4 Death at the Happiness Club

by Cecilia Peartree

  'No, thank you.'

  'Pancakes and maple syrup?'

  He shook his head and made a note in the little reporter's notebook he had taken out of a briefcase. He would probably report that she had made an attempt to bribe him.

  'Have you read the letter?' he asked.

  'I guess so. But -'

  'Then you'll understand that we have no choice but to act in cases where a visa is no longer valid.'

  Maisie Sue didn't understand any such thing, but she wasn't about to get into an argument with him at this stage.

  'How long have I got before you act?'

  He blinked. Perhaps he wasn't used to getting such direct questions. Well, he was dealing with an American now. None of this British pussyfooting around. Get straight to the point. Cut through all the layers of subtlety.

  'Um - it's hard to put an exact timescale on the process,' he said. 'Most people in your situation arrange to leave voluntarily before we - er - take action.'

  'I see,' said Maisie Sue.

  'It can take up to six months, depending on the circumstances,' he said.

  'Six months?'

  'Give or take a couple of months. Are there any special circumstances? Family in the UK? Caring responsibilities?'

  Maisie Sue wished she had had the foresight to adopt a child, or indeed a grandmother. Or even a dog might have done.

  He left her with a booklet entitled 'Facing Deportation - it might not be as bad as you think'. She sat down heavily on the chair in the hallway, holding the booklet on her lap but not reading it. She had known all this for a while, but having an actual person come round and spell it out to her was still very sobering.

  She was just blinking back tears when a voice spoke from the kitchen doorway.

  'That was all just bravado on his part. There are lots of ways round it. Don't worry, we'll sort something out.'

  'Amaryllis! How in the world did you get in?'

  Amaryllis advanced from the kitchen into the hall. She looked as sleek and dangerous as a cheetah.

  'I wouldn't mind some pancakes and maple syrup,' she said. 'Let's go and sit in the kitchen.'

  An hour later, they were still in the kitchen, and Maisie Sue had made another batch of pancakes.

  'So there's absolutely no chance that you can invent a special machine for making quilts, or start a quilting business employing ten or more people?' said Amaryllis, summing up their conversation so far. 'And there isn't actually a threat to your life if you return to the States?''

  'Not as far as I know,' said Maisie Sue, offering Amaryllis the cream jug. 'But then, Pearson's mother can kill gophers with a single -'

  'I think we've already dismissed Pearson's mother,' said Amaryllis.

  Maisie Sue sighed. If only that were as easy to do in real life as in Amaryllis's imagination!

  Amaryllis sat back, sipping at her coffee.

  'Well, there are only three options left. Maybe four at a stretch.'

  'Yes?' said Maisie Sue eagerly.

  'One, you go on the run and stay under their radar. Lots of people do that - it might not be very pleasant though. Two, we steal someone else's identity and convert it to yours. But that would mean changing your name and moving somewhere else. Three, we hack into the immigration records and give you a cast-iron reason for having to stay here. Because it's no use just forging documents if they don't have matching records on their system. You'll just get into trouble over the faking of the documents.'

  She paused.

  'Four?' said Maisie Sue.

  'There's your idea of marrying someone British. But that's even more chancy than the first two. For one thing, you'd have to do it quite quickly. Is your divorce through yet?'

  'No.'

  'Is Pearson likely to hurry it through for any reason?'

  'Maybe.' Maisie Sue couldn't stop her voice trembling as she remembered once again Pearson's betrayal and all the uncertainty she had been through in the past year.

  'So that cuts your time in half, maybe worse than that,' said Amaryllis. 'Hmm.'

  'There's the Happiness Club,' said Maisie Sue, not sure whether to mention it or not.

  'Happiness! Ha!' said Amaryllis.

  'It might speed things up a bit,' said Maisie Sue.

  'Did you really look at the men in there?' said Amaryllis. 'Half of them were the usual suspects - think about it! Jock McLean, Chief Inspector Smith. And Dave and Jemima were there, for God's sake! They aren't even single. Not really. I mean, do you think for a minute Dave's going to abandon Jemima and go off with you? Would you really want that to happen?'

  Maisie Sue was a bit shaken by Amaryllis's unusual fervor.

  'No,' she whispered.

  'Anyway, even if the Happiness Club works, it's not going to work fast enough. You want a quick solution. I'll see if I can work out a way into the immigration people's computer systems. But it could turn out to be impossible. They may be completely secure. Although…'

  'I didn't know you were a computer hacker as well,' said Maisie Sue admiringly.

  'As well as all my other dodgy skills?' said Amaryllis. 'We learned that in spy school. I did a refresher course just before I retired. I like to keep my hand in.'

  'How much will you charge?' said Maisie Sue. 'I know you've done some P.I. work. Is it two hundred dollars a day plus expenses?'

  'Not quite as much as that,' said Amaryllis. 'In fact, this fits in rather nicely with something I've been doing for my own amusement.'

  She smiled slowly, and added, 'I might just look into the Happiness Club at the same time. See if their systems stand up to investigation.'

  She stood up, ready to go.

  'You will be careful, won't you?' said Maisie Sue. She had an uneasy feeling about all this. Might it get her into even deeper trouble than she was already in?

  Another uneasy thought came to her. How had Amaryllis got into the house?

  Chapter 8 New friends

  Amaryllis headed for the Happiness Club again after leaving Maisie Sue's. She wondered if anything would be going on there at this time of day. If nothing else, there might be someone cleaning the premises after the speed-dating evening. And perhaps Sean lived there; she thought there had been a flat above the old café. Odd that he would run something like this in a rented place. It might have been more viable to use a room in a public space such as the Cultural Centre. On the other hand, she wasn't sure Christopher would approve of the meeting room being used for speed-dating. Or happiness, for that matter.

  But sometimes it was hard to tell with Christopher.

  She wondered if he and Caroline had killed each other yet. It was possible that at this very moment the bodies were floating in the Forth, about to wash up on the beach at Burntisland and give some unsuspecting dog-walker the fright of their life.

  Amaryllis pushed these unhealthy speculations to one side. She could see Penelope Johnstone approaching, and she thought it might be interesting to focus on the woman, at least until she got a take on the previous night's events.

  Penelope crossed the road just before she would have come face to face with Amaryllis.

  That was interesting in itself. Amaryllis crossed the road too and accosted her.

  'Penelope! I didn't get the chance to speak to you last night,' she said. 'Have you been at Cosy Clicks lately? I missed the last meeting - I was away.'

  What was the matter with the woman? She had jumped when Amaryllis spoke, and her face was grey and lined. She looked at least ten years older than usual.

  'Jan's on holiday - we’re having a break,' muttered Penelope. 'Sorry, Amaryllis, I can't stop, I'm in a terrible hurry.'

  Amaryllis ignored these words, and put a hand on Penelope's arm to detain her. Again the woman jumped as if scalded.

  'Are you feeling all right, Penelope? Is Zak all right?'

  'It's nothing to do with Zak!' Penelope almost shouted. 'And I'd be obliged if you'd stop interfering in things that are absolutely nothing to do with you!'

  Amar
yllis took her hand away, and Penelope scuttled off along the street, looking neither to right nor left.

  Very interesting indeed. Amaryllis made a mental note to follow it up. Being told to stop interfering was just the reason she needed to interfere that little bit more.

  In the meantime, she would check out the Happiness Club. She had a natural aversion to using the front door of a building if she could find another way. Part of that was a need to have an alternative route back out again if anything went wrong. She had learned that quite early in her spying career.

  She walked casually round the end of the terrace of which the old café was a part. Another thing she had learned at an early stage was not to look surreptitious but to stride into situations as if you had every right to do so.

  As she had expected, there was a service lane for deliveries, and all the properties backed on to a kind of yard which contained various giant wheelie bins, a couple of white vans and, somewhat unexpectedly, a large motor caravan with someone sweeping the steps. This could put a stop to her plans for getting into the building.

  'Can I help you at all?' called the woman at the top of the caravan steps. She reminded Amaryllis of someone. Was she - no, surely she hadn't been one of the women serving at the coffee counter the night before? They had looked as if their hair was glued in place, as well as all their clothes, which were just slightly too satiny and sparkly for an evening in Pitkirtly. This woman was scruffy by any standards, hair tousled, wearing a dirty off-white T-shirt with a hole in it, faded jeans and flip-flops.

  Amaryllis took in all this as she approached. And yet by the time she got closer she could see it probably was one of the women from the Happiness Club. What were their names again? Milly? Dilly? Eenie? Meenie?

  'Do you have anything to do with the Happiness Club?' she asked.

  'Sorry - what's this in connection with?' said the woman nervously, glancing over her shoulder back into the caravan. Hmm, thought Amaryllis, this is interesting. Was she expecting debt collectors? Police? Lawyers acting on behalf of disappointed clients?

  'I just wondered if anyone had handed in a scarf,' said Amaryllis, trying to appear normal. 'I think I may have left one last night.'

  The woman put aside her brush and came down the steps. Amaryllis could sense a sort of mental sigh of relief. The woman held out her hand.

  'Dilly Fraser. I'm Sean's sister. I don't think we met last night?'

  'Amaryllis Peebles. I was late arriving, I'm afraid. Family problem.'

  'Oh, dear, I'm sorry to hear that.' Dilly had an attractive, slightly Irish accent, and a pleasant smile. 'Now I don't think we found any scarves last night. But we can go in and have a look if you like.'

  Nothing to hide in the café then, thought Amaryllis. But she might learn more from Dilly about what there was to be nervous of.

  'That would be great,' she said. 'If it isn't too much trouble.'

  'No trouble at all,' said Dilly.

  'So how do you think it went?' said Amaryllis as Dilly opened the back door and they went in. There was a kind of lobby just inside the door. No stairs, so presumably the flat above didn't go with the café after all. Three doors. One must lead into the café at the front. Amaryllis deliberately tried the handles of the other doors, one of which led to a sort of combined broom-cupboard and toilet. It was when she tried the next one that Dilly became nervous.

  'Not that way!' said Dilly hastily. She held open the door to the café for Amaryllis.

  'What's that - a store room?' said Amaryllis, walking forward.

  'Yes, that's all. Just a store room. Sean's been using it to do the accounts, that sort of thing. That's why he usually keeps the door locked. He's got his computer set up there.'

  'Oh, yes, the computer matching service,' said Amaryllis, and wondered why Dilly looked as if she were about to jump out of her skin.

  'That's right,' she said after a pause. Honestly, thought Amaryllis, she might as well have 'I am guilty' written across her T-shirt. But what was she guilty of? That was the question.

  'I was sitting over here some of the time,' said Amaryllis, leading the way over to the area where she had spoken to Zak. Dilly followed her. They stared down at the floor. Not surprisingly, there was no sign of any scarf.

  'Maybe you dropped it outside on the way home,' suggested Dilly. 'But we'll keep a look-out for it anyway. Maybe you could give me your mobile number or something in case we find it?'

  'No, that's fine, I'll just call back another day,' said Amaryllis. 'After all, I know where you are.'

  She observed with interest the quick flash of panic that crossed Dilly's face. Lots of food for thought here. There were few things Amaryllis enjoyed more than the start of a new project. After saying goodbye to Dilly, she walked off down the street humming a few bars of 'A Policeman's Lot'. It didn't quite fit the circumstances, but it was close enough. Especially the part about the felon being engaged in his employment - or not, as the case might be.

  Chapter 9 Burnt out

  Having fun was as hard work and as unrewarding as Christopher remembered from the last time he had tried it.

  Caroline had become over-excited at the fair, and tearful when she couldn't get the grabbie thing to work. He was afraid she had indulged in too much candy-floss - he wasn't sure how it would interact with her medication. Perhaps he should have checked that out with the doctors before they came away. But he hadn't really known about the candy-floss in advance, and you couldn't check up on everything.

  In many ways he would have preferred to leave Burntisland and the fair well behind them. The idea of being trapped there any longer was rather terrifying. But there was a convenient campsite, and after carrying the tent and sleeping bags all this way he was determined to use them sooner or later. Caroline didn't seem at all interested in walking along to Kinghorn that day, so he gave in.

  The first drop of rain splattered on to his head as he was removing the tent from its cover. By the time he had all the bits and pieces set out on the ground, it was pouring down. Caroline had retreated to the shelter of a large tree at the edge of the campsite and was watching him: even at this distance he thought he detected sulkiness in her expression.

  Christopher absorbed himself in putting up the tent. It would have been quicker to walk to Kinghorn and search for a bed and breakfast, he realised in the end.

  There was a slight respite from the rain and Caroline came back to inspect the sleeping arrangements. He arranged a sleeping bag on a mat at one end of the tent.

  'There!' he said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. 'Are you OK at that side?'

  She peered into the tent from outside. 'It's a bit small, isn't it?'

  Just in time to avoid all-out sibling warfare Christopher bit back a comment about how large it had seemed when he was carrying it single-handed all the way here.

  'It'll be nice and cosy,' he said instead. 'Even if it rains we won't get cold. And look, the ground-sheet's attached to the tent so there isn't a gap.'

  'What if there isn't enough oxygen for the two of us?' she enquired.

  'I don't think it's completely air-tight,' he said optimistically.

  'Where are you going to do the cooking?' she said.

  'Um - just outside the tent?' he suggested. 'It's only one of those instant dried meals anyway. Paella, I think. All you have to do is boil a kettle.'

  It was when he found they had abandoned the kettle on the rocks at Aberdour that things took a nasty turn.

  'We'll get a new one tomorrow,' he promised.

  'But what about tonight?'

  'Let's go for fish and chips,' he suggested.

  Caroline thought about that option for a few moments. He held his breath. Please let her agree to it.

  'I could go to the chip shop and bring it back,' she said suddenly. 'After all, you've done all the work so far. Carrying the tent. Putting it up in the rain. I'm sorry I haven't been nicer.'

  She smiled at him.

  Later he realised he sho
uld have been more suspicious, but of course he usually left that sort of thing to Amaryllis, who had years of experience behind her and was always on the alert.

  He busied himself around the tent - not that there was much to do once he had set up the little table in between their sleeping bags and been to the communal tap to get some water in a bottle. He took out the map and stared at it. They had only come a few miles since he had met Caroline on Inverkeithing station. It was pathetic - they were only going to get as far as Kirkcaldy, and then only if they caught the bus again. Was there a world record for taking the longest possible time to walk the Fife Coastal Path? Maybe he could write a book about it - 'The Fife Coastal Path by Bus - well, the first few miles of it anyway'.

  It was a while since Caroline had gone off. He hoped she hadn't got lost on the way. Or perhaps it was more likely that she had been tempted back into the fairground. It could be dangerous in the evening, though, especially for someone vulnerable like her. Maybe he should have gone with her. But he thought she would gain some self-respect by doing this small thing on her own.

  He took out a postcard with a picture of Aberdour Castle. He had thought of sending it to Amaryllis with some positive message about the joys of walking with his sister, but that now seemed like such a distortion of the truth that he couldn't bring himself to do it. He put away the postcard again. Maybe he would find a suitable one in Kirkcaldy, assuming they ever got there. A picture of a derelict linoleum factory or something. Amaryllis would appreciate that.

  Still no sign of Caroline. By this time he was standing outside in the rain watching the campsite entrance. If he walked towards town, he might bump into her. But there was always potential for disaster in that sort of maneouvre. She would find an alternative way back in, and they would wander around for ages trying to find each other, by which time the fish and chips would be stone cold.

  At last! Caroline, looking oddly shapeless in Christopher's old waterproofs, came into view. She was carrying a supermarket bag. He hoped she had actually got the fish supper he was looking forward to, and not something random she had seen in a shop window that would turn out to need heating up in an oven.