Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery (8 page)

‘Flora? Are you still with me?’

She gave her head a little shake. ‘Sorry. Yes, a book group. That sounds like a lot of fun.’

Their pizzas arrived, but Flora couldn’t keep her mind off the Maples. Or rather, she couldn’t stop thinking about Joy’s story of the caretaker’s son. What
had
they done to him that was so terrible? If only the warden hadn’t come looking for her at that precise moment.

Heston put his fork down and looked at Flora’s plate. ‘Not hungry, sweetie?’

Flora was on the brink of telling him about Joy’s crazy accusations, vow of silence or not, when her phone rang. She slipped it out of her bag and answered, glancing sheepishly at the other diners.

‘Hello?’

‘Flora? Is that you?’

‘It’s Joy,’ she mouthed to Heston as she pushed back her chair and walked to the edge of the terrace. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of an accident.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘It was just a fall. I’m not too bad, but I’ve hurt my hip.’

‘Have you seen the doctor?’

‘Not really. The thing is, Otto needs you.’

Flora turned her back to Heston and all the pairs of eyes boring into her. ‘Joy, you need to go to the medical centre right away. Can you walk?’

‘Oh, I have been. I’m fine, really. But I need you to take Otto for a few days. I won’t be able to look after him properly. I’m feeling very stressed about taking him for walks, making sure he’s okay … You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Well, no, of course not, but–’

‘That’s wonderful, thank you. I’ll have everything ready for you. Can you come right away?’

Flora walked back to the table, a knot of anxiety forming in her stomach. Heston jumped up to pull out her chair, ever the gentleman.

‘What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘It’s worse than that. I’ve seen my future, and it’s not pretty.’

Heston raised one eyebrow.

‘I have just,’ explained Flora with a heavy sigh, ‘acquired a dog.’

‘Pardon?’

‘A pug called Otto. Joy’s had a fall – she wants me to take him in for a couple of days. She’s totally paranoid about his safety at the moment, so I have to go over to Sleepy City right now and rescue him or I imagine there’ll be an uprising the likes of which Shrewsbury has never seen before.’

‘Even during the wars with the Welsh?’ said Heston, smirking.

‘Funny.’ Flora picked up a slice of pizza and looked at it disconsolately. ‘I don’t even like dogs, especially. I’m more of a cat person myself.’

‘Me too.’

They looked at each other in silence.

‘Do you want a lift? We can stop off at the supermarket for dog food.’

‘Thanks, Heston, but I think I’ll walk. If my life is going to be taken over by a small animal I need to enjoy my last moments of freedom while I can.’

She kissed him on the cheek and waved goodbye.

She didn’t much like dogs, Heston didn’t like dogs, and Marshall was going to have a field day with this. Why did her life have to turn so complicated?

And why hadn’t she just said no?

Chapter 5

‘Why didn’t you just say no?’

Marshall reclined in Flora’s chair with his feet on the desk, laughing at her plight, while Otto sat in her arms panting and wheezing like an old steam engine.

‘I couldn’t,’ whined Flora, sounding a little like Otto had at five o’clock that morning when he’d scratched at her bedroom door to be let in.

‘Why?’

Flora could see Marshall was genuinely bemused. He would never put himself out this way, especially if it meant turning over his house to an unwanted canine guest.

‘I couldn’t say no because a poor old lady’s peace of mind depended on it,’ she snapped. ‘It’s what friends do.’

Marshall shrugged. The gesture was so typically Marshall, so laid back and all-American, it made her want to slap him. She took a calming breath. It wasn’t Marshall’s fault she was a total pushover. She just didn’t like having it pointed out, was all. Especially by him.

‘Well,’ he said, standing up and stretching his arms back like an athlete, ‘we’ve got other things to worry about today. So little Oscar there will just have to behave, won’t he?’

‘Otto,’ said Flora, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. ‘And he is behaving.’

‘Only because you haven’t put him down all morning.’

It was true that Otto didn’t seem to like being anywhere but in Flora’s arms. From the moment she’d taken him from a triumphant Joy last night, the pug had clung to her like a baby. She’d rocked him to sleep, then laid him in a makeshift bed on Joy’s spare dressing gown, hoping the smell would be enough to keep him there all night.

She’d only got four hours, and now the lack of sleep was starting to take its toll.

Flora hoisted the dog up onto her shoulder and patted his back. ‘So what’s to worry about now?’

Marshall threw a newspaper across the desk. ‘Page eight. Take a look’

Flora turned the pages with her free hand. When she reached page eight she nearly dropped the damn dog on the floor.

‘Jesus! A full page ad? What are they trying to do, shut us down completely?’

Marshall gave another trademark shrug and got up to stand beside Flora. They looked down at the paper together.

ROCKFORDS INTERNATIONAL REMOVALS

Top Quality Removals at Rock-Bottom Prices

You’ve tried the rest, now try the best!!!

We do the work so you get to shirk!

Try our packing service – 50% off for new customers

‘Fifty per cent off! Surely they can’t make any money with an offer like that?’

‘Maybe that’s not their prime objective.’

‘What do you mean?’

Another shrug. ‘Getting customers seems to be what this is about, not making money.’

‘But those customers are
our
customers. They’ve got no right to undercut us this way.’ Flora put Otto on the floor and hopefully pushed his nose towards a dish of biscuits. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘There’s nothing we can do, is there? We can’t match that offer. Just haven’t got the manpower.’

Flora’s head jerked up sharply. She was sure she’d heard Marshall put just a bit too much emphasis on the word “man”, but he was still looking at the newspaper. Don’t be paranoid, she told herself. Apart from teasing her about Otto, Marshall had been almost friendly today. Maybe he too was sick of the sniping. Whatever the reason, Flora wanted to enjoy the calm and not rock the boat.

‘Maybe it’s time to think again about some other ideas for the business,’ she said. ‘You know, like my removals counselling service?’

Marshall groaned. He picked up the paper, screwed it into a ball, then threw it across the room. It landed in the wire waste bin with a thunk. Bullseye.

So much for not rocking the boat.

Richie chose that moment to clatter up the steps and burst into the office, smelling of diesel and outdoors. Flora looked at the clock on the wall.

‘It’s almost eleven, Richie.’ She tried to keep her voice light. ‘Where’ve you been?’

Marshall dipped his head. She wasn’t going to get any support from him, then. This was the first she’d seen of Richie all morning. Tardy was an understatement.

Richie dropped the keys onto the table. ‘Took the van for a wash, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, you did – yesterday, after we’d finished moving Vera into the Maples. What have you been doing
this
morning?’

Richie was looking at Marshall, but when Marshall refused to return his stare he turned to Flora and shrugged. ‘Was delivering leaflets, wasn’t I? Drumming up new business.’

‘Really?’ Flora was surprised, but pleased. This showed initiative – maybe Richie would turn out to be a good worker after all. He was Cynthia’s nephew, and she had a good work ethic. A bit cold-hearted when it came to pets, perhaps, but clearly good at business. Maybe Marshall
had
made a good choice.

But then she had another thought.

What leaflets?

‘Which leaflets were you delivering, Richie? The Shakers ones ran out last year, and no one’ – she looked pointedly at Marshall – ‘has gotten around to printing any more.’

The only sound in the room was Otto slurping water from a bowl.

‘Well, anyway, better go sort out the packing crates,’ said Richie.

‘I’ll come and help you. They’re in a right mess.’ Marshall jumped up.

Flora smelt a rat.

‘Just hold it right there, you two,’ she ordered. They stopped by the door, Marshall a foot taller than Richie but his body language just as tense. ‘Would someone like to tell me what’s going on here?’

Neither one of them would meet her eye.

‘Richie? Where exactly were you delivering these mystery leaflets?’

‘On the industrial estate.’ The words were out of Richie’s mouth before Marshall could nudge him silent. Flora looked at them both, confused. Then realisation dawned.

‘Marshall Goodman. You are just the worst, the most sneaky, underhanded person I have ever met!’

‘Oh, come on, Flora,’ Marshall said, clearly deciding the best form of defence was attack. ‘If I’d told you, you’d have said no way. We have to do something – business is going real badly. If we don’t branch out soon there’ll be no business left.’

‘But it’s not for you to decide, is it? This is
my
business, not yours. I’m sick of this, Marshall.’

‘And I’m sick of you sitting on your skinny ass all day doing nothing about it.’

‘I’m not doing nothing!’ Flora tried to keep the wail out of her voice. ‘I’ve had loads of ideas and you veto every one.’

‘Like you veto all mine,’ he countered stubbornly.

‘Guys?’ They turned to face Richie, who backed away, hands raised as if in surrender. ‘I’m, like, outta here. You two have issues.’ Grabbing the keys off the table, he made for the door and paused at the top of the steps.

‘By the way,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘your dog’s gone. Little bleeder snuck out ages ago.’

***

By the time they located Otto – fast asleep under the wheels of the van, nearly giving Flora a heart attack (‘What is it with all these suicidal dogs?’ Marshall joked) – it was nearly lunchtime, and Marshall suggested they call a truce and walk into town for something to eat.

‘My treat,’ he said.

Flora allowed herself to be persuaded, placing Otto carefully in her tote bag with his little head poking over the side. Really, his constant panting must be the sign of some illness. Pets taking after their owners was one thing, but surely Otto couldn’t have asthma too? She made a mental note to tell Joy to take him to the vet. Once she managed to persuade the old lady that her pooch wasn’t in mortal danger and offloaded him, of course.

They walked side by side up the hill, Marshall keeping to the outside of the narrow pavement, nearest the road. Whenever they met a pedestrian coming the other way and had to move off the kerb to make room, Marshall’s arm hovered at her back protectively. Did he think she was so feeble she’d just fall into the road without him there? She gritted her teeth and tried not to let her irritation show.

Marshall was oblivious. ‘You know, Flora, I haven’t got anything against the handyman thing–’

‘Handy
person
. And it’s not just about fixing things up. It’s a whole removals counselling service. You know, helping them with the stress of moving. Putting up curtains and hanging pictures and stuff is only part of it – I’m talking about offering a service that takes care of everything. Mail redirection, new utilities, things like that, but also someone to talk to when it all gets too much. You
know
how they get. I really think it would help.’

‘Right. It’s just, would they be willing to pay for it? I know you want to put your degree to good use and all.’ He tailed off. Flora could read his mind: Why don’t you put your degree to good use and leave me to run the business? She set her face determinedly forward and fixed her eyes on the castle ahead. Marshall sighed. ‘I just don’t think it’s got the same money-making potential as my idea, is all.’

Marshall’s idea, as Flora had heard many times before, was to branch out into commercial storage. Shakers owned some lock-up units out Telford way, currently rented for a pittance to people who had too much furniture for their overcrowded homes. Marshall’s brainwave was to kick these people out and offer secure storage to local companies, complete with archiving and retrieval.

‘It’s big business,’ he told her the first time he brought it up. ‘I’ve done a cash flow forecast – it could make a huge difference to us.’

Flora hadn’t so much as glanced at the figures. She’d dismissed the idea straight off. Why? Because she liked dealing with people, she told him. That was Peter Lively’s vision for Shakers and so it was also hers. She wasn’t about to go all corporate and sell out. No matter how tight things were.

Maybe Marshall was justified in being pissed off with her – or just “pissed”, as he would say – but her plan was equally viable. And had been dismissed just as categorically by him.

They were at an impasse, with Flora not about to make the first move. She decided to change the subject: Marshall wasn’t the only one who could go on the attack.

‘For someone who’s so concerned with the bottom line, you don’t seem too bothered about Rockfords and their imminent theft of all our customers.’ She stepped to one side to let a woman with a pushchair pass and Marshall’s hand went up to her back as if on elastic. ‘And will you please just give it a rest with the whole gallant gent crap?’

They’d walked another couple of yards in silence before Marshall stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, a great immovable object in the stream of lunchtime shoppers.

‘You know what, Flora?’ His voice was so low she had to lean in and crane her neck to hear. ‘You can go to hell.’ And with that he struck off back down the hill, and Flora wouldn’t have stood a chance of catching him up even if she’d wanted to.

Which she certainly did not.

Flora decided to take a detour of her own. She would go to the one place where she might get some sympathy, or at least where it was guaranteed to be quiet.