by Fiona Leitch
I nodded. ‘Yes. We were at school together.’
‘A very old friend, then,’ he said. The cheek! He must have seen my face tighten because he said quickly, ‘I just meant you’ve known him about as long as anyone else in town. What about Mrs Penhaligon – Melissa Penhaligon?’
‘She moved here when we were in high school, so yeah, I’ve known her a while as well, but only really through Tony.’ I stopped as it hit me again that poor Mel was dead. ‘That is, I knew her…’
‘You saw the altercation last night between her and Miss Laity, didn’t you?’ Withers looked down at his notebook, a lock of floppy fringe falling across his face. I wanted to reach out and tuck it behind his ear in a way that was half-maternal, half-frustrated divorcée. What was happening to me? I shook myself.
‘I stopped it getting out of hand. Everyone else was too gobsmacked to move.’
‘And then you took her outside to calm down?’ I nodded. ‘Did she tell you why she attacked Miss Laity?’
I hesitated, but only for a moment. Mel’s accusations might now seem trivial but they’d been important enough in her mind to justify her approaching Cheryl.
‘She thought Cheryl – Miss Laity – was only marrying Tony to get her hands on his shop.’ Saying it out loud made it sound ridiculous. It was a small department store in a seaside town, for goodness’ sake, not an oil empire or something. This was Penstowan, not Dallas. Withers obviously agreed, as he couldn’t stop his eyebrows raising. ‘I know, I know, it sounds daft. I suppose she just meant she was marrying him for his money or something.’
‘Do you think she was? Do you think that’s why she’s disappeared?’ So the police were taking Cheryl’s no-show seriously. Good.
‘I honestly couldn’t say. I only met her for the first time a week ago. I didn’t— I don’t know her very well at all.’
Withers studied my face closely, in a way that made me feel a little uncomfortable; I wasn’t sure if it was because he was making me feel like I was hiding something (like my stupid, momentary suspicions about Tony) or because he was super hot and it was a long time since anyone – let alone someone that good-looking – had actually looked at me with such deep interest. Except of course he wasn’t interested in me; he was interested in what I was saying. Or rather, what I wasn’t saying.
‘Guv?’ A uniformed officer stood in the doorway. Withers looked at him and nodded then turned back to me, snapping his notebook shut and getting to his feet.
‘Thank you, Mrs … Ms Parker. We may need to speak to you again, so please give your details to one of the uniformed officers before you leave.’
I thoughtfully made my way back to the kitchen. Mum looked up as I entered, a twinkle in her eyes that I knew only too well.
‘Well, he was a nice young—’
‘No, he wasn’t. Let’s grab what we can and get out of here.’
We made our way through the hotel lobby, where I stopped to give my contact details to a young copper near the door. As I turned to leave I spotted Tony through the open door into the dining room where I’d left him. He looked shattered. He was being fussed over by his elderly parents, Brenda and Malcolm.
‘Tony!’ I said. He looked up and smiled wanly at me as Mum hurried over to the Penhaligons. She embraced Brenda and reached out to pat Malcolm on the arm.
‘How you all holding up?’ she asked. Brenda smiled bravely while Malcolm shook his head.
‘Terrible business this, innit, Shirl,’ he said. He looked like he couldn’t believe it. ‘Terrible business.’
‘We’re making a move,’ I said to Tony. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here. I know food is the last thing you’re thinking about, but if you let me know what you want me to do with it all, I’ll pop back later and sort it out.’
‘Okay,’ said Tony. He seemed completely bewildered. ‘I don’t really know…’
‘Don’t worry about it now,’ I said. ‘It’s fine where it is. What about you? Have the police said you can go? They seem pretty keen to get everyone out of the way.’
‘They said we could leave but I want to stay in case Cheryl comes back…’ Out of the corner of my eye I could see the Penhaligons and my mum exchange concerned looks.
‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘What if she goes home? She might not want to come back to the hotel if she thinks all the wedding guests are still here. The police will contact you if she turns up.’
‘When she turns up,’ said Tony.
‘When, yes, that’s what I meant.’ I couldn’t meet his eye. I leaned in closer. ‘Between you and me, I think Brenda needs to go home and she won’t if you stay here. She won’t want to leave you on your own, and your dad won’t want to leave her on her own, so … maybe you should go back to theirs and keep an eye on them.’
‘A nice cup of tea and put your feet up for a bit,’ said Mum, and Brenda nodded.
‘That sounds like a good plan,’ she said. ‘What do you reckon, love? Come back to ours for a bit. You can always come back and sort things out here later, when you feel up to it.’
‘I suppose so…’ He didn’t sound very keen but with a bit of gentle cajoling, Malcolm got him to his feet.
‘I should probably drop in and see Mel’s mum on the way,’ he said. ‘She’s going to be devastated.’
‘You don’t need to do that,’ I said quickly. ‘Mel had other family, didn’t she? Cousins and an aunty and that. The police will have called them so her mum won’t be on her own. She won’t want a house full of people at a time like this, even if they do all mean well. Go home, Tony.’
He looked at me uncertainly for a moment, then nodded. Together we headed for the door to the car park.
The sight of the van, windows blacked out and the words ‘Private Ambulance’ in discreet lettering on the back, stopped us in our tracks. Two sober-looking men in black shirts and trousers gently unloaded the stretcher between them, the black-bagged occupant literally a dead weight. It was done without fuss or ceremony but it still felt somehow respectful; they were taking as much care of Mel as they would have done with a sick or injured patient.
We watched as the doors were firmly closed, then both men got into the van and quietly drove the body of Melissa Penhaligon away.
Chapter Six
We drove home in silence, or in as much silence as the Gimpmobile allowed, anyway; it was making a nasty grinding noise every time I changed gear.
I offered to drop Mum off at her house but the events of the day had obviously shaken her more than she was willing to admit.
‘I think I should come back to yours,’ she said, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially to me. ‘I think Daisy’s upset and I can help you take her mind off it.’
I glanced over at Daisy, who had definitely heard but diplomatically (I don’t know where she got that from) didn’t say anything. She certainly didn’t seem upset, humming to herself and texting one of her old London friends, no doubt telling them about all the excitement.
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ I said with a wry grin. ‘You’d better come back with us.’
I unloaded the bits and pieces we’d brought back with us (I’d made sure to bring the leftover canapés with some crisp lettuce and a nice potato salad; they’d make an easy dinner) and then flopped on the sofa, suddenly exhausted. What a day. And it was still only 3.30pm.
We spent the next couple of hours nibbling the leftovers (there went dinner), drinking tea, and gossiping.
‘I didn’t like that Cheryl,’ said Mum, firmly. I had to agree; she had been a bit of a Bridezilla over the last week, picking holes in my menu suggestions until Tony had gently but firmly put his foot down and pointed out that if she didn’t leave me to get on with it, there’d be no food at all. All the same, it felt wrong to come out and say it, now that she was missing-presumed-dead. I couldn’t believe she would leave Tony in the dark if she was still alive; she owed him that much.
‘She wasn’t a warm person,’ Mum continued. ‘Not like her mother.’
I hastily swallowed a mouthful of flaky pastry. ‘You knew her mum?’
‘Of course I did.’
‘Nana knows everyone,’ said Daisy, and apparently she was right.
‘You remember when I worked in the Co-op?’ I nodded. I didn’t actually remember, but I knew Mum had worked in most of the shops in Penstowan at one time or another when I was a child. ‘I worked with her mum then. She was younger than me, of course, only about eighteen or nineteen. What was her name?’ Mum racked her brains; there was practically smoke coming out of her ears. ‘Clare, that was it. She was— Oh no, not Clare. Eileen. I always get those two mixed up.’
Daisy looked at me and I could see the unspoken question: how can you get Clare and Eileen mixed up? I shook my head gently.
‘Or was it Clare?’ Mum looked thoughtful. I wanted to scream.
‘Anyway…’ I said, hinting.
‘Anyway, yes, this Clare, she was a lovely girl, very pretty.’ Mum stopped with a satisfied smile. I wanted to scream again. Was that it?
‘Tony said Cheryl’s family didn’t live around here,’ I prodded. Mum nodded.
‘That’s right. Clare – no, it was Eileen’ – I didn’t dare look at Daisy – ‘she was a lovely girl, full of life. She grew up here in Penstowan but the Laity family didn’t; they had a campsite down Boscastle way. They got a string of them now, of course.’ Mum shook her head but I got the feeling it was more in admiration than disapproval. ‘She was a one! Both the Laity brothers had their sights on her and she didn’t exactly discourage them. Had them both eating out of the palm of her hand at the beginning! I don’t know how she met them, but they used to come up here and wait for her to finish her shift. The older one was a right smoothie, but the young one, he was a nice lad. Very good-looking. I think there was a bit of bad feeling there, when she chose him over the other one.’
I tried to keep up with the gossip. ‘So the older one, that would be Cheryl’s uncle? Roger Laity?’
‘That’s right. He always dressed so nicely…’ Mum smiled, misty-eyed. ‘I said to your dad, why can’t you dress like that Laity lad?’
‘What did he say?’
“‘Because I’m not a ponce, that’s why.”’
Daisy burst out laughing and I smiled. ‘Yep, that sounds like Dad. So what makes you think there was bad feeling?’
‘Am I under caution?’ Mum raised her eyebrows.
‘I’m just interested,’ I protested.
‘Smooth as he was, he was very keen,’ said Mum. ‘I can’t imagine he was very happy when his little brother swept Clare—’
‘Eileen,’ Daisy mumbled.
‘… off her feet like that. I think that’s why they moved away.’ Mum reached out to take another vol-au-vent. ‘It caused a bit of a rift, I reckon. They went upcountry somewhere – Bristol, if I remember right. That Roger was heartbroken; took him years to get over it, I heard.’
I remembered the sneering young man who had turned up with Roger Laity the night before, the one who had made Tony so uncomfortable.
‘He’s got a son, hasn’t he? He was at the party last night, a right cocky little bugger.’
Mum nodded. ‘Stepson. Craig. He’s a bit of a bad boy, that one, always getting into some kind of trouble. His mum was married to one of Roger’s business partners, and when he had a heart attack—’
‘How do you know all this?’ I asked, incredulous. She shrugged.
‘Old girls’ network,’ she said. ‘We like a bit of a gossip.’
Daisy guffawed. ‘And the award for Understatement of the Year goes to…’
‘We have to make our own entertainment,’ said Mum defensively. ‘Nothing ever happens here.’
We all looked at each other then and got into a fit of hysterics. Because nothing exciting at all had happened that day.
‘So what about that nice young detective?’ said Mum, when we’d all calmed down.
I groaned. ‘Don’t.’ Mum tried to look innocent, but it wasn’t working. ‘I mean it, don’t. You know I’m off men. You and Daisy are my priorities these days.’
‘You can’t tell me he’s not a looker.’
‘I can,’ I said. But not very convincingly. ‘Oh all right, yes, he’s bloody gorgeous. But he’s arrogant with it.’
‘I thought he’d be the type you’d go for.’
‘La, la, la!’ sang Daisy, putting her fingers in her ears. ‘Can we not talk about Mum having a type? That’s dangerously close to saying she has a sex life.’
I laughed. ‘I wish…’
‘LA, LA, LA, LA, LA, LA!’
‘Your mother’s still young…’ said Mum.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘… and relatively attractive,’ she continued.
‘Relatively?’
‘There’s this game I heard some young girls on the bus playing,’ said Mum. ‘They’d name three boys and say which one they’d marry, which one they’d—’
‘Oh, I know that game!’ said Daisy. ‘It’s called Fu— Snog, Marry, Avoid.’
I looked at her warningly. ‘Yeah, I know what it’s called.’
‘Okay then,’ said Mum. ‘That nice policeman—’
‘DCI Withers,’ I said.
‘Withers? That’s a terrible name. Jodie Withers.’
‘Does she?’ said Daisy.
I laughed. ‘Exactly!’
‘Okay, DCI Withers, Craig Laity and Tony.’ Mum folded her arms and looked at me. ‘Which one would you fu— snog?’
‘It’s got to be the copper,’ said Daisy knowingly.
‘I thought you didn’t want to think about my love life?’
‘It is, though, isn’t it? Who else are you going to snog, Tony?’
I gave a big mock shudder, although to be fair the thought of it wasn’t actually bad, just a bit weird. ‘God, no, it’d be like snogging a … a cousin or something.’
‘Although technically kissing your cousin isn’t classed as incest or anything,’ pointed out Daisy thoughtfully.
‘That’s easy for you to say; you haven’t got any. And you probably don’t remember my cousin Kev. The one who moved to Hastings.’ I shuddered, for real this time. ‘Breath that could strip the paint off a barn door at twenty feet.’
‘What about Craig Laity? He’s pretty hot,’ said Mum.
‘Nana!’
‘He is! He’s a real bad boy. If I was twenty years younger … all right, thirty—’
‘You’d still be too old for him. No, I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,’ I said. ‘Avoid. Like the plague.’
‘So you’re going to avoid Craig, and you don’t want to kiss Tony, so that means snog DCI Withers, and that means you become the next Mrs Tony Penhaligon!’ Daisy and Mum laughed.
‘I don’t think so. Neither the ex nor the intended Mrs Penhaligon have fared very well, have they?’ I said, and they both stopped laughing.
‘No,’ said Mum. ‘Poor Mel.’
We all sat quietly for a moment, thinking of poor Mel. And poor Tony. I wondered how he was doing and hoped that he was still being fussed over by his parents.
‘I might give Dorothy a ring, see how she is,’ said Mum. ‘I can’t imagine how it feels, losing your daughter like that.’
We sat in sober silence again until my phone rang, making us all jump.
Chapter Seven
‘And this is my responsibility why?’ I asked.
‘This’ sat back on her fluffy white haunches and gazed up at me with her head to one side, her eyes full of the kind of expression that makes grown men descend into baby talk and melts the hardest of hearts. But I was (I told myself) made of sterner stuff. Besides which, I’d only just moved into my house and I was still in the middle of decorating. Plus, although I had savings I didn’t have a regular source of income yet. Another mouth to feed and another body to get under my feet was the last thing I needed, even if it was cute and so soft and … and floofsome (totally a word) that you just wanted to grab it and hug it
and bury your face in it…
I shook myself and looked into the pleading face of the hotel receptionist.
‘I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do,’ she said. ‘I took her in when the police got here, to keep her out of the way, but Mr Bloom says we need to find her owner…’
‘Her owner’s dead,’ I pointed out, not unkindly. She nodded.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know who to call so I rang Mr Penhaligon and he suggested I contact you because, and I quote, “Jodie always knows what to do.”’ I sighed. Sometimes being calm and unflappable in a crisis is a right pain in the backside. ‘He also said he thought your little girl might like to look after the dog until you found a home for her.’
Until we found a home for her? Yeah, right. The minute that dog put one paw over the threshold I knew there’d be no way I’d ever be able to get rid of her. Daisy would never forgive me.
I squatted down so I was eye to eye (almost) with the dog. She immediately stood up and came over to snuffle at my hand, and I knew deep down that I was done for.
‘I don’t know if I should take her. Legally, she must belong to Mel’s mum…’ I said desperately. The receptionist smiled – she knew I was floundering now – and shook her head.
‘Mr Penhaligon said that she lives in a retirement complex where they don’t allow pets,’ she said, ‘so it’s you or the RSPCA. And the poor thing’s just lost her mum; she needs a family to make a fuss of her and give her cuddles…’
Oh, I could give her cuddles all right. No! I told myself. Stop it! Germaine gave a little whine and licked my hand. Were these things bred to play on your emotions or what?
‘I haven’t got a lead…’ I said weakly. The receptionist smiled triumphantly and produced one.
‘We have a dog walking service for our guests,’ she said, handing it to me. ‘It’s a spare; you can have it. And these.’ And she gave me a bundle of poop bags, all emblazoned with the hotel crest. ‘She’s just been fed as well, so you don’t have to worry about getting food for her straightaway, she won’t need any more until the morning.’
