How to Seduce a Ghost

by Hope McIntyre

  And Angel and I were females.

  “Well, you’ll find mine in the kitchen, hanging up on a rack just inside the door.”

  “I’m sure we will,” he said. “Now you’ve given us a list of all the people who have been to the house recently. Mr. Kennedy, eh, Tommy. Miss O’Leary. Your parents and you’ve given us a list of the people who service the house—the plumber, electrician. So who else? What about your friends? People coming to the house for a meeting, that sort of thing?”

  “I can’t be expected to remember every single person who ever came to my house. I’ve given you the main people. I’m not a very gregarious animal, inspector. I’m a writer. I spend a lot of time on my own. But you can check my diary if you must. It’s in my office at the top of the house. No, it’s not, it’ll be in my bag, the one I left with the taxi driver.”

  “We’ve got that. Miss O’Leary mentioned a woman who looks after your garden. Said she turns up and starts planting things in the flowerbeds without warning. Does she go in the house at all?”

  “Felicity Wood. She’s a friend of my mother’s, runs a garden club somewhere near here. My mother doesn’t trust me to take care of the garden properly so she has Felicity pop over now and then and sort things out. No, she doesn’t come in the house, at least not unless we invite her in for a drink and that hasn’t happened for at least a year.” Of course there was one person I hadn’t mentioned but from the sound of things, Angel hadn’t said anything about him either. If she had surely Max Austin would have nudged me. Miss O’Leary mentioned a Buzz someone. Why had Angel kept quiet about him?

  Of course I would tell him about Buzz eventually. I had to. But I wasn’t going to say anything until I had spoken to him first. I couldn’t put him in such a compromising position without giving him some kind of warning.

  “What time was Miss O’Leary expecting you back last night?”

  “I have no idea if she was expecting me back at all. I don’t inform her of my comings and goings. We live separate lives.”

  “She said she was at a New Year’s Eve party and spent the night with a friend.”

  “Well then I expect she was.”

  “And you were on good terms with Miss O’Leary? No friction between you of any kind?”

  “None whatsoever that I’m aware of.”

  “What about her and Frederick Fox? Do you know why they broke up before Christmas?”

  “No, I don’t. Now you’ve got to tell me, why are you questioning me like this? I feel like a suspect but a suspect for what? What happened to Fred? Do you think someone started that fire deliberately?”

  “I can’t discuss any of that with you at the moment.” He sounded quite apologetic for a change. “I understand it must be frustrating for you and we’ll let you know as soon as we can.”

  “But why can’t I get back into my house?”

  He hesitated for a second as if trying to decide how much to tell me.

  “If the fire was started deliberately—and I’m only saying if at the moment—then whoever started it might have had access to the garden through the house. We need to forensicate your house.”

  “But how did they get into the house? There was no sign of forced entry. They would have needed a key.”

  “Yes,” he said, looking straight at me. “Who has a key to your house? Besides yourself, of course.”

  I was getting fed up with this. It always seemed to come back to me. And every time I supplied him with a bit of information it seemed to provoke more and more questions. Why did I have the distinct impression he was trying to trip me up?

  Another hour went by before he finally stood up and left the room followed by Sergeant Cross who had been sitting behind me for the whole interview. I was impressed at how such a large man could make himself so unobtrusive. He hadn’t said a word the whole time Max Austin had been talking.

  “Hey, what about me?” I called after them. “Can I go home now?”

  Sergeant Cross popped his head back around the door.

  “Not just yet, I’m afraid. Few more things to clear up. I’ll be coming back with PCW Mary Mehta. Family Liaison Officer.”

  “What’s that?” I wasn’t a family.

  “She’ll be the person you’ll be in touch with on a regular basis. Family Liaison Officers keep in close contact with the victims.”

  “You see me as a victim?” I was astonished.

  “Leave it out, Richie.” I heard Max Austin’s voice. “Don’t make her feel even worse than she has to.”

  Richie Cross came back with a tiny creature with flickering doe eyes, a small straight nose, and dainty chin. She had one of those red dots in the middle of her forehead. I always wanted to lick my finger and wipe them away. I wondered if she’d been born here like my school friend Ayeesha whose grandparents had insisted she have Hindi lessons so she could converse with the husband they’d found for her in Delhi.

  “Miss Bartholomew? What a nasty thing to happen. Sorry we have to keep you here like this. I hear you’ve been very cooperative. You must be exhausted. We’ll get you some refreshments. How about an early breakfast?”

  “They say I can’t go home. I need to call my boyfriend, see if I can go there.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. He’s been in touch. We’ve got your mobile and he phoned that. He’s expecting you. Richie, breakfast, now, tea, eggs, bacon, the works. Get a move on. What are you? Paralyzed?”

  Poor Sergeant Cross. Between Little Miss Dynamite here and Max Austin, I didn’t imagine he got much peace.

  She was good, Mary Mehta, I’ll give her that. She neatly evaded all my questions but she bombarded me with queries of her own, all of them sneaked in under the guise of chatty girl talk. How long had I known Tommy? Was it a nice place to live, Blenheim Crescent? Bit pricey, no? Oh, it was my parents’ house, was it? What did I do for a living? Oh really and whose book was I ghosting at the moment? Not that Selma Walker? The one in Fraternity? Not that she ever got much chance to watch it. How long had I lived in Blenheim Crescent? Did I know my neighbors? How long had I known Angel? Was she a good tenant? Did she have many boyfriends? Was Fred the jealous type? Did I think he’d come round to cause mischief? Well, they do sometimes, if they’ve been dumped, don’t they? With each question she proffered an opinion of her own so it looked as if she was just making conversation. Very clever—but she didn’t fool me for a second.

  And then Max Austin suddenly came in and muttered something to her.

  “I’d be grateful if you’d telephone PC Mehta every day, especially if you remember something you think might be of use to me. She’ll know where to get hold of me. We’ve got a car to take you to Mr. Kennedy’s. We’ll let you know when you can get back into your house in a day or two. Thank you for your help.”

  That was it. No promises to get in touch and keep me posted as to how the investigation was progressing. I’ve finished with you so now you can go off and play with PC Mehta like a good little girl.

  “Come on, give us a smile. You’re in the clear. He spoke to your parents, you’ve been alibi’d out. You can go now.” She took my arm and helped me get to my feet. I was so tired, I could barely stand.

  “But why did he need to get me here in the first place? He’s a murder detective, right? What was he doing at a fire?”

  “Well, I suppose I can tell you”—she looked at me doubtfully—“there was another fire in your area—”

  “Astrid McKenzie!” I pounced.

  Mary Mehta nodded. “That fire was started deliberately. They’re treating it as a murder investigation so when there’s another fire so close to her house, they think it’s too much of a coincidence. It might turn into a murder investigation. We’ll know as soon as we get the fire report but until it’s ruled otherwise, your house, your garden, your summerhouse, your potting shed, your alley—they’re all crime scenes and Inspector Austin is in charge.”

  “So why do you think Astrid was murdered? What’s the connection with Fred?”

 
; “Can’t give you an answer there, I’m afraid. Now, do you want to leave us or shall we have the pleasure of your company for a bit longer?”

  I followed Mary Mehta through the hubbub of the station and as we were going out the door to Ladbroke Grove I bumped straight into the last person I’d expected to see there.

  Cath was coming in and she was in a hurry, running so fast, she slammed right into me.

  “I’m really sorry,” she began, barely pausing to look at me and then she saw who it was. It took me a second to realize she was going to keep on moving, that she didn’t plan to stop and say hello. I grabbed her by the arm and wouldn’t let go.

  “Cath, it’s me, Lee. Cath, how are you? You know, I called and called and you never called back but it doesn’t matter. I always thought we’d run into each other. I’m amazed it’s taken this long. What are you doing here?”

  She looked at me and hesitated for a second. I was still holding her arm and I tried to draw her in and give her a big hug but she wriggled away and said sharply, “I’m sorry. I can’t stop. There’s someone I have to see in here. Some other time, okay? ’Bye.”

  Her dismissal of me was so abrupt I felt tears coming because when I’d seen her on the steps my first thought had been that she’d somehow heard what had happened to me, and had come to offer her support. She had looked beautiful, glowing almost. Pale white skin, long red hair falling down her back, wild and unkempt and the same old Oxfam raincoat with the belt tied around her waist in a knot instead of buckled. It would have been a perfect reunion—there was no one I would have been happier to see. But clearly I was the last person she was expecting to see.

  Mary Mehta had seen it all.

  “She seemed like she was in a hurry,” she remarked. “I expect she’ll have more time tonight if you give her a call.”

  “I don’t have her number,” I said and this was the truth. I’d tried to call her about six months ago only to find she was no longer living at the same address. “Do you know what she’s doing here?”

  “Couldn’t tell you. I’ve seen her around a couple of times. Red hair like that, you can’t miss it. Never really noticed who she’s come to see. Come on now, love. We’ve got to get you across London.”

  Angel was waiting for me in the back of the police car. She looked hideous. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying and her makeup had run, revealing badly pockmarked skin I’d never noticed before. She clung to me as soon as I got in the car and I looked down on a dark patch where her roots were growing out. She had black hair and blemished skin. What else was I going to discover about her that I hadn’t already known?

  “It was my fault,” she kept saying. “It was all my fault.”

  I told her no it wasn’t and she mustn’t think like that and she should get some rest.

  “Where are you going to go?” I asked her. “I mean right now. Of course once I’m allowed back into the house, you can have a room there till you find somewhere else to live.”

  “Can I really?” She looked so pathetically grateful, I felt embarrassed. It was the least I could do. “I’m going back to my mum’s. I wanted to go to Scott’s but she’s freaked out and says she wants me near her.”

  “Scott’s?”

  “Yeah, well he’s who came after Fred. You know?” She looked decidedly awkward.

  We delivered her into her mother’s arms and I promised to call her as soon as I knew we would be allowed back in the house. Then, on the long drive across London to Tommy’s, I sank down into the backseat of the police car and began to take stock.

  Had someone started the fire deliberately? And if so had they just wanted to burn down the summerhouse or had they known there would be someone in it? Because if it was the latter then the chances were that it was Angel they were after. Fred’s visit had to have been unexpected. No one could have counted on him being there. But why would anyone want to set fire to Angel?

  Tommy was sitting in a heap in front of the TV when I let myself in. He’d left his key in the door. The driver of the police car shook his head in wonder at such stupidity.

  “Happy New Year,” said Tommy. “We’re a fine pair, we are. Is the summerhouse totally destroyed?”

  “Totally,” I said. “Why are we a fine pair? What’s your problem? Did you get legless at Shagger’s and now you can’t understand why there are little green monsters throwing darts inside your head?” I was annoyed with him for not making more of an effort to console me.

  “I didn’t go to Shagger’s,” he said, not looking at me.

  “Why ever not?”

  “Mum’s been taken to hospital. That’s why I called you on your mobile. I nearly had a fit when the police answered and said they had you at the station. She’s at the Royal Marsden on the Fulham Road. I’m due there in about an hour. Maybe you could pop along later in the day?”

  “What’s the matter with her?”

  “She has cancer of the pancreas. They found a tumor. It wasn’t near the intestines or the bile ducts so they were able to operate successfully. Last night.”

  He looked shellshocked. “She must have known,” he said almost to himself. “She never told me.”

  “So what do they do now? Will she be okay?”

  “I don’t know what they’re going to do. Look, I was just about to get dressed and go over to see her. Make yourself at home. Have a kip or something. You’re probably exhausted.”

  “Call me when you’ve seen her. I need to know Noreen’s going to be okay. I need to know you’re okay. Tommy, will you call later? Or just come straight back?”

  I don’t think he really heard me. He just said, “Talk to you later,” and walked out the door.

  After about an hour—which was as much as I could stand of the chaos of Tommy’s flat—I followed him. I didn’t really know where I was going except that I felt the need to get back to West London. I felt totally cut off in the East End. I had established that the next visiting hours at the Royal Marsden weren’t until two o’clock in the afternoon so I had an hour to kill.

  I found myself getting off the tube at Notting Hill and walking up Portobello Road. I planned to wander along Ladbroke Grove and stand at the corner of Blenheim Crescent, look down it, see how they were getting on. I had toyed with the idea of banging on my neighbor Mrs. O’Malley’s door and asking if I could go upstairs to her flat on the top floor so I could watch whatever was going on in my garden from there. But Mrs. O’Malley was a nosy old gossip and she wouldn’t stop interrogating me as to what was happening. She’d be worse than Max Austin and she’d probably call him up and tell him I’d been there. Something told me that would get me into trouble.

  So it was probably just as well that I never got as far as the O’Malleys’. As I was going round the corner into Blenheim Crescent, I bumped straight into the top of someone’s head. At least that was all I could see until she stepped away from me.

  “Happy NewYear, Bianca,” I said as cheerfully as I could, smiling down at her. I hadn’t registered until now quite how short she was.

  She looked up at me blankly. She was wearing a red duffel coat. Her face was framed by black curls inside the hood of the duffel, and with her pointed nose and eyes like black beads she reminded me of a malevolent Mrs. Tiggywinkle, the hedgehog in one of my childhood Beatrix Potter books, wiggling her snout suspiciously at me.

  “I’m working with Selma Walker,” I reminded her. “You saw me at her house. So why are you here, Bianca, on New Year’s Day?”

  “Miss Selma ask I clean house for Mr. Buzz. She make mess.”

  “Selma? Selma’s back?”

  “No. Tomorrow. Next week. Soon. Young lady make mess. I clean before Miss Selma come home.”

  What young lady? “How’s Mr. Buzz?”

  “He fine. Why you ask?”

  Why indeed? I wouldn’t say another word about him. Didn’t want Bianca on my case any more than was necessary.

  “So anyway, Bianca, I’ll be seeing—”

  But sh
e’d gone, beetling away to Elgin Crescent to pounce on an unsuspecting Buzz. It was lucky I’d run into her because what I’d really come here for was to go and see Buzz and warn him that I’d have to tell Max Austin that he’d been to my house, that he’d been in my bedroom, in my bed.

  And that he could never expect to be there again.

  But now, with Bianca glowering about the place, I couldn’t go near him.

  “They’ve put me with the wrinklies,” Tommy’s mother hissed at me when I finally arrived at the hospital and bent to kiss her hello.

  “They do that on purpose, Noreen,” I told her. “They know a young thing like you’ll cheer them up.”

  Looking around, I could see that at seventy-four, Noreen Kennedy was by no means the most youthful patient in the ward but it wouldn’t hurt to let her think she was.

  “There’s an empty bed over there.” She pointed across the ward. “Poor old thing died in the night. They all came running and pulled the curtains around the bed. Lot of whispering, then it went quiet. They wheeled her away on a gurney and never brought her back. Shame!”

  “I’ve brought you freesias.” I thrust them at her. “Where will I find a vase?”

  “Oh lovely. Why don’t you pinch that vase from her in the next bed? Her flowers have been dead for two days and from the look of her, she’ll join them soon most likely. Just change the water in the sink in the lav. You know, it’s a crime if they leave that bed empty for long what with all the overcrowding in the NHS hospitals. I half expected to be given a bed in a corridor. Did you read that story about the hospital where the patients were put in a laundry room? The government give us all this talk about tax hikes to increase funding for the NHS but the trouble is, they’ll get their sums wrong like they always do and they still won’t have enough at the end of the day. I remember when Nye Bevan reckoned a hundred and seventy-six million pounds was going to be enough for a couple of years in 1949. Turned out we needed four hundred and thirty-seven million pounds for just one year. Fat chance they’ll find the right amount today. I tell you, Lee, I—”