C S Lewis and the Body in the Basement (C S Lewis Mysteries Book 1) by Kel Richards

Constable Dixon had taken up his post in front of a millinery shop. As I looked back he turned his attention to the shop window and appeared to become deeply engrossed in ladies’ hats.
    ‘So what’s the plan, Jack?’ hissed Warnie in a theatrical whisper.
    ‘We shall do what any tourist would do. It’s a very old church—we’ll take a look around.’ And as we walked through the lychgate into the churchyard, Jack said in a loud voice, ‘Very old. The main part of the building might be Norman.’
    We made our way to the free-standing bell tower and made a slow circuit around it. There was a wooden door on one side, but when Warnie tested it, it proved to be locked. I hurried to the corner of the tower and looked around it in time to see Constable Dixon striding rapidly across the square in some panic, apparently fearing he might have lost us. As he was looking desperately left and right, Jack stepped out from the behind the tower and gave him a cheerful wave. He responded with an embarrassed nod, and then ostentatiously turned his back on us and began to swing his truncheon rhythmically like a constable walking his beat.
    We ambled slowly across the churchyard, stopping to comment on the oldest of the headstones on our way to the church door.
    ‘Look at this one,’ said Warnie. ‘I rather like this.’
    I stood beside him and looked down at the epitaph on the old, weathered headstone: ‘W E ALL HAVE A DEBT TO NATURE DUE . I’ VE PAID MINE AND SO MUST YOU .’
    ‘A bit grim,’ I said.
    ‘True, nonetheless,’ Warnie chuckled. ‘And here—this one’s an even more awful omen: “Grim death took me without any warning. I was well at night, and dead in the morning.” Does that come from the man’s family, do you think? Or did some stonemason with a sense of humour suggest it?’
    Then we noticed that Jack was not with us—he had disappeared inside the church and we hurried to follow.
    It was a nice little church interior, although very plain, apart from some whimsical carvings on the lectern. Jack walked the length of the aisle and then turned and said, ‘Warnie, take a look out of the window and tell me what our friendly policeman is doing.’
    As Warnie edged along the pews to a window, I muttered, ‘This is like a scene from a Ben Travers farce.’
    Warnie sidled up slowly to a window so that he could see out without being seen, and then said in a low voice, ‘He’s in the churchyard now. He has his hands in his pockets. He has his back to the church. And he appears to be whistling.’
    ‘Excellent,’ said Jack. ‘This is our chance. Let’s see if the vestry door is unlocked.’
    It was. And we left the church on the far side of the building, away from the churchyard. Ahead of us was a narrow lane that ran between the back fences of two rows of terrace houses. We three trotted up this as quickly as we could.
    Several minutes of rapid walking brought us almost to the edge of town. Jack fished Frank Jones’ scribbled map out of his pocket and looked at it for a moment.
    ‘It appears that we keep going this way for the next block,’ he said, ‘then turn left and that should put us on the northern road out of town.’
    A few minutes later we were walking down a narrow country road between high hedgerows, and still going quite quickly—aiming to put as much distance between ourselves and a possibly pursuing Constable Dixon as we could.
    When we reached a low rise, I looked back down the hill towards the town. I could see a lot of winding country road from that height, but no policeman—it was deserted.
    ‘We seem to have lost our faithful constable,’ I said. ‘Now, what direction do we head in?’
    ‘Not entirely certain,’ Jack admitted. ‘Warnie, you know more about maps than I do—take a look at this.’
    Jack handed over the scrap of paper that was our guide and Warnie studied it for a minute. ‘Hmmm, I’m not sure, old chap. I’m used to army maps, not sketch maps like this.’ He