Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery (3 page)

Marshall held her gaze for another second, then nodded as though he’d understood far more than she had meant to say. ‘Looks like you need a time out. I’ll go tell the others.’

Flora noticed that Marshall had pushed the box of own-brand tissues slightly closer as he stood. He knew her so well, knew she would rather stick pins in herself than be seen crying.

‘I’m sorry,’ she called out on impulse as he headed for the stairs. ‘Looks like I picked a hell of a day to go off on a jolly.’

He lifted his hand then let it drop without turning around. She watched him all the way out of the warehouse door, then she pulled out the diary to check for messages. Nothing. And no bookings either. Rockfords or not, soon they were all going to have to face up to some harsh truths. Shakers was in trouble. And Flora had no idea what the hell she was supposed to do about that.

***

Stuart and Steve sat on packing crates while Flora perched on a mahogany table she’d never seen before. Its presence in the warehouse was a little worrying, but now was not the time to ask which poor soul had moved into their new house minus their dining table this week. Marshall’s behaviour was still bothering her. One minute he was tensed for a fight, all jutting jaw and frowns; the next he was passing her tissues and playing the good guy. He’d seemed genuinely worried about her reaction to the Rockfords news – he knew how she took everything so personally.

‘You’re not responsible for the worldwide recession,’ he’d said during one of their many rows about the state of the business.

But Flora knew he thought
he
could do so much better if she’d only give him free rein.

Marshall returned with beer and pizza and they all tucked in, eating in gloomy silence until Flora said, ‘Come on, guys, it’s not the end of the world.’ Her words sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.

Stuart sighed. ‘Business has been crap lately anyway. It’s not like this is going to make it any worse.’ He shoved another slice of pepperoni into his mouth and chewed it solemnly. Flora tried to hide her exasperation. It was difficult for Stuart and Steve, they were on casual contracts – Shakers couldn’t support more than two full-time employees. Even so, they’d been employed pretty consistently for the last few years, despite the recession. None of them knew that Flora paid herself a pittance so she could keep their wages flowing. She had a feeling Uncle Max suspected, but out in the wilds of Whixall he was in no position to be inspecting the accounts.

‘Come on.’ Flora adopted a tone of voice more jolly than she felt. ‘I’m sure we can think of something.’

‘Maybe you should go see David Rockford,’ Marshall said, fixing Stuart with a sardonic stare. ‘You could ask if there’s any work going. They’re bound to be recruiting soon.’

‘Marshall! There’s no need for that.’ Flora jumped off the table and laid her pizza to one side. She began to pace around the perimeter of the warehouse, kicking boxes out of her path as she went. ‘We’ve got to stick together,’ she said. ‘This is not the time to be bickering.’

Marshall kept his eyes on the wall. Stuart’s expression had darkened but he continued munching on his pepperoni – Steve was keeping quiet, but there was something tense about his shoulders, and he’d hardly touched his pizza. Or his beer, which was definitely worrying.

Flora sighed and leaned against one side of the shutters. A breeze blew in and ruffled her hair. She tipped her face to the last of the sun and closed her eyes. Honestly, being in charge of three male employees was a lot more challenging than people might imagine. Keeping these boys in check was something her dad had not prepared her for. If only he’d managed to stick around a bit longer … She swallowed. While her mum’s death had been expected, only a matter of time, her father’s had taken everyone by surprise. He’d only been sixty-four, fit and robust, hauling furniture with the strength of a man half his age. Flora knew his heart attack was just another word for a broken heart. He hadn’t the will to go on without her mother.

But he’d had faith in her, and he’d wanted Shakers to be hers one day. Most days that was enough to get her through.

‘It’s time to make some changes, that’s for sure,’ Marshall said.

Flora opened her eyes and pulled a face in the direction of the car park. There was no one to see her, but it made her feel better anyway.

‘Damn right. Can’t go on like this.’

Steve’s contribution. Flora waited for Stuart to pipe up.

‘What do you suggest, mate?’ he said.

Flora couldn’t stand it any longer.

‘We all know exactly what Marshall’s talking about, so don’t come all “what do you suggest”, Stuart.’ She ignored his shocked expression and rounded on Marshall. ‘And you – you should know better. We need to stick together, we need to keep doing what we’re doing and try harder. Work harder. We don’t need to change direction in the middle of the worst recession this country’s ever seen, and we don’t need wild ideas.’

‘It’s not a wild idea. It’s a proven business strategy – the company I ran back home did real well out of commercial storage and I think–’

‘I don’t want to hear it again, Marshall. And if you were doing so well “back home”, why are you still here? Why don’t you go back to the States and do us all a favour?’

‘Could you two, for once, for all our sakes, just give it a bloody rest? Could I just eat my pizza in peace and not have to listen to you two bickering for a couple of minutes?’

Flora turned to Steve, outraged. ‘What do you mean? Just who the hell do you think you’re–’

‘Flora.’ Marshall’s hand was on her arm, his eyes twinkling. ‘Leave it, okay?’

‘No, it is not okay,’ she said, annoyed by how shaky her voice sounded. But she left it all the same, too angry to push it any further. There was so much wrong with Marshall’s plan she didn’t know where to start. And as for Steve …

Stuart and Steve exchanged a glance. Their discomfort filled the warehouse the way the excess of testosterone had ten minutes ago.

Biting back her anger, Flora squared her shoulders and thought about her dad. What would Peter Lively do right now? A major competitor muscling in; dissent amongst the ranks. The pub of course! A change of scene was just what they needed, and an extra supply of beer couldn’t hurt the boys’ mood either.

Stuart and Steve brightened instantly, looking even more pleased when Flora said the drinks were on her. But as they were locking up, Marshall said, ‘I’ll give it a miss, okay? I’m not in the mood.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Flora tried to hide her disappointment. It wouldn’t do for Marshall to think she actually wanted him around, although a team-building exercise at the local pub didn’t seem like such a great idea without him.

‘What went wrong with your trip out?’ he asked over his shoulder, pulling down the metal shutter and slotting it into place in one smooth movement.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Earlier. You said you hadn’t had a very good day either.’

Flora looked down at the back of Marshall’s head as he closed the padlock and took out the key. Should she tell him about Otto? He’d probably only make a joke of it.

‘What?’ Marshall stood and saw the look on Flora’s face. ‘Come on. I’ll walk up with you. You can tell me about it on the way.’

Flora shrugged. Annoying though he was, it would be good to have someone to sound off to. Voicing her concerns about Joy might show her how silly they were.

They walked up past the heavy commuter traffic, under the railway bridge, heading for the castle. As Flora spoke she was relieved to see Marshall’s face remain serious. ‘Poor old Joy,’ he said when she got to the part about finding Otto. ‘What a thing to happen.’

‘She’s convinced someone did it on purpose. I know, it’s totally crazy. Do you remember that old guy we moved in?’

‘They’re all old, Flora.’

‘Mr Felix, he was called.’

‘In a wheelchair?’

‘Not really. He can walk, he just uses one of those mobility scooters. Anyway, she’s convinced it was him. Wouldn’t say another word about it, just kept repeating over and over something about him “getting his revenge”.’

‘Wow. Heavy stuff. How did it happen, do you think?’

Flora pulled a face. ‘Those blinds are actually quite dangerous. She had the cord looped up but it had fallen down, somehow. Accidents happen.’

Marshall nodded solemnly. ‘If it was an accident, of course.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, come on. Sleepy City is a pretty depressing place, even for a dog. And Joy was out all day with you, and Otto is there all on his own.’

Flora stopped by the traffic lights and pressed the button to cross. ‘I wish you wouldn’t call it that. It just sounds so … like a final resting place, or something.’

‘Which it is,’ countered Marshall with a shrug.

‘You know, Marshall, you don’t have to look for the dark side in everything. Lots of people live in places like the Maples and they’re really happy.’ Flora tapped her foot impatiently, squinting in the low sun. ‘Anyway, what precisely are you getting at? What do you mean about Otto being there all on his own?’

He leaned against a bollard and gave her a twisted smile. ‘I think, Flora, that little Otto might have been trying to, you know – end it all?’

‘Oh, you are the most hateful man!’ Flora swung her tote bag and whacked him on the legs as hard as she could. ‘The most annoying, hateful, horrible man I have ever met. How you could take something as serious as this and turn it into some kind of a joke ... that’s low even for you, Marshall Goodman. Even for you.’

‘You’re right,’ Marshall said, trying to smother his laughter. ‘You’re right, Flora. I’m so sorry. It’s unforgivable. I’m sure you’re right, I’m sure Otto’s really happy there.’

‘I hate you. I really do.’

‘No. You don’t. And that’s part of the problem, don’t you think?’

While Flora stood with her mouth hanging open, trying to think of a snappy comeback, Marshall raised his arm and walked away up Castle Hill. Come back, she wanted to shout. I haven’t finished having a go at you yet. But the insistent beep, beep, beep of the pedestrian crossing forced her to walk forward with the crowd and before long he was out of sight completely.

***

By the following morning, Flora had calmed down enough to almost see the funny side of Marshall’s joke. But it didn’t make her laugh, or even raise a smile. When she arrived at Joy’s unit with her favourite chilli chicken Subway roll, her friend looked to have aged about five years.

Which, in an octogenarian with chronic asthma, was not a good thing.

There was a chill in the air, April showers threatening, and not for the first time Flora lamented her inability to drive. The walk across the city from Sunnybank Rise to the Maples never seemed to get any shorter.

‘Hey, I know,’ Marshall had said last month when their driver retired, ‘why don’t you learn to drive? That would solve all our problems, and you’d be a bit more use around here, wouldn’t you?’

Flora hadn’t risen to it. She’d made her face blank the way she always did when he needled her and carried on typing, her back ruler-straight, her chin set to “get stuffed”. This was a sore point, but it was one Marshall didn’t even know he was prodding. Flora had to date failed her driving test seven times, and that was six times too many. But as far as Marshall was concerned, Flora had never even had lessons. Only Uncle Max knew the truth.

Flora and Joy ate their lunch side by side on Joy’s tiny sofa, elbows knocking together companionably. Flora tried not to look at the window, now devoid of the garish red blinds. Otto lay at Joy’s feet, surrounded by squeaky toys and wrapped up cosily in the crocheted blanket.

‘How is he doing today?’ Flora said, offering the mutt a piece of bread. Otto turned his head away disgustedly.

‘He’s a trouper, is Otto. I think he’s fine. But he won’t go near the window and he whimpers if I try and take him outdoors.’

Flora sniffed the air, wondering how they were managing toilet trips if that were the case. She decided not to ask. ‘And how are you feeling?’

‘Oh, you know. Not great. But I have to keep my spirits up or they’ll move me to the third floor. Like the Captain.’ Joy shook her head and sighed. ‘It was so sad to see him go up there. Once they’ve got you in Special Care ...’ She shuddered and returned to her baguette.

‘Oh, come on!’ Flora wiped her mouth on a piece of kitchen roll and laughed. ‘What is it with you lot and this third floor business? You talk as if there are horrible experiments going on up there or something.’

Joy tipped her head knowingly. ‘Or something, indeed. It’s where they send you to die, Flora, pure and simple. You move in here, into one of these lovely self-contained units, and they let you stay while you’re young enough and fit enough to fend for yourself. But as soon as they see you’re on your way out, that’s it. You’re off to the third floor. Everyone who goes up there dies within three months. Or less. You ask yourself why.’

Flora pulled a face. ‘I know this sounds kind of insensitive, but could it be that most of the people who move to Special Care die so soon after because they’re, well ... old? And sick?’

‘Ah, yes. That’s what they tell you. That’s what they’d
like
you to believe. They say you need to move because there’s all this special equipment in the rooms, hoists and such like, and the staff are specially trained. But that just makes it worse. For us.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘When you’re my age all you have is hope. Hope and memories. When they send you to the third floor, what is there to look forward to? You know you’re on your way out. You’re next. So it happens, doesn’t it? You just give up and die.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be that way, surely? Some of the people who move up there live longer than three months, don’t they?’

Joy tapped her finger to her nose and made a pretend zip across her mouth. Flora sighed and looked around the room. She noticed a collection of doggie paraphernalia and a canvas bag by the door – Otto’s lead, his spare food bowl, a couple more toys. They sat on top of a list, written in Joy’s spidery handwriting.
Breakfast, 6 am,
Flora read.
Walk and poopsies straight after.