“Kind of you, Mrs. Bunting,” said Jack, “but I’ll be kipping at Uncle Hector’s for the next little while. Aldous Winterbottom tells me the electric’s still on and the phone’s still working, so I should be snug as a tick on a sheep’s backside.” His forehead wrinkled as he looked from the vicar to Lilian. “Trouble is, I’m not sure where Uncle Hector lived.”
“He lived in Ivy Cottage,” I informed him. “It’s not far from here. If you’ll drive me home, I’ll point it out to you.”
“Deal,” said Jack. His brilliant grin widened suddenly into a gaping yawn. “Sorry,” he muttered, raising a hand to cover a second yawn. “I reckon jet lag’s caught up with me. I’m knackered.”
“If you’ll come to the vicarage, I’ll give you tea, eggs, bacon—whatever you need for breakfast,” said Lilian. “You can stock your pantry properly when you’ve recovered from your travels.”
“You’re one out of the box, Mrs. Bunting,” said Jack, clapping her on the shoulder.
Sally Pyne stepped forward and said timidly, “I could pack up a bite or two for you, too, Jack.”
“So could I,” Opal Taylor said, sliding neatly in front of Sally. “You’ll be too tired to shop tomorrow—”
“And we can’t let you starve!” gushed Selena Buxton, jostling Opal to one side.
“Cheers, ladies, that’d be great,” said Jack, winking at them.
Sally, Opal, Selena, and the rest of Jack’s fans dispersed to prepare their special offerings for transport. Jack smiled good-naturedly, then focused his attention on a single, unassuming cookie on the edge of his plate. He picked it up and studied it for a moment, then popped the whole thing into his mouth. A faraway look came to his eyes as he chewed.
“Magic,” he said, smacking his lips appreciatively. “I don’t suppose you can tell me who made the Anzac biscuits.”
“That would be Bree Pym,” Lilian informed him. “You may have noticed her in the churchyard—the dark-haired girl with the nose ring.”
“Bree’s from New Zealand,” I said.
“That would explain it,” said Jack. “No one but a true blue Aussie or a can-do Kiwi can make a proper Anzac biscuit. I’ll have to thank Bree for giving me a taste of home.” He craned his neck to scan the room. “Is she here?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Lilian. “Bree remained in the churchyard with our sexton, to fill in your uncle’s grave.”
“Bree helped Mr. Barlow to dig it, too,” said the vicar. “She and Mr. Barlow shared the task of lowering the coffin into its final resting place.”
“That little girl dug a grave?” Jack exclaimed. “She must be stronger than she looks.”
“Word to the wise,” I said. “Don’t call Bree a little girl. She won’t appreciate it and you might live to regret it because, yes, she’s a whole lot stronger than she looks.”
“Point taken,” said Jack.
“Bree’s very fit,” the vicar observed, “but Mr. Barlow is of the opinion that coffin-lowering is a matter of technique rather than strength.”
“Either way, I have a hell of a lot to thank Bree Pym for,” said Jack. “And Mr. Barlow, too. Good thing I’ll be staying on for a bit.” He yawned again and a tide of tiredness dimmed his bright blue eyes.
“Come along,” said Lilian, getting to her feet. “It won’t take me a moment to fill a basket for you at the vicarage. Then you and Lori can be on your way.”
“If Ivy Cottage is in any way deficient,” said the vicar, “please feel free to accept my wife’s invitation to stay with us.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bunting,” said Jack, “but to do my job, I need to be on the spot.”
“Your job?” inquired the vicar.
“Didn’t I say?” said Jack. “I’m here to settle Uncle Hector’s affairs.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t imagine what kind of affairs a quiet, retiring man like Hector Huggins would leave unsettled, but I didn’t press Jack for details. The drive home would give me ample time to conduct a proper interrogation.
Three
The good people of Finch bestowed a whole week’s worth of food upon Jack MacBride as he exited the schoolhouse. The vicar and I helped him to tote the bulging bags and the brimming baskets to his rental car and I watched with interest as he pushed aside a beat-up khaki backpack and a rectangular black box to make room for his bounty.
The black box instantly caught and held my attention. It reminded me of the boxes Bill used to store legal papers for his English clients. I wondered if it contained the papers Aldous Winterbottom had delivered to Jack at Heathrow and whether those papers concerned Hector Huggins’s unsettled affairs. Given half a chance, I would have taken a quick peek inside, but I wasn’t given any chance at all.
Before I could so much as bend down for a closer look at the box, Lilian was beside me, placing the promised supply of staples in the trunk. With a sigh, I closed the trunk, climbed into the car, and waited for Jack to say his good-byes to the Buntings. I waved to Lilian and the vicar as Jack took his place behind the steering wheel, then directed him to drive toward the humpbacked bridge.
“I appreciate the lift,” I said. “Bill took the boys home in our car. If it weren’t for you, I’d have a damp two-mile walk ahead of me.”