Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery (22 page)

‘Oh. Sorry.’ Marshall could be touchy about his mum. Flora lifted it up and gave it a little brush through with her fingers. ‘And the cap’s for you, is it?’

Marshall was already ramming it on his head. ‘Good morning to you, my fine fellow. I’m here to partake in the reading of the last will and testament of my uncle Solomon Wares.’

Flora giggled. ‘Your English accent is dreadful. And I don’t think you should pretend to be his nephew. It’s too close. Make it more distant.’

‘Get your wig on, then.’

‘I’m not wearing it, Marshall. I don’t need a disguise. No one will know who I am.’

‘Really. What about her?’

Marching up the hill towards them was the warden. She’d swapped her usual uniform of combats and walking boots for a pair of black trousers and shoes with heels. Obviously uncomfortable, her gait was uneven over the cobbles. Flora slipped behind Marshall, grateful for his size.

‘Pull your cap down over your face,’ she hissed. Marshall did as he was instructed.

‘If this was a movie, I’d take you in my arms right now and kiss you.’

For a moment, Flora thought she’d heard him wrong. ‘What did you say?’

‘To hide. You know, in movies when the hero and heroine are trying to avoid being seen the guy pulls the girl into an embrace.’ He laughed. ‘Usually she waits until the coast is clear before stepping back and slapping him. Which is why I didn’t try it.’

Flora could feel her face heating up. She was suddenly aware of how close he was standing, of the heat coming off his body. Her heart was hammering.

‘Ha!’ she managed. ‘I bet you did, alright.’

What had she just said? Did it even make sense?

‘Well, at least that confirms we’re in the right place. Let’s go.’ Marshall took a step forward, but Flora held him back.

‘Hold on. We can’t just waltz in there now, can we? Not now she’s here.’

‘I wasn’t planning on waltzing, but if you insist.’ Marshall tried to take her hand in a dance position, but Flora pushed him off, irritated. Maddening man. Why had she let him come? She just couldn’t think with him around.

‘Wait. No. I don’t think it’s a good idea. She’s already really pissed off with me. She thinks I’m a busybody. She thinks I’m interfering, getting in the way.’

‘She’s got a point.’

Flora whacked him on the arm. ‘Shut up. We need to think of another plan.’

But Marshall was already walking towards the Vasco offices. Flora ran after him.

‘What about our disguises?’ he said.

She held up the tatty wig. ‘You really think this is going to fool someone like Cynthia Curtis?’

‘Hmm. Maybe not. Well, let’s try anyway.’

And before she could stop him, Marshall had pushed open the frosted glass door and marched right in.

‘Here goes nothing.’ Flora followed. The Vasco offices were bigger than they looked from the window. There was a large desk in front of a partition, with the main room swelling out behind. Two shabby-looking couches were pushed against the far wall, and on one of these couches sat the warden, deep in conversation with none other than Mr Vasco himself. There were two more people milling around: a woman with wispy grey hair holding a notepad and a man with a bald head so shiny it reflected the strip light overhead. The woman looked across at Flora and smiled. The man ignored them completely. Flora turned to whisper to Marshall, but he was no longer standing by her side. Instead he was crossing the room and holding out his hand to Mr Vasco.

Flora followed, arriving in time to hear the warden’s gasp of surprise and her sharp, ‘What are
you
doing here?’

Marshall’s answer was not what they had rehearsed. ‘We’ve come to make sure the Captain’s will is in order, Mrs Curtis. Flora here has some reservations about it and we wanted to reassure ourselves that it’s all being handled properly.’

What the hell did he think he was doing? This wasn’t the time for the damn truth.

‘Oh. She does, does she?’ The warden turned her icy glare on Flora. ‘I suppose that’s what all your snooping around has been for. Not so worried about poor old Joy, after all.’

Flora’s mouth dropped open. The nerve of the woman! ‘Actually,’ she said, thinking on her feet, ‘I’m here on Joy’s behalf.’ She gestured towards Marshall and laughed. ‘My colleague has got the completely wrong end of the stick. Elizabeth mentioned there might be something in the Captain’s will for Joy, who was a close friend. Joy asked me to come along to the reading as she’s too sick to come herself.’

The warden glared. ‘She looked fine to me when I saw her at breakfast.’

‘You’ll be rethinking her move to Special Care then, if she’s fine.’

Marshall cleared his throat. ‘Ladies. Let’s not forget what we’re here for.’ He nodded towards the solicitor, who was staring at Flora through narrowed eyes.

‘Right.’ Flora looked from Mr Vasco to Cynthia and back again. ‘By the way, this is the man I was asking about yesterday. I believe you have met before after all.’

‘No.’

‘Of course we have.’

Flora glanced at Marshall. That the warden had given one response and Vasco another didn’t surprise her at all. These two knew each other alright. The question was, why had Cynthia lied about it?

Mr Vasco stood, and Flora was surprised again by his height. He even towered over Marshall. ‘I’m afraid only designated parties can attend the reading, young lady. But rest assured if there’s anything in Captain Wares’ will for your friend – what was her name?’

‘Joy Martin,’ said the warden quickly.

‘Right. Well, I’ll be in touch with Mrs Martin in due course if necessary. But now, if you’ll excuse us.’ Mr Vasco turned and waved the man and woman over. Flora and Marshall had no choice but to head for the door. But once they were outside in the sunshine, Flora went on the attack.

‘What the hell were you doing in there? What was all that “Flora has reservations” nonsense? That’s not what we agreed.’

Marshall shrugged. ‘I was improvising. Anyway, it’s true, isn’t it?’

‘True is not the way to go here. We needed a cover story. Good job I was on the ball.’

‘Oh yes, your cover story got us in there home and dry. Look at us, sitting at the reading.’ He did a mock double-take. ‘Doh! How did we get out here?’

Flora slumped against the wall. ‘It’s really frustrating. I bet you a hundred pounds what’s in that will would go a long way to reassure Joy about the Captain.’

‘Done.’ Marshall spat on his hand and held it out for Flora to shake.

‘Yuk!’ She pushed it away. ‘Anyway, why are you here, exactly? I hope it wasn’t just to sabotage it for me, Marshall, because this happens to be really important.’

‘You’ve sure got a great opinion of me.’ He shook his head. ‘Why is it so important to you, Flora? Why do you care so much?’

‘You wouldn’t understand. I just want to find out what’s in that will. I can’t explain it, I just need to know.’

‘Your investigator instinct?’

She shrugged off the joke. ‘You go back to Shakers. I’m going to hang around here a bit longer, see if I can quiz the warden when they come out. You never know, she might take pity on me and spill the beans.’

‘Like hell she will.’ Marshall turned to go, then stopped and looked back. ‘Flora?’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Later, alligator.’

‘In a while.’

Flora didn’t watch him leave. She’d already had an idea. She jogged down the terrace and slipped into a narrow alley between two three-storey town houses. The alley, she was pretty sure, led to the back of the offices on School Gardens. And from there, if memory served her correctly, she might just be able to sneak a peek into the back of Mr Vasco’s office. As she ran she pulled out the wig she’d shoved in her pocket earlier. Why not? She pulled it on her head, laughing. The reflection of a red-headed stranger glanced back at her from a dark window. Maybe this new person would have better luck as an investigator, because Flora sure wasn’t doing such a great job so far.

Chapter 14

Mr Vasco’s voice was easily discernible, droning on and on in legalese. Flora, perched on top of a huge metal dustbin, was almost glad she wasn’t inside the stuffy office instead. She’d climbed up and risked peering in just long enough to check she was in the right spot, then settled down close to the open window. She was just starting to worry that she’d missed the meat of the reading when Vasco’s tone changed.

‘“I, Solomon Wares, residing in Maples Retirement Village, Shrewsbury, hereby revoke all former wills and testamentary dispositions made by me and declare this to be my last will and testament on the seventeenth of April two thousand and twelve.”’

The sun didn’t reach the alley behind School Gardens but that wasn’t why Flora shivered. Hearing the Captain’s own words read out like that was spooky enough, but the date made it even worse. This will was written the day before he died.

‘“I appoint William Vasco to be sole executor of this will, and my estate should be distributed as follows.”’ Mr Vasco cleared his throat. Flora was hardly breathing. ‘“I give absolutely all of my real and personal property, whatsoever and wheresoever, to the Six Wishes Charitable Foundation.”’

Flora’s head jerked up. The Six Wishes Foundation? The Captain had left everything to the same charity as Ida? How odd. Hadn’t there been anyone at all, no distant relatives or close friends? She forgot about her theory that the beneficiary might be behind the Captain’s death and mourned his aloneness. At least her mum and dad had her to carry on after they’d gone. How tragic to leave behind no one at all. To be reduced to naming a charity for every penny you’d scrimped and saved and worked for, for your whole life.

Although what about Joy, and all the other friends he had at the Maples? What about his medals? She listened to Mr Vasco drone on about witnesses and probate, but there was nothing else of interest. No small bequests at all. Maybe Joy was right – maybe he really had been depressed.

So much for proving the third floor was a safe and happy place to be.

She began to climb down from the bin, gripping on to the window ledge for support. In a way, she was relieved. At least this meant there was nothing untoward about the Captain’s death. No one benefiting meant no motive. She’d cleared up the mystery, even if it wasn’t much of a mystery at all. Judging by the warden’s new-found overzealous attitude to medication, it was most likely the Captain had taken some kind of mis-dose of his medication and suffered a dizzy spell at the top of the stairs. Maybe Cynthia really did see him fall and just didn’t reach him in time. Flora suddenly became aware of how ridiculous she must look, clambering over a dustbin, listening in at windows, Marshall’s mum’s scraggy wig perched on her head. All for nothing. Her overactive imagination was only half the problem: it was Joy’s she needed to deal with.

She planted her feet safely on the ground and brushed the dust off her backside. As she stuffed the wig in her bag she noticed a shuffling sound coming from a pile of cardboard stacked further up the alley. Rats, no doubt. Flora remembered hanging out behind the library buildings as a teenager, being teased mercilessly by the tough-nut guys who found – and chased her with – a dead rat. She grimaced. Horrible things. Keeping her eyes on the towering stack of discarded packaging, she edged towards the end of the alley. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud, and the narrow space, dingy enough to begin with, was bordering on dark now. Especially in the shadows cast by the looming walls overhead. She’d have to creep past the rat to get out to the lane. She pushed her hand through her itchy hair and took a steadying breath.

Just then the cardboard began to move. Flora watched as piece after piece fell away from the wall, and out from behind it emerged a low-crouched figure. She screamed – a strangled, breathless sound – and flattened herself against the wall. Not a rat but a man. A man who was running now, reaching the end of the alley and turning left, out of sight, leaving Flora stunned and shaken.

A man wearing a dark blue hoodie with the hood pulled low over his face.

Had she disturbed a tramp? She didn’t hang around to find out. Flora jogged to the end of the alley, glanced left to make sure the coast was clear, then headed right, as fast as she could, back towards the safety of the shoppers on the high street. She looked over her shoulder two or three times to make sure neither Mr Vasco nor the warden had seen her: they must have heard her scream outside the office window. Hopefully they’d put it down to teenagers. High jinks.

It wasn’t until Flora was seated in
Caffè Nero
, nursing a reassuringly frothy latte, that the full implication of what had happened in the alley dawned on her. The man she’d seen fleeing the mound of cardboard had not been a tramp at all. It was obvious, whichever way you looked at it, that he had been watching her. Spying. The discarded packaging provided the perfect hiding place, the ideal vantage point to see what she was up to.

And what had she been up to? Spying on Mr Vasco, listening at an open window to the private reading of a will inside a solicitor’s office. Her face burned with shame. What crazy idea had brought her to this? For all she knew the hooded man was plain-clothes police – she could be in real trouble over this. She’d been hanging around the retirement village, asking questions about the Captain … Her hand flew up to her mouth as a horrible thought struck her. Cynthia had said the police had been all over the Maples: maybe the postmortem had proved his death was suspicious and now they were keeping tabs on their suspects. After all, this wasn’t the first time she’d been followed – couldn’t the man from the alley be the same as the person who’d trailed her through the back streets of Shrewsbury a week ago? Maybe they’d been watching her for a while.

Flora took a sip of coffee, wincing as it burned her throat. The queue in the cafe was right out the door now; a draught blew in and flapped at the hem of her linen trousers. She thought about it again then shook her head. No, that couldn’t be it. The police didn’t operate that way. An officer would have told her to step down from the bins back at Vasco’s office and demanded to know what the hell she thought she was doing. But soon her relief turned to anxiety again: if not the police, then who? Why would anyone be spying on her? Unless …