Dead on Course

by Glenis Wilson

  ‘Louis?’ I queried, my heart shifting a bit.

  ‘Louis Frame. Used to be my business partner – had fingers in other business pies as well, mind. Great shame he died suddenly. A big shock to Lucinda.’ My heart was now below foundation level. Yes, this was the same man we were talking about – us and Jake Smith.

  ‘Lucinda, the bride?’ I queried.

  ‘Yes, damn good job she’s got Brandon.’

  ‘He’s the husband-to-be, I take it?’ Mike said.

  ‘That’s right. He’s been Lucinda’s boyfriend for the last six months. I think it’s so reassuring for her, y’know, that Louis knew him and approved. Like, now Louis is gone, he’s handed Lucinda’s care on to Brandon.’

  I listened to the conversation and thought about the cause of Louis’ passing. Was it simply a shocking accident? Or could it really have been murder?

  Jake wasn’t interested in the loss of the man, only in his sister dying. If it proved to be murder, then it was just possible Jo-Jo had been the intended victim, but I doubted it.

  What I needed to discover was a motive – against either of them. Given that, it would clearly point to the identity of both victim and murderer. And it seemed that coming here might provide me with the opportunity. Could it be fate was getting involved, pushing me down the right path? Possibly, but I was a pragmatist – I dealt with facts every day. In my own choice of career, bloody hard facts.

  I surreptitiously ran a hand down the outside of my right thigh. It was still giving me some stick.

  Dan came bustling up with a tray of Pimms.

  ‘Hello, Mr Grantley, Mr Radcliffe. Do help yourselves to a drink. The bride will be here very shortly now. Just heard it on the early warning system.’ He was in full fizzing form, brightening up the already happy crowd. People responded to Dan. He had a knack of getting on with, and getting the best out of, people.

  ‘Cheers, Dan.’ Mike reached for a glass and took an appreciative swallow. ‘Lovely stuff.’

  I took a more moderate sip. ‘What time are you on till tonight?’

  Dan chortled. ‘Last man standing.’ He was in his element and his high spirits were infectious. He disappeared through the crowd, who by now were really getting in the mood as good-natured laughter flooded the dazzling room. It was decked out with an impressive balloon arch in shades of lilac and pink, and the colour scheme was continued with displays of flowers everywhere.

  From being lukewarm about turning up today, weddings not being my thing, I was actually beginning to enjoy myself. It looked like being a fun day, and since the disco was scheduled to go on until two a.m., a fun night to follow.

  Music sounded through hidden speakers. Robbie Williams’ chocolate-smooth voice singing ‘Angels’ filled the St Andrew’s Suite and spilled out down the hall, through reception and reached out to greet the bride as she arrived. Upholding tradition beautifully, she was just a tad late. Accompanied by two bridesmaids, one of whom was Chloe, Lucinda clung to the arm of a tall, thin, middle-aged man and picked her way carefully along the red carpet into the St Andrew’s Suite.

  They say every bride looks beautiful and she did, but at the side of Chloe … there was no contest. Although radiant, Lucinda’s glow owed a great deal to an expert application of cosmetics and an exquisitely fitted white gown.

  Chloe, her long brunette curls dancing on her shoulders, wearing a full-length dress of deep pink satin, was stunning. I shot a glance at Samuel standing beside me. His expression was one of awe and overwhelming pride as he gazed at his daughter.

  Chloe and the second bridesmaid bent to ease the bride’s train through the doorway to the St Andrew’s Suite.

  The other bridesmaid, I learned later, was Juliette, Lucinda’s cousin, the daughter of Edward, the thin middle-aged man. She was a fresh-faced, pretty girl who had the most unusual hair I’d ever seen. Totally natural – impossible for any salon to replicate – it contained a dozen different shades of blonde, and the overall effect was of shimmering creamy gold. I gaped. I guess a lot of the other men did, too. It was unbelievably beautiful hair.

  I could have begun to feel sorry for the bride, flanked as she was by two gorgeous, eye-catching girls, but both bridesmaids, to their credit, gave full centre stage to Lucinda.

  With eyes shining with love and firmly fixed on the bridegroom waiting at the far end of the room, Lucinda walked forward as the song ‘Angels’ reached a sublime climax.

  The music moved me more than I’d have thought possible. I’d chosen it to be played at the celebration service for Silvie, my half-sister. It brought so many precious memories back. This particular song had been Silvie’s favourite, giving her joy every time she heard it. Picturing her dear face, I found myself swallowing hard several times.

  The song ended and, as she reached her husband-to-be, Lucinda’s marriage ceremony began.

  Later, after pronounced man and wife, Brandon, looking handsome and very sharp in a smart suit, drew Lucinda into his arms and delighted the guests by giving her a long, long kiss.

  Mike, standing beside me, gave an almost inaudible sigh. I shot a quick look at him. His face was sombre and pinched. Monica, I thought with a flash of insight; he’s remembering Monica and their wedding day. I didn’t look away in time and his eyes met mine.

  ‘They’re both in a better place,’ he murmured, meaning Silvie as well as Monica.

  ‘We can hope.’

  ‘Come on,’ he said and punched my arm lightly, ‘let’s drown our sorrows. And then I’ll introduce you to Edward.’

  ‘He’s Louis’ elder brother, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is he likely to know anything about the accident?’

  He shrugged. ‘You can ask.’

  The bridal party was shepherded outside for photographs and we followed the guests for drinks and canapes in the garden.

  Sited on the east side of the hotel, the garden ran almost parallel to the beach. For the time of the year, the day was a beauty – sun shining, warm and a view right out, far, far out, over the glittering sea. We ate delicious nibbles, enjoyed the peace and listened to the soft boom of the sea. Lucinda would certainly remember her wedding day taking place in such a special place. Her happiness was obvious, but I’d no doubt it also covered a lot of sadness at the loss of her father.

  Would my looking into Louis’ death help? Or would it make things worse for her? I had no way of telling, but surely she’d want to know the truth. I could see now my actions were likely to affect quite a few people I’d not considered. If it was humanly possible to duck out, I would, but I had absolutely no option.

  Where to start, I’d no idea, but if it wasn’t an accident that had seen Louis off, then someone knew the truth. I just had to ask the right questions, try to get a loose end to unravel and hope it would lead me to the solution – and the murderer.

  For now, I was going to assume it had been murder. I was also going to assume the intended victim had been Louis – not Jo-Jo.

  But to eliminate Jo-Jo entirely, I needed to find out a great deal about her. Jake had supplied all the information he had, which wasn’t much, but at least gave me a starting point.

  If I followed up any information I discovered from any of the people involved with Louis and Jo-Jo, sooner or later a pattern would emerge.

  As I’d found out a few months before, one piece of information inevitably led to another, and when all the pieces were put together, intuition took over at some subliminal level and a gut reaction pointed to the truth – even if, as in that case, the truth seemed incredible.

  Right now, it looked to me as though all this amateur sleuthing was going to be very time-consuming. My challenge for champion jockey, already way behind schedule, looked increasingly like a no-hoper. Important though the championship was to me, I had to weigh it against Chloe’s life. Chloe, looking stunning in her long pink satin bridesmaid’s dress. Only one answer – ironically, the same one Jake had used: whatever it took. Whatever the cost to me p
ersonally didn’t matter. What did matter was that Chloe retained her beautiful face and, indeed, her life.

  We all stood around in the garden enjoying our food, the drink and the warmth of the sun on our faces. I’d allow myself an hour’s grace to pull back and enjoy the present before I started off on the trail of the murderer. He must have harboured a great hatred towards Louis to have coldly killed him. Had that hatred been satisfied by Louis’ death? And what of the motive behind it? Had his death achieved the expected result? Or, if not, did it carry over to his daughter?

  The distasteful thought occurred to me that it was quite possible he was here amongst us right now. After all, this was Lucinda’s big day – and she was Louis’ daughter.

  In spite of the sun, my skin felt suddenly cold.

  THIRTEEN

  Mike and I had been allocated the east turret room. Our overnight bags had been carried up for us. I turned the key at number 115 and went in.

  The bay windows all overlooked the beach, sea and golf course in every direction, and the views were superb. The one direction it didn’t cover was west – inland. I took off my jacket, laid it on one of the twin beds and went over to let in some of the ozones.

  Bay window was a very good description. From every one of them was a view right out to sea, plus from the north-facing window an uninterrupted view down the tenth fairway, edged by sandy beach, and away to the adjacent community of Winthorpe. It was breathtaking.

  As last-minute fill-in guests on a cancellation, we had really landed a great room. The only one to surpass this would be the bridal suite, number 105, which was sited right at the farthest north-eastern corner of the hotel and shared this same view but with a much wider aspect over most of the golf course to the west. Mike had pointed both rooms out to me from the car park below. All the other rooms had windows facing straight out east to the sea. How fortunate, if there had to be a cancellation, that room 115 had become vacant. I appreciated our luck. This was a perfect place for a holiday or a honeymoon.

  And what a howling shame I had to bring down the vibes by trying to find out who had killed Louis Frame.

  Reluctantly turning away from the windows, I unzipped my overnight bag. From inside, I drew out the envelope Jake Smith had given me. I tipped the contents on to the bed. Jo-Jo’s photograph slithered across the bedspread and lay there.

  Her face looked up at me, beautiful, a knowing smile on her lips that spoke of her power to seduce with her looks and body. But staring down at her, I could see the tell-tale worldliness in her eyes, the hard edge of disillusionment behind her come-to-bed smile that said you can’t tell me anything about this wicked world of men that I haven’t already found out for myself. It was an experienced face.

  On that first sighting, when I was clad only in a towel in my bathroom and Jake had held it in front of me, all I’d seen was a glamorous woman. Now, studying the photograph minutely at close range, in addition to her glamour it was obvious her blatant sexuality came from experience. She had ended her life as Louis Frame’s lover, but before that there was obviously a string – a whole stable full – of other men. And I could see the experience had tainted her beauty.

  I wondered why she’d become a prostitute. With those looks, she could have been a model, commanded high earnings. Was she – had she been – over a barrel, too? She smiled out from the photograph. Her eyes drew me in and I found myself feeling sorry for her. I’d started out thinking I’d try to discover who the killer was strictly for Louis’ sake, never mind the prostitute. Now, seeing Jo-Jo for the first time as a person with every right to live, I saw the need to bring her killer to justice, too.

  Moving the photograph to one side, I unfolded the single sheet of paper. The writing was sparse and direct – like the note I’d received at the races – and listed several names, one or two with addresses, all with telephone numbers or emails. Further down the page he’d set out the logistics of Louis’ journey to Doncaster races that day. And as a final paragraph had listed the names of the people who had a possible grudge or motive – the same ones he had told me about when he’d handed over the envelope. Included in that paragraph was the name of the man against whom Louis had given evidence – who was currently serving time – plus the name of the prison. I hoped to hell I wouldn’t need that information. Prison visiting was not something I felt drawn to in any way.

  I scanned down the list of names. Edward Frame wasn’t on the list. Nevertheless, I’d decided, apart from Lucinda, he’d been the closest person to Louis and was my obvious starting point. Louis had been his younger brother. He’d doubtless been present at the funeral and he was here now, in the hotel. He was bound to know the subtext to his brother’s life, always assuming they’d got on. And I had to assume they had. Today, Edward had acted as stand-in for his brother – Louis’ daughter was getting married and needed giving away. Not only that, but the way Lucinda had clung to her uncle’s arm spoke of a close family link.

  I put the paper and the photograph back into the envelope and carefully stowed it away in the inside pocket of my jacket. Putting on the jacket, I picked up the key and closed the door of 115 behind me. Going down the back staircase, I bumped into Mike who had just come up from the billiard-room toilet on the lower floor. Dinner was scheduled for five o’clock in the dining room and it was now a little after four.

  ‘Let’s grab a seat outside somewhere, Mike. I’ve something to show you.’

  ‘Why not take a coffee out on to the balcony?’

  Dan having provided the drinks, we went up the west staircase and out on to the fortuitously deserted balcony. The view took in the whole of the golf course, right out to Roman Bank.

  I took the envelope from my inside pocket and passed it to him. The photograph was uppermost, and just as Jake had watched my own reaction, I watched Mike’s. I suppose it reflected my own.

  ‘Phew, some looker!’

  I nodded.

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Was.’

  ‘Eh?’

  I tapped the photo. ‘That’s Jo-Jo, Jake Smith’s sister. She’s the one who died along with Louis.’

  ‘Bloody shame. What a waste …’

  ‘She was a prostitute, Mike, but she was also a human being. And I’m going to find her killer. The sheet of paper still in the envelope is a list of possibles Jake Smith has drawn up.’

  He took one last look at the photo, shook his head and drew out the sheet of paper. Reading quickly down the list of names, he looked up.

  ‘No mention here, Harry, of Edward Frame.’

  ‘Exactly what I thought. But he’s the one I’m going to ask a few leading questions.’

  ‘Hmmm …’

  ‘It doesn’t mention Samuel either, but he told us Louis Frame was his business partner.’

  ‘Good God! Samuel’s above suspicion. I mean, Chloe’s his daughter. He wouldn’t put her in jeopardy.’

  ‘Right now, Mike, he doesn’t know she is in jeopardy.’

  He grudgingly acknowledged the fact. ‘But I can’t believe he would have anything to do with murder. It’s preposterous.’

  ‘I don’t want to believe that either, but right now anybody, everybody, is a suspect, whether we want it that way or not. Until I can prove exactly who did kill those two people, it’s a lousy situation. Don’t forget, I’ve been here before, Mike, and look how that turned out. Would you have believed who the murderer was then?’

  He shook his head violently. ‘Not in a bloody million. Still can’t believe it, to be honest.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘You’ve got a right job on your hands, Harry. I honestly can’t see how you’re going to get at the truth this time.’

  ‘That’s two of us, then. But if I don’t, where does that leave Chloe?’

  ‘With her head on the block.’

  We stared at each other in silence.

  He eventually replaced the two items inside the envelope and handed it over to me.

  ‘I think you’d better
watch your own back, too, Harry.’

  I hadn’t told him of Jake’s threat against me, wasn’t going to. My problem.

  Mike glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nearly five o’clock. We’d better get downstairs.’

  I slid the envelope out of sight inside my jacket and stood up.

  ‘Let’s shelve it for the next hour and enjoy the chef’s skills.’

  And he was certainly skilled. We worked our way through three courses with great enjoyment. Or, rather, Mike did. Mindful, as always, of my riding weight, I helped myself to a couple of mouthfuls from a couple of courses and indulged myself a little more on the main – Guinea fowl with a tomato and ragout sauce. The volume of noise in the dining room was a good indication of the quality of the food. From a light buzz as everyone took their seats and began the meal, it took a long time to rise to any perceptible level.

  But as the meal drew to a close, Richard Lutens, the best man, stood up, raised a glass and tapped it with a spoon, requesting silence.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen …’

  His speech was everything it should be: the right length so as not to bore, full of humour, flattering to the bride – ribald, bordering on slightly risqué, comments directed at the groom – before outrageously and wittily flirting with the bridesmaids. He also included Edward, before consummately glossing over the absence of Lucinda’s parents and the bald fact that none of the other guests were members of her family. It was a cold, harsh fact that she had no other family.

  And throughout, Lucinda, cheeks deeply flushed, smiled prettily and blossomed from all the attention.

  There was spontaneous clapping and cheering when, smiling widely with relief his speech had gone down a storm, Richard resumed his seat, took a handkerchief and passed it quickly across his forehead.

  Everybody raised charged glasses of champagne and toasted enthusiastically. Already, the amount of liquor consumed would have filled a bath – and it was still only six o’clock. With another eight hours to go, I could ever more appreciate Dan’s comment that he would be the last man standing. He might well be. But drink loosened inhibitions and normal discretion ceased to operate. The more the evening went on, the more the odds were shortening in my favour. This certainly seemed the right place to start asking questions.