by Rebecca Tope
‘Daphne herself must have done it,’ Drew concluded. ‘She surely wouldn’t have involved anyone else – and I don’t think Jeffrey even knows how to turn a computer on.’
‘The devious cow,’ stormed Maggs. ‘And everyone thinking she’s so respectable! Pillar of the community.’
‘She must have seen us as a real threat,’ Drew muttered. ‘I never thought she’d take me so seriously.’
‘But ye can’t go to the police, can ’ee?’ Jeffrey burst out. ‘On account of that murdered woman out there, and you knowing more than you’ve let on. If the police get wind of what’s been going on, it’s trouble for you, Drew Slocombe.’
Drew crumbled in the face of this sudden attack. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he stammered.
‘Oh yes you do. People coming to weep over the grave, cars coming past and stopping when they think nobody’s looking. That grave’s had more visitors in the past week than all the rest put together. For somebody with no name, that’s a bit strange, to my mind. And if I were to go and tell the police about it, they’d have some nasty questions for ’ee. Wouldn’t like that, I dare say?’
Drew took a deep breath. ‘When have you seen these people?’ he asked. ‘I only know of one man, who came a few days ago.’
Maggs backed him up. ‘Yeah – I’ve only seen one man, too. And he was from the Council – wasn’t he, Drew? Come to check everything had been done properly.’
‘Bollocks!’ said Jeffrey nastily. ‘Don’t you try your lies on me, girl. Council workers don’t kneel in the grass blubbing over an unknown corpse. I saw ’un when I passed by.’
‘All right, that’s enough,’ said Drew, regaining control. ‘We’ll leave it for now. Just tell me, Jeffrey – do you still want to work for me here?’
‘Work?’ the man laughed derisively. ‘Call that work? Buggerin’ about with willow baskets and reading stupid poems over dead dogs?’
‘I take it that’s a no,’ Drew returned, with dignity. ‘In that case, I’d prefer not to see you around here again. Think yourself lucky we’re letting you off so lightly. Maggs, we have things to do. We’ve wasted too much time already.’
‘Right,’ she said.
* * *
Drew and Maggs spent much of the morning debating her respective encounters of the previous evening. Drew was openly dismissive of her theory that Genevieve had after all been responsible for her mother’s death. ‘Of course it wasn’t Genevieve,’ he insisted. ‘It did cross my mind, but it makes no sense at all to think it might have been.’
‘It starts to make a lot of sense,’ Maggs countered. ‘She hasn’t told you a single word of truth from start to finish. Did you phone that hotel?’
‘I think she’s told me the truth as she sees it,’ he disagreed quietly. And, no, I got sidetracked by this business with Jeffrey. I’ll do it in a minute.’
‘They won’t tell you unless you pretend you’re the police. And I bet you daren’t do that.’
‘Watch me,’ he said crossly, and grabbed the phone. Sparing no expense, he tapped in 192, for Directory Enquiries, and quickly got the number for the Regent Palace Hotel in London West One.
Refusing to meet Maggs’s eye, he plunged in when a voice announced that he was speaking to the hotel in question. ‘Oh, hello. This is the West Somerset police here – I need confirmation of a booking you had, last August the 12th. A Mr and Mrs Slater are claiming that they stayed that night with you. Would you check it for me, please?’
‘Just hold the line,’ came the unsuspecting voice. After a pause in which he could hear a computer keyboard being tapped, he was told, ‘Yes, I can confirm that. A double room, for a Mr and Mrs W. Slater on twelfth of August of last year. Is that all you need?’
‘Have you any way of knowing whether they did actually take up the booking? I mean – they didn’t just reserve it and then not show up?’
‘Definitely not. We have details of their payment, meals taken, room service – they were definitely here. Though I can’t say exactly what time they arrived.’
‘That’s very helpful. I’m much obliged to you.’ He put the phone down, just before Maggs let out a shriek of admiring laughter.
‘I’m obliged to you,’ she mimicked. ‘You sounded like somebody’s butler.’
‘They told me, though,’ he smirked. ‘They were definitely there that night.’
She squinted at him sceptically. ‘All you know, Mr Clever Detective, is that two people calling themselves Slater stayed there. Oldest trick in the book – using someone else’s name.’
Drew paused, and then shook his head. ‘If they did, then that means there were at least four people in the conspiracy to kill Gwen – and I don’t believe that.’
‘Why not? Doctor Jarvis, Trevor and the Slaters – it would all fit quite nicely, if they were in it together as a team.’
‘You might as well throw in Henrietta Fielding and Karl Habergas while you’re at it. You’ve got a full half-dozen then. And we wouldn’t have a hope in hell of ever discovering what happened, because they’d all be lying their heads off. But I don’t think it’s as complicated as that.’
‘Maybe Dr Jarvis was right all along – she committed suicide, and they all agreed to bury her, according to some sort of last request.’
‘No.’ Drew shook his head. ‘There’s some connection between all these different strands. If we put together every single thing we know about Gwen Absolon, we might work out what it is. But just now, what I should really be doing is driving over to Plant’s and confronting Daphne with this story of Jeffrey’s. The trouble is, I’d much rather face a suspected murderer with a wild set of accusations than do that.’
‘You have to be more subtle,’ Maggs advised him. ‘Let her think you’re scared of tackling her – and then drop on her when she’s least expecting it. Preferably in front of a whole crowd of influential people like doctors and nursing home matrons.’
Drew chuckled. ‘If only,’ he said, feeling more cheerful.
Maggs nodded towards the window. ‘Looks as if we’ve got visitors. They seem familiar.’
‘It’s the labrador people – the Graingers,’ Drew said. ‘How sweet. They’ve come to see the grave.’
‘It’s a wonder they haven’t brought a bunch of flowers,’ said Maggs sourly. ‘Some people don’t have anything better to do than dwell on the past. Imagine getting that morbid about an animal!’
‘Don’t be so heartless. Just for that, you can take them up to the field. Do a bit of work for a change.’
Any chance of a sharp riposte was interrupted by the knock on the office door. Sticking her tongue out at Drew, Maggs pulled open the door, and adopted a saccharine smile. ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Mr and Mrs Grainger, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ Hubert Grainger confirmed, his voice gruffly surprised at being so swiftly identified. ‘We were wondering if it was convenient to visit Seti’s grave?’
‘Our dog,’ came the milder voice of his wife, as Maggs blinked at the odd name.
‘Yes, of course,’ gushed Maggs. ‘Just follow me round this path, and I’ll take you up there. You might not remember exactly where it is, otherwise.’
‘Oh, I think we will,’ said Hubert. ‘But you’re welcome to escort us.’
‘What did you say your dog’s name was?’ Maggs asked, for something to say, as she strode ahead of them along the diagonal path towards the pet’s area.
‘Seti,’ supplied Mildred.
‘Ah,’ Maggs murmured. ‘Right.’
‘You seem to have had some new burials since we were last here,’ the woman continued, pausing to cast a comprehensive glance across the field.
‘Um – only one, I think,’ Maggs replied. ‘It’s been a bit quiet for weeks now.’
‘Really? Why’s that, then?’
‘It just happens like that. People seem to die in clusters. It was the same when Drew worked at Plant’s – you know – the undertaker in Bradbourne? But we’re starting to pi
ck up a lot more business. Soon we’ll be rushed off our feet. Of course, it’s going to take time for people to make the change to our sort of service. Death rituals are very entrenched, and people are incredibly conservative – we knew that when we started. We think it’ll turn round, though.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, dear. And meanwhile, you can do a nice sideline in pets, perhaps?’
‘Well,’ Maggs laughed, ‘So far, you’re our only customer. Here we are, look.’ She stopped at the modest mound that was their dog’s grave. Grass was beginning to grow over it and the absence of a marker made it difficult to identify.
‘Hubert – we must put something here to show where he is,’ the woman said. ‘We can do that, can’t we?’ She turned to Maggs.
‘Within reason. We prefer something wooden, or a living plant. Drew did say initially that he wouldn’t allow stone memorials, but now he’s decided a piece of natural rock would be acceptable.’
‘That sounds nice – doesn’t it, Hubert?’ Mildred looked up at her husband, her expression a mixture of beseeching and a sudden acute grief. Maggs was bewildered.
‘There, there, old girl,’ he soothed. ‘Keep a grip.’
Mildred Grainger sniffed, and then squeezed her nose tightly between her thumb and forefinger. Maggs began to withdraw, wondering how anybody could be so attached to a dog. As if reading her mind, Mildred spoke to her.
‘It’s not just Seti, you see,’ she apologised. ‘We had another loss last year, and now anything to do with graves or dying can start me off.’
‘Mildred!’ her husband remonstrated. ‘The young lady doesn’t want to hear about that.’
‘That’s OK,’ Maggs assured him. ‘People often like to talk when they come here. It’s understandable, really.’
‘No, no – Hubert’s right,’ Mildred insisted. ‘We should keep our grief to ourselves. I’m all right now.’
‘I’ll leave you, then,’ said Maggs, and strode away before they could embarrass themselves further.
In the office, she and Drew watched the couple potter around the graves. ‘They had another loss last year, she said,’ Maggs told him. ‘And this is bringing it all back.’
‘They said something about that when they first came here,’ Drew remembered. ‘Something about it being one tragedy after another. Sometimes trouble does come in spades.’
Maggs tried to busy herself with some paperwork. Drew continued to gaze out of the window. ‘They’re a long time up there,’ he remarked, fifteen minutes after the Graingers had been left at the graveside. ‘What on earth can they be doing?’
Maggs glanced out of the window. ‘At least they’re not kneeling in the wet grass,’ she said. ‘They must have some sense.’
Drew sighed heavily.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Need you ask? Jeffrey. Daphne. Karen. Genevieve—’
‘They’re going,’ she interrupted. Together they watched the elderly couple make their way slowly down the field. Drew went to the back door of the office, and stood conspicuously, in case the Graingers wanted to speak to him.
‘All right?’ he asked politely, as they reached him.
‘Yes, yes – thank you,’ Hubert Grainger responded. ‘We’ve put our minds at rest.’ He looked back over his shoulder, oddly, not at the dog’s grave, but much further to the east.
‘Good,’ said Drew, a little mystified. ‘That’s good. Any time you want to come, feel free.’ They disappeared around the side path, and he heard car doors slam a few moments later.
‘What did he mean?’ wondered Maggs. ‘Putting their minds at rest?’
‘Probably heard rumours of witchcraft, like everybody else,’ said Drew glumly. ‘Came to make sure the dog hadn’t been dug up.’
‘Funny name it’s got,’ she said. ‘Setty. What sort of a name is that? You’d think it would be a red setter, not a labrador.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Drew protested. ‘We’ve got better things to do than worry about a labrador’s name. I’ve got this cremation next week. Desmond’s going to make more snide remarks. And what the hell am I going to do about Daphne? How could she be so underhand? Bribing Jeffrey like that. It wasn’t fair to him, apart from anything else. She must have known it could lose him his job.’
Maggs huffed a sarcastic breath. ‘Don’t get your knickers twisted about Jeffrey,’ she admonished. ‘He knew what he was doing. If it’d been up to me, I’d have wiped the floor with him. He betrayed you. He’s not worth bothering about.’
‘And then there’s Karen. I should spend lots of time with her this weekend. If you’re right about her being depressed, she’s going to need a lot of TLC.’
‘I’ll be doing some of that myself. I said I’d spend all day Sunday with Auntie Sharon. You wouldn’t believe the stuff they’ve sent home with her. Her bedroom’s like something out of ER.’
‘Sounds grim,’ he sympathised. ‘Are you sure you can face it?’
‘I’m going to have to. Though I’d rather deal with a dead body any day.’ She heard herself and gave a horrified laugh. ‘Listen to me!. I really do love Auntie Sharon, you know. She’s always good to talk to – I just have to try and forget she’s ill. Don’t you think?’
‘Sounds the right sort of atttitude to me. Nobody wants to be labelled as a cancer patient. It makes people forget who they really are.’
One of their companionable silences ensued, though neither of them made even a pretence of being busy. Drew flipped through a trade magazine, reading with detachment an article on the escalating takeovers of British undertakers by the American-owned SCI. He found himself taking a degree of satisfaction in the inexorable march of sanitised, synthetic, over-priced funerals. Sooner or later, the population would rise up in protest, and that could only be to his direct benefit.
Maggs didn’t appear to be doing anything at all. She sat in the wooden chair near the window, humming tunelessly to herself, apparently lost in thought. Suddenly, she stiffened. ‘Sarah!’ she said. ‘Does that name mean anything to you?’
‘Hmmm?’ he mumbled. ‘What d’you say?’
‘Sarah. Somebody connected with Gwen Oojamaflip was called Sarah.’
‘That’s right. Sarah Gliddon. The girl who was killed in Egypt.’
‘How old was she?’
Drew sighed, and accorded her his full attention. ‘Twenty-seven, I think. I tried to speak to her husband, remember? He slammed the phone down on me.’
‘Well, Gwen’s handicapped son – Nathan – had a girlfriend called Sarah. She’d be just that sort of age now. Stuart told me a bit about her. Said she was terribly fond of Nathan, and must have been devastated when he died.’
‘It’s a very common name. So what?’
‘Well – how about this? What if it was the same girl? She kept in touch with Gwen after Nathan died, and decided to go on one of her trips. When she was killed, Genevieve somehow figured out who she was, and was so furious and jealous about her Ma still hanging on to memories of Nathan, she flipped and did her in. Makes sense, doesn’t it? She’s crazy enough for that, isn’t she?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Drew disagreed vehemently. ‘You’ve got to stop thinking about Genevieve like that. You’re getting obsessive about it. Unless you can stay open to the whole range of possibilities, you’re just wasting time.’
She looked downcast. ‘Maybe I was getting carried away. Right – you’re right. It was a daft idea.’
‘Well then,’ he said more calmly, ‘let’s stick to facts, eh?’
‘Yes, boss,’ she said meekly. ‘But I bet you there are connections somewhere. You said you were looking for connections.’
‘That’s true, I did. Now who can I ask about women called Sarah, I wonder?’
They both knew there was only one possible person.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The weekend started reasonably well. Karen was noticeably more cheerful, and Stephanie marked her eleven-month birthday by standing unsupported
for several seconds, crowing triumphantly. ‘She’ll be walking before she’s a year,’ said Drew excitedly.
‘I was two days under ten months,’ said Karen. ‘But I didn’t talk until I was one and a half. They thought I was mentally defective.’
‘I’ve no idea how old I was,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t expect I was much of a prodigy.’
‘You were thirteen months walking, and at fifteen month you knew a hundred words,’ she said with authority. ‘I asked your mother.’
‘Amazing,’ he laughed. ‘First, that she can remember, and second that I was so articulate.’
‘It’s good that Steph won’t be an only child,’ Karen ventured, alerting Drew to the fact that she was in the mood to talk. ‘I was always wishing I had brothers and sisters.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Drew said, with feeling. ‘Never much good at sharing, me. I didn’t see how my Mum would ever fit everything in, if she had more kids. She seemed impossibly busy, just with me.’
‘Did you have an imaginary friend? Or kids to play with next door?’
‘Nope. I had a cousin Nanette, who cried if I so much as touched her, and wore clothes she couldn’t bear to get dirty. She was horrible – like a stupid doll. She came with her mother sometimes, and I was supposed to play with her. I had no idea what I was meant to do.’
‘You’ve turned out quite well, then, considering,’ she said with a grin.
‘It wasn’t so bad. Later on, I felt quite grown up, coming home on my own and getting the supper started. It was nice having all that space.’
‘A child of your time,’ she remarked. ‘Latchkey kid.’
‘Doesn’t happen now. They go to after-school clubs, or someone’s paid to meet them from school. Never get a minute to themselves, as far as I can see.’
‘Yeah,’ she mumbled, clearly following another train of thought. ‘Drew—’
‘What?’
‘I told the Head I was definitely not going back after this baby. I’m going to stay at home with them, whatever happens. That’s all right, isn’t it?’
He felt cold, a stiff breeze of responsibility chilling him to the bone. He turned his head away from his wife and daughter, struggling to give an acceptable reply. ‘It – well – it changes things,’ he said. ‘It puts more pressure on the business. We’ll have to do some sums, to see whether it’ll work.’
