‘You don’t believe me,’ Joy said sullenly.
Flora knew she needed to tread carefully. Her friend’s arms and neck were showing signs of a serious flare-up and her breathing was almost as laboured as Otto’s. After everything she’d been through in the last six months, the Captain’s death might easily prove to be the last straw. Mentally as well as physically. She looked at the bare windows and thought again about Otto tangled in the blinds. Right now he was probably being spoilt rotten by Vera, who’d offered to take him for walk while Flora visited with Joy. Flora decided to cut her friend some slack. She’d been through a lot. It was time to talk it through with her properly, let Joy figure out for herself that her theories were way off target.
‘Okay, let’s say, just for argument’s sake, that you’re right.’
Joy’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Go on.’
‘What do you think happened on the day of the accident? You think Mr Felix had a tussle with the Captain at the top of the main stairs for all to see? Then slipped out into the garden to dig up some weeds, creeping back after the act to remove himself from suspicion?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I saw him in the lobby, Joy. He’d been gardening, it was obvious.’
‘Probably burying the evidence.’
Flora tutted impatiently. ‘Look, even if it was Mr Felix, who you think is really Aubrey, and who has held a grudge against you for sixty-odd years and tracked you down to right here, right now, and is hell bent on revenge for something you did to him years ago – something you still haven’t told me about, by the way – why on earth would he want to hurt the Captain?’
It was all ridiculous, of course. But Flora still couldn’t get her head around how it had happened. The Captain had been the very antithesis of clumsy or unsteady, as sure-footed as a mountain goat. And he was a rule follower. The Maples rule was to hold the handrails or use the lift. There were safety signs all over the main building, the warden was obsessive about safety.
And the Captain had been obsessive about following the rules.
But maybe he’d been ill. Or he’d fainted. He was very old, after all.
Joy grimaced, still considering Flora’s question. ‘Actually I was hoping you’d ask me that. I know exactly why he did it. It’s because the Captain and I were, you know–’
‘Really?’ Flora’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. ‘You and the Captain were ... together?’
‘No!’ Joy slapped Flora hard on the hand. ‘Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, young lady. My poor Eddie’s not been gone five minutes, we’re two weeks away from our wedding anniversary! Anyway, I’m hardly likely to be getting up to that kind of thing at my age. And the Captain was almost ninety. Show some respect.’
‘Sorry,’ Flora said meekly. But she thought, Why not? Flora hoped she herself would be getting up to that kind of thing at ninety. God knows she wasn’t getting up to much of it at twenty-nine.
‘We were friends. We played chess together and listened to the Friday play. The Captain had a fine mind, an enquiring mind, and he was a very spiritual person. Lately he’d been talking a lot about some kind of charity – he really was the most … Sorry.’
Flora passed Joy a tissue then looked away, giving her friend a chance to regain her composure. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the Captain’s medal. Silently, she handed it to Joy.
‘I found it,’ she explained. ‘There was no one around for me to give it back to. I thought … I think he would have wanted you to have it.’
Joy took the medal and held it to her cheek for a second. Then she jumped up from the sofa and rushed off to the kitchenette. A moment later Flora heard the tap go on, the click of the kettle. She moved to stand in the doorway and watched her friend with a puzzled expression. Something about the way Joy was moving bothered her. And then she had it.
‘Joy Martin! You told me you’d had a fall. There’s nothing wrong with you, is there? Look at you, you’re walking fine!’
In the kitchenette, Joy froze, then staggered a little and held out her hands as if to steady herself on the counter. Flora shook her head.
‘No way, I’m not falling for that. The whole thing was made up just to get me to look after Otto, wasn’t it? I thought you were quiet when I came to get him, but I just figured you felt bad about dragging me halfway across town so late. I can’t believe you would manipulate me like that.’
‘You were too stubborn to just take the poor mite and keep him safe. I had to do something.’
‘Joy, if I truly thought he was in danger I’d have taken him in a flash. But he wasn’t. He still isn’t. What happened was–’
‘An accident. Yes. That’s what you all think. But I know different.’
Flora put her hands on her hips and threw out a challenging glare. ‘How? And I’m going to need more than a tale of some schoolgirl club if you want me to believe you. I need hard evidence, Joy. This has gone far enough.’
‘I’ve got all the evidence you need right here.’ Joy bent for a second, reaching inside the cupboard beneath the sink, then she stood triumphantly, clutching a bunch of drooping daffodils and a white envelope.
‘More flowers. Very nice. And the evidence you mentioned?’
‘This is it. Don’t you remember I got flowers just after Otto’s accident?’
‘Yes. I remember you grinding them into the path with your shoe.’
‘Exactly. And yesterday, the day after the Captain’s … well, these were on my doorstep.’ Joy pulled Flora over to the sofa and thrust the flowers into the waste bin by her side. ‘This time there was a card as well.’
Flora held out her hand for the envelope. It held an illustrated postcard, the type you could buy from any art shop, showing a scantily-clad woman standing on a giant seashell.
‘Classy,’ Flora said. She turned the card over and read: Sorry for your loss.
‘What do you make of that?’ Joy sat back with her hands laced together. She seemed to think she’d presented Flora with some kind of fait accompli.
‘Someone feels sad for your loss?’ Flora shrugged. ‘I’m clearly not seeing what you’re seeing.’
‘How well do you know your Roman mythology, Flora?’
‘Just the usual. Apollo, Zeus and the rest.’
‘They’re Greek. Venus was a Roman goddess.’
‘Oh.’ Another shrug. ‘So?’
‘So this is a picture of Venus. Do you remember the name of our tree? The special place we used to meet in the grounds of the school?’
Flora shook her head. But she was lying. She remembered perfectly well.
‘We called it the Venus Tree. Something Aubrey knows only too well. And the daffodils, they’re also known as narcissus, aren’t they?’
‘Joy, I’m sure all this means something to you, but–’
‘In Greek mythology, Narcissus was a man who fell in love with his own reflection. Venus the goddess of love, falling in love with your own reflection, can’t you see the connection?’
‘Well, I suppose, but there’s a–’
‘There’s more.’
Flora slumped back into the squashy sofa. She’d had a feeling there might be.
‘You’ve probably never heard of the epithet meaning “lucky Venus” have you? Or the statue of Venus by the same name? In the Vatican?’
A shake of her head was all Flora could manage.
Joy pulled herself up onto her feet and planted a hand on each thigh. ‘Venus Felix, Flora! And I’m guessing that Aubrey isn’t as ignorant as you, which is exactly why he took that name. Don’t you see?’
Frankly, Flora didn’t see at all, but the one thing she could see with crystal clear vision was that Joy had it all figured out.
Which was pretty scary, however you looked at it.
***
Flora made some coffee for herself and strong tea for Joy, using the time to try and organise her thoughts. Her friend was overwrought, s
eeing conspiracies everywhere she looked, finding hidden meanings in innocent messages. She was perched on the arm of her easy chair now, her hand fluttering up to her chest every few minutes to steady her breathing. She’d already had two puffs of her inhaler, and Flora knew for a fact that Joy restricted its use to occasions when she was having real difficulties breathing. She stirred milk into her coffee and watched from the kitchenette.
This couldn’t go on. Never mind this supposed caretaker’s son – if Joy didn’t calm down soon she’d be a danger to herself. The thing to do was talk it through calmly and try to get to the bottom of what was really eating away at her. If she could get it off her chest, maybe she would start to see her theories for the crazy ideas they clearly were.
Guilt could be so eroding. Something Flora knew only too well.
She took the tray into the lounge and laid it on the table. The flowers, crushed in on themselves inside the small waste bin, gave off an unpleasant smell. Flora pushed the bin away with her foot.
‘Joy, I want you to tell me straight – are you still taking your medication?’
‘Yes! Of course I am. I take it every day, just like the doctor told me.’
‘Your skin is getting worse, and so is your breathing. You must have noticed.’
Joy held out her hands, palms up. ‘I don’t know what to tell you, Flora. I take the tablets, but you’re right, it does seem to be getting worse. Maybe this latest batch isn’t working so well. They do look a bit different.’
‘Different how?’
‘Just, I don’t know, maybe bigger? And they taste a bit funny.’
Flora laughed. ‘Aren’t you supposed to just swallow them, not eat them?’
‘Anyway, it’s nothing to do with the tablets. It’s all this stress and worry. You know it’s bad for my asthma.’
‘Well, exactly!’ Flora shook her head in exasperation. ‘Which is why I keep trying to talk some sense into you. You’ve got to stop getting all worked up about Mr Felix and see things clearly.’ She pointed to the Venus postcard which Joy had propped up on the dresser. ‘It’s just a card, Joy, and a bunch of flowers. Maybe Mr Felix did send them – maybe he likes you.’
Joy shuddered at this. She picked up her tea and sipped it. Flora decided to push her luck a bit further.
‘If you really think Mr Felix is trying to hurt you in some way, what I don’t understand is why? Yes, I know you think he’s the boy from your past–’
‘Aubrey. And it is him. I don’t just think it.’
‘Fine, but what exactly did you do to him? Why on earth would he want revenge against you of all people?’
Joy’s lips thinned into a defiant line. She put down her cup and walked over to the window, resting her hands on the sill.
‘Besides,’ Flora said, ‘you’re forgetting one important fact.’
‘What?’ Joy didn’t turn around.
‘What happened to the Captain had to be an accident. The warden saw it happen, she told me herself. He tripped. He wasn’t using the handrail. So there’s no way he could have been pushed.’
Joy seemed to deflate even further. Flora got up and patted her friend on the shoulder. She looked out at the gardens and saw Mr Felix chugging along the path on his mobility scooter, stopping every few seconds to pick up litter with an extendable grabber. He shoved the offending items into a black bin bag and then moved on grimly, his face set with disapproval. His faded red hair had come away from its comb-over and was flapping in the breeze like the flag of old age.
That man, thought Flora, couldn’t hurt a fly.
She turned back to Joy. ‘I’m sorry to have to be the one to point this out, but didn’t you say yourself that everyone who moves up to the third floor is dead within three months? Although I’m sure you were exaggerating, the fact remains that the Captain must have been ill. Even if he didn’t tell you.’
Flora looked at Joy’s face, trying to read her expression. ‘He fell, Joy. It was a horrible accident. Nothing more.’
Joy made a humphing sound and mumbled, ‘Proves my theory about the third floor though, doesn’t it?’
‘And if you don’t want to end up there yourself, you’d better get over to the doctor and come clean about your asthma,’ Flora said, taking the opportunity to ram her point home.
Joy turned on Flora, her face a picture of fury. ‘Stop going on about my asthma! This isn’t in my imagination. This isn’t some problem that can be fixed with a bit of counselling and a new course of tablets. You have to start taking this seriously before it gets any worse.’
‘Then give me a better reason to take it seriously than once upon a time there was a girls’ club and a boy you teased,’ cried Flora, matching Joy’s uppity tone. ‘Just give me one good reason why this Aubrey person should have it in for you so bad, then I might start believing you.’
‘I killed his dog, okay?’ Joy thrust her chin forward. ‘I killed his precious Jack, his only friend and companion. That’s why he’s coming after me, and that’s why he tried to kill Otto.’ She whirled around and flung herself back on the sofa. ‘It’s all my fault. Otto, Merlin, and now the Captain. But he won’t stop there, Flora. You mark my words. He won’t stop until he’s made me suffer every inch as much as he did.’
Flora, shocked into silence, instinctively reached for the tissues by the dresser. But right at that moment a piercing scream cut through the air, leaving a strange, vibrating silence behind it.
Joy looked up, her eyes puffy, her expression one of pure terror. As they raced through the door and out into the quadrant, Flora knew one thing absolutely: Whatever the truth of Joy’s accusations, this was one genuinely frightened lady.
In front of the main block, Flora and Joy found Vera sitting on the ground surrounded by residents and clutching what looked like a pile of pale brown fur close to her chest.
‘No,’ whispered Flora. ‘Not again.’
‘What’s that? Not Otto! Not my Otto.’ Joy threw herself down at Vera’s side and began to wail. Flora hung back, not sure what instinct made her search for Mr Felix, just wanting to know in that moment exactly where he was.
He was nowhere to be seen. Well, of course he wasn’t. He’d passed through the gardens ages ago on his self-imposed rubbish collecting duties. She could hear Vera shouting over the top of Joy’s sobs that Otto was okay, he was going to be okay, and she let out a relieved sigh. A near miss, was all. Another near miss. But as she moved forward to join her friend, Flora stopped short. There, off to one side and looking decidedly sorry for himself, was Mr Felix. His mobility scooter lay on its side, only a couple of feet away from the edge of Vera’s caftan. Flora took it all in: the baleful look on the old man’s face; the skid marks on the pavement under the scooter’s front wheel; the warden throwing a blanket over Joy’s shoulders while casting a disgusted glare in Mr Felix’s direction.
It didn’t take Columbo to figure this one out. But Flora was starting to wish the raincoat-clad, cigar-smoking detective would make an appearance for real. Because somehow she’d found herself right in the middle of this mess, and even now Joy was looking at her meaningfully, her eyes carrying a clear message: See? Now do you believe me?
I’m starting to, thought Flora. I’m not really sure I have any choice.
Chapter 7
To the north of Shrewsbury, tucked away in the middle of almost nowhere, the village of Whixall had offered the perfect escape for Max Lively and his collection of bedraggled animals when retirement beckoned. Not for him the communal comfort of a retirement village; after a lifetime of being sociable, Flora’s uncle preferred his own company. To him, loneliness was an alien concept. A former councillor and multiple business owner, Max had, he told Flora, had enough of people to last a lifetime. Or what was left of his lifetime, anyway.
Flora took the train to Wem, then sat on a low wall to wait for Max to come and pick her up. There was no point phoning – he would either be on his way already or out in the fields. She looked at the sky suspiciously
before pulling out her raincoat. Around here, you never could tell.
Before long she heard the familiar grinding racket of Max’s ancient Land Rover. He swung into the car park and waved through the open window.
‘Flora,’ he bellowed, ‘how the devil are you?’
She ran across the tarmac and climbed up into the car, hauling the passenger door shut behind her. It closed, then dropped open again, hanging from one hinge only. ‘For goodness sake, Max! When are you going to get this door fixed? It’s been like this since Christmas.’
Max Lively laughed and ruffled her hair affectionately. He strolled around to Flora’s side and gave the door an almighty kick, popping it back into place and putting a dent in the side for good measure.
‘Great,’ grumbled Flora, surreptitiously readjusting her spiky fringe. ‘Now I’ll probably have to climb out your side.’
Max patted her knee as he threw the gears into reverse. ‘It’s nice to see you too, grumpy. And you’re still too skinny. Didn’t I tell you to start eating more?’
Flora clung on to the sides of her seat as the car limped out of the town and headed down a winding country lane. The hedges were so high she couldn’t see the view, but she knew that in a few months, when the tractors came out to cut them back, she’d be able to see all the way across to North Wales from here. It was a beautiful part of the world: not picturesque in the traditional sense, but honest and wild and peaceful.
‘I eat plenty,’ she told her uncle. ‘But I also work hard. Not that it seems to make much difference.’
‘Business not going too well?’
‘We’re in a recession, in case you hadn’t noticed. The housing market’s as flat as a pancake – things are real difficult.’
‘Really difficult, Flora,’ Max corrected. ‘You’ve been spending too much time with that American.’
‘And that’s another thing. Marshall is driving me insane.’ She swallowed and looked out of the window. This was what she’d been steeling herself to say, the main point of her visit, but how her uncle would take it was a complete unknown.
Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery Page 8
