by Daisy White
“She’ll be a good lawyer then,” I suggest, getting up to leave.
The bus ride home gives me plenty of time to go over the case in my mind, but I’m still no closer to any conclusions when I jump out along the Promenade. At least the weather has cleared to a dusky gold haze, which lies gently over the sea like a smooth, silken sheet. The clear air above is tinged with pink, hopefully forecasting a fine day tomorrow.
Mary is still out with Ted and Summer, so I make tea and toast, suddenly exhausted. Instead of thinking about Rita, I find my thoughts turning to my mum, and the trouble with my sister. I try, and fail, to imagine Garnet as a troubled sixteen-year-old. Will I even recognise her voice if she calls?
When Mary gets in an hour later, carrying a sleeping Summer, I hardly stir, and she makes no comment, stealthily popping her daughter into bed and undressing herself.
* * *
The sun wakes me at five, and my mood has lifted. Summer makes me laugh with her nonsensical breakfast chatter, and I’m further soothed by the comforting routine of getting ready for work, clattering down to our front door, and kissing the baby goodbye.
There are no nasty little notes under the door today, which settles the niggling feeling in my stomach. In my lunch break, instead of going out to eat, I make tea and toast and work furiously on my investigation. Soon a fresh sheet of paper joins the others on the wall, filled with arrows and names. The problem with this investigation is not that there aren’t any suspects — it’s that there are too many of them!
Mrs Carpenter, an elderly genius of a woman who practically defeated the Germans single-handed, is helping out on the reception desk today. We can manage, but she likes to pop in and do a day occasionally. Johnnie loves her, and she doesn’t take any lip from anyone, customers or staff.
“I suppose you’re investigating Rita’s murder?” she asks me, her black eyes as bright as a hawk’s under the hooded eyelids. Her lips are their usual slash of scarlet, almost hidden in the folds and wrinkles of her face.
I blink at her, surprised. “You think she was murdered then?”
“Obviously.”
“Yes, I am. I’m not doing very well on this one. Do you have any ideas?” I ask hopefully, making her a cup of strong, tea, carefully stirring in the usual three sugars.
She sips thoughtfully, considering. “Have you spoken to her dad yet?”
“No. Sammy, his youngest, says he won’t talk to me.”
“They always were a funny family. Basically honest, but not averse to a five-finger discount if you know what I mean. Rita was like an exotic bird in a nest of crows. They didn’t know what to do with her. Bessie, that’s her mum, makes jam for the WI, and I see her at the meetings. She’s very religious, which is admirable, but a rather stupid woman. One of those people who are totally blind to what is going on under their noses, but knows everything that happens on the other side of the road.”
Which is interesting, but not very helpful. I sigh. “Perhaps I should talk to her instead of Rita’s dad?”
Mrs Carpenter shakes her head. “I thought you had a brain in there, Ruby. She won’t say anything that her husband wouldn’t like. Personally, I would take a look at your other suspects.” She’s jabbing at my diagrams with a stubby fingernail. “The Harper family would never have accepted Rita, and the racing crowd looked on her as a little tart, but if you ask me, I wouldn’t focus on Rita. Go sniffing around the Stonehills, but watch out for the sons, and then go back to those jockeys. Some of them are sneaky little bastards.”
My mind is whirling, trying to sift out the sense in her words. It is just like Mrs Carpenter not to give me a straight answer. I pick up a pile of fresh towels and resume my work. But my brain isn’t on frivolous cuts and colours, or even on gossip. I’m working out how I can get to see Rita’s dad.
Pearl and Victoria are joining us tonight for a quick look at Mary’s wedding dress and Summer’s little outfit, so we lock up bang on time, and I run up the stairs to our flat while Mary goes off to collect her daughter.
I’m just starting to make dinner for us all when I start thinking about Garnet again. All day, every time the telephone shrilled, my heart did a silly jump of fear. I chop the vegetables with unnecessary force, and stir the cheese sauce so hard that it boils over onto the stove. There is a hiss and a vile burning smell, and I grab the cloth, swearing.
Mary arrives back with Summer at the same time as the other girls, and they pile into the room, exclaiming at the smell.
“Rubes, I hope you aren’t burning our dinner, because I didn’t have time for a lunch break and I’m starving,” Victoria says. She’s still in her starched nurse’s uniform, and has flung a cardigan over the top. “We had an emergency just as I was about to clock off, so I didn’t have time to change.” She slumps onto a chair and shakes out her long hair from its plait, raking out the strands with her fingers. “No nasty death threats today, Rubes?
“No. They seem to have given up.” I pass her a bottle of beer, and shove another two down the table towards Pearl and Mary. “Are you seeing Donovan tonight?” I ask my cousin.
She shakes her head. “No. Tommy’s taken a load of horses up to Sandown, and Donovan’s got three rides. He’s hoping for a win in the Temple Stakes with Seaboy. Besides, I’ve got an early shift tomorrow. I’ve been moved to the medical assessment ward, which should be interesting.”
“I’ve just got to do the fish, so dinner’ll be another fifteen minutes, if you want to start playing dress up.” I wink at Mary, and she rolls her eyes. Pearl adores clothes, and when we lived with her she often treated us like her own personal dolls, painting and preening until we looked exactly how she wanted. But that’s my cousin. She’s exhausting, exasperating, but totally adorable.
Victoria, recovering as she sips her drink, is now looking at Mary’s dress, which hangs neatly on a hangar, fluttering in the sea breeze. Soon she’s coaxed Mary into getting changed before we eat, and she starts pinning and tucking Mary’s dress. “You might as well show off your lovely figure . . .”
Pearl has emptied out our shared basket of jewellery, and is picking through the items. “Oh, and these earrings definitely.” She holds up some little chandeliers, and they glitter in the light, throwing rainbow patterns through Mary’s hair.
Victoria steps away and frowns, her head on one side. “Just put your arms above your head, Mary . . . Oh, I forgot to tell you, I dropped that photography book off to Sophie Harper last night on the way home. She is fuming! Apparently the police have asked Roger to come back in and answer some more questions. They came round yesterday and searched the house.”
“Roger? Why?”
“This is the interesting bit. One of the search teams found his signet ring at Tommy’s stables after the fire.”
“Oh my God!” Pearl says. “Do you think he’s going after Tommy because he took his girl? Maybe he took Pridey!”
“Don’t know, but that’s obviously what the police think. Just turn round again, Mary.” Victoria sticks a few pins in her mouth and talks through them. “Sophie’s going back up to Cambridge for the last half of term, and then she’s coming back for the summer break.”
“She’s a total cow,” Pearl says. “I don’t know why you bother with her.”
Victoria says nothing, but gently pulls out the floating lacy hem of Mary’s dress. It falls to just below her knees, and hugs her slender body perfectly. With her long blonde hair and big blue eyes, she looks about sixteen. Which reminds me uneasily of Garnet. What trouble has she got into? Or is Mum just worrying about nothing?
“Dinner’s ready, so shall we eat before we do your hair?” I suggest.
Luckily I haven’t ruined the food. Victoria eats far more than anyone else, and as usual Summer refuses to eat any vegetables at all. I take the plates to the sink, and turn back to Mary. “We’ll wash up later,” I say. Pearl has already started going through our make-up collection. “I heard a rumour that Rita’s dad was behind the fire, and stole
Basil’s Pride to get revenge for Rita. But the police haven’t taken him in for questioning again, have they?”
“No. We would have heard, or the boys would have, or some of your nosy clients would have told you. The police can’t keep anything quiet, especially in a case like this,” Victoria says.
“Maybe it’s all over now,” Mary repeats hopefully, as Pearl waves a creamy brown lipstick. “That’s a bit dark. I’ve only worn it once and it made me look washed out.”
“We don’t want too much pink, but maybe this pale one . . .” Pearl is taking this very seriously. Once she’s started styling you, you just have to go with it.
Victoria perches on my bed, curling her long legs beneath her. “Is that Summer’s yellow dress?”
“Yes! I got it half price, and she looks so adorable in it. I just hope she doesn’t start crying or anything when we sign the register.” Mary smiles at her little girl.
“I’m done. Let me get the hand mirror,” I say, pinning the last curl into place, and blasting her crown with hairspray. Just the top half of her blonde hair is pulled back into a tousled bun, with the rest of it hanging long and shiny halfway down her back. “We can slot the flowers into the bun, and you can have a couple down the side towards your fringe . . . Do you like it?”
She stares at her reflection, “Oh my God, girls, I’m actually getting married! Again.”
“It’s forever this time,” I tell her, hugging her, but carefully, so as not to spoil the hair and make-up.
Much later, when the others have gone, and Summer is snoring in her little bed, I have time to talk to Mary about my sister.
“It doesn’t sound too bad to me. I mean, it’s not like she’s going round stealing or setting fire to buildings,” Mary says, braiding her hair into night-time plaits. “She’s just probably wanting a bit of freedom. Things are changing, even since we left school. Girls don’t expect to just get married anymore, or have to put up with a boring job until they find a man.”
“I know, and you remember how nervy Mum is about everything, but I am still worried. I think it’s best if she comes up for a weekend after the wedding, so I can talk to her away from Mum.”
“Yes. She’s not likely to tell you much on the telephone, especially if your mum is listening. She might not even call. Rubes, what are you going to do about the Stonehill investigation?”
I roll over so I can look straight at her. “Tomorrow, I’m going to talk to Rita’s dad.”
“How are you going to manage that?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to do it. I can’t see another way in.”
She sighs, her eyes full of worry. “Well if you do get in, just make sure you can get back out again. I really don’t want you to wind up dead, Rubes. Personally, if you look at it, I think this is the work of a gang, maybe the horse thieves. This is not one person with one motive, but lots of different people, working together for some reward. Think about it. If they’re doing it for money, or love, or something else, it would make perfect sense to kill anyone who got in the way, or even those who were part of their gang.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Have you heard about that horse?” Mrs Redley is our first client today, and her round face is alight with eagerness.
“Clearly not, or you wouldn’t be so excited,” Catherine says tartly, but she’s smiling. Mrs Redley is a terrible gossip, but she’s one of our hard core of regulars, someone who would do anything to help if there was real trouble. “Ruby, can you pass me that plastic bowl, please, and I’ll mix up some colour.”
“Seaboy ran home last at Sandown Park yesterday. Donovan won his other two races, and Tommy is saying Seaboy was doped. My son heard it from his stable lad. They’re saying that someone is still out to get Tommy, and there is even talk he’s had death threats.”
I drop the bowl I’m mixing colour in. “Sorry, Catherine. I’ll clean up the mess.”
Mrs Redley looks delighted at the effect her news is having, and continues to talk nonstop about the horses, the Derby and her own personal theories.
News has filtered down that Tommy is determined not to be beaten. He’s a pretty good boss apparently, well-liked locally, not to mention providing half of Brighton with an excuse to bet at the races. Anyway, the locals have rallied round, helped clear the burnt-out stables and made some makeshift wooden shelters to temporarily house the runners. Unfortunately, his owners have not been as supportive, and several horses have been moved as a result of the continuing ‘bad luck.’ One of them has ended up at Moses’s yard, which has not gone down well with the Tegdown lads.
Roger Harper was kept in for questioning, but later released without any charges. It was rumoured that Alan Stonehill was also forcibly brought in and questioned for the third time, but he too was released.
I’m starting to favour Mary’s horse thieves theory, which seems to be the only way to tie all the various incidents together. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to hunt down Rita’s dad, though. I ring Sammy’s house and have a nice chat with his mum, asking her to tell her son to call me back as soon as possible.
“How would you prove that a horse was doped?” Eve asks Johnnie. “I mean, a horse can have a bad day just like anyone else. My back’s been killing me this week, but last week I was carrying six bags of shopping up the hill for our Flo.”
“Which will be the reason your back hurts this week, darling,” Johnnie tells her affectionately. “Anyway, I’m not sure if you can prove doping or not, but taking into account everything else that has happened, it seems pretty odd for an almost dead cert to stagger in last. Apparently the poor animal was almost trotting up to the post, and then he tried to lie down when they washed him off.”
“It’s definitely not over then, whatever is going on,” Catherine remarks, with a certain degree of pleasure.
I’m just checking the appointment book, trying to process this new information, when Kenny hurtles in through the door, closely followed by James. “Guess what? Poor old Roger Harper has been arrested for the murder of Simon Arden.”
I wonder if DC Little is getting desperate. According to our various friends, half of Brighton has been interviewed, and with no arrests but more crimes, he must be under pressure to at least produce a reasonable suspect. After a recent promotion, I’m sure he wants to impress Inspector Hammond with his detective skills too.
“I’m surprised they got past his sister to do that,” Mary says. “Vic said she was going ape about the police wanting to question him again.”
“She’s gone back up to Cambridge. For heaven’s sake, this is ridiculous.” Johnnie reaches for his coat. “I’m going down to sort this out. Roger doesn’t have it in him to murder anyone. The man is a clumsy, romantic fool, but not a murderer.”
“DC Little won’t let you talk to him,” I begin to say, but he’s gone, banging out of the door with a furious look on his face. Actually I wouldn’t put it past Johnnie to get Roger out through sheer force of personality. However, much as DC Little and I haven’t exactly got along in the past, he does seem like a good copper. He’s certainly proving to be a hard-working replacement for Inspector Hammond, a man I would have trusted with my life.
“I still think that the theory about the horse thieves works well. How else would you get so many different people involved in such different crimes? People who wouldn’t normally spend time together, but are linked by the horses. It makes sense, but God knows how it hangs together.” Mary shakes her head.
By the time we’ve updated the boys on the doping, and they have cursed themselves for not having picked it up themselves, plus a few customers have come and joined in the conversation, we’re running half an hour behind. Johnnie still isn’t back.
Kenny and James head straight off to Tegdown Stables to corner Tommy, and I start shampooing, my brain in a whirl. Going with the horse thieves theory, if Rita double-crossed them, or got cold feet, then it would be an obvious motive for killing her. If Simon, Roger and maybe
Joey were all in on it too, and they fell out, that might account for the fire after the horse was stolen.”
“Ouch, that water is really hot, and you’ve dripped it down my neck!” my client complains plaintively.
“I’m so sorry. Let me get you a towel.” She’s a sweet lady, and I really need to keep my mind on work.
“I hear that the case has been closed on poor Rita Stonehill. Such a shame! My grandson was just saying he could never have seen her committing suicide, no matter how hard things had gotten.” She dabs the excess water from her face, smiling at me with one eye half-closed and water dripping off her eyebrows.
“I know. I’m not sure that all her family are very happy about it either. Did your grandson know Rita personally?”
“Oh yes. They went out for a while after they both left school. But Alan and his sons were very protective of Rita, and they didn’t approve. Paul, that’s my grandson, was working on the Ghost Train on the end of the pier at the time, and one night he was attacked after he’d locked up. The police said it was a robbery of course, but the takings didn’t ever amount to much. He never said, but I’ve always wondered if the Stonehills didn’t have something to do with it. Anyway, he broke things off with Rita, and he’s been working down in Eastbourne these last few years.”
Paul, the ex-boyfriend who moved away. I get a sudden rush of excitement. “Did they keep in touch at all after he ended it?”
“Oh yes. He has another girlfriend now, Lorna, but he and Rita stayed friends. They exchanged letters, and occasionally met up. Paul once said that if he hadn’t met Lorna, he would have married Rita. She went to see him quite recently, I believe. Yes, that’s right, he was telling me when the family came round for my eighty-second birthday last month.”
I bite my lip, taking care with the last rinse, folding her long grey hair into a towel. My mind is spinning. “Could I talk to him at all?”
