The Fethering Mysteries 11; The Shooting in the Shop

by Simon Brett

  “Stephen, Gaby and Lily are here, yes. Having drinks, we’re just about to have lunch.”

  “Could I have a word with them?”

  Carole couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why?”

  “Because I want to wish them a Happy Christmas.”

  “Stephen,” she called through to the sitting room, “your father wants to speak to you.”

  “Can’t you bring the phone through here?”

  For some reason she didn’t want to do that, she didn’t want David intruding into the closed magic circle around Lily. But she knew she was being unreasonable and took the handset through to Stephen.

  He seemed to her to spend an unnecessarily long time chatting with his father. Also it was just chat, almost light-hearted banter, the kind of dialogue Stephen very rarely exchanged with her. Then David wanted to speak to Gaby, and he seemed to have plenty to say to her too. From what could be heard at the Fethering end, it sounded as though David was being flirtatious with his daughter-in-law. Carole didn’t know why she found the idea of her ex-husband being flirtatious quite so repellent.

  Then, to annoy her even further, David apparently insisted the handset should be brought to Lily so that her grandfather could coo at her and hope to prompt some responsive gurgling.

  Carole was extremely relieved when the phone call ended. She reckoned it was a simple demonstration of power play from David. All right, she’d won the prize of having the family for Christmas Day, but he was going to ensure that no one forgot about his existence.

  “Good,” she said, brightly brittle. “I think we can go through for lunch now.”

  “Dad sounded OK,” said Stephen, “though it must be a bit lonely for him spending Christmas with strangers.”

  “I’m sure he’s coping.”

  “But, Mother, he doesn’t know these people in Swiss Cottage very well.”

  ‘Mother’. And David was ‘Dad’. Carole wanted to ask why her son couldn’t call her ‘Mum’, as he sometimes did. But of course she didn’t say that. Instead, she just almost snapped, “I’m sure Christmas lunch is giving him an opportunity to know them better.”

  “Yes, but – ”

  “I think, if we could go through for our lunch…”

  The awkwardness passed, of course. And once they were into the meal, and Lily was providing the cabaret by smearing her Lamb and Tasty Vegetables all over everything, the atmosphere relaxed. But Carole did not forget what she regarded as David’s shabby behaviour.

  After lunch it had been thought that Lily might be ready for another sleep, but she seemed to be responding to the occasion and was very wakeful. So Carole led the way through to the sitting room to gather round the tiny tree for the ceremony of present-giving.

  Obviously they started with Lily. A lot of her presents were still up in Fulham, but Stephen and Gaby had brought with them what they were giving her. They also produced, to Carole’s further irritation, David’s present for his granddaughter, which she noted was much bigger than her own.

  But Lily avoided a one-upmanship contest between her grandparents. With even-handed tact, she again did what was expected of her, ignoring the presents completely and appearing to find the wrapping paper much more interesting.

  Carole was expecting what she usually got from Stephen, which was – though she hadn’t dared mention the fact to Jude – Lily of the Valley toilet water. She’d never, before her neighbour raised the issue, thought that it might make her feel old and unglamorous. But then a lot of the time Carole Seddon did feel old and unglamorous.

  She was therefore surprised to open a small parcel containing a diamanté brooch in the shape of a snow-flake. Carole didn’t as a rule wear much jewellery, but she rather liked the look of what she’d been given and immediately pinned it on to her front. She was almost effusive in her thanks, particularly to Gaby, who she felt sure had done the actual shopping.

  Then it was her daughter-in-law’s turn to open her present. Carole watched with some trepidation as the careful wrapping was dismantled and its contents revealed. “That is marvellous!” shrieked Gaby, immediately wrapping the boa round her neck, then going to wrap its loose end around Lily’s neck too. The baby gurgled and pushed a bit of the feathery stuff into her mouth. Once the choking hazard had been averted, Stephen whipped out his camera to record the photo opportunity.

  “It’s bloody great!” said Gaby. “One of those presents where I had no idea what I wanted, but now you’ve given it to me, I know it’s exactly what I wanted. A bit of glamour – God, I need that after the last year. Carole, you must just have seen this in the shop and thought, ‘That boa has Gaby written all over it’!”

  “Well, yes, that’s more or less what happened,” her mother-in-law lied.

  Then came the moment for Stephen to open his present. Carole had put everything in the same parcel, which inevitably had the bulk and shape of two shirts. He picked it up and weighed in his hands. “Now I wonder what this could be…” he said archly before starting carefully to undo the ribbon.

  The third object had been placed between the two others, so the first thing he saw was a shirt. A Marks and Spencer’s shirt, no less. Sober, pale blue, no pattern. And beneath it he could see another shirt. Sober, white, no pattern.

  “Oh, Mother, that’s great,” he said. “Just what I wanted.”

  “Well, you can never have too many shirts, can you, Stephen?”

  “No, that’s true.” He made to put them down on the floor.

  “There is actually something else.”

  “What?”

  “Between the shirts. There’s something else.”

  “Oh.” His brow furrowed as he reached into the space and pulled out the packet containing the Glow-in-the-dark Computer Angel. “Ah,” he said, his brow furrowing even more. “What is it?”

  “It’s what it says, Steve,” his wife prompted him. “A Glow-in-the-dark Computer Angel.”

  “Right.” Puzzled, he turned the packaging over in his hands. “And what does it do?”

  “Read what it says on the front,” Carole suggested.

  He looked at the words and slowly read, “‘Your Computer Angel deals with all your computer problems, glitches and viruses. Just wind her up and her flapping wings will spread her protection over your desktop or laptop. And when you turn the lights off, your Computer Angel will glow in the dark.’” His face turned blankly to his mother’s. “How does it work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, is it an anti-virus protection? Because I don’t see any software with it.”

  “No, no, it’s – ”

  “And there doesn’t seem to be a USB connection.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “So how can it deal with all my ‘computer problems, glitches and viruses’?”

  “Well, it may not actually be able to do that.”

  “But, Mother, it says it can.”

  “Yes, but it’s more…It’s just a nice thing to stick on your computer.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…Because, when you wind it up, its wings flap.”

  “Why would you want its wings to flap?”

  “And it glows in the dark.”

  “But what use would that be? You wouldn’t be using a computer in the dark, would you?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Steve,” said Gaby in some exasperation, “it’s a joke.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s just a fun thing to have on your computer.”

  “A fun thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is!” snapped Carole. And as her son continued to look with befuddlement at his extra gift, she went on, “Anyway, you can change the shirts if you don’t like them.”

  And normal Christmas service was resumed. Oh well, you can’t get everything right with presents, thought Carole. And Gaby was very pleased with her boa.

  They left soon after four. Lily, her mother reckoned, would
be asleep before the car reached the end of the road. And as she tidied up the substantial remains of the lavish lunch, Carole reflected that it had really all worked very well. A family Christmas Day, just like proper families had. A perfect day, except for a couple of details.

  One was the call from David, which still rankled.

  And the other cause of disquiet was the news she had received the day before, about Polly Le Bonnier having been shot. Even when she was at her most relaxed with her enchantingly adorable granddaughter, Carole Seddon had been unable to clear her mind completely of thoughts about the unsolved murder.

  ∨ The Shooting in the Shop ∧

  Fourteen

  She woke the next morning still glowing with success. The relief that she normally experienced on reaching Boxing Day was a much more positive sensation than she had felt in recent years, and she decided to put into action a plan she had been toying with for the previous twenty-four hours.

  Boxing Day might be a fine time for professional policemen to pursue murder inquiries, but amateurs found things more difficult. Everyone battened down their hatches over the Christmas period; it was not the ideal opportunity for casual calling on people by those with investigative intentions.

  But certain imperatives overrode seasonal considerations and, as Carole was never left in any doubt by Gulliver, dog-walking was one of them. The rhythm of a dog’s life cannot be interrupted by public holidays or international events. When a dog needed to be walked, it very definitely had to be walked.

  Carole was banking on the fact that her quarry’s dog had the same sense of priorities, and in this conjecture she was proved to be correct. Though she had woken soon after six, she resisted Gulliver’s heavy hints that he wanted to go out for his walk at the normal time and waited till just before seven-thirty. At that time, given the fact that it was Boxing Day, she knew the only people on Fethering Beach would be dog-walkers.

  And, as she had hoped, one of them was the owner of a West Highland terrier with a Black Watch coat on. It was Anna from Gallimaufry, her blonded hair again hidden by a thick scarf. Normally, on seeing someone she knew – and even more someone she didn’t know – on Fethering Beach, Carole Seddon’s reaction would have been to take a route as far away from them as possible. But on this occasion she led Gulliver straight towards the woman. The two dogs circled each other warily.

  “Hello. Anna, isn’t it?” said Carole.

  “Yes, that’s right. I recognize you from the shop, but I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” The woman spoke strangely, almost surprised at hearing her own voice. From her own experience, Carole knew this was because she had not spoken to anyone for the last twenty-four hours. Anna had spent Christmas Day on her own.

  “Carole Seddon.”

  “How nice to meet you properly. And I’m Anna Carter.” She seemed almost pathetically grateful to be talking to someone. Gulliver and the Westie had reached a mutual conclusion that the other dog was no threat. Not even very interesting. They had loped off in different directions to snuffle about in separate piles of shingle.

  “I hope you don’t mind my just coming up to you like this, Anna, but I did want to say how sorry I was about what happened to…” Carole couldn’t bring herself to say ‘Gallimaufry’ – “the shop.”

  “It was terrible. God knows where I’ll get another job around here.”

  Carole hadn’t considered that consequence of the fire. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to find something.”

  “I don’t know. It took me a while to find the vacancy at Gallimaufry. No one’s been recruiting much recently, and I’m sure it’ll be worse after Christmas.”

  “Something’ll turn up,” said Carole, doing a passable impression of the kind of person who always looked on the bright side. “Do you live here in Fethering?”

  “Yes, I moved in in September. I haven’t met many people yet.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you soon will. You’ll find we’re a friendly bunch.” Carole didn’t know why she found herself saying things like that. In her own mind she had formed many descriptions of the denizens of Fethering. The one she had never come up with was ‘a friendly bunch’.

  “Have you moved here from far away?”

  “Quite a distance.” Carole recognized the intonation Anna used on her answer. It was one she’d often resorted to herself and was designed to deflect further questions. Well, that was fine. Carole didn’t particularly want to know the woman’s life history. She did want to know, however, any information Anna might have that would shed light on the recent tragedy at Gallimaufry.

  Without discussing where they were going, they both seemed to agree to walk in the same direction, while the two dogs made ever wider loops around them. The tide was low, the sea a sullen sludge-green with small scummy waves that lapped against the shore. The air was cold enough to give their faces a light scouring. “I’m sorry to ask you the question that everyone in Fethering must have been asking you for the last few days…”

  “I haven’t seen that many people,” said Anna, confirming Carole’s perception of her loneliness.

  “Oh. Well, I’m afraid it still is an obvious question. Do you have any idea what started the fire?”

  “Not really.”

  “I was assuming some of the draping stuff must have caught alight from being too close to all those candles and fairy lights.”

  “I’d be surprised if it was that,” said Anna. “The candles were all put out when we closed up the shop. And those lights are special ones, you know. Passed safety regulations. They give out very little heat.”

  “Then do you have any idea what might have started it?”

  The woman shrugged under her layers of coat and echoed Gerald Hume’s diagnosis. “Maybe an electrical fault.”

  “You don’t think it was started deliberately?”

  “Why should it be?”

  “Insurance? From all accounts the business wasn’t doing that well.”

  “So who might have started it, then?”

  “The owners?”

  Anna stopped in her tracks and looked incredulously at Carole. “Ricky?” Instinctively she added, “Ricky wouldn’t ever do anything like that.” She seemed affronted by the suggestion.

  “Or Lola, I suppose.”

  “No way. There is just no way either of them would have done that. Ricky’s loaded. I think Gallimaufry was almost a game to him, a bauble he tossed the way of his bored young wife to keep her occupied and to stop her nosing into his business. He never expected to make any money out of it.”

  “But is he still loaded? I know he has made a lot of money at times but – ”

  “Ricky will never have any money worries. That’s one thing of which I’m absolutely certain.” The woman’s conviction was as strong as Flora Le Bonnier’s had been on the same subject. “He’s just one of those very blessed, very charismatic people for whom everything always goes right.” Her admiration for him seemed as strong as Flora’s, too.

  “Well, whatever did cause the fire,” said Carole, “I’m sure the police investigations will discover it.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought it was a police matter. There was no criminal involvement. And no one got hurt.”

  It was Carole’s turn to look incredulous, before the realization came to her that Anna did not actually know about the death in the inferno of Gallimaufry. The murder.

  They had now arrived at the top of the beach, where the straggling grass of the dunes gave way to the stretch of pavement which was rather grandly known as ‘the Promenade’. Anna was busying herself with reattaching the lead to her Black-Watched Westie. They had nearly reached the parting of the ways.

  Carole wished desperately she could suggest they go somewhere for a cup of coffee, but she couldn’t have chosen a worse time to put that idea into practice. At eight o’clock on Boxing Day morning there would be very little open in the entire British Isles, certainly nothing in Fethering.

  But the Promenade did feature some g
lass-walled shelters with rusty metal frames. So terrified was she of her recurrent image of an elderly person sitting in one that in normal circumstances Carole kept well clear of them. But these weren’t normal circumstances. With uncharacteristic boldness, she took Anna’s arm and led her to sit down. “There’s something I must tell you. I’m afraid it’s not very good news.”

  Gulliver had wandered off down to the shoreline. Perhaps he’d seen the other dog being put back on its lead and was trying to postpone his own similar fate. Anna looked a little surprised at being led into the shelter, but she didn’t say anything. Carole asked if she had heard any news on the radio or television the previous couple of days.

  “No, I try to avoid the media. It’s all bloody Christmas stuff, everyone full of bonhomie, comedians dressed up as Santa Claus. I can’t stand it.”

  Here was further confirmation of the isolation in which Anna had spent the holiday, but Carole didn’t comment. She simply passed on the information about the discovery of Polly’s body in the wreckage of Gallimaufry, and the subsequent revelation that the girl had been shot.

  There was no doubting that this was all news to Anna. She went very white, accentuating the bright redness of her lipstick, and it was a moment or two before she could reply. Finally she managed to say, “How ghastly.”

  “Yes. Did you know Polly?”

  “I knew of her. I’ve never met her. Ricky talked about her sometimes. Did you really say she’d been shot?” Carole nodded grimly. “Ricky must be in a terrible state.” Anna said that almost as though the thought gave her comfort.

  “I don’t know how he’s taking it. My friend Jude – she’s the one I was in the shop with last week – she’s spoken to Lola, but that was just when we’d heard that Polly’s body had been found in the shop. Before we knew she’d been shot.”

  “It’s ghastly,” Anna repeated, shaking her head as if she could dislodge the unsettling image of the murder.

  “What’s odd is why Polly came back to Fethering. Ricky had apparently taken her to Fedborough Station to catch a train back to London. You don’t have any idea why she might have changed her plans?”