Cherringham--Snowblind (6 page)

“We’d better go, get the Land Rover back.”

“Right,” Alan said.

And she and Jack walked on to the road, already with an inch-thick covering.

It was going to be a long night indeed.

The Ploughman was — amazingly enough — still full. But not with old folk any more. Sarah recognised a few faces: some of the pub’s stalwarts had made it through the snow. One day of cabin fever seemed to be the most the regulars could take.

Though Sarah guessed that Billy would soon show them away and close the place.

He had asked how things went, and she and Jack shared with him about finding Archy — and at the same time, asked him to keep it quiet.

If she and Jack were going to start asking questions about Broadmead, it was better if people didn’t know what had happened last night.

“Love to stay for a drink,” she sad to Jack, “but I’d better be heading back—”

“Walk you home.”

“No, it’s out of your way. It will be okay. You’ve got the big trudge, back to the Goose.”

“Looking forward to getting there.”

They reached the door, the flakes flying around in the bright pools made by the pub’s outdoor lighting.

“I’m going to try and get into the office first thing in the morning. Got a ton of work to do. But I’ll do some digging as well. On the home, see if I can find out who owns the place. Whether it’s had any investigations for bad care.”

“Great. I’m guessing that this isn’t the first time.”

“And maybe who works there. Think they’re supposed to go through a security check — I’ll dig around.”

“Then we head back there, yes?”

“Even if we have to walk it, Jack.”

Jack opened the door. “Good for you.” She saw Jack look up to the illuminated flakes spinning down. “Cherringham in winter. More like upstate New York. Stay safe.”

And Sarah smiled then hurried out to the road as they both headed home.

When Sarah woke next morning and peered out of her bedroom window she could see it had snowed all night again: her Rav-4 was buried under a huge drift. Taking another day off wasn’t an option — she knew she had to get in to work.

The downside of running your own business
, she thought.

Leaving the kids in bed, she grabbed a quick coffee, then put her head down against the blizzard and trudged up through the estate and into the village square.

The centre of Cherringham was silent and empty. The few cars that had been left in the car park were almost hidden in snowdrifts.

When she got to her office door, it was a relief to find her assistant Grace just ahead of her, with two coffees and a couple of croissants from the local café.

“You’re joking,” said Sarah. “Huffington’s is open, in this?”

“Place has never closed,” said Grace. “At least — not in my lifetime!”

After they’d caught up with each other’s news, Sarah got stuck into some revised copy and images for the upcoming Walk for Mental Illness brochures. She knew the group had limited funds and so she did it for cost only. A website make-over for Howie’s Turkey Farm would more than cover any loss.

Then — into the background of Broadmead.

She quickly found that it was operated by Hearthstone Investments. But beyond that, there seemed to be no information.

While Sarah knew that she was supposed to be the expert on all things internet, she called over Grace, who grew savvier by the week.

“Grace — I’m getting a listing for the company that owns that home. But no names, no contacts. All there is is a generic-sounding email.”

Grace slid over to Sarah’s desk on her wheeled chair.

“Hmm. Must be a private concern. I think there are different regulations regarding names, disclosure … for that versus a public company, aren’t there?”

“Maybe. But usually you can at least get a name. It’s as if whoever is running Hearthstone — and Broadmead — doesn’t want to be known.”

“Based on what you told me about the place, I’m not surprised.”

Sarah sat back, for the moment stymied.

Then Grace leaned forward and tapped the screen. “Maybe we should work backwards?”

“Hmm?”

“Start with the home, any trails that lead to it on the net. Reports, or maybe they had some work to be done, something needing approval? See if that leads to Hearthstone … and maybe a name.”

“Brilliant. You should be running this place.”

“Learning from the best, Sarah,” Grace said, sailing back to her own desk, and hi-res images of turkeys looking eager and happy to meet their maker.

And Sarah did as Grace suggested.

Not much popped up, but then — from just a few months back — a report of a break-in. No loss reported, but the owner — Hearthstone — contacted, and a name behind that … Richard Leacock.

It rang a bell.

Searching it, she found that he had an office in the nearby village of Brampton.

Cute village. Even more upmarket than Cherringham. Property prices through the roof.

Leacock was clearly doing a good job keeping his name distant from the nursing home his investment company ran.

She was tempted to call him but thought she …
they
… might get only one shot at that, so best to wait until she and Jack knew more.

Then — to the website for the Care Quality Commission — the regulator for Care Homes. The euphemistically bland government body also had a suitably vague and maze-like site. Hard to find where one could find a record of any investigations and charges.

Who designs these things?
she thought.

Like they’re hiding Easter eggs.

But after going back and forth from the main page to the various off-shoots, she finally found a page that linked to past investigations, and establishments that had been investigated.

She scrolled down the list.

And came to the name ‘Broadmead’.

She wanted to call Jack — but before she could, her phone trilled.

Beth Travers.

And Sarah took the call from her good friend and discovered that — even in a blizzard — word travels fast.

Jack watched Riley attempt to bound through the snow, flopping ahead a few feet then racing back to his previous position as if the white stuff was an enemy to be faced.

Then, to the right, coming over the narrow bridge by the weir, he saw Sarah’s car, moving slowly.

So the road had been ploughed. In the night, Jack thought he’d heard the teams at work. She’d have to park well away from the mooring of the Goose and trek over.

But a cup of coffee and some planning before they went back to Broadmead would be good.

He watched as Sarah began walking along the river edge, the snow less deep there, to where Jack stood outside, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

“Morning. Roads all good?”

“Some. Amazingly the old Rav started. Think it may be quite a while before your little Sprite gets out.”

Jack laughed at that. “That’s okay. Going to be a pedestrian for a while. Kids have another day off?”

“God, yes. They’re over the moon. Two snow days in a row! They feel like American kids. Never happens.”

Riley came bounding back and went over to say hello to Sarah.

“Hello boy …” then to Jack. “Seems like Riley loves the stuff too.”

“Does, doesn’t it?” Then: “Come on in. Have a coffee, and … I think I have those biscuits you like.”

“Great.”

And she followed Jack on to the deck of the Goose, then down to the small galley.

Jack topped his coffee off as Sarah took a sip.

“You do like it strong, hmm?” she said.

“’Fraid so. Want to ditch it for some tea?”

“No. Perfect. All that caffeine! Feel more awake already. So let me tell you about Beth.”

“Nice woman.”

“The best, and she had heard about what happened with Archy and Reg. She even knew about the power failure. Her grandmother’s there, Jack. Odelia Travers. Ninety-two years young.”

“Wow. Some name. And some age.”

“Heart of gold, too. I knew her well when I was younger. Pillar of Cherringham.”

“I bet.”

“And Beth’s parents are living in Catalonia, thinking everything is okay. Beth says she doesn’t get to see her grandmother as often as she’d like — but this has her concerned.”

“Hence the call, huh?”

“She asked if we were going to look into things.”

“Hope you told her most definitely. And not just for Odelia. That building is filled with … hard-working people who raised families. Probably war heroes as well.” Jack took a breath.

Things like this got to him.

“Told her we were going there today. We’d check on Odelia.”

“Good. And if Miss Woods doesn’t like our dropping in we can say we were asked by a relative.”

“Perfect.”

Then Sarah told him about her discovery of the owner of the place.

“Brampton. Nice village. You know it?”

“
Very
upscale,” said Jack. “Guessing this Leacock is doing well running the home?”

“Doing well, if you don’t count the loss of a resident or two.”

Jack finished his coffee. “And this investigation you found,” he said, “No charges?”

“No.” She pointed out a line on the printout she’d made. “But see here … it says a ‘warning issued’. About ‘general conditions’.”

“Guessing that’s food, living quarters, rats in the basement …?”

“Who knows? Couldn’t find out anything else. Guess we might dig up more at the home.”

“Yeah. I wonder … did things change after that report? Get better, get worse? Has there been any follow-up?”

“That’s all they had on the website,” Sarah said.

Jack nodded. “Bet it’s another case of a government agency overwhelmed. From what I saw, the ‘general conditions’ of the place were none too good.”

Sarah took one of the shortbread-like biscuits, and dipped it in her coffee.

“Imagine there will be an investigation now, what with Archy escaping.”

“Funny …’ Jack said. “That word … ‘escaping’.”

“You think it got so bad that—?”

“Don’t know what to think, but — on behalf of Odelia and everyone else stuck there — let’s hope we find out.”

Riley, sitting by the door, made a grumbling noise.

“Looks like he wants to go out and play some more.”

“Guess dogs are like kids. They love the snow.”

Sarah stood up. “Wish I could say the same. Ready to head out?”

“Sure. Just a word of caution—”

“What’s that?”

“When we get there … they may not have told the other residents about Archy yet.”

“Oh, right.”

“Could be pretty frightening for them. Perhaps some of them were his friends.”

“Got it.”

Jack pulled on his parka, and cloth cap tight, and after putting their cups in the sink, walked to the stairs up and out of the Goose.

But then he turned to Sarah.

“And you know, for anyone living there, I’d say you’d have good reason to be frightened.”

And they left the boat for the snowy way back to Sarah’s car.

Shirley Woods opened the door, and Sarah saw that whatever scowl she had worn previously instantly deepened at the sight of the two of them.

“God, now what the — what are you two doing back here?”

Jack, ever the diplomat when it came to potentially criminal situations, took a step closer.

“Sister Woods, we’re actually here to check up on—” he shot Sarah a glance, “an old family friend, Odelia Travers.”

“She’s fine. They’re all
fine
, and anyway, visiting hours are over—”

“Except,” Jack said, “for Archy Fleming.”

Wow,
Sarah thought.

Jack does know how to play his cards.

And that stopped the home’s senior nurse. Then:

“Like I told the police — he was … confused. Not thinking straight. I — we can’t—”

“You know it was us who found him?” Sarah added, as if trying to give more reasons why they should come in and check on Odelia.

Then Sarah added, “Actually,
I
found him. Face up, in the snow. And for Odelia, for the others, we’d just like to help.”

Better to use the word “help” than the more ominous
find out what the hell is going on
, Sarah guessed.

A nod from the formidable Shirley Woods, and the giant door of the place slowly opened.

But before they went in she caught Jack give her a look, a smile … and Sarah realised that when it came to card-playing, she wasn’t exactly without skills herself.

They found Odelia Travers sitting in a corner of a large common room. A muted TV off to one side ran a sitcom with grinning teenagers. Other residents sat quietly at tables or on sofas, some knitting, some dozing, no one looking at the screen.

“There she is,” Shirley Woods said.

Sarah noticed the sister softening a bit — “She’s quite a girl. Even at her age, has a smile for everyone.”

“Thanks,” Sarah said.

Then: “You can see she, the others … all of them, are perfectly fine.”

Shirley Woods walked away. And Sarah, taking the lead, walked over to Odelia. Jack stayed back a bit.

The old woman looked so tiny; sitting all bundled up by the window, looking out at the snow, now glistening in sunlight. She had a napkin between her gnarled fingers that had been twisted and turned, shredding.

“Mrs. Travers?” Sarah said quietly.

The woman turned away from the window, her face immediately confused. Sarah looked at Jack. A small nod there.

“Mrs. Travers, how are you? It’s me, Sarah Edwards.” Then, like a light switch coming on, the old woman’s face brightened, eyes widening. “Sarah, my Beth’s Sarah, yes?”

Now it was Sarah’s turn to smile. “Yes, it is. Glad you remembered.”

“You two …” she kept grinning, “as thick as thieves. I seem to remember that you like those little muffins I baked.”

Sarah laughed. “You bet I did. Raisins, butter …”

“Piping hot!” the woman said, looking away as if she could picture herself pulling a tray of muffins out of the oven for her granddaughter and her best friend.

“Mrs. Travers, I was wondering if … we could talk to you a bit?”