“You’re in mine.”
“I, uh…am I?” Jamie broke off, startled by the information. “Thanks. But that’s different. We’re just friends, not potential spouses.”
“Implying that a person keeps his friends throughout his life but significant others may come and go.”
“Could do. Anyway, what I called to tell you is that, besides former love interest Tom Murray, she also included her former catering business helper, Sean Fallon. Interesting?”
“She is spreading the wealth around, isn’t she?”
“Wish she would’ve spread some my way.”
“If wishes were horses…”
“Okay, okay. But perhaps the most interesting part is that Sean Fallon is a convicted criminal.”
“You’re joking.”
“Oh, nothing like murder, don’t get excited.”
“Lovely.”
“A bit of burglary.”
“Not much for him to steal at the catering business but a few copper saucepans, I guess.”
“As I said, interesting, eh?”
“You’re sure this is the current will.”
“I got it from Nora. The inclusion of Sean should tell you it’s legitimate.”
“Won’t be if there’s a later one. Did you check somewhere besides with Nora?”
“It’s current. She said that’s how the lawyer read it and that’s how Janet’s estate was dispersed. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried, Jamie, just puzzled. Why would she add her—you said former helper? Former because she died, you mean?
“Former because that’s exactly it. She fired him.”
McLaren rubbed his forehead. It was too early in the day for this. “When did she fire Sean? Do you know why? Got addresses for me?”
“I thought I was going to be lauded for handing you this much info. Instead, you come after me with more questions.”
McLaren heard the thud of a heavy, ceramic mug being set down and a piece of paper rustling, then an emphatic tap, as though Jamie flicked the paper to keep it upright.
“Right,” Jamie said, once again ready to talk. He read off Sean Fallon’s address. “A few more you might like.” He gave McLaren several more names and addresses. “That should hold you for the rest of the morning.”
“Any idea from Nora why Sean’s in the will?”
“Odd, isn’t it? Nora doesn’t know. She hadn’t seen the beneficiaries until the will was read.”
“I guess there was no reason for Janet to confide in her mother.”
“I don’t have the ‘why’ part of your answer, but Janet fired Sean in May of the year she died. Do anything for you?”
“Besides throw more smoke screens at me?” He leaned his head against the car’s headrest and tried to untangle the quickly forming web.
“You’ve come through heavier smoke than this, Mike. This is just a small campfire.”
“I think I need a Boy Scout, then. Why would she keep her former boyfriend on the list, and why add her former employee?”
“That’s something else for you to think about over your tea.”
* * * *
Catering partner Helene Brogan sat opposite McLaren, absent-mindedly stirring her coffee as she considered his question. The rectangle of sunlight fell obliquely across her and the kitchen table, bringing out the texture of her silk blouse and the woven linen napkins at their place settings. He would have liked Helene’s face to be illuminated also, for she sat with her back to the light and he couldn’t read her expressions. But for now, he had no choice. If her story didn’t ring true he’d talk to her again…and he’d be looking at her in full light.
Helene laid the teaspoon on the saucer, picked up the coffee cup and took a sip of the beverage before asking McLaren why he wanted to know about Sean Fallon. “That’s ancient history in our business, Mr. McLaren,” she said, her eyes suggesting a bit of amusement. “I don’t even know where he is.”
“The circumstance of his firing is what I’d like to know right now, Ms. Brogan. Did you or Janet Ennis actually dismiss him from his job?”
“Janet did. Although she and I were partners, Janet had ultimate control. She had the lion’s share of the stock, had put most of the money into the business, and more or less took me on board when she was already knee deep in setting up the company. We hadn’t opened for business yet, but she’d done the preliminary work of getting financing, the building and equipment. So it was only right that she had the final say in everything.”
“Were you consulted about Sean’s dismissal?”
“Oh, yes. We talked things over any time there was a business decision, even down to whether or not she should take on a particular catering job, if she thought it borderline.”
“Borderline?”
“If we’d have enough time to do it properly due to the number of guests or food required or location. Things like that. Janet was not a dictator. We did discuss most things.”
“Including Sean Fallon’s dismissal.”
“Yes.”
“Were you comfortable with her decision? Or did you want Sean to remain? What type of work did he do for you?”
“We originally employed him to help with the heavy things—lugging tables, the pots with the cooked food, boxes of decorations. Those types of things.”
“But he migrated into other work, I take it.”
“He still did most of the heavy lifting and carrying. He was eighteen, I believe, and quite strong. But he showed such an interest in the actual cooking that we eventually let him do prep work.”
“Prep work…slicing and dicing?”
“Yes. Also things like making sauces and stock. Anything that’s basic for recipes.”
“He was content with that?”
“I believe so, though I think he made noises about one day being a chef and opening his own restaurant. I don’t know if he did that. We lost touch after he left our company.” She took a sip of coffee and wiped her lips on her napkin. “Well, I had no reason to keep up with him. Not that I’m not interested to know if he is in culinary school, but Sean and I weren’t exactly mates.”
“Just the hired help.” McLaren felt like adding something derogatory, but he let it pass.
“Yes, but more talented.”
“Some brains to his brawn, then.”
“Yes.”
“How did Sean apply for the job?”
“Pardon?” Helene blinked, her eyelashes catching the sun and throwing shadows across her blue eyes.
“Did you know him? Was he a friend of a friend? Did you advertise for help, maybe go to an employment agency?”
“Oh. I see.” She turned her head slightly as she replaced her cup on its saucer, and kept her focus on it as she said, “I don’t quite know how he came to us. Janet just announced one day that she’d found a young man to help in the kitchen.”
“You didn’t know him, then.”
“Why, no! What an odd thing to ask. I’d not met him until his first day of employment.”
“So, since Janet did the hiring, you didn’t know him or his…background.” He wasn’t sure if he should bring up Sean’s past conviction of burglary, but he could always mention it later.
Helene picked up the spoon and again stirred her coffee. Her voice was slightly muffled, turned as she was from him. But the words were distinct. “No. She just mentioned that Sean was a young, strong lad, enthusiastic to get into the trade, and that he’d begin work on the following Monday.” Turning her face toward McLaren, she added, “He certainly lived up to my expectations. It was nice to have the kitchen help. And he was a pleasant young man.”
“So you all worked well together, then.”
“Oh, yes. Well, on the whole.”
“What was wrong?”
“Nothing major. I just meant, well, you know how it is when you’re up against a deadline and working in confined quarters. You sometimes get on each others’ nerves and little squabbles ensue. But it was never anything majo
r and it never lasted long. We didn’t carry over our tiffs to the next day.”
“Clean slate each time, eh?”
“Of course. Life’s too short—and the company was too small—for ongoing tiffs. It would not have been pleasant working conditions for anyone.”
“What were you doing when Janet died?”
She answered the question as though she gave alibis every day of her life. “Home, doing errands, fixing supper for the hubby. The usual things of life. Why? Do you suspect me?”
“I’m just gathering information right now. Did Sean and Janet get on, do you know?”
“Not best mates or mother and son, but well enough. She liked him, thought him bright. There were never any problems as far as I know.”
“So what brought on Sean’s dismissal?”
“I really can’t say.”
McLaren exhaled deeply and pushed his empty coffee cup from him, then leaned his forearms on the tabletop. “Try.”
“I mean, I don’t know.”
“Janet didn’t tell you why she was letting Sean go?” McLaren snorted, the disbelief evident in the way he pulled in the corner of his mouth. “No offense, Ms. Brogan, but I find that hard to believe. You, as a partner—no matter if you were junior, silent, or equal—should have been told. Or if not, surely your curiosity would have compelled you to ask. Walking into work one day and not finding Sean would have brought on a question, I’d think.”
“I did ask, certainly. But all Janet said was that he’d done something inexcusable at our last affair.”
“Which event was that?”
“A wedding reception. The bride’s mother made a big stink about the mishap, threatened a lawsuit. The usual tirade. Honestly, I think it was just an excuse to get something out of the whole thing, to get back some of the money they’d poured out for the ceremony and reception.”
“Money heals any wound, repairs any problem.”
“That’s about it, isn’t it? Personally, I didn’t think it that big of a mishap, but evidently Janet was of a different mind, so she let Sean go.”
“What was Sean’s inexcusable mishap?”
“He poured a pot of cream sauce into one of the steam pans.”
“One of those two-part pans that has hot water in the lower, larger one?”
“Yes. The pan of shrimp-and-beef was supposed to be placed over that water bath, so the bottom pan holding just the hot water was sitting on the table. Sean, for some reason, poured the cream sauce directly into the hot water.” She shook her head, as though reliving the incident. “It was terrible. Cream sauce splashed onto the white tablecloth and of course we didn’t have the sauce for the dish it was to go with. Not a good thing to do.”
“Was the bride’s mother the only person who was vocal about it? I suppose she complained immediately, not later after the reception had finished.”
“She let us know her feelings right then, yes. Janet, however, waited until we had returned to the shop before firing Sean. I don’t know how she did it—she took him into her office, away from everyone else. I thought that a decent thing to do, not berate him or fire him in front of all of us. Sean came out of the office first, Janet right behind him. He had no expression on his face, just kind of dazed. He walked right past me, didn’t say anything or look at me. Didn’t say a word to any of the other employees, either. Just pitched his white jacket into the laundry bin and left. Last I ever saw him.”
“Did you hear any yelling or words coming from the office when he and Janet were in there?”
“No, Mr. McLaren. No argument, no threats, no slamming of the door. When I found out later, I was surprised he had taken his dismissal so well and so quietly. He just walked out like it was any other day and he’d be back tomorrow and we’d see him again.”
McLaren wondered if Janet had seen Sean later, only hadn’t lived to tell Helene about it.
FIFTEEN
“I’ll give you one point for finding me.” Sean Fallon watched McLaren pull out the chair and sit down before continuing. “Though I’m not hiding, Matlock is still rather large to go knocking on doors to see if I’m behind any one of them. So I suppose all it took was looking me up in the phone directory. Still…” He eyed McLaren again, a smile half formed on his face. “You needed my name and town. That’s worth another point.”
“That’s more than many folks give me.” McLaren leaned back in the chrome and leatherette chair, his left hand resting on the round curve of the cold metal. The tubular chair’s design matched the style of the lounge—1960s modern, left over from the Carnaby Street and the Mod movement influence. Hand-me-downs, wondered McLaren, or preference? He angled himself in his chair so that his shadow did not block Sean’s face, and asked again how he’d come to be fired.
The story mimicked Helene’s version, even including the irate mother of the bride. McLaren commiserated with Sean, adding that he must have been angry with Janet for letting him go.
“Not at first.” Sean jiggled his right foot as though he were trying to dislodge it from his ankle.
“But later on?”
“Yeah. That night and the next day it hit me. I was without a job, had no connections to get me another one, had no other skills.” He broke off, eyeing McLaren to see if he’d say anything about the burglary conviction. McLaren sat quietly, a composition in Patience and Relaxation. Like a priest waiting for a confession. Or a copper expecting a declaration of guilt.
“I’d be madder than hell.”
“Yeah, well, I was after I thought about it a bit. When Janet fired me, it didn’t really sink in. I think I was stunned, to tell you the truth. It came so quick, you know. But when I got home that night and realized I had no job to go to on Monday, well, I blew up. Well, who wouldn’t, as you said? It’s damn near impossible to get a job at eighteen when you’ve no work experience.” He swallowed quickly, gazing at McLaren from the corner of his eye. The man remained impassive so Sean went on. “I thought my future was set, you know. I’d been working for the company for five months, since January. I got a nice place—nothing fancy, just a bed-sitter. Still, it was mine, you know?”
McLaren nodded. Those one-room flats that made do as your bedroom, living room and kitchen were symbols of poorer days—the student, the struggling artist, the transient. A hot plate was usually provided, along with a lumpy upholstered chair, small table and a reading lamp. Better than sleeping rough on the street, but only just.
Sean continued, noticing the silent acknowledgment in McLaren’s eye. “I had a few quid saved up but that wasn’t gonna last me long. Not with inflation and the general cost of living. I panicked at first. I remember slamming things around in my place. Well, I was angrier than hell and I had a right to be. I needed that job.”
“Where were you living then?”
“What?”
“At the time of your employment with Janet, where were you living?”
“Here in Matlock, but in a different section of town. Farther north.” He named the area, then asked, “Why?”
“You think Janet was over the top with her decision?”
“I don’t know. That night and the next day I thought so. I mean, it was one damn mistake. She’s so perfect she never made a mistake?” His voice had taken on the rough edge that comes from anger and feeling picked upon.
“I don’t think that was the issue right then.”
“So I misunderstood. So I’m an idiot. You’d think the world was coming to an end. And that damned woman…” His lips flattened against his teeth as he breathed heavily through his nose.
“Weddings and receptions are usually nerve wracking. You can understand the bride’s mother wanting things perfect, can’t you?”
“It was one stupid batch of white sauce, for God’s sake! Who’s gonna miss sauce on their chicken?”
“If the sauce went with the chicken, they might. What was it?”
“Chicken cordon bleu. It was to have had a nice cream sauce accompanying it. It’s made with wh
ite wine and cheddar.”
“Sounds good.”
“They got on very well without the sauce. It was a damn mistake!”
“But Janet reacted out of proportion, you’re saying.”
“Like she’d never made a mistake in her life. Like that bride’s mother was gonna kill her. If I knew where the berk lived I’d have put her out of her misery.”
“You didn’t go back a few months later and take care of Janet, did you?”
As though strung up like a marionette, Sean’s mouth and eyes flew open simultaneously. He uttered half detectable sounds, coughed, then snapped, “I never did anything to Janet Ennis. Never! If I’d have wanted to do something, I would’ve punched her out that day in her office.”
“You told me you weren’t that angry right then, that it took you until that night and the following day to realize your anger.”
“Well, yeah, sure. I mean, when I thought about it and it dawned on me that I had no income…” He shut his mouth abruptly, causing a ‘pop.’ Best not to say anything more without a solicitor present.
“So, did you think about it that night? Stew about it, get angrier by the minute, and then decide to do something to her?”
Sean slammed his palm on the table top, causing the small battery operated clock to jump. “I didn’t touch that damned woman. I didn’t want to get into trouble. I’ve had enough trouble in my life. I knew where it would lead and I didn’t touch a hair on her head. Not that I didn’t want to, but I didn’t do a thing. Anyway, I was let go in May. She died in September. You think I’m gonna wait four months to top her if I hated her? I wouldn’t have gone that long to deprive myself of the pleasure of feeling her neck between my hands.”
* * * *
As long as I’m talking to business associates, McLaren thought, glancing at the addresses he’d written down on his query sheet, I may as well deal with the pianist of her vocal group. Get all the tears and grief over with this morning.
He turned the key in the car’s ignition, glanced again at Sean Fallon’s residence, and eased the car away from the curb. Sean had moved up in the world since his bed-sitter days, residing now in a two up/two down dwelling in a nicer section of Matlock. Nice for him and his wife, McLaren thought. Lounge and kitchen downstairs, two bedrooms upstairs—a bit of privacy and still giving them a bit of space. He realized Sean’s current residence was a fifteen minute or so drive from Janet’s former house, but the bed-sitter address was closer by a handful of minutes. Maybe not significant for some things, but if you needed to get home quickly from a murder… McLaren shelved that idea for the moment and headed toward Buxton.
Torch Song Page 12
