The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

Meli,” she told him.
    “Gordon Jackson. No relation to the actor though,” he introduced himself with a twinkle in his eyes, his thin lips curling up into a humorous grin, revealing a set of large teeth, dazzling white against his dark completion. “I see your lads are out helping Tim again?”
    “Yes, they seem to really enjoy coming here,” Meli smiled
    “Well, Tim certainly seems to like their company, although I suspect that he also enjoys having two such helpful assistants.” Meli thought that his expression was mildly disapproving.
    “Have you been at this church long?” Meli found herself asking.
    “About twelve years now.” As she watched, Gordon loosely crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto his right hip. He didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. This was promising.
    “So you know everyone quite well?”
    “Yes, you could say that,” he cocked his head, studying her with interest now.
    “Do you know much about Elsa Vitty and her background?”
    An understanding smile crossed his features, and his head nodded slightly. “Elsa playing up?”
    “She is definitely a strange kettle of fish,” Meli made the understatement, amazing herself by speaking so calmly when just the thought of her neighbour was enough to cause shivers these days.
    “Elsa used to live quite a normal life, I understand. Married, with two sons.” His eyes screwed up thoughtfully, like rucks in an old pair of boots. “The older son was, well, not normal from what I’ve heard. Died when he was five, an accident on the farm. After that, Elsa went to pieces, becoming more and more strange. But I have to say that she is harmless, she can just be…., well difficult and unpredictable. She’s more a risk to herself. Neglects herself,” he explained on seeing Meli’s baffled look.
    “What happened to her husband and the younger son?” The mention of the two children explained the birthday card.
    “The marriage didn’t survive for long after the bereavement. They left soon after, moved away, although as far as I know they never took that final step and divorced. Terrible really, just terrible.” He shook his head sympathetically.
    Meli nodded.
    “The younger son is buried outside, under the elm tree.” Gordon suddenly volunteered. “I’m sure Tim would show you if you are interested?”
    “Yes, I might ask him some time,” Meli replied, planning in her mind that this would be her next move. She was feeling a buzz of excitement, sensing that she had found her very own mole. No more battles with the immovable Mrs. Barber, and what was more, the vicar didn’t seem to want anything in return. Definitely worth remembering.
    “Well, thanks for the chat,” she cast him an appreciative smile, her mind already busy turning over this new information.
    “Anytime. Always a pleasure.” Uncrossing his arms, totally oblivious to the lift he’d given her, Gordon turned and began to make his way solemnly along the flagstones, his vestments swirling around a pair of brilliant white trainers.

Chapter 18

    Leaving the church was like opening an oven door and stepping inside. This must be how a chicken feels when its stuffed into a gas mark five oven, she decided, as her sweat glands went into action, coating her body in a fine damp sheen. Standing just outside the porch, she scanned the graveyard, looking for her prey. There he was, off to the right, and as far as she could see, he was on his own. Great. Striding towards him, she was only reminded of Quassi, when he called her back with a series of disgruntled yaps.
    “Sorry,” she apologised, seeing the hurt in his eyes, “tut mir leid,” she translated. “Almost forgot you,” she didn’t even try to translate this bit. Quassi would have to start meeting them half way, and learn to comprehend some English. Deftly untying his lead, she set off again, working her way around the graves with single-minded strides.
    Hearing their approach, Tim turned, and raising his hand shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun to check who it was. “Good day, Mrs. Noble,” he touched his forehead in an old fashioned greeting. He wouldn’t call her Meli, even though she had invited him to on several occasions. “If you’re looking for the boys they left about ten minutes ago. Said something about being hungry,” although his lips remained unemotional, his eyes glittered down at her. “And how is our German talking dog?” he enquired. “Guten Nackt,” bending down