Ann Granger (19 page)
Authors: That Way Murder Lies
‘By the way,’ Meredith said. ‘Being in here reminds me of the Feathers and that reminds me of something I meant to mention to you. Dolores Forbes, you remember her?’
‘How could I forget her? Once seen, never forgotten, our Dolores!’
‘She told Toby and me that Fiona had been in the pub one evening.’
He looked startled. ‘Fiona? In the Feathers? What was she doing, slumming?’
‘Both Toby and I were taken aback. It couldn’t have been her sort of place. Dolores thought she must have been with someone but didn’t notice any one person who seemed to be her companion. But the place was full.’
‘How often is the Feathers full?’ Markby asked drily. ‘When was this? Recently?’
‘I didn’t ask. But it was the night of a darts match so it ought to be possible to find out the exact date from Dolores.’
The tea arrived in a large brown earthenware pot accompanied by milk in a chipped jug and two cups with mismatched saucers.
‘If they want any more crockery like this, James has got stacks of it,’ Meredith observed waspishly. Also on the tray was another object which Florrie set down on the table before departing.
Meredith picked it up and gazed at it in wonder. ‘Do you realise this must be the last place in the country to serve ketchup in a red plastic tomato? I never thought I’d say it but the Crown makes the Feathers look almost normal. I thought you said this place was under new management?’
‘So I was told. I hope they don’t do away with the all-day breakfast.’
The meal in question arrived at that point and was set before Markby with a flourish. He picked up the plastic tomato.
‘Alan,’ said Meredith in a strangled voice, ‘if you’re going to squeeze that all over your plate, I’m going to the ladies.’
‘Don’t forget your tea,’ he said cheerfully.
The ladies’ room at the Crown was clean but the hand-dryer was broken and, of the two cubicles, only one could be locked. When Meredith re-emerged into the reception area, she found it was occupied by a new arrival. She was engaged in a spirited exchange with the receptionist.
At first glance, a casual passer-by would have thought a young girl was checking in. The female figure was out-proportioned by her large suitcase. But then, perhaps aware of Meredith’s scrutiny, she turned her head and revealed herself to be a woman in her forties.
She was the sort of person one couldn’t ignore. Despite possessing the dimensions of a thirteen-year-old, she had an air of a woman of the world, a disconcerting combination. She wore baggy pants and a figure-hugging top but her most striking feature was her hair, or rather her lack of it. It was clipped short in a crew-cut, almost shaven, the resultant fair bristles covering her well-shaped skull. She was, however, carefully made up and wore large hooped earrings. The overall effect was a blend of artistic and chic and was carried off with formidable poise.
The woman assessed Meredith briefly and dismissed her as of no interest. She turned away to address the receptionist in a slightly irritated tone. ‘I am Madame Plassy. Madame Chantal Plassy. I telephoned you to reserve a room.’ Her accent was faint but unmistakable, even so.
‘That’s right, Mrs Plassy!’ said the receptionist, unhooking a large key. ‘Number seven, top of the stairs. It’s got an en suite shower.’
‘I asked for a bath,’ Chantal protested.
In vain. ‘We don’t do baths en suite,’ said the receptionist. ‘There’s a bathroom on the landing, though.’
‘There is at least someone who can take my case upstairs?’
‘I’ll get Mickey out of the bar. You just leave it there,’ she was told.
Chantal turned aside and Meredith stepped in front of her. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to accost you like this, but you’re not Fiona Jenner’s mother, by any chance?’
This gained her a sharp look and another, this time much closer, assessment. ‘Yes, and so? Who are you?’
‘My name is Meredith Mitchell. I’m just having a cup of tea here with my fiance, Alan Markby. He’s the superintendent in charge of investigating your daughter’s – um – unfortunate death.’
Finely plucked eyebrows twitched. ‘I was not aware my daughter had had an unfortunate death. I understand she was murdered. I think that’s rather worse than just bad luck, don’t you?’ Without giving Meredith a chance to recover, she went on, ‘Where is this Markby? Take me to him!’
Markby had fortunately just about finished his all-day breakfast when Meredith reappeared with Chantal. Introductions and explanations were made and Chantal joined them at their table. Meredith was already wondering whether she’d acted wisely in intercepting Fiona’s mother. Closer observation showed the lines of stress beneath the make-up and, together with some expensive perfume, there emanated from Chantal an aggressive electricity fuelled by suppressed rage. She was bereaved, she was shocked, and, above all, vengeful. She wanted someone’s scalp. It was like being in the company of an unexploded bomb.
Florrie made her majestic way to them and removed Markby’s plate. ‘Can I get you something, madam?’
Chantal pointed a beautifully manicured index finger at her. ‘The coffee, is it from a jar?’
‘We can do it from a jar if you want it from a jar,’ said Florrie helpfully.
‘Of course I do not want it from a jar! You don’t have real, proper coffee?’
‘We’ve got a machine does it, if that’s what you mean,’ said Florrie.
‘Then I would like black coffee.’
‘I’m very sorry about the death of your daughter,’ Markby said to her when Florrie had gone. ‘Meredith and I did meet her, just the once, at lunch.’
Chantal assessed him coolly, taking her time. ‘You have established the cause of death?’
‘Yes. She was stabbed.’
Chantal’s neat fingernails rapped a tattoo on the table as if the pent-up energy in her must find some outlet. ‘Jeremy didn’t tell me this. He phoned me to tell me she had been killed, murdered in the grounds of the house while jogging. He said her head was injured and she had been thrown into a lake. That is typical of Jeremy. Instead of giving bad news all in one piece, he chops it up and delivers it bit by bit, as if that could make it any better!’ Bitterness filled her voice and perhaps the memories of past occasions and old disputes. She leaned back in her chair to think over the new information. Her eyes glowed as if it had fed new power to her inner rage.
Impulsively, Meredith asked, ‘Does Jeremy know you’re here?’
‘I saw him this morning,’ Markby added. ‘He didn’t mention he expected you in Bamford.’ But then, Jeremy being Jeremy, he probably wouldn’t.
‘He knew I was coming, of course!’ she retorted sharply. ‘I told him at once I would come. He invited me to stay at Overvale House, but I refused. It’s not, I think,
bon ton,
to stay under the same roof with your successor, one husband and two wives, like a harem. Besides, Fiona told me his present wife is very dull.’
bon ton,
to stay under the same roof with your successor, one husband and two wives, like a harem. Besides, Fiona told me his present wife is very dull.’
‘You’ve resumed your maiden name?’ Markby asked her.
The fine eyebrows twitched again. ‘No, I am remarried. My husband couldn’t come with me to England. He has business matters in Switzerland where we live. Besides,’ (an elegant shrug) ‘he didn’t know Fiona.’
Florrie brought the coffee. Chantal eyed it dubiously.
‘When were you last in touch with your daughter?’ Meredith fancied she heard a certain sharpness in Markby’s voice.
‘I saw her in London in January. I came over for the sales. I didn’t buy anything. The London sales are not what they were. I spoke with her on the phone two or three times after that.’ Her tone and manner indicated that her relationship with her daughter was not Markby’s business.
‘Then you perhaps met Tara Seale?’ Markby asked.
Chantal gave a dismissive nod. ‘Yes, I met her. I liked her. She was intelligent and chic. You obviously know about their relationship and you are going to ask me how I felt about it. It didn’t worry me, if that is what you want to know.
Au contraire,
I was pleased Fiona had found someone. At that time she hadn’t told her father about Tara. I advised her to do so. It wouldn’t be easy because Jeremy is so stuffy. But he had to be told. She said she would. I don’t know if she did.’
Au contraire,
I was pleased Fiona had found someone. At that time she hadn’t told her father about Tara. I advised her to do so. It wouldn’t be easy because Jeremy is so stuffy. But he had to be told. She said she would. I don’t know if she did.’
‘But you haven’t mentioned the existence of Ms Seale to Jeremy at any time since then?’
Chantal’s eyes widened. ‘Why should I? It was not my job to tell him. It was Fiona’s. Anyway, I am not normally in touch with my ex-husband. When he phoned me to tell me Fiona had died it was the first time we’d spoken in two years.’
There was a momentary pause and for the first time an expression of sadness touched her face. For the loss of her daughter? For the break-up of her marriage? For both? They were not to know. The emotion was wiped away. She became brisk again.
‘Now, let me ask you a question. What are you doing about this?’ Her tone brooked no nonsense.
‘Pursuing investigations. We don’t yet know why your daughter died but we think we know where. Not by the lake where she was found, some distance off near some woods.’
‘What about the weapon? Have you found it?’
‘Not yet,’ he admitted.
‘So, why aren’t you out there looking for it? Why are you sitting here drinking tea and-’ Chantal sniffed the air delicately – ‘eating fried food? The smell of the English breakfast is unmistakable.
Why are you eating it at four o’clock in the afternoon? I never understand the English.’
Why are you eating it at four o’clock in the afternoon? I never understand the English.’
She picked up her cup and sipped, grimaced and put the cup down again. ‘Or their terrible coffee.’ She studied her surroundings. ‘I think I will phone Jeremy and accept his kind offer to stay at Overvale, after all.’
‘I would like,’ said Meredith as they left the Crown, ‘to be a fly on the wall when Chantal arrives at Overvale with her luggage and tells them she’s changed her mind about staying there.’
‘I, on the other hand, wouldn’t,’ Markby returned with feeling. ‘That woman is a loose cannon. The less I see of her the better! Campbell can deal with her.’ He frowned. ‘You know, Chantal made a shrewd remark about her former husband. She said he parcelled up bad news and let it out bit by bit. He does that with all information.’
‘Boardroom skills,’ said Meredith. ‘Keep something up your sleeve. Fox the opposition.’
‘The trouble is, the police are not the opposition. We are supposed to be on his side … and he’s supposed to be on ours! But it makes me think that if Jenner really has something he doesn’t want us to know, it’ll be the very devil prising it out of him.’ Markby heaved a sigh. ‘Where are we going now?’
‘It’s getting a bit late. Why don’t we walk on down to the Watersmeet estate and take another look at Rusticity?’
They began to walk through the centre of the town towards the outskirts. ‘What about the poison pen letters?’ Meredith asked. ‘Has any progress been made with those?’
‘No. That’s getting more complicated by the hour,’ he grumbled. ‘For someone who has no enemies – according to Toby -Alison Jenner appears to be unpopular with quite a few people.’
The trading estate was jammed with cars and visitors. Families struggled through the throng with wailing infants in buggies. Customers from the garden centre staggered back to their vehicles laden with greenery. One optimist was balancing a stepladder
over his shoulder and carried a giant tin of paint in his other hand.
over his shoulder and carried a giant tin of paint in his other hand.
‘It’s still the Easter break,’ Meredith said, ‘and the great British public does what it likes best – shopping for DIY or home improvements.’
‘This is horrible,’ he replied in awe. ‘Thank goodness we didn’t bring the car. We’d never have got in – or out again.’
Rusticity, like the other outlets, was packed. Nevertheless they were spotted and hailed by Ted who appeared from behind a gaggle of elderly ladies. His snub-nosed face bore a broad grin. He looked as if he was having the time of his life.
‘Hello, there, Miss Mitchell! Got Mr Markby with you today, I see?’ There was something incredibly suggestive in the way he said this.
‘Yes, we’ve come to take another look at the table and chairs.’
‘Help yourself,’ said Ted. ‘Let me know if you want any information. I’m back there in the office.’ He pointed towards the building behind them. ‘See you later.’ With this, he vanished into the throng but not before directing a final grotesque wink of complicity at Meredith from what Ted supposed to be behind Markby’s back.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ asked the bemused Markby, who had turned round just in time to catch the tail end of the wink. ‘Why is he grimacing like that?’
‘He saw me at the Feathers with Toby. He thinks I’m two-timing you. So does Dolores.’
‘Hussy!’ he declared dramatically.
‘Will you ever forgive me?’ Meredith placed a hand on her bosom. ‘I hope Ted isn’t going to behave like that every time I see him. I shall buy my garden chairs elsewhere!’
One of the elderly ladies cannoned into Markby with her walking stick.
‘Let’s go home,’ Markby pleaded.‘We can come and look at his chairs another time.’
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