Classic In the Pits--A Jack Colby classic car mystery

by Amy Myers

  Arthur? I swung round to see that he had joined us. He had come in so silently that I hadn’t heard him. It was the first time I’d seen Arthur standing and thought how incredibly upright and spry he was for a man of ninety or more. ‘You are, Jason. The Pride of Old Herne’s.’ Then he turned to me. ‘What do you think of Friars Leas?’

  ‘Impressive,’ I said. ‘I can see why you wanted to move in here for a while.’ I wasn’t sure I did understand it, in fact, but my endorsement seemed to please both of them.

  ‘I always look in on young Jason when I cross the Pond. First Old Herne’s and the Cricketers and then Friars Leas. It looks kind of weird, but you know, Jack, it feels like a home.’

  ‘Young’ Jason put his arm round Arthur in affection. ‘This is Miranda’s home, too, Arthur. Always will be. And yours.’

  Miranda’s home? I wondered just why Hedda had wanted me to talk to Arthur and Jason. She must have been fond of Mike and as outraged as we all were by his murder. What more could they tell me, either together or singly, that was going to help find his killer?

  The Porsche had been returned and so I had put that provisionally to one side as a factor in Mike’s death. Nevertheless, it was odd that it didn’t seem to figure much in Jason’s mind. Was this because it had nothing to do with Mike’s death or could it be that the car had only been one incident in a far wider scenario that placed Jason centre stage? And with Jason came Arthur, Nightmare Abbey – and Miranda Pryde.

  I couldn’t see where this line of thought was taking me, but I sensed it was taking me somewhere … in fact, quite a way, perhaps, given how they were both looking at me, with their long thin faces and their mild kindly eyes. Looking at me expectantly.

  And then I was there. At last, I’d got the steering wheel gripped in my hands. How could I have been so blind? Was I the only person who didn’t know? I could not believe that and yet it was so obvious. And it threw a die into the ring that changed everything. If I was right. So I took a deep breath. It was time to throw the die myself.

  ‘Miranda’s place,’ I repeated. ‘She was the heart of Old Herne’s and still is.’

  Neither of them spoke. They were waiting for me to spell it out. So spell it out I did.

  ‘Mike was your biological son, wasn’t he, Arthur? Jason’s your grandson.’

  ‘I could do with a ride, Jack,’ Arthur said almost apologetically, ‘and seeing this Lagonda of yours outside, well, I guess that clinched it. After the Morgan, Miranda and I had a real liking for Lagondas. Anyway, we can talk better away from Jason. He’s a weird one at times.’

  And how, I thought. I’d expected denials, but instead they had both looked pleased at my deduction. So now that the truth was established, it was time to get answers. This discovery could well change the direction of the case, both for me and for Brandon.

  Arthur had strapped himself into the Lagonda with great pleasure. No prizes for guessing where we were heading, he and I, on this jaunt of ours. Old Herne’s. Arthur wanted a spin round the track in the Morgan, didn’t feel up to taking the wheel himself and had asked me if I would. I’d been longing to have a go at driving it for years. I love Morgans. I love their history, I love their independence – and I love the cars.

  Jason had said he would train the telescope on us as we went round the track, and I didn’t discourage him in case he came with us instead. I didn’t want him perched in the Lagonda’s rear seat, while I tried to have a one to one with Arthur.

  Arthur opted for tea in Hedda’s bar before we took to the track, and we caught her just as she was about to close up for the day. There was great delight when she saw Arthur. ‘Hi, Grandpops!’ she shrieked, rushing over to kiss him, and much excited chatter followed.

  ‘Is Mike’s parentage generally known?’ I asked Arthur when we were alone again.

  ‘No. Hedda keeps her mouth shut.’

  ‘I presume Anna Nelson is in the picture.’

  He managed a chuckle. ‘She is now. I told her after Mike’s death and she didn’t know whether to be furious or pleased as she counted the cash she might get from me. She reckoned I’d chip in because Jason got the car and she seemed to think she was entitled either to that or the insurance for it. I put her right on that score and that made her mighty mad. And before you ask, Ray does know about Mike but grandson Peter does not.’

  ‘And your family?’

  He wasn’t pleased at that. ‘I’ll tell Glenn in my own good time,’ he snapped.

  ‘I have to ask about Mike though. Did he know?’

  I thought I’d get another flea in my ear, but I was wrong. Arthur sighed. ‘Not until Miranda was dying in 1991. I agreed that with Ray – when I found out myself, that is. That wasn’t until 1965 when Miranda and I met again. She told me while we were out in that Morgan we’re about to drive. That’s why it’s kind of special to me. I bought the Porsche for Mike then and the Morgan for her. We’d driven in one of the thirties three-wheelers when we first knew each other, but we moved on to the Plus Four. Mike was twenty in 1965 and still hadn’t the slightest idea I was his father. It went on that way till Miranda died.’

  I whistled. ‘Mike must have been getting on for fifty by the time he did find out – rather late to discover your parentage.’

  ‘Thank Ray for that. He said it was better for Mike if he never knew. Like hell. He didn’t care two cheroots for Mike. It was me Ray wanted to get off his patch, even though he owed his job to me.’

  ‘He seems to have run Old Herne’s well.’

  ‘Miranda did,’ Arthur said grimly. ‘The moment she died, I told him he was off the books and Mike was automatically on under the trust agreement.’

  I’d been right. Whole new scenarios were opening up, with this joker on the table. I wasn’t pleased. ‘You should have told me he was your son, Arthur. This could have affected Mike’s death.’

  ‘Why?’ The tough billionaire emerged. ‘If my own kid doesn’t know, why the heck should you? I only told Jason when he started Pryde of the Past five years back and that was the reason he fell out with Mike – blamed him for not telling him immediately he knew himself. Jason couldn’t get over it because he’d been so close to Miranda, yet never knew the half of it. So he’s poured all his energy since into Pryde of the Past.’

  ‘Which has opened up a new career for him.’

  ‘Sure. He had turned himself around, but still couldn’t get over the fact that Mike had kept him in the dark. I reckon that was because Anna didn’t want Jason thinking of himself as Mike’s successor at Old Herne’s, in case Jason booted Mike out of the place. If she’d known he was my son she’d have been even more forceful on the subject. Odd lad, Jason. He didn’t mind my not telling him earlier, only Mike.’

  I was still confused. ‘But now you have appointed Glenn, not Jason, to run Old Herne’s. Is that because you don’t see Jason as a good manager?’

  ‘He’d be a darn good manager if he chose, especially if Jessica stays on.’

  ‘So it’s because he prefers to keep his own career?’

  He didn’t reply, and I saw he was beginning to tire. When he did speak, he still didn’t answer my question. ‘Let’s get out in the air, Jack. Down to the track and the Morgan. Tim’s got the car down there ready, and then I’ll tell you about Miranda Pryde and me. I told you some but you don’t know the half of it yet.’

  I could see he’d had enough for the moment. My questions would have to wait awhile, so I found him a wheelchair to save his energy and off we went, me with a sense of guilty pleasure at this diversion, he – well, I couldn’t speak for him but he was clearly set on it.

  And there, as we reached the track, was the Morgan. There was no sign of Tim, but the Morgan was enough. A sight for jaded spirits. A 1965 Morgan Series IV, with true quality shining out of every inch. I took a moment or two to admire it before we took off. And ‘took off’ would be right for a Morgan, as Arthur pointed out.

  ‘You heard of the Aero, Jack?’ he said. ‘Not that new one
Morgans just brought out, the earlier one.’

  ‘Yes. Around 1920, wasn’t it? And a Super Aero a few years later.’

  ‘Right. So called because of that flying ace of yours, Albert Ball, killed in 1917. He had an earlier specially bodied Grand Prix model, and said that to drive it was the nearest thing to flying without leaving the ground. That’s what my Morgan does for me.’

  And so we flew along the ground, Arthur and I. It seemed right for this track with its RAF provenance, and I could imagine myself in Ball’s Sopwith Pup as the landscape whizzed by. It was an exhilarating experience, and when at last he’d had enough, he thanked me. Then we sat in the Morgan and he told me the story. His story, Miranda’s story.

  ‘My Miranda,’ he began. ‘You must have heard her recordings, Jack. Everyone has. What you can’t know is what she was like. Take the phrase the love of my life. That was Miranda for me, and me for her. We were all set until Ray Nelson took a hand.

  ‘I first met him,’ he went on, ‘after the Thunderbolt crash in ’forty-three, though I barely remember him then. Miranda put him in the shade, and I tend to forget that skunk was even then in the background. Miranda’s partner he calls himself. He didn’t play much part at all. He was OK as a crooner but he didn’t have the X factor that Miranda did. She knew that, he knew that, so it was her show with back-up from him on occasion. The day of the crash in ’forty-three – well, I thought I was a goner as I came down. Got ready to meet my Maker. I told you Thunderbolts were sturdy beasts but the engine was failing. One strike too many. Then I blacked out as we hit the ground – don’t know how long but I opened my eyes and there was this chap in overalls dragging me – and the heat was quite something. I had some idea it might have been St Peter so it seemed a good idea to go with the flow. The whole thing went up as he pulled me clear – he must have known it was about to blow but he came for me, and he saved my life. Just like my father, whose life was saved by that pal in World War I.

  ‘War’s a strange time, Jack. It stays with you, the few good times, the countless bad. The horror and the personal heroism you come across. That’s why we remember it, all of it, and not only on Armistice Day. As I told you, next evening I met Miranda at the Twitch club. Just her, not Ray, who reckoned he was too high and mighty to sing to such small audiences.’

  ‘Did they have a personal relationship at that time?’

  ‘According to him yes, according to Miranda no. Strictly business. By the time I left West Malling a few days later I was hooked on her. I guess those fellows that first set their eyes on your Florence Nightingale at Scutari must have been the same way. The Lady with the Lamp you call her. Well, Miranda Pryde shed a light into my life that hasn’t been extinguished since.’

  ‘Was it instantaneous for both of you?’

  ‘No. To her I was just some dumb Yankee pilot at first, but she was interested enough to come to Debden, where I was stationed. She could tell I was homesick for Ohio. She’d been to the States so we talked about that and about her growing up in Kent. After Debden she was due to do a tour of East Anglian bases with Ray, and by then she and I were well on our way. Ray could see that. He was – and is – a sly piece of work. No English gentleman, that guy.

  ‘For the next year,’ he continued, ‘we saw each other when we could, which wasn’t often. She had a ’thirties Morgan then, and because of her job she could fix the petrol situation OK. Petrol rationing would have put paid to it otherwise. Then came D-Day and the summer of 1944. West Malling base made an arrangement with the USAF that they could use the Malling base as an advance landing for refuelling and as an emergency landing ground, so they were well used to Yankee pilots. Same went for Old Herne’s. We were mostly flying Mustangs by then. That was the time when the VI doodlebugs were getting active, and the USAF needed a liaison officer at West Malling – I put myself forward and I was all set. Miranda lived locally and for those six weeks it was hell by day in the air and heaven at night. We knew this was the real thing and had plans to marry just as soon as possible. Mike was conceived – and then Ray found out. Somehow he got through to my CO and my request for speedy marriage was turned down flat. I don’t know what tale he concocted, but then my squadron got posted, so there was no chance of seeing Miranda for a while. I was in Europe, she was in the north of England.’

  Arthur cleared his throat before continuing, ‘When we met again in the sixties that jerk Nelson proudly told us he’d intercepted my letters and informed her I’d been posted back to the States. In those days she was a famous lady, she thought I didn’t want her and there she was with a kid on the way. So she married Ray late in 1944. I thought that our love affair was over as she’d never replied to my letters and I’d no idea she was pregnant. So I got stuck into business life and making my millions. Got married, sired Glenn and tried to forget her. You have to get on with life.

  ‘Then in 1965 I had to fly to London on business and heard that Miranda and Ray were retiring from their singing career, and that their son Mike was a racing driver. I did a bit of investigation and went down to Kent to find them. So I met Miranda again. Twenty years is a long time, but we took one look at each other and knew we felt the same. Nothing to be done about it; you didn’t leave your marriage post so easily in those days.’

  ‘And she told you about Mike?’

  ‘Yes. One look at him and I knew he was mine, for all he took after Miranda. I couldn’t tell him that though. We agreed that with Ray. So I bought Mike the Porsche and the Morgan for Miranda and Ray hated me for it. Can’t say I blame him, but I never told Mike the truth. Ray was glad enough to take the job at Old Herne’s with Miranda, for all he can’t stand me.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘That flame’s still burning, Jack. Miranda has gone but I see her in Jason every time I look at him. And, dear God, his voice. And that’s why I can’t let Old Herne’s die, Jack. I thought I could, but I can’t.’

  TEN

  Arthur Howell, much as I liked and respected him, was one big powerhouse, I reflected as I drove him back to Friars Leas. Nevertheless, so far as Old Herne’s and the trust were concerned he was focused on Miranda Pryde and through her on Mike and Jason. Miranda was ‘back story’ and yet seemed to control Old Herne’s future. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, however. A great many charities and other projects draw their inspiration from personal emotions, whether of grief, pleasure or conviction, and which of us is not affected by back story in one form or another? In Arthur’s case, it had already had repercussions, though, in the form of the current financial straits of Old Herne’s.

  I didn’t want to take that further and consider how that might have taken on a much darker perspective and led to Mike’s death, but I knew I would have to before we parted, and it wasn’t going to be easy. All I could do was tackle it head on.

  ‘Arthur, I have to decide whether what you’ve told me affects the job I’m doing for you too much to continue.’

  ‘Go on.’ His voice was very clipped.

  ‘Your reprieve for Old Herne’s opens up the possibility that his killer didn’t want the club to continue.’

  ‘Why would that be?’ Even more clipped.

  Here goes, I thought. ‘Either because Mike would still be at the helm which would mean the end of the club or because his death could open up opportunities. Mike being your son complicates either motive.’

  I waited for the storm to break and by the look on Arthur’s face it was imminent. But it passed to my relief.

  ‘When we talked this job over, Jack, I told you there were no holds barred and I meant it, however close to home.’

  I risked a step further. ‘Now Mike is dead, there are already changes afoot—’

  ‘Off limits, Jack.’

  It was a mild reproof but technically he was right, or near enough for me not to fight it. ‘So might this be, then. If the end of Old Herne’s was the plan behind his death the threat to you also increases. We talked about that earlier. Does that conversation still ho
ld good?’

  ‘It does – or would if I were at risk. But I’m not. So that being settled, are you going on or not?’

  I wrestled with this. The mortgage hovered above my head, my conscience pushed it away. Back it came, and this time I gave it a good kick. ‘I will,’ I told him, ‘but you don’t pay me. I’ll do it for Mike’s sake. That way I’m on a level playing field.’

  A short laugh. ‘You English. Always “Play up, play up and play the game” with you. OK, I’ll go with that.’

  ‘No game,’ I said soberly. And then I braced myself. ‘The Porsche,’ I began. ‘If I’m going on, I have to cover every possibility, so is it conceivable that Mike would have arranged for the Porsche to be stolen in order to get the compensation?’

  That did it. He exploded. ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘I have to rule it out, Arthur. You paid the insurance premiums but Mike would have got the insurance if the car wasn’t found. It could be one explanation for his death.’

  ‘How does that go?’ he whipped back at me.

  ‘Suppose somebody – Anna, for instance – pushed him into it?’

  This time the explosion was different. It was a laugh – of relief? ‘Nothing, certainly not Anna, could have pushed Mike into parting with that car.’

  ‘Not even if he desperately needed cash to put into Old Herne’s as he offered to do? He couldn’t have sold the car because it was Old Herne’s icon – and yours.’

  Arthur stopped laughing and weighed this up. Then he came back at me with a decisive: ‘He wouldn’t do it. Period. Full stop. Never.’ With that, he courteously thanked me for the afternoon and went straight into Nightmare Abbey without a backward look.

  Families. Was it the truth or only the truth as seen through a mental block because Mike was his son? Maybe family relationships have always controlled history right from Adam and Eve down through the ages. Look at Queen Victoria’s offspring, spreading their influence all over Europe and beyond. Look at the Bushes, the Kennedys … Why should the Howells be different?