Beauchamp, ever prepared, made Champagne cocktails, as he knew these soothed the savage breast – or beast, as he preferred to think of his employer – and peace descended once more on the zoned living area of number eight. Finishing his drink rather more quickly than the others, Hugo immediately asked to be pointed at the downstairs cloakroom, was directed to the other side of the dining area, by the patio doors, and toddled off at quite a trot. Champagne did rather run through him.
He was gone quite a while, and Lady Amanda suddenly realised that she had to ‘go’ too, but not just ‘go’, but ‘go ’, and after a bit of wriggling and squirming, asked if she could use their upstairs facilities. Being answered in the affirmative, she, too, trotted off at a fair lick, to restore her previous level of bodily comfort.
After she had attended to her necessary business, she glanced casually around the bathroom, mentally comparing it to what was available at number fifteen, when her eye alighted on a box, discarded in the waste-paper basket with the name ‘Just for Gents’ on it. So, she had been right. She had wondered on a few occasions how Beauchamp’s hair had remained almost boot-black over the years, and this was confirmation of her deepest suspicions. He did dye his hair. This fact gave her enormous satisfaction. So, her butler wasn’t quite as perfect as he looked. After all, it could hardly be Enid’s for, apart from the title on the box, hers was a mess of grey streaks.
She washed her hands and tottered back downstairs, spearing Beauchamp with a gimlet eye and reminded him that she would soon be in need of her roots being touched up. He had ‘blonded’ her hair since she had had the first signs of grey taking up residence on her head, but her expression informed him that his secret was no longer withheld from her.
He gave her a withering, don’t-give-a-damn look, and informed her that he had discussed it with Enid, and he was going to have a go at jazzing up her hair colour when they got back.
‘You’ll be opening a part-time hairdressing salon at this rate. You don’t want anything doing to yours, do you Hugo?’ Lady A asked sarcastically.
‘Not on your life!’ replied Hugo, his hands rising automatically to cover his thick thatch of white. ‘Like that cartoon character, Popeye the Sailor Man, “I yam what I yam”, and I don’t really want to change anything. I mean, the joint replacement has been great, but I’m happy with how I look. I look like I should for a man of my age.’
‘OK, Hugo, don’t get your knickers in a twist! I was only joking.’
Shortly afterwards, with an agreement to meet outside number one at ten o’clock the next morning, the two oldies fought their way against the wind across the close to their villa, and turned in for a fairly early night. If Windy called round now, they wouldn’t hear her: one, because the noise of the storm was so great, and two, because they were both heavy sleepers, and were quite exhausted after their recent round of activities.
The storm raged for most of the night, wreaking fresh havoc on the island, but by dawn, it had just about blown itself out and, by the time the residents of Parrot Bay woke up, many of them after a disturbed night, not having the capacity of the residents of number fifteen to sleep through anything, the last of the wind was blowing away the cloud cover, and the sky was showing large patches of blue, the sun even making the odd appearance from behind this dreary curtain.
At ten o’clock sharp, the investigating foursome gathered outside number one, where both Horseface and Fflageolet joined them, the former looking rather better than she had the night before. Enid had heroically cleaned the filled condoms from the poo-spattered bucket after their guests had gone the previous night, and given the bucket a good rinse and disinfect.
This, she handed to Fflageolet, after explaining that the five were off on a little stroll, saying that Beauchamp had found the plastic receptacle up a tree in their back garden early this morning, and they managed to make their escape before the tiny woman could ask them why she wasn’t invited, too.
She was somewhat distracted, however, at the thought of actually purchasing the villa the two of them were staying in and, once back there, began to give it a minute visual inspection for any sign of dilapidations that would need putting right before she signed on the dotted line, then she planned to go over to Cocktails to knock around the arrangements for it to be transferred to her name. She was so excited she kept giving little squeaks of anticipation and singing the odd snatch of song.
Horseface, meanwhile, along with the occupants of numbers eight and fifteen, moved down towards the beach to have a confrontation with Short John Silver. Lady A had managed to get them to agree to a short diversion to the beach in slightly the other direction, so that she could show them where Douglas Huddlestone-Black had hidden the dinghy he had obviously used to collect his latest consignment of emeralds. The police would be very interested in that, so they had better just confirm its location. When they got there, however, and Lady Amanda pointed towards where the shrubbery was, under which it had been stuffed, she was dumbfounded to discover that, not only was the dinghy not hiding there anymore, but that there was no longer a large bush for it to be hidden under. The storm must have dislodged the whole plant, and whisked it and the dinghy away to another location.
‘That’ll be fun, trying to find that, with all this jungle around,’ said Enid.
‘Not as hard as you think,’ replied Lady A. ‘It was custard yellow – a very bright colour in case the occupant was swept away to sea in it; easily spotted, and all that.’
‘I think we’ll leave it to them,’ said Beauchamp firmly. ‘We’ve got enough on our plates at the moment,’ then clamped his lips shut. Nodding his head towards Horseface, who knew nothing about what Windy and Beep-Beep had been up to.
She, however, raised the subject first. ‘I found out this morning that Fflageolet wants to buy the house we’re staying in, and Droopy-Drawers wants to purchase number seven, so I suppose things are working out alright for Windy after all.’
All four of her companions treated themselves to a sharp intake of breath, and began to question her about how far things had gone. ‘Have they handed over any money yet?’ asked Lady Amanda, anxiety sounding in her voice.
‘Have they agreed prices?’ asked Enid.
‘They haven’t signed anything yet, have they?’ This was Beauchamp, ever practical.
‘When are they moving over?’ Hugo never could quite keep up with rapidly changing circumstances, and seemed to have completely forgotten how horrified he had been to find out the villas were all part of a property scam.
‘Hugo!’ Lady A admonished him, and as memory flooded back, he flushed with embarrassment at this lapse of memory.
‘What’s up?’ asked Horseface. Although she was terrified of confronting Short John Silver again, the tone of their questions, and their content had made an impression on her, and she could, even through her fear, hear their disapproval and concern.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just that we’d like a word with the two would-be purchasers.’ This was Lady Amanda, reacting rather too negatively.
‘Only because there can be surprising drawbacks with actually purchasing in the Caribbean, and they would be better consulting with their solicitors first before they either sign any documents, or commit any money.’ Beauchamp butted in, to allay any fears that Lady A’s precipitate comments might have fuelled, and Horseface gave him a watery smile.
‘Thanks for the heads up. I’ll pass it on, and tell them you want to have a word. That’s jolly nice of you to give a warning. Ladies on their own can get into all sorts of hot water. I’ve never spoken to those who’ve already bought about any problems or obstacles they encountered.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t do that,’ Beauchamp advised her. ‘We’ll just have a quiet word, and we’ll get everything sorted to everyone’s satisfaction,’ he said soothingly.
Lady Amanda and Hugo looked at him in amazement, Enid, in admiration. Beauchamp could have made the bubonic plague sound like a minor infection, and the Great F
ire of London like a small conflagration in a waste bin. He had such assurance in his voice, and such a golden tongue, that he worded everything just right.
Horseface nodded her head in agreement, and they began moving again towards Old Uncle Obediah’s Rum Keg Landing Beach Bar, in search of the scoundrel who had been part of the drugs ring that had so terrorised Horseface. It wasn’t far before they should catch sight of it, but he didn’t seem to be there. All they could see looming in the distance was a pile of bamboo and palm fronds, the whole structure flattened by the storm-force winds of the night before.
‘Oh, my God! It’s been blown to bits,’ exclaimed Hugo.
‘I wonder if he got out, or whether he’s still in there under that lot?’ wondered Lady Amanda, quickening her pace slightly, and feeling slightly blood-thirsty. If ever someone was in need of a bit of divine justice, it was Short John. What an evil trade he was involved in, and she rather hoped he had perished.
They made their way as quickly as they could towards the mound of debris, their brains seething with opposing hopes. It was Enid who first spotted the shod feet peeping from under the heavy wooden bar, and she gave a little squeal of shock. ‘He’s dead. Look. There are his feet, sticking out from under what was the bar top.’
She pointed a finger, and they all followed its direction. ‘Come along,’ Beauchamp chided them. ‘We’d better take a look in case he isn’t dead.’ It was the only practical solution, but it was a reluctant group that trailed along behind him to discover Short John’s fate.
‘You lot take hold of the bar and see if you can lift it slightly, and I’ll grab his ankles and try to pull him out,’ the butler said.
‘Let’s hope he’s got strong straps and buckles on his false ones, then,’ added Lady Amanda.
‘Let us, indeed, hope that, your ladyship,’ agreed Beauchamp, directing the other four to the end of the bar from which the legs protruded. ‘Now, after three. One, two, three, heave!’ They all heaved as hard as they could, lifting the bar very slightly, and Beauchamp pulled as hard as he could on the ankles, which suddenly shot out from under the restricting lump of wood with surprising ease.
‘Have they come off?’ asked Hugo, with ghoulish interest.
Beauchamp stood looking down at the pair of legs in his hands, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘He doesn’t seem to have had them on,’ he said, perplexed. ‘See, the buckles aren’t done up,’ and he continued to stare at the prosthetic limbs knowing something was wrong, but not being quite sure what it was.
‘It was Lady Amanda who came up with the answer, causing a whole fireworks display to go off in her head. ‘They’re not the legs he usually wore,’ she almost shouted. ‘They’re much too long.’ Then she lapsed into an excited but speechless silence.
‘What is it, Manda? Come on, spit it out,’ Hugo urged her, now that he had recovered from his disappointment at not finding the beach bar’s proprietor squashed to death under his own bar. What an apt punishment that would have been, after his wicked sideline in drug peddling. Crushed to death by a place that dealt in drugs, but of the alcoholic and, therefore, legal kind.
Lady Amanda suddenly finished her furious thinking, and began to talk rapidly. ‘That’s why I always recognised the gait of the tall man I’ve seen several times. You remember, Hugo, on the beach, when Adonis collected his emeralds, at the lagoon when we went there for a swim, oh, loads of times. I knew I knew the walk, but it must have been these legs that put me off the scent.
‘His gait was distinctive, because they were false, but he had the silhouette of a much taller man. It was him all along. Was that when he was in touch with you, Horseface?’ They might as well get confirmation of this extraordinary claim to identification.
‘It was. He told me the legs were hollow, both pairs, so that he could carry drugs with him while he was in the community, but use the taller ones for bigger consignments under the cover of darkness.’
‘Golly!’ Enid was shocked at this simple act of duplicity.
‘He brought some over to the Lizard Lounge that night he helped out, and took it out of his leg in the gents’. That’s why all the musicians were having a toke later in the evening. And he knew that if someone saw him in bad lighting, that he was very unlikely to be identified, as the first thing they would notice and report would be his height.’
‘What’s a toke?’ asked Hugo, magnificently naïve.
‘Smoking marijuana,’ supplied Beauchamp. ‘So, where is the wretch now?’
‘We could try the Lizard Lounge first, but if he’s there, I think we should alert the island’s security, rather than try to bring him in ourselves,’ said Enid, ever cautious.
‘No, let’s see if we can bring him in ourselves. It’ll be much more of an adventure, and if we don’t succeed, at least we know he can’t get off the island, with the sea this churned up.’ Lady A was still game for a bit of a tussle.
‘It could be dangerous,’ Hugo warned her.
‘What’s he going to do, hit us with one of his other false legs?’ Lady Amanda was having none of it. A bit of adventure she had set her heart on, and a bit of adventure she was going to get, and she began to walk in the direction of the Lizard Lounge in a very determined manner. The rest of them followed her, trying to dissuade her, but she was having none of it. She was just in the mood for a confrontation.
‘Has anyone met the owner?’ asked Beauchamp, anxious to establish whether their accusations would be taken seriously, if the fugitive was there.
‘I’ve met him,’ piped up Horseface. ‘He’s a local who likes to be known as Uncle Tom – God knows why.’ And he knows that Short John is in the drugs trade, because he keeps him and his staff and some of his customers supplied with weed.’
‘Does he now?’ commented Lady A, ambiguously, and quickened her pace a little. ‘Well, let’s hope he doesn’t put up too much of a fight for his bit of weed. He’d hardly be treated harshly out here, would he? For a bit of ganja?’
Lady Amanda entered the building first, to find an elderly local, whom she assumed to be the owner, sitting at the bar drinking a beer. ‘What can Ah get you, honey?’ he asked, with a lazy smile. ‘Maybe a little Caribbean cocktail?’
‘I’m not here for a drink,’ she stated, as the others arrived behind her. ‘We’re here looking for Short John Silver on a matter of some urgency.’
‘And what might dat be, my little bougainvillea flower?’ he drawled, trying to exert his considerable charm on her.
‘I am nobody’s honey or little flower, and we’re here to ask him about his drug smuggling activities,’ she continued, giving him a steely stare.
‘You can’t mean de bit of weed that he shares wid his friends and neighbours, can you?’
‘No, I mean the hard drugs he tries to get smuggled out of the country for him. I’m talking about his heroin smuggling.’
The old man’s face clouded with a disapproving scowl, a figure shot up from behind the bar, and Short John Silver tried to make a run for the back exit. His stumps, however, had become numb during his enforced crouching, and he wasn’t too fast, as he couldn’t just not feel the legs he had lost, but couldn’t feel the legs that he wore either.
Now, on a previous visit, they had noticed that there were some fake parrots perched on hoops, hanging from the low ceiling. Before anyone could move to follow the miscreant, Lady Amanda had jumped as high as she could, caught hold of one of the hoops, and ripped it from its fragile anchorage. She then threw it with the absolute accuracy she had displayed with the quoits when they had been on board ship, and it landed over Short John’s head, halting his limping progress. So unexpected was this missile that he immediately stumbled into a table and fell over.
Beauchamp shot over to him like greased lightning, throwing himself on top of the man and calling for something with which to bind his hands. ‘I’ll need to do his thighs as well, then we can divest him of his lower legs.’
Uncle Tom was sitting muttering about how he
didn’t approve of hard drugs, but didn’t see any harm in a bit of weed now and again, as he hunted out a strong piece of rope from a junk-filled cupboard behind the bar. Lifting his head, he asked, ‘Do you want me to go and try to flag down a security car on its rounds?’
‘If you don’t mind,’ Hugo said gratefully. He was unlikely to abscond and leave his business over his receiving a bit of marijuana, and he felt they could trust him.
‘If Ah takes mah moped, then if they’s not around, Ah can go into de office and get dem,’ said Uncle Tom, as he went thoughtfully outside. He had been shocked at Short John Silver’s other sideline, and he just didn’t approve. Drugs like that ruined people’s lives, and even killed them if they weren’t careful.
As the captive and his five captors sat in silence, Lady A suddenly voiced her most recent thought. ‘If it was this creature I kept seeing in the distance, then it means it was he who saw Adonis collect his little packet of gems. And if that is so, and I also saw someone of his extended build leaving the murder house, then it was probably he who killed our lovely Douglas, because he thought he was muscling in on his share of the drugs trade.
‘That’s what he would have been searching for when he pulled out everything in the house. And all he found was that little suede bag, which I came across in a bush outside the front door – where he probably discarded it as worthless. I think we’ve caught ourselves a murderer as well as a smuggler.’
The security services turned up and were astounded at the story they were told, then dutifully arrested Short John and his legs, both sets. When he had been taken away, Uncle Tom insisted that they have a small glass of beer with him, still expressing shock and horror at what his erstwhile friend had been up to, and turning his mind to whom he could turn, to carry on with his small supply of ‘relaxation’.
When the glasses were drained, Lady Amanda suggested that Horseface went back to number one and told the whole story, if she felt inclined to, or just the story of the murder, if she wanted to withhold the information of her being duped into almost being a drugs mule, to Fflageolet. She needed also to warn her not to commit to anything until Beauchamp had had a word with her about purchasing a villa.
Caribbean Sunset with a Yellow Parrot (The Belchester Chronicles Book 5) Page 17
