Thursday October 29
A phone-call from the Bishop, who had in vain tried to
talk sensibly with Edith about the forthcoming Sunday service, proved to be
futile. Edith could not help him, but gave him Dorothy’s phone number. Dorothy
would know more. At that point the Bishop realized that Edith was totally
overwhelmed by the whole situation, though he could not know that her emotions
were driven by her smouldering desire for Robert rather than any sadness about the
vicar’s disappearance.
The vicar’s disappearance had left Upper Grumpsfield’s
parish church in disarray. The Bishop would be sure to send someone to preach
on Sunday, but that did not solve the problem of the traditional Christmas
entertainment.
Dorothy could only tell the Bishop that Frederick had not
yet turned up, improvising that everyone hoped he would in a day or two. She
explained in as few words as possible what had happened. The Bishop was
shocked. Why had Mrs Parsnip not told him that the vicar had not caught the
plane to Africa?
The newspapers had reported Mr Grisham’s murder, but there
had been no mention of the vicar except as a passenger in the car, thanks to
Gary’s diplomacy with the press, who were to believe that the vicar’s life
depended on their discretion, a situation that actually reflected a realistic
view of the event.
Until Gary had evidence that the vicar was not being held
a prisoner, he had not choice but to think of him as one, or even as a corpse
left to rot somewhere.
***
Dorothy made excuses for Edith. The real truth was that
the vicar’s wife had entered into an intimate relationship with Robert Jones
the day before he left for Africa. Edith had not given much thought to anything else. Seeing
Robert fussing around her at the vicarage confirmed her suspicions. Dorothy’s
opinion of Robert made a U-turn.
***.
“Everyone believes that the vicar will come back soon,”
Dorothy told the Bishop, although she herself did not believe that he would
return to the vicarage.
“Why didn’t he go to Africa, Miss Price?”
“I have a theory, Bishop, but I can’t explain it now and we
have no proof yet.”
“Who is we, Miss Price?”
“The Hartley Detective Agency and … the police.”
“Goodness gracious. Can you keep me informed, Miss Price?”
“I’ll be glad to, Bishop. We are all worried about Mr
Parsnip. The man who was killed nt far south of Middlethumpton was driving the
vicar to the airport. Mr Parsnip evidently got away from the assassin, but we
don’t know where he went.”
“It’s a big tragedy, Miss Price. I’ll try to get someone
to take the Sunday service.”
“There are two, Bishop. It will be the first Sunday of the
month and All Saints.”
“Then I’ll come myself to the second one, the Bishop
volunteered. What time does the evening service start?”
“At six.”
“I’ll be there.”
Dorothy sighed deeply. It was kind of the Bishop to help,
but it did not solve the problem of the morning service or the Christmas
entertainment, she mused, and it certainly did not solve the issue of Edith’s
affair with Robert. You could be forgiven for thinking Edith’s actions were
premature, but it was nevertheless shameful.
***
Then the idea for a Christmas show that Dorothy had had
earlier and shelved as being unworkable came back into her mind. They would put
on a revue with lots of Afro-American Spiritual Songs and some Christmas carols
for everyone to sing along. She would call Robert that evening and invite him
to a spiritual brain-storming.
Mr Morgan, St Peter’s vain Welsh organist and self-styled
man-of-the-moment was still lodging in Delilah’s bistro’s front upstairs
guestroom. He could help her arrange things, she thought. It was at times like
this that she missed her friend, Laura Finch, who had once been so helpful with
suggestions, though she did not allow herself to be coerced into practical
tasks. Her main ambition had been to include herself in the programme, singing
some ballads or even opera arias, though she had been – to put it politely –
past it.
Dorothy wondered if Gloria Hartley would help. Could she bring
a group of line-dancers along to liven the event up? She could, she said, and
would be delighted. It was an exciting project. Were the line-dancer to wear
grass skirts? Dorothy thought not, even though it would attract more men to the
event and Mr Morgan would no doubt be impressed and would hope to find a
soul-mate among the wriggling females.
“How fat are they, Gloria?” Dorothy asked.
“Mixed,” said Gloria. “And they do wear pantees under the grass,” she
added “We’re very respectable group.”
“Well, they don’t need to wear grass skirts for a
Christmas show, do they? We can decide later what they are to wear over their
knickers.”
Dorothy resolved to tell that story. Grass skirts. Whatever
next?
***
The first rehearsal would take place in the church hall
the following Wednesday. Since it would also be a casting evening, anyone who
could sing properly or had something to offer a revue of Afro-American
Spirituals could come along. Dorothy hoped that the vicar would have turned up
by then. She would secure Robert Jones’s participation as soon as possible. She
hoped Cleo would consent to do the paperwork despite her preoccupation with her
new family constellation, unsolved mysteriesa, and her pregnancy, which was
fortunately going well.
***
Gary was stressed out, to put his condition in Cleo’s
words. He had been a family man for only five days, but he could feel the pull
of weekend by Thursday and tried to clear his desk early so that he did not
have to return to the office after going home for lunch. He could work from
home and leave Nigel to cope with the everyday business at the office.
***
The happier Gary was at home, the more desolate did his
office at HQ seem. Nigel had stuck photos of the Caribbean on the office walls,
but that only emphasized the drabness of the room and the hopelessness of
trying to turn the profligates of the world into responsible citizens.
Gary had often said that he was destined to arrest felons
who saw their spells behind bars as welcome rest periods; someone cooked their
meals so that they ate regularly; their lives were organized; there was a
minimum of work and exercise; drugs and drink were easily accessible thanks to
the corrupt but lucrative delivery services of a few the warders that enabled
the prisoners to enjoy most of the fruits of their illegal labours; if the
prisoners were lucky, they met like-minded prisoners and could plot the next
punishable offence together even before they were paroled.
“Prison is a crook’s paradice,” Gary had been heard to say
on many an occasion.
He dreamt of clearing up the mess behind the prison walls,
but the week he took up residence in Cleo’s cottage was also the week he was
forced to focus on the murders of the Grishams and the disappearance of the
vicar. He found himself facing the fact that he was not an efficient
multi-tasker. The more he thought about it, the more reliant he became on the
multifarious talents of the Hartley Agency, and the more willing he was to let
the Ladies do what they thought best.
***
Chris had sent in a pathology report that confirmed how Grisham
had died. The theory of a neurological drug applied through a syringe was
confirmed unequivocally. The fingerprints on the back seat of Grisham’s car did
not correspond with any on record. Chris would drive to the vicarage to collect
a toothbrush or other object that would bear traces of the vicar’s DNA so that
he could also be excluded – or included since he was still missing. There were
thousands of prints in the storeroom at the coffee bar where Mrs Grisham had
met her death.
Chris did not hold out any hope of tracing the assassin on
forensic evidence. The murder must have
been premeditated, he thought. How else would the murderer have known where Grisham
was? And did the repeat of the use of a drug-filled syringe indicate that it
was the same killer as in the MI5 case Middlethumpton had been called upon to
solve?
***
Speculation dominated every mealtime conversation at the cottage.
Breakfast was no exception.
“Mrs Grisham was extremely foolish to enter into any kind
of business venture that involved her being in the public eye, Chris,” Gary
said. “She was in a witness protection scheme and had been given a new
existence. Why did she defy instructions to remain inconspicuous and open a
coffee bar?”
“She probably thought enough water had gone under the
bridge, Gary.”
“But strangers were visiting her husband and he had organized
a change in their living quarters. She was worried about that. Life was fraying
at the edges and she was carrying on regardless.””
“She was very foolish, I agree,” said Cleo.
***
Chris phoned to find out what knew about the Grishams.
“The whole damn business revolves around two guys who were
given new identities to protect them, and have been murdered,” said Gary.
“The two murders are obviously linked,” said Chris, and
they might not be the last if Mrs Grisham was not the only witness who could identify
Grisham’s mysterious callers. Did neighbours notice anything.”
“That’s a good question Cleo and Dorothy are planning to
investigate.”
“There must be more witnesses to the comings and going of
strangers,” said Chris. “People are alarmed if strangers wander around their
territory. Someone always happens to be looking out of a window or weeding the
garden. The same goes for Mrs Grisham in her coffee bar. Someone will have seen
someone watching her.”
“I’ll let you know if the Ladies have any luck. I just
hope they are cautious. I can’t stop them once they decide to do something, so I
didn’t even try. That way I have a better chance of being told how they got on.
Keep me informed if you find any new evidence, Chris.”
“I hope Dorothy won’t decide to shoot her way out!” said
Chris.
***
“I’m sure the coffee bar has not been cleaned since the
murder,” Cleo told Gary. “How about collecting cigarette ends?”
“Hold on a moment, Cleo. I’ll phone Chris about that.”
***
The forensic team had not finished searching the premises
the previous day. The establishment was sealed off and the team was planning to
go there that morning. Rubbish containers were often a source of evidence and
would of course be included in the evidence collection if there was any to
collect.
***
“A smoker who was there for long stretches would have smoked
a lot because that’s what smokers do, even if it’s not allowed” said Cleo. “Smokers
defend their right to foul the air. So If that observer was professional, his
prints might be on record. We know Grisham was not a nice character, but we don’t
know anything about Mrs Grisham except that she had a high-pitched voice and
ran a coffee bar.”
***
“So you didn’t examine the trash yesterday?” Gary asked Chris.
“No. That sounds like one of the Hartley Agency hunches,”
said Chris.
“It is.”
“We would have done it later. I’ll get onto it now.”
***
“Chris says the forensic team did not search the trash,
but will do so today,” Gary told Cleo.“He didn’t sound too happy, Cleo.”
“I expect the forensic team thought it was a clear-cut
killing of a totally insignificant person,” said Cleo.
“The Grishams’ past was top secret, my love, and Chris has
half a dozen corpses in that mortuary of his. I dare say they all have to wait
their turn.”
“Wouldn’t that girl Sophia have already got rid of the
trash?” said Cleo.
“I don’t suppose she had a chance. She was hysterical and
had to be given a sedative. Emptying ashtrays was the last thing on her mind.”
“Ashtrays?”
“There’s still plenty of illegal smoking going on in cosy
venues.”
***
“What are you going to do next, Gary?”
I’ll get the report on the Grisham’s secret past from Roger and hope to be home for lunch, OK?”
“Sure.”
“Do you happen to know any of the people who lived near
the Grishams, Cleo?”
“No. Can’t we talk a walk down there and look with your
blessing rather than having to do it anyway?”
“We could go there this afternoon, Cleo. I mean you
and me.”
“I suppose we could, but what about PeggySue?”
”Can you get your mother to baby-sit?”
“I’ll ask her.”
***
On reflection, Gary thought he had made a mistake offering
to go to Lower Grumpsfield with Cleo. It was too dangerous. He would go alone
before going home for lunch. Cleo decided to send Dorothy because she less
recognizable. She phoned Dorothy to ask her if she would.
When Gary had left for HQ, she phoned her.
“I’ll go now, Cleo. The jaunt will do me good. What do you
want me to do?”
“Gary offered to go with me to find out if the Grishams
had contact with their neighbours. You should wait and go with him this
afternoon, Dorothy.”
“That leave more time for things to get hushed up or murders
to occur, Cleo.”
“Point taken, but I don’t think you should talk to anyone
at length.”
“I can’t find anything out by sign-language,” said Dorothy.
“I’ll have to talk to them properly. Nobody knows me there.”
“OK, but make sure
they don’t think you are sleuthing, Dorothy. You could ask the neighbours if
they thought the Grisham house would be for sale,” Cleo suggested. “I assume
that the news of the Grishams’ deaths has got through to them by now, but you
could be asking about any house in the area.”
“That sounds good. I’ll report back when I’ve done the
job.”
Dorothy’s turn of phrase often amused Cleo.
***
Dorothy was excited. She dropped her loaded pistol into
her handbag, having discarded her rucksack after the shattering experience of
not being able to reach the weapon when she thought she needed it. No one would
suspect her of being armed. Even HQ did not suspect her when she marched in
there. This was Great Britain, after all, and she was a respectable pensioner,
especially if she wore her ugly cloche hat.
***
Having set out to walk, Dorothy thought better of it and hopped
on the bus that went in the right direction. It eventually bowled down the main
street of Lower Grumpsfield and stopped on the corner of Shakespeare Road. All
the streets in Lower Grumpsfield went off the main street and most of the
houses were built quite recently for people who liked living quietly and worked
elsewhere. In Upper Grumpsfield, the side streets sported flower or tree names;
in Lower Grumpsfield the great poets of the nation had been immortalized.
Shakespeare Road was quite long and ended in Milton
crescent. The Grisham house was one of a number of modern residences that had evidently
been designed by the same architect since they all looked alike. The cresent
had been designed and built in one fell swoop and the houses were older and
bigger than those in Shakespeare road.
The area looked affluent. The Grisham residence was quite
central and the arc shape of the crescent meant that the neighbours could
definitely see what was going on at house Number 9. Dorothy did not think
visitors came on foot. She paused at the gate of Number 9. As she hoped, it
wasn’t long before a woman saw her and came out of a neighbouring house to find
out who she was.
“You know Mr Grisham is dead, don’t you?” said the
woman.
“Is he,” replied Dorothy. “I didn’t know him.”
“Murdered,” said the woman. “Mrs Grisham was also
murdered.”
“That’s terrible,” said Dorothy, wondering how much the
woman knew about the Grishams’ death and who had told her.
“He was shot in the back,” the woman said without being
asked. “And I heard that Mrs Grisham was killed in the back room of her coffee
bar,” whispered the woman, getting quite close to Dorothy.
“Who could have done such a wicked thing?” said Dorothy
moving back a step. The woman had already seriously patronized her cocktail
cabinet several times.
“Mr Grisham was either something in MI5 or a secret
agent,” the woman said. “I’m Kate Bollinger-Smythe with a hyphen, by the way. I
live next door at Number 8.”
Dorothy calculated that if the houses were numbered
consecutively, she could make enquiries at 15 more houses.
“How do you do, Mrs Bollinger-Smythe,” said Dorothy. “And
I’m Ruth van Bomgardner. No hyphen. Dutch origin, you know.”
“Oh,” said Mrs Bollinger-Smythe, most impressed and
slightly subservient. “That’s almost royalty, isn’t it? I’m hyphened, by the
way.”
“I prefer to be incognito here,” said Dorothy, hoping that
the woman would be encouraged to talk by virtue of that very smart-sounding
name she had just given herself.”
“There were funny goings-on at Number 9,” the woman
volunteered, getting closer to Dorothy, who resisted the temptation to step
back smartly. “We were all puzzled.”
“What kind of goings-on?” she whispered. “Did Mr Grisham
have a – well you know?”
“A mistress? I’m sure he did, Why else would he want her
to live upstairs and him down?”
“By her you mean Mrs Grisham, I suppose.”
“Yes, Mrs van Bomgardner.”
“So Mr Grisham lived downstairs, did he? That’s a
very funny arrangement.”
“She said he’d got religion and his friends were
part of a sect.”
“Really. What sect?”
“I wouldn’t know that,” said Mrs Bollinger-Smythe.
“I don’t nosy around.”
“Of course not.”
“But then the vicar got quite pally with Mr Grisham. I
think Mr Grisham was giving the vicar a lift to Africa when he was killed.”
“Really?”
Dorothy was just getting into her stride when Gary drew up
in his car. That was unfortunate, but Dorothy had the presence of mind to be
the first to speak to him. He had been astonished to see Dorothy there, jumping
the guns.
“I’m Ruth van Bomgardner and I am going to buy that
house,” Dorothy said very loudly to Gary, giving him a broad wink. “Do you want
it, Mr…?
“Hurley. Not if you do, Mrs van Bom … what did you say?”
“Bomgardner and this is my friend Mrs Bollinger-Smythe, Mr
Hurley,” said Dorothy. “We are the two Bs. She has just been telling me how
sorry she was to hear about the Grishams.”
Gary was quick-witted enough to know that he was spoiling
things by turning up, so he just told the Bs that he would not try to buy the
house if Mrs van Bomgardner had set her heart on it, and left.
“Well, I never,” said Mrs Bollinger-Smythe. “At first it
looked as if he knew you, but he can’t have. He didn’t even know your name.”
“I’d never seen him before,” lied Dorothy.
All in a good cause, she decided.
***
Gary drove home and let himself into the cottage. Gloria
was cooking and Cleo was giving PeggySue something green out of a jar.
“What the hell is that,” Gary asked.
“Broccoli,” said Cleo.
“They hadn’t invented broccoli when I was a baby, but I
survived without it,” said Gary, smelling the contents of the jar and thrusting
it from him rather quickly.
“PeggySue likes it,” said Cleo.
“Or she’s so desperately hungry that she’ll eat anything,”
said Gary, planting a kiss on his daughter’s forehead.
Then he sat down without a demonstration of affection for
Cleo.
“Oh dear,” she said. “It isn’t often that you ignore my
need for a little love in my life.”
“I haven’t stopped loving you, but I do wish you would not
let Dorothy go on curious errands for you.”
“Oh!”
“I met a Mrs Ruth van Bomgardner in Lower Grumpsfield. Do
you know who that is?”
“It sounds very much like one of Dorothy’s nom-de-plumes,”
said Cleo.
“You sent her there, didn’t you, Cleo?”
“You and I were going to go there together. Remember? We
decided that was not a good idea and Dorothy went instead.”
“Did we?”
“Gary! You didn’t tell me you were going there alone,
either. You wanted me to wait till this afternoon .”
“We’d better have that hug, after all,” said Gary, now
feeling guilty about accusing Cleo of doing her own thing.
Cleo stood up and the lovers embraced intensively.
Gloria came in and stopped short at the scene.
“Can I join in?” she said.
“Of course you can. Hugs are free-for-alls,” said Gary.
“I think your daughter wants another mouthful of that green
stuff,” said Gloria. “Wouldn’t she do better on mashed potatoes and gravy?”
“Bring ‘em on, Gloria,” said Gary.
“I’ll bring it all on if you folks can just stop the
lovin’ stuff for a few minutes.”
“We’ll try,” said Gary, and presently they were tucking
into that gravy and mashed potatoes Gloria had talked about, plus lamb cutlets
and peas that were greener than any self-respecting pea should be.
“I think they colour the peas,” Gloria explained. “I
bought them at Verdi’s emporium. He assured me that they are edible, but now I
look at them...”
“We’ll try them on PeggySue,” Gary joked, and proceeded to
mash some up on the small spoon reserved for serving mint sauce. PeggySue
pulled a face. She preferred broccoli.
“So what was Dorothy’s mission?” said Gary, once the laughter had subsided
and he had apologised for using his wonderful daughter as a food-taster.
“Let’s wait until she phones, then she can tell you
herself.”
“Siesta first then?”
“Sure. PeggySue needs her sleep, too.”
“I only get half the sleep I need,” said Gary.
“You’ll have to stop all that lovin’, Gary,” said Gloria.
“I’m going back to the shop now. That other village lover is waiting for me.”
So saying, Gloria left.
***
“Your mother is quite embarrassing with her innuendoes,
Cleo.”
“Dorothy would say ‘if the cap fits, wear it’!”
“I’ll put PeggySue to bed and you clear the table, Cleo. Is
that a deal?”
“Only if you stack the dishwasher later because you
haven’t got the clean stuff out yet and that’s your job, remember?”
“You’re a hard taskmaster, Cleo!”
“I can’t top that, Gary, but I’m about ready for my
siesta, too.”
“I only have an hour before I should get back to HQ. Our trip
to Lower Grumpsfield is clearly superfluous.”
“Stay here, please!”
“I’ll phone Chris. Nigel’s holding the fort.”
“So you’d already planned to stay at home. The outing to the
Grisham’s house was going to take place, so you went there without me and were caught
out by Dorothy. “We really must coordinate, Gary.”
“It’s been a hard week, Cleo.”
“And it isn’t over yet” said Cleo.
“Siesta first,” said Gary. “Plans later.”
***
“I’ve decided to take some of tomorrow off, Cleo,” Gary
announced when PeggySue had told them she was finished with her siesta and
wanted her tea. “We need a home half-day.”
“We need a whole honeymoon,” said Cleo. “But we should get
married first.”
“Is that a rule, a custom or a proposal?”
“Take your pick. We could have a tummy bug and be out of
circulation,” Cleo suggested.
“What a brilliant idea,” said Gary. “Nobody will ask for
proof.”
“But I’m not sure that taking time off iis such a good idea
with so the Grishams murders and Parsnips disappearance to contend with,” said
Cleo.
“ Believe me, it is.
We need to refresh ourselves.”
“But Charlie can’t take a day off school, Gary.”
“No, and we’ll let Gloria take PeggySue to the nursery. That
way we can be alone all morning.”
“You really are the limit, Gary.”
“If you’d rather I went to HQ all day, just say the word.”
“OK. No kids, no crime, no anything except a blissful day
neglecting everything.”
”I didn’t quite mean that.”
***
Dorothy phoned to say that the whole neighbourhood knew about
the Grishams’ murders, but she had been unable to establish how the news had
got around so fast. Should she investigate that?
Gary told her not to.
Dorothy was puzzled.
“We’re taking time off,” he explained. “You should, too. We’re
waiting for forensic findings, Dorothy.”
“This isn’t about findings, Gary. It’s about leaked
information, isn’t it?”
“I’ll talk to Roger and let you know.”
Dorothy would have to manage on appeasement for the time
being.
“What a good job I have other things to do” she told Gary. “Call
me if you need me, or better still, let me talk to Cleo.”
***
“What’s Gary up to?”
“I think he’s been warned off the case, Dorothy. But he isn’t
saying. We’re taking Friday off. I’ve no idea what’s going on.”
“I’ll sort out the Christmas Revuew. Somewhone has to.”
No comments:
Post a Comment