4 Death at the Happiness Club

by Cecilia Peartree

  'You're just not entering into the spirit of it, are you?' said Amaryllis, grabbing him by the arm. 'What you need to do is plunge into the middle of a bunch of twenty-somethings and see what they make of you. Some women of that age like older men, you know.'

  'Oh, ha ha,' said Jock, wresting his arm free. 'I had enough younger women to last me a lifetime when I was teaching - I don't mean that the way it sounds,' he added, realising too late that the general chatter had quietened down just in time for his revelation. In an attempt to restore his reputation he went and sat in the midst of a group of pensioners who seemed to have come along under the impression it was a bingo night.

  'All right!' said Sean, waving his arms about. 'I want to see all of you mingle like mad this half. So we'll ask the women to move round clockwise and the men anti-clockwise this time, to make it more difficult for you to cling to your groups. We want everyone to get to know each other. Nobody leaves here tonight without having made at least three new friends.'

  Amaryllis pushed past a couple of groups and positioned herself in a chair from where she had calculated she would come face to face with Inspector Smith in just two moves. She guessed that even just seeing her would give him a fright. Interesting to see how he would react. It would have been more effective, of course, if he hadn't been able to see her getting nearer and nearer. On the other hand, the feeling of impending doom would make him even more uneasy. She almost wriggled in anticipation of his discomfort.

  But when the next bell rang, Sean sprang a surprise.

  'Now move on five places instead of one!' he ordered. 'Dilly and Dee have noticed people deliberately trying to cheat by staying close to their friends. We want to jolt you out of your own cosy circle and make you part of the whole community instead!'

  Amaryllis was furious. She tried to hang back and let others overtake her, but she was swept past Inspector Smith, who smiled at her tantalizingly, and into a group of twenty-somethings. The young man she landed opposite stared at her in a panic. She looked at him more closely, wondering again if she needed glasses. It wasn't Darren, was it? She knew it wasn't Stewie, for reasons she hadn't divulged to anyone.

  'Zak Johnstone!' she said at last. 'This isn't your scene, is it?'

  'I've come with my mum,' he said, shuffling his feet. The insouciant young man who had seemed immune to the cares of the world had been replaced by a more vulnerable one who hadn't quite managed to grow out of his teenage spots and who couldn't quite meet Amaryllis's eyes.

  'Your mum? Penelope! I wouldn't have thought it was her scene either,' said Amaryllis, glancing round to see if she could spot the woman.

  'It isn't,' he said. 'She's only doing it to wind up my dad.'

  He said it without any apparent concern, just a kind of general contempt for the adults of the species and their dealings with each other.

  Amaryllis caught sight of Penelope. She had fallen out of the regiment of date-seekers and was deep in conversation with Sean Fraser. It was interesting that she still wore the camel skirt and quilted bodywarmer she seemed to think appropriate for all occasions. Couldn't she have done something different for once? How did she expect to get a proper date out of this event when she looked like a horse trainer?

  But then, Penelope hadn't come along to get a proper date. She was like Dave and Jemima, just here to see what was going on. Amaryllis herself was present for similar reasons. Well, mostly. She wouldn't have turned down a date with Chief Inspector Smith if one had been offered. The scope for setting traps for him under these circumstances would have been much greater than at this social evening.

  For the first time Amaryllis considered actually joining the Happiness Club specifically for this purpose. But was it really worth it? And would Christopher take offence? There was no knowing what would make him take offence, she mused darkly. He was nearly as closed a book to her as he had been the first time they met. More closed, if anything.

  Chapter 6 Bonding in Burntisland

  So much for a walking holiday, thought Christopher as they got off the bus in Aberdour and looked for the signpost that would point the way back to the coastal path. After they had left the café in Inverkeithing, Caroline had refused to go any further that day, and because it was raining he had given into her pleas to stay in a bed and breakfast instead of camping for the night.

  Despite feeling the utter futility of having carried a tent around all day on his back, Christopher had given in quite easily. He was already starting to panic again about the whole idea of sharing a small tent with Caroline. Why had he let her talk him into it, when there were all sorts of better things he could be doing? If only Amaryllis had been around, she would have talked him out of it.

  He didn't really like the self-image this conjured up of someone with no will-power of his own, swayed here and there by the wishes of others, but he had to admit there was a kernel of truth in it.

  He cheered up a bit when they found the way back to the coastal path. Today was a fresh start to their project. Maybe a tricky beginning meant they would appreciate the fresh air and exercise, and the freedom of sleeping under canvas, once they got going on it. Aberdour was a pretty place with ruins and picturesque little houses - and hadn't it kept on winning prizes for the best-kept train station? He felt guilty for travelling by bus instead of by train.

  Caroline swung her unsuitable bag cheerfully as they made their way towards the coast. She had decided she would like to live here, in one of the pretty houses with big gardens.

  'We don't have a proper garden in Edinburgh,' she said. 'Why haven't you been over to see us lately? I would have thought you'd want to see Faisal and Marina/'

  'They've been to Pitkirtly to see me,' said Christopher quietly. It was only a couple of months since Caroline had been discharged from the mental hospital after a second spell in there. Faisal and Marina had been living in foster care for a while. He had offered to have them to stay with him but for some reason the authorities had refused, and instead they had lived with a family in Corstorphine, where they seemed reasonably happy. Caroline's flat wasn't far from there, and they had been allowed to go back and live with her far too soon, in Christopher's opinion. But that was all water under the bridge now. He thought it best not to go through it all with her.

  She glanced up at him and said, 'While I was away.'

  'Yes.'

  He wondered if the fact that he had been involved in a couple of murder cases had anything to do with not being allowed to look after Faisal and Marina. Or maybe it was his connection with Amaryllis: she was simultaneously both an ally and an enemy of people in authority.

  Suddenly they could see the River Forth sparkling in the sunlight ahead of them. Christopher pushed all the somber thoughts to one side and tried to enjoy the moment.

  It wasn't too difficult, once he got used to doing it. He strode along on the grassy strip between the houses and the beach, sun on his face, the world at his feet. Caroline hurried beside him, not chattering nervously but apparently calm.

  Another black and white dog ran up to them, but this time Christopher was able to lean down to it and give it a pat on the head. It ran off again. He felt unreasonably pleased: it must be a good omen. Perhaps things were coming right this time. He might even enjoy himself.

  'Can we stop here for a bit?' said Caroline. She wasn't complaining or moaning. 'I just want to enjoy it. The view - and the sea air - everything.'

  'OK. I could even boil a kettle on the camping cooker, if you like,' he offered magnanimously.

  He hadn't really planned to wrestle with the camping cooker at this stage, but he wouldn't mind a cup of coffee.

  'Or we could make a little fire on the beach,' she suggested. 'Remember how we used to do that near Pitkirtly?'

  'I don't think we want the bother of collecting sticks, though,' said Christopher. He wasn't sure about the legalities of making fires these days. Surely health and safety alone -

  He pushed that thought to one side with the rest. Caroline was
so enthusiastic, he didn't want to disappoint her. They clambered down to a little rocky promontory and started to look for suitable sticks. Once they had a bundle each, they found a place among the rocks for a fireplace and constructed their fire.

  'It's just like the Famous Five,' said Caroline wistfully as Christopher excavated the matches from his backpack.

  By some miracle, the smaller sticks caught light immediately, assisted by some newspaper, and Christopher filled the kettle with water from a bottle and balanced it above the flames.

  'We should really have crumpets, or baked potatoes too,' said Caroline.

  'We could try toasting a bit of roll,' he suggested, finally entering into the spirit of the thing. He looked up at the sky. All the clouds had disappeared, and all he could see was blue in all directions. It was a perfect day.

  They sat on the grass sipping their coffee and watching as the fire gradually died down. Caroline crunched the half-roll she had managed to toast, or at least warm up, by holding it in front of the flames on a stick. Christopher half-closed his eyes.

  Three sounds came quickly, one after the other.

  A loud bang that echoed round the rocks.

  A yelp from Caroline.

  A man's voice, shouting.

  ‘Help! I’ve been shot!’ cried Caroline.

  ‘Don’t be silly, of course you haven’t – let me have a look,’ said Christopher. She was still sitting up, at least, so it couldn’t be that bad. But she clutched one ankle and moaned. And it had sounded like a gunshot, taking Christopher back on an unpleasant mental trip to the time Amaryllis had been shot at the old railway yard and he had saved her life. Or at least so he liked to think. Maybe she had other ideas.

  He went to have a closer look at Caroline’s ankle. It was slightly grazed, with a tiny trace of blood trickling down into her sock. Definitely not a gunshot wound. It was more like a scratch. He looked for something sharp that could have caused it: there were lots of sharp-looking stones and rocks about. Maybe she had knocked it against something, starting up when she heard the bang.

  ‘Oi!’ came the man’s voice again. Christopher glanced up. There was a figure at the top of the rocks leading to the promontory. It was hard to be sure since it was silhouetted against the sky, but it looked very much as if –

  ‘Come on, we’ve got to get out of here!’ he said urgently to Caroline.

  ‘I can’t move – it hurts!’ she moaned.

  ‘I think he’s got a gun,’ muttered Christopher, dragging her to her feet and trying to grab the backpack, which he had set down near them on the rocks, with his free hand. It was hard to keep his balance, and he wasn’t sure what the man above them was doing or planning to do, but his feeling was still that they had to get away. Even if it turned out to be a silly decision based on his unusual past experiences with people trying to kill him, guns pointed in his direction and friends finding dead bodies in unexpected places, he would rather err on the side of extreme caution than take any chances.

  ‘Just try and put your weight on the foot, Caroline,’ he said, trying to pull her over the rocks and finding she resisted. ‘I’m sure it isn’t that bad. We’ve just got to move.’

  They were more or less sitting targets for the man if he did have a gun, but fortunately he didn’t seem to be using it again yet.

  At last Caroline developed a sense of urgency and they scrambled over the rocks, heading for the sandy beach in the next bay, which according to Christopher’s calculations, should be Silver Sands. There were family groups of various sizes on the beach and in the water, and what looked like an ice-cream van in the car park behind the beach. They should be safe there.

  Or safer, he thought, as a beach-ball hit him on the head.

  Caroline seemed a bit twitchy though.

  ‘I don’t know if I can go any further,’ she gulped as they approached the ice-cream van. ‘Can we get a taxi from here? Should we call the police?’

  Christopher hadn’t even thought of the police, but on reflection he realised that if someone was shooting a gun in this public area with so many people about, they should certainly be informed. On the other hand, he didn’t know if he could face the probable hassle this would mean. They could be kept hanging around for hours, if not days once the police started to probe his own record. It was his holiday week, too. There wasn’t time to be public-spirited. And it might not even have been a real gunshot, after all. Not on this beautiful day, in this idyllic spot.

  He compromised and bought Caroline an ice-cream while he thought this through.

  Ten minutes later a police-car came down the road from town and turned off up the track that led towards the promontory. Someone else must have been more public-spirited than he was. Christopher couldn’t help feeling a tiny twinge of guilt.

  As usual, when he asked himself what other people he knew would have done, he received a mixed response. Amaryllis would have taken it upon herself to investigate personally, heedless of life and limb. Jock McLean would have withdrawn to a safe distance and pretended he hadn’t seen or heard anything – the original wise monkey, thought Christopher. Jemima would have forced Dave and anyone else unfortunate to be around to call the police immediately, and then she would have nagged at them until they sorted it out to her satisfaction.

  The police didn’t come and ask them anything, so after a while Christopher judged it to be safe enough to move on from the beach and to head for Burntisland, where he planned to spend the night. It shouldn’t be too far to walk, even for Caroline.

  ‘How far is it?’ she said plaintively when he unveiled this plan to her.

  ‘Not far. We should do it in an hour or two.’

  ‘An hour or two? What about my foot?’

  ‘It’s just a scratch, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s bruised as well. Look – I can hardly move it now.’

  She lifted one foot off the ground and held it stiffly in front of her.

  Christopher gave a long sigh.

  ‘Well, do you think you’ll make it up to the bus stop?’

  ‘I might do,’ she said cautiously. ‘If you give me your arm.’

  They hobbled up the road from the beach like an elderly couple. All we need are the zimmer frames, thought Christopher gloomily. And the bus passes. He had a sudden hideous vision of a future where he and Caroline lived in the same old people’s home. Or anywhere near each other. Or in the same country.

  The clouds had returned by the time they got on the bus, and there was a distinct chill in the air. It was only minutes from Aberdour to Burntisland.

  Looking out the window, Caroline saw something in the distance and began to chatter excitedly.

  ‘The fair! Let’s go to the fair! There’ll be candy-floss. And rides. And those grabbing machines where you can win something nice. This is going to be fun!’

  Christopher stifled a groan. He wasn’t very good at fun.

  Chapter 7 Amaryllis to the rescue

  Maisie Sue woke up the morning after the speed-dating event with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction. And yet - had she really expected some man to sweep her off her feet on the spot, to offer to marry her after the divorce was final, and to make her a UK citizen? She felt the evening had reinforced the feeling she often had around Pitkirtly, that it was a very small pond and she had seen all the fish in it already.

  No, that was an unkind conclusion. There were some fish she wouldn't have minded hooking, if only they hadn't already been tangled in other people's nets. Christopher most definitely came into that category. She saw him as promising husband material, but whether Amaryllis was wife material was another matter, so maybe they were destined forever to be attached loosely to each other but without ever conducting a proper relationship of the kind Maisie Sue and others would consider normal.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, eating pancakes with maple syrup and cream - there were some aspects of being American she wouldn't give up for anything - she found herself sighing again. She had been doing a lot of
that lately. She considered Jock's question about the quilting club. Somehow it had fallen apart after the village hall burned down. She had carried on quilting, of course, but she hadn't had the enthusiasm to try and recruit anyone else. Maybe it would make more sense to revive that interest instead of wasting all her energy on trying to replace Pearson with some man who would turn out to be just as bad.

  The door-bell rang. She hoped it wasn't the postman, but at least she wasn't wearing her pyjamas today.

  She got to her feet with an effort of will-power and went to see who it was.

  A man in a grey suit stood on the doorstep.

  'Mrs MacPherson?'

  'That's me,' she said, trying out a smile. He didn't respond to that. He must be an official of some kind. She didn't know whether to hope he was from the CIA or not. Surely the CIA owed her something in return for the long years when she had virtually lived undercover with Pearson, going where he went, making homes for him in various countries, not all as welcoming as Scotland.

  'I'm from the UK immigration service,' he said, shattering her hopes of compensation from the CIA for her trouble, although she knew that possibility had only ever existed in her own mind. He held up an identity badge that seemed to be authentic. At least, it was bent out of shape and had a large coffee stain at one end as if it had been in use for a while. 'I believe you've had a letter from us.'

  'Yes,' said Maisie Sue, who was almost incapable of lying to the authorities. Except about taxes, of course, but lying about taxes was practically a national obsession where she came from. 'But I wasn't sure if I was meant to - '

  'May I come into the house for a few moments?' he said very politely, if over-formally in a very British way.

  She caught herself wondering if he was married. Come on, Maisie Sue, she told herself firmly, this is getting to be pathetic!

  'Please sit down,' she said to him in the living-room. She could be over-formal too. 'Would you like a cup of tea?'