by M C Beaton
Suddenly overcome with fright and distress, Maggie began to cry.
“There, now, miss.” Dunwiddy stood up and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “When they’re finished here, try to get a rest before you clean up. I’ll call back tomorrow and we’ll take it from there. Don’t worry; I’ll see myself out.”
Fell waited until he heard the street door slam, then he handed Maggie a clean handkerchief. She blew her nose and said in a shaky voice, “The gun. What if they find the gun?”
“We’ll wait and see,” whispered Fell. He took her hand in his. “I’m sorry about last night, Maggie. You are pretty. Honest. I was just mad at you. Frightened you might have let something slip to that reporter about my birth. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” said Maggie wearily. “I don’t think anything matters much any more.”
They sat side by side in silence.
At last Fell said, “I think I hear them packing up. I’ll go and look. If they’d found that gun, Maggie, the detective would have been back here like a shot or a least one of them would have brought it out and asked you where you had got it.”
“I’ve thought of something else,” said Maggie, turning a muddy colour.
“What? What is it?”
“I didn’t wipe the gun. It’ll have my fingerprints on it, yours, and Andy Briggs’s.”
“I’m sure they’re leaving,” said Fell. “Wait here.”
So Maggie waited, hugging herself, feeling cold despite the heat of the day.
She could hear the murmur of voices and then the street door slammed. Fell came back. “They’ve gone. Let’s go and look.”
Together they went indoors and up the stairs, Maggie leading the way to her old room. The suitcase, the one she had not taken with her, was poking out from under the bed, covered in fingerprint dust. She pulled it out and threw back the lid. She searched frantically among the clothes. She turned a white face up to him. “It’s not here!”
“Then they didn’t find it,” said Fell grimly. “Whoever searched the house did.”
Maggie raised a shaking hand to her mouth. “I’m frightened.”
Fell took her hands and raised her to her feet. “You’re going to have to move back in, Maggie.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to have to look out for each other from now on, and we can’t do that from opposite ends of the town.”
“But Melissa…”
“I’ll continue to see Melissa, but I think we should stick together.”
Maggie wavered. “I couldn’t stand another quarrel, Fell.”
“Then we’ll just need to make sure we don’t have another. Let’s go downstairs and have a stiff drink.”
Maggie followed him down, her thoughts in a jumble. She felt she should be glad that the quarrel was over, but all she felt was a shaky mixture of fright and weariness.
Fell poured two stiff whiskies and handed one to Maggie. “This furniture is ruined,” he said.
“I think an upholsterer could repair it.”
“I don’t think I want it repaired. It’s wrong, suburban, but I don’t know what it should look like.”
“I didn’t like to say anything at the time,” ventured Maggie. “But I do have a suggestion.”
“What?”
“There’s a second-hand furniture shop just out of town. They have some pretty pieces, not matching, but good stuff. You could trade this lot for part of the price. They could repair this and get a good price for it.”
“What sort of things?”
“Well, there’s some pretty fruitwood furniture. Some of it’s Dutch. We could have a look after we’ve cleared this up. Perhaps if we work all day on it, we’ll feel tired, but not so worried.”
“You’re a good sort, Maggie,” said Fell. Melissa had retreated to a corner of his mind. He would not admit it to himself for fear of losing his dream, but he had been annoyed at Melissa’s dismissal of him when he had needed her help.
“Let’s finish our drinks and get started.”
“Why don’t you go and bring back your stuff and we can settle everything first?”
“Right.” Maggie drained her drink and then said shyly, “And it’s all right if I go on seeing Peter?”
“Yes,” said Fell, although he did not like the idea one bit. The doorbell rang and they both jumped.
“What now?” asked Fell, going to answer it.
His face darkened when he found Peter and a photographer standing on the doorstep.
“Little bird told me you had been burgled,” said Peter.
“You’d better come in,” said Fell coldly.
Peter breezed past him, followed by his photographer. He stooped and gave Maggie a smacking kiss on the cheek. Fell was at first glad in a mean little part of his soul that Maggie was looking such a mess, but Peter sat down beside her and took her hand. “Oh, will there have to be a story on this?” wailed Maggie.
“Do you some good, love,” said Peter. “Let the buggers know you’ve got the press on your side. Now go and put some make-up on that pretty face and pose for a nice picture.”
“My make-up isn’t here. It’s at home,” said Maggie.
“What’s it doing at home? Home, home? I mean, I thought this was your home.”
“It is,” said Maggie. “But I was sorting things out.”
“I’ll get you something. Be back in a tick.”
Fell waited, irritated, while Maggie made coffee for the photographer in the kitchen by dint of scooping some instant coffee into a cup from the pile of it on the kitchen counter. The searcher, or searchers, had even tipped out the contents of the coffee jar.
When Peter returned, he said cheerfully, “Let’s go up to your bathroom and I’ll make you up. Did I ever tell you I used to be in amateur theatricals?”
Fell made desultory conversation with the photographer while listening to Maggie’s laugh floating down the stairs. What right had Maggie to be so cheerful in the middle of all this mess?
When they finally came down the stairs, Fell said sharply, “What have you done to her? She looks like a clown.”
“Trust me,” said Peter. “She’ll look great in the photograph.”
So Maggie and Fell posed amongst the ruins while the photographer snapped away busily. “Now,” said Peter, “that bit’s over. What happened?”
Fell described how he had gone out and when he had come back it was to find the chaos.
“So someone must have been watching the house,” said Peter. “What did they take?”
“Nothing,” said Maggie quickly.
“Aha. So whoever it was must be connected to that train robbery.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Maggie faintly.
“Stands to reason. A story appears about you two in the newspaper, about how you’re trying to find out the truth about the train robbery. Someone gets nervous and wonders if you’ve found out anything.”
“Couldn’t it just have been an ordinary burglary?” asked Maggie.
Peter snorted. “What? When they’ve even ripped up the upholstery?”
“Is that all?” said Fell wearily.
But Peter asked more questions: How had they felt when they saw the mess; what do they think would have happened if they had come back and surprised the burglar? Maggie shuddered, remembering that gun.
“It was someone experienced,” Fell said. “There was no sign of a break-in.”
“So you’re going on with your investigations?”
“This has made me even more determined,” said Fell, although he did not feel determined at all.
Finally Peter left, whispering to Maggie as he went, “Phone me.”
“Well,” said Maggie faintly. “Let’s get started.”
♦
They worked diligently for the rest of the day, tidying and cleaning. “We’ll go to that second-hand furniture place you were talking about,” said Fell. “We’ll go in the morning.”
Tired though Mag
gie was, a little glow of happiness was beginning to spread inside her. She and Fell were working together again.
They both slept late the next morning. Once he was dressed, Fell said he would go out and get a copy of the Buss Courier. He was just emerging from the newspaper shop when he bumped into his lawyer. “How are things going, Mr. Dolphin?” asked Mr. Jamieson.
“Not very well. I had a burglary yesterday.”
“Yes, I heard about that,” said Mr. Jamieson. “I believe it’s in the paper.”
“I’m thinking of going into business,” said Fell. “I meant to call round and ask you how soon my inheritance will be in the bank.”
“It’s all wound up. The cheque should be in your bank by now. What kind of business were you thinking of going into?”
“That health shop in the High Street.”
“Wait until I get my paper. I would like to talk to you about that.”
Fell looked at the newspaper while he waited for the lawyer. He and Maggie were photographed on the front page. Maggie did not look at all like Maggie. She looked quite beautiful. “Threat to Our Detectives,” said the headline.
The lawyer emerged. “Let’s go to my office for a chat.”
“1 really should be getting back to Maggie.”
“You can phone her from my office.”
They walked together to the lawyer’s office in the town square. The market was in full swing. On such a day, thought Fell, did I learn of my inheritance.
Once in the office, he phoned Maggie and said he was at the lawyer’s and would be back shortly.
“Sit down, Mr. Dolphin,” said Mr. Jamieson. “I assume you are talking about going into business with Mrs. Melissa Har-ley.”
“Yes.”
“You must realize, Mr. Dolphin,” said the lawyer, “that this is a small market town and gossip spreads quickly, particularly in the Rotary club, of which I am a member. Mrs. Harley is running into financial difficulties. The business rates in this town are quite high and her shop is in a prime site in the High Street. I believe it was suggested to her that she choose a more modest place to start her business, but she would not listen. The majority of people in this town like smoking and junk food. She has only a short lease on the shop, so she would not get all that much for it if she sold now. Mrs. Harley almost got a businessman to invest in her shop, but, if you understand me, his wife stepped in and stopped it. I feel it is my duty to advise you that you would be throwing your inheritance away.”
Fell turned red. “I don’t believe you,” he said passionately.
“You do not need to. All you have to do is bring her to me and ask her to bring her books with her. If she has nothing to worry about, she will do so.”
“Thank you,” said Fell coldly. “Will that be all?”
“Yes, but do be cautious.”
I hate this nasty little town, thought Fell furiously as he walked through the market. It’s a hotbed of false and malicious gossip.
He met the editor of the Buss Courier, Tommy Whittaker. “If it isn’t Mr. Dolphin,” said the editor cheerfully. “Good story, hey?”
Fell looked blankly down at his hand as if expecting to see the newspaper still there. “I haven’t read it,” he said. “I must have left it somewhere.” He looked at the editor and suddenly burst out with, “Do you know Melissa Harley?”
“Oh, Harpy Harley, the one that runs the health shop? Why?”
“Nothing.”
“So why ask?” Tommy’s red-veined eyes sharpened. “Got nothing to do with the robbery, has she?”
“Of course not,” snapped Fell. He brushed past the editor and walked rapidly away.
But instead of going home, he went round to the High Street and positioned himself opposite Melissa’s shop. He watched.
He watched for an hour. No one went in and no one came out.
∨ The Skeleton in the Closet ∧
Six
MAGGIE looked up as Fell came in. His face looked grey. “What’s the matter?” she asked sharply. “No inheritance?”
“It’s just the heat,” said Fell. “Leave me alone.” He sank down on the ruined sofa and stared bleakly ahead.
Maggie went into the kitchen. She made a cup of coffee and tipped a measure of whisky into it. She took it in and handed it to Fell. “Drink that,” she ordered. “It’s good for shock.”
“I haven’t had a shock,” protested Fell.
But he drank the coffee while Maggie watched him. “Was it something in the newspaper?” asked Maggie. “I was worried about you. You were away for ages.”
Fell pulled a crumpled copy of the newspaper from his pocket. He had bought another one. Maggie smoothed it out. “Oh, I do look good,” she exclaimed. “Doesn’t look like me at all.” She read quickly. “It’s just a straightforward account. So it can’t be that. It’s something you don’t want to talk about, isn’t it, Fell?”
He nodded.
“Then we won’t talk about it,” said Maggie briskly. “Action is the best thing. If you’ve finished your coffee, we’ll go to that furniture place. And we’d better get a locksmith to put a lock on the door and perhaps a burglar alarm. I’ll look up the business directory, shall I?”
Fell nodded dumbly.
He sat, aware of Maggie’s voice on the phone, but lost in thoughts about Melissa. He should have known she was after his money. Maggie replaced the receiver. “A man from a security firm out on the estate will be round at four this afternoon. Come on, dear, let’s get moving.”
Fell followed her out. How odd that it should be so sunny. It ought to be black and cold and raining. Somehow the sunshine intensified pain. He got into Maggie’s little car feeling stiff and old, as if the hurt had invaded his bones like a kind of emotional rheumatism.
Melissa, thought Maggie bitterly. I could kill her!
She said nothing, but drove to the second-hand furniture shop. “You choose what you think we ought to have,” said Fell.
“If you’re sure. You’re the one that’s going to be living with it.”
“I’m sure.” Fell offered a lame excuse. “It’s just the heat, Maggie, and delayed shock about finding out about my real parents.”
Maggie hesitated. “Before I choose anything, Fell, you once said you would like to turn the living room into a large kitchen and use the sitting room as a living room. It would cost a bit, but you could get the wall between the kitchen and the living room knocked down and make it all into one big kitchen.”
Fell remembered his dream of a warm country kitchen. “Good idea. But you’re right. We’ll start using the sitting room.”
They went into the huge shop together. Despite his misery, Fell was surprised at the quality of the furniture. Some of it was antique and very expensive indeed. “I’ll just sit here,” said Fell, taking a chair at the door. “Get what you think is best.”
Maggie hesitated a moment and then went off. After an hour, she had chosen a comfortable leather armchair for Fell, a large down-stuffed sofa, an easy chair with a wide Victorian seat upholstered in green velvet, two occasional chairs, a writing table, and a coffee table. She told Fell the price. The assistant said they would send someone round this afternoon to give them a price on their ruined furniture, and if everything was agreeable they would deliver the new furniture the following day. Maggie told him to send their man round at four, judging she could deal with the security firm and the furniture people in one go.
When she then told Fell what she had done, he said, “Fine.”
She then suggested they go somewhere for a snack. She drove them to a pub. Fell ate an omelette and drank half a pint of beer in silence. Maggie was becoming increasingly worried about him.
When they went back home, Fell said, “Do you mind if I go up to bed?”
“No, you go ahead,” said Maggie. “I’ll handle everything.”
“I’ll sign some blank cheques,” said Fell. “Just fill in what they need.”
The locksmith arrived and fitted a new Ya
le lock, and a mortise, and two bolts. He then, on Maggie’s instructions, fitted bolts at the top and bottom of the kitchen door. Maggie paid him from Fell’s cheque book. He had left three signed cheques for her.
Then the furniture man arrived and tut-tutted at the ripped upholstery but offered Maggie a figure which was better than she expected. That was deducted from the price of the newly bought furniture. Two men carried the three-piece suite out. Maggie handed over a cheque, and the new furniture was carried into the sitting room.
Then the burglar alarm system was installed, and Maggie carefully listened to the instructions. The police, said the man, would turn out twice a year for false alarms, but any more and they would not come at all.
When they had all finished, Maggie went into the sitting room. She was pleased with the furniture. She took two lamps they had brought through from the living room and plugged them in. Then she took down the William Morris-patterned curtains from the living room and replaced the nasty, dusty velvet ones in the sitting room with them. They had replaced the fitted carpet in the living room with colourful rugs. She carried some of them into the sitting room and spread them on the floor. She surveyed her work with satisfaction. The odd mixture of furniture worked very well.
Maggie then went quietly up the stairs and looked into Fell’s room. He was lying asleep on top of the bed.
She decided to leave him to sleep. She drove home and collected the suitcase she had packed the night before and then took down two paintings from the walls of her room. She had picked both up at an auction. One was a seascape and the other was a bucolic countryside scene.
When she got back to Fell’s, she hung the pictures in the sitting room, switched on the lamps, and then went in and arranged a bottle of whisky, glasses, a jug of water and some crisps and nuts in bowls and carried them into the sitting room, just as she heard Fell come down the stairs.
He came into the sitting room, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry I’ve slept so long. Oh, this is nice, Maggie.”
He sank down on the new sofa. “Goodness, pictures, too.”
Maggie wanted to ask him if he felt like talking, but bit back the question as it rose to her lips. It would be something to do with Melissa and she did not want to hear anything about Melissa, good or bad, ever again.
