A Finer End

somehow.’
    ‘And the people you talked to yesterday — did they corroborate that?’
    ‘They wouldn’t go that far, no. But they did mutter rather furtively about Samhain.’ When Kincaid raised an eyebrow, Nick explained. ‘That’s the Celtic name for All Souls’ Day, or Halloween.’
    ‘And it’s just a few days away,’ Kincaid said thoughtfully. ‘When you say you think Miss Todd meant to "use” Faith, are you talking about a sacrifice of some sort?’
    ‘I — I don’t know. But it can’t matter now, can it?’
    ‘I don’t see how. But I wouldn’t go broadcasting these theories to Inspector Greely.’
    ‘Because he’ll think I’m crazy?’
    ‘Because it gives you a stronger motive to murder Garnet. You have to admit you’ve made no secret of your desire to protect Faith. Who else would go to such lengths—’ Kincaid broke off abruptly, realizing that he knew.
     
    ‘The Archdeacon is coming to lunch,’ Winnie informed him when he returned to Jack’s. ‘She says the Vicarage is going to overflow with covered dishes if we don’t eat some of them. But I thought I could at least set the table.’ She gestured at the clutter covering the oak surface.
    ‘You direct; I’ll clear,’ Kincaid offered. ‘Where’s Jack?’
    ‘He had to give some attention to his practice, poor man. He’s done nothing for almost a week but run back and forth to hospital and wait on me.’
    ‘No luck in the attic this morning?’
    ‘No, but Simon stopped by to see how we were doing. What about you? Did you find Nick?’
    ‘Yes. He’s fine, just doing a bit of investigating on his own.’ He had no intention of sharing Nick’s suspicions about Garnet.
    Seeing Winnie grasp a chair back as if for support, he suspected she was still more wobbly than she liked to admit.
    ‘Okay, you sit,’ he ordered. ‘Now, where are the knives and forks?’
     
    Suzanne Sanborne was an attractive, intelligent-looking woman, slender, with silver-threaded, curly hair. ‘So you’re the famous cousin from Scotland Yard,’ she said, when she had hugged Winnie.
    ‘Archdeacon.’
    ‘Call me Suzanne, please. And help me with these casseroles.’
    They were soon settled round the table for a convivial lunch, aided by the bottle of Bordeaux Kincaid had discovered in Jack’s pantry. Winnie was anxious about her parish obligations, but the Archdeacon was quick to reassure her.
    ‘The last thing you need to do just now is worry. I’ve asked Miles Fleming to fill in when he can, and I’ll take some of your duties myself.’
    ‘But I could at least—’
    ‘Next week we’ll talk about your taking the services,’ Suzanne interrupted in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘But you’re going to have to be patient with yourself.’
    ‘Suzanne,’ Winnie said hesitantly. ‘I know this sounds a stupid question, but have you any idea what I did on Wednesday? I had Jack bring my diary from the Vicarage last night, and I’d written in two sick visits for the morning, and a Deanery Chapter meeting after lunch. This morning I rang everyone up. It seems I kept the morning appointments, but I missed the Chapter meeting altogether.’
    ‘Of course I know what you did!’ Suzanne answered with a chuckle. ‘Why didn’t someone ask me sooner? I asked you to take a bereavement visit.’
    ‘Did you?’ Winnie said blankly.
    ‘In Pilton. You know the vicar was on holiday last week.’ Turning to Kincaid, she explained, ‘I’d have gone myself but I had a Diocesan meeting, so at Winnie’s party I asked her to take it for me.’
    Winnie moaned. ‘This is dreadful. Why can’t I remember?’
    ‘I’m sure you will,’ Suzanne reassured her. ‘My prescription for you is a rest. It looks to me as if you‘ve done far too much today.’ Glancing at her watch, she added, ‘I’ve a meeting, but I can help get you settled, then Duncan can see me out.’
    Very smoothly done, Kincaid thought as they escorted Winnie into the sitting room. When she was comfortably situated on the sofa, Suzanne gave her a last admonition. ‘Now, don’t you worry. Your parish will tick along without you for a few more days.’
    ‘But I’ve a wedding—’
    ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Get some rest.’
    ‘But...’ Winnie’s protest trailed off as her eyelids started to droop. The wine and pasta had done their work well.
    Kincaid and Suzanne stole quietly out and he walked her to her car.
    ‘She really is doing remarkably well,’ Suzanne