She put it to Doherty and he took it on board. ‘Pity we don’t know who it was.’
Doherty cleared his throat and grasped his drink, fixing it with a jaundiced eye. ‘Talking of boyfriends, I do think Luigi Benici is a little out of your league. Other guys play hard to get. Benici plays hard. Period. What the hell were you doing in his car?’
‘He offered me a lift, even though I didn’t want one. Well, not from him anyway.’
He nodded sagely. ‘Well, that puts my mind at rest. It did seem as though he’d swept you off your feet, seeing as your legs were hanging out of the front passenger door.’
‘Thanks for coming to my rescue. Lucky that you were around.’
‘That’s me. Steve Doherty. Knight in shining armour.’
Honey sighed. His fingers had travelled to the nape of her neck. She was finally beginning to relax.
‘I wasn’t exactly there by chance. I went to the Assembly Rooms first. Casper told me you’d disappeared just as the award was about to be announced.’
She was suddenly smitten with a thought of the utterly impossible.
‘I didn’t win it, did I?’
He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. I didn’t ask.’ He frowned. ‘That bookshop guy was there too.’
‘Ahh. Well. You get a lot of people at gala evenings.’
He nodded slowly. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t buying it. Never mind. She wasn’t giving forth either. John Rees had been around and he hadn’t. She couldn’t put her life on hold for a good-looking police officer who worked odd shifts, could she? The jury was out on the answer to that one.
Doherty was no fool.
‘Two men in one night. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to get in strange cars?’
If her glass hadn’t been empty she might have thrown her drink over him. That’s what she told herself. Then again, perhaps not. He was trying to be funny. He was trying to cheer her up and helped things along by getting her another drink.
‘Tell me the details,’ she said as she watched the ice, the lemon, and the vodka and tonic being poured into her glass.
Doherty obliged.
Honey took a sip of her drink before making comment. ‘Mud and a wrought-iron railing. Strange weapons. Are the two murders really connected?’
When Doherty shrugged, his leather jacket made a squeaky noise.
‘Is that new?’
She touched it, suddenly noticing that it certainly smelled new.
‘I gave the other one away.’
He sounded embarrassed about it. Odd, she thought. It was no big deal to give something away.
‘I gave it to my daughter. She wanted it.’
She half-turned so that she was facing the bar full on rather than him. This daughter thing was odd. She asked herself why she felt so uncomfortable about it, but couldn’t come up with an answer.
‘Is she moving in with you?’
‘Hell no! And those are her words.’
Honey smiled at that. Lindsey would have said pretty much the same thing at that age.
‘Benici is a tryer. You need to know that.’
Honey’s face froze.
‘Great. That’s all I need, some mad Italian to go with my mad chef and my mad – correction, – sex mad – washer up.’
‘I’ll pay him a visit. A little hint that I’ve got my eye on him should help. I don’t like that scared expression on your face.’
‘It shows that bad?’
‘Fear has a habit of doing that.’
Honey shivered. ‘I wouldn’t like to end up in a bed of cement.’
‘You’re thinking of the murdered Miss Pinker again. Care to go for a ride tomorrow?’
She eyed him silently, unwilling to say anything that might stop his fingers easing the tension from her neck.
‘First The Beauty Spot and then Karen’s friend …’
‘And then Clint.’
Doherty looked baffled. ‘Why Eastwood?’
‘My motherly protective instinct is only part of this. Clint knows some pretty scruffy guys that sleep rough hereabouts. If there really was somebody like that hanging around the clinic, then he might know who it was. He does voluntary work now and again, a lot of it for the homeless,’ she explained in response to his look of surprise.
Rodney ‘Clint’ Eastwood was full of surprises. He lived on the shady side of life and had part-time jobs all over the place that made him a reasonable living. Whether he ever got round to paying any of it over to the taxman was neither here nor there. The probability was that he did not. But he had a good heart and fitted his voluntary work in with his paid jobs. The man wasn’t all bad. He was just giving something back to society, though not – it had to be said – money.
‘Worth a visit?’
Doherty nodded. ‘OK.’
He was thinking that he needed a break on this case. He also needed time to sort out his commitments. Honey was one of them.
Chapter Thirty-three
‘So where are you going?’
It was just so typical. Here she was, all set to sneak off for the day with Steve Doherty – primarily on police business, but there was no doubt a little personal recreation might sneak in – when her mother phoned.
‘We’re off interviewing witnesses.’
‘People who actually saw what happened? Will they tell you all the details?’
For somebody who preferred Mills and Boon to murder and mayhem, her mother had a bloodthirsty streak.
‘Not exactly. These people just might have some bearing on the case. They’re not suspects.’
‘You don’t know that for sure.’
Her mother sounded like a voiceover for Tales of the Unexpected. For somebody who dressed in Dior and wore kitten-heeled shoes, Gloria Cross had a chiller-thriller side.
Honey played at being Mrs Level-Headed. ‘We’ll ask questions. They’ll answer. That’s all there is to it. To put it professionally, they are helping police with their enquiries.’
‘Let me know if there’s any juicy bits. The girls will want to know everything!’
The ‘girls’ were Gloria’s friends and none of them were less than seventy-five. Most of them had lived through the Second World War and still blushed at the memory.
As one of them had once said to her, ‘You youngsters think you invented sex. Well, you didn’t. We did. We had to have something to do in the blackout!’
The girls liked gossip; especially juicy gossip, anything to do with bloodlust or lust by itself. They were up for it.
‘Mother, I’ve got to go.’
‘Not yet!’
Why was it she obeyed her mother’s voice as swiftly as a dog might obey its handler?
Tone of voice. Yep! That was the one!
‘I suppose you shared his bed last night.’
Honey glanced over at Doherty. Guessing who was on the other end of the phone, he’d hidden beneath the bedclothes.
‘I’m over twenty-one, Mother. In fact I’m over forty-one.’
‘There’s no fool like an old fool!’
Honey almost choked. This was the pot calling the kettle black! Who was her mother to talk, she who still welcomed compliments and sometimes wore a lacy suspender belt – depending on the virility of the guy she was dating.
Honey found her voice. This time she spoke through clenched teeth.
‘Mother. I have to go.’
‘Can you find some time in your busy schedule to drop in? I want your opinion on a wedding outfit.’
‘Not yours?’
‘Of course not. I haven’t met Mr Right yet.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Enid Bevan is getting married. She’s marrying a guy she met on a Saga cruise.’
Saga organized cruises for older folk. Older folk loved cruises. Her mother loved cruises. It was one of the few times when she got to dance with someone who wasn’t wearing high-heeled shoes. Women over a certain age got sick and tired of dancing with other women.
Male dancing partners was much more exciting. The crew provided ‘escorts’, members of crew required to dance with guests as part of their contract.
Obviously Enid had found a boon partner, someone of her own age. Enid Bevan was close to seventy-five years of age and had been determined to remarry following the death of her husband. She certainly hadn’t taken long about it. Her former husband had only been dead six months or so. But Honey understood Enid. She’d met her a few times and the conversation had always been about romance. Honey had come to the conclusion that Enid was the sort who couldn’t function without a man. Any man.
Thinking that it wouldn’t be any real bother to go through her mother’s wardrobe and advice, Honey agreed to her request.
Hearing the conversation come to an end, the top half of Doherty’s face reappeared from beneath the bedclothes.
‘Any problems?’
‘None!’ Honey said brightly. ‘Except that I promised to call into my mother’s on the way back.’
‘Shit!’
Doherty disappeared beneath the bedclothes.
Chapter Thirty-four
The midnight blue BMW driven by Serena Sarabande glided into the reserved parking place. Just like her car, Serena did not so much move getting her bag and other things together, she glided. Every movement was smooth, just like her appearance and her swept-back hairstyle.
Before getting out she brought down the vanity mirror on her side of the car, examining her skin just in case a tiny speck of something alien had dared sully her satin-smooth complexion.
Satisfied that all seemed well, she heaved a deep sigh.
As usual she would have taken her keys from the dashboard and gathered up her things, but something stopped her.
Flipping the mirror back into place, her eyes happened to catch a glimpse of movement.
He was standing half-hidden by the bushes on the lawned area that separated the grounds of The Beauty Spot from the building site beyond.
She quickly reached for her mobile and dialled a number. Dexter answered.
‘He’s here again! What shall I do?’
Dr Dexter paused. ‘Call the police.’
‘He’ll cause trouble.’
‘He’s in trouble, so let’s stir it a little more.’
‘When will you be here? I’ll feel safer when you’re here.’
‘I’ll be there soon.’
‘What about Karen? The police are bound to call. What shall I tell them?’
He laughed. ‘All the more reason to point them in the direction of our shadowy friend.’
The connection was severed.
Her lips were dry and her heart was galloping. She fumbled for her phone. Before dialling she checked the bushes. There was nobody there. If he was gone, there was no point in calling the police.
Breathing deeply she lay her head back and closed her eyes. Her heart was still hammering. The phone was still in her hand. Her mind began to drift to sunlit beaches and a turquoise sea. That’s what Roger Dexter had promised her when all this was over.
A sudden tapping at the car window brought her upright. She’d thought to see the vagrant. Instead she looked out to see someone she vaguely recognized. It suddenly came to her that he was the police officer she’d seen at the time of Lady Macrottie’s murder.
She made a big show of gathering her things. Obligingly, he opened the car door for her.
She kept her cool. ‘Don’t I know you?’ Her tone was imperious. Never show fear. Never show nerves.
‘I thought I recognized you, Ms Sarabande,’ he said. ‘Detective Inspector Steve Doherty.’
She decided she quite liked his smile. She’d thought the same on his previous visit. Not that she’d show any sign that she did. It wasn’t her way.
‘You’re not wrong there. Can I help you with anything?’
She gripped her briefcase and her handbag more firmly.
‘No thank you.’ She shook her head as though she were a dizzy blonde rather than an iceberg. Sometimes it paid to pretend to be helpless. ‘It’s nothing much. Is there something I can help you with, Detective Inspector?’
‘Call me Doherty.’
‘Doherty.’
‘And I’m Honey Driver.’
Serena Sarabande’s head twisted round at the sound of a woman’s voice. She did a swift double take. Honey was recognized. Serena’s face visibly soured.
‘I didn’t know you were with the police.’
Her voice was as chill as ice and her face was pale and rigid. Nobody liked having their space infiltrated and Serena Sarabande certainly didn’t.
‘Mrs Driver is an associate consultant,’ Doherty explained. The charm was gone. Serena had to know that he meant business. ‘Can we go inside and talk or do you want to wash your dirty linen out here?’ he added, his smile more incisive – less warm.
They ended up in her office. She didn’t offer them any refreshment. They didn’t want anything except for some answers. Doherty was determined to get to the bottom of things and Honey was keen to exonerate herself from causing Karen Pinker’s death.
‘I take it you’re aware of the murder of your former employee, Karen Pinker?’
She lowered herself into the big black leather chair behind her desk. There was a rustling sound as she slowly and gracefully folded one graceful leg over the other. She held Doherty’s gaze as she did it, purposely seeming to avoid looking at Honey.
‘I did hear, though I really can’t see how I can help you.’
‘You don’t know of any reason why she was on the building site?’
She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘You don’t know whether she knew someone there? Whether she was maybe having a relationship with someone working there?’
The smile that came to her face was cold and contemptuous. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Karen had a penchant for rough diamonds.’
Chapter Thirty-five
Honey wasn’t convinced that she’d seen the last of Luigi Benici, which made it all the more important that she get to see Clint. She didn’t like being linked with his transgression. Being stalked and taken for an unscheduled ride was a big no-no.
She had some crazy idea of convincing Clint to come clean and apologize profusely to Mr Luigi Benici – failing that, perhaps he’d like to consider emigrating to Australia, or even Alaska.
Clint’s ex-girlfriend, who was sheltering him, lived in a residential caravan, courtesy of the landowner who grew organic produce and lived in a log cabin.
The whole plot was surrounded by forest, long grass, and a profusion of wildlife. The place was situated in the Forest of Dean, an area of outstanding natural beauty where the descendants of archers at the Battle of Agincourt enjoyed the rights to graze their sheep freely on forestry land. The killing of French archers had repercussions down the ages.
Glades of oak trees nestled among modern fir trees and the rough scrub beneath was criss-crossed by rough forest tracks.
‘This is not good for my suspension,’ Doherty remarked as his sports car hit another pothole. The Toyota MR2 was low-slung and cosy for two but was not made for bumpy forest tracks. Doherty was proud of his car. Only two hundred of this type had been manufactured and each had its own number engraved in the upholstery leather. His was number 192.
However, a four-wheel drive would have been a better bet.
Yet another bump sent Honey headbutting the car roof.
‘It’s not good for me either,’ she mumbled as she rubbed her head.
It was a surprise to see a pink Cadillac parked alongside the caravan in a leafy glade. Honey immediately felt a twinge of apprehension. Spending two or three nights a week with Doherty meant not being around much, interacting with guests as she’d always done. Time spent back at the Green River Hotel was usually taken up with a mountain of paperwork to catch up on. Socializing with guests was something she had to fit in when she could.
‘Cooeee!’
Cheeks flushed pink, Mar
y Jane was hanging out the door of the caravan, waving frantically. She looked totally at home in her greenwood surroundings. As tall and as spindly as a young birch tree, she was dressed in a lime-green tracksuit that would have sent Robin Hood heading for cover.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ said Honey. She pulled herself out of the car, rubbing her head with one hand and her rear end with the other.
‘I get such good vibrations here,’ Mary Jane explained. ‘Clint’s friend Anthea tells me it’s to do with the oxygen levels and it being unpolluted here by light and civilization. Personally I think it’s more to do with the spirits of the trees. They float around here without being interrupted by anything except deer and latter-day naiads.’
Honey looked at her blankly. All she could think of saying was that the bumpy ride up the lane was vibration enough.
Doherty looked at the gangly Californian the same way he always did; as though she was slightly dotty. Honey wouldn’t disagree with that; it was just that she never showed it.
‘Anthea knows what she’s talking about. Her and the girls are a coven of wood nymphs,’ explained Clint. ‘You could call them white witches, but they prefer being called naiads. There’s one of them now. Morning, Violet.’
They all turned to see a naked and very plump lady with purple-veined legs stroll by. Describing her as a ‘girl’ was pushing it a bit.
Violet was carrying a loaf of bread and a truckle of cheese on a tray. The tray also seemed to be supporting her large breasts, which competed with the other items for room, sitting on the tray like uncooked dough.
Mary Jane glanced as though naked fat ladies walking by were an everyday occurrence. Perhaps they were in California, mused Honey.
‘My. She’s quite an earth mother,’ exclaimed Mary Jane. ‘I’ve seen loads like her in ancient temples all over the world. Ancient peoples worshipped women of her shape, you know.’
Honey was dumbstruck. ‘Nowadays they go to Weight Watchers.’
Clint waved at the woman. ‘A bit fresh today don’t you think, Violet?’
‘At least it’s dry,’ the naked lady called back. ‘No matter the weather I must make obeisance to the trees.’ She indicated the tray. ‘Any day and in any weather is good for an offering.’
Murder By Mudpack: A Honey Driver Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) Page 18
