A Stranger's House

by Clare Chase

  I was thinking so hard about calling him that I jumped like a cricket when Nate came into the room to make coffee. ‘What news?’

  ‘Samson Newbold’s emailed to say he’s off to London on some kind of business, so he’s out of our hair for a while. He was on about Maggie Cook, wanting to know if we’d seen anything of her.’

  I found it hard to look him in the eye. ‘And what are your plans for the day?’

  He picked up his car keys from the worktop. ‘I’ve got to see a prospective client in Mildenhall now, and then another one in Saffron Walden, so I’ll be gone for the day. Give me a call if you need anything.’

  I sat on the sofa in the basement with a coffee, thinking about what Nate had said. So Samson was away in London. It was nice to know that, River House keyholder though he was, there was certainly no way he was going to turn up on the doorstep today. I imagined him sidling slimily into the London nightlife. Picking up a prostitute. I thought he was probably the type.

  And then I remembered how hard Nate had said it had been to drag him away from his local. What had it been called? Something with a colour in the title. I stared unseeingly at the French windows, trying to call it to mind. Suddenly I had it: the Red Tavern. It sounded somehow rough and smoke-filled, only it couldn’t be these days, of course. I sipped some more of my drink and my mind strayed back to my last talk with Emily. You let me down before, when I wanted to contact Damien, but you can help me find out about his brother.

  Visiting his natural habitat would probably be an eye opener.

  The moment the thought was there I tried to pretend it hadn’t been. The last thing I wanted was to drive over to Newmarket and attempt to waft inconspicuously around a pub full of pot-bellied blokes. I hated going into pubs on my own, even when it was just a case of having to wait for friends.

  So I picked up a magazine from a side table and read about a woman who’d changed careers, giving up banking to become a sheep farmer at the age of fifty.

  Of course, if I did go I might need to chat to the bartender, or whoever, to get proper background information.

  I tried to focus on a photograph of a Fair Isle jumper.

  And if I was going to draw attention to myself in that way, I’d need to make damn sure Samson’s pub-going friends didn’t report back on my presence, and enable him to identify me. No DMs. I’d told him they were part of my workaday kit.

  He’d seen me demure, in a professional-looking dress, and he knew my tougher alter ego.

  Before I’d mentally acknowledged what I was doing, I’d gathered up my bag and was locking up the house. There was a Claire’s Accessories in the Grafton Centre, and I had an idea in mind.

  The costume jewellery was perfect. Beloved of teenage girls – just what I would never normally wear. I got earrings, a bracelet and some hair clips, all with plenty of diamante, and capped the whole lot off with a pair of crazy sunglasses. They were the sort you looked at and knew had either cost five pounds or five hundred, but couldn’t tell which. They too had plenty of bling down each side.

  In Boots I bought scarlet false nails. My hand hovered over the false eyelashes. Was I playing at spies? Well, it would take my mind off phoning Luke, anyway.

  Back at River House I Googled the Red Tavern and found it opened at midday. I’d maybe make it over there for about one. Give the place a chance to warm up a bit first. Then, once I’d got home, I’d ring Luke and afterwards reward myself for having got two nasty jobs out of the way. It would certainly mean I didn’t owe Emily anything.

  I was pacing up and down the hallway at River House, wondering how I could explain my presence at the pub, when there was a knock at the front door. Thank God I hadn’t already got dressed up. I let out the breath I’d been holding and went to the spyhole. It was Maggie Cook again, but a very different Maggie from the one I’d seen the previous week. She was wearing a clingy, knee-length, emerald-green dress and dangly, green earrings and her eyes looked clear, her mascara unravaged by tears.

  I still had misgivings as I put my hand on the doorknob, but I opened up all the same.

  ‘Hello, Ruby,’ she said, then immediately added, ‘don’t worry, I don’t want to come in this time; I know it’s not allowed. Do you fancy a walk though?’

  I was curious and set the alarm before locking up and following her towards the river in the general direction of town.

  ‘I got you these,’ she said, reaching into a bag she was carrying to reveal a box of posh chocolates. ‘You don’t have to take them now. I’ll give them to you when we get back to River House.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, but why?’ I was striding along beside her, enjoying the sun and the light breeze that was rippling the river’s surface.

  ‘Part peace offering, part bribe.’

  I think the smile I gave was a little uncertain. ‘Bribe?’

  ‘I’ll come onto that. First things first. I really am very sorry I landed myself on you before, when I was in such a state.’ She turned to me. ‘I mean it. Whatever impression I’ve given, I do actually know that none of this is your fault. You’ve been hurled into the middle of a messy and disquieting situation. I expect you’ve been getting grief from all sides, and I don’t envy you having to deal with Samson either.’

  We shared a roll of the eyes.

  ‘Truth to tell,’ Maggie said, ‘I’ve been on a bit of a bender ever since I heard about Damien.’

  ‘No one could exactly blame you for that.’

  She shrugged. ‘I was being selfish, but I was out of it on grief and drink. That’s the only excuse I can offer really.’

  Uber-reasonable. I did wonder how much of this was a carefully calculated act. And yet she might have very good reasons for the performance.

  We were walking past the open-air swimming pool. Through the doorway I could see a lot of people sunbathing and some nice, clear, blue water with just one bather ploughing up and down.

  ‘How have things been for you since Damien died?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘A bit weird.’ I watched her closely as I told her about the break in.

  ‘Shit!’ she said. ‘I should think Samson’ll want to pin that on me. I made the mistake of calling him when I was half cut and saying I’d find the will or die in the attempt. I think I put it in some dramatic way like that.’ She gave me a half-smile. ‘I am an actor after all.’ She went quiet. ‘Given that it wasn’t anything to do with me, I wonder who those men could have been.’

  ‘Whoever they were, I’m not keen to meet them again.’

  ‘I certainly hope you won’t,’ Maggie said. ‘Anyway, I shouldn’t have added to all the aggro you’ve been getting. And I was also worried I must have sounded like a money-grabbing vulture, when I went on and on about the elusive will last week. I wanted to try to explain. Samson never believed in Damien’s passion for me, as you know.’ She turned to meet my gaze. ‘I feel sure the will exists, and equally I know how much Damien hated Samson. He just wouldn’t have left things as they stood.’ She sighed. ‘I know it’s a cliché, but it’s not actually about the money. I think I just want to have some evidence that the old bugger actually cared. And I really, really want to wipe the smug smile off that bastard Samson’s face.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ I said, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

  She gave me a crooked grin. ‘The money would just be an added bonus.’

  I couldn’t help smiling and hoped fervently that I wasn’t looking at Damien Newbold’s killer. ‘Naturally.’

  ‘And that’s where the chocolate bribe comes in.’

  ‘You want me to look round the house myself, see if I can find anything?’

  She nodded.

  ‘To be honest, I did give Damien’s filing cabinet a quick once-over after we last spoke.’

  Her face fell, and it was painful to watch.

  ‘I can look a bit further,’ I said, ‘but, Maggie, how do you even know he really made a new will? I understand he told you that was what he was planning
, but it takes most people months, if not years, to get round to seeing a solicitor, and getting it all set up.’ I asked the question I’d skirted round previously: ‘Did he explicitly tell you it was done?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘But one day recently I could see he was mentally rubbing his hands; he just couldn’t stop smiling and laughing to himself. Then he said how put out Samson would be if he knew about his latest legal adjustments.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure he was referring back to his plan to make me his beneficiary. I didn’t want to make him spell it out – it would have sounded greedy, and it really wasn’t important to me – but I was sure then that he’d done it.’

  ‘The thing is, wouldn’t he have left his copy somewhere obvious, if he’d wanted it to be found after his death?’

  ‘In the normal way of things I’m sure you’re right. But what if he’d only just had it finalised? He could have used a new solicitor rather than the family one. And then maybe he just put his copy aside, meaning to file it in a logical place shortly. Only he died before he got the chance.’ A shadow passed over her face, the lively smile dropping as her features became still.

  I didn’t buy it. ‘Any local solicitor would surely have seen news of his death and come forward.’

  ‘But it hasn’t made national news. And he was always down in London. Maybe he used a firm there.’

  I sighed. ‘I’d love to find it for you, Maggie, but somehow I just don’t think it’s there. Maybe he was talking about something else when he made those comments about pissing Samson off.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She turned towards me. ‘But could you at least give it one more try?’

  We had arrived back at the house and she handed over the chocolates.

  ‘I’ll scout round,’ I said. ‘But it’s a big house with an awful lot of papers and books.’

  ‘I know. All the more reason for me to be very, very grateful to you. I really appreciate it.’

  She had written her number on a card that was with the bribe, and I tucked it into my jeans pocket as I carried the chocolates through to the kitchen. I’d have to sample them later, once I’d got my nasty jobs out of the way. It was time to get dolled up, but I needed to decide on an outfit. I plumped for my white linen trousers and a white blouse in the end. They seemed to offset the accessories best. I stood in front of the mirror in the attic, experimenting with the sunglasses pushed back on the top of my head, my hair clipped up at one side. Everything sparkled quite horribly. And the red nails were a great touch.

  I’d just finished fixing them on when I realised Nate was standing in my bedroom doorway.

  For a second Nate thought they’d got more burglars. ‘Do you always dress up the moment I leave the house?’

  Her cheeks turned scarlet. ‘Actually, it’s a bit of a first.’

  The carrier bags strewn around her room and the receipts on the dressing table backed up her story.

  ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon.’

  ‘So I see. The Saffron Walden client cancelled. So, were you feeling bored? I mean, I admit there haven’t been any break-ins in the last couple of days, and the murders seem to have dropped right off.’

  She was looking at her feet. The usual DMs were gone, replaced by some slingbacks.

  ‘Okay. So, assuming you’re not just having fun, I’m guessing you’re off sleuthing, and don’t want anyone to recognise you.’ He ran through the latest developments in his head. ‘Ah. The Red Tavern, right?’

  She finally met his gaze. ‘Steph said you were good.’ She told him about her talk with Emily. ‘Once I’d thought of heading over to Newmarket, going back on the idea would have felt like cowardice.’

  ‘And it’s just for Emily’s sake? You’re not remotely curious to find out more on your own account?’

  She gave him a look. ‘I suppose it’s a bit of a habit. It’s what I do when I write my books too.’

  ‘But no one’s likely to kill you for that research, whereas if you get a lead on Damien’s murderer—’

  ‘I know, I know. And I remember what you said. But I didn’t think the risk would be too great.’

  ‘Oh bloody hell. All right then, but I’m coming too. And don’t expect me to wear any diamante.’ Why on earth was he going along with her madcap plan? OK, so that was a rhetorical question.

  I felt horribly self-conscious in my costume jewellery and garish make-up. It was lucky that I had to focus on the road, so I couldn’t keep checking Nate’s expression. The Red Tavern was on a tiny backstreet on the racecourse side of Newmarket. It looked Victorian, and definitely not as seamy as I’d expected. There were geranium-filled window boxes and the paintwork was a well-maintained Oxford Blue. The moment we walked through the door, though, I could see it had somehow established itself as a locals’ pub, rather than a tourist haunt.

  The man behind the bar was about fifty: ruddy-faced and wearing a long-sleeved Breton T-shirt. He’d stopped short of the beret but he had the air of someone who might slip one on without much provocation.

  The place was pretty busy, but that didn’t stop several people from looking round at us as we went in. Several plum-in-the-mouth voices – not unlike Samson’s in fact – halted for a second before the sea of chat righted itself again. For a horrible moment I thought Samson was there, sitting in a shadowy corner, but then I realised it was just another man of a similar type.

  The man behind the bar beamed at me and nodded to Nate, whilst still somehow conveying he thought we’d probably taken the wrong turning. ‘What can I get you?’ he said.

  ‘A lemonade please.’

  ‘Nothing in it?’ He was already reaching for a glass.

  ‘Sadly not. I’m driving.’

  He sighed sympathetically, then took Nate’s order for a beer, and accepted the ten pound note I held out.

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ I said, ‘I’m not even sure we’re in the right place. Samson Newbold told me he often drinks in here – at least I think it was here – and I couldn’t get any answer at his house, so we thought we’d pop in, just in case.’

  The barman handed me my change. ‘That’s really bad luck. He’s probably in here more often that he’s at home, to tell you the truth.’ He ran his hand through receding hair. ‘Bob?’

  A man just down the bar looked up.

  ‘What did Samson say he was up to? Any chance he’ll be around later this afternoon?’

  ‘Who’s asking?’ the man called Bob said, then noticed me and grinned. ‘Hello, there. You’re a friend of his, are you? Don’t look like the sort he normally brings back from the races.’

  I saw the barman give him a warning look.

  ‘We’re together,’ Nate said, moving closer to my side. ‘My wife knows Samson from way back. Family friends.’ For a moment I was distracted by the part I was suddenly playing. I made myself concentrate and took a chance. ‘I didn’t think he’d leave town on a race day.’

  Bob nodded. ‘You’re right enough. Normally likes to see whether his horses come home in person.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Though he’s often disappointed about their performance. But he had to be away today.’

  Another man had sidled up next to Bob now. I took stock of him as I sipped my lemonade. His mouth was set in a thin line, his head hunched forward, relative to his shoulders, like a vulture. ‘What is it then?’ the new man said, picking up his whisky. ‘He owe you money or something?’

  I tried to look shocked. ‘Nothing like that. As my husband said, I’m a family friend.’

  Suddenly the man leant forward and looked at me more closely. ‘Really?’

  I leant back instinctively. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Where from?’

  Nate stepped forward, inserting some space between us.

  The barman was on the case too. ‘Mind your own business, Jake.’ He turned to me. ‘Don’t mind him. He and Samson have their moments.’ He leant forward and said in an undertone, ‘No love lost, there, and that’s a fact.’

  Nat
e put his beer down on the bar. ‘They must be on very bad terms if he lets it affect the way he deals with Samson’s friends.’

  The barman nodded. ‘Fact is, if you were trying to collect a debt, I reckon Jake would want to make sure you realised there was a queue, and he’s first in line.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Sorry.’ The barman turned to polish a glass from a tray a woman had just brought in. ‘I’ve said too much.’

  I finished my lemonade quickly. ‘I understand. I know him of old, don’t forget.’ And I gave him my best smile, but inside, I was still shaken. There’d been something about the intensity of Jake’s gaze. I didn’t think he’d just been warning us off.

  ‘Can I give Samson a message for you?’ the barman asked.

  I made a show of thinking for a moment, then shook my head. ‘Thanks, but don’t worry. I’ll give him a call.’

  My legs felt like jelly. Nate had been right; this wasn’t some kind of game. At that moment a woman came through the pub door. She was wearing a navy suit and looked hot in the fierce sunshine. And I knew her face straightaway, of course, even before I heard the barman greet her as she reached the interior.

  ‘Liz, my darling! What can I get you?’

  Elizabeth Edmunds. Nate touched my hand, and I waited for just a moment. ‘Nothing unfortunately, Martin,’ she said; she was still standing near the doorway. ‘I’m only here to drag Tom out. There’s a problem with the party from Everards Investments, I’m afraid. They’re all at lunch and we need him on hand, pronto.’ It was interesting to see her in person. She no longer looked shy, but organised and in control. Maybe the painting on Damien’s wall just reflected how he’d made her feel.

  The man who must be Tom put a half-drunk pint down on the bar, glancing at it for a moment over his shoulder as she steered him out.