Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery

by Joanne Phillips

  ‘You work there?’ Was it just her imagination or did the handsome stranger recoil slightly? Flora couldn’t tell if his emphasis had been on the word work or there, but she was right about him not being impressed.

  ‘I own it,’ she said, trying to win back some credibility. ‘It’s a removal company. Shakers.’

  The guy in the suit was nodding. His eyes had clouded over again, and she could have sworn he looked a little sad. Maybe he was disappointed she didn’t need rescuing after all.

  Fat chance. More likely he was yet another guy frightened off by a woman who owned her own business.

  Aware of Marshall’s eyes boring down from above, Flora said a hasty goodbye and ran the last few steps. She pulled the metal door shut behind her and stood for a moment, her back pressed against it. Her heart was pounding again.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  When she reached the office Marshall was reclining with an air of entirely fake and unconvincing calm. He threw the question at her without meeting her eyes. He knew she’d seen him spying.

  ‘I’m fine. Why?’ She threw her tote bag under the desk and flopped into her chair.

  ‘You look a bit flushed.’

  ‘And you saw me outside talking to a stranger,’ added Flora. No point beating about the bush.

  ‘A stranger?’ He looked up and tilted his head. ‘You didn’t recognise him? I mean, you don’t know him?’

  Flora shrugged. ‘I just bumped into him.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Literally. I was walking back through town and I … It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She was too tired to get into it. Marshall had that air of tenseness about him that always set her on edge. There was something eating him, she could tell.

  ‘Can’t help noticing you’re kinda late, Flora.’

  She picked up the message pad and pretended to read it. All the messages were at least three days old. ‘I went to drop Otto off at the Maples. You moan whenever I bring him into work.’

  ‘Bit risky, isn’t it? Leaving him there.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know my theory about that place. Dogs trying to hang themselves, throwing themselves under mobility scooters, chewing on electrical cabling. All those pooches are plain losing the will.’

  She looked around her desk but there was nothing to hand she could throw. Nothing that would do enough damage, anyway. Instead she sent him daggers with her eyes. He had the good sense to let it drop.

  ‘Well, I’d better go grab a sandwich. You want anything?’

  She shook her head. Marshall hauled himself up but stopped in the doorway. He leaned his elbow against the frame and rubbed the back of his neck. Flora switched on her computer. She looked at Marshall and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Something bothering you?’

  ‘No. Just … no. Nothing.’

  She watched him struggle for the right words. What was going on with him?

  ‘So, this guy,’ he said, lifting his other arm and lacing his fingers behind his head. His T-shirt hoisted up, exposing a half inch of tanned skin above the waistline of his jeans. Flora dropped her eyes to the keyboard.

  ‘What guy?’

  ‘The one in the car park.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘What did he say to you?’

  She shrugged. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Didn’t look like nothing.’

  ‘Well, it was. Like I said, I bumped into him. He made sure I was okay, then he went. Why are you so interested?’

  ‘I’m not. Just looking out for you.’

  Sure you are. She kept her mouth shut tight, not trusting herself to speak. The next time she looked up, Marshall had gone.

  Good riddance.

  The phone rang and Flora grabbed it, eager for a diversion. It was a customer, but one with bad news.

  ‘Okay. I understand.’ She replaced the receiver and put her head in her hands. Another cancellation. That was the third this month. The first two had used the excuse that they weren’t moving after all, but at least this customer had the decency to tell her the truth. He’d found a better deal elsewhere, he said. An offer he couldn’t refuse.

  And Flora knew exactly where that offer had come from. Bloody Rockfords. How she’d like to get David Rockford in a room and tell him what she thought of him and his empire-expanding, tramp all over the little guy, business enterprise.

  She picked up her pen and threw it across the room, where it landed with a clatter against the side of the bin.

  ‘Bad shot,’ said Richie.

  Flora’s head flipped up. ‘Where did you come from?’ He was like a ninja sometimes, this boy.

  ‘Just hanging around downstairs. Is there anything else you need today? I could do with finishing early, my aunt’s got some stuff for me to do over at the village.’

  Flora was torn between finding a reason to make him stay and actually do some work for his money, and simultaneously wanting him to go away so she could be alone to think. Mind you, if she let him off early it might curry her a bit of favour with Cynthia.

  ‘Okay,’ she said finally, ‘you might as well get off now.’

  Richie gave a half-wave and bounded down the stairs. Oh, to have that much energy, thought Flora. It was only lunchtime and already she was feeling completely wrung out. She stared out of the smeared window, out across the car park and the soot-blackened brick of the railway arches; over the tops of the shabby buildings and mismatched roofs that made up this part of town. A sense of suffocation swelled up inside her chest. Thanks a lot Dad, she thought, looking up at her father’s photo on the noticeboard. You sure did me a whole world of favours when you left me this place to look after. But then she looked away, tears prickling her eyes. ‘I miss you so much,’ she whispered. ‘Wherever you and mum are, I hope you’re happy.’

  Chapter 9

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘Nothing. Just my new bag.’

  ‘Funny bag. Just make damn sure you keep it out from under my feet.’

  Flora smirked and peeped inside the oversized fabric tote on her lap. She put her finger to her lips and Otto gazed back, panting. She’d stayed up two nights sewing his new carry-home. It even had a plastic lining for little accidents, and pockets for food and toys and his water bottle. Her mum would have been proud of her needlework. Joy would probably think she was crazy.

  Friday morning and they were on their way to the Maples to clear out the Captain’s room. Marshall was up front with Flora and Steve because Richie had called in sick. Word on the grapevine was they were getting the room ready for someone else, but Flora hadn’t bothered asking the warden who. She knew what Cynthia’s reaction would be to a question like that.

  Otto shuffled around on her lap and gave a little bark. Flora cleared her throat to disguise it. Marshall rolled his eyes.

  ‘Sure must cramp your style, carrying that thing around with you all day. Bet your boyfriend doesn’t like it much.’

  She threw him a sarcastic smile. Marshall knew nothing about Heston – she was pretty sure he was just fishing, trying to needle her. Still, he was spot on with his observation: Heston hadn’t been in touch since the peeing debacle on Monday night. She hadn’t phoned, thinking it was best to give him time to cool down. Regain his sense of dignity. She kind of figured that the way she’d found the whole incident hysterically funny hadn’t endeared her to him much. It was funny, though. Who would have thought such a small dog could produce so much pee!

  ‘What are you so happy about?’ Marshall said.

  ‘Oh, being here with you, of course. You’re such a ray of sunshine in my life.’

  ‘There’s no need for sarcasm, you know. You’re bright enough to make your point without it. Or so I’ve heard,’ he mumbled, making a right turn too sharply and causing Steve to almost fall into Flora’s lap. Otto gave a yelp in protest.

  ‘Marshall!’ She shoved Steve’s hands away as he tried to push himself back upright. ‘You�
�re an even worse driver than Richie.’

  ‘Well, at least I can drive,’ he countered with a wink.

  Flora opened her mouth for another retort, but Steve cut her off.

  ‘Could you two just give it a rest with the Flora and Marshall show? Please? It’s really getting old.’ He picked up his phone and started tapping at it furiously. Flora caught Marshall’s eye and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What’s with him?’ she mouthed.

  Marshall shrugged and smiled. She grinned back. The Flora and Marshall show indeed. What a nerve!

  ***

  It was as bad as Flora had expected. Actually, it was worse. There it was laid out before her: the life of a dignified, dear old man, cut off with no warning and no time to prepare.

  His bed was made, military-style, with hospital corners and an inch-perfect turnover on the top sheet. On his bedside table was an alarm clock, now wound down and set forever to six fifteen; a carafe of water with tumbler lid; a photograph, square to the wall, of a woman in forties’ dress, her face smiling shyly in perpetuity. His dressing gown was hung on the back of the door, pulled neatly into shape, belt-ends tucked into pockets so they wouldn’t dangle. An empty medal case sat on an ancient but spotless dressing table, alongside a small notebook, Parker pen, and a smart brown leather wallet. The room smelt of shoe polish and hair cream. It was as though the Captain had literally just stepped out for some air.

  Even Marshall seemed affected. He was standing by the window with one hand resting on a wing-backed chair, his mouth thin-lipped as if holding back some emotion.

  ‘Where’s Steve?’ Flora asked from the doorway.

  ‘Gone to get the van ready.’

  ‘Couldn’t stand it, huh?’

  ‘His granddad died a month ago. It’s just too close for him.’

  Flora nodded and stepped into the room. She did a slow turn, ending back where she’d started, her eyes on Marshall.

  ‘It’s just so sad. A sad end to a brave and dignified life.’ She pointed to a row of medals, mounted and framed on the wall. ‘Those were the ones he didn’t even wear. You know, Joy doesn’t think it very likely that he just fell. He wasn’t ... well, he wasn’t infirm.’

  Marshall sighed but he didn’t jump in the way she expected him to. ‘He was her friend, Flora. And she’s old too – she doesn’t want it to be true. But he was up here, in Special Care or whatever they call it. If he’d been capable of looking after himself he’d still be out there with the others.’

  Flora looked around sceptically.

  ‘It wasn’t all that special though, was it? He walked out of here and only minutes later fell straight down a flight of stairs. I don’t call that care, special or otherwise.’

  ‘They can’t watch them twenty-four hours a day. Besides, that’s what the lift’s for.’ Marshall picked up a book, looked at it blankly, then set it down. He sighed again and shook his head. ‘Come on, we need to get started. This isn’t gonna get any easier, no matter how long we stand here.’

  ‘That’s it, Marshall. That’s what doesn’t make any sense.’ Something had been bothering her ever since she’d stood in the lobby and watched them carry the Captain away, and Marshall’s words had suddenly brought it back. She put Otto down in the corner behind the door and crossed the room.

  ‘If he was feeling ill, like faint or dizzy or something, he’d have taken the lift, right? So why get out of the lift at the first floor and walk the rest of the way down? Why would he do that? Besides, he hated the lift. He was a guy who liked to keep himself fit, never mind his age, and also he really liked his routines. He would have walked all the way down the stairs, or gone all the way down in the lift. Anything else doesn’t make sense.’

  Marshall was looking at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Actually, it makes perfect sense to me. The walk down all those stairs was too much for him and by the time he got to the last set he was faint. Or maybe he did the first thing, got the lift part way then took a constitutional for the last flight. What difference does it make?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Marshall was right, of course. But something still niggled at her, and being here now, surrounded by all the evidence of his careful, ordered life, it was hard not to keep coming back to the insistent question of how, exactly, it had happened.

  ‘Where are you going with this, Flora?’ Marshall’s voice was low, gentle. It was the voice he’d used after her mum died, when she had thought she would break with the weight of it all. She looked around for somewhere to sit, but the only place was the Captain’s bed and that was totally out of the question. She leaned against the dressing table instead, looking at the notepad but not daring to touch it.

  ‘You know what I think?’

  No, thought Flora. But I’m pretty sure you’re going to tell me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m thinking it’s hard for you, me being Shakers’ manager and all, because it’s like you’re in charge but not really in charge – it’s like there are two bosses and that’s never gonna work.’

  Flora stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘You think?’

  ‘I’m not talking about your ability to run the business. Just that ...’

  ‘What?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing. This isn’t the time or the place, right? Come on, let’s get packing. Did you bring the boxes up?’

  Flora gestured to the dog sleeping on her cotton bag in the corner. ‘Kinda had my hands full.’

  ‘I’ll go get them. Will you be okay to get started on your own?’

  Flora nodded mutely. He hadn’t berated her for forgetting the boxes. He must be feeling really sorry for her.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute. You start wherever you can.’ Marshall gave her a look she couldn’t interpret, then left.

  His absence seemed to pull any remaining strength from Flora’s legs, and she sank to the floor with her back against the dressing table and closed her eyes.

  Start wherever you can, Marshall had said.

  How about fifteen years ago? she thought.

  ***

  They worked in companionable silence, Flora tackling the wardrobe and Marshall doing the cupboard and bedside table drawers, and the paperwork, of which there was little.

  After half an hour, Flora sat back on her heels and flicked her fringe out of her eyes. ‘You know,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light, ‘Joy doesn’t think it was an accident at all.’

  Marshall suppressed a groan. ‘You don’t say.’

  Flora was glad she couldn’t see his face – the rolling of the eyes thing would put her off her stride, and she really, really wanted to get this off her chest.

  The irony that the person who irritated her the most was also the most level-headed person she knew was not lost on Flora.

  Quietly, with as little extraneous detail as possible, Flora told him Joy’s story. By the time she’d finished, Marshall was on his knees packing up the last box.

  ‘And she’s never shared this with anybody?’ he said, incredulous. ‘Not even her husband?’

  ‘Especially not her husband. She said Eddie had such a high opinion of her it would have been a crime to tell him.’

  Flora had finished the wardrobe ten minutes ago; she was sitting on the bed, which didn’t feel like such an imposition now it had been stripped. While she told her story, she’d almost felt as if the Captain was in the room with them, listening, understanding. If only he was – then he could tell them what really happened that day on the stairs and put them all out of their misery.

  But then again, maybe not. A ghost at the Maples would just about finish Joy off.

  ‘Surely she can see now, as an adult, that it wasn’t her fault?’ Marshall stood up and stretched. ‘I mean, it was a stupid kids’ prank that went horribly wrong. Who hasn’t been involved in something like that?’

  Flora looked up at him doubtfully. ‘Well, I haven’t. Are you saying that tricking a boy into a mine shaft and accidentally killing his dog is
, like, an everyday type of thing?’

  Marshall laughed. ‘You’re so literal, Flora. I’m saying it’s her guilty mind making her imagine all this stuff. And if she’d told someone about it sooner, they might have been able to make her see that.’

  Flora nodded. Of course that’s what she’d thought all along. It was also exactly what she had wanted him to say. But ...

  ‘I just don’t buy all these accidents. Merlin fine, poor soul, but Otto’s nearly met his maker twice in the space of two weeks. Two near misses for Joy’s dog and one old man dead, who also happened to be a close friend. Don’t you think that’s bad luck? Even for an old folk’s home.’

  ‘Well, you know what I think about the dogs,’ said Marshall with a smile.

  ‘It’s not the time for your suicidal pet theory, Marshall. This is serious.’

  A snuffling in the corner caught their attention and they looked across the room to see Otto poking his turned-up nose out of her blanket.

  ‘I still don’t know why you agreed to take that mutt on. It’s kinda ugly.’

  ‘Rubbish! Otto’s so cute. Anyway, Joy has a way of getting what she wants. I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘I’ll have to ask her what her secret is.’

  Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments. Flora broke the connection, reaching over to cuddle Otto to her chest.

  She watched Marshall’s back as he used the parcel tape dispenser to wrap up the last of the boxes securely. They had worked well together. Without anyone else around, and without anything to spark off an argument, they’d slipped right back into the companionable routine they’d had when Flora was just the boss’s daughter helping out in the family business. Surely there was something she could do to bring him back on side, to stop all the sniping?

  Maybe she should agree to his idea for the storage business. She didn’t want to, and he knew she didn’t want to, so if she did say yes it would be a big enough gesture to restore the equilibrium. He could head up that side of the business and she could carry on with the removals. In fact, the more she thought about it, the better it sounded.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, idly stroking Otto’s round little head.

  Marshall hoisted two boxes off the floor. ‘What?’