“You see?” Hunt said. “Rusty still looks for her.”
The dog smelled of cheap perfume, as if he’d returned from a brothel. He was followed by a grey-haired woman in her mid-sixties wearing a grey skirt and white blouse. Her face was scarlet from heat or exertion.
“Ah, you’re there,” she said, speaking to Hunt but nodding at Dylan. “He’s had a good walk so you won’t have to bother tonight, Rob.”
“Thank you, Alice.”
It didn’t look as if any introductions were going to be made so Dylan stepped forward and offered his hand. “Dylan Scott.”
“Sorry.” Hunt took the hint. “This is Alice. She’s been cleaning for me for years now. Alice, this is the gentleman I told you about. He’s going to see if he can find Sam for us.”
She didn’t seem too optimistic. If anything, her expression was filled with sympathy for Dylan’s plight. “I wish you luck.”
Perhaps the housekeeper would be able to provide a more accurate picture of the oh-so-perfect Samantha Hunt.
“Right, I’ll leave you both to it,” Alice said. “I’ll be here at nine in the morning, Rob.”
“Fine. Thank you, Alice.”
“I’m just leaving,” Dylan said. “Can I offer you a lift anywhere?”
“Well…” She hesitated. “If it’s no trouble. I’m taking the bedroom curtains with me, you see. I want them at the dry cleaner’s tomorrow and they’ll weigh a bit heavy. I only live at the bottom of the road so it won’t be out of your way.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
Dylan wasn’t sorry to bid Rob Hunt goodbye and rejoin the real world.
Chapter Four
Alice Turnbull wished she’d walked the few hundred yards to her bungalow. Dylan Scott’s car was a pretty yellow, like a canary, but cramped, noisy and uncomfortable didn’t begin to describe it. She was relieved when he was helping her out—she couldn’t have managed the task alone.
“Let me carry these for you.” He reached for the curtains.
“You’re all right, love. I can manage from here.”
“It’s no bother. Besides, I’d like a word about Samantha, if it’s convenient.”
“You want to talk to me? Oh, right.” She hadn’t thought of that. “You’d better come in then. I’ll make us a nice cuppa and we’ll have a chat.”
Alice hadn’t met a real private investigator before and she was disappointed. Perhaps she’d seen too many gun-toting American PIs on TV. Dylan Scott looked too ordinary. Walking round with a swollen, bloodied lip didn’t look particularly ordinary, and his car wouldn’t go unnoticed, but she couldn’t imagine him bringing down hardened criminals.
She’d put him at late thirties. Probably unmarried if the crumpled, stained shirt was anything to go by. Rob had said he was driving up from London, though, so perhaps he was simply travel-creased.
As they walked through her hallway, she made a mental note to have a good sort-out. Her bungalow was small and, with Dylan Scott inside, it seemed to shrink still further. It was certainly too small for the amount of clutter she’d accumulated over the years. There were a few items she couldn’t bear to part with but, mostly, it was dust-attracting clutter. China owls gazed wisely from various shelves. Alice liked owls, of course, but this was getting out of hand. It had all started twenty years ago when Sean had bought her a porcelain owl. It had been a beautiful piece and, naturally, she’d given it pride of place. Since then though, every birthday and Christmas had found her unwrapping something else with an owl theme and she had to keep the items on show so as not to offend the giver. The truth was, she’d gone right off owls.
“Ooh, look at that!” screeched a voice from the sitting room.
“That’s Snowy,” she explained, embarrassed. “My parrot.”
Snowy only had two phrases and Alice very much hoped he’d keep his other one to himself.
She took Dylan straight to the kitchen, where he put the curtains on the table.
“Thank you.” She’d move them later. “Now then, let me put the kettle on. Milk and sugar?”
“Two, please. Thank you.”
She knew he’d had beer at Rob’s house and, given the unbearable heat, he’d probably like another, but she had none to offer him. She didn’t drink, never had, and since Sean had died, there was rarely any alcohol in the house. Perhaps Dylan was happy with tea though, as he was driving.
While it was brewing, she opened a tin and put an assortment of biscuits on a plate. Then she opened another tin and added four larges slices of cherry cake to the selection.
She poured the tea into bone china mugs that were decorated with owls. A present from her nieces.
“Let me.” He took the tray from her and carried it into the sitting room. He was certainly a gentleman.
“I’ll open the window,” she said. “I hate this sort of weather. It’s so—stuffy. You can’t get your breath, can you? Well, perhaps you can, being younger an’ all, but I can’t. We need a good thunderstorm, if you ask me.”
“It looks like we’ll get one soon.”
“Ooh, look at that!”
“Snowy, quiet!”
“Ooh, look at that!”
Dylan Scott wandered to the cage and peered in at Snowy. “Hello, Snowy, you’re a handsome chap.”
“Ooh, look at that!”
“Does he say anything else?” Dylan asked.
“Not really.” She hoped he wouldn’t anyway. “Now, you help yourself, love. If I’d known you were coming I would have baked. As it is, I’m afraid I only have cherry cake.”
“That’s more than generous. Thank you.”
Another of Snowy’s habits was pecking strangers’ fingers so she was relieved when Dylan sat down and helped himself to a slice of her cherry cake.
Baking was a passion but it never seemed worth it for one. When her sister or her nieces visited she did a lot as she liked to give them cakes, biscuits or pies to take home.
“Can I ask you, Alice, if you told anyone that I was coming to Dawson’s Clough to investigate Sam’s disappearance?”
The question surprised her. “Not a soul. Rob said I shouldn’t.”
“It’s best,” he said. “It helps me no end. Now then, about Samantha. How well do you know her?”
“Very well.” Of course she did. “I’ve been cleaning for Rob for the last eight years, you see. He’s an architect—not that he does much work of any description these days. I suppose if you have enough money to get by, you don’t need to work, do you?”
“I certainly wouldn’t.” He took another bite of cake. “It’s a big house. It must take some cleaning.”
“Not really. It’s big, yes. Six bedrooms, three bathrooms, two cloakrooms. Most of it’s not used though. And Rob’s a tidy person.”
“Are they close, Sam and her father?”
“Oh, yes. Very.” She couldn’t help smiling at her memories. “He’s pretty hopeless round the house. Can’t change a plug or anything like that. It was always left to Sam.”
It was Sam who’d helped Alice get to grips with her new television and DVD recorder. The man in the shop had convinced Alice to buy it. He’d installed it for her, and given her a quick run through the controls, but it had been Sam who Alice had phoned when she couldn’t set it to record Coronation Street.
“He’s really gone downhill since she went missing,” she said. “And he’s got a bad cough now. I keep telling him he should see a doctor, but he won’t hear of it.”
“Do you know her boyfriend?” he asked.
“Jack, you mean?”
“How many did she have?”
He was teasing her, but she couldn’t help wondering if he could read her mind.
“Just the one. Jack’s fine. I know people say he’s a bit wild, but I’ve never known him cause trouble. I suppose you’d say he’s high-spirited.”
“Did they have plans to live together or anything like that?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think so.” Alice had
never thought about it. “Well, maybe one day. I don’t know.”
“What would Rob have thought of that, do you think?”
He wouldn’t have liked it. Few fathers liked seeing their little girls lavishing affection on another man.
“Sam always got her own way. Rob would have missed her company, of course, but I don’t think he would have stood in her way.” Alice felt disloyal. She couldn’t say anything bad about Rob. He’d been good to her over the years. In any case, there was nothing bad to say. It just felt as if she were talking behind his back, like a sneak in the night.
“So Rob got on well with the boyfriend, did he?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
“I gather the police found a scarf that they believe belonged to Sam?” he said.
“Well, yes. I recognised it immediately.” Again, she felt disloyal. “At least, I thought so at the time. As Rob said, it could have been anyone’s. The police couldn’t prove it was hers. They thought they might be able to, but it had rained overnight by the time they found it and people had trampled it into the mud. Who knows?”
“I see. So what’s your theory, Alice?” Dylan Scott helped himself to another slice of cake.
“I don’t really have one. Well, all sorts of things go through your mind, don’t they, but you never know what might have happened.” Nothing she ever thought of was good though. No wonder poor Rob was in such a state. She picked up her cup and drank her tea. “There are so many evil people about these days.”
She would give anything to know. Sometimes, when she was dusting at Rob’s, she would imagine Sam breezing into the house, throwing her bag down on the table, tugging off those big boots she wore.
“I wouldn’t say as much to Rob, of course, but I worry that someone might have mugged her. She wouldn’t have had much money on her, but these young thugs don’t seem to bother about that, do they? They’ll do anything for a couple of pounds. And then, just before she vanished, a young girl went missing. They found her, thank God. She’d met up with someone bad, someone she’d met through her computer. Not that Sam was silly like that.” Her bottom lip began to tremble and she had to reach into her pocket for a tissue. Just thinking about it upset her. “I hope I’m wrong, but I can only think that something very bad happened to her. People don’t just vanish, do they, Mr. Scott?”
“Dylan. And no, I’m afraid they don’t, Alice.”
“All I know,” she said, trying to pull herself together, “is that she left home and began walking toward her mum’s house. According to her mum, she’d promised to call and take the children to school. She never turned up.”
Alice wanted to show him the mug. She never used it but—She went to the kitchen, took it from the top shelf and carried it into the sitting room to show him.
“Sam bought me this.” On the mug, the words A Balanced Diet is a Piece of Cake in Each Hand were printed in red. “We used to joke, you see. She had such a good appetite and she loved my cakes. It was just a joke, a reminder that I should bake a cake for her. I was right touched when she gave it me.”
She felt the sting of tears in her eyes again and had to blink them back. More than anything, she hoped Rob was right and that Sam was alive and well.
“Ooh, look at that!”
“Snowy, shush.” If he wasn’t quiet, she’d cover him with his blanket. That usually sorted him out.
“Do you know Sam’s mother?” Dylan asked, seemingly unperturbed by the bird’s interruptions.
“Not really. I met her twice when she called at Rob’s house, but we only said hello. I’d be hard pushed to recognise her if we met in the street.” Alice had a sudden vision of a tall, elegant woman. “She’s in charge of a nursery,” she said. “For preschool children, you know?”
He nodded. “In Dawson’s Clough?”
“Yes. It’s called Tiny Tots. She’s got two daughters of her own. Apart from Sam, I mean. They’re too old for the nursery, of course.”
“And Sam had a good relationship with her mother?”
“I think so.” That sounded evasive. “Yes, she did. They sparked a bit sometimes, but all mothers and daughters do, don’t they? Sam adored her half sisters, I know that. Absolutely loved those girls. I suppose you wouldn’t say she was close to her mum. It was difficult, you see. Sam loved her dad and it was hard for her to see her mum with someone else.”
“What about her stepfather? Did Sam like him?”
“Well…” All these probing questions. It didn’t seem right discussing such personal matters behind people’s backs. Yet if it would help him find Sam—“She used to call him Slob. Once, I gather he called her a snob and she told him she’d rather be a snob than a slob. After that, she always called him Slob. I don’t suppose she said it to his face, but that’s how she referred to him.”
Alice was growing more and more uncomfortable. Rob had employed her because she was reliable and didn’t tittle-tattle. Whatever would he think if he could hear her now?
“There’s nothing I can tell you really,” she said. “All I know is that Sam set off for work one day and vanished. I wish I could help, but I can’t. The police asked me all sorts of questions and I couldn’t help them either.”
She was expecting him to take the hint and leave. He’d polished off the cake, drunk his tea and asked her questions. There was no reason for him to stay. He looked settled for the night though.
“Apart from Jack,” he said, “was there anyone else? A girl of twenty-two, a pretty girl of twenty-two, might have other boyfriends.”
“No. Not that I know of.” She could feel her face burning at the lie. She’d been a hopeless liar sixty years ago and she hadn’t grasped the art as an adult. “Really, there’s nothing else I can tell you.”
Still he didn’t move.
“Some people, Alice, don’t like talking,” he said. “They think of it as gossiping, as something they shouldn’t do. In some cases, though, people have to gossip. Anything you know, no matter how insignificant you think it, might be the very thing that helps us find Samantha.”
Porcelain owls looked on in silence as Alice debated with herself. Owls were wise, or so they said.
“Ooh, look at that!”
She wished her parrot would take a leaf out of those owls’ books.
“Anything at all,” he said.
“I saw her with someone.” She heard the wobble in her voice. “One night—it was the night before she disappeared—I was coming out of the bingo hall with two of my friends, Jane and Bridget. We’d crossed the road to Jane’s car and, for some reason, I glanced inside a parked car. I saw a flash of red hair.”
“Sam?”
“Yes. It was dark but the car was parked beneath a streetlight. Sam was kissing the man sitting in the driver’s seat.”
Alice could still remember the sense of shock when she’d realised it was Sam. Their gazes had collided head-on.
“I didn’t get a good look at him, but I saw enough to know it wasn’t Jack. This man was late thirties or even early forties. He was wearing a tie with big spots on.” It was funny the things you noticed. “I hurried on my way. Well, I didn’t know what to think. I was shocked and confused. And yes, I disapproved.”
“Did Sam know you’d seen her?” Dylan asked.
“Oh yes. She caught up with me and tugged on my arm. ‘Oh, Alice. You won’t tell, will you?’ she said. Well, of course, I wouldn’t have mentioned it. She told me she knew I wouldn’t approve because he was married. She said nothing would come of it. Anyway, she made me promise not to tell.”
“And you’ve never told anyone?”
“Not a soul. Until now.” She felt thoroughly ashamed of herself.
Sam had thrown her arms tight around her and hugged her. “You’re the best, Alice. I do love you,” she’d said. Alice hadn’t seen her again.
“Not even the police?” Dylan asked.
“No. For one thing, I’d promised. For another, there didn’t seem much point. I couldn’t have
told them who it was.”
“What sort of car was it?”
“I’ve no idea.” She didn’t drive and didn’t know one car from another. “It was low. One of those sports cars. Dark blue or black, it was a job to tell. It had a badge on the back and that struck me as funny. It was two red squiggles that looked like a funny letter S. I wondered if he’d done it for Sam. You know, S for Sam.”
Alice was beginning to wish she’d never seen Dylan Scott. She didn’t like to gossip out of turn, no matter what the circumstances. She wished she’d kept quiet.
“Would you recognise the man if you saw him again?” he asked.
“No. I was too shocked to get a good look at him. Besides, it was dark. Look, you won’t mention this to Rob, will you?”
“No, of course not. I won’t tell a living soul, promise. You’ve been very helpful, Alice. Thank you.” He stood up and Alice was relieved. “Thank you for the tea, and the cake too. It’s much appreciated.”
“You’re welcome.” Alice couldn’t get rid of him quickly enough.
“Bugger it!” Snowy cried from his cage. “Bugger it, bugger it, bugger it!”
“Snowy!” Alice didn’t know where to look. “I am sorry. Sometimes, Sean, that’s my late husband, used to say that. I am sorry.”
“At least he’s expanding his vocabulary, Alice.” Dylan Scott was smiling.
“Well, yes, but I do wish he wouldn’t.”
“Bugger it!”
“Snowy! Stop that at once!”
When they’d said their goodbyes, Alice watched Dylan Scott drive off in that yellow car of his and made herself another cup of tea. She sat at her kitchen table, surrounded by her mute owls, and worried about it all.
She picked up the local newspaper. On the back page was a request for blankets and good quality clothing as well as general bric-a-brac that could be sold to raise funds for a charity that helped two orphanages in Romania. Alice had more bric-a-brac than she knew what to do with. She had blankets in the loft that hadn’t been used and probably clothes she wouldn’t wear again.
Dead Silent (A Dylan Scott Mystery) Page 4
