A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) (6 page)

‘Don’t be a sour puss. This is fun. This is how the other half live.’

‘Honestly, Flora, I don’t think I can stick five days with this lot.’

‘Oh, come on. They’re not that bad. We hardly know them yet, anyway. Jack’s okay,’ she added.

‘An old flame of yours?’

‘No.’ Flora was dismayed to feel her cheeks heating up. ‘He’s just an old friend. Of mine and Celeste.’

‘Yeah, well, I wasn’t talking about him. I was talking about the Hollywood contingent.’

‘They’re different, that’s all. It’s a different culture, a different world. And they’re hardly Hollywood, are they? Hollyoaks, more like.’ Flora laughed at her own joke. ‘You know, Celeste was in an episode of Hollyoaks once. She played a nurse.’

‘Morals are morals, no matter where you live,’ Marshall said darkly.

‘Marshall Goodman, are you being a prude?’ She considered him in the neon-coloured lights. ‘Something’s got your goat tonight. Is it Raquel and Vincenzo?’

The director’s wife and sort of bodyguard had made no secret of their attraction on the dance floor earlier. When Flora and Celeste had slipped back inside for a drink, Raquel had been draped over Vincenzo like Baileys over ice. Alberto’s response? To sidle up to Flora and ask her for a dance. An offer she’d found very easy to refuse.

‘It’s not that,’ Marshall said. ‘It’s him. How he makes his living.’

Flora followed his gaze. Lit up in red and gold by the Catherine wheel, Alberto was standing with Celeste. They were deep in conversation, but thankfully not arguing as far as Flora could tell.

‘Making films?’ Flora shrugged. ‘I can think of worse ways.’

‘Dirty movies.’ He glanced at her. She thought his eyes looked pink around the edges, but it may have just been the light. ‘That’s Alberto’s speciality, apparently.’

‘No way!’ She looked around, at the crowded lawn and the excited faces, and the bland facade of the manor house. ‘You mean, like, pornography?’ This last word she whispered, her hand flying up to her mouth.

‘Don’t worry, that’s not what they’re doing here,’ Marshall said, clocking her expression. ‘I’m sure this
Date With Death
, or whatever it’s called, is completely above board. This lot,’ he said, taking in with a sweep of his arm the crowd of hopeful locals who were watching the fireworks with rapt expressions, ‘this lot are expecting to see a period drama, and I’m sure that’s what they’ll get. But that’s not what I’m talking about.’

‘What, then?’ Flora noticed Eduardo making his way across the lawn towards Celeste and Alberto. His face was alternately red, then blue, then green. She looked back at Marshall. ‘What exactly are you so het up about?’

She had to lean in to catch Marshall’s answer, which was nearly lost in another explosive boom.

‘The sooner this contract is up, the better. That’s all I’m saying.’

Flora watched him stride away towards the trees that hid their yurt from the rest of the gardens. She sighed. What the hell was all that about?

She picked her way over to Celeste, dodging a group of revellers in traditional Spanish dress. One of them was flinging around a red cape; another pointed his fingers, pretending to be a bull.

‘Stereotypes abound tonight,’ she said when she reached Celeste’s side. Alberto registered the fake matador with a wry grin, but Celeste was busy placating Eduardo.

‘It’s okay,’ Celeste said, her voice low. ‘
No vale la pena
.’

Flora looked from Eduardo to Alberto and back again. Suddenly, understanding the individual words of their language became irrelevant. She understood this situation perfectly well. Which meant that when Eduardo lunged for the director’s throat, Flora was the least surprised.

‘
Él quiere matarme
,’ Alberto croaked, thrashing against the younger man’s grip. ‘Help!
Ayuda
!’

‘He doesn’t want to kill you,’ Celeste told the director coolly. She laid a hand on Eduardo’s arm. ‘Let him go,
mi amor
. Really, he isn’t worth it.’

Eduardo dropped Alberto, who promptly looked around to see if anyone had noticed. He straightened his bow tie and cufflinks, gave his waistcoat a little tug, then sent Celeste and Eduardo a disgusted glare. With a comment Flora couldn’t understand, and that caused Celeste to blanch, he strode away towards the house.

‘What did he say?’ Flora asked, but Celeste wasn’t listening. She was watching Eduardo.

‘You are wrong,’ he said in English. ‘I do want to kill him. If he touch you again, I will.’

With a dramatic flick of his head, Eduardo stalked away, leaving Flora with a clearly shaken Celeste.

‘What did Alberto say to you?’ Flora asked again. Above their heads, the grand finale of fireworks exploded in a rainbow of falling fountains and shooting stars. The watching crowed cheered and clapped. Flora waited. Eventually, the crowd began to disperse, but still Celeste didn’t answer Flora’s question.

‘Celeste, here’s the thing.’ Flora had sobered up pretty much completely by now. There was nothing left to say but the truth. ‘I figure you’re in some kind of trouble, but I don’t know what it is. These people you’ve brought back with you, they’re pretty messed up, don’t you think? First you and Alberto are pushing each other around, then him and his wife are doing the same, and now Alberto and Eduardo are at each other’s throats.’ She paused, wondering how much to say. ‘I’ve had enough shit in my life, these past few years, Celeste. I don’t need any more. If there’s something here that’s going to blow up around my ears, I’d rather know about it now. I think I deserve that, don’t you?’

‘Okay, fine.’ Celeste’s voice was thick with emotion. She kept her face turned away, but the tension in her neck was hard to hide. ‘You want to know what’s going on here, I’ll tell you. I was going to tell you right away, it’s just … It’s complicated.’ She looked back and confronted Flora with a pained expression. Her eyes, Flora couldn’t help noticing, were bone dry.

‘Alberto is blackmailing me. Okay? So now you know.’ Celeste began to walk back towards the house. Flora had no choice but to follow.

‘What? How? I mean, why?’

‘He has some photos, okay? Of me. In a … let’s call it a compromising position. He’s got them with him and he’s threatening to show Eduardo, but also my family. I couldn’t bear for them to find out. My dad …’ She stopped suddenly and gripped Flora’s upper arms. ‘My dad is sick, did you know that? Have you kept in touch with my great aunt Vera?’

Flora shook her head. Celeste sighed and continued. ‘My dad’s been sick for a while now, and if he found out about this, if he saw those photos, it would kill him. And Alberto would do it. He has no soul, no conscience. He’s a monster, believe me.’

‘But, Celeste,’ Flora said, running to catch her up, ‘If he’s such a monster, why are you working for him?’

And how the hell did he get those kind of photos of you, she wanted to ask.

‘It’s complicated.’

‘You keep saying that. But what is he blackmailing you for? I mean, what does he want?’

‘What does any man want from a woman? God, don’t be so naive.’

Flora stopped as though struck. She thought about Marshall, about what he’d told her earlier.

‘Is Alberto making a porno movie here, Celeste? Is that what this is all about? Is he forcing you to do stuff you don’t want to do?’

Her friend whirled around and laughed. ‘Here? Don’t be ridiculous. In Shropshire, at Hanley Manor? I don’t think so.
Una Cita con la Muerte
is just a plain old historical drama, nothing more. A bit risqué, perhaps, the odd love scene, but nothing more than your average Saturday night TV viewing, even in the UK.’

Flora ran her fingers through her hair, relieved. She said, ‘Marshall found out some stuff about Alberto. Said he had a dodgy past. And now you’re telling me he has photos of you, that he’s blackmailing you. Are these things connected? I mean, how exactly did he get the photos?’

Celeste didn’t answer. She stopped outside the open double doors that led back into the ballroom. Inside, a DJ had started playing club-style dance tracks. The thump of the bass made Flora feel slightly sick.

‘You can help me,’ Celeste said suddenly. ‘You can help me find the photos. Alberto has hidden them somewhere, but I can’t find them. I’ve tried, I’ve been trying for weeks. But he’s on the lookout for me, he knows I’ll be trying to get them back. You, however …’ She tailed off, her eyes speculating.

Flora said nothing.

‘They’re in a brown envelope,’ Celeste said. ‘I know because he’s shown them to me, to taunt me. But whatever you do, don’t look in the envelope, okay? I’d hate for you to see them – it would just be the worst thing ever. Just find the envelope and give it to me. I know you can do this, Flora. You have to do this. You’re my only hope.’

Flora let out a hysterical laugh. ‘Me? I’m your only hope? Well, you’re stuffed then. How the hell am I supposed to find the photos if you can’t?’

‘You do this stuff, don’t you? Help people when they’re in trouble. Aunt Vera sent me that article in the paper last year, she told me all about the Maples, how you solved the mystery, saved that old lady’s life.’

A man with a bright pink cummerbund rolled out of the ballroom, dancing with an imaginary partner. Flora sidestepped him, her head still reeling.

‘So,’ she said, ‘that’s why I’m here, is it? To get you out of a scrape.’

Celeste shrugged. ‘It’s not the only reason. I got you the work, didn’t I? Shakers Removals isn’t doing too badly out of this deal.’

‘Why can’t you ask Jack to do it? I’d have thought he’d be more suited to sleuthing than me.’

‘Ha. If
you
asked him, maybe. It’s not me he’s had the hots for all this time.’

Flora wondered what Marshall was doing now. She didn’t want to think about Jack, or about Celeste and these sordid photos, or blackmail, or how she was expected to help out. She especially didn’t want to think about Celeste’s father, and what seeing the photos might do to him. She knew she had no choice but to agree to try and help her friend. She just didn’t want to agree to it right now. What she wanted was to be back at the Nook, reading a bad novel, possibly listening to Marshall snore. She thought he probably did snore. It would be interesting to find out.

‘Besides,’ Celeste was saying, ‘Jack has enough problems of his own right now. You know he’s in debt really badly. I heard about it from Katherine. Do you remember Katherine? And there are rumours about his job –’

‘Goodnight, Celeste.’ Flora stretched up on tiptoes and gave her a peck on the cheek.

‘What, you’re going? Just like that?’

Flora nodded, and lifted up her hand in a half-wave as she walked away.

‘We’ll talk again tomorrow,’ Celeste called after her. ‘I’ll make time, don’t worry.’

That, thought Flora as she ducked between the trees and headed for Yurtville, suddenly seemed to be the least of her worries.

Chapter 4

A buzzing sound woke Flora from a shapeless dream. She kept her eyes resolutely closed and swatted the air with her hand. The buzzing continued. Flora groaned and rolled over. She opened one eye, then the other. And found herself staring into the eyes of a fox.

‘Shit!’ She sat up in a tangle of blankets and sheets and some kind of furry sheepskin. ‘Marshall, where are you? There’s a wild animal in here.’

The buzzing stopped, and was replaced by the sound of chuckling.

‘Oh, come on. I wouldn’t call you wild, exactly. A bit rough around the edges, perhaps.’

‘Ha, funny.’ Flora blinked and looked again at the fox. Of course, it was stuffed. She shook her head, then groaned.

If this hangover lasted all day, the fox wasn’t the only one who was stuffed.

When she’d got back to the yurt last night, Marshall had been in the mood for company. They’d drunk a bottle of warm cheap Chardonnay while Marshall railed about Alberto and his X-rated movie past. Flora couldn’t get to the bottom of how he’d found out, or why he was so worked up about it, but she’d managed to distract him with news of Celeste’s predicament. And then she’d sat on the fox – its head was stuffed and solid, but its body was flat and threadbare. She’d called him Freddie and taken him to bed with her.

Now he was glaring at her balefully, so Flora threw a blanket over his glassy eyes.

‘Last night he was your new best friend, now you don’t want to know him. Do you treat all the men in your life that way?’ Marshall was wearing pyjama bottoms and a thin white T-shirt. His hair was mussed, sticking up at the back. He flicked a switch on the battery-operated razor. Flora covered her ears.

‘That buzzing is driving me crazy. Can’t you have a wet shave or something?’

‘No can do, Missy. Don’t got us no mirror in this hellhole.’

‘Argh!’ Flora looked around for something to throw at him, but then thought better of it. Her head hurt too much to move. She pulled the covers back over her head and closed her eyes. The buzzing stopped, finally, and then she heard the curtain being pulled across the room. She smirked. Was Marshall shy or just trying to protect her innocence?

When he went out to use the toilet, Flora quickly dressed in shorts and a vest, dragged her fingers through her hair, then splashed cold water over her face in the utilitarian sink. It was shaping up to be another hot day. The first day of filming. Despite everything Celeste had said, Flora was looking forward to it – after all, it wasn’t every day you got to hang out on a film set, be part of the crew. She brushed her teeth, bending low over the sink to rinse, thinking about Celeste and those photos. What had her friend got herself mixed up in now?

‘Nice view,’ Marshall said. Flora whirled around, her mouth foamy with toothpaste.

‘Oh, very funny. And inappropriate, if you ask me.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch a word of that.’ Marshall grinned. ‘Anyway, I was talking about the valley. You get a great view of it from the toilet block.’

‘Right, I knew that.’ Flora rinsed again, then went back inside for her sunglasses. Maddening man.

They walked through the trees, emerging out on the lawn to a chaotic bustle of activity. Huge trunks had been dragged outside, spilling open to reveal costumes and wigs and a fearsome-looking sword. Alberto was positioning five or six cameras around a pair of brocade armchairs, while Vincenzo lugged a huge table across the grass. There were people everywhere, some sitting on the still-damp lawn, others gesticulating and reciting lines in overinflated voices.