by M C Beaton
“Yes, that is odd. And yet we can’t ask anyone why. I wonder if I should buy a new suit for tomorrow.”
“It’s your money,” said Maggie, lowering her eyes quickly so that he should not see her hate for Melissa in them.
“I’ve been so used to being thrifty, it seems wicked to spend money on another suit.”
“You could compromise. You could buy a new shirt and silk tie.”
Fell brightened. “That’s a good idea. I want to look my best.”
Maggie felt suddenly weary. Perhaps it would be best to forget about Fell altogether.
The next evening, Maggie kept to her room, taking care with her preparations. She somehow could not bring herself to tell Fell she would be in the restaurant at the same time. She carefully put in her new contact lenses and then a soft, leaf green chiffon dress. Maggie had planned to wear this new dress just for Fell, but decided to wear it for Peter. She judged Fell would leave early for the restaurant and so it was. She heard him calling up the stairs, “Bye, Maggie. Don’t wait up.”
Maggie waited until five to eight and then set out, the chiffon dress fluttering about her legs as she made her way to the restaurant.
It was ten past eight by the time she got there. Peter was standing outside the restaurant, smoking a cigarette.
“You look great,” he said, walking forward to meet her. “Do you know Fell’s here already with that harpy who runs the health shop?”
“He said something about it. Why do you call her a harpy?”
He took her arm and led her into the restaurant. “Tell you about it.”
They were led to one of the best tables by an open window overlooking the terrace and the river.
Maggie saw Fell over in a far corner, talking animatedly to Melissa. After they had ordered their food and Peter had ordered wine, Maggie asked again, “Why do you call her a harpy?”
“Just town gossip. She was warned against starting that business. I mean this is Buss, where the population’s idea of health food is fish and chips. So instead to taking advice and selling off the place, she dug her heels in and said she could make it pay. Now she’s looking for someone with money. I suppose that’s why she’s after your fiancé.”
“Fell’s very attractive,” said Maggie loyally.
“Well, I suppose you must think so.”
“We were upset by your story, dragging all that stuff up again. You might at least have warned us you were going to write something.”
“My boss’s idea,” said Peter. “Honest.”
“Are you sure you didn’t ask me out just to find out more?”
Peter smiled at Maggie. “I fancy you rotten, Maggie Part-lett.”
“Me!”
“I’ve always wanted to meet a girl with green eyes who wore an apron.”
Maggie laughed. “You just want a mother.”
“Don’t we all. I’m the only man who’s honest about it.”
Fell heard that familiar laugh and looked across the restaurant. In the candlelight, Maggie’s face was glowing and her green eyes shone.
“That reporter again!” he exclaimed.
“What?” Melissa had been in full flow about the benefits of her business.
“Maggie, over there, with that reporter from the Courier.”
“Well, you’re here with me.” Melissa threw him a flirtatious look.
“Excuse me.” Fell threw down his napkin and walked over to Maggie’s table. “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.
“I’m having dinner with a friend – just like you,” said Maggie defensively.
“Your only interest in her is getting another story out of her,” Fell accused Peter.
Peter smiled easily. “It may not have dawned on you, but your fiancée is worth any fellow’s time. You ain’t married yet.”
Fell stared at him.
“We’ll talk later,” said Maggie hurriedly. “Do go back to your dinner, Fell.”
Fell looked at her in baffled fury. Then he became aware that the other diners were looking at him curiously. He flushed with embarrassment and went back to Melissa.
“Sorry about that,” he mumbled.
“You didn’t strike me as the jealous type,” teased Melissa.
“I am not jealous. I don’t care what Maggie does!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t marry her.”
Fell opened his mouth to say he had no intention of marrying Maggie, but then he was struck with an awful thought. Maggie was drinking quite a lot. What if she told Peter about his, Fell’s, parentage!
“So to get back to business,” Melissa was saying.
The first little hair crack appeared on the lacquer of Fell’s obsession. Just a little flash of irritation. Until he had seen Maggie, he had been finding Melissa’s description of how she wanted to start aromatherapy treatment fascinating. He had been lost in a warm dream of her gently stroking scented oils over his body. Now he wanted her to worry with him about what on earth Maggie was talking about. The reporter couldn’t fancy her, could he? Not Maggie.
Melissa was privately thinking that Maggie had set up the whole thing to make Fell jealous. It was just what she would have done herself. The little frump was positively glowing. If Fell wasn’t careful, she’d be off with that reporter. Melissa suddenly smiled. And that would leave the field clear.
She had shrewdly noticed that little flash of irritation that had crossed Fell’s eyes and she put a hand over his and looked deep into his eyes, and said, “Let’s cut this evening short. No pudding. No coffee. You can’t really listen to me properly until you get this business of Maggie and the reporter off your mind. If you don’t mind me saying so, Fell, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Maggie struck me as being a bit naive and probably thinks that reporter really fancies her.”
“I’m worried about what she’s telling him,” said Fell.
“Forget it. You go home and deal with it and we’ll meet again. I can’t say I’m enjoying this evening much.” Melissa signalled for the bill. Fell was immediately conscience-stricken and now consumed with the fear that he had bored her, that he was losing her.
“I am so sorry,” he babbled. “Look, I am really keen to invest in your business. Can we meet soon?”
“Let’s leave it a week,” said Melissa briskly, thinking, let him stew for a bit.
Maggie watched them go. Fell walked past her table after Melissa without stopping to speak.
Outside the restaurant, Fell said, “Please let me see you home.”
“Another time. It’s a fine night.” Melissa strode off. He stood with his hands hanging at his side, watching her go. Maggie’s laugh rang out through the open window.
Fell was consumed with fury. Maggie would have to go. She had ruined his evening.
He walked quickly home and sat in the living room, waiting and waiting.
At last, about midnight, he heard their voices outside. What had they been doing? The restaurant closed at eleven.
The front door opened and Maggie came in. She looked radiant because Peter had kissed her when they had been strolling along the river after dinner, and she had enjoyed it because she had imagined he was Fell.
“Just what the hell do you think you have been doing?” shouted Fell.
“I was out on a date, just like you,” said Maggie defensively.
“What did you tell him, you bitch? Did you tell him I was a bastard?”
“Of course not! He likes me. He thinks I’m pretty.”
“You!” said Fell with contempt.
“I’ll go and pack,” said Maggie quietly.
“Do that!”
Maggie was beyond tears. Slowly she went up to her room. She packed a suitcase and lugged it downstairs. “I’ll come tomorrow for the rest of my stuff,” she said.
Fell was sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. He did not look up.
♦
When Fell awoke the next morning, the memory of what had happened the night bef
ore came rushing into his head. He turned his face into the pillow. He had not had much to drink, and yet he felt he must have been drunk. He remembered Maggie saying that Peter thought her pretty and heard again his own contemptuous voice saying, “You!”
He would need to apologize to her.
He washed and dressed and went downstairs. It didn’t look like a home any more. There was no Maggie making coffee in the kitchen. He walked from room to room. The sitting room stood empty, all the furniture and knick-knacks having been transported to Aunt Agnes in Wales. He walked back into the living room. It was wrong. The white walls looked stark and the new three-piece suite – well – suburban. The kitchen looked warm and inviting, but then, most of that refurbishment had been Maggie’s idea. He knew the living-room furnishings were wrong, but could not think what he could do to change them. Perhaps his taste was locked for life into the working class. Melissa would know what to do.
He looked at the clock. He had slept late. It was nine-thirty. He would phone Melissa at the shop and ask her to come round and give him her advice. Eager to hear the sound of her voice, he dialled the shop number. But Melissa, who had decided that the idea of giving him time to himself was the best idea, said she was too busy. “Ask Maggie,” she suggested.
“Maggie’s left,” said Fell heavily.
“Oh, well, I’m not surprised,” said Melissa cheerfully, now feeling very sure of him. “Tell you what, I’ll ring you next week. Oh, got to go. Got a customer. Byee!”
Fell slowly replaced the receiver. He felt abandoned. He could not put it off any longer. He would need to apologize to Maggie or his conscience would not give him a quiet moment.
He first had to go to the hotel to find her home address. Then he walked through the airless day, hoping he would find Maggie alone and that he would not have to meet her mother.
Maggie’s home lay in a terrace of houses much like his own, but obviously containing younger people, judging from the children playing in the street. He hesitated outside the house and then went up and rang the bell. Children screamed, a car roared down the street behind him blasting heavy metal out of every open window, and an enormously fat woman looked at him over the hedge which separated Maggie’s home from the neighbour’s on the left.
“There doesn’t seem to be anyone at home,” said Fell.
“She’s out looking for work.”
“Mrs. Partlett?”
“No, Maggie.”
“Where did she go?”
“Saw her this morning. Said she wanted work, told her to try Katy’s Kitchen, that caff down Garret Lane.”
“Thanks.” Fell walked off down the hot street. She had only left last night. How had she managed to get a job so quickly?
Garret Lane was off the High Street. He headed in that direction. The reason why Maggie had managed to find a job so quickly was answered as he approached the café. A woman was taking down a notice from the window which said ‘Waitress Wanted’.
The only customers in the café were a couple seated at a window table. Maggie emerged from the nether regions carrying a tray with coffee cups. The tray trembled in her hand when she saw Fell. With a sharp pang of guilt he noticed that her eyes behind her thick glasses were red with weeping. Maggie served the customers and then approached him. “I’ll be round later for the rest of my things,” she said. “Oh, and I forgot to give you this.” She fished in the pocket of her white apron and drew out the engagement ring. Fell flushed miserably. “I always meant for you to keep it, Maggie.”
“I don’t want it,” said Maggie.
Fell took the ring. “Look, Maggie, I’m…”
The door opened and a family of four walked in. “Excuse me,” said Maggie. Fell stood there, irresolute. Then he decided he had best wait at home until she came round for her things and apologize then.
The day stretched before him, hot, flat and empty. Without Maggie, he felt he had no energy to do anything. But at least when he got the painful apology over with, he would be free, free to court Melissa. Suddenly the Melissa dream came back and wrapped him round in rosy colours. With a half-smile on his lips, he walked home, unlocked the door and walked in…
To chaos.
Everything was topsy-turvy. Drawers hung out at crazy angles, papers were strewn across the floor.
He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He walked into the kitchen, picking his way over the kitchen utensils which had been thrown over the floor out of upended drawers. How had they got in? The front door had been locked and the panes of glass on the back door and windows were intact.
He would have to phone the police. But instead he picked up the phone book and searched it until he found the phone number of Katy’s Kitchen and dialled it. Maggie answered the phone.
“Maggie,” gasped Fell. “We’ve been broken into. They seem to have gone through everything.”
“Have you phoned the police?”
“No, I just got here.”
“Phone them. I’ll be round.”
Fell phoned the police. No, he didn’t know if anything of value had been taken. He had just got back. They said they would be round and he sat down on the sofa, noticing as he did so that the upholstery had been slashed.
In a short time, two policemen arrived. Fell’s frightened thoughts flew to the cash box still buried in the garden. He had not checked with the lawyer or the bank as to whether the money from his inheritance had been paid into his account. He had planned to pay for the dinner the night before, although, as it had turned out, Melissa had paid. But the day before, he had dug up the cash box and taken money out of it before replacing it and filling in the hole. He had made a hurried job of it. What if the police dug it up?
He gathered his wits and followed them from room to room. The few things of value, such as the television, were still there. Maggie arrived and exclaimed at the chaos. They both made statements and were warned not to touch anything until the place had been examined for fingerprints.
“How did they get in?” asked Maggie.
“There’s no sign of a break-in,” said Fell.
“You’ve only got a Yale lock on your front door,” said one of the policemen. Maggie suddenly remembered that she had never got in touch with a security firm after Andy’s visit. “Easy to open with a credit card. Better get yourself a decent lock. You’re lucky. The forensic team should be here any moment. It’s a quiet day.”
Sure enough, just as he had finished, the men in white overalls arrived. “I hope all this hasn’t made you lose your job,” said Fell to Maggie. Her eyes were still red and his heart ached for her.
“As a matter of fact, it has,” said Maggie with a shrug. “But I’ll get another one soon enough. There’s a shortage of waitresses.”
“You could always…,” began Fell, but just then, the doorbell rang.
Fell opened the door. A large crumpled man stood on the doorstep. He was carrying his jacket over his arm. His wrinkled shirt was stretched over his stomach. His voluminous trousers sagged down to his dusty shoes. His face, like his clothes, looked sagging and crumpled. There were great pouches under his eyes. His thick greyish lips were permanently turned down at the corners, and small intelligent eyes stared at Fell from under fleshy lids.
“Detective Inspector Dunwiddy,” he said.
“Fell Dolphin. Come in.”
“You’ve had a burglary?”
“It looks more of a search.”
Dunwiddy followed him into the living room and stood looking around, dwarfing the small room with his bulk. “Better not disturb the fingerprint work,” he said. “Got a garden at the back?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll take chairs out there. Is this Maggie Partlett?”
“Yes, how did you…?”
“Read about you pair in the local paper.”
Fell and Maggie collected chairs from the kitchen and then exchanged nervous glances as they carried them out into the back garden, for the plot where the cash box was buried l
ooked glaringly obvious to them.
“Lucky this bit’s in the shade,” said Dunwiddy, sitting down with a sigh. “Now, the situation is this: There’s been a lot of break-ins recently, all for drugs. Telly, videos, stereos, jewellery taken to hawk for drugs. But you say nothing’s really been taken, and that’s what interests me. It appears in the paper that you are researching that old train robbery, and hey, presto, someone or some people break in and ransack the place. So it looks to me as if someone’s worried you’ve found something, or someone thinks your father might have hidden cash from that robbery.”
“My father was innocent,” said Fell defiantly.
“Maybe. Anyway, you’ve got someone rattled and that’s the way I see it. Phoned your lawyer before I came here. Rumour in this town is that you’ve been left a good bit of money. Lawyer says your parents were right misers and never spent a penny. Right?”
“Right,” echoed Fell.
“So if you’ve got someone worried, then to me that means that someone who had a hand in the robbery is still around. Well, you amateur detectives, how far have you got?”
“Not very far,” said Fell. “Have we, Maggie?”
Maggie took off her glasses and passed a hand wearily over her eyes. “No,” she said. “We got a book on the robbery out of the library and we spoke to the other signalman, Terry Weal, and then the editor of the paper. Oh, and Inspector Rud-fern.”
“You wouldn’t get far with him,” snorted Dunwiddy. “Arrogant bastard. He thinks because he couldn’t solve it, nobody can. Then we come to a chap called Andy Briggs.”
Fell wanted to look at Maggie but was aware that the big detective was studying them carefully.
“Wasn’t that the name of the fellow who was murdered recently?” he said as casually as he could.
“The same. Now he was Tarry Briggs’s boy, and Tarry Briggs was our only sure suspect. Did a runner to Spain and lived like a king. The point is this: What did Andy Briggs come back for?”
The gun, thought Maggie with a stab of panic. They’ll find the gun!
Fell had the same thought at the same moment. Should they say anything or sit it out and pray that the forensic team wouldn’t look in that suitcase under the bed where Maggie had hidden it?
