The Rev Garth Williams gazed out of his vicarage window, across the lawn to the church beyond. The parish of St Paul’s, situated in a rural area of NSW had been under his care for nearly eight years. His parishioners were not overly wealthy, but they were hard working and devoted to Garth, his wife Louise, and God.
The howling wind and the sorrowful day ahead had kept Garth awake much of the night. He was to officiate at the burial of one of his oldest, dearest and richest parishioners, Constance Frost, a woman in her eighties who was always accompanied by her closest companion, her corgi Queenie. Constance doted on Queenie, who was thoroughly indulged, her neck always adorned by an extremely valuable diamond and sapphire encrusted collar which she wore as she lay at her owner’s feet as she played the organ at every church service. Garth frequently warned Constance that it was foolhardy of her to endow Queenie with such an extremely valuable collar.
“An unscrupulous person, looking for easy money, could easily grab Queenie wearing that collar, Constance.”
She would smile, saying, “Dear boy, God will protect her.”
Garth made his way down the vicarage stairs for breakfast, praying the sun would break through the clouds and lighten everyone’s day. He would miss Constance deeply as would the rest of his ‘flock.’
The sound of the vicarage phone broke his reverie. “It’s for you,” Louise called from the kitchen.
“That’s not good… you’ll keep me posted… okay fine,” Garth’s reply was concise. “That was Constance’s son, Martin. Queenie has gone missing,” he told Louise, shaking his head, a worried look on his face. “Martin said Queenie had her breakfast, wearing the collar, of course. She has now completely disappeared. Such a temptation for anyone looking for a quick buck! There are just so many unscrupulous people around. I know Constance’s gardener Harry has a gambling problem, plus her granddaughter, Gwenda has been a constant worry for Constance always asking for handouts. She’s here for the funeral. Queenie is worth a fortune with that damn collar on. Then there’s…”
Louise interrupted Garth. “Stop, listen to yourself. Queenie will be sitting at the church door. For goodness, go and check. If she isn’t, then you can ’officially worry’ and phone the police.”
As Louise predicted, Queenie was found in the church, hiding under the organ but wouldn’t let anyone near her, she especially growled at Gwenda, who sat in the front row and tried to pick her up several times. Queenie’s snarled and showed her teeth. The diamond and sapphire collar was missing from her neck.
Garth had no choice but to begin the funeral service. Queenie settled down momentarily when the organist began playing but when the casket was moved into place, she ran over, whimpered and sat close to it, her head in her paws. Garth was heart-broken, but he pulled himself together as he commenced the service. He noted the pain on Martin’s face and even Harry the gardener appeared sad, but Gwenda sat stoic, showing no sign of compassion.
‘Could this be the behaviour of a thief?’ He thought to himself. Looking into the faces of the mourners as they filed out, he offered his condolences, firmly believing none of them would do wrong by Constance.
‘If it is Gwenda who stole Queenie’s collar, we may be able to catch her out some way. I’ll talk to my friend Detective Inspector Mark Whitehead, after the service and he can advise us if we should call the police or investigate further ourselves.’
“What did the autopsy say was the cause of death?” Mark opened the notepad on his desk and held the pen poised and ready.
“Ahh, err, ahh, I don’t think it would have occurred to the doctor that an autopsy was necessary,” Garth stammered. It hadn’t occurred to him either. “She was an old lady Mark, had had heart problems for some time…seemed quite well and enjoying life lately though, I must say… Good grief, I never thought there could be anything suspicious. Is that what you mean?”
“Just checking bases. Did she die at home?”
“Apparently Gwenda, her granddaughter, called in and found her feeling poorly and rang an ambulance. She died in hospital.” Garth put his hand to his head, he suddenly felt confused.
“A pity,” Mark mused. “If she’d died at home they’d have done an autopsy.”
“Queenie was so attached to her. She was acting very strangely in the church, growling and obviously showing aggression to Gwenda. Gwenda is a pretty cold woman, doesn’t display her emotions at all. A cold cookie as they say.” The more Garth thought about it the more concerned he became.
“Do you think she’d steal from her grandmother, or worse?” Mark said. “She might have seen an opportunity and taken the collar after the ambulance left, or … she could have hastened her grandmother’s demise. If the old lady had heart problems aggressive behaviour, if not direct violence, would be enough to bring on a heart attack. Do you know if anyone else was at her house that day?”
“There is a gardener, chap by the name of Harry. Bit of an unpredictable character, gambling problem I believe. Constance was very wealthy, lived in a large house with beautiful gardens. I believe Harry was employed full time. Then there is her son, Martin…nice chap, family man…”
“You said Gwenda is here for the funeral, where does she live?” Mark interjected.
“Only 100 or so kilometres away, she is a nurse at the hospital in Coolah,” Garth rubbed his head. “I think she visits quite regularly. That’s odd that Queenie is acting so strangely towards her, isn’t it? She must know her quite well.”
“What do we do?” Garth mused. “I don’t want to involve the police just on a suspicion. Constance was a dear friend to Louise and me, maybe I’m reading something into this that isn’t there?”
“Maybe we could do a bit of sleuthing ourselves, I’m good at that.” Mark grinned. “How about we go round to Constance’s house now, you can say you’re just checking everyone is okay. I am guessing Martin and Gwenda will be there clearing the house, a visit from the Vicar wouldn’t be unusual in the circumstances. I’d like to have a chat to that gardener too, what’s his name, Harry is it?”
“Yes, Harry,” Garth brightened up. “Thanks Mark, I can introduce you as my friend. Let’s go.”
Fifteen minutes later, Garth introduced Mark to Harry. After a short conversation with Harry, Mark’s experience as a long-serving police officer told him the man was genuinely upset at Constance’s death. “At this stage, Garth, I don’t think Harry is worth pursuing. Yes, he may have money problems, but I think he had too much respect for Constance and stealing a dog collar would be the last thing on his mind. My gut tells me we should be looking closer to home for our thief.”
Garth nodded. “I agree. Harry’s grief is genuine.”
As the two men walked towards the house, Mark received a phone call.
“Well, that was interesting,” he told Mark. “I asked my sergeant Rob Archer to make a few enquiries concerning your late parishioner’s family. All was not as rosy as you thought, Garth.”
“Really?”
“Yep, prior to his mother’s death, Martin had been in touch with an aged rights organisation regarding his concerns his daughter, Gwenda was harassing Constance. He believed she was attempting to coerce her grandmother into changing her will.”
“Goodness me! Constance never gave an inkling that was going on. She always seemed in control. However, since her passing, it’s Queenie, the corgi whose behaviour has been odd. I’ve noticed that whenever Gwenda goes near her she growls and bares her teeth. I’d warned Constance regularly about the possibility someone could grab the corgi’s valuable collar. She repeatedly assured me God would protect her.”
“Garth, you’ve always been such a trusting soul. Desperate people do desperate things and I think Queenie is telling us something. Come on, I want to meet this corgi and, more importantly, Gwenda.”
At the rear of Constance’s house, Garth and Mark found Martin throwing rubbish into a skip.
“Hi, Martin, how’s it going? This is my friend Mark, a great lover of corgis. Is it okay if I introduce him to Queenie?”
Martin nodded. “Absolutely, she’s definitely missing my mother and certainly doesn’t like Gwenda. I can’t understand it. Come in.”
Loud barking and growling greeted the men as they entered the house.
“Not again?” Martin was visibly upset as he hurried toward the kitchen, followed by Garth and Mark.
The kitchen door swung open. Gwenda emerged carrying Queenie’s basket. She was followed by the growling corgi baring her teeth. “What on earth is going on, Gwenda? What are you doing with Queenie’s basket? I’ve had enough of this. Settle down, Queenie,” Martin said, as he attempted to pick up the corgi.
There was, however, no stopping the normally docile Queenie. She continued growling, snapping at Gwenda’s heels, in an attempt to trip her up.
“This isn’t like Queenie,” remarked Garth. “What have you done to make her carry on like this, Gwenda?”
Gwenda glared at Garth. “Get out of my way, you sanctimonious, interfering man,” she shouted.
Queenie snapped again at Gwenda’s heels, sending her sprawling across the floor, the contents of the dog’s basket falling at Garth’s feet. The sunlight picked up the gleam of the sparkling diamonds and the crystals trapped within the azure sapphires.
Gwenda scrambled to her feet, trying to swoop up the gemstones; Garth barred her way. “Whoa up there, Gwenda. I’ll take care of this little collection. If I’m not mistaken we have before us the stones that make up Queenie’s missing collar.”
Gwenda turned to escape through the kitchen door. Mark Whitehead barred her way.
“May I introduce myself, Mark Whitehead, police officer and very good friend of the Rev Garth Williams. Where exactly do you think you are rushing off to? You have some explaining to do, young lady.”
Gwenda opened her mouth to speak; Queenie lunged at her feet. “Get that creature off me,” Gwenda yelled. Queenie continued to snarl loudly. “I hate her as much as I disliked my grandmother. It’s been all about damn Queenie and my father. She never liked me. She told me I wouldn’t inherit much of her money. She called me irresponsible – me, how dare she say that? I even tried to persuade her to alter her Will. When she refused, I decided I would look after my own future by stealing that ridiculous collar hanging around Queenie’s neck.
It constantly reminded me that my grandmother cared more for that damn dog than she did me!”
“That’s enough, Gwenda,” Mark observed. “As far as I can see, Queenie is one smart corgi and you, young lady, will now accompany me to the local police station where we will take a statement from you. It will be up to your family to decide if they want to press charges.”
Martin sighed with relief. “Thank you. I think my mother’s wishes, God rest her soul, were well documented in her Will. There is no evidence to link Gwenda to Mum’s death. She would have said, ‘let sleeping dogs lie.’ Hopefully, Gwenda and I can sort things out.”
The Rev. Garth Williams smiled. “Constance would have expected nothing less and would, if she were still here, say ‘every dog really does have its day!’ Thank you, Queenie.”
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