by Rebecca Tope
Moxon collected his thoughts. ‘But it does matter that he was scheduled to address that meeting last night, and that a nice woman called Dorothea Entwhistle died a few days before Mr Childers, having been known to grow a number of toxic plants in her glasshouse. Those are facts that appear to have a considerable relevance to our investigation.’
‘You think Grant Childers murdered Dorothea Entwhistle?’ Bonnie stared at him excitedly.
‘No, of course not. I never said anything like that. She wasn’t murdered. But those glasshouses were unguarded for much of last week, while she was ill in hospital, and apart from you, it seems that almost everyone knew about them. An enterprising poisoner might well seize the chance to collect seeds or leaves or whatever and concoct his lethal cordial at home, with nobody any the wiser, and no direct link for us to follow.’
‘I thought it was Tanya who was having the wild theories,’ said Bonnie, with a smirk. ‘Yours assumes an awful lot of detailed preparation – and then how did the poisoner persuade Mr Childers to drink it?’
‘It does sound sort of possible, though,’ said Simmy. ‘In a mad kind of way. I take it nobody else around the area has reported any of the same symptoms – which would mean that Mr Childers was very cleverly targeted. It’s sickening, though, that Candy Proctor palmed him off on my unsuspecting mother. Whoever turns out to have killed him, Candy’s the one I really blame for the whole business.’
At which point, two people came into the shop. One was young Tanya Harkness, and the other was an unfamiliar woman who simply wanted to buy some lilies for a weekend dinner party.
Simmy dealt with the customer, while Moxon and Bonnie gathered round Tanya, talking to her in hushed voices at the back of the shop. Tanya appeared to be only mildly cowed by the policeman, defending herself with some very straight looks. The lilies were quickly provided, and Simmy smilingly sent the customer on her way. ‘What did I miss?’ she asked the others.
‘No harm done,’ said Moxon, in a rather false tone. ‘But I hope we’re agreed that there is no further question of asking people about the lake cruise boat. That is not something a very young amateur detective is authorised to do. All right?’
Tanya and Bonnie both nodded compliantly. ‘What, then?’ Tanya went on to ask. ‘Are you ever going to catch who did it?’
Simmy closed her eyes for a moment, suddenly tired of it all. ‘I’m still wishing we could believe it was suicide all along. Why couldn’t he have just picked a few berries in the hedge somewhere and turned them into a herbal tea or something – deadly nightshade berries are out at the moment, aren’t they?’
‘They are not, actually,’ said Moxon heavily. ‘It’s at least two months too late.’
‘Oh. I suppose I should know that. What about datura? Does it have berries?’
‘Seedpods,’ he said tightly. ‘And you’re clutching at straws if you still think it could have been self-inflicted. We’ve been over this already.’
She watched his expression and had no choice but to concede his point. ‘You’re going to tell me there’s nothing else that grows wild in Cumbria that would have the same consequences. So whatever it was is almost certain to have been grown deliberately in a greenhouse.’
‘Exactly.’
The two girls exchanged a look, before Bonnie said, ‘Ben’s coming home. He’ll be here all day Sunday. It’s going to be very hard to keep all this from him. He’s going to want all the details.’
Tanya drew in a sharp breath. ‘Mum’s going to kill us if we tell Ben about this.’
‘She won’t kill me,’ said Bonnie. ‘And it’s me he’ll be furious with if he hears about it afterwards. I’m not sure I can risk it.’
‘You make it sound like a threat,’ Moxon said. ‘A threat to me, I mean. Do you think I’m fearful of your boyfriend’s interference?’
‘He’s only going to be here for one day,’ Simmy reminded them. ‘He’s hardly going to solve it in a few hours, is he? If you ask me, it’s never going to be solved. Somebody’s going to get away with murder.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ said Moxon tightly.
‘Somebody will say something, or the killer will give themselves away,’ said Bonnie. ‘Ben says that’s what usually happens. Especially if the person thinks he’s been amazingly clever. He just has to boast to somebody about it.’
‘Or she,’ said Simmy.
‘Or she,’ echoed Moxon with a nod. ‘Poisoning was always seen as a woman’s favoured method for killing.’
‘Okay,’ said Bonnie. ‘Maybe it was a woman. Women are cleverer, after all. And maybe it was two people doing it together – a man and a woman. And you know who was best placed to follow Grant Childers’ movements, because she already knew why he was here and what he was likely to be doing?’
She paused for effect and Tanya leant forward impatiently. ‘Who?’ she demanded.
‘That Miss Proctor. The one who usually had him to stay. She knew why he was here and what his movements would be.’
Tanya blinked at her. ‘How do you know that?’
‘She said so when she came in on Tuesday. You’d think she was his mother, the way she was talking.’
‘She turned up at Beck View yesterday,’ said Simmy. ‘I forgot to tell you.’
‘She seems to be everywhere,’ said Bonnie. ‘That’s suspicious in itself.’
Simmy was dubious. ‘She’s really quite upset about it. I think she liked the man and was very sorry he hadn’t been staying with her as usual. I can’t believe she was pretending. But she’s got herself all entangled with this business in Patterdale, for some reason. I suppose it connects,’ she finished vaguely.
‘Of course it connects,’ said Bonnie. ‘If you ask me, it’s the key to the whole thing.’
Moxon cleared his throat. ‘Just because it appears that the meeting was the main reason for Mr Childers being here does not automatically imply that he was killed by somebody involved in the protest.’ He spoke deliberately, as if giving dictation. ‘I want you all to bear that in mind.’
‘Yes, but …’ Bonnie began, ‘surely it’s very likely that somebody wanted to stop him from speaking, because they were scared of what he might say?’
‘Or could it be that his substitute was so keen to be heard that he bumped Childers off, so he could get a go?’ It was Tanya, still excited, her eyes sparkling. ‘Who took his place?’
‘Some inarticulate nature conservancy person,’ said Simmy. ‘He didn’t seem to be saying anything very important.’
‘Enough,’ barked Moxon. ‘Why do I stand here letting you indulge in all this fanciful speculation? What sort of a detective am I, anyway? When I’m with you lot I seem to forget who I’m supposed to be. It’s a disgrace.’
‘You always say that, and you always end up glad that we helped you,’ Bonnie reminded him. ‘Anyway, it’s Simmy’s fault. She treats you like a normal human being, so you start to act like one. Disgusting behaviour when you’re meant to be a robot.’
Ruefully, the man smiled. ‘Well, you might have a point about the speech. It’s really quite strongly worded against any new building in the Patterdale area. He must have done quite a bit of homework. The surprise is – now I think about it – that they didn’t ask his replacement to simply read it, instead of producing his own material.’
‘They probably would have done if they could have got hold of it. But they’d hardly be able to access his laptop, would they?’ said Tanya.
‘But what if he showed it to them first?’ said Simmy. ‘That would alert them, and make it even more likely that he was killed to stop him making the speech by somebody who wanted the development to go ahead.’
‘A spy in their midst!’ said Tanya, her eyes shining.
Moxon sighed and glanced at his watch; he then headed immediately for the door saying, ‘I’ve been here much longer than I meant to be. I don’t know where any of that has got us, but I apologise for any unwarranted accusations I might have made.’ He was addressi
ng Simmy. ‘There has to be something we’ve all been missing, and I still think it has to do with plants. And you, Mrs B, are the go-to person in that department.’
‘Thanks,’ sighed Simmy. ‘I’d better do a bit of homework, then.’
‘Any help would be appreciated. I’ve got a very frustrated young sergeant tied to a computer, trying to find out every plant in the same family and how exactly to concoct a lethal infusion from them.’
The three females watched him go, each one with a smile on her face.
It was close to four o’clock, and Tanya was sent home with a reminder that she would be assisting Bonnie in the shop next morning, while Simmy took time off with her fiancé to give herself some breathing space. When she was gone, Bonnie and Simmy checked orders, tidied up and planned the next few days. ‘I’ve got to go over to that hotel to do the wedding flowers in a minute. I’ll be there until six. Can you close up, and then be here for opening tomorrow? You’re okay about these Saturdays, are you? It’s not too much for you?’
‘Stop saying that. It’s fine. I’ve been here a year or more now, after all. I might not know the names of all the flowers, but I can do everything I need to. If people want a weekend delivery, I just have to say that’s not something we can provide, except for the big days like Mother’s Day. Tanya’s very handy, you know. She’s better than me at the money. Why am I saying all this? You know it as well as I do.’
‘I suppose I do. The thing is, I still don’t know what I’m going to do next year. I’ll need to be off for at least three months, right at the busiest time. Tanya’s going to be doing her GCSEs, so she can’t come much. I’ll have to employ somebody else, on a short-term contract.’
‘You probably will, but it’s ages away yet. Let’s get Christmas over with first, and then you can make that sort of decision. You don’t even know where you’ll be living by then. If you’re still in Troutbeck, you might find you can come down for odd days, with the baby – or leave it with your mother.’
‘I won’t still be in Troutbeck.’ The flat statement, made with such certainty, gave her a pang. She liked her cottage, in a village that mostly escaped the worst of the tourist invasions, despite the very big holiday park. Or perhaps, she thought suddenly, because of it. People were self-contained down there in their lodges, with space to park their cars, and paths winding up into the fells with no need to come into the village centre at all. Perhaps the same would be true in Patterdale, if the proposed chalets were actually built. The visitors would be neatly corralled out of sight, and the handful of ordinary residents could pretend they didn’t exist.
Bonnie said nothing. A moment later her phone jingled and she drifted to the front of the shop to talk to a caller that could only be Ben. Simmy caught odd words, but did her best not to listen as she went in and out of the room at the back. Loading the van with flowers for the next day’s wedding took ten minutes, and for the next hour and a quarter she worked with practised efficiency to decorate the room. It was all finished on schedule, and by the time she had taken the van back and walked to Beck View for a quick check on her parents it was half past six.
The Straws were unnaturally idle when she let herself in and found them in the kitchen. ‘What – no last-minute guests?’ she said.
‘Nary a one,’ said Russell.
‘Mixed blessing, then,’ said Simmy. ‘You get a rest, but lose out financially.’
‘We’re not very good at resting,’ said Angie. ‘And there’ll be food going to waste. Eggs, for a start. I bought four dozen a few days ago. We’ll be living on omelettes all next week.’
Simmy told them about Moxon’s reproachful visit and how he didn’t seem to have much idea about solving the murder. ‘He thinks I should know more than he does about poisonous plants,’ she concluded.
‘And don’t you?’ asked Russell.
‘Not really. I don’t know any that have attractive flowers, and that’s what I do. Flowers. Not seeds or berries, which are the poisonous bits.’
‘Doesn’t datura have nice flowers?’ Angie said. ‘White trumpety things. I’ve seen them somewhere. I thought the police had already decided they were the most likely poison? Wasn’t that what Moxon said on Wednesday?’
‘He seems to be less sure about it now. Bonnie was looking them up on her phone, days ago. She says they’re called devil’s trumpets, colloquially. But I think I’ve heard people talk about angel’s trumpets. it’s all in a muddle in my head. Every day somebody tells me something different.’
‘That’s because you’re not concentrating,’ said Angie. ‘I’m the same. I feel as if my head’s full of fog.’
‘I shouldn’t be so vague about flowers, though. Let me think.’ Simmy searched her memory. ‘The flowers aren’t just white, I think. I can’t remember ever seeing any in real life. Just pictures.’ But something deep down stirred slightly. Where had she just seen unfamiliar white trumpety flowers?
‘You realise we’re sunk if we don’t get some business soon?’ Angie went on impatiently. ‘The mortgage isn’t going to pay itself.’
‘Surely you’ve got some bookings in the diary?’
‘Two next weekend, assuming they don’t cancel as well. A scattering through November. People don’t bother to book far ahead in the winter. They assume there’ll always be vacancies.’
‘We’re tainted,’ said Russell heavily. ‘Word’s got out, and we’ve been named and shamed. It’s the kiss of death to have the word “poison” attached to anywhere that provides food. Stands to reason.’
‘Shut up,’ his wife told him.
‘I’m right, though,’ he insisted. ‘And we’re scuppered for any other career. Child-minding, pastry-making. I suppose we could turn ourselves into a brothel. One that doesn’t provide refreshments.’
Simmy laughed, but Angie didn’t even manage a smile.
Russell tried again. ‘The mortgage can look after itself. There’s a considerable equity in this property by now. There’ll be a scheme where we tell the bank they can have it when we die, on condition we can live here till then.’
Again, something stirred in the depths of Simmy’s mind. Possible arrangements, combined ownership, pooled assets – but they all involved the four of them living under one roof. Christopher had known the Straws all his life, but that didn’t mean he would be happy to live with them. She had never dared to suggest it seriously, despite his occasional mentions of the existence of the big handsome Windermere house, which had to be worth a considerable sum. She wasn’t even sure she could live with her mother full-time. Angie could be hard work, with her opinions and criticisms and sudden tempers.
‘Are you eating here?’ Angie asked Simmy. ‘We’ve got plenty of sausages and bacon as well as eggs.’
‘No thanks. I thought you’d have had supper by now. I’m meeting Christopher in Patterdale this evening. I’m going to be late, so I’m only here for a bit. His estate agent friend’s got a new house to show us.’
‘You don’t look very excited about it,’ observed Russell.
‘I am, sort of. When we went there on Wednesday, I really fell in love with the place, like the first time I ever saw it. We went over a bridge to a tiny little place called Crookabeck. It’s not on the way to anywhere. It would be so quiet and peaceful and safe there.’
‘Perfect for a child, you mean,’ said Angie, with an astute look. ‘So is this house there – in Crookabeck?’
‘No. It’s further up, in Glenridding, I think. On the main road.’
Russell was scratching his head. ‘Are you sure you’ve got it right? I’ve never heard of Crookabeck. I mean to say – I wouldn’t forget a name like that, would I?’
‘Hey, Dad! You’re telling me there’s somewhere in Cumbria you haven’t heard of? That’s terrible.’
‘It is,’ he said. ‘I’m a failure.’
‘It’s probably just the name of the farm there, and when they converted all its barns and cottages, it turned into a little hamlet. It’s completely
gorgeous, even at this time of year. A river, and sheep, and birds, and—’
‘There’ll be walkers,’ Russell said. ‘There are always walkers.’
‘That’s no problem.’
‘Horses and bikes, probably, as well,’ said Angie. ‘And dogs.’
‘But none of those make noise or run you over. Except maybe the bikes. There’s a path to Hartsop, which I want to explore as well.’
‘I have heard of Hartsop,’ said Russell, with an air of relief.
‘Anyway, I need to get going in a minute. I’m sorry about all the cancellations. Can you use the time somehow? Go for a jaunt somewhere? You talk about all these little places you know, but I don’t think you’ve been to any of them for years. Have you? When were you last in Hawkshead? Or even Coniston?’
‘One gets out of the habit,’ Russell admitted. ‘And – do you know, I’ve never once been on that Lady of the Lake boat, or whatever they call it. I fancy a little cruise up and down Windermere.’
Simmy gave him a searching look. Someone had surely mentioned to him the fact that Grant Childers had apparently taken just such a cruise the day he died. Was her father turning amateur detective as well? In the early days, when Simmy had been involved with a killing in Ambleside, he had taken a lot of interest, but since then he had stepped back, increasingly alarmed by the dangers. ‘Why would you do that?’ she asked.
‘Because it’s there,’ he said, with a disingenuous twinkle.
She met Christopher and Robin in the car park of the large white Patterdale Hotel, nearly half an hour late. She had phoned to warn them, giving them a chance to go to the bar for a drink while they waited. ‘It takes ages to get here from Windermere,’ she complained. ‘I already hate the Kirkstone Pass. And it’s going to be dark soon.’
‘This is Robin,’ said her fiancé. ‘I don’t think you two have met.’
Robin was about thirty, his hair dark and slightly greasy. He wore a suit that even Simmy realised was cheap, over a thin nylon shirt. Was property such a poor business these days, then, she wondered. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’
