by Rebecca Tope
‘I was brave,’ said Bonnie, to whom false modesty was very much like dishonesty. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’
‘I wish I was. Brave, I mean. I seem to be permanently scared of one thing or another. And now …’ Her blue eyes filled with tears. ‘Now I’ve really got reason to be.’
‘Oh?’ Bonnie came closer, with an intrigued expression. ‘Why?’
‘Because my husband’s been murdered, of course. And because I know who did it.’ The pretty chin lifted defiantly, and the words emerged clear and certain.
‘But why have you come here?’ asked Simmy, not thinking nearly as fast as she ought to. ‘We don’t know anything about it. It’s got nothing at all to do with us. You ought to be talking to the police.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Debbie Kennedy wilted, the tears still in evidence. ‘We have told the police what we think. It was Matthew’s idea that I should come and see you. He’s my brother. He knows Corinne vaguely, and has kept track of things that have happened over the last year or two. All those horrible crimes, and you two always seem to be helping the police and being brave. And that boy, of course.’ Again she looked round, as if expecting Ben to emerge from behind the potted bay tree near the door.
‘Everybody knows Corinne,’ said Bonnie. ‘It’s a curse. And the boy is my boyfriend.’
‘Yes, I know. So – Matthew thinks you, between you, might help. The thing is, my mother’s got a powerful ally in the shape of Gillian Townsend. You met her as well, I assume. They’re both solicitors, with an office in Kendal.’
‘Hang on,’ said Bonnie. ‘You’ve missed a step somewhere. How do you know that Simmy went to Staveley on Friday?’
‘Mrs Percival told me. We call her Auntie Barbara. She’s Gillian Townsend’s mother. She came to see me when she heard about Declan. She’s always been ever so kind to me and Matthew. I think she wanted to compensate us for … well, for the way we’ve always been so let down. She’s a really nice lady.’
Simmy was trying to imagine how the conversation must have gone. ‘But why did my name come up?’
‘Oh, she told me about the retirement party and flowers and how Declan dying meant it would have to be postponed. As if I care about that,’ she added venomously.
‘You and your mother don’t get along, then?’ said Simmy slowly and far from surely. ‘I think I’m starting to get the picture, even though it adds up to something very nasty. As far as I’m aware, the police suspect your mother of killing your husband, and that means she’s going to need help from Mrs Townsend. So, you think there’s something wrong with that? You think an ordinary country solicitor isn’t adequate to the task of defending Anita? Is that it?’
The younger woman’s face clenched with a furious frustration. ‘No, no, of course that’s not it, you idiot. I don’t care if nobody defends my mother at all. I know she did it. But she’ll get her defender, of course. Gillian is more than adequate for the job. If anybody can defend her, it’s Gillian.’
‘But …’ Simmy floundered, knowing more than she was able to admit to herself, cringing away from what was bound to come next.
‘But nothing.’ Debbie’s voice was suddenly much stronger. ‘My mother killed Declan and I won’t rest until I’ve found someone who’ll help me prove it.’
Chapter Nine
‘Well, don’t look at me.’ Simmy was horrified at the implication that she might commit herself to anything like the extent that was being suggested. ‘It’s your family’s trouble. It has absolutely nothing to do with me.’
‘That’s true, I know. And I was thinking more of Bonnie and her boyfriend. What’s his name? Tom, is it?’
‘Ben. Ben Harkness,’ said Bonnie. ‘But he won’t have time. He’s doing his A-levels and hasn’t a minute to spare.’
‘I still don’t understand what you think we could do. Even Ben doesn’t have any kind of qualifications for getting into legal matters.’ Simmy was increasingly resistant to the apparent suggestion that she, Ben and Bonnie become some sort of unofficial investigators.
‘I suppose we’re clutching at straws. We seem to be so isolated, you see. Everybody’s convinced that my mother would never do such a thing.’
‘But she’s your mother,’ Simmy burst out, not caring that she was stating the obvious. ‘How can you even think such a thing?’
‘It would take me quite a time to explain. And I can’t stay now. I’ve got my girls in the car. They’ll be getting impatient.’
‘Girls?’ said Bonnie. ‘How old are they?’
‘Eight and eleven. They’re shell-shocked, obviously. I’ve had to keep them off school and take them round with me. It’s a comfort to have their company. They’re very good on the whole.’ Her gaze became distant, as she visualised her daughters. ‘I’m lucky to have them,’ she concluded.
Yes you are, thought Simmy. You have no idea how lucky.
‘Do they think their granny killed their father?’ Bonnie demanded starkly.
‘You don’t believe me,’ said Debbie with a sigh. ‘See what I mean?’ she addressed Simmy. ‘See what I’m up against?’
‘I’m not sure I see anything very clearly. Nor do I think I want to. I’m a florist, not a private detective. I’m really very sorry about your husband, and I can’t say much more than that. It’s only been a few days, and you must still be very shocked. I only met your mother briefly, and she hardly said anything. Gillian was here this morning – I’m not quite sure why. All I know is that you’re all trying to drag me and my friends into a real mess that doesn’t concern any of us at all.’
‘Gillian was here?’ Debbie frowned. ‘She must be trying to get you onto her side. That would be typical. Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s the boy, Ben Harkness, we really want to talk to. Matthew’s seen his Facebook page, and thinks he’d have plenty to offer us.’
Simmy felt foolishly offended at the implication that she was essentially useless. Hadn’t that been exactly what she wanted to hear? And yet it rankled to be so belittled.
‘Your brother thinks his mother’s a murderer as well, then?’ Bonnie was clearly stuck on the idea of a homicidal mother-in-law.
‘Even more so than me. He knows what she’s like,’ she said darkly.
The next they knew two young women had come in wanting to buy flowers to take to a party. The conversation was broken up with no resolution. Simmy watched with a welter of mixed feelings as the unhappy woman departed. The hat alone made her look mentally disturbed. The story was still skeletally thin, with no background information or reasons for suspecting Anita Olsen of murder, other than Moxon’s mutterings about the financial affairs of the Kendal business. The demands being made on all sides were all the more unreasonable for the lack of any persuasive explanations. When the customers had gone, she looked at Bonnie. ‘What am I meant to do, then?’ she demanded, feeling a burgeoning exasperation. ‘It’s actually incredibly rude to come and accost me like that.’
‘Well …’ Bonnie began, with uncharacteristic hesitation. ‘I don’t think it really was you she wanted, was it?’
Simmy blinked. ‘Don’t you start as well. It’s one thing not to want to get dragged into all this, and quite another to be made to feel ignorant and useless.’
Bonnie gave her a very grown-up look. ‘That’s not what she said. Weren’t you listening? She said it was Ben and me she thought could help, I know, but she would have been quite happy to include you until you made such a thing about not wanting to be involved.’
‘Oh.’ Simmy thought about it. ‘Yes, but … no, but … no, she did want to tell me about it. At first she did. After all, I’ve met her mother and you haven’t. Ben doesn’t know any of them.’
Bonnie gave her a carefully considering look. ‘This is what Ben would call mixed messages,’ she said. ‘One minute you’re cross at being asked to help, and the next you’re cross because I said you don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to.’
‘What is it with you today?’ Simmy bur
st out. ‘I feel as if I’m being interrogated all the time. First you make me cry and now you make me feel I don’t know my own mind.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be annoying.’
‘Oh, it’s all right. It’s not you, really. You’re just forcing me to face things I’d rather not. I’m sure it’s good for me, in the long run. And I can see I’m being inconsistent about this Staveley thing.’
‘I’m guessing maybe you think Ben and I are too young to go investigating on our own. Except we won’t because he’s too busy. And I’m not doing anything without him. So, you don’t have to worry. Besides, that woman, whatever her name is, didn’t say anything definite, did she? Nothing at all. She wasn’t being rational. I don’t even know exactly how the husband died. Do you?’
‘He was knocked off his bike by a car – or some sort of vehicle – in a side road somewhere. That’s all I know. It might easily have been an accident, although Moxon said they were sure it wasn’t. He didn’t give any details, thank goodness. But it’s hardly the sort of thing you could plan in advance, is it? How would you know where he’d be at any given time? And how would you know you’d killed him? He could just have been injured, and then told the police who did it.’ She paused, trying to keep pace with her own logic. ‘So there’d be a strong incentive to make sure he was dead, I suppose,’ she concluded unhappily.
‘Right. I knew that much, actually. But there’s a lot more to find out. Like exactly where was it? Did he die instantly? What time of day? Who found him? How long had he been missing from home? Why hasn’t it been on the news? All that stuff that Ben always wants to know.’
‘Moxon told me some of it yesterday.’
‘Ah! I forgot he’d been to see you. That means he thinks you’re involved, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m involved in backing up Anita Olsen’s alibi for Friday, that’s all.’
Bonnie frowned. ‘But that’s quite silly, isn’t it – when you think about it? How many people were there, not counting you?’
‘Three. Anita, Gillian and Gillian’s mother.’
‘Hm. And there’d been something on the news about a man going missing in Staveley, hadn’t there? And then they found a body?’
‘Yes. And Anita was worrying that it might be Declan. But Moxon said that body was an old man, a vagrant or something in a shed, and not Declan at all.’
‘Isn’t that rather weird? Two dead men in Staveley on the same day? It’s not a very big place, after all.’
‘Weird but true,’ shrugged Simmy, thinking much stranger things had happened.
‘There was something in the news about a man being knocked off his bike,’ Bonnie remembered. ‘But they never said his name was Declan Kennedy.’
‘All this politics and economic chaos is drowning out practically all the other news, at the moment. There’ll probably be something in the paper this week. And why does that matter, anyway?’
‘It makes me think the police are hushing it up for some reason.’
‘They could be, if they’re not sure whether or not it was an accident. The whole thing feels terribly murky.’
Bonnie gave her another narrow look. ‘You’re hooked, aren’t you?’ she said, sounding more sympathetic than accusatory. ‘Anybody would be.’
‘I live and work here, just a few miles from Staveley. I’ve learnt by now that I can’t just cover my head and try to ignore this sort of thing, however much I might want to. It’ll come back to bite me, sooner or later.’
She wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but all her instincts, both personally and professionally, were to keep as many people happy as she could, however difficult that might sometimes be. But this time, it seemed she would have to take sides. ‘But I can’t please Gillian Townsend and Debbie Kennedy, can I?’ she wailed. ‘They’re on opposite sides.’
‘They are. And they both want us to help them. How did that happen?’ Bonnie went into a near-trance as she tried to think it through. ‘Well, I hate to say it again, but Debbie really wants Ben, not you. And Gillian’s already used you for an alibi, so she might leave you alone now. I suppose the next thing’ll be the brother, Matthew, coming in to nag at us. Have you met him?’
Simmy shook her head. ‘They all talk about him, though. He must live somewhere local.’
‘We don’t know anything about them, do we?’ Bonnie looked irritated. ‘Unless you got a whole lot from Moxon that you haven’t told me.’
‘Not really,’ said Simmy absently. ‘They’re very different, aren’t they?’
‘What are?’
‘These women. Anita’s tall and serious, probably clever. I rather liked her. Gillian’s so short and bouncy, like a little dog and I imagine everybody likes her. She’s the sort of person you trust instinctively. Her mother’s very old-fashioned, elegant and civilised. Her house is gorgeous. And now this Debbie, completely different again. She seems absolutely genuine, coming in that awful hat and being so intense. I don’t think she’d thought at all about what she was going to say, before she got here. She just had an idea that Ben might be able to help her somehow. If you met them at a Women’s Institute or in an evening class, you’d be happy to have any of them as your friend. And yet there must be something really dreadful going on between them, for them to accuse each other of murder.’
‘They’re not accusing each other,’ Bonnie corrected her. ‘It’s only Anita who’s being accused. By her own daughter,’ she added miserably.
‘Why does that get to you so much? It’s not as if your own mother is any great shakes.’
Bonnie snorted. ‘“Any great shakes”? Who says that? What does it even mean?’
‘My mother says it sometimes. You know what it means.’
‘Yeah. Well, my mother’s a special case.’ The girl lapsed into another reverie. ‘That’s the thing. I’ve got just about the worst mother anybody could wish for, and even she would never kill anybody. It seems such a mad idea. I need to see this Anita person for myself – and find out why she might have wanted her daughter’s husband dead. What did he do to her?’
‘She can’t possibly have killed him,’ said Simmy. ‘She’s a solicitor.’
This time, Bonnie hooted with laughter and Simmy heard her own words with a wry acknowledgement of her own naivety. ‘Well, they are supposed to be pillars of the community, above reproach and all that sort of thing.’
‘The Hay Poisoner was a solicitor,’ said Bonnie. ‘Although Ben says there’s a strong chance he didn’t really do it.’
Simmy let that pass. References to famous crimes were a regular part of Ben and Bonnie’s conversation, and she had almost never heard of the names they mentioned. She went back to Bonnie’s question. ‘I don’t know what he did to her. Nobody’s said anything about that to me. She seemed worried about him on Friday, when he was missing and they found that old man’s body. You’re right, I suppose, that it’s rather peculiar to have two bodies at the same time.’
‘It’s a red herring,’ said Bonnie. ‘A distraction. Ben would want to know the name and the exact circumstances in both cases. The old man might have been deliberately placed for the police to find, to muddy the waters.’
‘I doubt it. And even if that’s right, it didn’t work for long, did it? They found Declan sometime on Friday evening, which must have been very soon after he died.’ She frowned. ‘I can’t remember what Moxon said about that.’
‘He should have told you more of the details. It’s not fair to drag you into it without more explanation.’
‘Yeah.’ Simmy heaved a sigh. She wanted to go home and shut the door behind her. There had been altogether too many tears that day, as well as unanswered questions and a strong feeling of impending disaster. ‘You know what?’ she realised. ‘We’re useless without Ben. He’d slice through all this messy stuff and get to the main point. We don’t even know what that is, do we?’
Bonnie pouted. ‘I know what he would say, mostly.’
‘Go on, then.’
<
br /> ‘Well … he’d want the basics. Where and when did Declan die? What evidence is there that it wasn’t an accident? Why is the Anita person everybody’s main suspect? Background. Chief players.’ She was groping her way, channelling her boyfriend’s assumed ideas. ‘Oh, this is silly. I’m going over to his and I’ll make him listen. He must be able to take an hour off his revision. Nobody’s that busy.’
‘You’ll be lucky. His mother won’t let you in.’
‘Yeah, she will. Now he’s eighteen, she lets him do what he likes. Besides, they’ve got some bother with Natalie, and that’s distracted them.’
‘One of the twins, right?’
Bonnie nodded. ‘She’s gone all teenage and bolshy. There’s a much older boyfriend hanging around and they can’t decide what to do about it. He’s got piercings all round his ears.’
‘You’ve seen him, have you?’
‘Once or twice. He seems harmless to me, but she’s only fourteen. I never took any notice of boys at that age,’ she said piously, as if fourteen was far in the remote past.
Simmy often tried in vain to imagine the daily lives of the Harkness family. Busy professional parents, five offspring, a big house and relaxed attitudes. Helen, the mother, was a sensible woman who Simmy much admired. Wilf, the oldest of the children, had left home and was away at university after considerable dithering as to his choice of career. Ben was followed by three sisters: Natalie, Tanya and Zoe, a trio of trouble, as he would sometimes characterise them.
‘Good luck, then,’ she said to Bonnie. ‘But just remember: if he fails any of his exams, they’re going to blame you.’
‘He won’t fail,’ said Bonnie, with complete conviction.
Simmy found her car, drove home, phoned Christopher and fed herself, all without giving a single thought to Staveley and its suspicious inhabitants. Instead, she focused on the business. Ordering all the necessary stock for later in the month, buying in new cards, thinking up fresh wares for the summer such as hanging baskets and variations on that theme. She even jotted some ideas on a pad as she ate her supper. The mental barrier she’d erected against unwelcome thoughts was holding up nicely until the phone rang and all the defences collapsed when she heard her mother saying, ‘He’s been rushed into hospital. Your father’s had a stroke, and they’ve taken him to Barrow.’
