7 A Tasteful Crime

by Cecilia Peartree

  Christopher sighed heavily. ‘I suppose I’d better take the Cultural Centre. She wasn’t there the last time I looked, but...’

  ‘Why don’t you try her mobile?’ said Zak.

  ‘I’ll go down to the river front and the Queen of Scots,’ said Jock.

  ‘Ha! That’s a surprise,’ said Christopher.

  Jock gave him a hurt look. It wasn’t like Christopher to snap like that – but then, he was probably much more worried about Amaryllis than he wanted anybody to know.

  ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,’ said Christopher in a reversion to his usual self. ‘I’ll ring her mobile before I do anything else.’

  He took out his phone and began the process of fiddling about clumsily until he found the number and worked out how to dial it. Jock had seen him do this before and been driven mad, so there was no need to watch the whole operation again. He gave Christopher a quick nod, then turned and walked up the hill. Zak was already ahead of him, bounding along as only a young person could. He would probably be the one to find her.

  Jock hesitated at the top of one of the old cobbled wynds that led towards the river front and the harbour. Should he go this way, or would it be quicker to walk a bit further up the hill and go round by the less bumpy route? What if Amaryllis’s life depended on his decision?

  He resigned himself to life-threatening injury on the cobbles, and plunged down through the wynd.

  Knowing her, she was probably making her way tortuously across garden walls and up and down back staircases in an effort not to be seen, but he wasn’t planning to do that. He did, however, glance to left and right as he went, hoping for a glimpse of her in one of the little gardens. If she didn’t want to be spotted there was no way he would get a sighting, but he didn’t want to miss something obvious.

  He arrived at the river front without incident, but when he peered out from the end of the wynd he couldn’t see very much because of a big van that was parked in a position that if it wasn’t illegal, certainly should have been. It was partly blocking the narrow entrance. He was just about to walk round it and cross the river front road to see if he could get a better view somehow, when he remembered where he had seen the van before, or one very like it. The television company logo on the side helped to jog his memory.

  Everything moved very fast from that moment on.

  He saw something on the ground and picked it up. He recognised Amaryllis’s mobile phone only because she had put a sticker on the back saying ‘Hands off’ with a picture of a crossed-out hand.

  Doors banged at the front of the vehicle as he stood there, and then the engine gave a growl.

  The van’s rear doors weren’t quite closed. Before he could advise himself not to do anything silly, he found he had wrenched one of them open and clawed and heaved until he was inside. Instinctively he lunged forward into a far corner where it was dark. Behind him somebody slammed the loose door shut, and soon after that the van started moving with a jolt that sent him crashing down on to something with sharp angles. There were various aches and pains in his limbs and joints that hadn’t all been there before.

  Jock had never thought of himself as a heroic man of action, and he was somewhat alarmed by this whole sequence of events. He hoped he would find Amaryllis and that she would be in a fit state to sort out everything with one blow from her hand – or her foot, if that was how she operated. Or from a hidden knife she had about her person, for that matter. He knew she was much better qualified to foil the efforts of villains than he was.

  His eyes gradually got used to the dark interior of the van. He began to be able to distinguish shapes, although many of them were unfamiliar. He guessed that they were pieces of cameras and related equipment he had never even thought about before.

  The mobile phone! It was still in his hand. Assuming it had survived all the clawing and heaving and crashing, he could use it to get help. If only he had been intelligent enough to get the registration number of the van... On the other hand, how many vans did this particular television company have? Probably only enough to count on the fingers of one hand, if that. The police shouldn’t have any difficulty tracking them all down.

  He crouched down in a corner and managed to get the phone to switch on, more by luck than judgement. Fortunately the screen lit up and he could see the buttons well enough to enter the emergency number.

  Just as he got a reply at the other end of the line, he heard a groan nearby. The start he gave caused him to drop the phone. As he scrabbled around on the floor of the van for it, he tried to listen for more signs that he was sharing the space with somebody else. Or something else. He tried not to imagine the vicious guard dog Charlotte and Ken might have installed there to guard their equipment.

  ‘Hello, caller? Which service do you require? Hello?’

  Jock wanted to tell the woman to speak a bit more quietly, but he could tell she had been trained to make sure she was audible. To make up for her bright tone, he whispered into the phone.

  ‘Police, please.’

  ‘Connecting you now. Please hold.’

  He tried to marshal his thoughts so that he would be ready with a coherent explanation, but when it came to the point, after giving his name, all he could say was, ‘I need help... I’m in a van. Somewhere in Pitkirtly – well, we could be heading out of town by now for all I know. It’s a television company van.’

  ‘Is there any immediate danger to life and limb?’

  ‘There might be. If they find me in here... I think somebody I know is already in danger.’

  ‘Are you talking about Miss Amaryllis Peebles, by any chance?’

  ‘How did you know that?’ he said indignantly, forgetting to whisper.

  ‘We have our methods, sir. Stay where you are and we’ll find you.’

  ‘Over and out,’ whispered Jock.

  He had two almost simultaneous realisations just as he stopped speaking. The van had come to a halt. And something had slithered over to him and was pawing at him.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping irrationally to shut out the image in his head of the slavering hound – or was it a huge snake that would wind itself round him, squeezing and... The mental picture dissolved as a familiar voice intruded on his thoughts.

  ‘Get ready to go for them when they open the doors.’

  He opened his eyes and looked down.

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ hissed Amaryllis, who was lying in front of him in a peculiar position. ‘Quick – cut the rope on my wrists first. They’ll be at the door in seconds.’

  ‘The police are on their way,’ he whispered, leaning down to investigate the bonds that held her wrists and ankles. He hoped his arthritic fingers could loosen them speedily enough.

  She heaved a sigh. ‘Knife in my right hand jacket pocket.’

  He could manage that. He found the knife and got to work quickly.

  ‘Oh, yes, and we know how fast and efficient the local police are, don’t we?’ Amaryllis continued as he freed her. ‘There are probably five different forms to fill out before they even leave the station.’

  ‘Is it Charlotte and Ken?’ said Jock, wanting to hear that his research efforts hadn’t been wasted.

  ‘Of course. Who else would it be?’ she said, rubbing at her ankles. ‘Give me the knife. At least I won’t stab myself in the chest with it.’

  ‘Neither will I,’ said Jock, summoning up a burst of indignation.

  The doors rattled, and a patch of grey twilight appeared. Two dark figures were framed against it.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Ken. ‘What have we here?’

  ‘There’s no need to speak like a movie villain,’ said Charlotte sharply.

  ‘Oh, I think there is,’ said Amaryllis, not moving an inch. ‘Otherwise how would we know who the baddies were?’

  ‘You’ll find that out soon enough,’ said Charlotte. ‘Let’s get them out, Ken.’

  The van rocked as Ken clambered aboard.

  ‘Now,
’ said Amaryllis quietly. ‘Follow me.’

  She hurled herself forward and, catching Ken off balance, caused him to fall backwards off the van. Charlotte side-stepped neatly at the last minute, and in the fading light Jock saw the thing in her hand.

  ‘Amaryllis!’ said somebody outside. Giancarlo Petrelli, still limping, had appeared just behind Charlotte, and grabbed at her arm, jerking it upwards.

  Jock for his part moved swiftly forward, pushing Amaryllis down and aside and plunging to the floor just as the gunshot echoed in the hollow interior of the van. For a moment he lay there, wondering if either of them had been fatally wounded. He didn’t feel any pain, which he thought might not be a good sign, but almost immediately all his previous aches and pains started up again in unison. Flinging himself around wasn’t a very good idea at his age, but on the other hand it was better than being shot.

  Amaryllis lay still. Charlotte shook off Giancarlo, giving him a vicious dig in the ribs with her elbow, and was in the process of clambering up to investigate when Amaryllis suddenly sprang to life and gave her a powerful shove, which sent her flying after her brother.

  ‘The thing about baddies,’ Amaryllis explained breathlessly to Jock as she took a leap off the van to see to the twins, ‘is that they never learn from each other’s mistakes.’

  Jock fought against a strong compulsion to lie where he was and play dead, but a sense of obligation he didn’t know he had forced him to get up and follow her.

  She stood over them like a warrior queen, now brandishing the gun in one hand and the knife in the other. Jock had never admired anybody so much in his life. Of course, she would never let the rest of them forget her heroism, but that was a price well worth paying just to experience this moment of euphoria. He could tell that Giancarlo, who had got back on his feet and was staring at her with an expression that doubtless mirrored Jock’s, felt the same.

  In the distance he heard the police sirens approaching. He decided he could even cope with the embarrassment he would doubtless feel at some point during the next five minutes as Amaryllis gave the police a hard time.

  ‘Thanks for saving my life,’ she said without turning round.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Jock and Giancarlo together. They glared at each other. The world settled back on its axis.

  Chapter 34 Catching up in the Queen of Scots

  ‘So, does this kind of thing happen a lot?’ said Deirdre, leaning on the bar in the Queen of Scots.

  ‘Only in months with rain in them,’ said Christopher.

  ‘Pitkirtly’s certainly changed since I was here last,’ she said, taking an over-sized gulp of her gin and tonic.

  ‘Not really,’ said Christopher. He turned and glanced over at the usual table where the usual suspects had begun to assemble. Jock McLean, Dave and Jemima were first as always. He knew Amaryllis would be late. He had thought Jock might bring Tricia Laidlaw along, but there was no sign of her. As far as he knew Penelope Johnstone was safely back at home in Aberdour.

  ‘Hello,’ said Jan from the wool-shop shyly, coming into the bar as if she were afraid of anybody noticing her. ‘Evening, Charlie.’

  ‘Jan! Good to see you,’ said Charlie Smith with a smile. ‘If you want to take a seat, I’ll bring your order over to you.’

  ‘That’s all right. I can wait here,’ said Jan. Had she just fluttered her eyelashes at Charlie? Christopher leaned forward so that he could see past Deirdre and evaluate the situation.

  Charlie gave an almost inaudible sigh, and moved further along the bar to fetch Christopher’s pint of Old Pictish Brew. ‘What are your plans now?’ he asked Deirdre as he handed the glass to Christopher. ‘Do you fancy staying in Pitkirtly?’

  ‘Is that an invitation?’ said Deirdre, with a sideways glance at Jan.

  ‘No!’ said Charlie, then, perhaps realising he had spoken too sharply, added, ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Deirdre. ‘If I could stand living here again, I might take the time to work out what you meant by that, Mr Smith.’

  Christopher relaxed. He hadn’t for a moment imagined Deirdre settling back down here – she hadn’t exactly settled down the last time – but he had felt a tiny twinge of fear as she spoke. The thought of an infinity of sparring between her and Amaryllis was enough to make any sensible man head for the hills. And he could think of at least twenty-three more things he wouldn’t like about Deirdre’s being in close proximity.

  Jan was glaring at Deirdre.

  Charlie seemed to be trying to make signals with his eyebrows. Christopher hadn’t a clue what they meant. In the end he said to both women, ‘Why don’t we go over and join the others?’

  ‘Others?’ said Deirdre. She glanced over to the table where Jock, Dave and Jemima were all now wearing almost identical expressions of impending doom. ‘Oh, yes! There’s Jock McLean. Such a character.’

  Christopher suppressed his mirth and escorted them to the table.

  ‘Better get some more chairs, then,’ said Dave with resignation, getting to his feet.

  ‘I only need one,’ said Deirdre.

  ‘You haven’t started talking about the murders without us, have you?’ said Christopher anxiously.

  ‘Talking about – is that what you usually do?’ said Deirdre. ‘I’m not sure I want to be part of this. I still miss Eric, you know.’

  ‘But don’t you want to know what really happened?’ said Christopher.

  ‘We can only work it all out if we put our heads together,’ said Jemima, nodding encouragement. ‘We haven’t started yet though – we’re waiting for Amaryllis.’

  ‘She’s bringing Zak and Giancarlo,’ said Dave, setting down the two chairs he had scavenged from another table.

  ‘Bringing them?’ said Christopher. ‘Can’t they get here on their own?’

  ‘She said she would go and collect them,’ said Jock. ‘In a taxi. Giancarlo’s still on crutches.’

  There was a disturbance at the door, and Amaryllis burst into the bar, laughing and holding on to Zak and Giancarlo, one at each side of her.

  Once they had all got their drinks and pulled up extra chairs, and all the women had had a turn at fussing over Giancarlo, Christopher noticed everybody looking at him expectantly.

  ‘I don’t know any more about this than the rest of you,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ said Deirdre. ‘You know much more than I do, for a start. Who’s this nice young man, for instance? And why have I never met him before?’

  She put her hand on Giancarlo’s arm and looked up into his big brown eyes. He smiled at her as if she were the only other person in the world. Christopher frowned. He saw that Amaryllis didn’t seem too happy either. He shouldn’t have let Deirdre down her gin and tonic so quickly. He shouldn’t have...

  No, he told himself firmly. Deirdre wasn’t his responsibility. It wasn’t his fault that she had returned to Pitkirtly, or that her husband had met his death here, or that she was still here now after all the other television people had gone. Even if she had decided to home in on Giancarlo as a possible fourth husband, it still wasn’t his responsibility to stop her. In any case he thought the boy could probably look after himself.

  He gave Amaryllis a huge grin. She blinked in surprise.

  ‘Where will we start?’ he said.

  ‘We could start with their father,’ suggested Jemima.

  ‘Yes. Charlotte and Ken’s father. Mr Campbell,’ said Christopher. ‘Would you like to tell us about him, Jock?’

  He swung round and confronted Jock, who had been sitting peacefully with his pint glass in his hand, quite prepared to listen as if Christopher were telling them all a bedtime story.

  ‘Who, me?’

  ‘You’re the one who did the research,’ said Christopher.

  ‘And rescued me,’ added Amaryllis.

  ‘That was mostly Giancarlo,’ muttered Jock. ‘Oh, all right. The father was the one who built up the television company from a wee radio station. He just wanted to keep
it going as a local thing, delivering its own programmes within its own area. He created the cooking programme – Open Kitchen – to try and highlight local produce and traditional baking, that kind of thing.’

  ‘There wasn’t any of this newfangled healthy eating in the old days,’ said Jemima. ‘It was just good plain food.’

  ‘Some people think old-fashioned porridge is the healthiest thing you can eat,’ said Deirdre. She laughed. ‘Or put on your face.’

  ‘Porridge on your face?’ said Jemima, baffled. ‘What would be the point of that?’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Jock, raising his voice slightly, ‘Open Kitchen was his own idea and he liked to supervise it himself all the way through the stages of production. But there were forces working against him.’

  ‘Eric,’ said Deirdre, swirling what was left of her drink round the glass. ‘Who’s going to get me a re-fill?’

  She made it sound as if it would be some sort of an honour, thought Christopher incredulously. She was even looking straight at Giancarlo. As if he was in a fit state to jump up and do her bidding!

  Zak intercepted the glass she held out, and went off with it.

  ‘Eric was working against the television company?’ said Jan.

  ‘And Oscar,’ said Deirdre.

  ‘But why on earth should they do that?’ said Jan.

  ‘Eric hated Bob Campbell. He hated Open Kitchen,’ said Deirdre. ‘He wanted to sabotage it so that he didn’t have to do it any more. So he and Oscar got together to invent a place to use as back-up when Blair Atholl fell through – they knew it would, because they had got at the chair of the local committee that was pushing it forward.’

  ‘Have you known this all along?’ said Christopher accusingly.

  ‘Oscar told me about it the day before yesterday,’ said Deirdre. ‘After the police let him go. He said he felt guilty about not telling me before. He didn’t want to show up Eric in a bad light after what had happened. But I made him tell me... If Open Kitchen was cancelled, Eric would get a pay-off, you see. There was insurance – business liability. If he just left, he wouldn’t. Eric always liked to look after the pennies.’