while the Rainbows poured tea, passed along plates of food, and generally ran around. It was bedlam, but Sister Agatha had to admit, quite fun. Apparently, after eating, the guests at the Big Lunch would be treated to a concert of Rainbow singing followed by a skit about healthy eating.

  She found herself at a small table across from the young police officer Parker Clough. The young man had been at the crime scene and, in fact, was the same one who had arrested Sister Gwenydd the previous summer. Sister Agatha had just about forgiven him for putting handcuffs on one of the sisters. He was, after all, just doing his job. She observed him as he chatted with one of the Rainbows who stood next to the table. He was listening intently to her recitation of all the badges sewn on her uniform sash. Sister Agatha was impressed with his careful attention to everything the little girl said while complimenting her on her achievements—all the while trying to eat a plate of lasagna. And Officer Clough, who probably had a desk full of paperwork waiting for him at the police station, acted as though the seven-year-old standing in front of him was the most important person in his world.

  “That’s a lot of badges,” he said to Sister Agatha when the little girl finished her recitation and shot off to join the other Rainbows. “She’ll make deputy someday.”

  “You’re good with children, Officer Clough.”

  “I come from a big family. The oldest of six. All sisters. And I think they were each in the Girl Guides at one point or another.”

  “So you grew up living with women?”

  “I did. It’s probably what drove me into the police force—the academy was almost all male the year I joined. Of course, there are a lot more women now.” He took a bite of salad. “Which is a good thing,” he added, his mouth full.

  “I grew up with all brothers,” Sister Agatha said. “And now I live in a convent with twenty other women. I wonder if that’s what drove me to the convent?”

  Officer Clough smiled and then cast an eye around the crowded room. “It’s hard to believe what was in this room a week ago.”

  “I know.” Sister Agatha responded, remembering Tiffany’s body stretched out on the floor, the medical examiner taking notes, and Father Selwyn giving last prayers. “Is the constable looking into her death at all?” Sister asked.

  “No. It’s a closed case according to our office.”

  “Yes, of course.” Sister Agatha thought that the young man had more to say, but she wasn’t sure how to pull it out of him. “What do you think, Officer Clough? In your professional opinion?”

  He looked up, his eyebrows raised. Chewing and then swallowing and taking a long sip of tea, he still paused but finally said, “I’m not a detective, Sister. And Constable Barnes is very thorough. If it was murder, he would have pursued it as such.”

  Sister Agatha liked it that the young man showed loyalty to his boss, even though she knew his boss to be entirely wrong. “Well, of course. But there is room for error in any decision, is there not? Not that the constable was wrong, as such. But if you were the constable—as I am sure you will be someday—what would you offer as an opinion?”

  “Well.” He looked around again. “There was an earlier incident. And … it made me think.” He paused. “I tried to get the constable to follow up on it. But you know how busy the office is right now.” He stopped and took a drink of tea. “I don’t think this is confidential because it was printed in The Pryderi Post, and so anyone who likes to read the police log could have read it.”

  Sister Agatha nodded. The Pryderi Post was the village’s newspaper, not known for its accuracy to detail. She felt for her detective’s notebook in her apron pocket but decided to let it stay there. Best not to have people see her madly scribbling in a book labeled MURDER. It could put a damper on the Rainbows’ Big Lunch.

  “Anyway,” Parker Clough went on. “We had a domestic call a few weeks ago to Tiffany Reese’s house—the neighbors called it in—reporting a commotion next door.”

  “A commotion? What kind of commotion?”

  “Screaming, shouting. We showed up, and it was Tiffany and her brother Kendrick. You could hear the yelling before we got out of the cruiser. Mostly obscenities at that point. I think the argument had been going on for a while. Domestic situations usually start off pretty calmly. Or they can. But as the fight or the disagreement builds … well, it escalates. And let’s just say, bad things can happen.”

  “Did you feel that something bad was about to happen?”

  “With a domestic call, you go in prepared for anything. Anything from verbal insults to blood.”

  “Was there blood?”

  “No. Not at all. If there had been, we would certainly have made an arrest. But …” The young officer broke off.

  “But what?”

 
“Usually when it’s a man and a woman, you automatically figure that the man is the aggressor.” Sister Agatha thought Officer Clough looked especially uncomfortable.

  “And in this case?”

  He leaned forward, casting a glance around for any stray Rainbows or village members who might be listening.

  “So as we headed up the walk to the porch, the house went totally silent. I figured that they had noticed the cruiser and were taking a step back. You know, in order to look better when we came in. But suddenly, I had a bad feeling, and we just went in without knocking. It’s a good thing we did.”

  He shook his head and leaned back. “It was Mrs. Reese. She had her hands around her brother’s neck and had him backed up against the wall. He had turned blue and was collapsing. If we had gotten there two minutes later, he would’ve been dead.”

  * * *

  “He refused to press charges. Even though what she did was basically strangulation. Or attempted strangulation.” Sister Agatha was sitting across from Father Selwyn in his study. She had to admit, he looked knackered. Hosting a Rainbow Big Lunch was not for the fainthearted. Macie Cadwaladr had just left after staying to help clean up the parish hall. The event had been a huge success—great food, lots of opportunities to get to know one’s neighbor, a concert of Girl Guides singing—a few of the songs Sister Agatha had remembered from her own years in the Girl Guides. But maybe the most important part of the lunch had been the conversation with Officer Clough. Kendrick Geddings had just moved to the top of her list of suspects.

  “I can barely believe it,” Father Selwyn said. “Yet you would be surprised how many of our best church families are living with domestic situations that are violent.”

  “But I never think about men being abused by women.”

  “It certainly happens. Maybe more than we think.” Father Selwyn looked both thoughtful and disturbed. “My question is, was this the first time? Did it start out a simple argument that escalated into dangerous behavior? Or had Tiffany done this to her brother before?”

  “According to Officer Clough, Kendrick told him that it had never happened and that they just had a big argument that got out of hand.”

  “Which could be true.” Father Selwyn leaned back. “On the other hand, who knows. I’ve heard that before—This is the first time. It’ll never happen again. This could have been the culmination of a long-simmering unhappiness between the two of them. I do know for a fact that she was challenging the will. I hate to say it, but the Geddings inheritance was a major topic of conversation at Senior Yoga yesterday.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “Mostly that Tiffany wanted more than her share and that Kendrick was about to cave.”

  “If he was about to cave, then that could change things.”

  “This was gossip. I hardly think Senior Yoga participants are privy to the actual terms of the will or to the legal proceedings.”

  “What do you know about Tiffany and Kendrick’s relationship?”

  Father Selwyn blew out his breath. “Not much, really. Tiffany was very involved in the parish—as you know. But Kendrick, not at all. He lives in Wrexham and I seldom see him in Pryderi. I’ve worked with him on the Animal Shelter Board—he has a great love of animals and their welfare. I liked him. Although it’s hard not to like a person who is devoted to rescuing unwanted dogs and cats. I also know he is a passionate runner. But that’s about it. I may find out more tomorrow. I’m meeting with him to discuss the funeral service.” Father Selwyn poured tea into her cup and then into his. “Why? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m just wondering why a man in as good a shape and as athletic as Kendrick would allow a woman to shove him against a wall and nearly strangle him to death.”

  “You mean, why didn’t he fight back?”

  “Yes. Or something.”

  “The stigma, perhaps. Maybe he didn’t want to physically hurt a woman. Or he didn’t want it to get out that this was happening. Or …”

  “Or what?”

  “Or she really did overpower him. Tiffany was a big woman, very physically fit. And although Kendrick is a runner, he might have lacked the power to fight her off successfully. If you think about it, pound for pound, she outweighed him. Maybe he was her victim.”

  “And so, when he had the chance, he killed her. By some means that wouldn’t involve brute force, and when she wasn’t expecting it. And it would solve two problems for him—he would get rid of both an abuser and the only other beneficiary of the will in which he was named.”

  She waited for Father Selwyn to argue with her, but he didn’t. Finally, he spoke. “What’s your plan?”

  “Find out where Kendrick Geddings was the night of the murder.”

  Chapter Nine

  On her way home from St. Anselm’s, Sister Agatha had stopped by the library to check the Wildcat database and to give some thought to a potential meeting with Kendrick Geddings. The sticky part about being an amateur sleuth was that you just couldn’t walk up to a suspect and demand their alibi. Her fictional detective, Bates Melanchthon, had a much easier time of it by using all sorts of tactics. None of which would have met with the approval of Reverend Mother.

  Sister Agatha sighed and leaned back in her desk chair. The screen in front of her was asking for her password. She slowly typed SherlockHolmesmeetsArmandGamache, her favorite daydream—the two detectives hanging out together in a pub sharing a pint, comparing notes. She sat back and waited, watching the screen. The Internet could be slow in Pryderi on a Tuesday afternoon.

  The Pryderi library was small, but it was well used by the village and was lively with patrons at the moment. Her eye fell on the bulletin board, and she noticed that several of the fliers and posters were outdated. In a public library where most workers were volunteers, details like updating the bulletin board went neglected. No one had taken down the fliers advertising events for nearly a month. One caught her eye.

  All Creatures Great and Small Late-Night Race: Run to help the Pryderi Animal Rescue. Friday, December 10. Start time 9 PM at the Animal Shelter. December 10th was the night that Tiffany was killed.

  According to the flier, the race looped around the village and ended at the Saints and Sinners pub for some “post-race carbohydrates.” Sister Agatha couldn’t imagine running at all, let alone running at night. What was wrong with people? Why not just take a sensible walk in the middle of the afternoon? These days everyone went to extremes. Sister Harriet doing something she called “Hot Yoga,” and now the people of Pryderi, running at night.

  Sister Agatha caught her breath as her curiosity rose. Hadn’t Father Selwyn said that Kendrick was a runner? And that he had served on the Animal Shelter board? Had he been at the Late-Night Race? Taking out her notebook, she began to write. Chances were good that he had been part of the race. Maybe even planned it. But did he run in it? And would that have taken him through the evening?

  Turning back to the computer, she clicked out of the World Cat database and clicked onto Google. Entering Late-Night Race Pryderi resulted in an article from the online version of the Animal Shelter’s newsletter. The lead article was a thank-you to everyone who participated and congratulations to the top five runners. She sat back. Kendrick hadn’t just run in the race; he had won it. There was a picture of him sitting at the Saints and Sinners pub with a group of other runners, raising a pint in one hand and holding up a medal with the other.

  He looked pretty happy, she thought, for someone who had just killed his sister. The race had started exactly one hour before Tiffany was murdered. Although the coroner said approximately ten PM, she knew that was a guess at best. Could Kendrick have run the race, gone back to the church, murdered Tiffany, then joined his mates five blocks down the street at Saints and Sinners?

  She stood up from the computer desk and, gathering up her book bag, headed out the door. There was only one way to find out. Do what any self-respecting amateur detective would do. Make up a big story, stick to it, and see if
you can get some information out of someone.

  * * *

  Michael wiped down the bar with a damp cloth and thought for a moment. It was mid-afternoon and the Saints and Sinners was almost empty. “No, he didn’t come in with the others. I do remember that much pretty clearly.”

  “How do you remember?” Sister Agatha asked. It turned out that she didn’t even have to make up a big story. Or any story at all. She had more than a passing acquaintance with the Saints and Sinners barman Michael, and he might be willing to talk with her. They had met the summer before when she investigated the death of Jacob, Michael’s boyfriend. No big made-up story required. “Wasn’t there a big crowd here?”

  “There was. But he had won the race, you know. So all his mates were asking about where he’d gone off to. It was quite a rowdy group and they got drunk pretty fast. Anyway, when he came through the door they all started cheering for him and offering to buy him a pint. You know, for winning first place. But also, I suppose, because the fund-raiser had been a big success.”

  “Any idea what time he came through the door?”

  “Ten thirty. On the dot.”

  “On the dot? You noticed?”

  “I was hoping to get off early so I was watching the clock. No such luck though—I ended up closing.”

  “How long did Kendrick and his mates stay?”

  “Until we kicked them out—right after last call.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sister Agatha slid into the back booth. She had just finished an early morning meeting with the village librarians and had stopped by The Buttered Crust Tea Shop. Today’s discussion had been interesting—how to interest teens in using the reference section. The librarians ended the meeting with the conclusion that they had no idea how to interest teens in using the reference section, but it had still been a riveting discussion. The meeting had ended a bit early—the people for the Thursday Morning Story Hour for Toddlers were pouring in, and she felt the urge to leave. She desperately needed a moment to think and no place was better for that than The Buttered Crust Tea Shop.