He took hold of her shoulders and gave them a none-too-gentle shake.
‘What the hell have you got yourself into this time, Alex?’ he snapped.
She stared at him, all her good feelings vanishing in an instant. This wasn’t what she had expected. If anything, she had expected him to take advantage of the situation, but she might have guessed that he’d probably been stewing all night over the report from that other supercilious DI.
‘Well, I’ve hardly been knocking off a client, for a start,’ she raged at him. ‘And if that was the way all you coppers react to a 999 call, I’m not surprised that so many witnesses phone them and then scarper! I’m amazed that anyone bothers to phone at all!’
‘I never thought you’d murdered anybody,’ he said abruptly, seeing the sparkle of furious tears in her eyes.
‘Well, they did.’
‘Of course they didn’t,’ he retorted. ‘But you know as well as I do that they had to find out what the hell you were doing there. And I gather they didn’t get a very clear explanation.’
‘They got enough to satisfy them. And if you’re about to give me the third degree now, forget it. I told them all I intended to, and you’re not getting another thing out of me.’
She was aware that she was sticking out her bottom lip, as belligerent as a child. She pushed away from him and took a step backwards, as if to ward off all corners, and the next moment he gave a smothered oath and pulled her back to him, folding her in his arms.
‘My poor baby,’ he murmured against her cheek. ‘You’ve had a hellish night of it, haven’t you?’
Her face was pressed tight against the cold morning roughness of his.
‘You could say that,’ she replied, finding it hard not to gulp in the childlike way she couldn’t seem to stop now.
She registered that the duvet had somehow fallen to the floor. But it wasn’t a bloody invitation, she stormed, seeing how his eyes were noting her skimpy nightshirt. She grabbed up the duvet again and wrapped herself in it.
‘It’s a bit late for modesty, isn’t it?’ Nick said, his face a mixture of a frown and a grin. ‘Considering the last time we were here—’
‘That was a one-off,’ Alex snapped. ‘And I don’t intend to repeat it.’
But she kept her eyes deliberately lowered, in case he thought she was remembering it all too well.
‘So get dressed while I go and inform Mrs Dooley that I’d like breakfast. Then we’ll talk,’ he said, more aggressively.
‘Don’t you have work to do? And when are you going back to Plymouth?’ she added. ‘I’m surprised they can spare you. Haven’t they found a replacement for Scott Nelson yet?’
‘They have. And I’m not going back to Plymouth.’
He was gone before she could get any more answers. She should be glad that he was staying in London — presumably. She was glad, but she was too on edge to bother her head overmuch about anything but the fact that reaction from yesterday was setting in again fast.
She had been the one to discover Moira Wolstenholme’s dead body, and she had no idea where that left her regarding the stalker. She still had Leanora’s notebook, and presumably HE still wanted it. Therefore she was next in line…
She went into her bathroom and stood beneath the steaming shower water for the minimum amount of time, because for the life of her she couldn’t stop thinking of Psycho now. The screaming in the guest ho water pipes didn’t help, either…
But by the time she joined Nick in the dining-room for one of Mrs Dooley’s hugely calorific breakfasts, she had got her wits about her.
‘So why aren’t you going back to Plymouth?’ she forestalled him. ‘I thought that was promotion. If they’ve offered you your old job, that’s downgrading, surely.’
‘I didn’t say that. Actually, you’re now speaking to Detective Chief Inspector Frobisher — acting at present. But old Kelsey retired, so the job was up for grabs.’
‘Congratulations, Nick. That’s great news,’ Alex said, knowing it wasn’t as easy as he made it sound. There were formalities and boards, and the usual mundane procedures before anything happened, but he had obviously got through them all, and hadn’t even told her.
‘Anyway, I discovered I didn’t care for life down in the sticks after all. There were too many things I was missing. So what was your real interest in Moira Wolstenholme?’
He said it casually, throwing in the question before she was prepared for it. She continued with her scrambled eggs and bacon before she answered.
‘I told you. I’d met her mother, and I came here for her funeral, and got to know Moira. She asked me to do a little checking for her, and I wanted a bit more information,’ she finished lamely.
‘About what? Whether she was all she professed to be?’
‘Moira was a florist, and you couldn’t have a more harmless occupation than that, I’d have thought.’
‘And her mother was a fortune-teller.’
‘I hardly think Leanora would have liked being described in that way! She called herself a psychic and a clairvoyant — but she did have some very odd friends. They turned up at her funeral, done up as if they were going to a party.’
She couldn’t help a small shudder, remembering. It had seemed so very unnatural... and she instantly wondered who would be organizing Moira’s funeral, and if the same group of people would be attending. Including the major.
‘What have you thought about now?’ Nick said, too sharp not to notice her indrawn breath.
‘I was just wondering if they would all be at Moira’s funeral too,’ she said, seeing no reason not to share half her thoughts with him. ‘And who would do the flowers.’
‘Christ, Alex, you’re really letting these cuckoos get to you, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘You didn’t know them,’ she retorted. ‘If you did, you’d understand. Anyway, what do you suppose will happen to the house now? Leanora’s premises were on lease, and it’s all in the hands of the estate agent. But the house belonged to Moira as far as I know, and I don’t remember being introduced to any relatives at Leanora’s funeral.’
Mrs Dooley was hovering close by, and Alex concentrated on her breakfast before she was asked if there was anything wrong with it. But she had clearly been overheard.
‘Is that the poor lady who’s just drowned in her own swimming-pool, Miss Best? Shocking affair, isn’t it?’ she said in a hushed voice.
‘Yes, it is,’ Alex murmured.
‘I think there was a gentleman friend a long time ago,’ Mrs Dooley confided. ‘Their cleaning woman used to do for me a couple of days a week, and she mentioned it. He used to come down from London in a big car, so she said, but she only saw him once or twice. It was all a bit mysterious, but you couldn’t always believe half-baked gossip, anyway.’
Her sniff said that she considered herself above such gossip, but the small piece of information was enough to send the blood pumping in Alex’s veins. A gentleman friend in a big car was not what she had expected of Moira. But why not? She shouldn’t have stereotyped her — and she shouldn’t be surprised at anything.
Someone else caught Mrs Dooley’s attention then, and Alex reminded herself swiftly that she didn’t want Nick thinking she was interested in the fact that Moira Wolstenholme had once had a gentleman friend visiting her in a big car, and that her cleaning woman might know more…
‘When do you have to go back to London then, Nick?’ she asked him casually.
‘You seem mighty keen to get rid of me. First you want to know when I’m going back to Plymouth, and now London—’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Well, as a matter of fact I really should get back this morning. They can’t spare me so often now I’m one of the bigwigs,’ he said, self-mockingly. ‘But I wanted to check that you really were all right. I do care about you, Alex.’
And you think I’ve only got half a brain and I should be leaving this kind of job to the experts.
‘I know. And
I appreciate it. But I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’
She mentally crossed her fingers as she spoke, but she couldn’t wait for him to leave, and then quiz Mrs Dooley about Moira’s cleaning woman, and where she lived. She also intended visiting Moira’s shop, to see what she could glean there.
She began to feel more cheerful, thinking that there might be a glimmer of light in the puzzle at last. And then she sobered up, because a woman was still dead, and not from natural causes. But she also knew that Moira — and Leanora — would want her to go on with her investigations. She knew it as surely as if the pair of them were looking over her shoulder and urging her on.
***
‘Mrs Dooley, you mentioned something to me about the Wolstenholmes’ cleaning woman earlier,’ she said, seeking her out the minute Nick left. The news about who had discovered the body would soon be in the local newspaper, so she had already told Mrs Dooley about her part in it all. She plunged on at the woman’s vacant look.
‘I think I might have a word with her, since she’s sure to find the news upsetting. Do you know who she is and where she lived?’
‘Cleaning woman?’ Mrs Dooley said, more intrigued with the fact that one of her guests was a private investigator and had discovered a corpse in the town — and wondering how much of an anecdote she could make of it for future guests.
‘I’m sure you said you knew the one who had worked for the Wolstenholmes,’ Alex said, trying not to sound too interested.
‘Oh, you mean Enid Lodge. She’s a bit short of a shilling, if you get my meaning, Miss Best. You’ll get nothing sensible out of her.’
‘All the same, I think it would be kind for someone to tell her before she reads it in the newspapers, don’t you?’
‘There’s no likelihood of that. She can’t read,’ Mrs Dooley said positively.
God this really was like watching paint dry, Alex thought irreverently. But so much of her job was exactly like that.
‘Her address?’ she persisted.
Mrs Dooley shrugged. ‘I think she lives in one of those cottages along the coast towards Lancing. You’d have to ask when you got there. I wouldn’t bother if I were you.’
But you’re not me, thought Alex, and half an hour later she was driving in the direction the landlady had told her. There were a number of decrepit little cottages way out of town and she assumed it would be one of those. She had to park her car some distance away and walk down a track towards them.
She knocked at the first door and got no reply. The second one was just as silent, and Alex began to feel as if she was in some kind of ghost hamlet. It was almost like a time warp here. A few miles out of fashionable Worthing, and she was practically in Thomas Hardy country…
No, she amended. Wrong county... but same atmosphere. Nothing moved, except the swaying of the grasses and the ripple of the sea beyond the ridges of wasteland. The only sounds were the screeching sea-birds, as if to taunt her…
‘What d’you want?’ she heard a voice say suspiciously, making her jump. She stepped back quickly, her foot going into something squelchy and unmentionable, and saw a woman peering out from a small upstairs window in one of the cottages.
‘I’m looking for someone. Mrs Enid Lodge,’ she said, wishing herself anywhere but here. Wasn’t there an old Diana Dors movie where a buxom housekeeper in the middle of a wood drew people inside with sinister intent? But this wasn’t the middle of a wood and she shouldn’t be so damn stupid and susceptible to atmosphere.
‘Tis Miss Lodge, and what d’you want with her?’
‘I want to give her some information about her former employer. Miss Wolstenholme. Moira Wolstenholme,’ Alex said, wondering why the hell she should feel so bloody defensive faced with this oddball, when she was city slick and perfectly in control. Supposedly.
‘Wait there,’ the woman said, and minutes later she had opened the front door. Alex got a quick impression of a middle-aged woman with pepper-and-salt hair that stood on end as if she had misplaced her comb — not only that morning, but every other morning of her life.
She forced an encouraging smile. ‘Are you Miss Enid Lodge by any chance?’
‘Might be,’ the woman said.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news about Moira,’ Alex went on, deciding not to be messed about by non-co-operation.
‘Never called her that. ‘Tweren’t polite. She were Miss Woolly to me. Liked that, she did,’ she said with a chuckle.
It was her then. Alex didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. But she had a job to do, she reminded herself.
‘Could I come in for a few minutes?’ she asked, resisting the urge to run. The smells coming out of the cottage were anything but sweet, and visions of the three witches in Macbeth kept entering her head now. She really must get out more...
‘What for?’ the woman said, staring.
Alex decided that shock tactics were clearly called for.
‘Moira’s dead, Enid. I wondered if you could tell me something about her, and about her friends.’
‘She ain’t dead!’
‘I’m afraid she is,’ Alex said, more gently. ‘I can tell you all about it, if you like. Moira had a gentleman friend too, didn’t she, Enid? I’m sure he would want to know. Do you know his name and where he lives?’
Enid continued to stare at her. She was clearly a slow thinker, to put it mildly, and was finding it hard to digest so much information all at once.
‘What about a cup of tea while we talk?’ Alex suggested, even though the last thing she wanted was to touch anything inside this hovel.
But you had to do plenty of unsavoury things in the name of research, and this would probably be one of them.
As the door opened wider, Alex stepped inside while Enid went off to the kitchen, muttering about Moira not being dead, and clattering the kettle and cups while Alex sat on the very edge of a chair and whisked a vicious-looking ginger cat away from her with the toe of her shoe.
Chapter 9
‘I believe you used to work for Miss Woolly, Enid,’ Alex said, ignoring the previous tea-stains around the rim of her mug.
‘Sometimes. Not lately. Not since ‘er mum died, nor for a time before that,’ Enid said vaguely.
‘But when you did — sometimes — you saw Miss Woolly’s gentleman friend, didn’t you? The one with the big car.’
Enid frowned. ‘Didn’t like ‘im. He never spoke much, and when he did, he was all lah-de-dah.’
‘What was his name?’ Alex said casually.
‘Dunno. Sometimes he made Miss Woolly cry though.’
‘Did he? Why was that, I wonder?’
Alex made a pretence of putting her mug to her lips, while Enid took a long slurp of tea before she answered.
‘I heard ‘em arguing once. He said her mum was getting too big for her boots, and it was time it stopped or he’d make things bad for ‘em both. I dunno what it meant, but it made Miss Woolly cry.’
I’ll bet it did, thought Alex. If the gentleman friend with the big car was getting tired of paying up whatever blackmail demands Leanora made, no wonder Moira would be upset. She knew it was all still conjecture on her part, but she had a gut feeling that she was on the right track at last. But she didn’t think she was going to get anything more out of the woman.
‘Do you know what kind of car it was, Enid?’
Enid shrugged and screwed up her mouth as she tried to remember. It had the effect of making her look more prune-like than ever.
‘It was black with one of them big cat things on the front,’ she said at last. ‘Not like my moggy, mind, but one of them silver things like a sort of little statue.’
‘Cat things? Do you mean a Jaguar insignia?’
‘Dunno,’ Enid said, losing interest. ‘Might be. D’you want some more tea, only I got things to do.’
‘No, I won’t have any more,’ Alex said hastily, putting down her mug and standing up before Enid could realize she hadn’t touched the tea. �
��Thank you, anyway, Enid. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Have I? Oh well, you know best, I daresay.’
Alex left the cottage with a sense of relief and headed back towards Worthing. It was a start, but not much of one. The gentleman friend had a big black car that sounded like a Jaguar. And if he could afford to fill up a Jaguar tank with petrol to swan around in, he wasn’t hard up.
But she knew that. Otherwise why would Leanora be blackmailing him? And for what reason? It was a shame Enid hadn’t been forthcoming with his name, but it was imperative now for Alex to get back to London to study Leanora’s notebook and start eliminating.
In any case she couldn’t stay here much longer, and after yesterday’s happenings, she longed to be home again. But decency demanded that she stayed long enough to find out about Moira’s funeral. She decided to visit the florist shop to pay her condolences, and suss it out at the same time.
She would also be required at the inquest in due course, which wasn’t such a comfortable thought. But she knew the police wouldn’t let her get away with less.
She got back to the guest house and was met by a low-voiced Mrs Dooley, a conspirator full of added importance now that she knew what her paying guest did for a living.
‘There’s somebody to see you, my dear. I tried to get rid of him, but these people stick like glue when they want something. He’s in the guest lounge.’
‘He? Did he give his name?’
Mrs Dooley sniffed. ‘Yes, but I don’t remember it. He’s from the local newspaper.’
Alex groaned. Once the news of Moira’s death was public knowledge it was inevitable that they would want to interview her, and she should have been prepared for it. The fact was, she wasn’t. She had been too busy tracking down Enid Lodge to give much thought to anything else.
But she put on a professional smile as she entered the guest lounge. It reeked of tobacco now, which wouldn’t please Mrs Dooley, she thought fleetingly.
‘You wanted to see me, I believe? I’m Alexandra Best.’
Illusions (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 2) Page 15
