A Pasty In A Pear Tree

by Daphne Neville

  Visibility was poor as Jeremy approached the area where the fair people had their caravans, for the only illumination was from the caravan windows. Not wanting to be seen, he kept well away from the shafts of light and when he saw Patricia, who ran Pat’s Hook a Duck stall with her husband, Patrick, standing in the doorway of their caravan, he hid behind a tree and listened. Patricia was telling Patrick that she was going to take out Tyronne for a quick walk around the car park before she turned in for the night.

  Jeremy cursed, realising they would both be going in same direction, but knowing that he dare not be away from the house for too long, he followed Patricia by keeping in the shadows. That way, once he had established whether or not the glove was still there he would be able to return home before he was missed.

  There were three lampposts in the car park and so Jeremy was able to see clearly where Patricia was and to his dismay he saw her walking very near to the railings, humming as she went and with the occasional word to Tyronne. With his eyes fixed on the fairground lady, Jeremy, walked on in the semi-darkness, stumbling occasionally and not looking where he was placing his feet. When he stepped on a twig, he smothered a gasp. The twig snapped noisily and Patricia stopped walking near to where the glove was hooked on the railings.

  “Is there anyone there?” Patricia called, a tremor in her voice, as she glanced over towards the area where Jeremy, desperate not to be seen, crouched behind a parked van. There he waited, holding his breath until he felt that it was safe to move on. When he finally stood there was no sign of Patricia and Jeremy was relieved to hear her chatting to the dog over in the direction of the caravans. Assuming that she had returned to her home, Jeremy quickly stood and dashed over to the railings. When he saw the glove was no longer there, his heart skipped a beat. But to make sure that it had not fallen or been blown from the fence, he carefully looked through the adjacent grass and checked the entire car park, but the glove was gone. Jeremy looked over towards the fairground. Had Patricia taken it? And if so did it belong to Patrick? His heart raced excitedly. He had to find out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sitting on a cold tiled floor, Aimée Dupont shuffled her legs from beneath her bottom to her side. To say she was uncomfortable would have been an understatement; every joint in her body ached and her throbbing head burned with fear and worry. Tired through lack of sleep and frustrated by not knowing where she was, she felt helpless and had no idea how her seemingly pointless ordeal might end. All she knew was that she was in a cold but spacious bathroom in an unidentified building. Her feet were tied together with coarse rope and her wrists were bound in front of her with several layers of gaffer tape. She laughed. But at least her captors had had the decency to hold her prisoner in a bathroom so that she was able to use the loo, albeit with great adversity due to the gaffer tape.

  Feeling that her legs were going numb she struggled to stand and the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders fell to the floor. She was only able to shuffle her feet a short distance because the end of the rope that bound her ankles was tied around the pedestal of the wash basin. This meant that she was unable to reach the small window and call for help or to see what lay on the other side of the frosted glass.

  Aimée sat down on the side of the bath and listened. Living in Paris she was used to the sound of traffic and for that reason she knew that wherever she was must be in the countryside somewhere for all was quiet in the outside world and only occasionally did she hear the muffled hum of a car passing by.

  She looked to the floor where within her reach stood a jug of water and a plastic beaker. Alongside it were three packets of custard cream biscuits, six packets of cheese and onion crisps and a cold takeaway margarita pizza, conveniently sliced in its box of which she had eaten half. Her captors had said that she must help herself to sustain her strength until she was free to go. But they had not said when that might be or why she had been taken from the Crown and Anchor, and she had no idea who her captors were because she had been forced to wear a blindfold for the duration of the journey to her temporary prison.

  Aimée looked at the miserable food on offer and cursed. All those calories. Had she not frequently castigated Simeon because he was always bringing his fancy pastries home? Fattening fancy pasties while she was constantly trying to watch her weight. Men! They were hopeless and that included her half-witted English captors.

  On Monday morning, Neil, who with his wife, Nancy had a retail chalet at Wonderland where they sold knitwear including the popular festive jumpers, went to the car park of the Crown and Anchor to pick up his van. Nancy had dropped him off on her way to Pentrillick House and once he had collected the van Neil intended to join her there for a day’s work.

  The van had been in the car park since Saturday night; he had left it there and taken a taxi home due to the amount of alcohol he and Nancy had consumed at the Pentrillick Players’ Christmas party. Normally he would have picked up his vehicle the following morning but because he hadn’t been feeling too good, partly because he’d drunk too much and partly because he had a cold, Nancy had attended to their stall at Wonderland alone on Sunday. And because he had stayed in bed for the best part of the day and the van was not needed, he saw no reason to make any effort to collect it.

  As Neil approached the van he sensed that something was amiss. For a start it wasn’t in the corner where he usually parked it but over near to the recycling bins. Furthermore, the van was unlocked. Assuming that his usual place must have been taken by someone else when he’d parked on Saturday night and that he had forgotten and likewise he must then have forgotten to lock it, he scolded himself for his memory being a blur and climbed into the driver’s seat. But as he put the key into the ignition and started the engine the radio came on, on a station that Neil never listened to. Neil frowned and then he sniffed. Could he smell smoke? Instinctively he looked in the ashtray. The squashed butt of a cigarette lay in the bottom. Neil was baffled. He didn’t smoke and neither did Nancy.

  “I reckon someone’s attempted to steal you, my old beauty,” said Neil, fondly patting the dashboard. “They must have picked the lock on the door but then couldn’t drive you away without the key so they just sat here and had a fag instead.” But then he frowned. Without a key, they whoever they might be, would not have been able to switch on the radio either.

  “Oh well, not to worry, you’re still here and that’s all that matters but we won’t tell Nancy or she’ll tell me to get a better van which is more secure and we don’t want that, do we?”

  Before he started up the engine he opened up the glove compartment and felt around inside for a packet of biscuits. He cursed as his hands touched nothing other than a few sheets of paper; mostly old MOTs, petrol receipts and stuff like that. Confused, he leaned across the passenger seat and looked inside. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered, “the thieving swines have nicked me custard creams and me crisps. Is nothing sacred?”

  Inside her hotel room, Misty Merryweather sat on her bed worrying about Aimée. She had slept very badly during the night instinctively knowing, as did Shelley and Ginger, that something was very wrong. To keep herself alert, she made a third mug of coffee and then sat down by the window. The sea was grey as was the sky. Misty sighed, “Much like my mood,” she whispered.

  Leaning her head back against the white wall, she racked her brains wishing it were possible to seize some telepathic signals from Aimée to alert her as to where her new friend might have gone. As she sipped her coffee, she sighed. How wonderful it would be to have psychic skills especially at a time such as this. With sudden alarm she sat bolt upright and set down her coffee mug on the window sill. The words uttered by Psychic Sid when she’d had her fortune told, came back to her crystal clear. He had said that a new friend of hers would disappear into the night leaving a gaping wound in her heart. Misty’s heart began to race. Shocked by the accuracy of the prediction she reached for her handbag and took out her phone. With trembling hands, she called the number gi
ven to her by the police to ring should she remember anything at all that might help them find Aimée Dupont.

  Psychic Sid was in his caravan painting on his rosy cheeks ready for another day’s work. The radio was on and playing a tune from the nineteen eighties which reminded him of his teenage years. Feeling in a particularly happy mood he joined in with the song and was surprised to find that he could remember most of the words. His make-up was finished at the same time that the song ended and during the chat of the talkative DJ he changed from his dressing gown into his elf outfit.

  Five minutes later the DJ bade everyone farewell and the news came on.

  “Eleven o’clock,” said Sid, “and all is well.” He looked from his window and saw that already the first of the day’s visitors were walking towards the avenue of trees.

  Sid reached up to the shelf where the radio sat and switched it off. In the silence which followed he heard the wail of a police siren which sounded as though it were in the grounds of Pentrillick House. Feeling curious he went to the window to see where the car might be going. To his dismay it was driving towards his caravan and when it stopped, two officers stepped out.

  “Now what?” said Sid, as he opened the door before the police had a chance to knock.

  “Mr Moore. We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding a recent fortune telling you did for a lady whose new friend has mysteriously gone missing.”

  Sid groaned. “Oh no, not again.”

  Jemima Liddicott-Treen was in very high spirits because she had a friend whom she’d known since she had started primary school coming round in the afternoon so that they could look around Wonderland together. Over the course of several text messages earlier in the day they had agreed that both must have their fortunes told by Psychic Sid after they had looked at everything else. When the friend arrived both girls left the house, chatting excitedly with arms linked.

  Thinking back to her own teenage years, Samantha wistfully watched them go and wondered where the years had all gone. She then turned towards the kitchen as she needed to finish decorating the Christmas cake; not that she minded: cake decorating was a hobby at which she was very talented. However, as she passed a table in the passageway, she saw that Jemima had left behind her shoulder bag. Aware that without it her daughter would have no money, she picked it up. As she walked towards the door, she saw Jeremy with a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck.

  “Be a sweetheart, please, Jerry and take this bag to your sister. She’s gone for a look around Wonderland with her friend but has left it behind.”

  Jeremy eagerly took the bag, glad of an excuse for a wander around the grounds. “Of course, Mum. No problem at all.”

  He left the house and walked quickly towards the fair area which he assumed would be the girls’ first destination. He was right, they were standing beside the coconut shy watching and cheering on a contemporary of theirs who was trying to win a prize.

  Jeremy held up the bag. “Mum thinks you’ll need this, Jem.”

  Jemima tutted. “Oh dear, yes, silly me. Thanks, Jerry.”

  “That’s okay. Have fun.”

  Jeremy turned away as though to walk back towards the house but he deliberately made a detour so that he would pass by Pat’s Hook a Duck stall. He was keen to see if Patrick, his prime suspect, had large hands for Jeremy was confident Patricia had taken the glove from the railing knowing it belonged to her husband. But to his dismay, Patricia was working alone and so he continued on towards the Test Your Strength high striker hoping that Patrick might be chatting to Steve. He was not there and Steve was busy with a group of young people all determined to prove themselves stronger than their contemporaries. However, as he passed by Steve’s caravan, something lying inside on the window ledge, caught his eye and the something looked very much like a pair of gloves. With a quick glance around to make sure that neither Steve nor anyone else was looking in his direction, he moved closer, stood on tip-toe and peered into the window. He placed his hand over his mouth to stop himself shouting with delight, for there on the ledge lay a pair of black leather gloves with a swirly pattern on the back, identical to the one that he had found by the lake.

  Chapter Seventeen

  On Tuesday, Wonderland was as usual closed for the day and so in order to relax, Nick the designer clothes seller, went to the pub as soon as it opened and to the amusement of Sid who had also made the Crown and Anchor his destination, Nick was wearing an Aston Villa T-shirt. Nick looked up from a December copy of The Pentrillick Gazette as the psychic took a seat at the next table.

  “Do you get to watch much football?” asked Sid, carefully placing his pint glass on a beer mat. “I mean, you must like the game as you’ve an extensive wardrobe of shirts.”

  Nick looked a little sheepish as he laid the Gazette down on the table. “Not really. All told I have shirts for twelve different teams but I only wear them because I like to think they attract a bit of attention. That’s why I keep chopping and changing teams. It gets the blokes to stop for a chat, you see, and while they’re chatting their wives or whatever, often browse my clobber and buy something. Cunning, eh?”

  “Yes, very. So I’d be wasting my time chatting to you about the game then.”

  Nick wrinkled his nose. “Not entirely. I mean, I like to watch the home teams play in the big events like the World Cup but I don’t support a local team or anything like that but then that’s probably because I’m always on the move. How about you? Do you like football?”

  Sid picked up his pint. “Very much so. I went over to France for a couple of days in the summer to watch England play in the European Championship. Had a fantastic time but it’s a pity they lost.”

  “Oh no, not the match against Iceland?”

  “Yep, the very one. Took me a couple of days to get over the shock. Still, these things happen and both teams can’t win, can they? It certainly gave everyone something to talk about though.”

  “Yes, it did that alright and the press had a field day with it,” Nick took a sip of his beer, “I’ve never been abroad. Silly, I know but I don’t like the idea of flying nor going anywhere by boat. I suppose that makes me a bit of a wimp.”

  “I don’t know, I think there are lots of folks with similar phobias. Have you never thought of going across to France by way of the Channel tunnel?”

  Nick turned pale. “That’s even worse. I mean, the thought of being under all that water terrifies me. When I’m up in London I think it’s pretty scary going under the Thames on the underground and that only takes a few seconds.”

  “Yeah, I’d never really thought of it like that and the water must weigh a fair bit but then engineers know what they’re doing especially today with all the technology and stuff.”

  “True, very true.”

  “I’ve been popping over to France for as long as I can remember so think nothing of it,” said Sid, “My mother’s half French, you see and she still has family over there.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that. So I suppose you speak French.”

  “Yes, like a native. I was taught to speak both languages from a very early age,” He smiled, “I was able to have a chat with Simeon a while back about football, would you believe. Needless to say the discussion got a bit heated as we were both determined to stand for our respective countries even if we weren’t entirely happy with their performances.”

  “And now he’s dead, poor bloke.”

  “Yep, now he’s dead.”

  “But at least France got to the final in the European Championship.”

  Sid chuckled. “Yeah, and they beat Iceland.”

  “So, what about your dad. Where’s he from?”

  “Newcastle,” said Sid.

  It was Nick’s turn to chuckle. “Hence your difficult to identify accent. A cross between French and Geordie. Very interesting.”

  Hetty and Lottie decided to go into Penzance on Tuesday morning to do a bit of Christmas shopping. However, they didn’t take the car but instead went
by bus so that they could alight in Marazion and walk into Penzance by way of the coastal path. It was a route the sisters had discovered during their summer holiday and both were keen to tread the path again.

  A fresh wind was blowing as they stepped from the bus causing both ladies to zip up their jackets and pull up the collars.

  “Too chilly for ice cream today, eh, Het,” said Lottie, as she tucked her hands inside her pockets.

  “Absolutely, but the sea air is good for our health, Lottie, even if it is a little bracing.”

  The tide was in as they reached the path after crossing a car park and they could feel the damp spray on their faces. As the walk progressed the wind seemed to get stronger which made talking difficult as it was hard to be heard. But not ones to be thwarted, the sisters relished the fresh air and even sat down for a while on giant boulders to watch the thundering waves as they crashed onto the shore.