Closer to Death in a Garden (Pitkirtly Mysteries Book 10)

by Cecilia Peartree

  ‘It’s all to do with who the Prime Minister is anyway,’ said Jemima crossly. ‘Everybody knows that.’

  It was time for morning coffee, so they waited until that was over with and then began to get ready to go home.

  Jemima was just sliding her feet into her good walking shoes, which she had put on for the trip to the garden centre because you never knew how rough the ground would be in those places or how much walking you would have to do, when she thought she heard someone whispering her name. Well, it wasn’t even a real whisper but a sort of hissing sound.

  After a moment she heard the sound again. This time it was accompanied by soft footsteps just beyond the curtains the nurse had temporarily drawn round her bed.

  Then Amaryllis stuck her head round the end of the curtains and said, still in a low voice, ‘Good. You’re nearly ready. I’ve checked, and all the nurses are on their break. We should be able to get out without them seeing, if we can find Dave, that is.’

  ‘What do we need to do that for?’

  ‘Find Dave? Well, I just thought you might want to take him home with you. It’s a bit unfair to leave him stranded, after all.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Jemima, picking up her handbag. ‘Of course he’s getting ready too. I didn’t know you were coming for us though.’

  Amaryllis slid right in and stood by the bed. ‘I couldn’t leave you in here – I had to try to get you out.’

  ‘Get us out?’

  The curtains opened in the middle this time, and Dave’s sturdy figure appeared in the gap. ‘We don’t need one of your secret service operations this time, Amaryllis. We’ve both been certified fully fit to leave.’

  ‘Certified,’ Amaryllis nodded. ‘It was only a matter of time.’

  He shook his fist at her, laughing.

  ‘You should both be certified,’ said Jemima, apportioning blame equally. ‘This isn’t at all funny.’

  There was a short struggle in the car park over who should drive, but Amaryllis threatened Dave with making him pay the parking charge, and he gave in, which was probably a sign that he still didn’t feel a hundred per cent fit. Jemima thought he might easily have a real heart attack on the way home. He clutched her hand so tightly that she was sure he had broken one or two fingers, and when Amaryllis sailed past a police car on the coast road, he hunched down in the seat and tried to make himself small, which didn’t really work.

  ‘I’ll have the keys now,’ he said as they finally got out. Jemima nudged him. He added, fairly reluctantly, ‘Thanks for your help, Amaryllis.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘Any time you want me to drive your car...’

  She skipped off down the road with a cheery wave.

  ‘God, that was awful!’ said Dave. ‘My legs are still shaking. Do you think she ever had proper driving lessons?’

  What with all the excitement, and the pleasure of being in her own house again, being able to put the kettle on as often as she liked and to eat more than one biscuit without anybody noticing, Jemima didn’t hear about what had happened at the garden centre until later that day, when Jock McLean dropped in to see how they were.

  The three of them were sitting round the kitchen table for a friendly cup of tea, the biscuit tin open in the middle – Jock was one of the few visitors to the house who was allowed open access to the biscuits instead of having a few plain digestives put on a plate for him – when Jock suddenly said, ‘You won’t know about what happened, will you?’

  ‘What happened when?’ said Dave.

  Jemima frowned. She had fondly imagined Dave’s and her own hospital trip would be the most exciting thing to happen in Pitkirtly that week.

  ‘The murder,’ said Jock, crunching into a bourbon biscuit and scattering the crumbs all down his front. He brushed them off, unconcerned, and looked up at Jemima. ‘Up at the garden centre, it was.’

  ‘The garden centre? The same one where...’

  ‘There’s only one, isn’t there?’ said Jock.

  ‘It wasn’t that wee girl, was it?’ said Jemima, mouth trembling despite herself.

  ‘No, it was some man,’ said Jock. ‘I found the body. Well, Amaryllis was there too.’

  ‘Of course she was,’ said Dave. ‘I wonder why she didn’t tell us on the way home.’

  ‘It wasn’t Mr Anderson, was it?’ said Jemima.

  Jock shrugged his shoulders, sending more biscuit crumbs down his front. ‘Nobody said... Who’s the wee girl?’

  ‘It’s Keith Burnet’s friend. Ashley,’ said Jemima. ‘She was very kind to us. Mr Anderson wasn’t,’ She closed her mouth firmly on that note. She wasn’t going to be caught out speaking ill of the dead, even if it turned out not to be Mr Anderson who had died.

  ‘It was a man with a jogging outfit and trainers on,’ said Jock. ‘That was all I noticed. You’d have to ask Amaryllis if you wanted a description. She’s trained to notice all that.’

  ‘Closer to death in a garden,’ murmured Jemima.

  ‘Isn’t it nearer to God?’ said Jock.

  ‘Don’t get her started on that again,’ Dave warned him, and put the lid back on the biscuit tin with a grim snap.

  Chapter 7 The mystery deepens

  Once she had delivered Dave and Jemima safely home and reluctantly given back Dave’s car keys, Amaryllis walked on down to the cafe near the foot of the High Street, where she knew there would be coffee and some sort of scone on offer at almost any time of the day.

  She needed the scone to help her think.

  At one time, she mused, taking a bite – chocolate chip and banana today, which was nicer than she had imagined – she wouldn’t have looked to scones for inspiration. She had obviously gone native in Pitkirtly to a far greater extent than she had ever expected. In some ways that was a comforting feeling, and in others it felt like being suffocated by having a big fluffy cat or other domestic animal sitting on your face.

  She gave a sigh, and a young man who had been working away in the corner at some electrical problem, sent a sympathetic glance in her direction.

  Ashley. She needed to find Ashley and interrogate her. Keith Burnet, although he might try and hide the secrets of his job from his girl-friend, must have said something to her on this occasion. She might even know the victim. Perhaps he was a regular customer at the garden centre. Then there was the booming voice. Amaryllis had replayed this several times in her mind, and she was almost sure it was a recording, although of course the more she replayed it, the more it sounded like a recording anyway. Was there audio equipment up at the garden centre, or even something for relaying annoying announcements and little advertising jingles to customers?

  ‘Have you seen our new range of extortionately priced summer-houses next to the weed and pest killers?... Why not pop in for a cup of tea when you’ve worn yourself out wandering about aimlessly for hours not buying anything?... Customers are reminded not to leave dead bodies unattended in the outdoor display area...’

  Only the recording, if it was one, would presumably have to be activated from inside the building, while the attacker with the gun must have been on the outside, at least when he fired the shot.

  ‘Amaryllis! I didn’t expect to see you in here on your own!’

  Of course it had to be Penelope Johnstone, of all people. If Amaryllis had had to have her train of thought derailed, she would rather almost anyone else were responsible. Penelope was standing over her, beaming.

  ‘You don’t mind if I join you, do you? Or were you waiting for Christopher?’

  ‘He’s at work, I think,’ said Amaryllis absently. Odd that Penelope should expect her to be waiting for Christopher. She almost checked her ring finger to make sure she hadn’t got engaged to him without meaning to. It could easily happen. Or perhaps not.

  Penelope chattered away in a bright monologue while she waited for her cup of tea and scone to be brought over. Amaryllis tuned out after a few minutes. From what she had heard before switching off, Penelope seemed to
be talking about a friend of hers whom she had been trying to contact. Since Amaryllis had no interest in the friend, or any knowledge of why Penelope had been trying to contact her, it didn’t seem to be worth paying attention. Then a familiar word brought her back to full awareness.

  ‘... and then there are the alpacas, of course. She wouldn’t just go off for a weekend or a week without leaving somebody to look after them. She’s really become very devoted to them, in such a short time too. I said to her once, Jane, you’re fonder of those alpacas than you are of your Phil – that’s her husband. I really don’t know how he puts up with it...’

  ‘Alpacas?’ said Amaryllis. ‘Does your friend live up by the garden centre?’

  Penelope frowned. ‘Yes, of course – didn’t I mention that? She hasn’t always had the alpacas, of course, that’s quite a recent fad of hers. I think she found out that her sister kept llamas or ostriches or something – I can never tell these things with long necks apart.’

  ‘Perhaps it was giraffes,’ suggested Amaryllis.

  ‘Of course, it wasn’t giraffes, you wicked girl,’ said Penelope. ‘Anyway, once Jane found out about them, whatever they were, I suppose she wouldn’t rest until she acquired some ridiculous hobby too. I really don’t know what she thought she was doing. She pretended they’d just appeared on the doorstep, of course, but anyone could see that was only an excuse. Not a very convincing one either.’

  ‘So did you say she’d left someone to look after them?’

  ‘Excuse me a minute, ladies,’ said the young man who had been working on the electrics. ‘Could I just squeeze in there a minute? Won’t take long.’

  He pushed between their table and the wall and knelt down beside one of the power points.

  ‘Well, if she has they’re not answering the phone,’ said Penelope crossly. ‘I’ve been trying to contact her all this week about borrowing her horse-box to transport some ponies we’re hiring for the church fun day, and there’s nobody answering at all. I had thought of popping up there to see for myself, but it’s quite a long way up that hill with my legs, and I’ve been busy, and Zak claims to be too tied up with work to come with me, although of course we could have gone one evening except that he’s always doing something with Harriet...’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ said Amaryllis. She thought of Christopher’s alpaca adventure. There had definitely been a woman involved in it. Of course, it wouldn’t be all that surprising if Penelope’s friend had been there all along but was ignoring her calls. Penelope could be very wearing, and the woman seemed to have her hands full with the alpacas. ‘What about the husband? Does he ever answer the phone?’

  ‘No – Phil’s a bit of a recluse. He doesn’t like to be disturbed. He’s a journalist of some kind, I think. Or maybe just a writer.’

  ‘Is that why they live right on the edge of town?’

  ‘Oh, they inherited that place from his parents,’ said Penelope. ‘They knocked the old house down, of course – apparently it was riddled with woodworm, and just not fit for purpose in the twentieth, or was it the twenty-first, century. But I think the alpacas live in the old stables... They were furious when the garden centre came along, though – they put in an objection when the plans were made public.’

  ‘I suppose they liked having the open fields next to them,’ commented Amaryllis.

  ‘Then there was the house behind theirs too,’ said Penelope. ‘That whole stretch was farmland when they first moved in.’

  ‘Was the hotel there then?’

  Penelope thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure. I have a feeling Phil’s parents sold the land to the people who first built a hotel there, maybe thirty-odd years ago. But it’s been re-developed since then, of course, as you know.’

  ‘It looks as if it’s about to be re-developed again,’ said Amaryllis. She happened to glance out of the window at that moment, and what she saw caused her to jump to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Penelope, I must go. I’ve seen someone I need to speak to.’

  ‘Carry on, dear,’ said Penelope with a martyred air. ‘Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here on my own for a while longer.’

  Amaryllis dashed outside. Keith and Ashley were disappearing round the corner by the supermarket. She had to run to catch up with them, or at least she ran down to the corner and peered round it to see if she could spot them. It could just be worth following them instead of catching them. They were going in the wrong direction for the garden centre or the police station, so it might be interesting to find out what they were up to.

  ‘Hello!’ said Christopher, coming out of the supermarket at that moment with a packet of sandwiches in one hand and a bottle of fruit juice in the other. ‘You look a bit furtive. What are you up to?’

  ‘Nothing!’ she snapped. ‘I just need to find out where Keith and Ashley are going.’

  ‘They came in here,’ he said, indicating the supermarket entrance. ‘They’re getting themselves something to eat. We’re having a quick get-together over lunch.’

  ‘A quick get-together?’ she said accusingly. She stopped herself just in time from saying, ‘What about me?’ like a child whose prettier or more accomplished sibling was getting all the attention.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Keith wants to speak to me about something, and he thinks Ashley can help too.’

  ‘He hasn’t said anything to me.’

  ‘I expect he’ll get to you when he’s ready.’

  ‘Or when Sarah tells him to.’ Amaryllis still wasn’t sure how she felt about her old school friend being based, perhaps temporarily, at the police station in Pitkirtly. There could be advantages, of course – after all, she knew Sarah had once cheated in an exam, and liked to binge late at night on rich tea biscuits and Marmite, washed down with cheap cider, or at least she had liked all that when she was sixteen. You never knew when information like that could come in useful. On the other hand, Sarah had already shown signs of liking things to be done by the book, and Amaryllis had to admit that particular book had never been her favourite reading material.

  Christopher was looking at her with raised eyebrows. She pulled herself together. There were other avenues to explore, after all. Other leads to follow. For instance, she could easily get round the primitive defences the police had doubtless put up round the garden centre after yesterday’s incident, and examine the area for clues. She could walk up to the security gates of the house next-door and talk her way in, armed with the information she had obtained from Penelope. Perhaps if she hurried back to the cafe she might find Penelope willing to come with her. Or, failing that, she could investigate the house behind it, talk her way in there, and find out if anyone had seen anything suspicious.

  Amaryllis turned on her heel and walked off without another word. Although she had willingly left the security services, and had no desire to become the salaried slave of any other law enforcement organisation, sometimes she got tired of having to do everything herself without any backup.

  Her ideal scenario, of course, would be one where she could make the police run around to do her bidding, but sadly that didn’t happen as often as it should, in her opinion.

  Chapter 8 Following up on the alpacas

  ‘We just want to check out the sequence of events with you, regarding this alpaca incident,’ said Keith. Ashley poured his fruit juice into a glass for him and handed it over. She had insisted on borrowing some plates from the staff tea-room for the sandwiches. Lunch was turning out to be a little more civilised than Christopher had expected. It was probably thanks to Ashley. Women had a knack for that kind of thing.

  He had been a bit surprised that Keith had brought Ashley with him, but Keith had explained it wasn’t another interview but an informal follow-up chat and he wanted to see how Ashley’s and Christopher’s stories fitted into the big picture.

  Christopher was surprised all over again to find there was actually a big picture for them to fit into. It seemed like the usual jumble of unrelated stuff to him.

>   ‘It wasn’t exactly an incident,’ he protested mildly. ‘We were looking for Amaryllis, and I happened to come across the alpaca. In the woods.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about why you were looking for Amaryllis?’ said Keith. ‘Thanks, Ashley,’ he added, accepting his plate and picking up his sandwich.

  ‘She phoned me to say she was going into the alpaca farm.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Well,’ said Christopher, wrinkling his brow as he cast his mind back, ‘I think she was worried about the alpacas. Or maybe about their owner.’

  ‘Do you know why that was?’

  ‘Jemima had told her about the one that strayed on to the road in front of them, and she wondered if they’d caught it yet.’

  Keith said, through a mouthful of ham and lettuce on wholemeal bread, ‘Has that woman never heard of curiosity killing the cat?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Christopher, taking a swig of apple juice. ‘I’m sure it’s cropped up before.’

  Ashley nibbled daintily on a cream cheese bagel. Did they really have bagels in that supermarket? Christopher couldn’t remember having seen them. He must ask her where she had got it. She chewed and swallowed neatly before saying, ‘It’s really odd. Mrs Blyth-Sheridan takes such good care of the alpacas. I can’t remember ever seeing one out on the road before.’

  ‘There’s always a first time,’ said Keith. ‘Have you ever been into the place, Ash?’

  She shook her head. She took a tiny mouthful of mango and peach juice and swallowed it. ‘I’ve seen her, of course. She came round to the garden centre once or twice on Sundays to complain we had too many customers and they were blocking her car in. She claimed they were disturbing the animals as well. We just listened to her – me and Mr Anderson – and didn’t say anything, and then she went away after a bit.’