Dead Suited

by Jean G. Goodhind

  He laughed. ‘You’ve found me out.’

  ‘She doesn’t wear a nurses outfit, at least not when she’s working for Mr Arnold. She only cleans for him.’

  ‘No. She doesn’t wear it at the hospital, but she will make an exception for close friends with a liking for stiff caps and starched aprons. I think it’s something of a sideline. You know, rentagram, rentanurse, rentasnake charmer. I hear it’s good money.’

  The first thing that hit Honey then that John fancied other women and not just herself. Why she hadn’t realised that before, she didn’t know. It almost made her jealous. She’d quite liked the thought of having a bird in the hand and one flapping about nearby. The second thing that hit her was that Edwina Cayford had more than one job. She wondered at her financial circumstances. Would she do anything for money? And why was that? Was she in debt? Did she have family commitments? It was worth looking into.

  ‘How well do you know Arnold Tern’s lawyer?’

  He made a casual half wave with the hand that held the wine glass.

  ‘Well enough. She collects first editions. We have exchanged books for cash.’

  ‘Grace Pauling collects books?’

  ‘She does indeed.’

  ‘You don’t know her on a personal level.’

  A quirky grin lifted his mouth. The direct look he was giving her made her toes curl.

  ‘I know her. I’ve had lunch with her and although she gave me very strong signals, I did not take Sit further.’

  ‘She propositioned you?’

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised. Women do like me you know.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  His grin widened. ‘Go ahead. Proposition me.’

  ‘Am I in with a chance?’

  He put his glass down. ‘You know the answer to that. Now stop fishing for compliments and get down to business. Grace Pauling is the daughter of Arnold Tern’s partner.’

  ‘Any idea who might be the beneficiary of Mr Arnold Tern’s will?’

  John shrugged. ‘It would obviously have been Nigel Tern. But now...’ he shrugged. ‘It’s anybody’s guess. Could be a relative. Could be the Cats Protection Society. Or it could be the dedicated nurse who he would be sure to ambush if he were a few years younger.’

  She perceived a secretive look in his eyes.

  ‘Would your Miss Cayford know?’

  ‘Mrs Cayford. She’s divorced. She’s got two kids. One in his twenties. The other a teenager.’ He stressed the Mrs.

  ‘Is she likely to know who would benefit?’

  ‘What makes you think I know her that well?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Perhaps when you see her next...’

  The mischievous glint in his eyes resurfaced.

  ‘What makes you think I’m still seeing her?’

  She slapped the wine glass into his hand and grinned wickedly. ‘Because you’re not seeing me. I’ve seen Edwina Cayford and believe she’s the consolation prize!’

  His laughter rang out behind her along with the jangling of the shop bell. She couldn’t help smiling and blushing to think she’d been so brazen. On top of that she must have sounded so superior. Consolation prize indeed! If ever there was a parting of the ways between her and Doherty, John was her consolation prize. Not splitting up with Doherty was likely. They were rock solid. Absolutely rock solid.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Doherty had called into the Green River Hotel for coffee and croissants. Over fresh coffee and croissants oozing with Ricotta cheese and jam, they’d discussed the probabilities of the will, though of course they could only guess at its contents. They also discussed Grace Pauling who acted for both the deceased and Mr Arnold Tern.

  ‘Seeing as she acted for the Terns, I wonder whether she knew that Mr Nigel had been approached to sell the property.’

  ‘If we ask she’ll quote the rules of confidentiality between client and lawyer. It could be interesting though. So could this business with Alan Roper. But was it the shop property Nigel Tern was up for selling? It could have been another one held by the trust. We need to question Grace Pauling about it.’

  ‘She’s not the friendliest of people,’ remarked Honey.

  ‘She’s a solicitor. They rarely are! Give me some time and I’ll see if I can finally tie her down to an appointment. Can we meet up tonight and discuss it then?’

  ‘The Zodiac?’

  ‘Yep. Close to the witching hour.’

  ‘Great. I’ll bring my broomstick.’

  After stacking the crockery and taking it along to the kitchen, Honey did her best to take herself in hand, which in layman’s terms, meant getting back inside her office and tackling that damned paperwork. Before doing that there were important questions to ask and Lindsey, her daughter, was the one with all the answers.

  ‘Is Mary Jane still camped out on the first floor landing?’

  ‘No. She’s gone to the research library on College Green to check on old legends regarding this house.’

  Honey groaned. ‘I wish she wasn’t doing that. Anyway, it’s a hotel not a house.’

  ‘It was built as a house at first. A gentleman’s town residence as they were so fond of saying back then,’ said Lindsey as she sorted a pile of pamphlets, some advertising the delights of the Royal Crescent and others the Roman Baths. They needed to be separate.

  ‘Lindsey, it was not a ghost! I’m sure of it.’ The fact is she didn’t want it to be a ghost. There were plenty enough already.

  ‘How sure?’

  Lindsey had a forthright way of looking at her mother – of looking at anyone come to that.

  ‘Well...’

  The truth was Honey didn’t know for sure who the woman was that she’d seen hovering behind the arched window on the first floor. What she did know that advertising the fact could bring in a horde of amateur ghost hunters and having one in residence – i.e. Mary Jane, was quite enough.

  ‘You don’t fancy the fact that somebody committed suicide upstairs.’

  ‘Or downstairs for that matter. I mean she might very well have slipped and it wasn’t that far to fall anyway. She might have survived. Not a good plan if she was trying to commit suicide either now or in the past.’

  ‘But you just said yourself that you didn’t think it was a ghost. Well if it wasn’t, who was it and where are they now?’

  Lindsey had a knack of getting to the point that made her mother feel very uncomfortable.

  ‘You have a point. If it wasn’t a ghost, then who was it? A reflection?’

  She thought about it. The windows of the Green River Hotel had been reflecting the sky and the buildings opposite. So perhaps the woman had jumped from there. She frowned as she thought about it. There had been no reports of anyone jumping or falling out of the first floor window opposite. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to pop over there and find out.

  Lindsey had already turned back to her computer screen. ‘I’ve done a bit of research on Mary Jane’s behalf. She wouldn’t do it herself. She’s not keen on computers. She reckons some of them can capture your soul.’

  ‘I think it’s Xbox that does that,’ murmured Honey. She knew these things. She had friends with children who lived their lives through a computer game. ‘I’m not even sure my son can even talk,’ one of her friends had said to her. ‘He never speaks to me.’

  ‘I’m thinking of going on a trekking tour,’ Lindsey suddenly said.

  ‘Devon again,’ Honey remarked as she flicked through the post on the desk. Her spirit lifted at the carefully written enquiries for winter breaks. Some, like these, came through the post, mostly written by older people. The majority came by email though yet again mostly from senior citizens enquiring about weekend winter breaks especially around the time of the Christmas market.

  ‘No. Nepal.’

  Honey stopped flicking through the post. ‘Isn’t that in India?’

  ‘North of India. Squashed between India and Tibet.’

/>   ‘Are you sure that’s safe?’

  Lindsey sighed in that patronising way younger people had, as though parents had never had adventures – at least not in Nepal. Honey had never been there.

  ‘As safe or perhaps safer than Bristol City Centre on a Saturday night,’ said Lindsey.

  Honey was far from reassured. She might have had something further to say if her phone hadn’t rung.

  ‘I’ve got a list of Nigel Tern’s girlfriends. There are no women officers to accompany me on interviews. It seems they’re all down with colds or on holiday. I reckon bikinis have got a lot to do with it.’

  ‘Could be due to Brazilians,’ said Honey. ‘Everyone who buys a tiny bikini makes a date to have a Brazilian.’

  ‘Brazilians? I didn’t know Bath had had an influx of Brazilian tourists.’

  He sounded totally confounded.

  Honey refrained from bursting out laughing. She wasn’t about to go into detail about women exfoliating in the most intimate places once they’d tried on the new bikini.

  ‘I’ll explain later. Trust me. In the course of time, all will become clear.’

  ‘If you say so. I’ve arranged to meet these women in their homes with the exception of Anne Kemp. She works nights and would prefer we either call in before she goes to bed, that is first thing in the morning or in the evening at work. I’ve opted to interview her at work. She starts early, nine o’clock so I’m opting for interviewing her at work.’

  ‘Fine with me. When is this happening?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning. In the early hours. Well, just after midnight I think will be best. Are you OK with that?’

  ‘Fine. Do I need to do any research first?’

  ‘Yep! The merits of an underground drinking den after the hours of darkness.’

  ‘OK. Zodiac Club. Ten this evening.’

  ‘Fine. After that we move on to the Lucky Lady Pole Dancing Club.’

  ‘Either you’re trying to encourage me to change career or Anne Kemp works there.’

  ‘She does indeed.’

  ‘I’m popping over the road to Dennison and Dimply,’ said Honey once she’d severed the connection with Doherty.

  ‘The solicitors?’

  ‘That’s them.’

  ‘Not our own solicitors.’

  ‘No. There’s something I need to ask them that our own solicitors couldn’t possibly help with.’

  She smiled brightly.

  When Lindsey narrowed her eyes her mother knew she was under close scrutiny.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ she said brightly, mainly in a bid to avoid further questions. She was going to ask the firm of solicitors across the road about the woman who might have jumped, just in case the fact hadn’t travelled through the grapevine.

  A grey haired lady smiled at her when she entered.

  ‘I need to speak to one of the senior partners – I think.’

  ‘Can I have your name?’

  ‘Mrs Driver. Mrs Hannah Driver, I own the Green River Hotel, just across the road there.’

  ‘Oh really,’ said the woman as though not quite believing her, as well she might. Nobody from the firm had ever crossed the threshold of the Green River Hotel.

  The woman scribbled something down. ‘And what is the matter for which you need legal advice,’ she asked.

  Honey suddenly felt tongue tied. ‘Well...actually...I don’t need advice as such, I just want clarification of...’

  Aware that she was beginning to ramble, she took a deep breath. Gathering her thoughts wasn’t easy, but she did her best.

  ‘The fact is I saw somebody fall from the first floor landing window in my hotel. I was standing admiring the building’s proportions, when suddenly...there she was...arms outstretched...falling...or jumping...’

  The woman looked up at her open mouthed.

  ‘I’m not mad,’ said Honey. ‘I really did see somebody at my first floor window. That one,’ she said, pointing out of the ground floor window of the solicitors’ office.

  ‘Ah,’ said the woman, still looking at her strangely. ‘We wondered where she’d gone.’

  Now it was Honey’s turn to look perplexed. ‘What do you mean? Wondered where who had gone?’

  ‘Emily Bennett. She used to haunt here, but Mr Dennison had had enough of it. She was always running along the landing and throwing herself out of the window. I know she’s only a ghost, but it got a bit wearing especially when one was taking a client along the landing. I mean, you know how those Regency gowns were; muslin and almost see through. It was most embarrassing, so Mr Dennison got an exorcist in.’

  Honey stood with her mouth open, barely believing what she was hearing.

  ‘Are you telling me that this woman has decamped to my hotel?’

  The woman jerked her pert chin in what passed for a nod. ‘Lady June Havard. She fell in love with the wrong man, a right scoundrel so legend has it. She lived here and he lived over there – in the days when your hotel was just a house. He let her down badly apparently. Got her into trouble and broke her heart in the days when a girl was easily ruined like that.’

  Suddenly Honey felt a great sense of unease. ‘You don’t happen to know what his name was, do you.’

  Honey already had a gut feeling of who it was likely to be, but she had to hear it from this woman who worked for the man who’d hired an exorcist to get rid of the spectre.

  ‘Sir Cedric somebody or other,’ said the woman. ‘Can’t remember the rest of his name, but the first bit was definitely Sir Cedric.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Honey didn’t breathe a word of her other investigation to Doherty. Determined to deal with it herself, she focused her mind on the job in hand. The murder of Nigel Tern was at the top of her list and here she was about to gain entry into a pole dancing club.

  The gorilla at the door rolled his shoulders and told them they couldn’t come in.

  ‘Members only. Ladies can come in unaccompanied or with fully paid up members.’

  ‘She’s with me.’

  ‘Sorry mate, but I do need a look at your membership card.’

  ‘I haven’t got one.’

  ‘Then you can’t come in either, buster!’

  Doherty flashed his warrant card.

  ‘I think you’ll find this card covers our entrance permission and fees. The name’s Doherty. Detective Inspector Doherty. I need to speak to Anne Kemp. That’s why I’ve got a woman with me.’

  He didn’t declare that Honey was civilian. He didn’t need to. The man with the bowling ball head and the polyester suit stood aside and waved them in.

  The lighting in the Lucky Lady Pole Dancing Club was noticeably subdued, so much so that Honey tripped over a protruding foot. Normally she might have ended up sprawling on the floor, but instead found herself hanging onto a pole, one of the ones semi nude dancers usually did their thing with.

  ‘Honey, stop messing about,’ Doherty muttered, but did nothing to help her.

  It might have been fine if the plinth the pole was slotted into hadn’t suddenly elevated from the floor so it was like a miniature stage, about four feet up from the rest of the floor. Apparently all the dancers’ plinths did that, a signal for the next act to begin. All eyes looked expectantly in Honey’s direction.

  Cheek by jowl with the shiny pole, she found herself caught in the glare of a powerful spotlight.

  Blinking into the murky gloom, she espied hairless heads shiny with sweat and male faces turned in her direction, each one wearing an expectant expression.

  There was a breathless hush.

  Somebody shouted. ‘Come on. Get your clothes off!’

  ‘Yeah. Come on. We’ve paid to see you dance not hang around as though you’re waiting for a bus.’

  Typical. There was always a comedian.

  ‘I tripped. I’m not supposed to be up here,’ she shouted back.

  ‘We don’t mind amateurs. A pair of tits is a pair of tits!’

  ‘You moron! Do you hear any mu
sic playing?’

  ‘Who needs music,’ said moron shouted back.

  ‘Honey. I told you to stop messing around. Get down from there!’

  Doherty offered his hand. She took it with both of her own and let him help her down.

  ‘You were almost the star turn,’ he whispered, his expression hidden by darkness. They ended up sitting at a table in the darkest part of the room.

  ‘I’ve asked for Anne to join us. In the meantime let’s get out of the limelight shall we?’

  The spotlight was suddenly dimmed, though not for long. The darkness was the dancer’s cue to step onto the plinth and grind her stuff.

  Up came the lights, focusing on the nubile young woman who had stepped onto the plinth Honey had been on earlier. To the sound of Phyllis Neilsen singing Move Closer, she began gyrating against the pole. Honey felt the onset of a hot flush. If ever a song imitated in lyrics and beat the sex act, it was that one.

  A roar of approval went up from the crowd. All eyes were on the young woman, her supple body glistening with oil, her breasts bare, her buttocks divided by nothing more than a strip of black lace thong. The music matched the movements.

  The young woman, who she had no doubt was Anne Kemp, placed her legs to either side of the pole, dipping an stretching, humping and weaving around it.

  Doherty had fallen to silence. So had Honey. Both of them were staring at Anne Kemp. Surely she was far too alluring and far too young to be a girlfriend of Nigel Tern?

  Still, thought Honey, the Alpha male has it all their own way. No matter if he had the looks of a smashed bus, he had the status and the money. To a girl like Anne Kemp that was all that mattered.

  Despite the dim lighting, Honey could see enough to discern that she was the only woman in the place. Wall to wall men as far as the eye could see. Her cheeks burned. That meant there were only two women in the place and she was the second one.

  Her mouth turning dry, she glanced at Doherty. The outline of his face dipped into shadows as he glanced down at his watch. His attention went back to the girl for a moment. He leaned closer and whispered into Honey’s ear.

  ‘I’m going back stage. I fancy asking a few questions about Anne Kemp. Just some background stuff. Who knows what might come up?’