“April 28th.”
“Ah, Taurus the bull. Your full name?”
“Brian John Holden.”
He could hear what sounded like paper being shuffled. The old girl was probably helping herself to a sherbet lemon, sucking on it while she decided how to con him. He tapped his finger impatiently on the armrest of the settee. Come on, you daft old biddy, he grumbled to himself.
“Try not to be impatient, Brian,” Shandra spoke as if she’d heard what he was thinking. Brian blinked in shock as she went on, “Well, my dear, it appears that you’re very good at fiddling old ladies out of their rightful inheritance. No good will come from your last purchase, as we speak the fuel is leaking from the pipe, in about three minutes the Roadster will blow up in the garage if you don’t answer the next question honestly.”
Brian had gone cold. How on God’s earth had the creepy old woman known he had a Roadster in his garage? He jumped up off the settee and ran to the window. There was no-one passing by the house, no cars but Brian knew she had to be there watching him.
He could hear her breathing down the phone, a thick rattling sound as if she needed to clear her throat.
“I’m nowhere near you house,” she said. “Are you an honest man? And be careful how you answer.”
Swallowing hard Brian could feel himself sweating. He swiped at his brow and his hand came away wet.
“Not always,” he gasped.
“Very good my dear. Your Roadster wasn’t leaking after all, my mistake.” She chuckled and it sounded to Brian like dirty water going down a drain. He wanted to put the phone down, this had stopped being funny.
“Who are you?” He spluttered. Maybe she was a relative of the woman he short changed for the Roadster, a sister perhaps, getting her own back. Brian began to relax, he could deal with that, tell her he’d made a mistake and he’d bring round another couple of hundred pounds. He really wasn’t into mind games, the truth was he wasn’t sharp enough, didn’t pick up on the innuendo. Cunning, clever use of language defeated him. He was a straight talking man and this was beginning to get to him.
“I told you, my name is Shandra. So, Mr Brian John Holden, what do you wish for?”
This was more like it; he was on safer ground now. The old girl had had her fun, now it was his turn.
“A 1932 Cadillac.” He laughed, “It’s the one that has the front....” There was a click and Brian frowned, the woman had rung off. Shit, what a waste of twenty pounds, he could have spent it on his favourite take-a-way. All the old girl had done was frighten and insult him. He gnawed at his bottom lip miserably. His phone bleeped.
“Hello?”
“This is Mrs Crawley, My husband doesn’t know I’m calling you but I believe you’re interested in owning the Cadillac?”
Brian gaped at the phone. Good God, was this for real? “Yes, yes, that’s right,” he almost stuttered but then a sudden thought struck him. It was Shandra, disguising her voice, having him on. He felt like smashing the phone on the floor. “You’re not Mrs Crawley, are you?” he bawled into the mouthpiece. “This is a bloody wind up.”
The voice on the end of the phone sounded shocked. “It certainly isn’t. Now, are you interested in the car, or not?”
“Yes, of course.” Brian was sweating.
“I’ll sell it to you for one pound, in return for a small favour.” The voice was well modulated but punctuated with small gasps as if she was finding it difficult to get the words out. What she was saying was unbelievable and Brian gripped the phone feeling his spine tingle.
“Are you still there?” The woman asked.
“Yes. Whatever you want me to do, it’s a deal.” Brian breathed heavily down the phone. Surely this couldn’t be true, it was too much of a coincidence, but he’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth and he wasn’t about to start now.
“Can you come round to the house immediately?” The tone had become urgent and Brian listened to her voice carefully. It was definitely not the same as Shandra’s, this really was Mrs Crawley and it seemed she was about to sell him his dream for a one pound coin. Whatever her reasons Brian didn’t care and whatever the small favour was he’d do it, anything to get his hands on the car.
What if she fancied him? He drew in his breath sharply, would he really be prepared to compromise himself with a woman old enough to be his grandmother just to get his hands on the car of his dreams? Hell, yes.
“Of course,” he panted, his tongue almost hanging out, “I’ll be ten minutes.”
Brian’s heart was racing as he walked up the long wide driveway to the front door. He’d had time to think. This had to be some sort of sick joke. Mr and Mrs Crawley had got their old heads together and thought they’d have a bit of fun at his expense. It sounded ridiculous but it wasn’t any sillier than being offered his dream car for a one pound coin. Brian thought about Mr Crawley, his surly miserable face, his sarcasm. There was no way he was a secret prankster, though he was highly motivated by money. Was that it, a back door way to get Brian back on board to try and reach a deal for the car? If not, what sort of small favour could his wife possibly have in mind that was worth sixty thousand pounds?
Brian decided he didn’t care; there was nothing he wouldn’t do to get his hands on the car.
The Cadillac was outside the double garage looking wonderful. Mrs Crawley, a frail looking woman in her early seventies opened the door before he could knock. “Come in,” she said. There were two spots of high colour on her pale cheeks and her grey hair was mussed up.
Brian stepped through the door and gasped. He heard the door slam behind him and he stood staring in horror. Mr Crawley was lying at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway, his head bashed in.
Mrs Crawley pushed her hair away from her eyes. “I need your help,” she said. “I’ll give you twenty thousand pounds and the car if you do what I tell you, no questions asked. I’ve seen you hanging around the Cadillac; I know how much you want it.”
Brian could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Twenty thousand pounds, in cash?” he said in a strangled voice.
“It’s in a tin box on the kitchen table.” She sighed. “Look what he did to me.” Brian could see a large purple and yellow bruise underneath her eye. It was swelling up and her eye was watering.
“I don’t understand,” Brian whispered.
“Yes, I think you do. My husband and I had a fight and I pushed him down the stairs. I want you to put his body in the back of the Cadillac and drive it to the quarry and dump it in there. You may have to secure it with bricks but I think you’re an enterprising young man, it shouldn’t be beyond you.”
“Bricks?” was all Brian could think to say.
“Yes, or boulders so he sinks to the bottom, then you can drive home in your new car. All the paperwork is in the glove compartment.”
“You.... you murdered your husband?” Brian was finding it difficult to breath. He’d always considered himself a hard man but this fragile looking pensioner put him to shame.
“Is it a deal?” She asked.
Brian stared at her mutely.
Mrs Crawley stood waiting, her eyes never leaving his face. Slowly he nodded his head. “I’ll do it,” he croaked.
“I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” she said. “I’ll go and get your money. They keys are in the car. If you get caught I shall deny all knowledge of ever speaking to you and you’ll take the blame for murdering my husband. I’ll tell them you got into a fight because he wouldn’t sell you the car. Do you understand?”
For one brief second Brian felt like telling her where to shove the Cadillac but the moment passed. He could do this. She was still speaking.
“And I never want to see you again.” She walked off down the hallway and disappeared through a door, closing it behind her.
Mr Crawley wasn’t a big man but he was a dead weight and Brian realised quickly that his only option was to drag the body to the car. The old man’s head was caved in and it crossed Bria
n’s mind that his wife had done more than push him down the stairs; it looked like he’d been attacked with a hammer.
He grabbed the man’s feet and one of his slippers flew off. Brian took the other one off and threw it down, Mr Crawley wouldn’t be needing them again. He stopped by the front door, opened it slightly and peered outside. It seemed no-one was around but it was early evening and still light, anyone of the neighbours in the opposite houses could look out of their bedroom windows and see him. As much as he wanted the car he wasn’t prepared to take the rap for murder. He closed the door and went along the hallway. He tapped on the door.
“Mrs Crawley? It would be better if I took your husband out thought the garage and straight into the boot of the car.”
There was no reply so Brian slowly opened the door a few inches. Immediately he was aware that something was blocking the door. He pushed a little harder and it gave but not enough. Had the woman wedged something behind it to stop him getting in? His breathing was becoming jagged and Brian realised he was actually frightened.
What if this was a set up? Mr Crawley was only pretending to be dead so Brian could be blamed for breaking into his house, but for what reason? He tried to think. Insurance, of course. The cunning old pair had hid their valuables and were using him as a patsy. He glanced back along the hallway. Mr Crawley still lay where he’d left him but Brian thought once he went into the kitchen the old man would be on the phone to the police. So what was stopping him from getting into the kitchen?
“Mrs Crawley?”
Stuff this, he thought and pushed harder making just enough space to see a foot sticking out on the kitchen floor.
God Almighty, he groaned. With another hefty push he managed to sidle in through the opening.
Mrs Crawley lay on her side where she’d fallen. Her mouth was open and her arms and legs were crooked, as if she’d tried to break her fall. There was no blood that Brian could see and he thought she might have had a heart attack. He poked his head back round the door but Mr Crawley hadn’t moved.
This was for real. Brian wasn’t surprised the old girl had a heart attack considering what she’d done. Slaughtering her old man must have sent her heart rate pounding into infinity. He felt sorry for her; she’d had no time to enjoy Mr Crawley’s life insurance. But that didn’t help him, he had to decide what he was going to do next. The clock on the kitchen wall was ticking loudly, the only sound in the house.
He could simply leave, that would be the sensible thing to do, pretend he’d never been here, forget he’d been offered the car of his dreams but it wasn’t an option; he couldn’t walk away from it, not now he was so close to owning it. He thought about its sleek lines, the smell of old leather wafting up from the seats. He was meant to own it.
His eyes alighted on a tin box sitting in the middle of the table. Brian was tempted to grab it and run until he thought about fingerprints and closed his hands into fists.
He made his way back to the front door, stepping over the crumpled body of the old man. He slipped outside and eased himself into the driver’s seat of the Cadillac, sighing with pleasure. The engine purred softly as he drove his new possession away.
“Yes, officer,” he would say, “Mr Crawley kindly agreed to a part exchange, the Cadillac for my Ford Roadster. I paid him twenty thousand pounds in cash, as he requested, I think he put it in a tin box, and then we arranged for him to pick up my car. I spoke to his wife too, such a nice couple.” Brian chuckled as he slid the lever into third gear, the transition as smooth as butter.
“Thank you witch lady, best twenty pounds I’ve ever spent!” Brian yelled gleefully at the top of his voice and began to laugh, so hard that his vision blurred with tears and he didn’t see the lorry coming out of the side road.
It was sad, witnesses to the accident said later. The young man should have been more careful, it was a shame he lost his life, but the real tragedy, they agreed, was the appalling damage done to such a beautiful classic car.
Chapter 18
“Don’t look at me like that, mum, I’m only the messenger.” Jason stood by the living room door his head hanging down. “I’m not a kid you know; I am allowed to answer the door.”
“Tell me again what the man said.”
Jason sighed dramatically. “Tell your mother she has two hours left to find Gemini, don’t let Sandra down.” Jason’s mouth pulled down. “Why are you taking it seriously? He was obviously a crank.”
“Shandra, her name is Shandra,” Beth said almost without thinking.
“Are you in trouble, mum?” Jason looked confused.
“No, of course not. What did he look like?”
“Tall and thin with a walking stick.”
Beth had returned from her visit to Tim to find her son hovering in the hallway. A sudden thought struck her.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“A couple of minutes ago, I’m surprised you didn’t bump into him.”
So was she. Beth had walked up her road and there’d been no-one around apart from an elderly woman walking her poodle. There was no way she would have missed a tall thin man coming out of her drive.
Jason was already slouching off back to his bedroom and Beth closed the door behind him. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Her heartbeat accelerating, she took out her address book from the bookcase and leafed through it.
She was searching for Joel Winters, her ex boyfriend, the last man she’d been in a relationship with and whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to for eighteen months. She’d actually put a line through his name, address and mobile phone number. Fortunately she could still clearly make out the numbers. Joel’s birthday was June 7th, he was the Gemini she needed, he was also the bastard who’d cheated on her within days of asking her to marry him. For six months after they’d broken up he’d hounded her for a second chance, so much so she’d been forced in the end to take out a restraining order on him.
Now she was about to phone him up and ask for a favour. But there was a problem, how was she going to get the twenty pound off him? Of course she could invite him to her house but that would be sending out the wrong message. He lived about thirty miles away and time was running out. If she had to she would take a taxi, use some of her ill gotten winnings from the scratch card to pay for it.
Beth glanced at the clock, it was twenty minutes past five and her stomach gave a threatening lurch. He was her only hope of getting a Gemini, of ending this sick game she’d got caught up in. She didn’t feel like she had a choice. She tapped the numbers out with trembling fingers.
Joel’s familiar voice sent a cold shockwave through her.
“It’s me, Beth.”
There was silence for a few seconds. “Beth? What do you want?”
The words were clipped and disinterested and Beth swallowed hard. What had she expected, that her nuisance ex boyfriend would be falling over himself with delight to hear from her? No doubt he was in another relationship and she was the last person he’d want to hear from. She laughed awkwardly.
“I just thought I’d see how you were doing,” she said, appalled at her own stupidity.
“I’m fine.”
He’s fine, thought Beth, of course he is, why wouldn’t he be? The silence dragged on, Joel wasn’t asking her how she was, he obviously didn’t give a rat’s arse. There was no way she was going to ask him for a favour.
“That’s good,” Beth said weakly.
“I’m getting married in three weeks time.”
Beth heard the words and a painful lump formed in her throat. You were getting married to me once, you bastard, she thought bitterly, until you cheated on me.
“I know,” she lied, “I heard. That’s why I’m phoning. I have a present for you.” She pretended to giggle as the full weight of her ex boyfriend’s betrayal lay like a stone in the pit of her stomach. “I’ve brought you and your fiancé a wish. All you have to do is phone this fortune teller Shandra up, and ask for whatever you want.”
; Beth realised she was sweating, her mouth was dry and she could almost hear the disbelief pouring down the phone line.
“Why would you do that, Beth?” Joel finally said. His voice was flat, edged with impatience as if he had better things to do with his time than listen to her rambling.
Beth could feel herself growing desperate, he was her last hope. Even if he agreed he was never going to let her turn up at his house, not with his new fiancé there. “To show there’s no hard feelings,” she babbled, “I mean it, Joel, I just want you to be happy.”
“Is this you getting your own back, or are you drunk?”
“Oh, no, no, really I’m not.” Now her cheeks were hot; flaming with embarrassment. “It’s just a bit of fun; come on Joel, you remember fun, don’t you?” She tried to laugh but it came out as a groan. She sounded pathetic, no wonder Joel thought she was drunk, but she couldn’t stop now. “Shall I give you the number? You can phone up right away, Shandra’s waiting to hear from you.”
Why did she say that? Now he’d put the phone down, Beth knew she sounded mad, out of control and she felt like crying. It had been a long time since she’d felt so humiliated and she just wanted it to be over. She clutched the phone, her palms sweating.
Joel sighed. “Okay, give me the number.”
Beth read it out to him. “You will ring right away, won’t you?”
“Of course. Well, it was nice speaking to you, please don’t ring me again. Goodbye, Beth.”
Beth put the phone down, mortified. It rang almost immediately.
The hateful voice growled in her ear. “Oh my dear, that won’t do at all. Do you know what that awful young man has just done? Screwed up my phone number and thrown it in the bin.”
“I don’t care!” Beth shouted. “I’ve done what you asked, we’re finished now. Leave me alone you stinking old witch.”
“Enough of that, hysterics won’t help you. You have thirty five minutes to find Gemini. Ophiuchus is waiting. Tick tock, my dear, the hands are counting down.”
The call cut off abruptly and Beth stared at the phone, hating it.
The 13th Destiny_Heaven's Deadliest Sign Page 20
