The Case of the Curious Cook

by Cathy Ace

  ‘Poor Val,’ said Carol.

  ‘And poor us, too,’ said Mavis, ‘because we’re looking at a long wait to be paid for our services.’

  ‘So, what next?’ asked Annie.

  ‘I’ve no’ been able to reach Althea on her mobile phone today. Granted, she’s done her bit for us, and I know she told you, Carol, she’d be rehearsing for tonight, but I am somewhat concerned. Especially if there’s really a case against the Cruickshanks, which there seems to be. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to head off to Mountain Ash House from here, and maybe get there even before the tea begins. I’d like to see Althea and bring her up to speed – and make sure she’s ready to leave with us after the evening’s performance. Could you bring Annie along, please, Carol? And you meet us there, Christine?’

  The plans were agreed and the call ended.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Carol collected Annie from the Lamb and Flag, where Gertie had been deposited to play with Rosie for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

  Annie looked through the copies Carol had produced of Lizzie Llewellyn’s face sporting different hairstyles. ‘Could be anyone, really, couldn’t she? Just a thin face, pale eyes, and then – well, whatever she wants to make herself look like. I can’t say these hairdos make that much difference, do they?’

  ‘Funny thing, hair,’ said Carol as she pumped the brakes yet again in the busy traffic. ‘I’ve never been able to do anything with mine. It’s curly – that’s it. I swear when I was young everyone thought I was constantly having it permed.’

  ‘You could straighten it, if you wanted,’ said Annie. ‘At least you’ve got hair. Look at me. No more than a fuzz, is mine. Gets to be about an inch long and it just breaks. Eustelle – Mum – got lovely hair, she has. I wish mine was like hers. But I’ve got hair just like me dad’s, more’s the pity.’

  ‘It suits you, though. You’ve got the right-shaped head for it.’

  ‘Ta, doll. I do get to wear some wigs and that, when I’m undercover. That’s always fun. Though I have to admit it’s a bit of a fiddle-faddle. I s’pose I should be grateful all I have to do is wash this in the shower, then rub it dry.’

  ‘Yeah, mine too – just wash it and leave it, because there’s no point doing anything else and, with Albert around now, I’m not likely to have the time to do anything fancy with it, even if I had the inclination.’

  ‘So do you think we’ll find her there? Lizzie, I mean. Do you think she’ll look like one of these pictures and be hiding at the old folks’ home, in plain sight?’

  ‘Christine mentioned seeing only one member of staff at Mountain Ash House, and she described her as short and round. I don’t think Lizzie could manage to look short and round, because, even if she put on weight, she’d still be quite tall.’

  ‘But it makes sense she’s at least been there, even if she’s not there now.’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘There’s no other way she could have got her hands on Daisy’s books, right? I mean, if she didn’t do those drawings in them there, then where? The books have only been with Daisy and at the bookshop in Hay, right?’

  Carol swore – which surprised Annie, who was the one everyone said had a penchant for turning the air blue – and pulled off the road, the car crunching and juddering to a standstill in a gateway to a field.

  ‘You’re right, Annie!’ she shouted.

  ‘Yeah, I know I am. What’s up, Car? You feelin’ alright?’

  ‘No. No, I’m not. I’m feeling completely and utterly stupid, Annie. Tall, thin, can’t stop drawing, lives on cash, been to West Wales and now this area. Moves around a lot. Keeps herself to herself.’ She slammed her hand on the steering wheel. ‘It’s Sam.’

  ‘Who’s Sam?’

  ‘The girl who works at Crooks & Cooks! I’ve got it all wrong. Lizzie isn’t hiding at Mountain Ash House posing as a cleaner, or a carer, she’s hiding out at Val and Bryn’s bookshop, and that’s where she did those drawings in those books – she found them on Bryn’s shelves and “doodled” on them. She never met, or knew, Daisy Dickens/Drayton/Davies. She just got her hands on the books.’

  ‘And she’s working there now?’

  Carol started the engine and looked for a break in the traffic. ‘Yes. At least she’s supposed to be.’ She nudged out into the stream of cars, causing horns to be hooted, then headed back in the direction of Hay-on-Wye.

  ‘So this Sam is covered in tattoos, is she? And you never thought to mention that?’ Annie grabbed at the handle of the door to stop herself slithering about on the seat as Carol drove as fast as she dared, and the other traffic allowed.

  ‘I don’t know, I suppose she must have. The only time I saw her she was wearing one of those hoodie things, on a perfectly lovely summer’s day. But I know she has a lot of piercings and I also know those two things often go together – a love of tattoos and piercings. It’s all about using the body as a canvas for expression.’

  ‘But she doesn’t look enough like any of these renditions you printed out for the penny to have dropped?’

  Carol blushed as she drove. ‘No. Sam had jet black hair, a fringe, and a bun on top of her head. I didn’t do one like that. If I had, you’re right, I might have put two and two together.’

  ‘So we’re doing what now? Racing to Hay to apprehend her on our own? I think I should at least tell Mavis what we’re up to. She might have a thing or two to say about this.’

  ‘No, don’t phone Mavis, phone Val. Ask her if Sam’s at work – don’t say anything else, just that. Go on, quick.’

  Annie did as she’d been asked. ‘It’s Sam’s day off,’ she announced, relaying Val’s response as she held the phone to her ear.

  ‘Friday’s her day off? Why? Isn’t that a busy day? She was there when I visited last Friday.’

  Val had heard Carol’s question in the car and Annie passed her reply on, ‘Val says there aren’t a lot of coach trips on a Friday – the roads are too bad – so, for them, it’s a quiet day. Sam came in on her day off last week because Bryn had to go up to Chellingworth Hall that morning, as wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone.’

  Carol shook her head as she hit her horn, to no effect, because they were on a single-lane road.

  ‘Ask Val if she knows where Sam lives, and write it down.’

  Annie followed her instructions. ‘Val’s asking why you need to see Sam so urgently.’ She rolled her eyes as she spoke, even though she knew Carol wasn’t looking at her.

  ‘Just a couple of questions about Sarah Cruickshank,’ Carol shouted. ‘Oh yes, and has she got any tattoos?’

  Annie said, ‘Val says she has no idea, she’s never seen any, but Sam’s always bundled up. Seems to be eternally cold.’

  ‘OK, thanks for that, Val,’ shouted Carol. ‘Nothing to be concerned about. No worries, thanks. Hang up now, Annie,’ she said.

  ‘Cheers, then,’ concluded Annie, and held onto her phone after she’d disconnected. ‘So? Mave next?’

  ‘Hang on a minute, don’t bother her yet. Let her go and see Althea, whose contacts might be useful for this part of this case, too. Besides, Mavis is across-country from us, so we’ll let her do that, and we’ll do this.’

  ‘Do what? Turn up at this Sam’s place and confront her? Having heard what a temper she’s got, and thinking about what she’s capable of, I can’t say I like the sound of that. Not that I’m not good at handling myself in a tight corner, but … Oh, I dunno, Car, sounds like we might be biting off a bit more than we should be trying to chew. And what if it’s not her, in any case?’

  ‘Well, then, we’ll just ask Sam to show us her arms, and leave it at that.’

  ‘Yeah, ’cos why wouldn’t a person show up at your front door and ask you to do that, right?’

  Annie folded her arms, then unfolded them again as Carol cornered at speed.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Mavis arrived at Mountain Ash House just as several other cars were making their way along the winding dr
iveway, bringing guests, she had no doubt, for the tea which was due to begin soon. She’d taken longer to make the journey than she’d hoped, and was doing her best to control the heightening anxiety she was feeling at not having been able to reach Althea on her phone.

  She approached the front door where two uniformed schoolgirls were already selling tickets for the tea and the evening’s event, and handing out photocopied sheets with song lyrics on one side and a running order on the other.

  ‘One, please. Do you have a concession for those of us over sixty?’

  The girls looked down at Mavis. ‘Over sixty-fives only,’ said the taller of the two. ‘Are you old enough?’

  Mavis smiled sweetly. ‘Not quite, and thank you for recognizing that fact. Here you are,’ she handed over the necessary cash. ‘Now, where do I go, please?’

  The shorter and wider of the two girls replied, ‘The evening performance will begin at six o’clock in the main lounge area. Seating for that is on a first-come, first-served basis. Please don’t move the chairs about. Until then, there’s tea and entertainment, plus a cash bar, serving non-alcoholic drinks, around the back. Go all the way through here …’ She waved a welcoming arm.

  ‘And the facilities?’ asked Mavis quietly.

  Both girls giggled. ‘The loos are inside on the right, behind the stairs,’ said the taller of the two. ‘There might be a queue.’

  ‘And where might I find Mr or Mrs Cruickshank?’

  ‘Out the back,’ chorused the girls.

  ‘Most helpful,’ said Mavis, and attended to her natural requirements, thereby allowing herself to focus on the matter of tracking down Althea.

  Unable to see what she knew would be a blonde-wigged Althea anywhere about, Mavis headed for the woman she recognized as Sarah Cruickshank, who was serving lemonade from a large punchbowl with a ladle.

  ‘You must be the lady of the house, Mrs Cruickshank,’ said Mavis. ‘I’m Mavis MacDonald, a friend of one of your residents – or, I should say, a possible resident. Mrs Gladys Pugh invited me along. Have you seen her about?’

  Sarah Cruickshank paused, the ladle in mid-air, dribbling lemonade on the plastic tablecloth. ‘Oh yes, Mrs Pugh. What a lovely person. I do so hope she’s been enjoying her time here. She’s made herself at home, that much I can tell you.’ She looked around, a blank expression on her face. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t recall having seen her about today.’ She returned her attention to Mavis. ‘There’s been such a lot for me to do to get ready for this concert, you see, so I dare say I wouldn’t have done. Maybe one of our residents will know where she is. You’re welcome to ask about.’

  Mavis was not pleased with the response, but thanked the woman politely. As she’d been speaking, Mavis had been sizing her up; was this a woman who could happily talk people into leaving all their worldly goods to her for her own benefit? Mavis wasn’t sure.

  Taking her lemonade and moving slowly among the knots of people standing and chatting merrily in the afternoon sunshine, Mavis tried to not allow the feeling of dread in her stomach to affect her focus. She made a beeline for anyone with blondish hair, only to be disappointed every time. After about ten minutes, and unable to locate Althea, she asked a woman with a white face, a black top-knot wig and chopsticks in her hair if she’d seen Gladys Pugh anywhere.

  ‘Gladys?’ The woman looked around. ‘I don’t think she was planning to wear any sort of costume that might disguise her – some of us are, as you can see – but I can’t spot her. Do you know her?’

  ‘Yes, I do. She invited me. I believe she needed a hand with her final preparation for this evening’s performance and I volunteered to let her do a run through for me, but I can’t find her anywhere.’

  The top-knotted head tilted. ‘Isn’t that nice of you. I’m Maisie, by the way, and I’ve spent a fair bit of time with Gladys. Lovely woman. She’ll fit right in here. I haven’t seen her today, come to think of it. It’s been a bit of a busy one, what with one thing and another. So much to get sorted out, you know. She might be in her room. Have you tried there?’

  ‘Where would that be?’ asked Mavis.

  Maisie pointed to the window of a room on the top floor, at the back of the house. ‘There’s her room, see, up there.’ She waved toward the rear of the house. ‘That’s probably where she is. Last-minute nerves, maybe. I shouldn’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be fine. You could phone her. Use the house phone inside – it goes through to all our rooms. Just dial her room number.’

  ‘And what might that be?’

  Maisie gave it some thought, ‘I’d have said fourteen or fifteen – I think those are the numbers for the guest rooms. You could try them both.’

  ‘Aye, thank you, I’ll do that.’ Mavis moved into the rear lounge of the house and did exactly as had been suggested. There was no response from either number. She weighed her options, and made a decision.

  Mavis reckoned she’d be less noticeable if she didn’t rush about, so walked slowly up the staircase past the signs announcing she was entering a Residents Only area. Once she’d reached the correct floor, she walked along the narrow, wood-block hallway until a window overlooking the festivities at the rear of the property showed her that either the room on the right or the left must be Althea’s. Each room had a doorbell, though neither bore a name. She pressed the button of the room on her right and heard a bell ring inside the room. She waited. No response. She rang again. Maybe Althea was napping? Still nothing. She repeated the process for the room on her left, with the same result.

  Glancing along the corridor to make sure no one was there, she tried both doors. They were both locked. The Yale mechanism on each was the sort that could be easily defeated by using a plastic card to slip the lock open, but she didn’t want to do any breaking and entering. Yet. She weighed her options, again. She rang the bell marked ‘Thomas’ for the room next along the corridor on the right-hand side. No answer. She worked her way along the entire corridor. Not one person responded. Her training in criminal insights told her the place was ripe for the invasion of thieves; the inadequate locks, the fact not one person was there and the ease with which she’d made her way to the landing concerned her greatly. When all this was over she’d have a word with the Cruickshanks about security matters, but she knew that wasn’t her concern at the moment.

  She returned to the window overlooking the garden, and peered about. Might she be able to spot something from above? All she needed to see was one, small, blonde-wigged woman, tottering about on legs that were very nearly eighty years old and she’d be happy. But there was no such person.

  She looked at her watch; where on earth were Carol and Annie? It was a time when more women might have made the job easier. Then she wondered what they could do that she couldn’t, and realized she had to take action herself. Creeping back along the corridor to make sure no one was coming up the stairs – no one was – she finally pulled out an old credit card she no longer used, and slipped the lock on the door to the guest room on the right. It took a couple of minutes, but she managed it.

  Once inside, it was clear to Mavis the room wasn’t in use; there was nothing on the bedside table, the wardrobe was empty, and the toilet paper in the empty bathroom had been folded to a point. She closed the door, and moved across the hallway, listening for footsteps before she repeated her trick with the card. This time, the room was much more promising; a glass of water beside the bed, a collection of beige ladies’ clothes in the wardrobe and, in the bathroom – oh joy – a navy blue and gold box. Floris Special No 127 Eau de Toilette. Althea’s perfume, as worn by both Winston Churchill and Eva Peron. Mavis knew the dowager had worn the same fragrance for over fifty years, her beloved Chelly having given it to her as a gift on their first dinner-date, and she wouldn’t go anywhere without it. It was a sure sign Mavis was in Althea’s room. The question was, where the devil was the woman herself?

  Mavis started as she heard a sound outside in the corridor. She spun around, pleased she’d closed
the door behind her upon her entry. Was that someone opening the door? It might be Althea … or not. Something in the pit of Mavis’s stomach told her not to fling open the door hoping to see her friend, but to hide. Her only option was under the bed, which was where she lay as she watched a pair of man’s shoes walk around the room. She heard him pull open the wardrobe, drop something she assumed was Althea’s suitcase on the bed, and proceed to stuff everything from the room into it, in what Mavis assumed was a haphazard manner, so roughly did the bed bounce above her head.

  She breathed as quietly as she could as the man went about his business. He paced back and forth between the bed and the bathroom, then, finally, he was gone. Mavis remained where she was for a few minutes, until she was sure the coast was clear. Then pulled herself out of her hiding place, a little dusty, but no worse for wear. The room in which she stood now looked as devoid of life as the one across the hallway. She peered into the bathroom; no, the man hadn’t folded the toilet paper into a point.

  She perched on the end of the bed. She had a very bad feeling about Althea, and it seemed she was going to have to make some difficult decisions alone.

  FORTY

  Carol parked on the double yellow lines outside the small, stone-built house high on a hillside in Hay-on-Wye, and leapt out. Annie joined her. They both hammered at the door and were grumpily greeted by an elderly man wearing a turquoise shell-suit that looked as though it had dropped through a time-portal from the 1980s. ‘Hello then, and who are––’ was all he managed before Carol interrupted.

  ‘It’s an emergency. Is Sam here?’

  ‘I expect so,’ he mumbled. ‘Know her, do you?’

  ‘I know the woman she works for, Val Jenkins, down at the Crooks & Cooks bookshop.’