“Well, we can ask him. He’ll remember. What about the next morning? Was it rainy or clear?”
“Clear,” Winnie said instantly, then stared at Fiona in surprise. “How did I—”
“What did you do when you got up?”
“Morning prayer. That’s easy.”
“Okay. Then what did you have for breakfast?”
“Toast and tea.”
“Then you got dressed. Why did you take your bike instead of your car?”
“Because I—because it was a beautiful day.”
“So you got on your bike and started off. It was still cool, and the morning sun felt good. Where did you go?”
“Glastonbury.” Winnie laughed. “This is amazing! I knew that without thinking.”
“From the Vicarage, you’d have come into the roundabout at the bottom of Wearyall Hill. Did you turn to the right, towards the Tor? Or did you continue on into town?”
“I went straight on, into Magdalene Street. The Abbey! I went to the Abbey. I—I—I can’t bloody remember! There’s just a blank after that.”
“Shhh. Don’t force it. We’ve made some progress.”
Winnie sank back into the pillow. “Why would I have gone to the Abbey?”
“Maybe we should back up again. What about the dinner party—”
“Andrew! You know how beastly Andrew was to Jack!” Winnie felt a cold weight in the pit of her stomach as the scene came flooding back. “He’s been behaving so oddly. He hasn’t even been to see me since I got out of intensive care. And when he came before, when I was unconscious, he wouldn’t come in. The nurses told me. He’s changed, Fi.”
“Has he? Or could it be that you’re just seeing things you’ve managed to ignore until now?”
“I—I don’t know. I suppose he’s always been a bit too attached to me, and easily hurt.… When our mum and dad died, we went to live with my father’s parents. But they were elderly—my father was a late only child—and they were so overwhelmed by their own grief they had no emotional room for us. I became mother and sister to Andrew. He was so lost.” How he had clung to her, begging for reassurance when he woke from the nightmares that plagued him for years—
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen. Andrew was eleven. After that, he was so terrified of losing anything he cared about—I suppose that’s what sparked his interest in the past. It couldn’t be taken from him.”
“You formed a very special bond,” Fiona mused. “And neither of you married.”
“I never thought—We were such good companions, I never felt the need. I didn’t know—I never expected Jack to come into my life. Oh, Fi! I’ve been so wrapped up in myself these past few months, with what I was feeling. And if I’ve given Andrew any real thought, it’s been in a he’ll-get-over-it way. But it goes much deeper than that, and I should have known it.”
“Winnie, you can’t blame yourself for Andrew’s shortcomings.”
“I thought I knew him, but I’m beginning to doubt even that. He went to Garnet’s house the day after she died. Why would he do such a thing?”
“She was well known for her archaeological work—”
“He said he wanted to commission tile work for his kitchen. Andrew!” Winnie shook her head. “It makes me wonder …”
“Wonder what?” Fiona prompted when her friend didn’t continue.
“I’ve noticed things the past few months, around the Vicarage. Papers moved about, things missing. What if—what if Andrew’s been … spying on me?” Reluctantly, Winnie met Fiona’s gaze. “Oh, Fi. What certainty is there in anything, if you can’t trust those you love best?”
The rain that threatened all day had not materialized, but as night came on the air developed a soft fuzziness, hovering on the verge of fog. By the time Gemma and Kincaid arrived back at the B & B, the streetlamps and car lights were haloed with moisture.
As Gemma got out of the car, she was possessed by a sudden restlessness. “Let’s not go in just yet. It’s such a beautiful night.”
“Shall we walk, then? See the sights of Glastonbury by starlight?” Kincaid suggested. “Unless you’d rather go down the pub for a pint.”
She laughed. “You’re such a romantic. A walk would be fine, and we’ll see what strikes us.”
They let themselves out the gate, and when they reached Magdalene Street, Gemma hooked her arm through his. “I keep trying to imagine what it must have been like, eight hundred years ago. It seems such a long time, and yet people’s emotions haven’t changed that much.”
“Alys and Edmund?”
“Yes. And we don’t even know if they were real.”
“You could get into all sorts of philosophical difficulties with that statement. There’s the subjective approach: ‘Are they real if we believe in them?’ But that’s only the tip of the iceberg. There are worse dangers lurking. ‘Do we have souls? Is there life after death?’ ”
“How can you be so flippant?” Gemma scolded, pinching his arm.
“A defense mechanism, love. Those are places I’m afraid to go, even with my proper Anglican upbringing.”
She glanced up at him, unsure if he was still teasing. He never talked much about such things, but when she’d asked him once, point-blank, what he believed, he’d said he couldn’t imagine a god that would let happen the things he saw every day on the job.
“What about this murder, then? Have you changed your mind about Nick since Greely seems so positive?”
Kincaid kept walking for a moment, then said, “I just can’t quite see Nick, or Nick and Faith, committing a deliberate murder. And in this case I think it would have been a bit hard to drown Garnet in a moment of fear or passion.” They had reached the Abbey car park. “Is that Nick’s bookshop?” he asked, pointing across the street. “Jack mentioned his office was upstairs on the corner.”
“It overlooks the Market Square, then. Let’s cross over. Earlier I saw a big used-book shop down the way.” Continuing the thread of their conversation, Gemma asked, “What about Andrew Catesby?”
Kincaid frowned. “No motive. What possible reason could he have for killing Todd, a woman he apparently scarcely knew—”
“Unless he somehow got the idea that she was responsible for his sister’s injuries. But he seemed genuinely shocked by the idea that someone might deliberately have hurt Winnie.”
“Maybe he’s a better actor than we think, and he’s the one who struck Winnie, out of some sort of warped jealousy. Then Garnet found out somehow, and he killed her to shut her up.”
“You’re reaching on that one,” said Gemma. Then she went on more thoughtfully, “When you were asking Winnie about Faith’s parents today, there is a possibility you neglected to mention. Has it occurred to you that the reason Faith won’t name the baby’s father is that—”
“She was abused by her own father? That would certainly explain why she refuses to go home.”
“And it might explain why she’s so set against seeing a doctor. Maybe she’s afraid the baby may have genetic complications.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to have a talk with her parents,” Kincaid agreed. “I’ll run it by Greely, make sure he doesn’t object, and get their name and address. You can be sure he’ll have got that out of Faith today.”
“If Faith was so secretive about her family, how did Nick get her address? Remember, he said he’d even gone looking for her at her parents’ house in Street.” Then, in disappointment, Gemma added, “Oh, the bookshop’s closed.”
“A good thing. You have no room for more books in your flat. You’re right about Nick, though—makes me wonder what else he hasn’t told us.” He stopped and gave an exaggerated sniff. “Is that fish and chips I smell?”
“Don’t tell me you’re hungry again?”
“It was only soup, and that was hours ago.”
“Two, maybe three,” Gemma corrected, smiling. Faith had done her best with Jack’s meager resources, but her pot of soup had not made a particularly generous meal for five people.