Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery

by Joanne Phillips

  Flora pulled a face. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So anyway.’ Joy sat in the armchair opposite, her back to the window, her face in shadow. ‘Nineteen forty-seven – the war was over, but women, like our English teacher Miss Lester, they were less than happy to see all the men coming back and taking over again. That’s what she used to say to us – they’re coming back to take over and we don’t need them. We’ve managed fine without them until now.’

  ‘She was a feminist?’

  ‘We didn’t know a feminist from a funfair back then, not in the circles I mixed in. But yes, I suppose she was by today’s standards. A vicious one, too. She created a club, a secret society, and invited a select few girls to join.’

  Flora sat up and smiled. ‘Sounds exciting. A bit like Dead Poets Society?’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Flora, but yes, it was exciting. She was charismatic, very striking to look at, and incredibly intelligent. She taught us about the famous women in history. She brought them to life in her lessons – we were in awe of her, all of us.’

  ‘What was it called? Your secret society.’

  Joy turned her head to the side. Her hands twisted around and around in her lap, clutching at something, some kind of belt.

  ‘It was called the Joan of Arc club.’ Joy swallowed and cleared her throat. ‘It was all so innocent at first, you see. Just a way to feel special. We were closeted, kept away from the real world. My parents were well off, successful, but they’d had me late in life and they weren’t all that interested in children. And the other girls, their families were the same.’

  Flora wanted to reach across the coffee table and take her friend’s hands in hers. She held back, sensing that Joy needed the distance. ‘You were impressionable,’ she said softly.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. We were impressionable.’ Joy was silent for a minute, then she shook her head and carried on, her voice now quite different, almost detached. ‘There were four of us, only four, in the club. Me, Dizzy, Frances and Melody. Dizzy’s real name was Daisy, but there was nothing dizzy about her. She was the ringleader … She was very affected, very full of herself, was Dizzy. We all were. I was the last to join, always the newbie. That’s why they ... Well, anyway. The club met once a week with Miss Lester in her tutor room and we talked about literature and how women were portrayed in the classics. We made up our own stories, alternative histories – I enjoyed that part. But mostly we talked about men.’

  ‘About men?’ Flora prompted when Joy fell silent. ‘You mean, about men you liked? Fancied?’

  ‘Oh no. Not that. About how awful they were, how they repressed us.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘We were plotting their downfall. It was Miss Lester’s great dream, you see. To reduce men to the level of servitude that women had suffered for centuries.’

  ‘She sounds hard core. Poisonous, even.’

  Joy leaned forward and looked into Flora’s eyes. ‘She was. But Dizzy and the girls, they were worse. They were the ones who found the Venus Tree.’

  ‘What? What was that?’

  ‘Biscuits! Goodness – we can’t have tea without biscuits.’ Joy dived into the kitchenette, tea cup in hand, with Flora on her heels.

  ‘Well, what happened then? What about this tree?’

  Joy was on her knees, shuffling cereal packets and unopened boxes of crackers around the cupboard. ‘I can’t find any. Sorry, Flora. We’ll have to make do without.’

  ‘Joy, stop procrastinating and tell me about the bloody tree.’

  Her friend stood with a huff and leaned on the counter, a hand resting on her lower back. She sighed. ‘We used to meet there, in the grounds of the Grange. It’s not important. But I fell foul of them, the other members of the club. And then I had to pass a test, I had to prove myself worthy again.’ She shook her head, her eyes magnified by unshed tears. ‘I never gave in to peer pressure again my whole life, Flora. Not for anything. But back then I didn’t know any different. I just wanted to belong.’

  When Joy paused, Flora became aware of the almost unnatural silence that had descended on Joy’s unit. She felt as though they were the only two people in the world, wrapped up in a pocket of time, slipping back sixty-five years to witness – what? Just what had Joy done that haunted her so, all these years later?

  ‘Go on, Joy,’ she whispered. ‘What was the test?’

  ‘There was a boy at the school. The only boy we knew. He wasn’t a pupil, of course – he was the caretaker’s son. His name was Aubrey, and he was my friend.’

  ‘Your friend?’

  Joy nodded, her white curls bouncing on her forehead. ‘Yes, he was. And they hated it, they teased me about it, but Aubrey was so lonely, and so kind and gentle. I had eczema really bad back then, there weren’t the treatments for it like there are now. Now I take these antihistamine thingies every day, but then I just had to put up with it. I was hideous, with my skin all raw and flaky. I hated myself, could barely look in a mirror.’

  ‘I’m sure you weren’t that bad.’

  ‘Well, I thought I was. But Aubrey didn’t seem to notice. Or care. The other girls teased me, even my friends. But he never did. Not once. He said when he grew up he’d become a doctor and find a cure for me.’

  Flora smiled. ‘That was sweet.’

  ‘He was very sweet. But he was a boy, and boys were forbidden – they were the enemy. I didn’t know what to do, so I kept our friendship secret as much as I could.’

  ‘Were you, you know – in love?’

  ‘No.’ Joy laughed, but sadly. ‘I didn’t know what that meant back then. Fifteen-year-old girls were far less mature than they are these days.’

  Flora raised her eyebrows, thinking that young girls in general were probably not as different sixty years ago as Joy, the innocent, believed. But she said nothing. She sipped her tea and leaned closer. ‘So, what happened with this Aubrey?’ She remembered Joy’s words from earlier. ‘You mentioned Aubrey when you were talking about Merlin, didn’t you? You said if Aubrey had succeeded with Otto he’d have left Merlin alone.’ Hearing his name, Otto gave a low woof from the other room. ‘You think Aubrey is here? At the Maples?’

  Joy nodded. ‘He wants his revenge.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

  ‘But how? I mean, how could a boy from your childhood be here? And revenge for what, Joy? What did you do?’

  ‘I don’t know how, but he must have found me and moved in under a false name.’ Joy’s face was lit up now, animated. ‘But he can’t fool me. I knew it was him the moment I saw him. There’s still something of the caretaker’s son about him, don’t you think? You can’t fake good breeding, especially in your seventies. It’s his trousers, you see. They give him away completely.’

  Flora shook her head, trying to bring the sane world back into focus. She heard a noise outside, a faint shuffling, but she ignored it and pressed on. ‘Joy, you are not making sense. Who is this caretaker’s son?’

  Joy’s smile was grim. ‘Mr Felix, of course. And now he’s trying to hurt me, just like I ...’

  ‘Joy, are you okay, dear?’

  They turned as one to the doorway of the kitchenette. Framed in yellow sunshine was the warden. She smiled and stepped across the threshold. ‘Ah, there you are, Joy. I’ve been looking for you. We’re about to start the line dancing class if you’re coming. Oh, hello Flora. Vera all settled in, is she?’

  ‘Hi Cynthia. I’m just on my way to see how they’re getting on.’ Flora patted Joy’s hand. ‘Do you want me to walk with you to your class?’ She was hoping to carry on their conversation out of the warden’s hearing.

  Joy shook her head. ‘I’ve got to change first. Can’t do the ankle rock in these, can I?’

  They all looked down at Joy’s slippers: two brown balls of fluff with doggie ears and little, woeful-looking doggie eyes.

  ‘No, probably not,’ said the warden, heading for the door.

  ‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ whispered Flora. ‘You can carry on with your sto
ry.’

  Joy nodded, still gazing at her feet. Then she gripped Flora’s arm with surprising strength. ‘Please think about taking Otto for me, Flora. Just for a little while. You’re the only person I can trust. Mr Felix might have failed once, but next time … who knows what will happen?’

  ***

  Flora found the warden in the dining room, huddled over by the hotplates with Richie. It took two Hellos for their heads to move apart and for the warden to acknowledge Flora’s presence. Richie didn’t even do that. She’d finally got Vera sorted, after moving her bed for the third time – who would have thought there were so many positions for it in such a small room? – and she was annoyed to see Richie so obviously skiving: he must be confident of avoiding a reprimand when the warden was effectively their boss.

  ‘We’re heading back to base soon,’ Flora said, weaving her way across the room. ‘Marshall’s looking for you. He needs a hand stacking the boxes.’ Richie shrugged and slouched away. The warden turned to Flora with a tight smile.

  ‘Joy’s enjoying her class. Well done for calming her down.’

  Flora could hear the faint strains of country music coming from the communal area. ‘That’s okay. I’m not sure I was much use really. Do you have time for a quick word?’

  The aroma of roasting meat drifted from the kitchens. The long tables in the dining room were already laid for dinner even though it was only three o’clock in the afternoon. Flora found the white linen and vase of flowers on every table reassuring – it was these little details that made the retirement village the kind of place she felt comfortable moving lovely old folks like Joy and Vera into. The Maples’ contract had made up thirty per cent of Shakers’ revenue this past six months. Flora was grateful for the work, and knew she had to go carefully with what she was about to say. She didn’t want the warden to think she was overstepping the mark.

  ‘We’ll have to walk while we talk,’ Cynthia said, striding off in the direction of her office without waiting for an answer. ‘I’m expecting a rather urgent phone call.’

  Flora hurried to keep up. ‘It won’t take long. It’s about Joy, actually. I’m worried about her. She’s in a bit of a state. After what happened to Otto, and now the other dog. She’s–’

  ‘What happened to Merlin was an accident,’ the warden said over her shoulder. ‘He’d been chewing on Dolly’s TV cable. Apparently for some time. It was an accident waiting to happen.’

  ‘Poor thing.’

  ‘Well, he was ancient, of course. At least fifteen years old. Shock like that might not have killed a younger dog but he wasn’t in the best of health.’

  Was fifteen old for a dog? Flora had no idea, but then you could write her knowledge of dogs on the back of a postage stamp.

  ‘It might have been our fault, in a roundabout way.’ The warden stopped suddenly next to a set of double doors and puffed out her weathered cheeks. Her wiry grey hair stuck out at odd angles – Flora couldn’t tell if it was curly or just badly cut. ‘We certify every item of electrical equipment on the premises, but I thought under health and safety regulations it only applied to company-owned equipment. Maybe I should look into that. I wouldn’t want it to be down to our negligence. We’re already having child-safety catches fitted on every set of blinds on the complex.’

  ‘Well, that’s good.’ Flora was a little taken aback at the warden’s attitude. Wasn’t the most important thing to take care of the owner’s feelings? Dolly must be in a terrible state, especially if her own frayed cabling was partly to blame.

  ‘Look,’ she said, running to catch up again as the warden strode away, ‘it wasn’t really Merlin I wanted to talk about. Joy’s really scared of something, and although I can’t say exactly what, I’d like you to keep an extra eye on her, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Who?’ The warden reached her office and put her hand on the door handle. All the doors at this end of the main building were solid oak, impenetrable. A brass door plate read: Cynthia Curtis, Warden & General Manager.

  ‘Joy. That’s who I’ve been talking about.’

  ‘You want me to keep an eye on her? Why?’

  Flora sighed. How much should she share? Joy had sworn her to secrecy, but the warden wasn’t going to take Flora’s fears seriously without some information.

  ‘The other day she got a bunch of daffodils left outside her door. She totally freaked out about them, said they’d been left there to scare her. Started going on about narcissuses and stuff.’

  ‘Narcissi,’ corrected the warden.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The plural of narcissus is narcissi.’

  ‘Right. Anyway, also she had the shock of finding Otto all tangled up in her blinds, which was obviously very distressing. She’s not well, Cynthia. And she has to watch out for stress, with her …’ Flora tailed off. She shouldn’t be the one to tell the warden about Joy’s asthma. Her friend had reassured her it was under control, but had sworn her to secrecy on this too.

  The warden was looking at Flora oddly. ‘Why does she need to watch out for stress?’

  Flora forced a laugh. ‘Oh, well, no more than any of us does, I suppose. But she gets herself in a state about things. And then there’s all this third floor business, isn’t there?’

  Flora only mentioned it to try and change the subject, but the warden’s face hardened and she tipped her head to the side. ‘What? What about the third floor?’

  Keep digging, Flora. ‘Only the silly nonsense they all talk about, you must have heard them.’

  ‘No. Do enlighten me.’

  ‘Oh, all that “no one who moves up there lives longer than three months” stuff. They’re scared of losing their independence is all, you know how these rumours start.’

  Flora wondered, as the warden turned a vivid shade of pink, how this particular rumour had started. The Maples village had only been open for a year.

  ‘Have you lost a lot of residents from the third floor?’

  ‘We’ve said a sad farewell to three wonderful people in the entire time we’ve been operational,’ snapped the warden. ‘And as you can imagine, they were each very elderly and infirm. Otherwise, they would not have been receiving special care.’

  Not that special perhaps, thought Flora, but this time she kept her thoughts to herself.

  ‘And I think it’s best for everyone concerned that we don’t feed these wild rumours. It can’t be good for the residents’ peace of mind.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘And if you are finding it hard to distance yourself from your contract here by being friends with Mrs Martin, maybe that’s something we need to deal with.’

  Flora nodded, understanding the warden perfectly well. Keep your beaky nose out. Or else.

  ‘Sorry. I just wanted to ask you to keep an eye on her, that’s all.’

  ‘Which is exactly what I’m paid to do.’ The warden turned her back on Flora and opened her office door. ‘As for the flowers,’ she said, turning around again, her face back to its usual expression of rosy-cheeked benevolence, ‘maybe Joy has a secret admirer. Isn’t she rather close to the Captain? I’m sure it’s nothing to get in a tizzy about.’

  Flora stood looking at the blank oak door for a full minute after the warden had closed it. Resisting the urge to stick out her tongue like a five-year-old, she turned on her heel and stalked off towards the exit. She rounded a corner and walked directly into a woman carrying a stack of magazines. The magazines went flying, and the woman nearly joined them.

  ‘Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry.’ Flora dropped to her knees to help pick them up. She recognised the woman as the Maples’ main receptionist, Elizabeth.

  ‘No, it was my fault entirely. I wasn’t looking where I was going. In a little world of my own, I was.’

  Flora smiled, her tension ebbing away. The woman’s long blonde hair was loose and flyaway, held off her face with a silver Alice band that would have been cool on a teenager but looked incongruous on a woman who must be pushin
g fifty. She’d noticed Elizabeth around, noticed her leopard-skin tops and maxi-skirts, and she’d certainly noticed Stuart and Steve noticing her too. Elizabeth was an attractive lady, with a breathy voice and a distracted air. Just crying out to be rescued, Steve had said admiringly. And he was at least twenty years her junior.

  ‘Here,’ said Flora, passing over the last of the magazines. ‘Where are you off to with these?’

  ‘The medical centre – someone donated them this morning. We keep having to replace them over there, people are always stealing them.’

  Flora laughed, and Elizabeth smiled uncertainly.

  ‘Well, sorry again. I need to be more careful when I’m in a bad mood.’

  Elizabeth looked concerned. ‘What happened? Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. Just had a run-in with … Never mind.’ Flora stopped herself in time. For all she knew the warden and her chief receptionist might be the best of friends. ‘I was worried about a friend, that’s all. But I’m sure it will all be okay.’

  ‘Good. Well, thanks for helping with these.’

  Flora watched Elizabeth trip away along the corridor. ‘Can I ask you a quick question?’ she called out on impulse.

  ‘Of course.’ The other woman turned and smiled openly. ‘What do you need to know?’

  ‘You have a resident here, a Mr Felix. Would you happen to know his first name?’ Flora held her breath. What was she doing? Surely she was out of line even asking personal questions about a resident?

  Elizabeth didn’t seem to think so. She thought about it for a moment, hoisting the magazines onto one sharp hip. ‘I know who you mean, but I can’t remember his first name. He likes to be called Mr Felix,’ she added with a smile. ‘I see quite a lot of him, he’s always having parcels delivered to reception, a new one every week. Vitamins, they are. He’s obsessed with his health. The warden, she wasn’t too happy about it. Said she didn’t want the other residents getting ideas.’

  ‘Ideas?’

  ‘About the health benefits of vitamins bought over the internet. She runs a pretty tight ship, you know. Likes all that kind of stuff to go through her.’