by Ann Granger
"It wasn't true, what Grimsby was suggesting about me and Ellen."
"Doesn't matter ..." mumbled Zoe.
"Yes, it bloody does!" His tone grew heated. "I had a couple of humdrum lunches with her during which she lectured me for eating meat and extolled the virtues of a nut diet."
"It's okay, Robin. It doesn't make any difference to our friendship," Zoe insisted. "It's not my business. You can lunch with anyone you like. It's nothing to do with Charles Grimsby either, so just forget about it."
Robin looked far from satisfied with this answer. After a moment or two he said awkwardly, "Actually, Zoe, old Grimsby wasn't exactly completely off the mark. I don't mean," he added hastily, "that I saw my meetings with Ellen as romantic! But it is just possible that she, well, perhaps she began to get ideas. The last time we
ate together she made a couple of come-hitherish remarks. I feel a bit of a fool telling you this and I suppose a gentleman wouldn't, but she's dead, poor cow."
"That's not very nice!" objected Zoe, startled.
"Well, she was a bit pathetic. Anyhow, it took me aback when she started batting her eyelashes over the brown bread and vegetable lasagne. It's true that I had been finding eating out a bit expensive, but that sort of decided it. I didn't have lunch with her again. I always fancied, whenever we met after that, that she gave me a funny look. It was embarrassing, frankly. But you ought to know."
"Why?" asked Zoe.
He reddened. "Why? Because I want you to know the truth and not hide anything from you! Because, oh heck! You must know how I feel about you, Zoe!"
"Me?" She stared at him. "No, I don't."
"Oh, for crying out loud, Zoe!" he exclaimed but then fell silent. "Sorry," he muttered at last. He got up and picked up his crash helmet. "I didn't mean to say it, better get going. Good night!"
Zoe listened to the roar of the motorcycle fading into the distance. "Oh dear," she said aloud, "I do hope not!"
Then she sighed and pulled on the ancient Barbour she'd inherited from Miss Batt and went out to check on the animals.
"One draught cider!" said Markby setting it before Meredith and putting his own pint on the table. ' 'Budge up!"
She obliged and he squeezed on to the aged oak settle. They had come from a full and dispiriting morning at consecutive inquests held on Ellen and the man in the woods. Ellen's had been adjourned. The other had been declared accidental death. Thankfully the pub was only quarter full and peacefully quiet. Despite it being summer there was a certain coolness in the air today and a small but cheerful fire had been lit in the hearth. The
logs crackled and spat and the flames reflected in the polished horse brasses tacked along the blackened oak lintel.
"I like to see it," the plump woman behind the bar had said when Meredith had remarked on the cheery sight. "Any old excuse, I light that fire."
"Thanks," said Meredith now, sipping her cider. "Lovely." She set it down. "I must say I'm relieved at the result of the inquest on the body in the bothy. I thought they might accuse Emma."
"Pathologist said she couldn't have struck such heavy blows. His skull was caved in and shape of indentations matched donkey's hooves."
Meredith shivered. "Emma seems to be taking it well. A bit pale, but otherwise an altogether different child to the poor scared little scrap I found in the woods."
"Children are remarkably resilient." Markby studied the golden brown depths of his glass. "But I'm not convinced that she's feeling as chipper as she makes out. She doesn't talk about it. That's bad. She ought to get it out of her system, not bottle it up. I suspect she may be brooding over it. I know I oughtn't to criticise Laura and Paul and I don't mean they aren't devoted parents, but they occasionally seem to me to take a superficial view. This will mean a lasting change in their attitude, but paradoxically that's also worrying. I used to think they allowed Emma too much freedom. Now I'm afraid they'll go to the other extreme and be frightened to let her out of their sight.
"It's going to make a big difference to Vicky when she's a little older. She'll never be allowed to roam as Emma was before this happened and whilst there's a plus in that, taken to extremes, there's also a minus. Over-protectiveness is also bad. Both Paul and Laura are having trouble coming to terms with it all. They feel guilty. They say they ought to have known she'd left the house that night; Paul should have inquired more deeply about the missing food from the family larder;
they should have realised how upset she was about the
donkey."
''All that's being wise after the event, surely? They couldn't be expected to know she'd try and kidnap the animal.*'
"Try telling them that. Outwardly Emma herself seems more worried about Maud's fate than anything else. I was very relieved no recommendation was made for the animal's destruction. It was touch and go but there's a lot of public support for Maud at the moment. She's quite a heroine and you know how the British public is about animals."
'T would have objected vigorously if it had! Maud led me to Emma! She's not a friendly animal, granted, but she's not vicious. Both Zoe and that nice Scots vet swore to that and normally the public doesn't come in contact with the animal anyway, only Zoe does."
"More to the point," Markby observed, stretching out his legs to the crackling logs in the hearth, "in the confined space of that bothy, with Emma struggling and in almost total darkness, it would seem likely the donkey kicked out and sent him sprawling. The following kicks must have caught the fellow's head."
"Good luck in my book. I don't feel the slightest bit sorry for him!" said Meredith sturdily.
"Ever done jurv service?"
"No."
"If and when you do, the defence will be worried! The man was sick. He had a long history of mental illness. Blame a society which leaves such people wandering about the countryside. And we can't say for sure he would have harmed her, remember that. That's speaking as a fair-minded man. As Emma's uncle, naturally, I feel the way you do—rather him than Emma."
"There is one positive result of all this," said Meredith dreamily. "I took Eric down to the stables to see Zoe for himself and if you want to know my opinion, I think Eric's developed a tendresse in that direction!"
"Surely not 1 " Markby looked doubtful. *T can't
imagine Eric falling for a girl perfumed by a delicate aura of midden."
"He has, I tell you! He said she was a remarkable businesswoman.''
44 Ah, well, that's hardly romantic ..."
44 It was the way he said it, all glassy-eyed and awestruck."
44 You," said Markby firmly, 44 are exaggerating."
44 Only a bit."
They fell silent while he turned over this new idea. 44 He must be my age," said Markby at last.
44 Hey! Whenever has that had anything to do with it?"
"Nothing," he apologised. "And I admit I was secretly cheered the other day when Zoe declared Grimsby not to be 4 that old' at forty-five! Contrary to young Harding's view! But if you're right about this, it's going to cause a problem, and I don't like the idea. Not that Eric isn't free to dally where he wishes! But I've got enough to worry about already and I rather fancy Harding is carrying the torch for Zoe. He isn't going to take kindly to being cut out. He's known her a lot longer than Eric has and he regularly proves his devotion by shovelling muck at the Horses' Home. He won't readily accept being displaced by someone who is, after all, the sworn enemy both of the Rest Home and of the history society!"
He sipped his beer. "Of course, the fact that both these gentlemen fancy the same girl doesn't mean she feels the same way about either of them. I wouldn't have thought myself that she ever thinks about anything except horses and donkeys."
"Eric," said Meredith firmly, "is a very attractive man. He's good-looking, athletic, rich, capable, successful, just a nice touch of a foreign accent and he's used to getting what he wants."
44 You're not falling for him, are you?" Markby asked, alarmed.
"Of course I'm not! But se
e it from Zoe's point of
view. In a straight contest that youth with the motorbike doesn't stand a chance. As for his long service mucking out the stables and old friendship, well, that can go on too long, you know. Probably Zoe no longer thinks of him as anything but a friend."
"And our friendship, has that gone on too long?" Markby asked evenly.
She flushed. "That's different."
"Only I don't fancy playing Harding's role and if at any time an Eric surfaces on your emotional horizon, I'd rather know so I can retire gracefully."
"You don't have to take it personally!" she said crossly. "I'm talking about Eric and Zoe and Robin. It's a classic eternal triangle, that's all." She saw his face and added in mock exasperation, "I haven't got an Eric hidden somewhere!"
"That's all right, then." The fire crackled and a few more people came into the pub, their voices loud and jolly. "I suppose," Markby said tentatively, "you wouldn't like to visit the Alice Batt Rest Home and chat up young Zoe? I'm sure she'd like a visitor, especially if you put a fiver in the collecting tin. She might, um, unburden herself, woman to woman."
"What makes you think women do that?"
"They do," said Markby grimly. "They tell each other things while powdering their noses that a man wouldn't dream of telling anyone in the most secure surroundings."
"That's an old-fashioned and sexist remark and unless you're given to snooping with your ear to the door of the ladies' powder room, which I hope not, you can't possibly know! I would quite like to see the Horses' Home, however. I might go out there. I might just talk to Zoe. I'll see what I can do." She paused. "Actually you are right about it being surprising that Eric is smitten. I wouldn't have thought Zoe was Eric's type, either. I'd have thought he'd go for someone more like, well— more like Ellen Bryant, I suppose."
"It had crossed my mind," Markby said.
"Alan, when I rang you up the other morning, when Emma was missing—"
"Oh yes!" He set down his glass. "What were you ringing about so early? I'm sorry, what with Emma and everything else I've not got round to asking you."
"It was because I was thinking of having a word with you about Denis Fulton. This is a bit embarrassing. I didn't know whether to tell you about it or not and then I thought that if you saw Victor Merle again he might tell you and—1*11 begin again!" she said hurriedly, observing the expression on his face. "I had dinner with the Fultons in London."
"Very nice. But I already have their statements. Was something said which ought to be added to the file?"
"There was a bit of a scene. Denis accused Victor of seeing his wife. All nonsense, I'm sure. Victor denied it and so did Leah and Denis had obviously got hold of the wrong end of the stick. But it didn't stop him creating havoc. He'd had a few drinks too many, as well."
"But where's the connection with what's been going on here? I assume there is one or you wouldn't be so keen for me to know this."
"Denis grabbed a dagger from a wall display and went for Victor. Not very efficiently, I ought to add, but if he'd connected he'd have done Victor serious harm. I grabbed a swagger stick off another display and knocked the knife out of his hand."
"I see," Markby said thoughtfully.
"Only Victor made a sort of remark afterwards, outside on the steps. About Denis grabbing a knife under stress and wondering if he'd done it before. I wasn't going to tell you because I think myself Denis was just drunk. But then I thought perhaps you ought to know, seeing how Ellen died. And Victor might see fit to tell you and make it sound worse than it was. I don't care for Victor much. I think he might have a malicious streak and when we parted that night outside the Fultons' house, foolish though it may seem, I found him a little scary. He wore a cloak, if you please, and looked
both dramatic and distinctly odd. Theatrical you'd probably call it and you'd be right. But the whole episode of Denis with the knife was a silly bit of theatricals. I don't suppose Denis could harm a fly intentionally and I'm pretty sure that he's wrong about Merle seeing his wife. But when a person is tiddly and has got a bee in his bonnet that kind of thing can turn nasty. I don't think he'd have done it sober."
4 'You're right to tell me about it. I'll bear it in mind— and not make more of it than it is. It was probably a one-off. But knives are knives."
He didn't seem disposed to discuss this further and Meredith eventually asked, ' 'About Zoe. Do you want me to chat up Eric too?"
"No!" Markby said firmly. "I'll do that!"
Sixteen
In fact far from visiting Zoe the next day, Meredith, feeling in need of a break, set out for Oxford. She had begun to collect early crime imprints and it seemed a pity, being within reasonable driving distance, not to take the opportunity to look around the city's bookshops. But it seemed that even if she wanted to, she couldn't avoid Zoe Foster. For wandering by chance into a charity shop, her eye fell at once on Zoe in inevitable jeans, trainers and battered Barbour, riffling despondently through a clothes' rack.
"Hullo," said Meredith, surprised. "Do you remember me?"
Zoe started and spun guiltily to face her, putting her back to the clothes as if to dissociate herself from them. Red-faced she mumbled, "How could I forget—"
"I like these shops," said Meredith quickly. "I often come in."
Zoe looked at her doubtfully. "Not for clothes?"
"No, mostly for second-hand books."
The girl appeared to make a decision. "I—I was looking at these things." She indicated the rack behind her. "I haven't got a lot of money for clothes, new clothes. Sometimes on these racks you can find quite good labels and they only cost a pound or two. I don't, um, wear much except jeans and sweaters and if I have to go out somewhere, it's a bit embarrassing because I never have anything."
"Oh, going somewhere nice?" enquired Meredith.
Zoe turned redder. "I don't know. I haven't made up my mind." She fiddled with the racked clothes. "Can I
ask you, do you think you'd know if I turned up wearing something I'd bought here?"
"If I didn't know you'd bought it here and it was a good label and in good nick, why should I?" Meredith returned simply.
Zoe looked relieved. "Only I was thinking he'd guess and I'd be so embarrassed, I think I'd just sink through the floor."
"He?" Meredith picked out a tan and white striped two-piece. "This would suit you."
"Yes, I've already looked at that." Zoe fingered the material. "That is an awfully good label, isn't it? I wonder how it got here?"
"Someone bought it for a special occasion and didn't get the chance to wear it again, or got too fat. Who knows? It wants a decent press but otherwise it's in very good condition. I'd be surprised if it has been worn half a dozen times."
Zoe held the two-piece up against her and regarded her reflection in the mirror provided. "Mr. Schuhmach-er's invited me to lunch at the hotel," she said bluntly.
"Oh? That will be nice. He's got a marvellous chef."
"I don't know much about food, that kind of food, and not a thing about wine. I'm really in two minds about accepting. The thing is, he says he might have some ideas about the Rest Home. He wants us to leave our present site, but he's got some idea about what we might do. I feel I ought to go and listen to him. After all, he might have the answer, although if it costs any money it won't be any use to us no matter how good an idea it is."
Zoe sighed. "I do feel a bit awkward about going," she went on, ' 'because apart from anything else, the historical society wouldn't understand my breaking bread with our enemy."
"Not their problem, the Horses' Rest Home, is it?" said Meredith firmly. "I'd go and see Eric, if I were you."
"But you're not me," said Zoe dolefully. "You're very capable and smart and you know how to sit and eat the kind of meal I'll get put in front of me and make intelligent remarks. I only know about animals and if I drink wine I fall asleep."
"Eric's not an ogre, you know," said Meredith gently.
"No, he's not, is he? I thou
ght he was until I met him."
"Then go along to his lunch. Jaw-jaw is better than war-war, as they say."
"Yes, I will!" Zoe brightened. "Meredith, would you mind waiting while I try this on and give me your opinion?"
"It looks fine, perfect fit," said Meredith when Zoe emerged a few minutes later from the cubicle. "You need some high heels."
"I've got a black pair, very old but I can polish them up. They are leather—they were quite good ones when new."
"Get yourself a pair of tights. Turning up with no stockings isn't really a good idea. The suit needs brightening up. Got any jewellery?"
Zoe hadn't, but the shop provided a chunky turquoise necklace for a pound and, a real bonus, a black clutch purse for the same price.
"I know the society isn't going to like this," said Zoe again when they emerged from the shop. "It is only a business lunch, after all, but people can be funny. Charles Grimsby made an awful fuss at the last meeting because he'd seen Robin lunching with Ellen a few times and it was all about nothing. But Robin was very angry." She paused. "Robin won't like my lunching with Mr. Schuhmacher either. They had a—a disagreement when Schuhmacher came to the Home."
"So don't tell him."
"He'll find out," said Zoe sapiently. "People always find out the things you don't want them to know, don't they?"
* * *
"As far as business is concerned, the murder is proving a nine-day wonder." said Eric, refilling Markby's glass. "You said it would be so, and you were right. I was very worried about the effect on trade, as I told you the last time you were here. But I'm glad to say other things have hit the headlines and people forget, as you knew they would."
"Yes, people forget," said Markby thoughtfully.
