Bea took in the view as they walked over a small wooden bridge and made their way up the crest of the hill towards the church. The weathered wrought iron gates were an impressive entrance to the graveyard, and the gardens within were well maintained, with paths weaving between the graves.
‘What’s the plan?’ she asked, spreading her arms wide. ‘It’s a big area to cover.’
‘We split up and meet in the middle. I’ll go to the back and you start here. If we walk up and down horizontally, we should cover each grave.’
‘And we are looking for a Patsy, preferably with her surname beginning with G.’
‘See, you’re showing signs of being a good detective,’ he teased, before following the path towards the back of the churchyard.
Bea began to walk up and down and immediately noticed that some graves were immaculately looked after whilst others were overgrown, making it difficult to read the names. It took a little under an hour to meet in the middle. Neither of them had spotted a grave with the name Patsy.
‘Maybe it’s worth asking the vicar. Surely there will be records?’ suggested Bea.
‘Yes, but all we have is a first name, an initial for the surname and no date of birth. He might not be able to find her.’ Nolan’s tone was wreathed with disappointment.
‘Why are you sounding so defeatist? Surely this is a good thing?’
‘How do you make that out?’
‘She’s not dead, you wally!’
Nolan laughed. ‘I hadn’t actually thought of that.’
‘Call yourself a detective?’ She rolled her eyes.
‘But how do we know she even stayed in this area? It could be that she’s buried somewhere else.’
‘We don’t know for sure, but I’ve got a gut feeling she’s here in the Heartcross area. And on average, women live longer than men so there is a good chance she is still alive – and don’t forget we have the address from the logbook.’
‘I’ve forgotten to bring that with me.’
‘It’s a good job I haven’t then.’ Bea took out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, on which she’d jotted down the address. ‘If we walk that way, past The Old Bakehouse, and turn left onto the main high street, it’s going to take us about forty minutes to get there. Alternatively, we can jump on the river taxi? They run all the way until midnight and I might even be able to get us a discount.’
‘Now you’re talking.’
* * *
Within twenty minutes they were walking down towards the jetty and joining the queue for the river taxi. Roman welcomed everyone on board and when he got to Bea and Nolan, he pulled the rope across behind them. ‘Made it by the skin of your teeth. The boat is full. You’re the last two.’
‘Roman, can I introduce you to Nolan?’
‘You can.’ Roman extended his hand. ‘I’m Roman. Are you—’
Bea sensed that he was going to say ‘together’ and she quickly interjected, ‘Nolan owns The Hemingway.’
‘I was wondering who that wonderful boat belonged to. It’s a beauty!’ Roman shook Nolan’s hand. ‘If you’re ever doing tours, I’d love to have a look.’
‘Pop over and take a look anytime.’
‘I’ll do just that. I’ve admired it from afar since you arrived. Are you sticking around for the River Festival?’
Nolan nodded. ‘That’s the plan, leaving the morning after.’
‘By my reckoning, it’s going to be very busy this year with the glorious weather – it brings everyone out in their droves. I mean, look at this boat … every time, full to the brim. Most are off to The Lake House restaurant hoping for a spot on the roof terrace. Make sure you don’t leave Heartcross without giving it a visit. People travel from far and wide to eat there.’
‘And it’s usually full of celebrities too.’ Bea had been reading up on it. It had been very famous decades ago and was frequented not only by the rich and famous but also by royalty. ‘How long has Flynn owned the restaurant?’ asked Bea, wondering whether he would be a good person to chat to about Patsy.
‘Only for the last five years. There’s a couple of seats next to me, do you fancy a ride up front?’
