Trouble in the Cotswolds (The Cotswold Mysteries) (17 page)

‘Chases after women like a lion after an antelope,’ said Juliet. ‘That’s what they say about him.’

‘You wonder how men like that get away with it, these days.’

‘He doesn’t,’ muttered Juliet. ‘Nobody round here’s fool enough to take up with him.’

‘He’s been in prison,’ Thea remembered. ‘But not for chasing women.’

‘He has. But he’s out now.’ Juliet sounded oddly gratified by this.

‘Oh, well.’ Thea shook herself briskly. ‘That means I’ve met all the Callendar sons now.’

‘Have you? Edwin as well?’

‘Oh, yes. Quite a family, by the look of it. All living locally. Do they all work for the family business?’

‘Everybody does,’ said Juliet absently. ‘Its tentacles stretch into all our lives.’ It sounded like a quote to Thea. The sort of thing people said to each other so often that its meaning faded from overuse.

Drew called from inside his car, ‘Thea, we’ve got to move. Timmy’s desperate for a pee. Can we go?’

‘He can do it here,’ said Juliet. ‘We won’t look.’

‘He doesn’t want to. It’s a thing with him. It has to be a proper loo.’

‘For heaven’s sake,’ scorned Juliet.

Drew looked at Thea, saying nothing. She ushered her passenger into her seat, and turned back to Drew. ‘Here – this is the house key. You go in and use the loo. Don’t let Blondie out of the kitchen. I’ll take Juliet
home and be back ten minutes after you.’ She impressed herself with this display of logistical authority. ‘Okay?’

‘Um – I turn right here, do I? Then right again at that statue?’

‘Yes. You can’t go wrong. There’s a sign that says Stanton. Hang on, Tim,’ she called cheerily at the boy on the back seat. ‘Just a few more minutes.’

In the car, it dawned on Thea that here was a chance to ask a whole series of questions about the people of Stanton and how they connected. Juliet might have mental or emotional problems, but she was more than capable of filling in some background. ‘What exactly does the Callendar business do, then?’ she began. ‘Something medical – is that right?’

‘They transport supplies to vets. Urgent things. Serum, blood, specimens. It’s big business.’

‘Stuff for horses, I suppose?’

‘Mostly. Dogs, as well. Where the money is. Specially around here. People will pay anything to keep their animals alive.’

‘What about Natasha Ainsworth? Did she work for them?’

‘Mmm.’ Juliet’s attention was drifting. ‘Who’s that man? With the little boy?’

‘My friend. He lives in Somerset and very kindly came to visit me when he heard I’d got flu.’

‘Have you?’

‘It’s much better today. I’ve had two very unpleasant nights. And my head still aches.’

‘Eva might have died of it. That’s what they thought would happen. But she didn’t. She died of something else.’

Thea’s scalp prickled gently at this. There had been three deaths in or near Stanton in the past couple of weeks. Two of them had been assumed to be natural or accidental and the third was undoubtedly a murder. ‘What was it, then? That she died of?’

Juliet leant towards her, as if afraid of eavesdroppers. ‘She choked to death,’ she whispered. ‘Can you imagine that? She couldn’t get her breath, and just
choked.
Her face was all blue when Auntie Barbara found her.’

‘How horrible. But what was it that choked her?’

‘Just phlegm, they said. That happens, you see, with cystic fibrosis. You have to keep the lungs clear all the time. But Auntie Barbara said she’d done it, only an hour earlier, and there wasn’t any phlegm.’

‘Did they do a post-mortem?’

‘No they didn’t. They said there wasn’t any need. There was a life-threatening pre-existing condition, and the cause was not in any doubt.’

Thea’s mind was grinding into faster action than it had for some days. ‘Did Eva work at all? Was she well enough for that?’

‘She did some computer stuff at home. Databases. Spreadsheets. She showed me once. Spreadsheets are beautiful, you know. You can do all kinds of wonderful things with them. Lots of people gave her work. Even the council, sometimes. They did a big survey about
footpaths, and needed someone to do extra database stuff.’

‘Really? And I guess she might have done some work for Callendar Logistics – right?’

Juliet made a growling sound. ‘No, she didn’t – not any more, anyway. She couldn’t stand them, you see. Not since that Sebastian …’

‘He fiddled the books or something? Is that what I heard?’ Too late, Thea remembered Rosa saying that Juliet had been attacked. Had she somehow blunderingly failed to grasp that he, or another Callendar, had been the attacker? Anything seemed possible in this small community, with its long complicated history.

‘He tried to blame it on Eva. Thinks I’ve forgotten, or he’d never have stopped just now.’

‘He might not have recognised you.’

‘Huh!’ scorned Juliet.

‘So …’ Thea had somehow lost any thread she might have thought she was following. ‘The point is, I suppose, that you’ve all known each other for ages and there are plenty of nasty happenings in the past.’

‘“Nasty happenings”,’ Juliet repeated, her voice hollow. ‘You could say that. Not just in the past, either.’

‘You miss Eva, I expect,’ Thea said gently. ‘It sounds as if you and she were good friends.’

‘Cousins,’ Juliet corrected. ‘She wasn’t very nice, actually. Angry most of the time. We’re an angry family. We think we’ve got a lot to be angry about.’

Thea recalled Juliet’s mother, just a couple of hours
earlier, shouting in the pub. Life evidently hadn’t been very kind to the Wilsons. The cousins had been victimised in different ways, both Juliet and Eva permanently damaged. There was no way she could ask about the attack that Juliet had suffered, but she knew enough for a sense of waste and hopelessness to grip her, simultaneously with a feeling that however difficult Juliet might find it to function, she was at heart a bright, decent person, full of humour and energy. She had, after all, walked five or six miles along winter paths in a chilly rain. And Thea still heard the delicious rejoinder to the impatient Sebastian Callendar.
And a merry Christmas to you, too.
She smiled again to think of it.

Juliet navigated the way to Laverton, where Thea dropped her at a handsome old stone cottage that she said was home. The obligation to stop and see the woman safely inside was only briefly acknowledged and then resisted. She wanted to get back to Drew and the dog without any further delay. She had her car back; her flu was receding; the rain had stopped again – there was still an hour or more in which to enjoy the only bit of Christmas she was going to know this year.

At the last minute, Juliet paused. ‘That boy – he’s not right, you know. I can tell.’

‘But you hardly even glanced at him.’

‘I did. Let’s say it takes one to know one.’

A cold hand squeezed Thea’s heart. Was Timmy going to develop some lifelong emotional sickness, as Juliet had done? ‘He seems fine to me,’ she protested.

‘Well he’s not. Something’s happening to him. I can see it.’

‘His mother died.’ Thea had not wanted to disclose this fact – it felt like a betrayal. But there didn’t seem to be a choice.

‘Ah. And his father’s too self-absorbed to give him what he needs.’ She nodded sagely. ‘That makes sense.’

‘That’s rubbish. Drew’s not self-absorbed. He’s a wonderful father to both his children.’

‘There’s another one?’

‘A girl. Less than two years older.’

‘She’ll be bullying him, then,’ said Juliet with utter certainty. ‘Mental torture. It’s what big sisters do.’ And without another word, Juliet had moved away, slamming the car door behind her.

The drive back to Stanton took just over five minutes. More than enough time for Thea to remember her own big sister, Emily, and how she had pulled rank, made hurtful remarks, done better at school and made free with Thea’s toys. But she hadn’t tortured or bullied. Perhaps it was different when you both had an older brother, more powerful than either of you.

Drew had to open the door to her. He seemed awkward and agitated. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked him before she was properly in the house.

‘Nothing. Tim made it to the loo, just in time. It took us a while to find it. The dog’s still alive. And there was a phone call just now.’

‘Oh?’

‘Dennis Ireland.’

‘What did he want?’ She recalled that Drew had fingered the neighbour as the most likely of all the people Thea had met to have murdered Natasha Ainsworth.

‘I’m not sure. He was thrown when I answered. Said he’d heard there’s been torrential rain here and hoped there wasn’t any flooding. Sounded feeble to me.’

‘Did he ask how I was? Higgins wanted him to keep an eye on me, while I had flu.’

‘Higgins?’

‘Detective inspector. The one who rescued me when my car died.’

‘Right. Yes. Did I meet him in Broad Campden?’

‘I think not. That seems a long time ago now.’

‘Less than a year.’ He smiled and she could see he was reviewing their sequence of brief encounters since that windy March when they first met. ‘A lot’s happened.’

‘Too much,’ she agreed. ‘Too many tragic deaths – especially in Snowshill. That’s only a few miles from here, you know. It’d be walkable on a nice day.’

‘And Winchcombe,’ he contributed. ‘Where Maggs tracked you down. She talks about you, you know.’

‘Does she?’ It felt as if they were on the edge of something, without enough time to give it due attention. It was no surprise that Maggs talked about her – she had a fair idea what was said, too. The question really was – what did Drew reply?

Thea’s head was gearing up for another bad evening.
The flu had not finished with her yet, and she felt any residual energy draining away. ‘Dennis was probably just being kind,’ she said. ‘I think he’s all right.’

‘I disagree,’ said Drew. ‘He was checking to make sure you weren’t shopping him to the police in his absence.’

‘Rubbish!’ She spoke too sharply and Drew recoiled. ‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it. My head’s aching, and Juliet got me all embroiled just as I was thinking I could forget all about murder. There’s something going on about animals and vets. Did I tell you about the canister that Mrs Callendar got from next door? That’s got to be important, although she promised me it had nothing to do with the murder. There are hints about some hi-tech research going on, which probably has loads of money invested, high stakes and all that. And I rather think there might have been
three
murders, rather than just the one.’

‘“Just the one”?’ he repeated. ‘Isn’t one enough for you?’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean that, either. Where’s Timmy? Is he all right? And Blondie? Has she been out?’ Her spaniel had run sniffing to the kitchen door, obviously hoping to be united with the Alsatian. Thea pushed her away, with an irritable word. The dog was still tainted with the needless aggression she’d directed at Blondie.

Drew took hold of her arm and began to steer her into the living room. ‘Come on. I’ll make some tea. Timmy’s back with the rats. Blondie’s not going anywhere. I saw
a box of mince pies in the cupboard. I’ll warm them up and we can have a special Christmas high tea.’

She wanted to tell him about Juliet’s remarks – perhaps not those concerning Timmy, but the bits about Eva and her links with the Callendars, as well as the way she had died. Had he deliberately averted such a conversation just then, when she started on the possibility of three murders? Was he not here because he was intrigued by the killing of Natasha Ainsworth? Now he had at least glimpsed the majority of the people she had described, how could he resist the challenge of discovering which of them, if any, had taken part in the ultimate crime?

‘Did you say I’d call Dennis Ireland back?’ She had to shout to make him hear over the boiling kettle and the clattering china. It sounded as if he was using proper cups and saucers, rather than mugs. There were moments when Drew Slocombe very much reminded her of her mother.

‘What?’

‘Never mind.’ She stroked her dog, at her side as ever. ‘Could be worse, Heps,’ she murmured. ‘You might have got us into even more awful trouble if you’d managed to kill a rat.’

‘The rats are thirsty,’ came a little voice behind her. Timmy had come quietly out of the back room, and was closing the door carefully. ‘There’s no water for them.’

‘Oh, Lord. There was some this morning – or was it last night? Do you want to do it?’

‘I can’t get the bottle out of that wire thing. I tried.’

‘I’ll do it in a minute.’ She found she could not face getting up again, now she’d got so comfortable on the sofa. ‘Or we’ll ask Daddy when he’s finished making the tea. We’re having mince pies.’

She looked speculatively at the small face. The child was certainly pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, and he seemed somehow pinched, as if undernourished. And yet he had consumed a hearty lunch and taken a normal interest in the proceedings. He had even laughed once or twice. ‘Stephanie’s going to be jealous of your day out,’ she suggested.

He barely reacted at first, then he said, ‘She’s at Maggs’s house. It’s nice there. She hangs her cards up the same as these are.’ He gazed up at the swags of multi-coloured Christmas cards that Thea had already grown so accustomed to that she barely noticed them.

She remembered a vague implication, months earlier, that Timmy was Maggs’s special favourite, in compensation for what she saw as Drew’s preference for Stephanie. Everyone agreed that the little boy was suffering more acutely from the loss of his mother, being younger, and having had very little natural mothering since the age of about three. Karen had been shot in the head some years before she died of the eventual consequences of the injury. Even afterwards, Drew had betrayed his little son by falling in with Stephanie’s wishes that Karen not be buried in their own field behind the house. Timmy had been promised a grave
and suffered acutely when it failed to materialise. Drew’s sudden and startling change of heart over that had made little impact on Thea when she first learnt of it. Since then, she had pondered the matter on more than one occasion.

‘You’ll all be back together this evening,’ she said, in an attempt to console. ‘And tomorrow’s Christmas. I bet Daddy’s going to cook a fabulous lunch for you.’

Drew finally made an entrance, carrying a big wooden tray. He distributed drinks and pies and then asked Thea what she had called through to him.

‘Did Dennis want me to call him back?’

‘No, no. He didn’t leave a number or anything.’

‘Did you tell him you were going home soon?’

‘No. I thought it might be useful if he thought you weren’t going to be alone all evening.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, torn as any modern woman would be between the obligation to be independent and the agreeable sense of being protected. ‘But I really can’t see him as a threat.’

‘You always say that,’ he commented. ‘You always think you’re immune from danger, even when you know there’s a killer on the loose.’

‘And I’ve always been proved right,’ she smiled, aware of a small boy hearing his father expressing alarming sentiments. ‘Don’t be melodramatic.’

Timmy ate two mince pies with apparent relish. ‘Maggs made some,’ he reported. ‘But they were a bit burnt.’

‘Maggs is no great cook,’ Drew agreed. ‘She always thinks she knows better than the recipe.’

‘That sounds like the woman I know. I imagine she’s rather a rebel by nature.’

‘She was determined to be an undertaker from the age of about twelve. It was the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a vocation. And she’s never wavered. She finds me quite frustrating these days, with only half my mind on the job. I owe her a better level of commitment, by rights.’

‘Broad Campden! You wanted to go there. Gosh, we were only a mile or two away, just now. I completely forgot.’

He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. What was I going to do, anyway? Just look at it. It would probably be depressing. I know I have to make my mind up about it. It’s my primary New Year’s Resolution.’ He sighed, and fresh shadows seemed to have developed beneath his eyes.

Thea entertained a little fantasy in which she became a full-time assistant in Drew’s funeral business, doing the paperwork and drumming up new customers. She had felt for some time that he was missing a lot of opportunities to attract more people to his services. Although ignorant of the arcane procedures in place where nursing homes were concerned, she was convinced that judicious advertising and self-promotion would bear more fruit. ‘That’s good,’ she approved. ‘Because I hate to see it going to waste.’

‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘Every time I think about it, I feel pathetic and hopeless. There’s so much involved in making it viable.’

‘I could help,’ she said in a breathy whisper, wondering whether that was an offer she’d regret.

‘Thanks.’ The look he gave her was not eager or excited in the least. He hardly seemed to have heard her. ‘But first we have to get through Christmas, and you have to stay here and nurse that dog. What did you mean about there being three possible murders? I can only think of two.’

Had he been puzzling over this ever since she’d said it? It seemed quite probable, from the tone of his voice. But again she was reluctant to talk about it in front of the child. ‘Juliet had a cousin, Eva. She had cystic fibrosis, and died a week or two ago. She choked to death. It sounds horrible – a terrible way to die.’

Drew’s lips narrowed in a grimace. ‘Most of them are pretty bad,’ he said.

‘Maybe so.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Not many people manage a really good death, do they?’

‘That depends what you mean.’ There was a frown between his eyes. ‘I used to think I knew all about it. Now I realise what a fool I was.’

Thea went cold. This was really not the moment for any sort of grief-stricken meltdown. ‘We’ll have to put that off for later,’ she diverted him, with a concerned glance at Timmy. Unless she could find some absorbing distraction for him, he was liable to hear and even
participate in a conversation that could not possibly be appropriate. ‘Let’s stick with Eva for now. Her funeral was Friday afternoon, the same as Douglas Callendar’s.’ She reasoned that Timmy would be entirely familiar with talk about funerals, and by extension, death, but was hardly to be expected to listen calmly to Drew spilling his emotions concerning the death of the child’s mother.

‘How old was she?’ Drew was obviously making an effort to cooperate.

‘I have no idea. I assumed thirties or forties. There wasn’t a post-mortem. She’s buried at a Methodist church somewhere near Broadway. The thing is, she once worked for the Callendar business, doing spreadsheets and so forth. One of the sons – the one that passed us in that Range Rover just now, actually – was embezzling, and tried to put the blame on Eva.’

‘And you’ve got a nice little theory in which there’s a conspiracy of some sort? How does that work, if he got caught, which I assume he did?’

She rubbed her head and nodded. ‘He went to prison. But doesn’t it all seem rather too much of a coincidence to you, that three people closely involved in the same business should all die at once?’

‘Maybe. But if the person was clever enough to make one look natural, and one an accident, what went wrong with the lady next door? That was plainly a murder.’

‘I know. Although – I do wonder whether it was
intended to look like suicide, and something really did go wrong. It still seems to be a bit doubtful, as far as I can work out. Nobody’s told me any details, but Higgins said an artery was severed. They didn’t find a weapon, which is the most obvious indication that it was murder. Although, if Natasha had time to crawl to another room, maybe she also managed to hide the weapon after she’d stabbed herself.’

‘Why on earth would anybody do that?’

‘Precisely. So we draw the obvious conclusion.’ Again, she worried about the child hearing such a conversation, but Timmy was contentedly muttering to himself, as he had done in the car, and showed no signs of upset.

‘Which raises the question of how someone got in and out of the house,’ Drew said. ‘Were the doors all locked? Didn’t anybody
see
anything?’

‘Apparently front and back were both locked, but I don’t know if there was a Yale, where you can lock it after yourself. And no, nobody did see anything. There’s never anybody out in the street in these villages. A car driving by wouldn’t have thought it odd to see somebody coming out of a house.’