Blood and Broomsticks: A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries Book 9)

by Jean G. Goodhind

  ‘You’re not using your walking stick. Is your leg feeling better?’ Honey asked, assuming a pleasant opening gambit would elicit pleasantness from Mrs Nobbs.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my legs. I always take a walking stick out with me. It’s a useful weapon should I need one.’

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Mrs Nobbs,’ said Doherty. ‘Mrs Driver suggested I come along to put your mind at rest about the vandalising of your gnomes.’

  ‘Oh has she now! Well, Detective Constable or whatever you are, you’re both too late. I’ve got rid of the lot of them. I’ve heeded the warning. After weighing up the evidence, I decided that they had to go. They attracted evil. My garden will be none the worse without them. I’ve decided to collect stone mushrooms instead. And frogs. I like clay frogs.’

  Honey and Doherty exchanged surprised looks and a light laugh once the door was shut in their faces.

  ‘Mad as a box of …’

  ‘Frogs!’

  ‘So what’s the story with the other woman?’ Honey asked him as they made the descent back to town.

  ‘A bit of a domestic. The woman’s son from her first marriage reported some things missing. He blamed the man she’s had move in with her for taking them.’

  ‘And had he?’

  ‘There’s no evidence. Prior to his mother moving back into the apartment, her son lived there alone. Lived there like a lord from what I can gather. Then his mother came back from where she had been living bringing her beau with her. A quick search of the premises and we found the missing items stored in a box out in the shed. Mr Abingdon, the son, insisted he had nothing to do with it, but I have my doubts. I think he wanted the old chap thrown out. He could probably cope with his mother moving back in, but not her lover.’

  Honey’s phone warbled something that sounded like bubbles being blown into water. It turned out to be Casper.

  ‘I’ve been thinking. If you and this policeman person are not an item again, perhaps it’s time for you to step aside and let somebody else take over. Compatibility is of prime importance in a working relationship.’

  ‘Everything’s fine, Casper. In fact there has been a development in the Crooks case.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Well actually it’s another murder, but …’

  ‘A murder? Another murder in this cultured and eminently refined city?’

  ‘Not exactly. It was in Keynsham.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  There was nothing to be gained in pointing out to Casper that the people of Keynsham wouldn’t be glad to hear it. The chairman of Bath Hotels’ Association’s focus was on the city he lived in and loved.

  ‘That was Casper,’ she said once she’d closed the connection. ‘He was very glad to hear that the murder occurred in Keynsham not Bath.’

  ‘Well that’s Casper for you; all heart,’ quipped Doherty with wry sarcasm.

  Honey surveyed her fingers without really seeing them. She was thinking of her relationship with Doherty; they were warming to each other again. She liked it, but her pride wouldn’t let her rush it. Not yet at least.

  What it boiled down to was that Doherty came with extras; not just his body, but their occasional working as well as playing together. It counted for something. In fact, on thinking seriously, it counted for quite a lot.

  ‘So,’ exclaimed Honey deciding to play it totally professional. ‘The method of dispatching Edna was identical to that used to dispatch Boris and Doris Crook – without her being thrown from a great height.’

  ‘Then thrown into a skip rather than two urns.’

  ‘It all goes back to Moss End Guest House and the two men I saw that night.’

  ‘Men? Are you sure they were men?’

  ‘Men. Big, ungainly men with no imagination. Women would have given more thought to their costume – I went into a lot of trouble to choose mine. I’m betting they were the same men Mrs Hicks saw hanging around.’

  ‘The thing about these two men is that it wasn’t really a costume, was it? It was a disguise. The question that I’m bound to ask is why they bothered to come disguised at all.’

  ‘And who informed them that it was a costumed Hallowe’en party?’ Honey added.

  The seasonal mist was turning into a fine drizzle, splattering the windscreen. They both stared straight ahead at the traffic as it wove from one lane to another.

  At the precise moment Doherty switched the wipers on, they both exclaimed in unison.

  ‘Somebody at the party told them it was.’

  ‘An inside job.’

  ‘But who?’

  The reason why the Crooks had been killed was still something of a conundrum, though there were definitely a few pointers.

  She dragged her eyes from the road and studied Doherty’s profile. He was concentrating hard on his driving. She recalled he’d specifically asked her not to distract him, but so far nothing they’d talked about had distracted him. Obviously police business didn’t distract like personal stuff; so stick to that, she told herself.

  ‘Did you find out whether the victims were being chased by creditors?’

  ‘There does seem to be a question mark over their financial arrangement. Mr Crook had been in business with a Mr Belper. Mr Belper claims that his partner went off with half a million in company money, but swears that due legal process was in operation. In fact he stated that Mr Crook had made a firm promise that the money would be paid back very shortly.’

  ‘And was it?’

  ‘No. It was not, though he didn’t seem that worried about it. The company money bought Moss End so legally the place will be resold and the money returned to the company of which Mr Belper and Mr Crook were directors.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘Everything seems in order so I’ve no reason not to.’

  ‘So if he didn’t send in the heavies, then who did?’

  A flash of light distracted Doherty’s attention. Frowning he glanced into his rear view mirror.

  ‘Who the bloody hell’s flashing their headlights?’

  Honey looked over her shoulder. Her face paled.

  ‘It’s pink. It’s Mary Jane.’

  ‘Christ!’

  ‘I think she’s just saying hi.’

  ‘I don’t want her to say hi. I want her to keep as far from the tail of this car as possible,’ said Doherty with grim faced finality.

  Honey gritted her teeth in sympathy with Doherty whose jaw looked close to cracking under the strain. She closed her eyes.

  Doherty noticed her action.

  ‘Don’t take your eyes off her!’

  He sounded frantic. Understandable. Mary Jane had that effect on everybody once she was behind the wheel of her car.

  ‘Sorry. I always close my eyes when I’m driving with Mary Jane.’

  ‘You’re not driving with Mary Jane. You’re driving with me. I’ll keep my eyes looking forward. You keep your eyes on her.’

  ‘I don’t think I can keep my eyes swivelled for that long.’

  ‘That’s an order!’

  The traffic lights ahead of them changed to red where the Lower Bristol Road divided from the Upper Bristol Road. Doherty took the left hand lane and shot down into the Upper Bristol Road.

  Mary Jane looked as though she were pulling up in the right-hand lane.

  ‘We’ve lost her!’ shouted Doherty with a whoop of relief.

  More used to Mary Jane’s driving than he was, Honey expectantly regarded the pink Caddy over her shoulder. True to form, the Green River’s resident professor of the paranormal swerved in front of the traffic in both lanes and followed them into the Upper Bristol Road.

  Honey broke the bad news.

  ‘She can’t do that,’ Doherty yelled.

  ‘She has. She’s right behind us.’

  Honey saw him look at the road ahead, then his speedometer, then back to the road ahead.

  Honey saw the beads of sweat on his forehead and read his m
ind. ‘You can’t outrun her.’

  His knuckles were white, his eyes staring.

  ‘Steve! Cut it out. It’s only Mary Jane, not the hounds of hell!’

  His face remained stiff, his eyes glazed.

  She was getting frantic. ‘You’re a cop. A cop who could get nicked for speeding.’

  Some sense of her words seemed to get through to him.

  ‘If I stop she’ll ram me. I’ve only just had it repaired for Chrissake!’

  ‘No! No! She wouldn’t.’

  Riding with Mary Jane was like white water rafting on half a surfboard; exciting and exceedingly hazardous. Imagining Doherty’s worst fear was unattractive because she couldn’t be at all sure of the consequences. Better to eye the parked cars and the neat driveways of solid-looking houses they were passing in a haze of speed.

  She tried to reassure him. ‘She’s never had an accident. Never hit anything. Not a car. Not a person. Not even a bicycle.’

  ‘Is she still behind us?’ he asked.

  Honey pushed back at her sweaty hairline and nodded. ‘Yes. And she’s waving. She obviously has something she wants to tell us. How about you pull over and hear what she’s got to say?’

  She saw his tongue lick at his dry lips before he nodded in agreement. Thankfully his knuckles became less pronounced. She took this as a sure sign that he’d agreed to her suggestion.

  Mentally, Honey went through the instructions given her on the first driving lesson she’d ever had.

  Mirror, signal, manoeuvre. It kind of happened that way, but not very accurately.

  They came to a stop. Doherty looked as stiff as a board and refused to get out of the car.

  ‘You see what she wants. I’ll stand guard. Just in case.’

  ‘She’s not going to ram you on purpose.’

  ‘I thought you said she’d never had an accident. Never hit anybody.’

  ‘It’s true.’ She looked at his knuckles. There was no way she was going to prise those fingers from that steering wheel. ‘OK. You stand guard. And even if you feel the urge to bark, please don’t bite anyone.’

  Mary Jane was hanging out of the driver’s window, which seeing as the Caddy was an American car, happened to be on the left-hand side. When she was animated as she presently was, her face seemed to fill out, her wrinkles diminishing to fine lines.

  ‘The moment I saw you in that car, I knew it was a sign.’

  Honey clenched her stomach. She wasn’t one for having premonitions herself. The last thing she wanted to hear was anything that might hint at another prang to Doherty’s car.

  ‘A sign of what?’ she asked.

  ‘That the premonition I had last night had firmed up. I thought I’d forgotten it, but the moment I saw you it came back to me in a flash.’

  Honey’s thoughts darted around from one possibility to another.

  Mary Jane’s eyes had narrowed. She was holding her hands together as though she were in church and about to ask the big guy on high a very personal question.

  ‘I saw him somehow connected to little people. I don’t know how he was connected to those little people, but I know for sure that he is.’

  Honey shook her head as her forehead creased. ‘Can you clarify that a little, Mary Jane? Who or what exactly are we talking about?’

  ‘The missing husband. He’s somehow connected to very small people.’

  ‘Children?’

  Mary Jane closed her eyes and pursed her lips against her fingers as she considered this.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Dwarves?’

  This time the thought process was less lengthy.

  ‘No. But similar.’

  So! Bert Watchpole was involved with the little people. Honey concentrated on that aspect then burst out with her conclusion.

  ‘Ireland! Perhaps it means he’s gone to Ireland. They call the fairies and leprechauns little people in Ireland.’

  ‘Say!’ said Mary Jane, her wrinkles reappearing as her face relaxed. ‘That could be it. Yes, you’re right. The little people live in Ireland.’

  ‘Some do.’

  A cold clammy feeling suddenly grabbed Honey by the throat. She grabbed the Cadillac’s wing mirror.

  ‘Mary Jane. Grab the wheel. Your car’s moving forward. You haven’t got the brake on!’

  A grating sound accompanied the wrenching of the handbrake.

  ‘OK now,’ Mary Jane said brightly.

  Honey felt her knees give way. On running a swift inspection she saw that there were only inches between the Cadillac and Doherty’s pride and joy.

  Audacious was a good word to call what Honey did next. She actually placed herself between the two cars. Actually, dangerous was a better word. If Mary Jane did roll forward Doherty’s car would be safe but Honey’s knees would need replacing.

  Honey slid back into the passenger seat of Doherty’s car, breathing a sigh of relief that her knees were still intact. Mary Jane had driven off without a scrape on her powder pink paint.

  Doherty was sitting with his hands laced over the wheel. He straightened on seeing the tail lights of the Caddy blink on and off some way down the road.

  ‘So what was that all about?’

  Honey repeated what she’d already told him about Bert Watchpole, plus Mary Jane’s latest statement.

  He blinked at her as he attempted to digest the reference to small men – like leprechauns – and the conclusion that Bert had gone to Ireland.

  ‘And before you say it, I don’t really think that she’s lost her marbles.’

  Doherty stared at her in disbelief. ‘You don’t?’

  ‘I just think she just wants to be helpful and is applying herself to the problem.’

  He went back to staring out of the windscreen. It wasn’t like him to dwell on things and it worried her. A little flippancy was in order.

  ‘At least she didn’t hit your car. Did you see how willing I was to sacrifice myself for the most important thing in your life? I actually placed myself between the bonnet of her car and the boot of yours. I hope you appreciate it.’

  ‘Nobody asked you to be a martyr. It’s only a car for Chrissake!’

  ‘Only a car? Hey, this is the love of your life you’re talking about.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Ahmed at the garage said …’

  ‘Ahmed reckoned that Bristol Rovers were going to win the European Cup.’

  Honey looked at him in surprise. ‘That’s rubbish.’

  ‘Let that be a lesson to you. Never trust a man who wears a shower cap when he’s repairing a car and a jock strap over his overalls.’

  Before she could ask, Doherty answered.

  ‘In case something spoils his hair or falls onto his wedding tackle.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘John Rees called. I told him you’d call him back. Are you going to?’

  Lindsey was putting the finishing touches to a flower display. Gene was helping her. Being a sensitive soul, their new receptionist cottoned on to the fact that this was a girl-to-girl tête-à-tête.

  He flapped his hands. ‘I see a girl thing. Well you carry on, girls. I’ll just go to powder my nose.’

  Honey flopped into a chair and toyed with an elastic band. Making cat’s cradles with her fingers didn’t fool Lindsey.

  ‘I know all the signs. You and Doherty are rekindling the old flame. Our delicious American bookseller is still a contender, though compared to your policeman, he’s just an appetiser. Doherty is still the main course.’

  ‘You sound pretty certain of that.’

  ‘You’re my mother. I know you well.’

  ‘How’s Dominic?’

  Dominic was Lindsey’s latest boyfriend. Friend was the operative word; Lindsey had a lot of friends who just happened to be guys. She didn’t enter into many long-term relationships. Not that she was actually saving herself for Mr Right, it was just that she liked having boys or men who were first and foremost friends.

  Lindsey
waggled a long-stemmed lily at her mother. ‘You’re trying to change the subject. You know very well that I haven’t seen Dominic for two weeks. He’s gone skiing with Sophie. You may recall that Sophie and I went to school together.’

  Honey pouted. ‘I have to let John down.’

  ‘He’s a grown man. He can take it.’

  ‘But I did give him cause to be hopeful. At the party and all that.’

  ‘Alison’s party.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You had a call from her too.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Annoyed that her guests are being interrogated by the police again. She wondered if you could do anything about it.’

  The lily flopped onto the reception counter, neck broken.

  ‘Oh, sure. I’ll waltz into Doherty’s office and insist he keeps his hands off my friend’s friends. I’m sure he’ll oblige.’

  Neither the chance to phone John Rees or Alison occurred. In a flurry of angry agitation, Maurice Hoffmann, Alison’s beau, crashed into Reception with Alison trailing behind. Both of them looked as though they meant serious business, despite the fact that Alison was wearing pale cream pants, padded jacked, and palomino coloured accessories. Barbie probably had the same outfit herself this winter, though somewhat smaller.

  ‘Well some friend you are …’ Alison began.

  Maurice did more than that, pointing an accusing finger only inches from Honey’s face. His own face was red with anger.

  ‘Do you know how long they had me down at the police station? Do you?’

  Honey shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea …’

  ‘Four hours. I have been interrogated for four hours and been asked some pretty stupid questions. When did I book the party, how did I pay for it? And then why hadn’t I paid for it? Because the people I should be paying are both dead. You’d have thought the police would have noticed that by now wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with me …’

  ‘You were at the party. You’ve given them every scrap of information about who was there and added to it.’

  ‘You made up lies,’ bleated Alison, her heavily made up eyes welling over with angry tears. ‘We gave them a list of everyone who attended and what costumes they were wearing. But you added two. You said there were two people there who were dressed as ghosts. You’re a liar!’