Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery Page 3

  Flora pulled a face. ‘Those blinds are actually quite dangerous. She had the cord looped up but it had fallen down, somehow. Accidents happen.’

  Marshall nodded solemnly. ‘If it was an accident, of course.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, come on. Sleepy City is a pretty depressing place, even for a dog. And Joy was out all day with you, and Otto is there all on his own.’

  Flora stopped by the traffic lights and pressed the button to cross. ‘I wish you wouldn’t call it that. It just sounds so … like a final resting place, or something.’

  ‘Which it is,’ countered Marshall with a shrug.

  ‘You know, Marshall, you don’t have to look for the dark side in everything. Lots of people live in places like the Maples and they’re really happy.’ Flora tapped her foot impatiently, squinting in the low sun. ‘Anyway, what precisely are you getting at? What do you mean about Otto being there all on his own?’

  He leaned against a bollard and gave her a twisted smile. ‘I think, Flora, that little Otto might have been trying to, you know – end it all?’

  ‘Oh, you are the most hateful man!’ Flora swung her tote bag and whacked him on the legs as hard as she could. ‘The most annoying, hateful, horrible man I have ever met. How you could take something as serious as this and turn it into some kind of a joke ... that’s low even for you, Marshall Goodman. Even for you.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Marshall said, trying to smother his laughter. ‘You’re right, Flora. I’m so sorry. It’s unforgivable. I’m sure you’re right, I’m sure Otto’s really happy there.’

  ‘I hate you. I really do.’

  ‘No. You don’t. And that’s part of the problem, don’t you think?’

  While Flora stood with her mouth hanging open, trying to think of a snappy comeback, Marshall raised his arm and walked away up Castle Hill. Come back, she wanted to shout. I haven’t finished having a go at you yet. But the insistent beep, beep, beep of the pedestrian crossing forced her to walk forward with the crowd and before long he was out of sight completely.

  ***

  By the following morning, Flora had calmed down enough to almost see the funny side of Marshall’s joke. But it didn’t make her laugh, or even raise a smile. When she arrived at Joy’s unit with her favourite chilli chicken Subway roll, her friend looked to have aged about five years.

  Which, in an octogenarian with chronic asthma, was not a good thing.

  There was a chill in the air, April showers threatening, and not for the first time Flora lamented her inability to drive. The walk across the city from Sunnybank Rise to the Maples never seemed to get any shorter.

  ‘Hey, I know,’ Marshall had said last month when their driver retired, ‘why don’t you learn to drive? That would solve all our problems, and you’d be a bit more use around here, wouldn’t you?’

  Flora hadn’t risen to it. She’d made her face blank the way she always did when he needled her and carried on typing, her back ruler-straight, her chin set to “get stuffed”. This was a sore point, but it was one Marshall didn’t even know he was prodding. Flora had to date failed her driving test seven times, and that was six times too many. But as far as Marshall was concerned, Flora had never even had lessons. Only Uncle Max knew the truth.

  Flora and Joy ate their lunch side by side on Joy’s tiny sofa, elbows knocking together companionably. Flora tried not to look at the window, now devoid of the garish red blinds. Otto lay at Joy’s feet, surrounded by squeaky toys and wrapped up cosily in the crocheted blanket.

  ‘How is he doing today?’ Flora said, offering the mutt a piece of bread. Otto turned his head away disgustedly.

  ‘He’s a trouper, is Otto. I think he’s fine. But he won’t go near the window and he whimpers if I try and take him outdoors.’

  Flora sniffed the air, wondering how they were managing toilet trips if that were the case. She decided not to ask. ‘And how are you feeling?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Not great. But I have to keep my spirits up or they’ll move me to the third floor. Like the Captain.’ Joy shook her head and sighed. ‘It was so sad to see him go up there. Once they’ve got you in Special Care ...’ She shuddered and returned to her baguette.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Flora wiped her mouth on a piece of kitchen roll and laughed. ‘What is it with you lot and this third floor business? You talk as if there are horrible experiments going on up there or something.’

  Joy tipped her head knowingly. ‘Or something, indeed. It’s where they send you to die, Flora, pure and simple. You move in here, into one of these lovely self-contained units, and they let you stay while you’re young enough and fit enough to fend for yourself. But as soon as they see you’re on your way out, that’s it. You’re off to the third floor. Everyone who goes up there dies within three months. Or less. You ask yourself why.’

  Flora pulled a face. ‘I know this sounds kind of insensitive, but could it be that most of the people who move to Special Care die so soon after because they’re, well ... old? And sick?’

  ‘Ah, yes. That’s what they tell you. That’s what they’d like you to believe. They say you need to move because there’s all this special equipment in the rooms, hoists and such like, and the staff are specially trained. But that just makes it worse. For us.’

  ‘I’m not following.’

  ‘When you’re my age all you have is hope. Hope and memories. When they send you to the third floor, what is there to look forward to? You know you’re on your way out. You’re next. So it happens, doesn’t it? You just give up and die.’

  ‘But it doesn’t have to be that way, surely? Some of the people who move up there live longer than three months, don’t they?’

  Joy tapped her finger to her nose and made a pretend zip across her mouth. Flora sighed and looked around the room. She noticed a collection of doggie paraphernalia and a canvas bag by the door – Otto’s lead, his spare food bowl, a couple more toys. They sat on top of a list, written in Joy’s spidery handwriting. Breakfast, 6 am, Flora read. Walk and poopsies straight after.

  ‘Are you planning a trip?’ Flora nodded at the list.

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Looks like you’re leaving someone instructions for looking after Otto.’

  Joy’s face assumed a closed-off expression. ‘As if I’d leave him after what just happened. How could you even think it?’

  ‘Well, I–’

  ‘He’s everything to me, as well you know. I have to make sure Otto is safe. That’s my number one priority.’

  ‘I know that, I was only–’

  ‘They’re for you,’ Joy said suddenly, almost shouting. ‘I know what you’re going to say but you must, Flora, you must. I can’t keep him here any longer, he’s in too much danger.’

  Flora looked down at her hands. She watched a vein pulse near the base of her thumb. This had to be handled very carefully.

  ‘Joy, is this about Mr Felix again? Because if it is–’

  Joy jumped off the sofa, jolting Flora’s arm and knocking her Subway into her lap. The old lady’s handbag slipped to the side and landed upside down on the floor. Joy ignored it.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Flora. You look out for me like family, but there are things about me you don’t know. I’m sure what happened to Otto wasn’t an accident, and I’m equally sure that man was responsible. And I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he tries again.’

  ‘Joy, I can’t look after a dog. Not even for you. I’m just not … I don’t know what to do with dogs.’

  She dropped to her knees to retrieve the contents of Joy’s handbag, noticing as she did so that her friend wasn’t wearing her gloves today and that her skin was raw and peeling. It was hardly surprising that the eczema had flared up after all this stress, but Flora’s heart sank. What else would be flaring up soon? This wasn’t a time for secrets. Flora sat back on her heels and nodded at Joy’s hands.

  ‘Have you told them yet?’

  Joy tutted an
d turned away. ‘He’s no trouble at all. And I’ve written it all down for you.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a “no”, shall I?’ Flora scooped up the rest of the contents – tissues, antique mirror compact, ancient lipstick, humbugs, a purse the weight of a house brick – and plonked them back in the bag. The blue plastic tube she held on to, waving it in the air to get Joy’s attention. ‘I thought we’d talked about this. You can’t keep something like chronic asthma a secret, not when you live in a retirement home.’

  ‘Village,’ said Joy stubbornly. ‘It’s a retirement village, and I am completely independent here, as you can see.’ She swept her hand to take in the room, with its bed crammed in one corner and tiny kitchenette in another.

  ‘Joy, what happened to Otto was a horrible accident. He must have jumped up and ... well, who knows what really happened? But no one did this to you, or to him. I don’t like to hear you talking this way. It scares me.’

  Joy looked away. She sucked in her cheeks, then picked a piece of fluff off the sleeve of her pale green cardigan. ‘Well, you’d better be going, I suppose. Things to do. People to see.’

  Flora sighed and stood up. She noticed she’d dropped chilli sauce on her jeans, but doubted Joy would let her stick around and mop it up now. Should she take the blasted dog, just to keep her friend happy? It was out of the question. She’d never had a pet, and right now – still living in her mum and dad’s old bungalow, feeling like an impostor in someone else’s home – was not the time to start. Besides, Joy needed the pug with her. They were devoted to each other – they even wheezed in unison. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

  ‘We’re moving a new resident in on Monday,’ she said brightly. ‘Vera’s a lot of fun, you’ll love her. She’s my best friend’s great-aunt – you’ve heard me talk about Celeste, right? The one who’s travelling?’

  Joy grunted and shuffled to the door behind her.

  ‘Oh, look! How lovely. Someone’s brought you flowers.’ Flora picked up the daffodils and handed them to Joy. The response from her friend was totally unexpected: Joy leapt back as though Flora had tried to thrust a knife at her, not a slightly droopy bunch of flowers wrapped in brown paper, and shoved the yellow blooms clean out of Flora’s grip.

  ‘Get rid of them,’ she hissed.

  ‘Joy, what on earth …?’ Flora looked at the flowers by her feet, astonished to see Joy grinding the petals into the door step with one sturdy shoe. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘Not daffodils. Not narcissus. No.’ She ground and stamped until the flowers were nothing more than a pulpy smudge of yellow and green. Flora lowered her head, trying to see Joy’s face. Her expression was nothing less than terrified.

  ‘Joy, what are you doing? What’s going on?’

  But Joy didn’t answer. She was staring at a point over Flora’s shoulder. Flora took another look at her face, then followed her friend’s line of vision. The brown wrapping paper had fluttered away and was wedged in a bush across the path. The young maples rustled in the breeze, and another, more insistent buzz, sounded beyond them. Appearing and disappearing behind hedges as it motored along the path on the other side of the quadrant was a bright red mobility scooter, and bumbling across the tops of the manicured privet was the unmistakable pale ginger hair of Mr Felix.

  Chapter 3

  ‘What is that boy doing out there in the van?’

  Monday morning and Flora was at work bright and early, determined to start the week in a positive frame of mind. She would not let this Rockfords thing drag her down. Joy’s close call with Otto, and her resulting weird behaviour and obvious paranoia, had played on Flora’s mind all weekend. This morning she’d woken up with her priorities realigned. Shakers was a business. It didn’t have to represent her father’s hopes and dreams; she didn’t have to feel so responsible all the time. All they needed to do was tighten their belts and start touting for new customers harder than ever before.

  As for Marshall, Flora planned to do what she always did. Ignore him.

  Which was harder than it sounded. Like now, he was sitting in her chair, which he knew drove her crazy, swinging his long legs and chatting on the phone: the office phone.

  ‘What,’ said Flora again, ‘is that boy doing out there in the van?’

  ‘Hold on a minute, sweetheart,’ Marshall said into the receiver. Sweetheart? By the time he turned to Flora she was as mad as hell.

  ‘If you don’t mind me interrupting your personal calls, I just thought you might be able to shed some light on the fact that there’s a strange man – well, boy – driving our van around the car park. If it’s not too much trouble.’

  Marshall rolled his eyes, whispered something into the receiver, then put down the phone. He said, as if talking to someone very stupid, ‘That’s Richie, isn’t it? The new driver.’

  ‘What?’ Flora jerked her head to tell him to get the hell out of her chair. Marshall eased himself up in no hurry whatsoever. ‘What new driver?’

  ‘You’re gonna have to keep your eye on the ball better than that, Flora. What with Rockfords coming and all ... you’re losing it, girl.’

  ‘Do not call me “girl”. And I am not losing it – can you drop the attitude and tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Richie is the new driver. Like I said. The one we advertised for when Harry retired.’

  Flora flopped down into the vacated chair, which felt uncomfortably warm. Her face reddened as she processed his words. She had completely forgotten about the interviews they’d scheduled for last week. Which played right into Marshall’s I-should-be-the-one-in-total-charge hands, damn it. Clearly Marshall hadn’t forgotten, and clearly he’d just gone right ahead and held the interviews without her. And made the decision about who to take on.

  ‘Where was I when all this was happening?’ she said, mainly to herself. Marshall had the decency to look embarrassed.

  ‘You were in Wales,’ he mumbled.

  Ah, so that was it. A week ago, Flora and her Uncle Max had visited Llandudno to mark her mother’s birthday. Kitty Lively, born and raised in North Wales, always went to the seaside for her birthday, and Flora had chosen to keep up the tradition.

  ‘I was only away for two days, Marshall.’ She kept her voice low. ‘You could have filled me in when I got back.’

  He nodded. ‘Honestly? I thought I had. Maybe you’ve been more distracted than you realise.’

  ‘That’s not fair, and you know it. Fine, it was my mum’s birthday, but I’m dealing with it perfectly well, and I’m totally on top of things here. It’s about time you got that into your stubborn head and stopped trying to undermine me at every opportunity.’

  ‘I’m not trying to undermine you, Flora. You weren’t here, simple as. And last time I looked it said Manager in my contract. I don’t need to consult with you over every decision.’

  There was no point pursuing it. Marshall was indeed stubborn, and Flora had too much on her mind to let herself get sidetracked into another pointless fight. Besides, there was a more important issue at stake.

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to go outside and tell Richie the job’s no longer available, won’t you? We can’t afford to take on a new driver, not with the threat from Rockfords. We’ll just have to make do as we are.’ Flora walked over to the window and watched the van back into a space wide enough for four cars. ‘What exactly is he doing out there, anyway?’

  ‘Practising. He’s a bit rusty driving a vehicle that size.’

  Flora snorted. ‘So not only did you give the job – of driver – to someone without even consulting me, you gave it to someone who’s “a bit rusty” at driving. That’s just great, Marshall. Just great.’

  She marched out of the office, ignoring Marshall’s annoying smirk, bounded down the metal stairs and stormed through the warehouse and into the car park, where the so-called driver was leaning out of the van’s window, trying to get a better view of the bollard he’d just flattened.

  ‘Oi,’ F
lora shouted. ‘You in there. We need a word. Right now.’

  But when the boy jumped down from the cab – and he really was only a boy, no older than seventeen, surely, with pimply skin and pale hair that flopped in his eyes – Flora pointed back up the stairs. ‘Marshall needs a word with you,’ she said with a smile. ‘There’s been a change of plan.’

  ***

  Flora pressed her forehead to the window and tried to block her ears. Richie’s singing was torture. Marshall was in the back, hanging on to the straps with both hands, grinning at her in the mirror. Up front, sitting between Richie and her, Steve tapped at his mobile phone constantly; how it didn’t make him feel totally sick, Flora couldn’t understand.

  ‘Don’t you like Pink Floyd, Flora?’ said Marshall, still grinning. ‘Not your kind of thing?’

  What I don’t like is my employees blatantly taking the piss out of me, she thought. She said nothing, just stared out of the window and watched the countryside trundle by until her eyes glazed over. Marshall was in a funny mood today. It was best to ignore him when he was like this.

  Monday lunchtime and they were moving another resident into Sleepy City. Vera lived out towards Bishops Castle in a crammed four-bed detached that she had somehow managed to pack up into enough boxes for a one-way trip to Shrewsbury and the delights of retirement at the Maples.

  That Marshall had intentionally conned her over the Richie issue was something Flora was not going to forgive in a hurry, but as being angry with Marshall was about as satisfying as a Weight Watchers dinner, Flora was taking her temper out on Richie instead.

  Who was oblivious, of course. Not the pimply youth Flora had assumed, Richie Baker was twenty years old, as bright as a dungeon and the favourite nephew of Cynthia Curtis, the Maples’ warden. Which explained, when Flora finally managed to get Marshall to discuss it with her civilly, why he’d been a shoe-in for the job.

  ‘You’re the one who wanted the crinkly contract. I thought this would keep his aunt happy and you’d be pleased.’

  ‘Fine.’ Although it was anything but. ‘So why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?’