1 A Motive for Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

Man of Fingest. I'd like to do that one first to get it out of the way, to leave me to concentrate on the others. Do you know where Fingest is? It's in Buckinghamshire."
    Douglas laughed. "Not only do I know where Fingest is, I have some information for you, and you'll love it! How about I come for you at 1?"
    After he left, I called the Flowermead Medical Clinic to ask if Aunt Beth had suffered a heart condition, but the receptionist informed me that she was not allowed to give out such information, even after Aunt Beth's death and even to relatives.

 
     
    Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.
    (Robert A. Heinlein)
    Chapter 5 .
     
    Douglas and I were on a narrow road speeding on our way in a deep blue Bentley turbo. I had no idea that English roads were so narrow, or that the gorgeous and green countryside was so vast. Australia is the same size as mainland USA, and I had always been under the impression that England was small and cramped. To my growing surprise, mile after mile of rolling fields gave lie to this assumption.
    Douglas had met me at the house and handed me over a photocopied page, on the top of which someone had noted in blue pen, "Handbook to the Cathedrals of England, original edition, John Murray, Albemarle Street, London, 1862."
    I was reading this now as we sped along. I didn't see the relevance. It was about a Bishop at Tinghurst stealing the land of his neighbors. "I don't get it; what does this have to do with Fingest?"
    Douglas turned to me and flashed a smile at me. I had always thought "flashing a smile" to be a very silly expression, but when Douglas did it, it made perfect sense. He looked like a toothpaste commercial, sparkles and all. He must have spent a fortune on tooth whitening at the dentist. I made a mental note to see if he could frown. I'm not into guys that have been botoxed; call me old-fashioned.
    Douglas reached across and patted my knee, interrupting my deliberations. "Tinghurst is the old Saxon name for Fingest. Christian influence has turned the pagan Green Man into the ghost of Bishop Burghersh."
    Sadly, at this point, Douglas took his hand off my knee, but at the speed at which he was driving, this may have been a good thing.
    I'd heard about the Green Man and wanted to impress Douglas with my knowledge. I was still a little embarrassed about telling him that I was a paranormal journalist. "Oh yes, the pagan Green Man. I did an article on him for the magazine last year and was going to tie this in with the Green Man of Fingest. I collected a lot of images for the article too. Most of the carvings showed him as a head with leaves growing from his face and hair and sometimes from his mouth. Two or three of them even had him with antlers. Seems he was everywhere in ancient times!"
    Douglas swerved to miss a truck that was a little too wide for the narrow English road. "Quite so, and today many pagans know him as the Horned God. Gerald Garner, who was the father of modern Wicca, said the Horned God is the go-between between a supreme being and people."
    Douglas paused for breath then launched straight back into his list of facts. "Actually, there was no god in ancient times known as a horned god, although some disagree over this. The anthropologist Margaret Murray wrote that the Horned God was worshipped by a European witchcraft-based cult, and that the medieval Church turned him into the Devil."
    His voice was mellow and honeyed, and mesmerizing, but I interrupted. "You sound like a walking, talking Google! You're full of facts."
    "I hope I wasn't boring you."
    I giggled like a silly schoolgirl, thinking how absurd it would be that anyone would find Douglas boring. "It's fascinating," I lied. "But what does this have to do with Bishop Whatsit?"
    "Bishop Whatsit took over three hundred acres of common land for his own use, and as you'd expect, this caused hardship for the community. After he died, the Bishop's ghost