7 A Tasteful Crime

by Cecilia Peartree

  After a while Jock McLean suddenly staggered in, bowed under the weight of five banana costumes. Once he had added them to the growing pile, he stood gasping for breath and clutching his chest.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, sit down!’ said Christopher in alarm. ‘What are you doing with those banana costumes anyway? Where are Zak and Ken? And what about Deirdre?’

  ‘I sent them off for a break,’ said Jock, perching on a table just by the new automated book checking-out machine that everybody hated so much. ‘Why are you dressed up like that?’

  Christopher ignored Jock’s question. ‘Sent them off?’

  ‘They hadn’t had anything to eat all day,’ said Jock in a reasonable tone. ‘Zak and the other one have gone to the supermarket to get themselves a sandwich. I don’t know where Deirdre’s gone. She said something about Eric and came inside.’

  ‘I hope it’s one of those super-light healthy sandwiches,’ said Christopher.

  ‘I did suggest they should go and see if the chip shop was open, but they said they didn’t think they could stagger that far.... Kids, eh? Expecting everything on a plate. I suppose they’ll be wanting their fish and chips delivered to the door next, and then where will we be?’

  ‘I think the chip shop already does that,’ muttered Christopher.

  Jock kicked the banana outfits with his foot. ‘One banana, two banana, three banana, four... Or is it potatoes?’

  ‘Isn’t it time you went round to the Queen of Scots for the evening session?’ said Christopher. To his surprise, a shifty look crossed Jock’s face.

  ‘I’ve been there already,’ he said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I’ve decided that’ll be my last drink until Monday. In the spirit of healthy eating.’

  Christopher found he had to sit down too, because his legs threatened to give way from shock.

  Charlotte glared at the two men as she heaved another row of books on to the trolley. ‘I thought we were supposed to be doing this together.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, Charlotte,’ said Christopher. ‘Sorry. Do you want to give us a hand with this, Jock? Zak and Ken can start bringing the stuff in again when they come back. There’s no rush.’

  Jock’s contribution towards the task was to sit where he was and to issue occasional instructions and advice. ‘I’m a consultant,’ he announced when challenged on what his role was.

  Once they had rearranged a few more shelves, Christopher became much less enthusiastic about the whole thing, and once the room was almost filled to the ceiling with over-sized cauliflower, banana, orange, apple, cucumber, tomato and broccoli floret costumes, he decided he never wanted to see a fruit or a vegetable again. Which wasn’t entirely in the spirit of Healthy Eating Weekend, as the Council had attempted to brand the event.

  He made an excuse and went along to the office to see what sort of carnage had occurred in there in his absence. In a spirit of conciliation towards Charlotte and Ken, he took Jock McLean with him.

  Chapter 6 Blessed are the peacemakers

  Amaryllis’s main purpose in going into the office was to prove to Christopher that she could act as peacemaker on occasion as well as the rabble-rouser she knew he considered her to be.

  Once she had identified Oscar – he was the one facing Eric with a ferocious scowl on his face - she hadn’t been able to resist standing on his toe, of course, because she had worked out even from the foyer that he was bullying Eric; and Eric was such a natural victim that she automatically sided with him against the evil oppressor.

  ‘So what’s all this about being in character?’ she demanded, glaring indiscriminately at everybody in the room. ‘And where’s the makeup being done? My client – I mean Eric – was specifically asked to come in here because it was time to get made up.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Deirdre hastily. ‘I meant it was time for him to make up with Oscar. That’s what they’re doing now.’

  ‘It didn’t sound like it to me,’ said Amaryllis.

  ‘They’re fine,’ snapped Deirdre.

  Amaryllis held her hands up in a gesture of peace and reconciliation. She didn’t usually use that kind of gesture – apart from that occasion in Belgrade – but she sensed that now was the time for it. It did go against the grain to placate Deirdre, for whom she had formed an immediate dislike, but needs must.

  Was she going soft in middle age? Had she gone native in Pitkirtly? Even these doubts could be symptomatic of some change in her personality. But perhaps being aware of the doubts would – stop it, you idiot! she told herself firmly. You’ve been spending too much time with Christopher, that’s all. Find some real people to hang around with and you’ll be back to normal in no time.

  ‘Where can I put those cauliflower outfits?’ puffed Charlotte, sticking her head round the office door.

  ‘I thought they were clearing the library for that,’ said Maria from just behind Amaryllis. It almost made her jump; she hadn’t even known the woman was there. Oh God – she had lost her cat-like ability to sense danger as well as everything else. Amaryllis almost felt like flinging herself down on the floor and throwing a toddler tantrum. The only reason she didn’t do that was that she didn’t want to give into irrationality. There were more than enough irrational people in the world already.

  Oscar had gone so red in the face that the chances were that he too might throw himself on the floor any minute now.

  ‘Why don’t you go as a tomato, dear?’ said Deirdre to him rudely. ‘It would save on makeup and costume.’

  ‘It isn’t a fancy-dress party, darling,’ said Oscar, putting the faintest of stresses on the final syllable. ‘It’s a serious attempt to get the healthy eating message across to the people of Pitkirtly, and through them, to the viewing millions.’

  There was a pause at the end of this little speech, and then all the television people looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  ‘Now you’ve got that out of the way, will we find our way to the nearest pub?’ said Deirdre.

  ‘Or the fish and chip shop,’ said Eric, still chortling. ‘I could murder a deep-fried tea-cake.’

  ‘The kind of tea-cake with chocolate on top?’ said Oscar doubtfully.

  ‘Is there any other kind?’ said Eric.

  Oscar made a face. ‘No time to go to the pub now, darlings. We’ve got to finish the setup for tomorrow. Where did Charlotte get to?’

  ‘Can I help?’ said Amaryllis hopefully.

  Oscar reverted to glaring again. ‘That’s extremely unlikely. We work together like a well-oiled machine.’

  At this, Deirdre and Eric collapsed into giggles again, and Maria heaved a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes.

  ‘If we’re using this room as a recording studio tomorrow, we’ll need to get the cameras and lights set up,’ she reminded them sharply. ‘There won’t be time in the morning. We’ve got a tightly packed schedule. We need to slot in some rehearsal time before the end of today.’

  She waved a piece of paper at them. Amaryllis couldn’t see exactly what it said, but the print did indeed appear to be crowded on to the page. Either Maria had used too small a font and not enough spacing, or Amaryllis’s eyesight was deteriorating fast. She preferred to believe in the tiny font theory.

  What was she doing standing here worrying about print sizes anyway? For two pins she’d have gone straight round to the Queen of Scots and spent the rest of the evening in pointless gossip and local rumour-mongering.

  The only explanation she could think of was that she didn’t want to desert Christopher, or, weirdly, Eric.

  As Maria directed the operations that would, all being well, transform Christopher’s rather low-tech office space into a temporary television studio, Amaryllis whiled away half an hour or so trying to decide which of the group she would follow later that night if she hadn’t given up following people in one of her intermittent attempts to leave the past behind her and live like a normal person. Deirdre would probably set off for a t
en-mile run or two hour gym session, neither of which was Amaryllis’s idea of fun. She had no doubt Eric would go off and get drunk somewhere the minute they released him from here. Oscar and Maria... she couldn’t decide between the two of them. They obviously both had secrets – nobody could be quite as stupid as Oscar appeared on the surface and survive in the cruel media world, while Maria exerted a power far beyond her role.

  But it wasn’t Amaryllis’s way to remain on the sidelines looking in, and before long she was taking part in the discussions about whether the office got the sun in the morning or not, and how likely it was that Christopher would turn out to be a television natural. She briefly tried to visualise him being given his own series – ‘Behind the Scenes at the Cultural Centre’. Perhaps not a whole series, on reflection.

  By the time Christopher, trailing Jock McLean behind him like a teddy-bear or more likely a toy troll, arrived back on the scene, his desk was squeezed into a corner and almost hidden from view by the lighting equipment, the sound equipment and the cameras. The window was blacked out temporarily because they couldn’t take a chance on the sun coming in at the wrong time. To Amaryllis’s surprise Deirdre and Oscar sat together behind the desk, exchanging practice banter like breakfast television presenters. Someone had switched on the lights, and Eric, Charlotte and Maria were carrying out camera and sound tests. It was evidently rather a small operation in which each member of the crew had to multi-task to get everything done.

  ‘Is my desk all right?’ said Christopher, frowning. ‘Where’s the filing cabinet?’

  ‘In the foyer, I think,’ said Amaryllis.

  ‘There’s confidential information in it!’ said Christopher. ‘What if somebody comes in the front door and…’

  ‘Can everyone be quiet over there, please?’ called Maria. ‘We need to re-check the sound. Oscar’s a bit squeaky.’

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ muttered Amaryllis. ‘So would I be.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be on television in the first place,’ said Deirdre, evidently overhearing.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Amaryllis. There were few things she hated more than people telling her she wouldn’t be able to do something. ‘I’ve got plenty of personality.’

  ‘Too much,’ said Deirdre dismissively. ‘The viewers like women to be women.’

  ‘Deirdre! Concentrate!’ snapped Maria. ‘OK – recording…’

  ‘I can just see the first few bananas coming round the corner now,’ said Deirdre in a tight voice as if she were straining to see something just out of her line of vision. ‘Yes! And they’re followed by five courgettes all in a row and the pipe band just behind them playing “Flowers of the Forest”. Pity nobody told them it should have been “Fruits of the Forest”.’

  ‘Or “Bananas in Pyjamas”,’ put in Oscar in a jokey voice that didn’t ring at all true. He raised his eyebrows at Maria. ‘Wouldn’t you like to meet one of those, Maria?’

  ‘Euch!’ said Amaryllis. How did Oscar manage to make something from a children’s song sound so sleazy?

  ‘We’re getting feedback from Oscar’s mike,’ said Charlotte, running round to the sound deck to twiddle some buttons.

  They should have got an octopus for this job, reflected Amaryllis vaguely. Charlotte seemed to be doing all the work while Deirdre and Oscar play-acted behind the desk and Maria directed operations with a supercilious air. Eric had no obvious function at all. It was cruel of them even to keep him there. On second thoughts, she definitely wouldn’t want to follow Maria around. The woman would probably just go back to her hotel room and plug herself in to recharge her batteries, and to make sure she would be just as immaculate and authoritative the following day. Hanging around outside Pitkirtly’s one hotel would be no way to spend a summer evening. She’d be much better in the Queen of Scots with her friends.

  Jock shuffled his feet. ‘I should have guessed this would be boring. I think my mind’s switched itself into stand-by. Give me a disaster movie any day.’

  She gave him a hard stare. ‘Isn’t it time you were round at the pub annoying Charlie Smith?’

  ‘Um – I’m giving it a rest.’

  ‘What?’ Amaryllis’s surprised squeal completely drowned out Oscar’s next two lines.

  ‘Shush!’ said Maria. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room if you can’t keep quiet. This is important!’

  ‘So is this,’ said Amaryllis, putting a hand under Jock’s elbow and hurrying him out to the foyer. She was conscious of Christopher following them. Perhaps he thought he would have to step in and prevent bloodshed. She didn’t mean Jock any harm, however; it was just that his declaration had turned the world upside-down, and she knew she had to find out what was behind it.

  As they entered the foyer, Dave sneaked in from outside. He was a large man who didn’t usually move around surreptitiously, but this time he was definitely sneaking.

  ‘Why didn’t you stay around?’ he demanded, addressing Jock. ‘I’d have thought you’d back me up.’

  Jock shrugged. ‘It was all your own fault.’

  ‘You egged me on, though. I wouldn’t have done it on my own.’

  ‘I did not egg you on! I was hoping the keys wouldn’t be in it in the first place. It was the driver’s fault for leaving them in there.’

  Dave, who had almost been looking dangerous for a minute there, calmed down instantly. He chuckled. ‘That’s what Charlie said. More or less.’

  ‘Which was it?’ said Amaryllis. ‘More, or less?’

  ‘Quite a bit more,’ admitted Dave. ‘He said the driver should have known that leaving the big apple behind the Queen of Scots was a stupid thing to do and asking for trouble. He said in Pitkirtly you never know when some idiot’s going to come along, and if anything unbelievably insane can happen, it will.’

  ‘The big apple?’ said Christopher, sounding a bit faint.

  ‘Then he swore a bit,’ added Dave.

  ‘Those retired policemen know how to swear all right,’ said Jock, nodding sagely.

  ‘So is the apple something to do with the procession tomorrow and the TV show?’ said Amaryllis.

  ‘It was meant to be,’ said Dave. ‘But the driver’s gone off in a huff now it’s got a bit of a scratch on it. Says he’d be embarrassed to be seen driving it.’

  ‘You mean he wasn’t embarrassed before?’ said Jock.

  ‘Maybe I should offer my services,’ said Amaryllis.

  They all regarded her warily.

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Dave. ‘It wouldn’t do for you go off on one of your missions in the middle of it.’

  ‘I’m not doing missions any more,’ said Amaryllis.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Jock. ‘Just like I’m not drinking any more.’

  ‘What?’ said Dave very loudly.

  ‘Keep the noise down!’ yelled Maria from the office. ‘I won’t tell you again. I can get you removed from the building, you know.’

  ‘She’d do it, too,’ said Christopher.

  ‘Let’s go up to the fish and chip shop just now,’ said Jock. ‘We can always come back down later to see what’s what.’

  Amaryllis began to formulate a plan.

  Chapter 7 The Big Day

  Jock didn’t sleep well. He was convinced it was because he hadn’t had his usual quota of Old Pictish Brew. Maybe it was going to be harder than he had expected to keep this up until Monday. Maybe it would be better to face up to Charlie Smith and get it over with. According to Dave, Charlie hadn’t been all that annoyed. And after all, it wasn’t Jock’s fault however you looked at it. Dave had just behaved irresponsibly. But then, that wasn’t any surprise to anybody who had ever seen him driving.

  Looking out of the kitchen window as he filled the kettle, he saw a big black cloud in the distance. It was too soon to tell if it was heading this way or not.

  Jock decided he might as well go out and see if there was any evidence of a healthy eating campaign around the town. He knew from speaking to Je
mima and Tricia that the filming of Open Kitchen took all day. They had to wait their turn to be filmed in their kitchen bringing out the ingredients and starting to bake whatever they planned to bake, and then they had to have it ready just in time for the television crew to come round again and film the finished delicacy. And at the end of it all they had to go round to the Cultural Centre for the judging. The local West Fife community television station had agreed to broadcast live coverage of the whole thing to viewers within its area, but apparently the production company had already sold the series to some obscure broadcasting station that specialised in cookery programmes. Jock couldn’t imagine even bothering to look for that particular channel on his television.

  The black cloud had disappeared by the time he went outside, and it was a pleasant enough morning for the time of year. He was about to go round to Christopher’s to see if he could persuade him to come out for a wander, when he remembered Penelope was borrowing Christopher’s kitchen for the day. She might view a visit from Jock as some sort of seal of approval. He shuddered. She would be lucky if she didn’t poison somebody before the day was out. It was the leeks that had left the worst after-taste – or maybe that too was because he hadn’t had enough Old Pictish Brew. He shook his head as he went down the path and opened his garden gate. It was no use fighting against nature.

  He wondered, as he ambled down the road, if it would be considered unsporting to hang around near Tricia’s house to give her moral support and see how the whole thing worked. Or maybe he would get arrested for stalking or something.

  Jemima had Dave on hand as her assistant, and he suspected Amaryllis and Christopher would find excuses to drop in there, even if only to eat any leftovers.

  He found his steps leading him in the direction of Tricia’s house, a neat little bungalow on one of the low roads at the far side of the town that always looked as if they must be below sea-level, though as far as he knew they weren’t particularly subject to flooding.