The Deadly Mystery of the Missing Diamonds (A Dizzy Heights Mystery)

by T E Kinsey

  But I must dash – I hear Edward exhorting Catherine to ‘put your hands up on your head like horns’, and I fear another bullfighting incident and its attendant injuries, breakages and recriminations.

  Give my love to Emily.

  Your friend

  Ellie

  P.S. Lunch on the first would be swell. Thank you.

  Chapter Four

  It was Ellie Maloney’s strict rule that if the band wasn’t working and Dunn didn’t have a date, he should come round to the house in Bloomsbury for dinner on Thursday evening. In previous years, they had struggled to get together because although the Dizzy Heights tried hard to keep the diary clear on Thursday nights – even musicians needed a little time off – Barty Dunn’s kaleidoscopic love life had meant that he was seldom available. But in recent months he had been a regular visitor, and was, he freely admitted, glad of the company.

  He arrived at seven sharp and Mrs Dalrymple let him in.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Dunn,’ she said as she took his hat. ‘Come on through, won’t you? Mr and Mrs Maloney are in the drawing room.’

  ‘Evening, Mrs D,’ said Dunn, brightly. ‘How’s your knee?’

  ‘Oh, mustn’t grumble. Thank you for asking, though. Everyone’s been so concerned. But it was just a wee tumble. I’ll be right as rain in no time.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. And what about your nephew? Did he get that apprenticeship he was after?’

  ‘Aye, he did. My sister and her husband are so proud of him. Lucky to have a job in this day and age. Third generation of the family working at the shipyards, mind you.’

  ‘Good for him.’

  ‘I see you have your hands full there. Would you like me to take those?’

  ‘No, ta, Mrs D. They’re for the lady of the house.’

  ‘Right you are, dear. Just go on through. They’re expecting you.’

  Dunn nudged the drawing room door open with his foot.

  ‘Hello!’ he called. ‘Burglar here. Just come to do a little light burgling. Carry on about your business. I’ll try not to get in the way.’

  Skins hopped up from the floor where he had been playing with the couple’s two small children. The gramophone was playing ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’. Any other doting father might have arranged the children’s menagerie of soft toys around a picnic blanket, where they could enjoy an imaginary pork pie and a glass of ginger beer. Skins, though, had opted to furnish them with cardboard instruments and stand them in a line so they could perform for the delighted toddlers.

  ‘Hello, mate,’ he said. ‘Come on in. We’ve got nothing worth nicking, I’m afraid. But we can do you a nice plate of nosh if you’re hungry.’

  Ellie put down her trumpet-playing teddy bear and stood to kiss Dunn’s cheek. ‘Hi, honey,’ she said. ‘Ooh, what you got behind your back?’

  Dunn brought out his right hand to reveal that it held a bottle of champagne.

  ‘Oh, you absolute peach,’ she said. ‘I love champagne.’ She turned to Skins. ‘You never bring me champagne. I knew I married the wrong one.’

  ‘Don’t be fooled by his apparent generosity,’ said Skins. ‘It’s not like he bought it. He half-inched it from Tipsy Harry’s at the weekend.’

  ‘Well, it’s very thoughtful, darling, thank you. Pity there’s just one, mind you – I could do with a couple of drinks after the day I’ve had.’

  Dunn’s left hand appeared, holding a second bottle.

  ‘Ivor, darling, I want a divorce,’ said Ellie. ‘I want to marry the man with all the champagne.’

  Ellie was the only person in the world allowed to call Skins ‘Ivor’.

  ‘I’ll pack my things and be out by morning,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry it’s not chilled,’ said Dunn, handing her the two bottles. ‘I should have nicked some ice while I was at it.’

  ‘Where would you have put it?’ said Ellie.

  ‘In Mrs C’s larder.’

  ‘Cold in there, is it?’ asked Skins.

  ‘It would be with a load of ice on the shelf.’

  Ellie laughed. ‘Did I ever tell you that the first time I had champagne I was in—’

  ‘Weston-super-Mare,’ said Skins and Dunn together.

  Ellie harrumphed. ‘Well, if you’re not going to indulge me and let me regale you with my tales of youthful derring-do, perhaps you’ll be good enough to help me round up the monsters so we can get them into bed before dinner.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ said Dunn. He scooped up the giggling Maloney children, one under each arm. ‘Where do you want them? I could put them in the bin, but they’d probably get out. If you can get me a cab, I can have them dumped in the lake at Regent’s Park before anyone knows they’ve gone. Although if I’m taking them that far, I might as well feed them to the lions.’ He roared and the two youngsters giggled and wriggled.

  ‘Feed Catherine to the lions,’ said little Edward. ‘She’s stinky.’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Catherine indignantly. ‘You are.’

  ‘If they’re both stinky,’ said Ellie, ‘we’d better not feed them to the lions – we might make them sick. I think we should bathe them and get them into bed.’

  ‘Story!’ shouted both children together. ‘Uncle Barty. Story.’

  ‘If you run upstairs and ask Nanny nicely to get you ready for bed, I’ll send Uncle Barty up in a moment. Off you go.’

  Dunn put the children down and they scampered from the room.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you, dear?’ said Ellie as their footsteps thundered on the stairs.

  ‘Not at all. I’ll tell them the one about the musician and the Parisian waitress.’

  ‘Teddy bears and toy soldiers will be fine,’ said Ellie. ‘But thank you for the offer.’

  She pressed the servants’ bell, and a few moments later Lottie the housemaid hurried in.

  ‘Yes, ma’am?’ she said, breathlessly.

  ‘I keep telling you, you don’t have to run, dear,’ said Ellie. ‘Nothing’s ever that urgent. Could you get us a big ice bucket and three glasses for the champagne, please. We’ll have it in the dining room. And could you tell Mrs Ponton we’ll be ready for dinner in about half an hour.’

  ‘Right you are, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.’

  Lottie hurried away.

  Half an hour later, the three old friends sat down to dinner.

  ‘Delicious nosh as always,’ said Dunn as he tucked in. ‘Love this fishy tomato soup.’

  ‘It’s Maryland Clam Chowder, you uncultured oaf,’ said Ellie. ‘It’s taken me a little while, but I finally persuaded Mrs Ponton to try making some dishes from the old country. Our last cook wouldn’t countenance it. “I’ll not be cookin’ none of that foreign muck if you don’t mind, Mrs Maloney,” she said, and served us boiled beef, boiled mutton, and steak and kidney pudding – which was at least steamed rather than boiled. The only thing she was prepared to put in the oven was shepherd’s pie, but only because she’d been free to boil the life out of the mince and potatoes first. We had to let her go.’

  ‘This is boiled, though, this soup.’

  ‘Chowder.’

  ‘This chowder.’

  ‘It is, but it reminds me of home. And the next course is to die for. Maryland Chicken. You’ll love it.’

  ‘Is it boiled?’

  ‘Fried. Then steamed. Cream gravy. Mashed potatoes. I asked Cook to get corn on the cob but apparently the greengrocer looked at her like she was asking for mermaid tears collected in a unicorn horn.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it,’ said Dunn.

  ‘You’re all peasants.’

  ‘I keep telling you that, love,’ said Skins. ‘But you had some fancy, romantic notion about improving us. Something about taming the musical savages.’

  ‘And look how far you’ve come,’ she said, pouring everyone more champagne.

  ‘I owe it all to you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, you do. Now, tell us, Barty dear, what’s happening in your world? H
ow’s the romantic drought?’

  Dunn looked accusingly at Skins. ‘Do you have to tell her everything?’

  ‘I don’t have to, mate,’ said Skins. ‘I just like to.’

  ‘Why don’t you try to find a nice girl you have something in common with?’ said Ellie. ‘Someone you could – oh, I don’t know – stay with for more than a night? Someone to love.’

  ‘You sound like my landlady,’ said Dunn.

  ‘It’s only because we care about you, sweetie. We want you to be happy. What about Blanche? Is she still single? I’ve not spoken to her for simply ages.’

  ‘I’m not dating Blanche Adams. She’s . . . It would be like going out with my sister.’

  ‘I like her.’

  ‘I like her, too.’

  ‘Is she well?’

  ‘My sister?’

  ‘No, you goofus. Blanche.’

  ‘As far as I know. Come along tomorrow night and you can ask her yourself.’

  ‘Where are you playing tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s the regular one at Tipsy Harry’s,’ said Skins.

  ‘Oh, yes – sorry, I keep thinking that’s Saturdays. Sure, I’d love to. I can scope out the regulars and see if Superintendent Thingummy’s deserter is there. Maybe take a look around for the secret vault. Then I can ask Blanche why she’s not dating Barty.’

  ‘Don’t you bloody dare,’ said Dunn.

  ‘Well, one of us has to do something and it doesn’t seem as if it’s going to be you.’

  Lottie arrived bearing a platter of chicken and a bowl of mashed potatoes. ‘There’s carrots and peas on the way, ma’am. I couldn’t carry it all at once.’ She hurried out.

  ‘She explains that every time, bless her,’ said Ellie. ‘She must think me a frightful ogre.’

  ‘You can be quite terrifying,’ said Dunn.

  ‘Me? How on earth do you make that out?’

  ‘You know how to use a gun, for one thing.’

  ‘Where I come from, everyone knows how to use a gun.’

  ‘Yes, but I saw you shoot a tin can off a fence at about a hundred and fifty yards. There were blokes in our platoon couldn’t hit a bus at ten feet. I’d not mess you about – you might shoot me.’

  ‘But she doesn’t know I could shoot her dead before she got to the corner of the street,’ said Ellie. ‘And I’ve been nothing but charming and polite. Kind, even.’

  ‘Some people are just nervous and eager to please.’

  ‘Well, I hope she’s not unhappy here. I like her. But anyway, what’s it like, this Tipsy Harry’s place?’ she said.

  ‘Typical posh blokes’ club,’ said Skins. ‘All marble and plummy accents.’

  ‘Liveried servants,’ said Dunn.

  ‘How the other half live, eh?’ said Ellie.

  ‘You are the other half,’ said Dunn. ‘Look at this place.’

  ‘Sure, we’re comfortable,’ she said. ‘But not liveried-servants-in-a-private-gentlemen’s-club comfortable.’

  ‘Well, I think you’d fit right in,’ said Dunn.

  ‘And I think I really could help you find your deserter. And the treasure.’

  ‘You’d better come with us, then,’ said Skins.

  The band arrived at the club early the next evening and set up as usual in the ballroom.

  ‘We seem to be spending a lot of time here these days, what with the lessons and all,’ said Blanche. ‘Did we ever find out why the East Finchley mob couldn’t do the rest of them? They were double-booked for that first one we did, but what about the others?’

  ‘Not completely sure,’ said Mickey. ‘Rumour is that they might be splitting up. Something to do with a dispute over their shares of the takings, I heard. But I also heard their sax player was ill, so I don’t know what to make of it. Probably that, to be honest – if I had half a crown for every time someone told me a band was splitting up, I’d be a member at a place like this instead of the hired help.’

  ‘But what would you do with yourself all day?’ said Puddle. ‘You live for the thrill of the performance.’

  ‘I could do without all the whatchamacallit, though. The admin. I’m a singer, not an office clerk.’

  ‘We need a manager, sweetie,’ said Blanche. ‘I keep saying so.’

  ‘Not sure we can afford it. They’d want their ten per cent.’

  ‘My sister would do it for less,’ said Puddle.

  Mickey laughed. ‘Your sister?’

  ‘Capable girl, my sister. She’d have the whole thing licked into shape in no time. She loves a bit of admin, does our Katy.’

  ‘We have enough trouble persuading some venues that it’s all right to have two women in the band, without having one doing the bookings.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind, just let me know.’

  ‘Do we know what’s wrong with her?’ asked Blanche.

  ‘Puddle’s sister?’ said Mickey.

  ‘No, you simp, the Foot-Tappers’ sax player. Nice girl. Vera.’

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘There’s not many of us granted the great honour and privilege of being allowed to play men’s music. We stick close, us musical girls. I’ll take her some flowers.’

  Mickey untied the string from his speaking trumpet and walked off, shaking his head.

  The room filled rapidly with excitable revellers. Some sat at the tables around the edge of the room, sipping their cocktails and champagne, but many more had already taken up their places on the dance floor. All were chattering excitedly.

  Club rules dictated that gentlemen must be dressed in dinner suits (black tie was just about acceptable) or mess dress uniforms as appropriate. For the lady guests, though, the sky was the only limit. Some still preferred long evening gowns, but the more daring, younger women were in knee-length cocktail dresses. One young flapper, gleaming in a gold-sequinned affair, neatly complemented the newly installed ‘mirror ball’ that glinted over the dance floor. Headdresses abounded, ranging from elegantly simple jewelled bands to elaborate constructions topped with enormous ostrich feathers.

  But no matter how any of them were dressed, they were all itching to get started.

  At precisely the appointed hour, Skins counted the Dizzy Heights in and the dancing began. As always, the dancers’ enthusiasm was woefully unmatched by their dancing skills, but nobody seemed to care. And why should they?

  Dunn caught sight of the Alphabet Gang and leaned down to point them out to Skins.

  ‘That dancing lesson doesn’t seem to have done them any good,’ he said.

  ‘Leave them alone,’ said Skins with a grin. ‘They’re having a good time.’

  ‘Where’s your missus?’

  ‘Over there with . . . I want to say Dudley?’

  ‘That’s his real name,’ said Dunn. ‘Danny, they call him.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Well, she’s over there with him. Probably tapping him for all the gen on the secret treasure. She’s quite excited by it all.’

  ‘As long as she doesn’t scare him off.’

  ‘She’s a canny one, our Ellie. She knows what she’s doing. Unlike Danny. Blimey, but he’s rubbish.’

  Dunn laughed. His attention turned to Millie Mitchell. She wasn’t the sort of woman he usually went out with – and she was obviously very much in love with Charlie anyway – but there was something about her. She was a beauty, it was true, but there must be more to it than that. Perhaps it was her self-assurance, he thought. Or her grace on the dance floor? Most likely her utter unavailability, he decided, and turned his attention back to the complex bassline of the current tune.

  He smiled to himself as he hit every note spot on. This, he was forced to admit, was what it was really all about. Women came and went – well, they did in his life, at any rate – but the thrill of making music with his friends never left him. By their collective, coordinated efforts, he and the other seven Dizzy Heights were making people want to dance. Dispensing joy, one bar at a time. What could possibly beat that?

/>   After an hour, everyone – dancers and musicians alike – was ready for a break. The band retired to the back room that had been set aside for them, while the dancers settled at tables and waited for the liveried staff to bring more cocktails and champagne.

  The back room was quite a few cuts above the usual shabby green rooms in the other clubs and theatres they regularly played. The decor was classy, the chairs comfy, and the food and drink luxurious and plentiful. Dunn had had a quiet word with one of the committee members and there were now several bottles of champagne chilling in ice buckets on the table.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ said Elk, tucking in to something he thought might be called a vol-au-vent but wasn’t completely sure.

  ‘Now we’re the resident dance band, you might be able to,’ said Mickey.

  There was a sudden commotion at the door.

  Mickey and Elk looked over to see Millie Mitchell, her arm dripping blood, being helped by Barty Dunn. Everyone fell silent.

  ‘Come on in and sit down, love,’ he said.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Mickey. ‘Look at the state of you. What happened?’

  ‘Nothing dreadful,’ she said. ‘One of the Alphabet Oafs blundered into me and knocked me on to a table. Broke a glass and gashed my arm. Ernie said there might be a first aid kit in here.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’ called Blanche from the other side of the room.

  ‘He didn’t say. Charlie would know. He tried to come with me but he . . . well, he passed out. He’s a bit of a cissy when it comes to blood.’

  Blanche had searched the sideboard on her side of the room and had found an old army first aid haversack. She brought it over to where Dunn and Puddle were tending to the wounded dance teacher.

  ‘Blanche will take care of you – she was a Fanny,’ said Puddle. ‘Shut up, Skins.’

  Despite being married to a former member of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, Skins still took childish delight in their nickname. ‘I didn’t say nothing.’

  ‘But you were thinking it. I could see your silly smirk from here.’

  ‘You know me too well. I get in trouble with Ellie all the time when she talks about the Fannies. Where is my lovely wife, by the way? I thought she’d be helping. This is just her sort of thing.’