It is also possible that Freda's run in with Dorothy could have had something to do with the sudden change of fortune for the Elm family. Libby's contact had also said something about 'rumours'. When a family goes from poverty to affluence overnight there is always a chance that people expect ill-gotten gains to be at the heart of it.
'Why did you say that Dorothy could be in danger?'
'I thought it would help to energise your search for her,' he says and smiles.
'Mm, I'm not sure how I feel about that, but what's done is done. At least I know the truth now. I do know the truth now, don't I, Hugh?'
He nods. 'I'm tired now, Janie. Do you mind if we end our conversation and perhaps you could visit again tomorrow?'
'Before I go, can you just tell me what the point of this search is? If you know that Dorothy took the brooch and you are certain she won't have it anymore, why track her down? '
'Retribution.'
'That's a strong word. What kind of retribution?'
'A punishment that fits the crime,' he says and closes his eyes, which is my cue to leave.
Having no knowledge of criminal law or police procedure is the reason I should take the advice of friends and family and stick with the day job. It appears that a crime has been committed, but there is little proof, barring a blurry photograph in a newspaper article, dated twenty-four years ago. What's more, there is a strong likelihood that the item in question has been sold and could be in anyone's hands now, in this country, or even abroad. If I visit DS Bright to ask his opinion I risk opening up lines of enquiry that could lead to more than one person getting into trouble, including me.
If I had a greater understanding of Hugh's motivation it would help. Perhaps it is enough for him to confront Dorothy, let her know that Winifred knew the culprit all along. Hugh's wife showed great generosity of spirit and love for her husband by taking the secret to her grave, or at least that must have been her plan.
Hugh has spoken of 'retribution', punishment for the crime. I'm wondering if it's all too late for that.
Chapter 22
At the denouement of several of Agatha Christie's books Poirot gathers all possible suspects together. He runs through the evidence in front of them and eventually reveals the culprit. Well, in this case, Hugh has told me who the culprit is. What I don't know yet is where she is. It's time to run through the possibilities with Libby and hope that between us we can find a solution.
We meet in Jefferson's and as soon as we have drinks in front of us I present her with the facts as I understand them.
'You've been busy,' she says, having listened attentively, nodding her head at regular intervals. 'So, let me get this straight. The real reason Hugh wants to find Dorothy is because she stole a valuable brooch from the woman who Hugh eventually married.'
'That's about the size of it.'
'But Hugh guesses that Dorothy would have sold the brooch by now and spent the proceeds. And that would fit with the various rumours that were kicking about and maybe the reason why Freda got herself slapped. Perhaps she had her suspicions and accused Dorothy to her face?'
'Yes, that's a definite possibility.'
'I still don't get why Hugh is bothered, after all these years.'
'Well, I suppose he feels he owes it to his wife. She protected his feelings for all that time.'
'Mm,' Libby says, using the straw to stir her milkshake, concentration on her face.
'I'm thinking that if there's any way we can get Hugh, Dorothy and Kenneth into a room together, we could force a confession from the Elms,' I say. 'It would also mean we would be on hand to make sure Hugh doesn't get distressed.'
'You're right there, I don't fancy seeing him carted off in an ambulance at this stage of the game.'
'It's not a game, Libby,' attempting a stern voice and failing miserably.
'Sorry, just a figure of speech. Anyway, this is all fanciful. Kenneth is hardly going to agree to it and he's the only one who can tell us where his sister lives.'
'All we can do is revert to my original idea. Stake out Kenneth, follow him and hopefully find this blessed woman. Then we can all relax and return to normality.'
'Is that a touch of impatience I hear in your voice, Mrs Amateur Sleuth? Didn't your dad warn you that being a detective is all about legwork? Look at it this way, you might finally get to use your camera,' she says, winking.
Libby's Mini has seen better days. The rust at the bottom of the doors means the heater has to work overtime to warm the freezing air that blasts in around our feet. Before heading off, I tell Greg our plan.
'You're going to do a stake-out? Crikey, questions like "How was your day today, darling?" will never be the same again,' he says, his face breaking into a grin. 'Seriously though, you will be...'
'Careful, yes. And Libby will be there to keep an eye on me.'
'I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.'
'Off you go and concentrate on Brighton winning. Really, we will be fine.'
Having checked the surgery times we know that Kenneth should emerge from the vets shortly after 2pm, but beyond that it's a case of wait and see.
'Does your car have fourth gear?' I say, hoping she'll get the point I'm trying to make.
'Very funny. I don't like driving fast. Anyway, there's no rush. All we're going to do is drive to the vets and sit outside for who knows how long. Did you bring any sweets?'
'Humbugs,' I say, grinning.
'Same to you,' she says, with her hands clenched around the steering wheel and her focus on the road ahead. Her meandering pace is at odds with her usual mile-a-minute demeanour. Seeing her behind the wheel it's as though she has taken on a new persona. No long is she Libby, the go-getter, the lively chick aiming to make her mark in the male-dominated world of journalism. Instead, this Libby is cautious, timid, as she negotiates her way past buses and vans, her hands gripping the wheel in a classic ten to two position.
'Do you mind me asking why you bought a car if you hate driving so much?'
'A reporter needs a car. I never know where I might need to be to catch the next big story.'
'Mm, we are talking Tamarisk Bay and Tidehaven remember, not a huge metropolis.'
Before she can respond, I spot a Morris Clubman, parked in front of the surgery. 'Look, I'm certain that's his car. Pull over here.'
Libby parks about fifty yards back from the surgery entrance, where we have a clear view of the front door to the vets.
'Humbug?' I say, offering her the bag of sweets.
'Perfect, thanks,' she says, taking one. She unwraps it and throws the wrapper on the floor by her feet.
'What are you doing? No wonder your desk is such a tip. Ever heard of the phrase 'litter lout'?'
'This is my own personal space. If I choose to pollute it, that is my choice,' she says, sucking on her sweet and looking pleased with herself.
'Your poor mum. I can just imagine what your bedroom is like.'
'Mum is delighted to have her only daughter back in the nest. Plus, she never enters the inner sanctum.'
'Afraid she'll catch something?'
'Cheeky,' she says, grinning.
A movement ahead catches my eye. I glance up to see Kenneth leaving the vets and getting into his car.
'Game on,' Libby says, starting the car and gradually easing forward as Kenneth pulls away.
'Good job we're not planning a car chase,' I say, as we slowly make our way down the hill from the surgery in the direction of the seafront. 'And good job most people are at home in front of the telly and not on the road.'
'Stop moaning, he's only three cars in front of us.'
We continue along the seafront in the direction of Tidehaven.
'If we've struck lucky first time, then I retract all my moaning,' I say.
'Don't count your chickens. Maybe he's heading into town to do a spot of shopping?'
As Libby stops speaking the Morris Clubman slows down, indicates left and pulls up in front of a new
spaper shop.
'Pull over, quickly, look he's getting out.'
We watch as Kenneth gets out of the car and goes into the shop. Moments later he emerges with a bag in his hand, gets back into his car and prepares to pull away.
'Do you want a bet?' Libby says. 'Are we on a wild goose chase, or not? Winner buys the next lot of milkshakes.'
Five minutes later we are following Kenneth up Ludlow Road, which runs inland from the seafront up towards the top of the town. The roads in this part of Tidehaven are steep and most of the houses are several storeys high, with deep stone steps leading up to them. Kenneth parks in front of a red brick, Victorian terraced house. The paintwork on the front door and windows is chipped and yellowed and there is nothing cheery about the drab plant pots that sit either side of the front door.
'Well, if this is Dorothy's place, then she is certainly no gardener,' Libby says. We are parked opposite the house, maybe at a slight risk of being seen by Kenneth, should he decide to turn in our direction. We watch in silence as Kenneth mounts the steps and knocks on the front door. I realise how apprehensive I must be when my hiccups suddenly decide to kick in.
'Ssh,' Libby says, while I try to control my breath.
'He's not going to hear my hiccups from the other side of the road, is he?' I whisper.
'Why are you whispering then?'
Seconds later the front door opens and a young man appears. He shakes Kenneth's hand and the two of them go inside, closing the door behind him.
'Oh, jeepers,' Libby says, 'milkshakes on you, I think.'
'Hang on a minute, I didn't take you up on the bet.'
'It's not a complete waste of an afternoon though.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, wasn't he the same dishy bloke who served us in Jefferson's the other day?'
'Do you think?'
'I never forget a potential heart-throb,' she says, winking at me. 'At least now I know where he lives, maybe I'll turn up one day, pretending I'm a door-to-door sales lady selling encyclopaedias.'
'I think you're forgetting the reason we're here. We're looking for Dorothy, remember?'
'Sorry, but you can't blame me for getting sidetracked.'
'It's okay, it would have been too much luck to find Dorothy on our first stake-out. Bean, you will have to manage with the budget quality pram, after all,' I say, rubbing my hand on my midriff. 'I think I'll give Hugh his money back and tell him we're off the case.'
We sit for a while in silence, apart from the sound of us munching humbugs.
'Home?' Libby says.
'Or maybe Jefferson's to drown our sorrows? Greg won't be back until 6pm at the earliest.'
As Libby prepares to drive away, the door to the property opens again and three people emerge; Kenneth, the young man who had answered the door, and an older woman. I duck down as much as I can inside the car and whisper to Libby, 'Turn away, pretend you haven't seen them.'
The three people get into the Morris Clubman and drive away.
'Crikey,' I say, momentarily lost for words. 'We've found her, Libby, finally we've found her.'
'Are you sure?'
'One hundred percent. I'm certain that was Dorothy Elm.'
Libby turns the engine off as I get my notebook and camera out of my duffel bag.
'You're not going to believe it, but I've missed my chance to get a photo, again,' I say, stuffing the camera back inside the bag. 'At least let me make some notes.'
I turn to the Where? section of my notebook and write: 73 Faversham Road. Then, under the Who? section I add: A man, in his twenties? Clean shaven, long dark hair, no glasses, tall, about six feet? Helps out in Jefferson's?
'Now what?' Libby says, watching me scribbling.
'No idea. Maybe a drink and a debrief?'
We drive back to Tamarisk Bay and park up near to Jefferson's.
'Watch out,' Richie says, as we order our milkshakes. 'This could become an addiction.'
'Better than a few other addictive substances I can think of though,' I say, rummaging around in my bag for my purse. 'Richie, have you got a minute?'
'Sure, good to have an excuse to sit down. How are you doing? How's that bump of yours?'
'Growing,' I say and smile.
'Busy day?' Libby says, raising her voice a little as Pinball Wizard blasts out from the jukebox.
'Busy enough,' Richie says, using a cloth to wipe over the table. 'Always good to see my favourite regulars though.'
'You usually have help on a Saturday, don't you?'
'Couldn't manage without some days.'
'The chap who helped out a couple of Saturdays ago, have you taken him on, or was that a one-off?'
'Ray? Yeah, he was in this morning. I can't always afford to pay him for the whole day, plus he said he had something on, some appointment or other, so he disappeared straight after lunch. Why?'
His gaze goes from me to Libby and then he nods his head, 'Ah, I get it, I can see where this is going now. I have no idea if he's already taken, we don't get around to talking about our love lives. But he'll probably be here next Saturday and don't worry, I won't say a word to him. Your secret is safe with me,' he says grinning.
The café door opens and a foursome come in.
'Sorry, that's my cue to leave,' Richie says.
'Okay, let's concentrate on serious matters,' I say, watching Libby's head swaying in time to the music.
'There's nothing more serious than potential boyfriend material.'
'Just humour me. Do you think we can persuade Hugh to come with us to Faversham Road?'
'I don't think he'll take much persuasion. Once he knows Dorothy's address I can see us being surplus to requirements.'
'How about we don't tell him? Let's think of an excuse to take him out for a drive, arrive at her house and keep everything crossed she's at home.'
'And that she'll let us in.'
'Ah, yes, that too.'
'And my ideal date?' Libby says, her face softening into a dreamy expression.
'He's probably an incidental visitor.'
'Well, he can incidentally visit me any time he likes,' Libby says, grinning.
Greg is euphoric when he bounces in just before 6pm. I've been home a while and preparations for tea are well underway.
'Three nil, three nil,' he chants, taking me in his arms and dancing me around the kitchen.
'Superb,' I say, hoping he won't want to share too much of the detail with me. 'Anything that makes you so happy gets a gold star from me. I'd only planned macaroni cheese, not much of a celebratory supper.'
'Macaroni cheese, my beautiful wife by my side, and a good night on the telly, what else can a man ask for?'
'A beer, maybe?'
'Excellent plan,' he says, going to the fridge. 'What happened with the stake-out? Did it pay off?'
'Er, yes,' I reply, busying myself with laying the table. 'We think we may have found Dorothy's house.'
'Only think?'
'Well, we're fairly certain.'
'So, what's your plan?'
'If we can, I want to try to get Hugh round there. He's the only one who will know for sure.'
'How about tomorrow?' he says, kicking off his boots.
'Well yes, that would be brilliant, why, what are you doing tomorrow?'
'Alex has offered to come round and take a look at the dripping bathroom tap. It's probably a washer or something, but we might have to turn the water off. I was going to suggest you go round your dad's. But maybe you can persuade your client to go on a nice Sunday drive?'
All I need to hope for now is that Libby is happy to give up her Sunday and that between us we can get Hugh and Dorothy together without the sky falling in.
Chapter 23
Rosetta Summer is not convinced that a cold December day is suitable for a 'nice Sunday drive'. It is possible Hugh has seen through my ruse, and if he has then he is hiding it well. Rosetta fusses around him, suggesting he wears his warmest overcoat, a thick scarf around
his neck and his Trilby perched on his head.
'We'll be in the car most of the time, and the heater is pretty efficient,' I say to reassure them both. It was an easy decision to make. We would have struggled to get Hugh's broad frame into the back seat of Libby's Mini, and Bean certainly prevents me from squeezing in anywhere. Libby was also happy to admit that the combination of a sub-zero draught blasting in through her car doors, and a frail chap with a serious chest complaint, could only spell disaster.
'Anyway, Greg doesn't need our car today,' I explained. 'Why do you think he loves our house so much?'
'Because the pub is four minutes' walk away?'
'Exactly.'
We bundle Hugh into the car and head down towards the seafront. One of the many wonderful things about living in a seaside resort is being able to enjoy it in the winter. On summer days we hide away, while the town is flooded with day-trippers from London. They queue outside the many fish and chip shops, lose their pennies and pounds playing the amusements on the Pier, and brave the shingle beach, regardless of the weather. But when winter arrives, the town belongs to the locals again. Today the whole length of the seafront is peopled with dog-walkers, elderly folk enjoying their Sunday afternoon constitutional, and families blowing away the cobwebs.
'You're taking me to see Dorothy, aren't you?' Hugh says, bringing my mind back to my companions. His question distracts me momentarily and I have to brake abruptly when a young boy steps off the pavement suddenly, just as my car is passing him. His father pulls him back, tugging at his arm, shouting at him. I don't hear the words, but the father's angry face and the boy's instant tears tell me all I need to know.
'Sorry everyone,' I say, as we gently move forward again.
'Should you be driving?' Hugh says, turning towards me. He is in the front passenger seat, with Libby sitting directly behind him.
'The boy took me by surprise,' I say, my face flushing.
'I'm not suggesting you are a bad driver,' Hugh continues, reading my mind. 'It's just, well, your baby...' He pauses, perhaps struggling for the most appropriate phrase.
'You're right, it won't be long before the space between Bean and the steering wheel will be non-existent.'
Lost Property: A shocking tale of wartime secrets and romance (A Janie Juke mystery Book 2) Page 15
