One to Six, Buckle to Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns Book 11)

by EJ Lamprey

  Donald winced. ‘In my day? That’s one of the reasons I feel comfortable with you, that you don’t find me remotely attractive.’

  ‘Or you me,’ Edge agreed cheerfully. He started to get up, smiling. ‘No, stay. Please. Have a glass of wine? I could do with the company.’

  ‘Vivian not coming round?’

  ‘We don’t live in each other’s pockets, you know.’ Edge busied herself with glasses and turned back to find him watching her thoughtfully.

  ‘It’s more than that. This hasn’t anything to do with you falling all over William at the dinner, has it?’

  ‘Maybe. And she wasn’t too thrilled that I was at his bungalow helping him with a computer problem the other day. Mainly, though, she took exception to something that I said about them. It really didn’t help that he got all exuberant this morning and swept me off my feet for a big smacking kiss. Not at all romantic, but she didn’t like it much.’

  ‘She’s wasting her time there. He’s very taken with her, very taken, but he’s not about to settle doon.’

  ‘That was basically what I said! It didn’t go down at all well. We didn’t quarrel but she’s definitely taken the huff. I can’t think what to say to sort it out, though.’

  Donald made that comforting noise peculiar to the Scots – a wordless mmmph – and touched glasses with her as Maggie finally stopped barking in the bathroom. ‘How long do you think you’ll have the beastie?’

  She groaned and mimed running a piece of string through her fingers. ‘I’m still coming to the picnic, Clarissa and I had planned it as her first social outing in the muzzle anyway. Do you think the forecast was accurate? It still looks pretty dreich out there.’

  Donald finished his wine. ‘It had better be nice, Bill’s gone all out on the food. If it rains we’ll be packed into the Sunday room spreading picnic rugs on the floor! Looks like nearly everyone’s coming. When I moved here I was told not to expect lots of outings and gatherings, but this is three in two days.’

  Edge shrugged. ‘After this we’ll all ignore each other for at least six months. There’s never been a picnic before; it’s entirely your fault for coming up with the idea.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Monday—picnic with Maggie

  There were only seven Labradors, including the two house dogs, a standard poodle, a beagle, a whippet with a stitched ear and a very frustrated bulldog cross, but the visitor parking, where they were assembling for the walk across, seemed to be seething with dogs

  ‘Loving the Hannibal Lecter look.’ Donald said sardonically, and won himself a red-eyed glare. For the third time Maggie braced the muzzle between her paws and tried to pull it off, but only succeeded in twisting it slightly sideways, so the rigid sidebar was pressed against her tender nose. She turned to Edge pitifully to get it straightened, then tugged urgently on her lead. As the first dog walkers were already starting to leave, Edge fell in behind them.

  She wasn’t feeling particularly sociable, and was happy enough to be avoided by the others because of Maggie, who had kept her awake half the night with thunderous snores. It seemed obscurely wrong to be celebrating with Clarissa in hospital, and when death had so recently and abruptly returned to the Lawns, but no-one else seemed to share her feeling. She determinedly put her gloom down to her bad night, and lengthened her stride slightly. The walk was an easy one, but would take half an hour, and she wanted to get enough ahead to find a good spot to tie Maggie up well away from the others.

  A blue sky arched overhead, puffs of cloud and a feathering vapour trail only emphasizing its deep colour. The sun was still well to one side—it was still early February, after all—but was gently warming. Even the ubiquitous breeze was, today, content to nip at noses and exposed fingers rather than bite to the bone. Scarves were already being loosened and top buttons opened as the walkers straggled across the campsite towards the first farm.

  Edge half-turned, startled, as Sylvia’s poodle Froufrou cantered past her, but Maggie was behaving surprisingly well. Although she had been let off the lead once they were well clear of the road, she was no longer trying to remove her muzzle and was trotting demurely at heel. Sylvia gave an artificial little shriek at the sight of her, one hand pressed affectedly to her heart, then tried to catch up with Edge to comment—a dog handler herself, she had already told Clarissa the dog was incorrigible and should be put down. Maggie rolled a red-rimmed eye and whispered a growl, and Sylvia dropped back with an acid comment instead to her nephew, who sniggered. Edge was suddenly rather pleased that Kirsty wasn’t interested in the good-looking Australian.

  One or two squabbles broke out among the dogs and Odette fled like a deer when Maggie lumbered over to share an investigation into a particularly promising hole under a stone wall. Edge peeled off one glove to take a stream of photographs of Maggie with the other dogs for Clarissa, trying to get ones where the others weren’t too obviously hastily retreating.

  The walkers arrived to cheers from the friends who had driven across, and Maggie, safely back on her lead, twitched and bunched her muscles at the sight of William surging towards Vivian, waving one of his walking sticks in greeting at their approach.

  ‘You look deliciously rosy,’ he engulfed Vivian’s generous curves in an enthusiastic hug while Buster plunged around him exuberantly and tied their legs together with his lead. Simon tried laughingly to come to the rescue, but Buster, usually the friendliest of dogs, ungratefully growled and took refuge behind William, who was quite large enough to shelter several dogs at once.

  The picnic was being held in a canal-side Dutch barn that Donald had rented for the event, which had been cleared and put on standby over a week ago, ready for the first clear day of the year. Bales of hay and straw cut any wind on three sides. In the cleared middle two fully skirted trestle tables offered a substantial buffet, with hampers invitingly propped open to spill breads and rolls around dressed platters and garnished servers. A third table stood slightly to one side, well stocked with big thermos flasks, a profusion of cups, and even two chafing dishes.

  ‘People, people!’ Joey, as the Trust representative, raised his voice to be heard over the hubbub. ‘Just a couple of things. Tea, coffee and hot soup over at that table. The rest is a kind of make-your-own picnic so get stuck in. We dinnae want the dogs falling in the canals or fighting, but there are posts all the way along so you can tie up your beasties, and Bill sent lumps of gristle to keep them busy for an hour or two, eh? Donald, pal, this was a braw idea, and hopefully the start of many spring picnics.’ He beamed at the ragged chorus of cheers, and Donald, for once slightly flushed, looked uncomfortable.

  Edge tied Maggie to a post well clear of the others, removed the muzzle, and settled her with a disgusting knot of gristle before making her way back into the picnic area. William, scorning plastic chairs as completely unsuitable for his size, had commandeered several bales of straw and covered them with travel rugs. These were pushed against the ‘wall’ of bales, as backrest, and he had even set one up to be a mini table with a gingham cloth, a bottle of wine and half a dozen glasses.

  ‘There’s more.’ he assured her, pointing to the bottle. ‘And it’s good stuff. Not that foul plonk you offered me.’

  ‘My wine, my coffee—you’re an awful snob, William.’

  ‘That’s why I had to bring wine.’ he agreed. ‘Instant coffee, at a picnic? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, it does look good. And you’re all set to hold court. Do you want me to fill a plate for you?’

  ‘Vivian’s already getting one, but if you feel moved to gie it laldy, I won’t stop you. All this fresh air, I could eat that dog of yours. I hope Vivian gets back before I waste away.’

  Laughing, Edge went to join the queue at the buffet table, peering appreciatively over the shoulders of the people in front of her. Bill, the Food and Beverage manager, had provided a variety of mayonnaise-based fillings, including chopped chicken and gherkin, tuna with minced spring onion, and lightly-curried egg. The
re was also thinly sliced ham, turkey, smoked salmon, tomato, cucumber, and more shredded lettuce than any Scottish picnic could ever really need. For those who didn’t want sandwiches or rolls, there were Scotch eggs, chicken drumsticks, salmon and cucumber mousse, sausage rolls, chipolatas, cherry tomatoes and even grapes.

  The party was soon flowing freely, with people drifting cheerfully from group to group and talking as though they’d not seen each other in months. Clarissa was mentioned by several, but not the young girl who had chosen to die in a strange place among strangers. Death had been busy at the Lawns earlier in the winter, but at least this time he’d picked someone nobody knew, and finally Edge, too, managed to shake off her brooding unease and enjoy herself.

  A few hardy types dragged hay bales out into the thin February sun and spread them with travel rugs. Dog walkers checked their dogs, then joined new conversations on their way back. Laughter rose and the coffee table went under siege. Edge checked on Maggie, who barely spared her a glance, and then started taking photos of the sparkling canal, the clumps of picnickers, Joey peacefully snoozing with a half-eaten roll in his hand and his face turned up to the sun. Friends, laughing, beckoned her over to take their photos too. Sylvia, gloved in a pink Jaeger walking suit, insisted on hopping up onto a hay bale for a cheek-to-cheek photograph with Simon, whose smile looked forced. Edge felt a little sorry for him; he knew nobody else, was at least twenty five years younger than anyone else at the picnic and Sylvia was heavy going even in small doses.

  She had talked of little else since he first arrived three weeks earlier. He was her only surviving relative and she had been estranged from her sister, his mother, for most of his life. She perhaps hadn’t even realized how very much she had wanted some family. He was her darling boy, her precious, now her heir, and she was devastated that his short holiday was nearly over, and he would have to return to Australia to his job. She was making the most of every minute left and, give him his due, he gave the impression of being at least as delighted to be reunited. Plans had been made for him to return for a holiday in summer, and Sylvia was already talking of his permanent move to Scotland. She was hinting at it again now, but he simply smiled and went off to get coffee for her.

  Edge watched after him idly. He was unusually tall, with eyes set a little too close together for perfect good looks, very broad-shouldered in his well-cut, very new, sheepskin jacket and, sniggering apart, did have nice manners. Sylvia had bought him the expensive jacket, and had gone on a little too long the day before about him not wearing it. In his place Edge was sure she’d have said something snappy. She roused herself from her reverie as the walkers started untying their dogs and preparing for the long walk back, put her camera away and went to collect Maggie for the return trip. It had, after all, been a more pleasant interlude than she had expected, and the gloom of the morning had been banished as though it had never been.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tuesday—Kirsty coming to tea

  ‘That bloody dog is giving me the willies.’ Kirsty stirred restlessly in her chair in Edge’s apartment and Maggie lifted her head alertly. ‘She won’t stop staring at me.’

  ‘I imagine she’s had her fair share of trouble with the police in her time.’ Edge agreed, offering a plate of sliced and buttered banana bread. Maggie looked even more alert, started to get up, and subsided sheepishly when Edge glanced at her sternly. ‘Do you know, Clarissa didn’t have pet insurance? She thought she was covered for public liability because she had it for the bungalow. I’ve taken it out now, so feel free to let her bite you and you can sue me for millions.’

  ‘She would, too. Rotten-to-the-core canine delinquent. It’s not even as if I’m in uniform.’ Kirsty argued. She had been extremely disapproving of Edge taking Maggie in.

  ‘If you want her to stop staring, put your handbag down on the floor. In fact do it anyway. No, not there, at the side of the chair. And don’t watch her too closely.’

  ‘You’re getting very odd since you got this dog. Have other people noticed?’ Kirsty remarked but obediently moved the bag, then looked at the dog sharply. ‘Oh, okay, you’re right, that did switch the searchlight glare. What’s her fascination with bags? She’d better not chew it. Crazy dog.’

  ‘Oh, hush. We’ll take her for a walk after tea and you can throw for her. Turns out she dearly loves to chase a ball, which is wonderful because I can wear her out completely in about twenty minutes. She wheezes like a laboratory beagle after three throws but still keeps begging for one more all the way back.’

  ‘You take her muzzle off in public?’ Kirsty looked alarmed and Edge hastily changed the subject.

  ‘Enough about the dog. Do tell me, what have you got on our body? Was it really a straight suicide? I almost miss not having murders around.’

  ‘Solving murders is usually pretty straightforward, you know. Find the body, look around for the weeping hysterical defiant person holding the weapon, arrest. Iain did say I could tell you anything on the suicide, because you are a freakish human magnet for useful information. Her name was Alison Martin, and he’s not one hundred percent happy that she hanged herself. There was a note, of course, that was the clincher at the time, although it was a bit odd. I copied it down for you.’ She dipped for her notebook in her handbag and passed it over. Edge read the page, frowning.

  I’m sorry, but this is your own

  fault, you shouldn’t have been

  such a bastard. It’s for the best.

  A

  ‘This is a suicide note? You’re joking, surely.’

  ‘Oh, we’ve seen stranger. She’d used the towrope from her car, and she’d definately climbed up onto the drier and thrown the rope over the beam. There were scuff marks on the drier and matching dust and scuffs on her clothes. There was a slight question mark over the fact that her neck was broken—not to gross you out, but most hanging amateurs strangle to death. However, it would have taken a very tall, very strong man to have set up the suicide scenario. He’d have had to be tall, because her neck was definately broken by an upward jerk, and strong, because he’d have had to hoist her onto the drier. She wasn’t fat, but she was a tall healthy girl, not an ounce under twelve stone. She certainly arrived alone, because Brian Mitchell saw her drive past as he left his apartment to go down, and briefly wondered why she was parking round the back. Donald and Vivian saw the car parked outside the laundry at nine twenty, and the lights in the laundry were on, but they were hurrying down to help William set up and didn’t think to stop. Nearly everyone else was already at the house, or it’s quicker for them to walk down anti-clockwise, but Godfrey Crossley from number eight passed the laundry just before ten and says the lights were off. She was likely dead by that time, but nobody else was in there or the lights would have been triggered by the motion sensors. We timed them—they go off ten minutes after the last movement. She died soon after her arrival, nine forty-five at the absolute latest.’

  ‘And no tall strong suspects?’

  ‘Well.’ Kirsty half-laughed. ‘William and Simon are the only ones that qualify, but William was in the house already, with an increasing number of witnesses, and Simon was sitting on the train from Edinburgh. We saw his taxi arrive ourselves, remember? Sylvia making all that fuss because he’d forgotten to wear the super-swanky sheepskin she’d bought him? Anyway, we’ve found the taxi driver and he confirms he collected Simon around nine forty from Linlithgow station. Iain picked up on the investigation yesterday morning and when he heard one potential suspect was about to leave the country, he made sure we even showed Simon’s photo to her neighbours, but nothing. Grant, who was the actual officer responding on Sunday, had been happy to call it a suicide, what with the note and all. He made no bones about it. As he puts it, when you hear hooves, don’t look for zebras. Case closed.’

  ‘What, just like that? Done and dusted? You lost your Sunday afternoon for nothing?’

  ‘Oh, no, she wrote that note to somebody, so Iain’s made it clear we’re stil
l going to tidy that up. It’s routine stuff now, like checking her flat. One of the neighbours thinks she had a boyfriend, but didn’t recognize Simon’s photo. Looks like she lived alone as everything—the lease, the utilities—was in her name, but she wasn’t claiming the single occupant discount on her rates bill. The flat was immaculate; she must have polished it until it shone before she left, but it did mean no fingerprints. No male clothes in the closet. We’ll check the gas readings, check whether it looks like two baths a day, for example. She didn’t have many friends, had only been in the country herself a few years, and no one’s come forward about her. No family at all. No computer in the flat, although she did have broadband on her phone service and a charger for a laptop. When I Googled her name she came up as having a Facebook account, but didn’t seem to use it. The geeks are searching for email accounts, and all the other in-depth social media. The missing laptop is one of the reasons Iain’s not entirely happy that it’s suicide. Who gets rid of their laptop first? She did have traces of drugs in her system, but nothing sinister. It’s not impossible that if there is a boyfriend, he’s keeping a low profile because he’s dealing. It’s that sort of neighbourhood, and could be a reason the neighbours are so glaikit about mentioning him. Iain said we’d be happy for you to wrap this one up for us. Actually, she was from your part of the world. I mean she was an African girl, from Nairobi, and you lived in Africa for ages.’

  Edge laughed. ‘Oh, Kirsty! That reminds me of my mother-in-law, James’ mother, I mean. She sent us a telegram saying that friends of hers would be in Nairobi on a certain date and we were to take them out to dinner. James sent a telegram straight back saying that it would be better if she did the taking, since Nairobi was nearer Edinburgh than it was to Durban! You’d do as well to ask Vivian—at least she’s been to Nairobi, I was never further north than Zimbabwe.’

  ‘How is Vivian?’ Kirsty asked and Edge’s smile slipped.