The final remark almost led Tracy to lash out, but Alan restrained her, and ushered her from the room. When she had gone, he rounded on Kim. “Why don’t you back off? She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Kim glared back and turned her back on him. Without facing him, she carried on. “You know damn well what she did. There is no place for her here when I take over.” She turned her chair again and concentrated on young Ben. “However, there will always be a place for you, young ’un. One day, you may even take your father’s place.”
Ben’s lip curled contemptuously. “And listen to you slagging my mother off day in day out? Not bloody likely.” He turned on his father. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You did most of the damage when you walked out on Mam.”
“We had this debate before, Ben. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know what happened back then. I do.”
Kim slapped her palms down on the desk, demanding their attention. “Enough chatter about your slag of a wife. You, Alan, and more so you, Ben, need to learn the hotel trade. As of Monday I will own this place, and you both need to get your act together and start learning your jobs. Failing that, get out of here and get out of my life.”
Alan snapped to his feet, and stormed from the room. Ben glared at him and then back at Kim.
She smiled encouragement at him. “You know, Ben, when I said you could take your father’s place, I didn’t just mean take over his job. There are other roles you can fulfil, too.”
He sneered at her. “Do I look as if I’m that hard up for it?” Having delivered his final word on the subject, he followed his father from the room.
***
The ground floor corridor hummed to the noise of Marlene Ellery’s power wheelchair as it trundled across the thick pile carpet towards room 101. Alongside Marlene, Lucas Wrigglesworth, her life partner, hurried along.
“She has a bit of a reputation, Lucas,” Marlene said as they neared the door. “Are you sure she wants to talk business?”
“Positive. Let’s be sensible, Marlene. We fill the hotel, don’t we?” He reached into the pocket at the rear of her chair, and took out one of the treasure hunt leaflets. He chuckled gleefully. “Aside from Roll On coining a small fortune, the Westhead Hotel won’t do too badly. That party from Sanford have taken up at least thirty rooms, and think of all the beer they’ll drink, and food they’ll get through – and I don’t just mean the set meals. I mean the snacks they’ll buy. Trust me, Marlene, the Westhead would be a lot worse off without us turning up twice a year.”
They arrived outside the door, Wrigglesworth swept back his hair, hoisted his trousers up to his waist, and knocked. He waited a moment until Kim called them in, and opened the door for Marlene to drive through, followed her and closed the door behind him.
Kim was bent over a sheaf of documents, and did not look up when they entered.
Wearing his finest, salesman’s smile, he hurried across the desk, offered his hand. “Lucas Wrigglesworth, Ms Ashton, representing Roll On. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Kim did not shake his hand. Instead she sat back in her chair, toying with a pen. “Your treasure hunt is fully organised, is it?”
“It’s never anything but,” he told her. “And you have my personal assurance that nothing will change in the future. We’re constantly seeking new contestants, we offer the same prize every time, which is as much to your benefit as well as ours, and inevitably we’re swamped with applications. I can guarantee you, Ms Ashton, that your hotel will never be less than half full for our weekends.”
Kim looked down her nose at him. “Well, I may have some breaking news for you, Mr Wrigglesworth. This will be the last Roll On treasure hunt at the Westhead. There will be no more.”
Wrigglesworth was taken aback, and Marlene glared at her. “May we ask why?”
Kim concentrated on Marlene. “I think you know why. You were here three years ago when my mother was killed. I suspect that you two had a hand in her death. Fortunately for you, I can’t prove it, but I do have plenty of evidence. There’s a price attached to keeping my mouth shut, and that price is you wrapping up here this weekend and never darkening my door again.”
Wrigglesworth recovered. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Ms Ashton. Yes, we were here when your mother suffered her accident, but I can assure you it had nothing—”
Kim cut him off. “It was not an accident. It was murder, and you bloody well know it was. You and those two on reception, Ilkeston and Huckle. You all know what happened. They’re out of here come Monday, and so are you, and none of you will ever set foot in this place again. Remember, Wrigglesworth, I have the necessary evidence. I will finish the pair of you. I know how you kept quiet on what happened to my mother, and I know all your little scams, so if you want me to keep my mouth shut, you clear off on Monday and you never come back.”
Wrigglesworth suddenly took a tougher approach. “I’ve already said once, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I will ensure that the press get to know about it. They take a dim view of people railing against charities.”
Kim was equally determined. “Do what you want. But after Monday you’re no longer welcome here. And if you try to make my life difficult, I won’t settle with the evidence I already have. I will look for more, and when I find it, I will nail the pair of you to the wall. Now get out.”
It seemed incredible that they were back in the corridor in such a short time.
Marlene chewed her lip and gazed up at Wrigglesworth. “Now what do we do?”
“We stay calm. Give her time to cool down, and then we’ll have a word with her.” He smiled encouragement at her. “Stop worrying, Marlene. Everything will turn out fine. When have I ever let you down?”
Chapter Four
Joe basked in the warm evening air. Away to the west, the sun dipped towards distant headland hills, and out across the sea, tiny fireflies of light began to show from the cabins and cockpits of small boats.
Dinner (served early because there was an 8 o’clock meeting regarding the treasure hunt) was excellent. Veal escalope with a selection of freshly cooked vegetables, followed by a serving of pineapple upside down cake smothered in a generous helping of thick, vanilla custard. They washed the meal down with a couple of glasses of house red, followed by coffee, after which all Joe wanted to do was savour the pleasant, summer evening.
He and Maddy sat on a bench overlooking the town and the sea beyond, a couple of hundred yards from the Westhead. They were ten yards from the bronze statue of Captain James Cook, fifty yards from the famous whalebone arch which sat at the top of a steep flight of steps leading down to the level of the harbour.
Joe felt at peace, and he sensed that Maddy shared the feeling. They were friends, intimate friends at that, and they were in each other’s company only occasionally, but it was sufficient for each of them, bringing the tranquillity which, at least in Joe’s case, had been missing from most of his life.
He rolled a cigarette and lit up. He had been a heavy smoker for over thirty years but he’d given up for several years, and it was only the events of Palmanova the previous year which had started him again. He had it under control (according to him) and smoked only a few hand-rolled cigarettes a day.
“Helps me digests my dinner,” he explained to Maddy when she queried it.
Now gazing contentedly at the approaching summer night which was still two hours away, but could be seen far across the sea, he puffed contentedly at his cigarette, and said, “I could get used to living in a place like this.”
“I did,” Maddy said, “and there is room at Stilldiggin.”
Joe’s pleasure materialised in a gentle chuckle at the reminder of her bungalow’s name. “Nice idea, but you know as well as I do that it wouldn’t work. You’re not the settling down kind, Maddy, and I’m not sure that I am these days. Besides, I have a business to run. I may only be part-time, but I still have to show my face, and if I lived here, it
would mean an eighty-mile commute.” He took another drag on his smoke. “I remember saying the same thing to Alison in Tenerife, a year ago. After I went on the run from Palmanova. It was an evening like this and we were on the seafront at Playa de Las Américas. I suddenly felt at peace with the world. But I knew it couldn’t last. That’s why I caught the plane home. I feel the same here, right now, but I know that it won’t last. Apart from anything else, there’s no difference to living in Whitby than there is living in Sanford, and if I did live here, I wouldn’t appreciate it.” He turned to face her. “Do you?”
Maddy considered the question for a moment. “Yes. But then, I don’t live in Whitby. I live in Cragshaven.”
“All right. Do you appreciate Cragshaven?”
“No. Probably not. All I can say is, it’s better than Leeds.” Blatantly changing the subject, Maddy said, “She’s from Cragshaven, you know. Kim, Lady Muck, Ashton.”
In the act of taking another drag on his cigarette, Joe paused, and his eyebrows shot up. He jerked his head back in the direction of the Westhead Hotel. “The lottery winner?”
“Her and her mother used to rent a bungalow on Mount Street, not far from me. Her mother died a few years ago in a freak accident, and Kim bought the bungalow from the compensation.” Maddy sighed. “She was a changed woman after her mother’s death. She couldn’t accept that it was an accident. She’s always insisted that her mother was murdered.”
The lighted end of Joe’s cigarette glowed in the pearly twilight. “It’s not impossible to make murder look like an accident, but it’s not easy. The police have any number of ways of working it out. What happened?”
“It was a couple of years after I moved here, then it was in all the local newspapers. It even made the Yorkshire Post.” Maddy half turned so she could look at the hotel, and proceeded to tell Joe in detail the story of Deirdre Ashton’s freak demise, and how the builder who was supposedly installing the windows, had left in a hurry without checking that the particular window in question was fully secure. Maddy concluded the tale with the official verdict of accidental death.
“Kim got a small fortune in compensation, but she would not have that verdict. She insisted the only reason her mother was outside was because someone had sent her there to make sure she was directly under the window. None of the staff would own up to giving out such an order, and there was nothing to suggest there was anyone in that room when the window fell out. It was an accident, Joe, but Kim wouldn’t accept it, and it changed her. Not for the better either.”
Joe gave the matter a moment or two of thought. “Thing is, Maddy, murder is formed of a triangle, MMO – motive, means, opportunity. The way you just said it, the means and the opportunity could be applied to just about anyone in the hotel at the time, but what about motive? Did someone have a downer on her ladyship’s mother?”
“If they did, Kim could never point the finger. Deirdre was a notorious gossip, but that’s about all, and there’s nothing criminal about gossip, is there?”
Joe chuckled. “It depends who you’re gossiping about and what you’re saying about them. Take Sheila and Brenda, for instance. Thick as thieves, those two. Practically inseparable, but Sheila is up to something in Whitby, and she won’t tell anyone, not even Brenda, what it is. Naturally, the rumour factory reckons everything from she’s got a fella to skipping the country on a Russian trawler. That’s gossip for you. Harmless, yes, but its interpretation can be lethal.” He checked his watch. “It’s half past seven. We’d better get back inside. Pay our dues to the treasure hunt fund.”
They ambled back across the road, past the Headland Hotel, towards the Westhead, and Joe shuddered at the terrible memories of those nights at the Headland. On entering the Westhead, they found yet another argument in progress, this time between Kim and Tracy Huckle.
“I’ve already laid it on the line to Ilkeston as well as you, and I’ve dealt with Wrigglesworth. You know what I want, you have until Monday to deliver.”
“And I’ve already told you, you have my husband, you have my son, you’re not having me as well. You want me out, fire me.”
“You will resign.”
Maddy hung back, but Joe had no hesitation in approaching reception. He smiled cynically upon Kim, and before Tracy could respond to the arrogance, he said, “You know, I’ve been in the catering trade for most of my life, and I rag my customers and my staff something awful. But they know I don’t mean it. They are my income. Without them, I’m bankrupt, I’m nothing.”
Kim turned vicious eyes upon him. “And has your half-century in the catering trade taught you to mind your own bloody business?”
“I have a sideline as a private investigator, which makes it impossible for me to mind my own business. I’ll tell you something else, too. I’ve been hearing about you, and what happened to your mother. I’m sorry for you. But the answer to any tragedy like that, Ms Ashton, is to move on, not blame the rest of the world.”
Her voice lowered to a hiss. “Have you ever lost anyone close to you?”
Joe nodded. “Several people. Mother, father, my partner last year.”
Kim’s frustration began to get the better of the world. “That’s not what I meant. I meant has anyone close to you ever been murdered?”
Joe still felt in control of the situation in conversation. “As a matter of fact, yes. My partner was murdered a little over a year ago. The same person tried to kill me too, but failed.”
“Pity.”
Joe sneered. “You should be careful. I don’t imagine Whitby has many murders, but there was one the last time we were here, and the way you’re going on, you could be the next.”
Kim faced Tracy. “Make a note before you hand in your resignation. The blacklist of guests. Those people who are no longer welcome at the Westhead. Add Joe Murray and Madeleine Chester to the list.”
From behind the counter, Tracy fumed, the colour rushing to her cheeks. “Do it yourself.”
Kim would have responded, but Joe got there first. “Do it, Tracy. Don’t give the tyrant queen the opportunity to fire you. It doesn’t make any difference to me because I’ll never stay here again, and I’m sure that goes for Maddy too.”
***
The ballroom, where the treasure hunt meeting would take place, and the evening’s entertainment would follow, was well over half full when Joe and Maddy arrived, and Joe speculated that there had to be well over 100 people already taking up the chairs and tables centred on the large stage. He and Maddy found seats alongside Brenda and Sheila on the far side, across the room from the entrance and by the windows, through which the lights of the town could be seen glowing through the shadows and pale, deepening twilight.
While Maddy told Joe’s best friends of the contretemps with Kim, Joe made his way to the queue at the bar to secure drinks for them. It was literally a queue, snaking its way in a loop along the bar and back towards the ballroom entrance, Joe found himself immediately behind George Robson and Owen Frickley.
“I wouldn’t have thought a treasure hunt was your thing,” Joe said.
George, regularly the spokesman for the pair, agreed with a grunt. “We thought we’d have a quick snifter here, and then shoot down the town.”
We waved irritable hands at the people ahead of them. “I can’t ever remember having to queue up for a pint.”
“Two for the price of one, though, innit?” George said.
Joe chuckled. “At hotel prices I don’t think you’ll be saving much.”
“It’s a warm-up, Joe. You remember them, don’t you? You used to enjoy a good beer-up before you suddenly started fancying middle-aged bints.”
“Maddy is not a middle-aged bint, and neither was Denise… and come to think of it, neither is Brenda, and you’ve had your share of fun with her.”
“Yeah, but Brenda’s young at heart.”
“So’s Maddy.”
Pressed into a corner from which he could not escape, George changed the subject. “Hey, talking m
iddle-aged bints, I saw that tart who was hassling you earlier. She was on the pavement opposite our window, arguing the toss with some tall kid. I figured it was maybe her son at first, but he didn’t half give her a mouthful before rushing away in his flash car.”
Joe recalled he had seen the same incident. “She’s an argument on legs, George. Up to press I’ve stumbled across half a dozen people she argued with. Including Sheila, Brenda, and me.”
George laughed. “The woman’s suicidal. Fancy taking Sheila on.”
The queues shuffled forward and Owen glanced at his watch. “Come on, George. Why are we wasting valuable drinking time here? We could have had three pints in the town by now.”
George agreed and with a cheery ‘see you later’ he and Owen left. Almost immediately, a tall, well-dressed man tagged onto the queue behind Joe. He wore a simple, if boring cardigan, beneath which was a pale blue shirt, and dark tie. The smart appearance was not upheld below the waist, where he was sporting a pair of denim jeans and shabby loafers.
As Joe nodded a polite greeting, the stranger smiled and offered his hand. “Lucas Wrigglesworth. I’m the treasure hunt organiser.”
“Oh, right.” Joe shook hands. “Joe Murray. I brought the mob from Sanford here, although, frankly, considering the management attitude in this place, I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t.”
The queue moved forward again, and Wrigglesworth’s features darkened. “You’ve had a run-in with Kim Ashton, too, have you?”
“Nothing personal,” Joe admitted. “I was just talking to my friends about her, but, yeah, twice I’ve got into a spat with her. And your name was dragged into it, last time.”
“Yes, it would be.”
“Would it be impertinent to ask what she doesn’t like about you?”
“Charity,” Wrigglesworth declared with a finality that said there was more to come. “Everything I do, Mr Murray—”
“Please call me Joe.”
“Fine. Everything I do, Joe, is for charity. I get by on a meagre carer’s allowance, looking after my partner, Marlene, and it’s a struggle. But it’s worth it because I organise things like the treasure hunt as a way of helping the charity that looks after her. It’s called Roll On, and is dedicated to people with spinal injuries who can’t walk. People like Marlene. I raise thousands for that charity every year. Unfortunately, Kim Ashton has ideas above her station. Hers and this hotel’s. She thinks we’re lowering the tone of the place by running the treasure hunt twice a year. She’s just made it plain to me, that this will be the last one.”
Murder at the Treasure Hunt Page 4
