7 A Tasteful Crime (14 page)

Penelope answered the door at Christopher's house. She still wore the apron she had sported the day before for 'Open Kitchen'.

For just an instant Amaryllis considered the possibility that Penelope was trying to worm her way into Christopher's affections by staying on in his house, but it was easy to dismiss that idea. Deirdre, on the other hand...

She pushed her petty jealousy aside.

'Has Christopher gone out yet? I need to speak to him.'

'What's wrong?' said Penelope. Her gaze travelled past Amaryllis and skimmed over Jock, fastening on Darren, who was just coming in at the garden gate.  She gave a little gasp.
‘Has something happened to Tricia?'

'She's been arrested,' said Amaryllis.

'Oh no! Surely not!’ said Penelope. She held the door open. 'Come in... Come in. The men are having their breakfast. I always believe in giving a man a good breakfast before he goes out to face the day.'

Amaryllis counted to twenty. She couldn't believe how old-fashioned Penelope was.

'What about women?' said Jock as he entered Christopher's hallway. 'Don't they need a good breakfast too?'

'Yes, of course,' said Penelope hastily.
'I'm the last person to deny anybody a good breakfast, regardless of gender. Why don't I put some more bacon on?'

She patted Darren's shoulder as he went past. He flinched.

'Now, Darren, you know you can always talk to Zak and me about things,' she said, and bustled past the others in to the kitchen. Zak and Christopher were sitting at the table. Christopher looked up at the intruders with no enthusiasm.

‘Tricia’s been arrested,’ said Amaryllis.

Christopher looked down at his plate of bacon and eggs. ‘I thought that might happen,’ he said.

‘We’ll have to get her out,’ said Amaryllis.

‘Those cells in the police station are no place for a woman,’ said Jock.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Penelope, taking a packet of bacon out of the fridge. ‘They’re not so bad. Keith Burnet makes a good cup of coffee.’

Amaryllis stared at Penelope. She had forgotten until that moment that the woman had recent personal experience of being in the rather flexible custody of the police in Pitkirtly. It was such an unlikely thing to have happened that she realised she had almost expunged it from her memory.

Or was th
e fact that she had forgotten yet another sign of galloping old age?

Jock slumped down at the kitchen table next to Christopher. Darren pulled a chair over so that he could sit next to Zak.

‘All right, mate?’ said Zak. Darren nodded unconvincingly.

‘Hadn’t you better let Rosie know you won’t be at work today?’ said Penelope to Darren. ‘Unless you’d rather just go up
to the cattery anyway – sometimes work can take your mind off things.’

Sometimes work might do the opposite, Amaryllis reflected, glancing at Christopher, who was prodding unhappily at a congealed fried egg. She thought he had probably seen more than enough of his workplace over the weekend. Not to mention Deirdre. Oh, please don’t mention Deirdre.

‘We met Giancarlo down by the harbour,’ she said brightly. ‘He’s grown up very nicely. Of course I never could resist Italian men.’

Too late she understood that this train of thought had been connected inexorably to
the previous one about Deirdre. But as attempts to make a man jealous went, this one was just pathetic. She briefly considered, and rapidly discarded, the idea of leaping on Jock McLean and ravishing him, but it was too bizarre an idea for now. She would save it for an even direr emergency.

‘Oh really, Amaryllis,’ said Penelope, stepping back from the cooker to avoid bacon splatters. ‘That’s just cradle-snatching.’

‘It was only a joke,’ muttered Amaryllis. ‘Can I make some toast?’

‘It’s all right, dear,’ said Penelope. ‘I’m just going to do that. How many slices, Christopher?’

‘I don’t want any, thanks, Penelope. I’d better get going. I’ve got to try and pacify the librarians before we open up. I think some books were mis-shelved when we tidied up yesterday.’

‘That’s the least of your worries, Mr Wilson,’ said Zak. ‘Mrs McPherson doesn’t know about the hole in the quilt yet.’

Penelope gasped in horror. ‘A hole in the quilt? Maisie Sue’s going to be very cross.’

‘No, she’s not,’ said Darren with confidence. ‘Mrs McPherson’s round at the police station too.
Helping with their enquiries.’

‘Of course,’ said Jock. ‘I’d forgotten she was there too.’

Somehow, thought Amaryllis, Maisie Sue had gone from being the odd one out, square peg in a round hole, the stranger in their midst, to someone who was so much part of the fabric of their lives that they had almost ceased to notice her. She wondered if she too had reached that stage. Maybe that helped to explain why Christopher had been paying so much attention to his ex-wife.

She resolved immediately to do something so outrageous that they would no longer be able to ignore her. Running over Deirdre’s megaphone had just been childish and silly. A grand gesture was required here.

‘Hey!’ said Zak. ‘Maybe we can fix the quilt before she sees it.’

That wasn’t the kind of gesture Amaryllis had in mind. Apart from anything else, she suspected her quilting skills were at around the same level as her knitting – that of a slightly backward beginner. ‘We need Jan,’ she said. ‘She could do that.’

‘Good idea,’ said Christopher, and she was pathetically grateful for this small sign of approval.

Amaryllis didn’t like being pathetic. She would prefer people to view her with admiration and perhaps a touch of fear.
She got up from the table without waiting for the toast.

Christopher got up too and put on his jacket in the hall. She found herself walking down the path with him. At the gate, he turned and stared at her. ‘You’re not going to blow up the police stat
ion, are you?’

‘Of course not!’ she snapped. ‘Where on earth would I get the explosives now I’ve left the service?’

‘That’s all that’s stopping you, is it?’

‘No! Innocent people could be harmed. I quite like Keith Burnet. And the sergeant – is he still there?’

‘That’s all right then.’

They walked along the s
treet together for a little way, then there were running footsteps behind them and Zak called, ‘Wait for me, Mr Wilson!’

‘See you later,’ said Amaryllis, and walked off in the direction she knew he wouldn’t be going in, because it led to a strip of woodland with a very old notice warning off trespassers. And anyway, it was in the opposite direction from the Cultural Centre. She hoped he would start worrying about what she might be planning to do there.

She herself didn’t yet know, which was extremely annoying.

Chapter 17 Usually the wife

Zak talked incessantly about the case on the way down the High Street. Either he had been secretly reading detective stories or he had spent more time with Amaryllis than Christopher was aware of. He seemed to think of it as a classical detective mystery.

‘They usually suspect the wife, don’t they?’
he said. ‘Only I suppose Mrs McLaughlin had a cast-iron alibi, being live on air all the time.’

‘Mmm,’ said Christopher, clenching his fists inside his jacket pockets. He didn’t really want to punch Zak, who was a pleasant young man now that he had outgrown his gangster phase, and who had never deserved to have Liam Johnstone as a father, but he found all this very irritating.

‘But then it might be the person we least suspect,’ said Zak. ‘And that would be Deirdre or Oscar, wouldn’t it? And if he was poisoned...’

‘We don’t even know if he was yet,’ said Christopher.

‘But if they’ve arrested Darren’s Mum and Mrs McPherson,’ said Zak, ‘they must think he was.’

‘If he was poisoned,’ said Christopher, ‘then it could have happened at Jemima’s or – um – somewhere else. It could have been a slow-acting poison.’

He could have kicked himself for joining in with Zak’s game. He had only just managed to avoid saying it might have been Penelope who did the poisoning. The last thing these two needed was to get into the clutches of the police again.

‘You mean it could have been Mum who did it?’ said Zak, wide-eyed. ‘I never thought of that.’

‘That isn’t what I meant,’ said Christopher. ‘But just think about it. If you start speculating like this then it could lead anywhere. Even somewhere that you don’t like.’

‘Amaryllis is always speculating about things,’ said Zak.

‘That doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do!’ snapped Christopher.

He was even more irritated when, as they approached the Cultural Centre across the car park, a big dark car drew up and disgorged Deirdre and Oscar, now apparently inseparable.
Why hadn’t they left Pitkirtly yet? He supposed the police had told them not to.

‘Morning,’ he said, trying not to sound over-enthusiastic. They probably hadn’t come to help clear up.

‘Have you got the keys?’ said Oscar abruptly.

‘The keys?’

‘For the building. We need to get our equipment out of there.’

‘You’re leaving, are you?’

Oscar glared at him. ‘We’re not allowed to leave town, as you well know. But we can load up the van while we’re waiting. Ken’s coming down in a while. And Maria,’ he added, almost as an afterthought.

Christopher wondered how Maria felt about Deirdre and Oscar spending time together.
Then he wondered why he was wondering. It wasn’t like him to speculate about people’s relationships. But he reasoned that it was only natural for him to feel some interest in what Deirdre was doing these days. The fact that he hadn’t had any interest in her for years made him feel obscurely guilty now.

‘Where’s Charlotte?’ said Deirdre.

‘Oh, I think she’s back at the hotel, packing. She says she wants to get out of this place as quickly as possible... She’s still freaked out by what happened to Eric.’

‘How do you think I feel?’ said Deirdre.

‘Yes, I know, but Charlotte’s so much younger....’ Oscar’s voice tailed off as the expression on Deirdre’s face hardened. Christopher remembered that transition well. It used to signal the end of negotiations and the start of throwing things. But maybe, he told himself, Deirdre had grown up since then.

They had been walking towards the Cultural Centre as they spoke, and now they were at the front door. One of the librarians
, Catriona, was already waiting to get in. Damn, no chance now to clear up before they all arrived. No doubt she had done this on purpose to try and catch him out.

Christopher got out the keys as calmly as he could – only dropping them twice – and opened up the big doors.

‘Goodness,’ said Catriona, peering in. ‘I didn’t know you’d changed everything round over the weekend.’

‘Yes, well...,’ Christopher began.

‘Some of the books might be in the wrong places,’ Zak interrupted. ‘Just a few. I can help you get sorted out if you want, before the others get here.’

‘It’s better if it gets done by somebody who knows where everything goes,’ said the librarian, walking forward into the foyer and down the corridor. She glanced towards the office, ‘Oh, dear, Mr Wilson, you’ve got your work cut out in there.’

She walked on towards the library, switching lights on as she went.

Zak was following
Catriona as the others headed for the office, when she started screaming.

‘Mr Wilson!’ Zak called back down the corridor. ‘I think you’d better come and have a look.’

Christopher thought he would really rather not, but as usual his sense of responsibility triumphed over his reluctance to get involved. He walked forward. To his annoyance, Deirdre and Oscar followed him. He turned and remonstrated mildly. ‘I really don’t think...’

‘We’ve just as much right,’ said Oscar over his shoulder.

Catriona and Zak stood in the library doorway.

The tall shelf unit
which had contained the big dictionaries and encyclopaedias had fallen down right across the aisle between ‘Languages’ and ‘Biography’. And underneath it lay a woman, face down.

‘Oh, my God!’ said Oscar, dashing forward.

‘Maria!’ moaned Deirdre, just behind Christopher, and there was a thud as she hit the floor.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Christopher.
He ignored Deirdre for the moment and said to Zak, ‘Get Catriona out of here. The staff tea-room. Stay there. Phone the police. And an ambulance. No. A doctor.’

He didn’t
know if paramedics or a doctor would be of any use, but he knew it was something you just had to do under these circumstances.

Oscar was leaning down towards Maria. He caught Christopher’s eye. ‘Can we get this off her?’

‘I’m not sure that it’s...’

‘We’ve got to! As long as there’s any chance...’

Considering how still the woman was and the fact that there was a pool of blood by her head, Christopher thought there was no longer a chance, but he couldn’t deny Oscar this tiny shred of hope. He moved forward and together they heaved the shelf unit upright. It wasn’t so heavy now that the dictionaries and encyclopaedias had spilled out all over the floor. He wondered how it had fallen. The last time he had seen it, the whole thing had been secured to the wall.

Oscar crouched down
and turned Maria on her side while Christopher went round to the back of the shelves and examined the fixings. They were broken – no, not broken, sliced through, because all the breaks were completely even, leaving sharp edges that were dangerous in themselves.

‘She’s
cold,’ said Oscar, standing up again. He was frowning, but not distraught. ‘It’s too late... I don’t know what happened here. Her face is all twisted and swollen – and there’s a head injury,’ he added in a doom-laden voice. He looked accusingly at Christopher. ‘How the hell did this happen?’

‘I don’t think you should have moved her,’ said Christopher, trying to remember all the things you shouldn’t do at a crime scene. He and Oscar between them had probably done at least half of them by now.

He looked at Maria and wished he hadn’t. Now that he could see her face, he couldn’t avoid observing the swollen lips, the distorted expression and all the grey deadness of it.

‘What’s happened to Deirdre?’ said Oscar suddenly.

‘Oh, she fainted in the corridor,’ said Christopher. ‘I suppose I’d better see if she’s all right.’

He made his legs carry him back to where his former wife was starting to stir. Well, at least she was still alive. He wondered why Oscar apparently hadn’t noticed Maria’s absence
at an earlier stage. But maybe their lives had been less closely entwined than he had imagined. Not that he had imagined very much about them and their lifestyle. There had been too many other things to think about.

Deirdre groaned, tried to sit up and slumped back to the floor.

‘Would you like some water?’ he asked.

‘Mmm,’ she said.

Zak came back down the corridor. ‘The police are on their way. Is she all right?’ He indicated Deirdre.

‘I think so,’ said Christopher, just as Deirdre opened her eyes again and said, ‘No,’ very firmly.

‘Do you want some water?’ Zak asked her.

‘Yes, please,’ she whispered.

Zak returned to the staff tea-room while Christopher helped her to sit up and lean on the wall. He didn’t enjoy touching her lean, muscular shoulders. She seemed to have metamorphed into a Russian weightlifter since he had last met her. Well, maybe not a weightlifter. A gymnast, possibly.

He sat down too and leaned on the wall next to her.

‘Is Maria – dead?’ said Deirdre.

He nodded.

‘She wasn’t at breakfast,’ added Deirdre after a moment.

Christopher wasn’t really surprised by this revelation. ‘When did you last see her?’ he enquired, hoping he sounded casual and not like some sort of KGB interrogator.

Deirdre frowned. ‘Well, she wasn’t in the hotel bar last night. Oscar said she was in her room. But I suppose maybe he hadn’t actually seen her in there, just guessed she was there... Oh, my God! Do you think Oscar....?’

Christopher glanced back over his shoulder to the library, where Oscar had drawn up a chair and was sitting near Maria’s body. He certainly didn’t look like a man overwhelmed with grief, but it was a far cry from that to having actually killed the woman.

‘Well, they always suspect the husband or wife, don’t they?’ he said lightly, and then wished he could cram the words back into his mouth. Deirdre’s face crumpled, and she put her hands up to cover it.

‘I didn’t kill Eric,’ she wailed.
‘I loved Eric! He was a lovely, fun person. Always cheering me up with his wacky gestures.’

‘Hmm,’ said Christopher, feeling sceptical. He thought her distress could be genuine, though.
‘Did they have separate rooms, then? At the hotel?’

‘I shouldn’t really say anything,’ said Deirdre. ‘But yes, they always did. Maria said she couldn’t stand Oscar’s snoring... I don’t blame her. He used to make the light-fittings rattle.’

Christopher remembered she had been married to Oscar at one time. He hadn’t cared enough when she first mentioned it to ask when or for how long they had lived in wedded bliss. He still didn’t care, for that matter. But it did cross his mind that if Deirdre and Oscar should want to get back together, the way was now clear for them.

It was unthinkable, though, that either or both of them would commit murder in order to achieve this. All they had to do was to divorce their respective spouses – something Deirdre already had plenty of experience of – and they could be together if not in no time, then fairly soon after that.
And in this day and age they could live together before the two divorces even came through, no questions asked. He was alarmed to detect a censorious echo in his thoughts at this point, although logically there was no reason for it. They were all adults. The fact that he couldn’t imagine anybody wanting to marry either of them was neither here nor there either.

Zak came back with a glass of water.

‘There’s an ambulance on its way too,’ he said. ‘If you’re still not feeling right, we could ask the paramedics...’

‘I don’t need an ambulance,’ said Deirdre. ‘I’m fine.’

She sipped daintily at the water. Christopher stood up.

‘I suppose we
shouldn’t leave the building,’ he said, ‘but I’m going into the office. Zak, will you please stay here in the mean-time?’

He knew he didn’t have to add ‘to keep an eye on Oscar and Deirdre’ because Zak was conscientious and would do exactly that without being asked.

If only he knew more people like Zak.

Chapter 18 Jock to the rescue

Jock didn’t want to be left on his own with Penelope Johnstone – that was all he needed, for her to start getting ideas about him as well as about Christopher – so he offered to walk round to the police station with Darren to see if they could find out what was happening to Tricia.

‘They probably won’t keep her very long,’ he said, trying to sound paternal and reassuring.

Darren sniffed. ‘You don’t know what it’s like, Mr McLean. Once they’ve got you in their clutches, they don’t let you go. It’s that thing about birds and bushes.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Jock. ‘But they can’t keep her without any evidence. It’ll be all circumstantial.
Just because she was there.’

‘But the apple...’

‘We don’t know if it was the apple. They won’t even have got the results back yet. They’re just trying it on.’

The police station was closed. According to a new sign by the front door, it was now only open on Tuesdays and Thursdays between 2 pm and 3.30 pm or by appointment.

‘You’d have to be mad to make an appointment to see the police,’ said Darren. He kicked the door. An alarm started up inside, and they both turned and made a run for it.

They stopped to catch their breath halfway down the High Street.

‘We’ll be on CCTV,’ said Jock. ‘That’ll be the next thing – we’ll be arrested for damaging their property.’

‘I didn’t damage it,’ said Darren indignantly. ‘I hurt my foot though – do you think I should sue them?’

Jock didn’t dignify that idea with an answer. As they stood there irresolute, a police car headed past them, sirens blaring. Darren jumped into a hedge; Jock wasn’t quite quick enough to do the same. By the time he inspected the hedge to see how prickly it was, the police car had disappeared in the direction of the Cultural Centre. But it didn’t necessarily have to be heading for the building itself, Jock reasoned. There were lots of shops and houses in that direction too. It would just be too much of a coincidence if....

Jock’s mobile phone
went off as Darren was extricating himself from the hedge. ‘That’s twice today,’ he complained, taking it out of his pocket. ‘It usually only does it once in a blue moon.’

‘
You’ll never guess what’s happened now,’ said Christopher’s voice, sounding even more harassed than usual.

‘No, I don’t suppose I will...
Another murder?’

‘How did you know that?’

‘I didn’t – you just sounded weird.’

‘Weird? What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Who is it this time?’ said Jock wearily. Christopher certainly was jumpy these days. Maybe it was something to do with his ex-wife being in town. Jock lived in fear of his own ex-wife returning to Pitkirtly. He had changed the locks all these years ago on the day she left, and more recently, after getting to know Amaryllis, he had considered asking her to set up some sort of hi-tech early warning system.

‘It’s Maria from the
TV crew. Oscar’s wife. She’s in the library. There’s blood... but something funny about her face as well. It’s all twisted.’

‘Oh,’ said Jock. ‘We saw a police car heading in your direction – I’d look out for them any minute if I were you.’

‘Yes.... Here they are now.’

Somewhere in the background Jock heard sirens. He wasn’t sure whether he was hearing the sound through his phone, in which case it must have been bounced from one satellite to another
hundreds of miles up in space before being sent to a destination only yards from its source, or through his ears in the old-fashioned way.

Christopher didn’t say any more, and after a while Jock switched his phone off and put it back in his pocket. He considered whether to turn the sound off so that he wouldn’t be bothered with even more calls, but you never knew when there
might be another murder or some sort of crisis. It must be one of those days.

‘What is it?’ said Darren. ‘Has there really been another murder?’

‘Yes. Maria. In the Cultural Centre. With the spanner.’ Jock didn’t know why he had added the last bit. It just seemed right.