‘Err, OK.’ Laura pulled a face. ‘Isn’t that where he should be?’

Abi shrugged. ‘Well, yes, I suppose. Or at the vicarage. But at least he’s nearby.’

‘That’s because...’ Laura tailed off.

‘We need to speak with him.’

 

‘Oh, I see.’ Laura nodded and then looked up at Abi. ‘Actually, I don’t see. Why?’

‘You’ll see.’

Laura still didn’t see. ‘I will?’

Abi marched off across the road towards the lane leading to the church. Laura hurried to keep up.

‘You’re a woman on a mission, aren’t you?’ she gasped as they fell into step along the lane.

 

‘That I am,’ Abi replied without slowing.

The church door was ajar, and loud music was playing. ‘Not a churchy sound, is it?’ said Laura as she pushed the heavy door and stepped inside, gently closing it behind them.

 

They gazed around. They heard, even above the loud music, banging and clattering at the far end of the building. Abi put her finger to her lips and Laura nodded. She wasn’t sure why they needed to be quiet. They walked towards the strong electric guitar sound bouncing between the steep stone walls.

 

Laura admired the huge stained-glass window as she walked towards it. A figure came into view; a man carrying stacked chairs.

‘Morning,’ said Abi loudly. At the sound of her voice, the man moved backwards and fumbled the chairs to the ground. He looked up at the two women.

 

‘Phew,’ he exclaimed loudly. ‘You really know how to startle someone.’ He was a tall man with a broad smile and curly grey hair. He reached to switch off a rather battered-looking CD player perched on a pew. ‘Forgive me. My music choice is last century. How can I help you?’

 

Abi looked straight at him. ‘I’m looking for either the churchwarden or the vicar.’

‘Will either do?’ he asked.

Abi nodded. ‘Either.’

‘Good. Well, I’m the vicar. I’m Peter.’ He smiled at her and then at Laura. ‘Excuse the rather scruffy appearance. It’s clear out and tidy up day today. There’s stuff in the basement that’s been there since... well, since whenever.’ He sighed. ‘I will call it a crypt. That’s what I’m told by my learned colleagues. It’s essentially a small, boiler-equipped dungeon. You’d be surprised what people discover in these places. So, I didn’t bother with the usual attire.’

 

‘Oh,’ Abi replied. ‘I don’t think I would if I were working in a dungeon.’

A broad grin spread across the man’s face. ‘I’m sorry. That information wasn’t necessary. What can I do for you, ladies?’

 

‘I’m Abi,’ she said, turning to Laura. ‘And this is my friend Laura.’

‘Pleased to meet you both. I’m Peter Wells. I won’t offer to shake hands because I’m covered in dirt and cobwebs, and other things I need not mention.’ He stared at the palm of his hands. ‘I honestly don’t know what else there is. I hope it cleans off.’

 

‘I bet you’ll scrub up fine,’ offered Laura, and immediately blushed. ‘Perhaps I overdid it.’

The vicar shrugged. He looked at Abi. ‘Don’t I know you, though? I’m I recognise you from somewhere.’

 

‘You’ll have seen me around and about - I’ve lived in the village for a little while now. Sorry, but I’m not a churchgoer.’

The vicar smiled. ‘It’s a common problem for churches and vicars these days, I’m afraid.’

‘We need help.’ Abi stared him straight in the eye. ‘We’re investigating a murder.’

The vicar looked surprised. ‘A murder?’

 

‘Yes. My mother.’

The churchman looked at her. ‘Your mother. I am so sorry.’ He wiped his hands on his shirt. ‘Did I know her?’

Laura shook her head. ‘I doubt it.’

‘May I ask her name?’

‘Maggie,’ Laura whispered. ‘Maggie Lister.’

 

The vicar didn’t respond. ‘I use my mother’s name because I didn’t know my father.’

‘Life is cruel; I am so sorry for your loss, Laura. How can I help?’

 

‘I believe Maggie’s family came from this area. Perhaps from Upper Winden.’

‘Ahh, I see.’ Peter looked thoughtful. ‘We will need the help of our churchwarden and the parish records for this one. Unless you know of someone who knows the Lister family?’

 

He paused. The two women looked at each other. Abi shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s not a problem,’ the priest continued. ‘Upper and Lower Winden is one parish – one set of records.’

 

‘It’s a hunch,’ said Abi, ‘but I think it’s worth looking into.’ She looked at the floor and shuffled. ‘I have to admit, I had this wrong until I met Laura. She’s put me straight on so many things and filled in the missing details.’

Peter looked nonplussed. ‘I’m not sure I understand, but I’ll help as much as I can.’ He looked at Abi and then at Laura. ‘How long have you known each other?’

‘Twenty-four hours – actually less than that,’ said Laura. ‘But it’s been fast moving, action-packed and illuminating.’

‘Wow,’ exclaimed the priest.

‘And we’re sure someone murdered my mother. In fact, we’re pretty sure we know who it is.’

 

He glanced between them once more. ‘You’re sure? Absolutely sure? Someone took a life?’ He placed a hand on top of the stack of chairs. ‘Well, I’ve known you both for at least two minutes and already I am exhausted. It’s a lot of information.’

 

‘Sorry for that,’ murmured Abi. ‘We need help, and I’m told you do that – help people.’

The vicar was staring at the floor. His head lifted, and his eyes met Abi’s. ‘Who told you that?’ he asked softly.

 

‘Your sister. I discovered that the woman who owns the shop is your sister.’ Abi took a breath and added: ‘And I also discovered you’ve not always been a vicar – I found that out when I was fact-checking a wild rumour.’ Abi took a breath. ‘That the churchwarden and you are involved with the same woman.’

 

Peter’s face broke into a broad smile, and then he let out a short, deep laugh. He composed himself and glanced at each of the women. ‘That’s true. At least what is true is that it’s a wild rumour. I don’t doubt it was perhaps a genuine mistake, but it has a simple enough explanation in that...’

 

‘I know,’ interrupted Abi, ‘and I also know who you are, in secular terms, that is.’

‘You do?’

She nodded. ‘You’re James’ son, aren’t you? Your father was the man that the man known as Monty claims was his saviour and benefactor. You are that Peter Wells, aren’t you?’

Silence fell before he declared, ‘I am.’

‘And you and your sister both took your mother’s name when she left your father and remarried?’

‘We did.’

 

Abi nodded. ‘And the man known as Monty isn’t actually Monty Stewart, is he?’

‘That’s what we suspect.’ The priest was grim faced. ‘I think it’s time I took a break, and we went into the Vicarage for a chat, don’t you?’ He looked straight at Laura. ‘You, especially, deserve to hear what I know.’ He held out his arms as if to shepherd the two women towards the door.

 

Outside, he led them on the short walk to the vicarage, which lay beyond enormous chestnut trees behind the church, down a narrow road barely wide enough for a small group to walk, never mind vehicles.

 

‘It’s private down here,’ commented Laura.

Peter turned and nodded. ‘Wonderfully so; it’s almost remote from the village.’

Laura and Abi sat in Peter’s study while he made coffee. He appeared with a tray bearing mugs and a plate of biscuits.

 

‘Do you live alone, Peter?’ Abi asked.

‘Yes. My wife left me eight years ago; it was then I applied for this parish.’ He handed over the mugs and placed a bowl of sugar on a nearby table. ‘It was the right time to move close to my sister.’

 

‘It’s not exactly a sought-after location though, is it?’ Abi sipped her coffee. ‘I mean, the Windens have their fair share of mystery and mayhem - dodgy folk and foul murders over the years. Even ghost stories. Local legend suggests these villages hold more buried dead than marked graves.’

 

‘It’s true; the parish has a rather sinister reputation.’

‘Do you know Monty?’ Laura asked, looking up at Peter, who was standing near his desk.

The clergy man paused and nodded. ‘I knew he was here, and I know his real name and also that, as well as your mother, there could be other victims of his evil.’

 

‘Evil? Other victims?’ Laura looked startled. ‘Do you think he killed her?’

Peter moved to sit on a battered leather chair facing them. ‘I do.’

Laura put her elbow on the arm of the chair and rested her chin on her hand. She looked pale and drawn.

 

‘I’m sorry to be so blunt. There’s no intention of causing more upset and hurt – I mean, if you want me to explain, I’ll tell you what I know.’

Abi reached across to Laura, who clasped her outreached hand. ‘Are you OK with this?’ she asked.

 

The younger woman whispered. ‘Yes.’

Peter leaned back in his chair. Abi continued to hold Laura’s hand. He explained Monty Stewart’s real name was John Goddard. His parents, Mavis and Donald Goddard, were a hard-working couple who lived all their married life in the same terraced house.

 

After a series of neighbourhood petty thefts and assaults, young Goddard left home. He was16 years old and disappeared into thin air. The young Goddard could spin a yarn.

 

Whispers turned to open debate, and before long, neighbours and officials blamed his parents for the boy’s disappearance. Gossips convinced others the parents were the problem—mean-spirited, cruel, and even, someone suggested, capable of killing their son. Young Goddard abused his parents for years. They were sad, broken, and distraught, but still believed their son could be rescued from a life of crime.

 

The clergyman sipped his coffee and placed his mug on the table. ‘Goddard lived rough for a few weeks and then bumped into my father one day. Whatever you’ve been told, he contrived the meeting. He saw in my father another victim and put a plan into action.’

His father gave Goddard a home; he went to college because studying was part of their agreement. In exchange for rent free accommodation and his meals. He met Maggie when he was 18.

 

‘In his story, it’s love and romance, ideal and passionate. The reality wasn’t perfect. Think back, Laura. Was it always a good time?’

 

Laura sat staring at Peter, her mug of coffee cupped in both hands. She shook her head slowly. ‘God no. Never. I was frightened; police came to my home. When I was older, I begged her to leave before it was too late, but he had such a hold over her.’ She paused.

 

‘The control was incredible, and the more I reflect, the more incredible everything seems. We even had to go to hospital once – I was 12 or 13. Mum said she fell down the stairs. I say he beat her.’

 

Laura was repeating what she’d explained the night before. Again, Abi felt ill. She shuddered, recalling the moments she and Goddard had been together, even naked and passionate, and in full view at the cottage window. She felt sick.