Written In Blood

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Melissa was oblivious to her grandmother's presence, she had no idea her grandmother was there, despite her name being called repeatedly, until a hand landed on her shoulder. The touch shocked her out of her reverie so violently that she jumped visibly.

"I'm sorry, Melissa," Constance apologised as she sank onto the pew next to her granddaughter. "I didn't mean to make you jump. You didn't seem to know I was here."

"I didn't," Melissa said with an apologetic smile. "I was lost in my own little world. I started off in the café, and the next thing I knew, I was in here."

"It must be serious, whatever it is that's got you thinking so hard, I don't normally see you in here." Constance meant it only as a general comment, but couldn't help sounding faintly accusatory as she looked around the nearly empty church. "I don't see many people in here during the week, and especially on a Monday morning; most folk seem to think they get enough church on a Sunday to last them through the week." As though sensing how embarrassed she was making Melissa, she switched subjects and asked, "So, what is it that has you so troubled that you've come to church to try and figure it out?"

Melissa's eyes strayed from her grandmother to Father Wozniak, who was pottering around, doing his daily housekeeping chores.

Constance grasped her granddaughter's concern without Melissa needing to say anything; the priest was about twenty feet away, but the acoustics were such that when the church was as empty as it was then, a whisper could be heard from anywhere. If that wasn't bad enough, Father Wozniak was a man who loved to gossip, and one who considered anything said outside of the confessional to be fair game for passing on to anyone who might have an interest in it. He dispensed good advice, but no-one went to him unless they were okay with everyone in the village knowing what they gone to him about within a few hours of them seeking advice.

"Why don't you come back to my place for a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake; you don't have to go to work, do you?"

Melissa shook her head. "No, I don't have to be at the station until later, I'm down for the afternoon shift; though I suppose that could change, with everything that's happened. Still, nobody's called to say they need me in this morning." She got to her feet and took her grandmother's hand to help her up.

*****

It didn't take long to get from the church to Constance's house, and once there Melissa took a seat at the table in the kitchen, while her grandmother bustled about, making tea and setting out a plate of biscuits and cake. Melissa would have helped, even made the tea herself, but she knew better than to offer; despite being almost eighty, her grandmother was a proud and vigorous woman, who insisted on doing everything possible for herself, claiming that it was good for her to keep busy.

Nothing much was said by either woman until the pot had been filled and set in the middle of the table; the cups were ready in front of each of them, and where was nothing else that needed doing right then, other than to let the tea stew for a short while.

"So, what is it that has you so troubled that you're lost in thought in the church first thing on a Monday morning?" Constance asked of her granddaughter. "Something to do with recent events, I take it."

"Yeah." Melissa nodded. "The murders, and the shooting next door last night, and – and everything; at first I didn't think Mr Wild was the killer, he seems too nice, but now I'm not sure, and I think Sergeant Mitchell had something to do with the attack on Mr Wild last night. Oh, I don't mean he was the one doing the shooting or anything like that," she said quickly. "It's just that I think he knows who did it, and he knew it was going to happen before it did, and I think he knew Oliver was going to attack Mr Wild on Saturday." The words tumbled from her mouth with little coherency. "It's all so complicated, and I don't know what to think or do."