Illusions (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 2)

by Jean Saunders

  And now he was dead, presumably by his own hand. She might have been able to help him, but she never got the chance. She was as impotent as he ever was.

  Thoughts of Rose Harding rushed into her mind. She hadn’t been able to help her either. She had been too late. And regardless of what this beady-eyed copper was thinking, she resolved that it wasn’t going to happen a third time. Whatever Moira Wolstenholme wanted her to do, she would do it. Right now, all three cries for help had merged into one.

  ‘All right, Miss Best,’ Thomas said, getting to his feet, and indicating to his constable to snap his notebook shut. Alex hadn’t even realized that he had been taking notes all this time, and she should have done.

  ‘I think we can forget the fingerprinting for now, and in any case, we’ve probably got them on record somewhere,’ Thomas went on. ‘We don’t seriously think you had anything to do with Nelson’s death, but we needed to hear your story. In any case, the note was addressed to his wife, not you.’

  ‘You devious bastard!’ Alex burst out before she could stop herself. ‘You just wanted to see me squirm, didn’t you?’

  He grinned. ‘Takes one to know one,’ he said. ‘But I’d watch that tongue of yours in future. It could get you into trouble—’

  ‘In — to — trouble—’ the constable repeated slowly, having opened his notebook again.

  Thomas scowled at him. ‘He’s still green behind the gills,’ he commented to Alex. ‘But he’ll learn. And you’ll be needed for the inquest, of course. We’ll be in touch.’

  He swept out of Alex’s office, the young man scuttling behind him like an apology, the lingering whiff of his underarms indicating his nervousness.

  And then Alex wilted, finding it hard not to give way to weeping for the waste of a man’s life. Whatever Scott Nelson had been like in recent times, he had once had a wife who loved him, and hopes for the future, like everyone else. And now he was dead.

  She shivered as if the day had suddenly gone cold. She was registering the fact that there had been three deaths in such a short space of time, and all of them touching her in some way. One natural, one murder, one suicide... and she had a job not to make it sound like a ghastly music-hall farce.

  Swiftly, she made her thoughts change direction from the ghoulish to the practical. The nick was now short of a DI. Maybe they’d bring Nick Frobisher back from Plymouth. Good old tried and trusted Nick. The police system didn’t necessarily work that way, but if there was nobody else available it could happen as a temporary measure.

  Alex almost wished she had Leanora’s crystal ball to tell her it was going to be so, and she drew in her breath at the thought. But she needed Nick now. She needed someone wholesome and substantial beside her... and she was turning into a shivering idiot, instead of a so-say professional PI able to deal with all eventualities. Hah!

  Her heartbeats slowed down. But pride wouldn’t let her call him and blab out all her anxieties. Even so, she needed to talk to someone. Without thinking she reached for the telephone and began dialling Moira Wolstenholme’s number... as if to reassure herself that somebody she knew was still very much alive.

  ‘Moira Wolstenholme,’ she heard the strident voice reply after a moment, just as if her mother hadn’t so recently died. Or passed over, as these people said, as if to deny the finality of it all.

  ‘Oh Moira, it’s Alex Best here,’ she said, hearing herself twitter, and trying to still her hammering heart. But people like Leanora and her daughter made her nervous, and she couldn’t deny that either. ‘I was just wondering if you would feel offended if I attended your mother’s funeral. I don’t want to impose on your grief—’

  ‘Of course you must be there. Mother expects it.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  There was something that sounded like amusement in the voice at the other end. ‘Mother wants you to be there, Miss Best. She told me so last night.’

  ‘Did she?’ Stupefied, Alex stared at the dancing sunlight on her office door and wondered if she was going quietly mad, or if it was just the rest of the world around her.

  ‘You mustn’t be alarmed to hear me say so,’ Moira went on kindly. ‘But we shall both look forward to seeing you on Saturday. Do you know Worthing at all?’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Then why don’t you stay a few days and take a look around? We need to talk more, anyway, and there’s plenty of room here at the house—’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Alex said, praying she didn’t sound as panicky as she felt. ‘If my commitments permit me to stay longer, I’ll find my own accommodation, but thank you for the offer.’

  Amusement was definitely in the other voice now, laced with a small measure of steel.

  ‘Well, you know best, but I’m sure you’ll recall your commitment to mother and me. We are retaining you, remember.’

  This was clearly her way of saying goodbye, and Alex put down the phone as quickly as if it was red hot. Damn the pair of them with their spooky innuendoes, she thought furiously. Putting the fear of God into people — and she couldn’t even remembering saying definitely that she would look into their affairs. But she did still have Leanora’s notebook in her drawer, and she admitted that holding on to it meant a commitment of a sort.

  She must be losing her grip, she thought now. She liked riddles and puzzles. She trusted in intuition and hunches, but she didn’t like anything of a psychic nature that was frankly akin to cuckoo in the case of these two old birds.

  She grimaced at her own feeble joke. But it seemed as if she was being drawn into their affairs whether she wanted to or not. She simply didn’t seem able to resist, and whatever had happened to good old willpower?

  She almost jumped out of her skin when the phone shrilled out again, grabbing it and gabbling out her name, and then holding the receiver away from her ear as if she expected to hear Leanora’s voice reaching out to her out of the ether.

  ‘Is that you, Alex? You sound very unlike yourself so I gather you must have heard the news by now.’

  ‘Nick!’ she said, with a burst of thankfulness. ‘Oh Nick, am I glad to hear your voice.’

  ‘Well, that’s the best reaction I’ve had in months. Pity I’m not there right now to cash in on it. But from the sound of you, you’re in need of a shoulder, am I right?’

  ‘Damn right,’ she mumbled. ‘And the news you mentioned. It’s about Scott Nelson, I take it? They got on to you fast enough, didn’t they?’

  ‘News travels fast on the police jungle drums. So how is it with you? I heard the story that you were probably the last one to see him.’

  ‘You’re not reading anything into that, are you?’ she said, defensive at once.

  ‘Christ no! You’re not a suspect, and it was clearly a suicide. But jealousy was always my middle name as far as you’re concerned, sweetheart, so you can’t blame a bloke for wondering how far you and he had got involved. I know a spark when I see one.’

  ‘Well, if you did, it very quickly went out,’ she said swiftly. She hesitated, knowing how quickly he jumped on a hint of anything, however insignificant, but then rushed on. ‘Nick, how much did you know about Scott? His private life, I mean. I know he was divorced—’

  ‘Yeah. And it was rumoured that he knocked his wife about, but he denied it so positively that nobody really believed it.’

  ‘Believe it, Nick. Believe it.’

  There was a mulling silence at the other end, and then he spoke more quietly. And he was at once her best friend, her confidant, the good old reliable she missed so much.

  ‘What happened, sweetheart?’ he said, his voice gentle. ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

  And then the professional caring note dropped and he was wild with rage. ‘If the bastard tried to rape you, I’ll—’

  ‘You’ll what? Kill him? It’s too late for that, isn’t it? He’s done the job for you,’ she said, misery swamping her, together with an inner personal rage that hadn’t got to her until now.

  And knowin
g savagely, that she would have had those same murderous feelings if he had raped her. It wasn’t only villains who were capable of such feelings, nor the intent to carry it through, if push came to shove. And Scott Nelson had been capable of pushing any woman to the limit. He could have pushed her…

  ‘Are you telling me that’s what happened?’ Nick’s voice penetrated. ‘Did he rape you? If so, you’ve got to report it. Alex. You know that.’

  ‘He didn’t. He didn’t even try. It wasn’t like that. What the hell would be the point, anyway? He’s dead.’

  And she wasn’t going to betray the poor bastard’s inadequacy now that he couldn’t answer for his actions, either. It was over, and all she wanted was to forget it.

  ‘Is that the truth?’

  ‘When have I ever lied to you, Nick?’

  ‘Plenty of times when it suited you, my sweet—’

  ‘Oh well, in the course of a score, yes. But I’m not lying now. I’m not hurt in the way you mean, but I’m shocked that he’s dead, and by the way Thomas told me.’

  ‘I’ll bet. He’s an unfeeling bastard. Anyway, I’ve got news for you. I’m coming back next week for a while, until they can find a suitable replacement.’

  ‘My God, maybe I’m psychic after all,’ she burst out, her heart swelling with relief at his words far too much to consider what she was saying.

  ‘Does that mean you’ll be glad to see me?’ he said, his voice as rich and sexy as ever now.

  ‘You have no idea how much,’ she said fervently. ‘I’m going away for the weekend, but when I get back we must get together, Nick.’

  ‘Darling, there was never any doubt of that.’

  ‘And no strings,’ she reminded him.

  He laughed. ‘Oh, I’m not really into the marriage thing anymore than you are, Alex. I’m counting my lucky stars that you refused me. Imagine what a hell of a life we’d have had together. On second thoughts—’

  ‘Goodbye, Nick,’ she said, still smiling as she put down the phone before he could expand on it.

  But the smile soon faded, because the events of last night and that afternoon were fast catching up on her. The silence of her office was making her feel claustrophobic and she had to get out of it. She needed to be home, with the security of her own four walls around her, putting the latch on the door and the chain across, and letting nobody else invade her space.

  Her breath caught on a little sob as she remembered how easily she had let Scott Nelson in last night. But he had been a friend. A colleague. A buddy. And she should have learned by now, that you trusted no one until you were absolutely sure of them. It was one of the first and most basic things you learned at the hard school of private investigating. And what a rotten world it was, to have to accept such a thing.

  Chapter 4

  There was never a good day for a funeral. In Leanora’s case, it was drizzly and misty, and as unlike early May as it was possible to be. Except in England, where nothing was reliable, Alex thought gloomily, fighting her way down the A24 and into the outskirts of Worthing and the cemetery where Leanora’s remains were to be dispatched.

  She bit her lip as the irreverent thought bounced into her head. But it had always been so, as far as she was concerned. It was as good a way as any for avoiding too much thought about the gruesomeness of the inevitable for all of them, rich or poor, famous or infamous.

  Her thoughts skidded sideways again, wondering if he or she — the killer — would be present at the burial. It was a well-known fact that they often were. Dutifully solemn, or bereaved, or grieving, or openly weeping. It was very likely that plenty of Leanora’s clients would be there too, and if nothing else, it would be an interesting study of people, and she refused to feel shame at her own cynicism.

  Moira wanted her mother’s killer caught, for God’s sake... and then she had to pull her thoughts up short, remembering that it wasn’t why Moira had contacted her. He was already in police custody, charged with the crime — and Alex had already called his solicitor while she was here, and been frigidly assured that it was an open and shut case.

  She eased her car into the church car-park and got out, flipping open her umbrella in annoyance. Rain certainly added to the misery of the day. And then she gaped at the sight of the people moving towards the church.

  They were nearly all dressed in garish colours and chattering like magpies. It was more as if they were going to a party than a funeral, and she felt ludicrously out of place in her normal black attire. For a moment she hung back, wondering if she could be in the right place, and then she saw Moira swooping down on her from the church doorway, a study in scarlet, Alex thought irreverently again.

  ‘I’m so glad you came, Miss Best,’ she twittered. ‘And I know mother’s thrilled too. But do come inside out of the rain. It’s nearly time for her entrance.’

  Good God, she spoke as if it was a theatrical first-night, Alex thought, dazed. But she soon saw that that was how it was intended to be. That dun-coloured little woman on the cruise had somehow effected this bizarre congregation to turn up like birds of paradise... but it wouldn’t have been Leanora who did that. It would have been Moira — on mother’s instructions, of course.

  Alex swallowed, reminding herself that the rest of them were the batty ones, not her. From the look of them she was the only sane one around. And with the regulation elm coffin stained in midnight blue and stencilled with a glittering moon and stars, she knew she was right. The sooner she got out of here, the better.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ someone whispered behind her, as she tried not to imagine what lay inside the box. What kind of getup would Leanora have chosen for her funeral garb?

  ‘Lovely,’ she muttered, turning slightly at hearing a voice that was half-sincere, half-mocking. And then she got an enormous shock, seeing a face she remembered.

  ‘Talk to you at the bun-fight later,’ said the major. ‘The performance is about to begin.’

  ***

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Alex demanded when the farcical occasion was over, and the chattering magpies were all trying to outdo one another at the Wolstenholme manor.

  ‘I could ask the same of you,’ he said. ‘Last I saw of you, you were trying to avoid the old bird.’

  ‘And you were being very enigmatic and suggesting that she wasn’t who she said she was,’ she remembered at once. ‘I hope you’re eating your words now, seeing her home and her daughter. And you still haven’t answered my question.’

  One of the blue-rinsed ladies floated towards them, a vision in yellow chiffon and chunky gold jewellery, and pounced on Alex.

  ‘Tell me your star sign, my dear. I see such an aura about you that I’m sure you must be a Virgo. Am I right?’

  ‘Mrs Wolstenholme said she could see an aura about me too,’ Alex prevaricated. ‘I begin to think I must be trailing some kind of ectoplasm around with me—’

  The woman shrieked with laughter and clapped her hands as excitedly as a child with a new toy.

  ‘Oh, what fun you are. I knew my feelings were right about you, my dear. Do tell if you’ve made contact with dear Leanora since she passed over.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Alex snapped. ‘I don’t believe in that kind of thing.’

  ‘Careful, Miss Best,’ she heard the major chuckle. ‘You’ll have a dozen heart attacks to your credit if you start mocking the believers.’

  She moved quickly away from the woman who was frowning angrily now. She lost the major in the crowd, and then she found Moira by her side.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of Doreen, Miss Best. She can’t help it, no matter what the occasion. We did mother proud though, don’t you think?’

  ‘Very. But I really think I must be going now—’

  Moira nodded. ‘Come and see me tomorrow. We’ll talk then. And we both thank you for your time.’

  Alex escaped from the house before she could hear any more nonsense about mother being on hand — or in the ether to thank her. There was a strong scen
t of incense in the house that made her claustrophobic, and now that the rain had eased, there was a wonderful freshness in the air outside. The kind that was absent in London, but smelled refreshingly of the nearness of salt and sea and wide open spaces.

  ‘May we have words?’ she heard the major say beside her as she unlocked her car door with fingers that shook more than she wanted them to. She whirled around on him.

  ‘Do you always creep up on people?’ she said, and then she bit her lip, because he was almost nauseatingly normal after the clowns at Leanora’s funeral. ‘I’m sorry. This day has upset me. It isn’t how I expected it to be. It’s not how I’d want people to behave if it were me—’

  ‘Neither would I. Look, why don’t we have some tea? I don’t drive, I’m afraid. I came down by train—’

  ‘Oh, get in,’ she said ungraciously. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t usually speak to people like that. I’m not myself—’

  ‘Who is?’ he commented.

  ‘And when we get to a café, you can explain that remark,’ Alex said determinedly. ‘And you can tell me just what you know about Mrs Wolstenholme that I don’t.’

  ‘And you the detective!’ he said with a mocking smile.

  She felt her mouth drop open, because to her knowledge she had never told him what she did. Nobody on the cruise ship had known it, which made it all the more weird that he was here. It was almost as if he was following her — which was ridiculous, of course. Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly... but in this case, which was she?

  At the hesitation in her face he gave an approving nod, and lost the chaffing note in his voice. And there was a sudden keenness in his eyes that was a world away from the bragging oaf on the cruise ship.

  ‘Full marks for spotting my deliberate mistake, girl, so I had better come clean. The name is Major Harry Deveraux, army retired, and now an investigating officer with the Special Branch. And just to put you in the picture, we’ve had our eye on Mrs Wolstenholme for some time.’

  ‘Good Lord,’ was all Alex could say.