Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery

by Joanne Phillips

  ‘I’ve been thinking about your commercial storage thing–’

  ‘Not now, Flora,’ he said quickly. ‘Let’s not talk about that, okay?’

  ‘But I was only going to say–’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Now he was angry. How did he get from happy and friendly to angry so fast? Sometimes Flora got dizzy just watching his emotions change.

  ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘that’s fine. But all I was going to say was–’

  ‘Jesus wept!’

  Before she could finish her sentence, Marshall had stormed past her and was halfway down the corridor. Flora put Otto on the floor and raced after him. She reached the flight of stairs just as he got to the bottom, and she grabbed on to the handrail to lean over and call out.

  A wave of vertigo hit her and she reeled back, her head spinning.

  Boy, it was high up here.

  Flora returned to the balcony and edged forward carefully. Marshall had reached the ground floor already and was striding towards the exit, carrying those two enormous boxes as if they were full of feathers. She sighed. For a big guy, he was pretty touchy.

  She pushed away from the handrail and then stopped. She’d been holding on to a chrome rail that ran along the stairs all the way to the bottom. The flights to the upper floors ran to the left of the U-shaped balconies, while the first floor staircase – grand and shallow-stepped – took centre stage below. Flora looked up and down the corridors that led off from the top of the stairs back to the rooms. The handrail snaked off along the walls like a silvery rope, guiding the way. Here, at the very top of the steps, the rail came out in a kind of S shape each side, obviously designed for residents to hold on to while negotiating the descent. The lift was at the other end of the corridor, a two-person affair with mirrored walls and Braille bumps on the buttons.

  Flora began to walk down the stairs, holding on to the handrail all the way. When she reached the first floor she followed the rail to the top of the main stairs and stopped. This was where the Captain would have stood. Whether he’d taken the lift or the stairs this far, this was the point where his hands would have gripped the rail, exactly the way he knew he was supposed to.

  He might have been nearly ninety but he wasn’t stupid. He’d lived through two world wars, won medals, survived goodness-knows-what dangers. The guy didn’t have a death wish. And if he’d been about to walk down these stairs right here, then right here is where he would have descended. Holding on all the way.

  She looked down. True enough, the bobbly carpet was already starting to wear along the edges on both sides. The middle, about a metre or so wide, was unmarked and unworn. Ergo, rarely used. Apart from the handful of staff fit enough to run up and down the centre of this extra wide staircase, every single person who used it was sensible enough – wary enough – to step gingerly down the outer edges holding on to the handrail for dear life.

  Flora walked slowly back up to the Captain’s room. Her finger trailed along the rail all the way. Even if he’d suffered a heart attack, right there at the top of the stairs, he would have fallen where he stood. The steps were shallow and wide. Would he have tumbled all the way to the bottom? Maybe. But it didn’t seem very likely.

  She stepped into his room and sat on the bed. The Captain, his essence, was gone now. It was bland again, ready for the next addition to the third floor. But Flora spoke out loud, hoping he could hear her wherever he might be now.

  ‘Did you really trip and fall?’ she said softly. ‘I just can’t see it. Not down those stairs, not ending up where you did.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Flora started, her hand flying up to her chest. In the doorway stood the warden, her eyes wary.

  ‘Cynthia,’ Flora said with a sigh. ‘You made me jump.’

  The warden smiled thinly. ‘Talking to yourself?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Otto began to bark, rolling around on his special bag, tugging at the lining with bared teeth.

  The warden’s voice was ice. ‘That dog again. I thought Joy asked you to keep it at home.’

  ‘She did. I mean, I am. Except–’

  ‘While you’re being paid to be here, this is your place of work, Flora. And I don’t think it’s appropriate to bring a dog to work with you.’

  Flora bristled. Cynthia Curtis, efficient warden though she was, should take a dose of her own advice and keep her nose out. But before she could think of a suitable comeback, Marshall appeared, bursting into the room like a whirlwind and picking up another two boxes.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ he told the warden, laughing. ‘Check out the special dog carrier she’s made for it. Too much time on her hands if you ask me.’

  Flora took a moment to adjust to yet another of Marshall’s mood changes. Mercurial wasn’t the word.

  ‘One more trip and we’re out of here,’ he told the warden. ‘Dog and all. Flora, could you give me a hand with these? This is supposed to be a two-man job.’

  Gritting her teeth, Flora faced him down. ‘A two-person job is what I think you mean. And I am helping. Look, this is me helping.’

  She made to pick up the last box, but Cynthia stopped her with an alarmed shriek.

  ‘You can’t leave that dog in here alone. What if it escapes?’

  The warden had a point. Otto was beyond accident prone. ‘Maybe you could keep an eye on him?’ Flora said, but the expression on the warden’s face told her that was highly unlikely.

  Marshall sighed impatiently. ‘Put it in the bag, why don’t you. Just bring it with you.’

  ‘I can carry a box as well.’ Flora knelt down and hoisted the canvas tote onto her shoulder, then grabbed the box containing the Captain’s papers. ‘Whoops.’

  The cardboard box, taped badly underneath, collapsed in her grip and spilled its contents on the regulation brown carpet. A thick manila folder caught Flora on the shin; sheets of paper, yellowed with age, fluttered down on top of it.

  With an exasperated huff, Marshall set his load down and bent to re-stack the box. Flora picked up an envelope with an official-looking stamp on the front. She turned it over.

  ‘This is sealed with some kind of wax. Must be important.’ She looked up at the warden. ‘Maybe it’s his will.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ The warden was glaring at Flora as if she’d intentionally violated the old man’s personal belongings. ‘I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, don’t you? I’ll clear up this mess. Just take your dog and go.’

  Flora pulled a face at Marshall, who shrugged and got to his feet. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind,’ he said, putting on his best all-American drawl. But the warden, clearly immune to his charm, ignored him.

  ‘What’s eating her?’ Flora said when they were out of earshot.

  ‘No idea, kiddo. But it can’t be easy, losing a resident.’

  ‘Well, no. But in her line of work she has to expect it occasionally.’

  ‘She freaked out when they told her there might be a postmortem.’

  ‘What?’ Flora stopped dead. They were on the first floor now, not two steps away from where she’d pondered the Captain’s accident only ten minutes ago. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Liz told me. You know, the receptionist.’

  ‘Elizabeth?’

  ‘Yeah. She said the police told them it was a possibility because there was only one witness.’

  ‘Who was the warden.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I dunno. Soon, I guess. His family will want to bury him, won’t they?’

  ‘He didn’t have any family,’ Flora said distractedly. ‘I meant, when did Elizabeth tell you this?’

  And why were you hanging around reception talking to an attractive older lady?

  Calling her “Liz”, no less.

  ‘Earlier, when we were picking up the key to the room. She said the warden had totally freaked.’ Marshall shrugged again as if it was no big deal. He al
ways got self-conscious when he was gossiping. ‘Said it was unnecessary and a waste of taxpayers’ money. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Really?’ Flora couldn’t get her head around it. ‘Did you think there’d be a postmortem?’

  ‘Sure. Why not? They need to know how he died, don’t they?’

  ‘But everyone thinks it was an accident. He tripped.’

  They started down the stairs together, Marshall holding his load to one side so he could check his footing.

  ‘Not you, though,’ he said when they reached the bottom. ‘Or Joy.’

  Flora took a step to the left. Marshall couldn’t know he was standing on the exact spot where the Captain had died. She looked up into his hazel eyes.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said just now that everyone thinks it was an accident. Everyone except you and your friend, right? Well, now it looks as though you’re gonna find out for sure.’

  Chapter 10

  I know UR here I can C YR lorry. Meet U in grdn in 5.

  Flora read the text again and looked at the time. That she’d managed to persuade Marshall to take Otto back to the van was a miracle – she just hoped he’d give her the ten minutes he’d promised. She’d already been waiting well over five minutes.

  ‘Hello,’ a voice hissed behind her ear.

  Flora jumped, then glared at her friend. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’

  Joy lowered herself onto the bench by Flora’s side. ‘Didn’t want anyone to see us talking. Word on the street is the warden’s upset with you. She’s put up a notice in the communal area warning residents not to talk about private Maples’ business with outsiders.’

  ‘Outsiders? What is this, some kind of sect? And what the bloody hell are you wearing?’

  ‘There’s no need for language, Flora. My skin’s a bit sensitive, that’s all.’

  Flora took in her friend’s odd attire. She was dressed in some kind of caftan, with long sleeves and a skirt that floated all the way to the ground. A floppy straw hat was pulled low over her eyes and around her neck she’d looped a floral chiffon scarf.

  ‘Are you in disguise?’ Flora said, incredulous.

  Joy just winked and tapped her nose. ‘Loose tongues.’

  Whatever that meant. Flora flipped the top off her water bottle and pointed to the caftan. ‘Are they Vera’s clothes?’

  ‘I have some information for you.’ Joy lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘To help with your investigation.’

  ‘What investigation?’

  ‘You said you were going to help me find out what really happened to the Captain. And you said you were going to prove Aubrey is the caretaker’s son.’

  Flora shook her head, outraged. ‘I did not! I said I was going to try and find out more about the Captain’s death, but only because I want to prove to you that it had nothing to do with Mr Felix. Ditto this Aubrey business – I said I was going to prove Mr Felix isn’t Aubrey, not the other way around.’

  ‘Well, you won’t be able prove that because he is, so it’s the same difference.’

  While Flora was trying to decipher this sentence, Joy peered around the gardens. ‘There’s been a development,’ she hissed.

  ‘Terrific.’

  ‘The Captain had a visitor the day before he was murdered.’

  Flora, about to take another sip from her bottle, sprayed water across her lap. ‘Joy! You can’t go around saying he’s been murdered. Think of the other residents, they’ll be really upset.’

  ‘They’re already upset, Flora. They’re frightened and confused, even more so now these rumours are circulating.’

  ‘What rumours?’

  ‘This man I was just telling you about. He’s been seen around the complex before – he’s quite odd-looking so he sort of stands out. No one knows who he is, or why he visits, but he was seen leaving the Captain’s room the day before he died.’

  The air was humid and Flora could feel her T-shirt sticking to her back where it pressed against the slats of the wooden bench. She had the beginnings of a headache and an itchy, unsettled feeling she couldn’t name. She pressed a button on her phone and looked again at the time.

  ‘Have you mentioned this to the warden?’

  Joy nodded. ‘She doesn’t know who he is either.’

  This gave Flora pause. While the units around the quadrant had open access, visitors to the main building were supposed to report to reception.

  ‘There’s more,’ said Joy.

  Flora swallowed. Of course there was.

  ‘Do you remember Ida?’

  Flora did. ‘The lady who passed away at Christmas?’

  ‘It was Boxing Day, actually. She’d been on the third floor for a month. I didn’t know her too well, but it was very sad, especially happening just after Christmas.’

  ‘Wasn’t there a bit of a scandal about it at the time?’ Flora scanned her memory. ‘Didn’t she leave all her money to charity, to some kind of animal rescue place?’

  ‘Something like that. Anyway, it turns out that only two days before Ida died – on Christmas Eve no less – she was visited by this same man.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘The man in black.’

  Flora shook her head. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘The man!’ cried Joy. Her hat fell off and she grabbed at it and plonked it back on. ‘The one I was just telling you about, who visited the Captain last Tuesday.’ She laid a hand on her chest, which was heaving under the layers of chiffon.

  ‘Your asthma’s still getting worse,’ said Flora, her tone resigned. ‘And don’t think I didn’t get a look at your scalp just then. You have to see the Maples’ doctor.’

  ‘I’m taking my tablets, it’s fine. And don’t change the subject,’ Joy said between breathy coughs. Flora sighed and looked away. Who’d be friends with anyone over seventy? They were completely intractable.

  She watched a bold squirrel dart out from behind one of the newly planted maples. She wondered if her parents would have become stubborn and difficult in old age. She would never have let them end up in a place like this, of course. Not that there was anything intrinsically wrong with it, but most of the residents had no family and that had to tell you something. They’d run out of options. Sleepy City was the last-chance saloon.

  ‘Okay,’ said Flora once Joy had got her breath back. ‘About this man. How do you know the man who visited the Captain and the one who visited Ida are one and the same?’

  ‘Ha, that’s easy. I told you he’s really odd-looking. Tall, at least six foot six, and he dresses entirely in black–’

  ‘Yes,’ Flora interrupted, ‘I got that part.’

  ‘And he’s got this bright red beard but almost no hair on his head. No one knows who he is or what he’s doing, it’s all very mysterious.’

  Flora stared at her open-mouthed. ‘But I’ve seen him. I saw him right here. I bumped into him walking through the archway just the other day.’ She laughed, feeling the tension ebb away. ‘Hardly mysterious, but I will admit he looks quite strange.’

  ‘You can’t have seen him. Not wandering around in broad daylight.’

  ‘Well, I did.’

  ‘This man has these sunken cheeks, looks like an extra from a horror movie,’ said Joy, not looking happy at all. ‘It can’t be the same one you saw.’

  ‘Yep. The very same.’ Flora pulled a sucking face. ‘Hollow cheeks. And really strong cologne, if I remember rightly. Not the expensive kind, though. Have you seen him, Joy?’

  Her friend shook her head, but by the expression on her face Flora knew she was right about the cologne.

  ‘When?’ Joy demanded. ‘When did you see him?’

  Flora thought about it for a moment. ‘It was Tuesday. The day you told me what happened to Aubrey’s dog.’

  ‘Tuesday,’ mused Joy. ‘Exactly a week after his visit to the Captain.’

  ‘Do you know for sure he went to see the Captain? Maybe he visits someone else on the third floor. Maybe he co
mes once a week to see them.’

  Joy shook her head dismissively. ‘If he came every week, don’t you think we’d know who he is? No, he definitely came to see the Captain – he was seen leaving his room just before lunch.’

  ‘And Ida? He definitely visited her too?’

  When Joy nodded, Flora had an idea. ‘Maybe he’s like a vicar or something. Come to think of it, he had that sombre thing going on. He certainly wasn’t very smiley.’

  ‘Then why wouldn’t the warden know about him?’

  Flora had no answer to that one. She said, ‘So is poor old Mr Felix finally off the hook? It’s all about this man in black now, is it?’

  Joy tapped her nose again. A crow squawked behind them and Flora jumped. ‘I know more than you think, Flora.’ She looked over her shoulder, then dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Mr Felix and the man in black are in it together.’

  Flora had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. ‘In it together. Like … accomplices?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  For a moment, Flora could see the girl Joy had been at fifteen, climbing trees and making up stories in the grounds of a posh boarding school. Did we ever really outgrow our childhood selves? Was this Joy, sixty-five years older, really so different from the teenager who’d yearned for approval and enjoyed stirring up a bit of drama?

  ‘You know what,’ said Flora, shuffling to the edge of the bench and stretching out her calves, ‘I’m going to go and find your Mr Felix right now and just ask him. This has gone far enough.’

  Joy gasped. ‘You can’t just march up to him and ask him outright. What are you going to say?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out when I find him. But we can’t go on like this, Joy. Look at you. Look at your face, your skin. Listen to your breathing. If your tablets are still doing what they’re supposed to be doing it must be the stress making you ill. Can’t you see how unhealthy it is, all this creeping around and living in the past? And I don’t think it’s okay for you lot in here to be going around scaring each other with tales of strange men in black and talking about murder. The third floor rumours were bad enough.’

  But Joy wasn’t paying attention. ‘You can’t go and talk to him anyway,’ she said. An unspoken ‘So there’ hung in the air.