Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery Page 14

  Flora tutted. ‘Shocking. And did you know anyone else who lives there? Before you came, I mean?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. But that doesn’t bother me. Always liked my own company.’

  ‘But did you recognise anyone once you moved into your unit? Anyone from your past?’

  The silence made her look up from the trolley. Mr Felix was staring at her, and his expression was no longer friendly. ‘Why are you asking me all these questions? Oh, I get it.’

  Whatever he got made him pretty mad. Flora shrank away as his eyes darkened.

  ‘You and that woman with the dog – you and her are thick as thieves, aren’t you? And don’t think I haven’t noticed she’s been spreading rumours about me. It’s always the same with people like her, people with money. They think they can look down on me, just because I’m renting my unit with my pension, which I’ve worked damn hard for, mind. Well, you can tell her that I don’t care what she says about me behind my back. I didn’t try and knock her stupid dog over on purpose, it ran out in front of me, and I’ve never done anything to upset anyone in that place. I just keep myself to myself.’

  Flora was backing even further away, still on her knees, holding out her hands in a calming gesture. But he was winding himself up, creating his own momentum, and she was horrified to see tears forming in the corners of his pale eyes. He waved a book at her menacingly, his hand shaking. The Billionaire’s Secret Cove it was called, with a cover depicting an impossibly beautiful woman gazing up adoringly at a remote-looking man. Mr Felix advanced, almost tripping over the couple of books that still lay on the floor, berating her and waving his unlikely weapon.

  ‘Were you spying on me?’ he cried, raising his voice to a high-pitched wobble on “spying”.

  ‘No, not at all. I was just–’

  ‘Trying to spoil the little bit of peace I get, making out I’m some kind of criminal. I love dogs, you know, I’d never hurt one. I don’t know why they’ve all turned against me, I don’t know why.’

  He was openly weeping now, and Flora was beside herself with guilt. How could she have gone against her own instincts like that and let Joy convince her this poor old man was anything other than harmless?

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, nearly crying herself. She tried to reach out and pat his arm but he squealed and shrank away from her touch.

  ‘Flora?’

  Oh no. A bad situation just about to get so much worse. There was no mistaking the cultured tones of Heston’s voice. Slightly too high-pitched for a man, but smooth and assured. Flora closed her eyes briefly, still holding out a conciliatory hand to Mr Felix, before turning to face Heston’s shocked countenance.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Heston looked like he might keel over himself as he took in the scattered books, the haphazardly filled trolley, and the old man crying amidst it all.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ Flora said briskly, forcing a bright smile. ‘Just a bit of a mishap. We’ll get it straightened out in no time at all.’ What a nightmare. The last time her so-called boyfriend had seen her he’d gotten covered in dog pee; now he’d found her at the centre of a rumpus in his precious library with a crippled old man crying and accusing her of spying on him. Flora began to shove the rest of the books onto shelves, more to avoid meeting Heston’s eyes than out of any real desire to help.

  ‘Leave it, Flora,’ Heston said. His voice was cool. ‘You’re messing up the Dewey decimal system.’

  Sod the bloody Dewey decimal system. What about your girlfriend – don’t you care that she might be hurt? Or embarrassed? Or both? Her shoulder was in fact throbbing quite badly from where she’d shoved into the heavy trolley, and her pride was in serious need of attention too. Worse, an old man was genuinely upset and her stupid meddling had been the cause of it. Flora stared hard at the floor and wished she could simply disappear.

  ‘Flora?’

  When she finally stood up she was gratified to see a small amount of concern in Heston’s eyes.

  ‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’

  Flora opened her mouth, but she could already see she wasn’t going to get a chance to speak. Mr Felix, finally realising Heston was a member of staff, started filling him in in graphic detail. Flora had no choice but to stand by and listen while the old man embellished her role in the trolley fiasco, accusing her of everything bar stamping on his hands while he lay prone on the ground. She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling – he might be harmless but he was a tell-tale alright. She decided to keep her silence regarding his own particular crime of writing in library stock. It would only sound churlish if she brought it up now, and she didn’t think Heston could cope with any more shocks.

  With a final, despairing glance over his shoulder, Heston led the Maples’ resident away, promising a cup of tea and a complimentary DVD rental to compensate for his troubles. Flora slid down the nearest shelf and parked her rear on the floor, trying to steady her breathing. Mortifying. Absolutely one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.

  After a few shaky breaths she pushed herself back to her feet and headed for the library’s exit. At the main counter she borrowed some paper and wrote Heston a note, saying she was sorry and asking him to call so she could explain. Then she raced outside, desperate to put some distance between her and the scene of her crime.

  All that “Did you recognise anyone at the Maples?” nonsense. Her cheeks burned just thinking about it. Well, at least she had gotten an answer to that question: there was no way Mr Felix was Aubrey. Either he was an amazing actor or he’d had no idea what Flora was talking about.

  What he did seem aware of, painfully so, was that Joy had it in for him. Flora stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine and vowed that she was not going to get involved in Joy’s crazy theories anymore. It would all right itself in the end. The Captain’s death would no doubt be explained by the postmortem, and this man in black would turn out to be someone’s son or long-lost cousin. Eventually life at the Maples Retirement Village would return to normal and go on as before. Peacefully. Where the only thing to fear was being moved to the third floor and losing your independence.

  Leaning against the foot of the Charles Darwin statue, Flora took a moment to drink in a bit of peace of her own. What a day. Otto was waiting for her at home, and Flora needed to stop off at the supermarket and pick up more dog food and treats for the weekend. Plus a bottle of wine and a ready meal for herself. A nice quiet weekend, with nothing more onerous than a bit of light housework and perhaps some time spent thinking about the Rockfords situation. At least Joy’s capers had kept Flora’s mind off that particular problem for a while, but she wondered whether it was wilful procrastination. Rockfords weren’t going away, and Flora needed to come up with a strategy to deal with it fast. Otherwise she’d be at Marshall’s mercy – not a prospect she relished.

  Preoccupied, Flora didn’t see the man walk past her, crossing the square and heading in the direction of the offices in School Gardens. What she noticed was the smell he left behind. She wrinkled her nose. It was familiar, but not in a good way. Cheap cologne. Musk, mixed with the cloying scent of over-ripe fruit. Yuk! But then a flash of black caught her eye, and she turned in time to see a distinctive form stop, glance around briefly, then slip under an arch and out of sight.

  Those hollow cheeks were noticeable even from this distance. And there was no mistaking that bright red beard and bald pate – he looked like a man who had his head on upside down. Tall, wearing black …

  Don’t do it, Flora, said a voice in her head. Just let it be. If you really think there was something odd about the Captain’s death go to the police and tell them. Let them deal with it. What can you do, anyway? You couldn’t even make a proper job of questioning a harmless old man.

  But what if there was a link, innocent though it might be? The visits to the Captain and Ida … If Flora could discover what the link was, surely that would be enough to satisfy Joy? And if Joy would give up on this caretaker’s s
on business, finally see that there were no mysterious happenings at the Maples whatsoever, she would get back her peace of mind and be well again. Her asthma would improve, her skin would clear up, and she’d stop terrorising the other residents. Really, thought Flora as she pushed away from the statue and started across the square, she had no choice. She had to finish what she’d started. It was time to clear up this nonsense once and for all.

  ***

  ‘What do you mean you followed him? Wasn’t that really risky?’

  ‘I guess. But I’m glad I did. I found out who he is, and what his connection with the Captain was.’

  ‘Wow, Flora. That’s awesome! I totally under-estimated you. You’re much more capable than I ever gave you credit for.’

  Flora smiled to herself. Otto had stopped to investigate a lamppost; Flora allowed her mind to wander again.

  ‘I’ve been wrong about lots of things, haven’t I?’ Marshall is wearing one of his fraying fraternity sweaters and pale blue jeans. His face is contrite.

  The problem with imaginary conversations, thought Flora as she tugged at Otto’s lead, was that they always left you feeling unsatisfied. Even if such a conversation did take place, it would be bound to degenerate into a snippy row. Anyway, she should be focusing on the real reason for this Saturday morning meeting, which certainly wasn’t to discuss Flora’s discovery about Joy’s mystery man in black. Yet another Saturday without any removals booked in had triggered crisis talks. Uncle Max was getting the train into Shrewsbury and meeting her and Marshall at ten o’clock. Flora pulled her mobile phone out of her bag and noted the time: quarter to. She was going to be early, which meant she could get Otto settled in the makeshift crate she’d set up, thus avoiding another lecture from Marshall about bringing pets into work. Max wouldn’t mind, of course. In fact, he’d be amazed. Flora’s mum and dad had often joked that she couldn’t take care of herself properly, let alone a pet. They’d never bought her so much as a goldfish. She bent and picked Otto up as they approached the railway arches, giving the panting pooch a cuddle.

  ‘Look at me, Mum,’ she whispered. ‘Looks like I’m finally growing up.’

  Flora rounded the corner, but what she saw outside Shakers stopped her in her tracks. Marshall was standing by a bright red sports car, hands in pockets, looking typically rumpled and dishevelled. Flora’s eyes widened when she saw who Marshall was talking to. Leaning proprietarily on the car’s bonnet was the handsome stranger Flora had seen in this very car park only four days ago. As if to contrast even more dramatically with Marshall, today he sported a dark grey suit over a cool cotton shirt, open at the neck to reveal just the tiniest glimpse of dark hair. His green eyes were trained on Marshall intently, while his posture remained relaxed.

  Flora swallowed and began to step slowly backwards, seeking the shelter of the nearest doorway.

  What was he doing here? She ran her free hand through her hair and looked down at her dog-hair-covered T-shirt in alarm. Had he come to see her again? Not likely. Flora laughed at herself. ‘What am I like?’ she said to Otto, who responded with a quick woof. Flora put her finger to her lips. ‘Shh, I don’t want them to see us.’

  Of course he wasn’t here in search of her. His appearance was so polished, so immaculately groomed, he looked completely out of place outside Shakers’ yard. She peeped out to see what they were doing. Just talking. Uncle Max could arrive at any minute – she couldn’t let him catch her hiding in the doorway of the kebab shop. She’d just have to brazen it out and face the guy, even if she did look a fright.

  Just as she was about to launch herself out into the yard, Marshall stuck out his hand and the stranger, after the briefest pause, gave it one firm shake. Then he jumped into his car and drove away, mercifully not catching sight of Flora who hid her face behind splayed fingers. She waited until his car had disappeared under the bridge, then stepped out of her hiding place. Marshall was still standing in the car park looking pensive. When he saw Flora approaching he gave himself a barely perceptible shake and plastered on a grin.

  ‘You’re early. Dog wet the bed again?’

  ‘Funny. Is Uncle Max here yet?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Flora started towards Shakers’ entrance, with Marshall trailing behind.

  ‘Who was that guy?’ she asked, gratified to find she sounded only mildly interested.

  ‘No one.’

  ‘No one? I saw you shaking his hand.’

  Marshall shrugged and walked past her, pulling up the shutters with a deafening clatter. About to press him further, Flora was cut off by a familiar voice at her shoulder.

  ‘Not bickering again, I hope? You two lovelies should learn to play nicely.’

  She threw her arms round her uncle, accidentally letting go of Otto’s lead as she did so.

  ‘Now what on earth,’ said Max when Flora had retrieved the pooch, ‘is that dog doing here?’

  ‘Long story. You don’t mind, do you? I’m kind of looking after him for a while. For a friend. But he’s no trouble.’

  ‘Mind? Of course I don’t mind.’ Max beamed, his teeth white against his weathered skin. ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea for you to have a pet. Hey, if you decide you want one of your own, I’ve got some collie pups going.’

  ‘Well, this is real lovely, but if it’s all the same to you guys I’d like to get on with our meeting.’ Marshall stood by the open door, practically glaring at them. Flora raised her eyebrows to Max, who grinned.

  ‘Come on then, boy. Let’s get this show on the road.’

  ***

  ‘The thing with business is, it’s all about knowing when to change and when to stick with what you have.’

  Flora couldn’t stop the huff that escaped from her mouth.

  ‘You don’t agree, Flora?’ Max’s eyes were creased at the edges, and in the creases Flora could see lines of grime. She couldn’t help but marvel at the change in him – he had thrown himself into the good life one hundred per cent. This was his first visit in months to the town where he’d lived for nearly seventy years, and he’d not bothered dressing up for it, that was for sure.

  She smoothed her hands across her knees, regretting her own choice of smart linen skirt in lieu of her usual jeans. She’d wanted to create the right impression, but apparently neither Marshall nor Max had had the same idea.

  ‘I do agree, but Marshall’s only saying that because he thinks it’s time to change. He’s got this idea – has he told you his idea? Of course he has. It’s not right, Max. Dad wouldn’t have wanted it. Not without a fight, anyway.’

  ‘I’ve never proposed anything that would be disrespectful to your father, Flora, and I resent the implication that I would.’

  ‘See what I have to put up with?’ Flora turned despairing eyes to her uncle. ‘Now he’s gone all pompous on me, all hard-done-by, but I’m telling you, he’s been pushing this commercial storage idea for months.’

  ‘Well, let’s hear him out, why don’t we?’ Max was sitting in Flora’s chair, his grubby hands laced across a bulging stomach. Flora and Marshall had arranged their seats opposite, and the resemblance to naughty school children reporting to their head teacher was already starting to grate on Flora’s nerves.

  ‘Fine,’ she grumbled. ‘Go on then.’

  ‘And Flora, I don’t know anything about this idea of Marshall’s, although I do know he’s had some thoughts about the business. That’s what we’re here for, right? To discuss them.’

  ‘Hm.’ She couldn’t trust herself to say any more.

  Marshall leaned back in his chair so far Flora thought he might fall off. Hoped he would, more like. ‘Flora’s right, Max. I was keen on branching out into commercial storage. But now I’m not convinced it’s the way to go.’

  Flora’s head shot around so fast she cricked her neck. ‘What? That’s news to me!’

  He shrugged. Infuriated, Flora jumped up and turned her back on the two men. She grabbed a packet of coffee and switched on the machine. �
�So what’s caused this change of heart?’ she said through gritted teeth.

  Marshall took his time answering, and Flora wondered what silent communication was going on behind her back.

  ‘I’m just not sure it’s the right area for us to move into now. Six months ago, maybe. But the opportunities are closing up fast.’

  ‘Oh, right. I get it.’ Flora swung around to face him. ‘I see exactly where you’re going with this. You had an idea that could have saved Shakers, but I blocked you all the way. Now that idea is redundant, and it’s all my fault for not going with it. So Shakers is stuffed and you can sit back and say “I told you so” but take no responsibility. Brilliant, Marshall. You must be really proud of yourself.’

  ‘Flora, what are you saying?’ Max was on his feet now, hauling his huge frame up to lean over the cluttered desk. ‘You can’t honestly believe Marshall has anything other than the best interests of this business in mind, whatever ideas he comes up with?’

  ‘No. Yes. Oh, I don’t bloody know.’ She was trying to rip the top off the packet of coffee but it was sealed too tight and the little tag had already come away in her hand. ‘Damn this bloody thing!’ She threw the packet onto the worktop and picked up another.

  Marshall leaned even further back in his chair and held out his hands, palms up. See what I have to put up with, was the clear message. Flora could see through him completely. He’d engineered this whole situation to make her look bad. Give him a week and he’d be harking on about the storage scheme again, or something else equally far away from Peter Lively’s vision.

  ‘Max,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice level, ‘Shakers is not doing great. You’ve seen the accounts, bookings are down and we’ve hardly had to use Steve at all this month. Stuart’s already moved on, and we can barely afford to keep the new driver. What do you think we should do?’

  She turned back to the coffee machine and yanked at the fresh packet. The top came off in one smooth movement. Hallelujah!

  ‘I know your dad’s original idea was to focus on domestic removals, the personal service that Shakers has always done so well.’