Church Choirs Can Be Murder: A Saffron Weald Mystery (Saffron Weald Mystery Series Book 2) by Ann Sutton

Author:Ann Sutton [Sutton, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wild Poppy Publishing
Published: 2024-06-14T00:00:00+00:00

What with one thing and another, the next time the twins made it to the church was for their inaugural Sunday School class. They entered the classroom containing four pint-sized chairs with some trepidation.

One little girl wriggled in her seat then pulled her dress right over her head revealing much more of next week’s washing than was decent. The boy next to her picked his nose, his clear hazel eyes not leaving Ophelia’s. Another girl with red pigtails smiled sweetly, revealing a gap in her front teeth, and a boy with dark curls and piercing blue eyes offset by a brush of freckles, swung his legs. Prudence Cresswell had assured them they had been given the best-behaved class, but Ophelia was beginning to wonder.

Of the opinion that Imogen had prepared far too many activities, Ophelia was more than grateful they had enough to keep the young children’s attention after a rather rocky start.

Exhausted and feeling in dire need of immediate refreshment after class ended, they hobbled over to the church for the worship service. The vicar still looked peaky, and his sermon lacked its usual vigor. More than once Imogen felt herself nod off and Ophelia’s dry mouth and scratchy throat made it difficult for her to sing. She was thankful the choir was not performing as part of the service today.

By their second cup of tea in fellowship hall, they were feeling restored when the vicar came over to sit by them.

“I have to tell you, I’ve been up at night wondering what Septimus came to you about,” he began, his pointed nose quivering with inquisitiveness. “Is it something that places my congregation in danger?” He made a bridge with his long fingers. “I feel a keen responsibility for the welfare of my flock, you know.” None of the vicar’s features offered a sense of completion and as such were unable to conjure up any sort of determined expression.

A slight tip of the head from Imogen signaled Ophelia to take over the conversation.

“Obviously, there has been a murder,” she began. “A violent act of aggression. However, we are of the opinion that Septimus may just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A deadly coincidence, if you will. We don’t believe the murderer was loitering with the intent to commit the deed against Septimus. Does that ease your concerns, Reverend Cresswell?”

He ran a hand down his homely face. “A little, I suppose. Did you find anything useful at his cottage?’

They had decided to keep the information about the love letters to themselves for the time being. “Septimus was an immaculate housekeeper with very few personal items,” responded Ophelia. “Do you know anything of his background?”

“He grew up in an orphanage in Sussex. He was given the name Septimus because he was the seventh baby boy to be left there that year. A man without roots.” He pressed his fingers together. “You may be interested to know that he was an amateur philosopher. We spent many an evening talking in intellectual circles.

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