The Grasmere Grudge

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘I know what it means to be married,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Not when it’s being married to me, you don’t. I’ve had quite a while on my own now and you’ve had even longer. Neither of us wants to be joined at the hip, surely?’

  ‘Who knows what they want? Haven’t we already sorted that? We only know it when we see it.’

  ‘Okay. So tonight, I want to go home. I don’t want you to be upset about it. I realise it looks inconsistent of me, to drive back again for the umpteenth time today, but that’s how it is.’ She got up from the sofa, gathering the chip boxes as she went. ‘Lucky I hardly had any wine.’

  ‘Lucky for you that I did, or I’d have come chasing after you.’

  ‘Like Valerie Woolley might do with you?’ she shot back. ‘I don’t think anybody’s going to do any chasing when it comes to it. You stay here, have a nice lazy lie-in and be here when she shows up at eleven. Be nice to her, and then call me when she’s gone, and we’ll decide about the rest of the day. Okay?’

  ‘No, but I’ve got the message.’

  ‘Don’t sulk, pet,’ she said, in a deliberate echo of Frances, his mother. ‘You’re a big boy now.’

  She drove away feeling startlingly pleased with herself. This must be what was meant by assertiveness, she thought. State your wishes, accept the other person’s reaction, remain calm and don’t be manipulated into doing what they want instead. It felt like a formula that should work perfectly between adults.

  The only question was – how much of an adult was Christopher Henderson?

  Chapter Nineteen

  She sent Ben a text at eight-thirty next morning: I know it’s a bit early for a Sunday, but I could come and debrief you at nine-thirty or thereabouts, if you like. I’ve got all morning.

  His reply came back in under five minutes. Yes! I’ll be waiting. Bonnie too, of course.

  Her sense of satisfaction persisted as she gave her kitchen a quick clean and drank her favourite brand of instant coffee – which Christopher still had not got around to providing at his flat. It wouldn’t last, she knew. She would be quite happy to start again in a new house with a new husband, making new arrangements for their daily lives. But for the moment, she valued her independence. She wanted to help Ben and Bonnie solve the murder of Jonathan Woolley. More than anything, she wanted that for her fiancé’s sake. If he could not summon enough confidence in the youngsters to trust that they could resolve the mystery, then she would have to do it for him. Then everybody would be happy.

  Bonnie clearly had to force the smile she gave Simmy. She looked translucently fragile, and Helen Harkness hovered behind her as if ready to catch her when she collapsed. But she did not collapse and spoke out firmly in support of Ben’s brainstorming plans. When Simmy asked after Tanya, everyone just shrugged and said she was okay, but a bit droopy.

  ‘You can have the dining room,’ said Helen. ‘So long as you’re gone by half past twelve. We’re doing roast pork.’ She hesitated before adding, ‘You can stay, if you like, Simmy.’

  Gone by half-twelve, but invited to lunch? Simmy frowned and stammered, ‘Um …’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ Helen laughed. ‘I mean gone out of that room. I’ve got Zoe scheduled to lay the table – we do it the old-fashioned way on Sundays. Tablecloth, flowers, silver spoons – the works. Ben’s on gravy and custard. That leaves him available to you until almost dinnertime.’

  Who knew? Simmy was stunned. When had she last experienced a true domestic Sunday roast? With herself she calculated that would be at least eight people round the table. And who was to say there wouldn’t be a stray neighbour or two, invited in as an act of charity? Anything seemed possible. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But I think I’m having lunch with Chris.’

  Ben and Bonnie both looked at her, eyebrows raised. ‘Think?’ said Ben.

  ‘I’ll call him in a minute to check. But in any case, I won’t stay, thanks Helen. I need to see my parents at some point.’

  ‘So … Christopher?’ Bonnie nudged.

  Simmy sighed. ‘If you must know, it all fell apart a bit last night. I’ve got a lot to tell you.’

  Ben bustled the three of them into the room allotted to them, and they sat round the large antique mahogany table. ‘I’ve never been in here before,’ said Simmy.

  ‘There’s not enough space upstairs to spread everything out,’ said Bonnie.

  Ben produced several sheets of paper, some with hand-drawn diagrams, others printed. ‘It’s been great having time to do it all properly,’ he said. ‘There’s a sheet for everyone who could be part of the investigation, a flowchart to connect them all up, spreadsheets with times, places, motives and so forth. But there’s still loads of gaps.’ He looked at Simmy expectantly.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘How do you want me to start?’

  ‘Tell me everything since you brought me back here yesterday. Who did you talk to? Has Christopher said any more?’

  ‘And why aren’t you there with him now?’ wondered Bonnie. ‘Did something happen?’

  ‘I’ll get to that. The main thing is what Philip told us. We went to his nursing home, after the auction. He said he’s fairly sure that stumpwork belonged to Kathleen Leeson. He saw it in her house, after she died.’

  ‘Wait!’ ordered Ben, looking far less excited than expected. ‘Is that the first thing that happened, or are you jumping ahead? What did you do between two o’clock and – what? Five?’

  ‘Sorry. Well, I went to the shop first.’ She looked at Bonnie. ‘I’ve cleaned up all the mess. The computer’s going to be okay, I’m sure. It really wasn’t so bad.’ She was deliberately avoiding the word blood, which seemed to be a wise move.

  ‘A little goes a long way,’ said Bonnie, swallowing hard. ‘Everyone keeps telling me that.’

  ‘Poor old Bon,’ said Ben, giving her shoulder a quick stroke. ‘Not the best phobia for a detective to have – eh?’

  ‘I’ll get over it. I thought I was over it, actually.’

  ‘At least you coped. Most people would have gone wobbly, worse than you did.’

  The girl smiled weakly and flapped a hand at Simmy. ‘Never mind me,’ she said. ‘Get on with the debriefing.’ They both looked back at Simmy.

  ‘Right. Yes. So, then I drove to Ambleside, and spent half an hour pottering about there. I was too early for Chris, and didn’t want to go home, so that seemed a good compromise. I bought a scarf and a shirt in a charity shop.’

  Ben waved impatiently. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Back to Keswick, where I finally caught up with the Nick chap. Heard him talking to that little man who works there. He was loading up his van. He said the taxman wasn’t going to take it any further, and everything was settled, more or less. He’d been afraid that everyone would believe he’d killed Jonathan, but in fact, he hadn’t had any bother over it.’

  ‘Exact words?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ben. That was the gist of it. I was sitting in my car with the window open, trying not to let them see that I was listening.’

  ‘How did you know it was him?’

  ‘He was loading up that big tin trunk he’d bought. And he had stubble, like the Beverley woman said.’

  Ben jotted a few words on a sheet headed ‘Nick’. ‘Was Christopher there as well?’

  ‘No, he didn’t finish up for a few more minutes. Then we dashed right off to see Philip in Grasmere. I don’t know how many times I went up and down that damned road yesterday.’

  ‘I make it six,’ said Bonnie, effortlessly. ‘Early on, with Ben. Then back when I phoned. Then up again via Ambleside. Then to see Philip and back. Then home sometime last night.’

  ‘Six is too many,’ said Simmy with feeling.

  ‘Philip,’ prompted Ben, pulling the appropriate page towards himself.

  ‘They said he was dying, and he was very weak. But he was sitting up and could talk well enough. He’d read about the murder in the paper, which Chris was upset about. At least, I assumed he was. He didn�
��t actually say so. Nearly all the talk was about the stumpwork – Philip had read about that as well and connected it all up in his mind. He soon guessed it was Jonathan who sold it, and assumed it has to be the reason he was murdered.’

  ‘Sharp for a dying man.’

  ‘He really cares. I got the impression he feels almost responsible in some way. Chris promised him that he’d do everything he could to find who’d killed Jonathan. Afterwards, he said to me that he hadn’t really meant it.’

  ‘Not very ethical,’ said Ben.

  ‘To be fair, I guess he means there isn’t anything he can do, anyway. So he’s not exactly breaking a promise – just promising the impossible.’

  ‘Not much difference, as far as I can see. Besides, there must be loads he can do, if he chooses.’

  ‘Is that why you came home last night?’ Bonnie asked. ‘Because you were cross with him?’

  ‘In a way,’ said Simmy, seeing it in that light for the first time. ‘I just felt … a bit sick of it all.’

  Ben’s pen was hovering over the ‘Philip’ sheet. ‘Details,’ he insisted. ‘We know when the Leeson lady died. What we still haven’t clarified is whether Jonathan went to her house while she was alive.’

  ‘He did,’ said Simmy. ‘And she threw him out because he was mean to her dog.’

  ‘Good.’ Ben made a note. ‘So did she sell him the stumpwork for far less than its value? If so, why would that matter to anybody? Or was there some kind of competition where Jonathan cheated?’

  ‘No, she can’t have done, because Philip says it was there after she died.’

  Ben made another note, then located yet another sheet, headed ‘Kathleen Leeson’ and stared at it. ‘What about this long-lost relative who inherits the house? If there is one, of course. Could that turn out to be somebody local, who resented the way the house clearance chap was much too keen on getting his hands on the spoils?’

  ‘Chris says it’ll all be done through solicitors. And most of the bureaucratic stuff has been done now, anyway. Possibly all of it. He is a bit vague about it. I don’t think he knows any of the details.’

  ‘Who else would know?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Well – Philip, I guess. Nobody else has floated up.’

  ‘Yes, they have. Daphne Schofield,’ said Bonnie. ‘I told you, remember? Corinne knows her. And she knew Kathleen Leeson, as well as Philip.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Simmy feebly. ‘I forgot about her.’

  ‘We should talk to her,’ said Ben decisively. ‘Will Corinne tell us how to find her?’

  ‘She might.’ Bonnie gave it more thought. ‘Daphne’s always wanting an audience. She’d probably be thrilled. Might even wonder what took us so long.’

  ‘It’s ten o’clock,’ Simmy realised. ‘I’ll have to phone Chris. Valerie Woolley’s due at eleven.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘Jonathan’s wife. Didn’t I tell you? She wants to ask Chris all about finding the body. He’s not looking forward to it. Threatened to go out and leave her high and dry.’

  ‘Not very ethical,’ muttered Bonnie, echoing Ben’s recent comment.

  ‘Stop it, both of you. Nobody’s perfect. Chris had a horrible shock, and he’s still not over it. Anyway, he’s not going to chicken out. He just hopes she won’t take long, so we can spend the rest of the day together. Why don’t you call Corinne, while I phone Chris, and we can take things from there.’

  ‘We could, but we’re not done yet. Nowhere near,’ said Ben.

  ‘I’ll go and phone Corinne,’ said Bonnie. ‘I said I would, anyway.’

  Ben smiled his thanks, and she went out of the room. He riffled his papers. ‘We need to go back to the start and see how it holds together now. I wonder where the police have got to? Moxon hasn’t been again, has he?’

  Simmy shook her head. ‘I’d have told you.’

  ‘The victim’s wife,’ mused Ben. ‘Is she another suspect, then? Wives always have plenty of motives.’

  ‘No idea,’ said Simmy automatically. Then she reconsidered. ‘Actually, Chris said she is quite big and strong.’

  ‘Why aren’t you there as well, so you can meet her? She might have all sorts of useful things to say.’

  ‘We can ask Chris what she said.’

  ‘Can we? Would he talk to us again? I thought it was strictly a one-off on Wednesday.’

  ‘He’ll tell me,’ said Simmy with confidence. ‘So, who are your suspects so far?’

  Ben looked furtive. ‘Well – Nick or someone acting for him. The person inheriting the Leeson estate, assuming there is such a person.’

  ‘Why? What would that person have against Jonathan?’

  ‘Rage at his profiteering from something that ought to be theirs.’

  ‘More likely to be somebody local who thought Kathleen was going to give her things to them, surely? Or somebody whose dog Jonathan once kicked,’ she added with a giggle.

  ‘That’s probably right – somebody who knew Kathleen. Now we know that the stumpwork could have been hers, that’s the best line to take. Have the police factored that in at all? If not, we ought to tell them. Have they even bothered to interview Philip?’

  ‘I think he would have said if they had, when we saw him yesterday.’

  ‘Who else knows, then? Did Christopher seem surprised?’

  She tried to think. ‘Not really. But I don’t think he believes it. He told Philip it couldn’t be right.’

  Ben sat up straighter. ‘Details. That’s what we need. Think of Poirot. Jack Reacher …’

  ‘Sherlock Holmes?’

  ‘Definitely. The truth always lies in the detail.’

  ‘But they’re just stories. Is it the same in real life?’

  He treated her to a very stern look. ‘It absolutely is,’ he told her. ‘Connections, links, causal threads. They all come out of the detail. Run some past me.’

  ‘Um … Er … Mrs Leeson liked dogs and Jonathan didn’t. Nick and him both drove blue vans. Mr Pruitt – he must be one of your suspects, isn’t he? – lives in Grasmere and probably knows Philip, and a whole lot of other people. The V&A bought the stumpwork. How’m I doing?’

  ‘Not bad. The Pruitt man could well be the main suspect – except why aren’t the cops interested in him? And is there a chance that the two blue vans got muddled somehow? Makes a change from white ones, anyway.’

  ‘Jonathan’s has his name on the side,’ she remembered. ‘Look, I’ll have to phone Chris before we go any further. He’ll think I don’t love him any more.’

  ‘So why can’t he call you?’

  ‘Because he thinks I don’t love him any more.’ She laughed humourlessly. ‘Or maybe he doesn’t love me. Although I think he does,’ she finished with a little frown.

  ‘Of course he does. Anyone can see that.’

  ‘Good.’ Was it significant that she cared very much less about that point than she would have done twenty years ago? Did it just mean that she took Christopher for granted?

  ‘Go on, then. I’ll have a bit of a think. Don’t be long.’

  Christopher answered briskly. ‘Had a good night?’ he said.

  ‘Fine, thanks. I’m at Ben’s now, but I’ll be free all afternoon and evening. I’d like to spend it with you.’ She silently congratulated herself on the clarity of her assertion. No putting it onto him, no games or tests.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. I thought I’d come to Troutbeck, as usual. Otherwise we’ll be in the same pickle again as we were last night.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ A wave of relief, affection, gratitude and other warm emotions flushed through her. ‘I do love you, Chris,’ she found herself saying. ‘You’re amazing.’

  ‘Likewise. We’re all right, Sim, so long as we stay on the same side.’

  ‘Yeah. So, I’ll see you later. I’ll be there from one – no, make it two. I ought to do a bit of shopping.’

  ‘When did you last see your parents?’

  ‘Days ago. I can go after work tomor
row. My weekends are yours – you know that.’

  ‘See you soon, then.’

  The three of them reconvened in the dining room, Ben glancing anxiously at the time indicator on his phone. ‘Still got an hour and a half,’ he announced. ‘What did Corinne say?’

  ‘She gave me Daphne’s number, and I called it. She was a bit weird, but says she’s heard about us being involved with the business in Hawkshead – and the thing in Coniston – and sounded pretty keen to talk about Philip and Kathleen. Corinne had primed her, I guess.’

  ‘You called her already?’ Ben was plainly unsure of the acceptability of this unilateral action.

  ‘Should I not have?’

  ‘It’s okay. Did you fix a time for a talk?’

  ‘She’s free this afternoon.’

  Simmy felt a stab of panic. She wanted to be there when Daphne Schofield told her story. But she had just lovingly arranged to spend most of the day with Christopher. The clash was a stark illustration of a dilemma that she had begun to understand was likely to be long-term. Although, with Ben’s departure to university in the autumn, there might well be no further involvements with crime anyway. These thoughts flew through her mind in microseconds, followed by increased panic at the impossible decision. ‘Aargh!’ she said.

  The youngsters looked at her. ‘What?’ said Bonnie.

  ‘I can’t do this afternoon. But I don’t want to miss anything. And you’ll need me to take you there. Doesn’t she live in Rydal?’

  ‘She said she could get a bus down to Ambleside. She likes going there on a Sunday apparently. So we could easily get a bus as well.’

  ‘Or take the bikes,’ said Ben.

  ‘Couldn’t Christopher come with us?’ said Bonnie.

  Ben nibbled his lip. ‘Four people would seem pretty heavy,’ he concluded. ‘It’d feel like an interrogation.’