‘Too bad he couldn’t take Roscoe with him,’ Lorinda sighed. ‘I wonder how much longer he can put up with it. And why?’
‘I wonder why that car couldn’t have hit Cressie instead of Opal.’ Freddie shook her head. ‘Why is it always the wrong person who gets killed?’
Chapter Fifteen
‘Oh, how kind of you.’ Gemma accepted the casserole and looked at it helplessly, as though she didn’t know what to do with it. ‘How very, very kind.’
‘And something for dessert.’ Lorinda proffered the lemon meringue pie she had picked up at the bakery along the way. She had decided, upon reflection, that it would be less emotive than flowers and, certainly, no one could tie it to a lamp post. ‘Sorry I didn’t have time to bake it myself.’ She still felt a bit guilty about that.
‘Here, I’ll take that.’ Betty Alvin emerged from the kitchen and relieved Gemma of the casserole. Gemma looked around even more helplessly, then stepped forward to take the pie from Lorinda and pass it to Betty.
‘So kind, so very kind,’ she repeated. ‘Everyone is being so very kind.’
‘Naturally. Everyone rallies round at a time like this.’ Professor Borley appeared in the living-room doorway, brandishing a cocktail shaker. ‘How about a drink?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ Gemma was flustered. ‘Do come in and have a drink. I should have asked you …’
‘It’s all right.’ The professor draped an arm across Gemma’s shoulders. ‘No one is standing on ceremony at a time like this. They understand.’ He frowned. ‘It just seems a shame that there seem to be so many times like this in our little village.’
‘It’s not that little,’ Freddie said, as they followed him back into the living room. ‘There are too many new people moving in these days.’
‘Oh, how true!’ Gemma said. ‘It’s that new housing development on the other side of the hill. It’s bringing in all manner of new people – not our sort, at all.’
‘That’s progress, I suppose,’ the professor sighed.
‘We don’t want that much progress here,’ Gemma said petulantly. ‘They’re inflating property prices, swamping the schools with their children, turning the village into just another dormitory community for London. And the place is crowded with their horrid builders driving around in those nasty white vans with ladders on the roof. And they all drive through the village much too recklessly …’ Her voice faltered. ‘And too fast.’
Awareness of the reason they were all there abruptly swept over them. Gemma blinked back tears.
‘Sit down, Gemma.’ Lorinda eased her into an armchair. ‘Where are the dogs?’ It was the most comforting thing she could think of to say.
‘I shut them in the bedroom. There are so many people … coming and going … I was afraid they’d get outside … and …’
‘Here you are!’ Professor Borley deftly twisted the cocktail shaker open and poured a cheerful red fluid into a glass. ‘Wrap yourself around that. It will help.’
‘Thank you … Oh, that’s delicious! What is it?’
‘One of my specialities.’ He beamed and looked at the others. ‘Anyone else for a Moonraker?’
‘Why not?’ Freddie and Lorinda accepted their glasses and sipped appreciatively.
‘Not bad.’ Freddie nodded. ‘What’s in it?’
‘Very simple. One-third brandy, one-third Dubonnet and one-third peach brandy or liqueur – either works well. Then …’ He chuckled. ‘Then, the recipe book – it was a translated Continental one I found in an old bookshop – called for three jiggers of Pernod!’
‘Good Lord!’ Freddie said. ‘There’s never that in here?’
‘Of course not.’ He chuckled again. ‘You should have seen some of the other recipes: they told you to use three jiggers of Angostura bitters on top of all the other regular ingredients. Once I’d run across that a few times, it was easy to figure out what must have happened. The translator obviously thought that a jigger was the same as a dash.’
‘It sounds as though the editor was asleep at the switch,’ Lorinda said. ‘Or perhaps not such a linguist, either.’
‘I tell you, I’ve had quite a few laughs out of that book. But, once I got the hang of the recipes and used dashes of Pernod, or bitters, or whatever else they’d measured in jiggers, quite a lot of the drinks were very good. Interesting use of some different liquors, too. I was surprised at the number using Dubonnet. In our countries, nobody seems to do anything much with it but splash some gin into it.’
‘I must admit – ’ Gemma held out her glass for a refill – ‘I do like a spot of gin and Dubonnet myself. And I understand it was the Queen Mother’s favourite tipple. But I could be converted to this quite easily. In fact, I think I already am.’
‘So am I.’ Professor Borley drained the shaker into her glass. ‘Oops! Time to mix another batch. I’m assuming – ’ he looked at the others – ‘you’re all game for another round?’
‘We are,’ Lorinda said. ‘And Betty will have one, too.’ Betty had just come in bearing a tray of clean glasses she had obviously been washing in the kitchen.
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Betty said.
‘Nothing easier. I could mix it in my sleep. Brandy, Dubonnet and peach.’ He poured them into the shaker and chortled. ‘And three jiggers of Pernod.’ Carefully, he measured out the dashes. ‘No wonder that book had the telltale streaks across the top that meant that it had been remaindered.’
‘Remaindered!’ Freddie shuddered. ‘It should have been pulped!’
‘Now, now,’ he chided. ‘I’d have lost a lot of laughs, if I’d never found it. Besides, anyone who knows anything would never have followed those instructions.’
‘But suppose it fell into the hands of someone who didn’t know?’ Betty said.
‘Then they’d have learned at the first gulp,’ he chuckled heartlessly. ‘If they had any taste buds left after that.’
His booming laugh startled the pugs into action; first, the hysterical yapping, then the dull thuds as they hurled themselves against the locked door. They didn’t want to stay shut away in there – they wanted out, out, OUT!
‘Oh, dear,’ Gemma said. ‘They want to go walkies.’ She shrank back into the chair, losing colour. ‘They want walkies – and … I can’t … I can’t!’ She huddled in the chair and burst into sobs.
‘Take it easy,’ Freddie said. ‘Take it easy.’
Lorinda patted her shoulder ineffectually.
Professor Borley refilled her glass.
The yapping went on. It was not going to stop. Some instinct told the pugs that they were being heard, that they were the centre of attention. The demanding yelps increased in volume.
‘Oh …’ Gemma pulled herself together and tried to struggle out of the chair to answer the call of duty. ‘I’ll just … I’ll have to …’
‘It’s all right,’ Betty said. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Would you?’ Gemma drained her glass and held it out abstractedly, seeming not to notice that the professor was leaping to refill it. ‘Oh, but …’
‘Are you sure?’ Freddie was unable to conceal her relief that someone else was volunteering.
‘Don’t worry,’ Betty said grimly. ‘It’s only going to be once around the block – and I won’t cross any streets. If they don’t like it – too bad.’
‘Good for you!’ Professor Borley said. It was the first sign of rebellion that Betty had shown since the reception.
‘Well …’ Gemma’s relief was palpable. ‘If you really don’t mind, dear. You know where I keep their leashes …’ She lowered the liquid level in her glass. ‘So very kind of you … all of you …’
Abby Borley was at her elbow, topping up the depleted glass. He seemed to have decided that, if there was only one thing he could do to help, he was going to do that thing thoroughly.
‘Take care!’ Freddie said, as Betty went for the dogs. ‘Even just around the block. We don’t want – ’ She broke off, not even wanting to voice what they didn’t
want.
‘Oh, dear …’ Gemma hiccuped ‘Life was so simple … so pleasant … when we first moved here. What happened? What went wrong?’
The pugs surged into the room, frisking around it, exploring the small dishes of nuts and Twiglets, sniffing at the guests, and then converged on Gemma, nearly knocking the glass out of her hand.
‘There now … there now.’ Gemma tried to calm them. ‘It’s all right … Betty’s going to take you walkies.’
Betty came back into the room with their leashes, but they were jumping around too much for her to affix them to their collars. Gemma took over and hitched them up deftly.
‘We won’t be long,’ Betty said, tugging at the leashes.
‘Don’t take them down Coffers Passage!’ Lorinda was suddenly assailed by the memory of how sinister that alleyway had become to her, especially at night when it was dark and deserted.
‘I wasn’t planning to.’ Betty gave her an odd look as the dogs impatiently pulled her through the doorway.
‘Be careful, dear,’ Gemma called after her. ‘Don’t let them knock you off your feet.’
‘Betty is stronger than she looks,’ the professor said. ‘You don’t have to worry about her.’
‘She has to be, to cope with Dorian, never mind the rest of us.’ Freddie absently accepted a refill and sipped at it.
‘It’s the dogs – ’ How silly they had been to think that Gemma might have been worried about Betty ‘If they get away from her, they’ll run wild. They … they could be … run over. Oh! I never should have let Opal take them out last night! I wasn’t that ill. I should have walked them myself.’
‘Water under the bridge now. Nothing we can do to change it. And,’ Abby Borley added clumsily, ‘if you had, it might have been you who died.’
‘No.’ Gemma was firm on that point. ‘No, I wouldn’t have taken the dogs in that direction. I wouldn’t have been in the wrong place at that wrong time.’
‘You can’t tell for certain.’ He tried to retrieve his tactlessness. ‘Maybe she intended to go another way, but changed her mind. I guess you just have to figure that it was Appointment In Samarra time for her.’
‘Oh, but – ’ Gemma hiccuped abruptly. ‘Sorry.’ She gave a sudden wild giggle and hiccuped again. ‘Oh, dear!’
They looked at each other and then at the cocktail shaker Abby was still holding.
‘You’re exhausted,’ Freddie said tactfully. ‘And this has been a nasty shock. Why don’t you lie down for a while?’
‘No, no, I’m quite all – hic! – right. I must take care of the dogs, they’ll be back soon.’
‘Betty can see to them, she’s done it before.’ Freddie gently urged Gemma to her feet. ‘Come along now, you’ll feel a lot better after a little rest.’
‘If you think so.’ Gemma swayed. ‘Oh, but I must lock the door and – ’
‘Don’t worry about anything,’ Abby said. ‘We’ll take care of all that.’
‘So kind … so very kind …’ She allowed Freddie to lead her from the room.
‘Sad.’ Abby watched them go, shaking his head. ‘Very sad, but it isn’t as though she’d been lifelong buddies with that cousin. It’s mostly shock. And maybe we’ll get a bit of peace around here now.’
‘Gemma did say something about disturbed nights,’ Lorinda remembered. ‘She didn’t go into details, though. I gather her cousin could be rather trying.’
‘Not so much Opal as the other one.’ He sank into an armchair and stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle, prepared for a gossip. ‘Although, if Opal hadn’t been here, there wouldn’t have been a problem.’
‘Oh …?’ Lorinda encouraged.
‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.’ He leaned forward. Try to stop him. ‘But … it has been hell around here since Dorian brought that other woman home. Opal on her own was all right – and, I’m sure, Adèle on her own would have been all right. But the two of them in close proximity …’ He shook his head.
‘It’s because they have the same series character,’ Lorinda said. ‘If they were working on different series, they might even have become friends. As it is – was …’
‘Two dogs fighting over a bone,’ he agreed. ‘Which I wouldn’t mind, if they hadn’t disrupted everyone around them in their battles.’
‘Gemma said something about doors slamming in the night …’ Lorinda prodded.
‘That was the least of it,’ he sighed. ‘So childish – nasty notes pushed under the door in the middle of the night. Nuisance telephone calls with a hang-up when the phone was answered. Gemma had to unplug the telephone, but she couldn’t do much about the doorbell. And poor Betty has been badgered just about out of her mind by the two of them, demanding to get a look at each other’s chapters – ’
A clamour at the front door announced that poor put-upon Betty had concluded another of her tasks and returned with the dogs. There was a clatter in the front hall as they were released from their leashes and they bounded into the living room, looking for their mistress.
‘She went thataway.’ Abby pointed and the pugs took off for the bedroom. He stood and had a drink ready to thrust into Betty’s hand when she came into the room and slumped into an armchair.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled weakly. ‘I need that.’
‘It seems so excessive,’ Lorinda was still musing. ‘They’ve each carved out their own niche and seem to be doing well. I mean, why bother with a harassment campaign?’
‘I was just telling Lorinda about some of the problems we’ve been having here,’ Abby explained in answer to Betty’s enquiring look.
‘Professional jealousy’ she said crisply. ‘They were both sick with it.’
‘It’s something deeper than that,’ Abby said. ‘I’ve seen it in the academic world, especially among biographers. First, they think they own the character, then they begin to think they are the character. And, if two of them find out they’re working on the same subject – well! Hell truly hath no fury like that of an outraged archivist. There were times when I wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen murder done.’
‘You think that’s what happened here?’ Freddie paused in the doorway as the unpleasant word seemed to echo through the room. ‘Again?’
‘Strange …’ Betty emptied her glass and set it down, shaking her head as Abby proffered a refill. ‘I had a mental bet on it happening the other way around. I was sure that Opal was going to be the one to dispose of Adèle. After all, she’s been here longer and knows the territory. I thought she had the advantage.’
‘An automobile is as great a leveller as a gun,’ Abby said. ‘With the added advantage of an element of doubt. A car accident always could have been an accident. It’s harder to pass it off as an accident when someone is blasted with a bullet.’
‘“I didn’t know the gun was loaded”,’ Freddie could not resist singing.
‘And let’s hope she never, ever does it again,’ Abby agreed. ‘Mind you, she has no reason to now. Opal was her bête noire.’
‘We don’t know that Adèle actually did anything.’ Lorinda was beginning to feel sorry for the woman. Even Dorian thought she was to blame, and now the others were making a case against her. ‘Whatever happened to “innocent until proven guilty”?’
‘Frankly, my dears …’ Abby Borley yawned and stretched. ‘I don’t give a damn which one of them killed the other, just so long as we now get a bit of peace around here!’
Chapter Sixteen
They were talking about him again. He wasn’t being paranoid, he knew it.
Detective Chief Superintendent Derringdo pulled his hand away from the fresh scab on his chin. Mustn’t pick it. He had enough scars. Enough worries.
He wished he could stop worrying and just concentrate on his job, but how could he? The doctor had just rung to tell him the tests had confirmed the diagnosis: the five-year-old twins had leukaemia – both of them.
And young Lesley, nearly seven, was due for her
hole-in-the-heart operation next week.
‘Tea, guv’nor?’ WPC Bentley hovered over him worshipfully. She had been like that ever since he had rescued her from the mad axeman who’d been holding her hostage. ‘Or coffee? Can I get you a sandwich? It’s chicken curry in the staff canteen today – I could bring you some.’
‘Just coffee, thanks.’ Why did women always want to feed you? Especially when they were invariably on a diet themselves. His older sister, Angie, was a case in point. Been on a diet all her life, down to about six stone now. Sometimes he wondered: could it be anorexia? Rum, that.
Rum, yes. And vodka. Never mind the coffee, that was what he wanted: a whole bottle of vodka, followed by rum, scotch, beer, brandy … He’d been on the wagon for twelve whole hours now. God, it was hard! Agony! Perhaps he’d let himself have just a snifter or two tonight when he got home.
But first he would have to stop by the Special Needs school on the way home and pick up little Simon, the eight-year-old. If it was a good day, Simon might even speak to him.
‘Sir – ’ Detective Sergeant Croxley was beside the desk, holding a sheaf of computer printouts. ‘Sir, we’ve got him! That villain you pulled in last night. He’s Mr Big! We’ve found his warehouse – it’s crammed to the gunnels with firearms, ammunition and a whole mountain of drugs. We’ve got him dead to rights!’
‘Oh. Er, good. Good work, lad.’ He hoped his young and enthusiastic team attributed his bleak croak to the fact that he was concerned because his mother was not recovering properly from her hip replacement operation and it might have to be done again.
How long could he keep it from them that his baby sister had eloped with Mr Big six weeks ago? She had even made it legal – they were married. And how was he going to break it to Cissy that her bridegroom would be going down for a very long stretch?
Oh, yes – and under the new regulations, Mr Big’s house, chattels and bank accounts would be seized. Cissy would not take kindly to being made a pauper … .
At the end of a long day, his home looked almost welcoming as he approached it. But he was not deceived.
Please Do Feed the Cat Page 13
