The Grasmere Grudge

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘And I’ll have to ask some people from work.’

  It cheered them both to be contemplating the future, holding hands and swigging local ale. Simmy had an image of a stony foreshore, representing the immediate complications of a murder enquiry and fleeing wife, leading to a sunnier, smoother beach, which was married life with Christopher. All they had to do was traverse the sharp stones as quickly as they could, before reaching the happy land ahead.

  Then the pub landlord approached their table. ‘Are you Chris and Simmy?’ he asked.

  They looked up in bewilderment and nodded.

  ‘There’s a phone call for you. A girl called Bonnie wants to speak to you urgently.’ He cocked his head in puzzlement. ‘Haven’t you got mobiles, either of you?’

  But Simmy was already on her feet.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘Simmy! Thank goodness! Can you come to Ben’s place right away? There’s a man here. He’s really angry and he won’t go away until he’s seen you and Christopher. It’s all Ben’s fault, really. Oh, Simmy, please come.’

  ‘But who is he?’

  ‘His name’s Scott Penrose. He runs that charity shop in Ambleside. The dog one. The police have been at his house. He thinks Ben sent them. His wife knows you. There’s a baby …’

  ‘Scott Penrose! I know about what happened this evening. Ben didn’t send the police. It was some walkers who heard shouting. Why should he think it was Ben?’

  ‘He says if it wasn’t Ben it must have been you. He says you’ve turned his wife against him. He wants to talk to you.’

  ‘But where’s Helen, and Ben’s dad? Are they just letting all this happen?’

  ‘They’ve gone off somewhere with Zoe. They’re due back any minute. We were hoping we could get this sorted before they turn up. And Tanya’s here. She’s not feeling very well. Her cut’s throbbing. Natalie’s out with some boy.’

  ‘So where’s the Penrose man? Can he hear you?’

  ‘No, but he can see me. He’s not scary, exactly. Just won’t go away. We can’t work out what we should do.’ She sounded very young and helpless, and Simmy badly wanted to help. But she was still deeply confused. Bonnie went on, ‘If you and Christopher both come, then he’d have to leave, wouldn’t he? We’d have the strength of numbers.’

  Simmy didn’t relish the prospect of watching Christopher and Ben manhandle an angry man out of the house. ‘I think I should call Moxon about it,’ she said.

  ‘Not yet,’ Bonnie said urgently. ‘Later, maybe. First you should talk to Scott.’

  There were many things that Simmy did not understand. The man’s anger. The very fact that he and Ben were somehow connected. The odd contrast between the underlying threat of violence and the relative calm in Bonnie’s tone. The subliminal alert caused by mention of the charity shop. It was all coalescing, very slowly, but definitely excitingly. ‘We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,’ she promised.

  Christopher’s bemusement was almost funny. ‘But what happened?’ he kept asking. Simmy would only say, ‘I’ll tell you in the car. Come on, we should run.’

  And run they did. It was exhilarating, in the soft rain, the sky almost dark, the urgency increased by a youthful sense of adventure. Either the beer or the reassuring intimacy with Simmy had changed Christopher’s mood to one of relatively willing cooperation. Simmy grabbed her bag, car keys and phone and almost pushed Chris into her car. ‘Why not take mine?’ he protested.

  ‘I drive faster than you,’ she said. ‘And you had more beer than me.’ Never before had she cast any aspersions on his driving, but privately she had often wished he would speed up. A streak of innate caution was something to be valued, she had told herself, while chafing at the way he crept around bends in country lanes, in contrast to his tendency to go rather too fast on bigger roads. It must be me, she thought, never satisfied. Just a nagging female.

  ‘But won’t you want to be on the phone?’ he asked, as she turned the little car round.

  ‘No – why would I? If it rings, you can answer it for me, anyway.’

  ‘Am I going in the capacity of bodyguard? Will I have to punch somebody?’

  ‘No. Listen. I’m going to talk all the way to Bowness. It would be better if you don’t interrupt, even if it doesn’t make sense. Is that okay?’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Somehow there’s a link between Flo and Jonathan being killed. It’s about dogs. Jonathan was brutal to Kathleen Leeson’s dog. She loved dogs, enough to give things – and probably money – to CaniCare. I think she gave that stumpwork to them. I think Jonathan found it, paid three quid for it, and when it sold for thousands, the man in charge of the charity shop was so furious, he killed him. And the man in charge of CaniCare in this area is Scott Penrose. That’s what I think Ben must have worked out, and somehow approached the man, hoping to trick him into confessing. Or something. But the thing is, I forgot to tell him that I went to that shop in Ambleside and met the man himself. At least, I’m assuming it was him. I didn’t make the connection at the time, except a vague awareness that Flo’s husband was with them somehow. So now he’s furious again, because Ben’s tracked him down somehow. The name and address are on my work computer, because I took flowers there on Monday. Bonnie must have found it and given it to him. Are you with me?’

  Christopher was sitting upright in the passenger seat, watching her face as she spoke. His hand was over his mouth as if holding back a flood of questions or arguments. He gave an ambivalent wag of his head, to indicate yes and no.

  ‘You can speak now,’ she told him.

  ‘He would have paid more than three quid for it,’ was the first thing he said. ‘And it’s not credible that the charity people would hold such a grudge that they’d kill him over it. It happens all the time. It’s part of the whole deal. If everyone paid the real value of everything at the start, we’d all starve. There’d never be any profit for any of us.’

  ‘I see that. But there’s something more going on here. Probably to do with dogs.’

  ‘I can’t believe the same man would be causing trouble in two different places on one evening. It’s a rampage. Didn’t he learn his lesson when his wife ran off? Does he blame Ben for that as well?’

  ‘Me,’ said Simmy. ‘He blames me. That’s why he wants me there now.’

  ‘So, I am going to be your bodyguard, after all.’

  ‘Let’s hope not.’

  They parked in Helm Road, three houses away from the Harkness residence and went to the door. Bonnie threw it open, with a wan smile. ‘That was quick,’ she said. ‘Come on in.’

  In the big family living room, a man was sitting on the edge of an armchair, intently watching the door. He had dark hair, a trim little beard and moustache. Simmy stopped dead, staring at him. ‘That’s not him, is it?’ she said.

  The man got to his feet. ‘Whoever you expected, I can assure you that I’m Scott Penrose, and Florence is my wife.’

  Ben was on the sofa, a big white jotter pad on his lap. He gave Simmy a thoughtful look. ‘Have you ever seen him before?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you thought you had? Is that right?’

  She paused. ‘It’s pretty silly of me, I suppose. I just thought I’d worked it out. The shop in Ambleside … Jonathan and dogs, and the stumpwork.’

  Ben nodded and waved his pen over the notepad. ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘Mr Penrose is very cross with us.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’ She was entirely engaged in the present moment, desperate to understand all the interactions and implications.

  Again, Ben indicated his notepad. ‘I pulled everything together. Daphne provided most of the final pieces. Kathleen Leeson didn’t like or trust Jonathan. He ended up with the stumpwork somehow, and we can safely assume she would never have willingly let him have it. So, she donated it to CaniCare, because she was so obsessed with dogs. Which can only mean that Jonathan got it from the charity shop, paying some derisory sum for it. Again,
we have to assume he knew exactly what it was and exploited the ignorance of the people at the shop. So, when it was in the papers, with pictures, saying how much it sold for, the CaniCare people would have felt terribly cheated.’

  ‘Yes!’ Simmy was thrilled at the almost identical scenario to the one she had spelt out to Christopher in the car. ‘I came to exactly the same conclusion.’

  They all looked at Scott Penrose, who spoke calmly. ‘So he phoned me at home and started asking extremely intrusive questions.’

  ‘Was Flo there at that point?’ Simmy asked.

  ‘She was. I’m afraid she took a lot of the fallout.’

  ‘Unfairly,’ Simmy accused. ‘You’ve been a pretty poor husband to her lately, haven’t you?’

  ‘Um …’ Ben interrupted. ‘That’s another issue, Simmy. Can we stick with the main point?’

  ‘Sorry. The thing is, I forgot to tell you and Bonnie that I went to the CaniCare charity shop yesterday. There was a man there. I assumed – stupidly – that he was Mr Penrose. Of course, there must be loads of volunteers, working to a rota. It’s just that you don’t often see men doing it. Not men of working age, as that one was. I don’t suppose it makes any difference,’ she finished slowly. Somewhere a thought had gone astray.

  ‘You didn’t accuse him of murder, did you?’ Christopher asked Ben. ‘He can sue you for slander, if so.’

  ‘I’ve got more sense than that,’ said the youth with dignity. ‘And you obviously don’t know the law concerning slander.’

  Scott Penrose was beginning to look agitated. Simmy’s criticism had struck a nerve, it seemed. ‘We’ve had a major crisis over that stumpwork. It’s turned everything upside down. The problem is, we’ve been victims of our own success. Mountains of stuff keep coming in from old ladies. We can’t keep up with it. We all spend hours in that back room, trying to sort it all out. We take bags of it home with us and wash the clothes, and write the labels, and try to get an idea of value.’

  ‘Not you, surely?’ Simmy faced him. ‘Flo would have told me if you’d been doing that. She’d probably have enjoyed it.’

  ‘She’s been very strange since the baby was born. Paranoid about germs. Clinging to me and crying all the time. I did my best,’ he finished fiercely, glaring at Simmy. ‘But I’ve got responsibilities to my employers as well. There are only two of us who are actually paid to be there. All the others can come and go as they please. And that week when it rained every day was the final straw. Florence wouldn’t go out in case the baby got wet. She just sat there by the window, with the baby on her lap, both of them in tears.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get some help? That sounds like puerperal psychosis to me,’ said Ben. ‘It’s a serious matter.’

  ‘And now she’s out there somewhere,’ Simmy remembered. ‘She must be at risk, surely. And the baby even more so.’

  ‘So, who killed Jonathan?’ Christopher burst out. ‘Eh? Ben? Bonnie? Haven’t you solved the mystery yet? Well – after my talk with his wife yesterday, I can tell you who I’m pretty sure it was. Must have been.’ He stopped and waited for a reaction.

  ‘Valerie!’ Simmy remembered. ‘You haven’t said a single word about what happened between you and her. I forgot all about it. What did she say?’ His silence on the subject felt sneaky to her. As if he’d been withholding something important. ‘Why didn’t you tell Moxon you’d seen her? Come on, damn it – you can’t just drop a bombshell like that and then go quiet.’

  ‘We were talking about Flo,’ said Bonnie in a quiet voice. ‘And Christopher stopped us. Was that deliberate, I wonder? A diversion, for some reason?’

  Ben gave her one of his admiring glances. ‘Good work, Bon,’ he murmured. He addressed Christopher. ‘How about it? What’s the sense in muddying the waters now?’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ said the auctioneer. ‘All I was trying to do was get Simmy to stop agonising over that woman and her infant. She’s got it into her head that she’s somehow responsible and should offer them a home for the indefinite future. All I was doing was try to bring us back to the matter in hand.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Simmy was manifesting a rare flash of anger. ‘Is Valerie relevant, or isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s sure it was Nick who did it,’ said Christopher. ‘She thinks he could have wangled the alibi, calling in favours and so forth. She’s never liked him and thinks he’s quite capable of violence. There was no need for me to say anything to Moxon about it, because she’d already gone to the Penrith lot.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was a silence, as each person digested this. A hint of disappointment hovered in the room.

  ‘So, does that let me off the hook?’ Scott Penrose asked, with a slight smirk. ‘Because if so, I really need to go and find my wife and daughter.’

  ‘You haven’t seemed very worried about her up to now,’ Bonnie observed.

  ‘And you haven’t mentioned that the police were called to your house, either,’ said Simmy. ‘She phoned and texted me, sounding frightened and desperate. You were heard shouting at her and threatening to keep her locked in the house.’

  ‘Who the hell told you that? How could you possibly know what went on between me and my wife?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly, of course. But what I do know contradicts quite a bit of what you’ve just said. There’s a lot more going on than we think, Ben.’ She pointed at his notepad. ‘There’s another connection somewhere. Maybe more than one. Something we’ve been missing all along.’

  ‘Dogs? Stumpwork? Something that happened a year ago? The auction house?’ Ben was going down a list on his pad, item by item. ‘I’ve got all that. I’ve got that Nick had a grudge against Jonathan, as did Mrs Leeson, because he might have kicked her dog.’ He looked up. ‘And CaniCare went back on their promise, according to Daphne.’

  Scott Penrose scowled. ‘The animal was on its last legs. It would never have been rehomed. Sometimes the kindest thing is to put them down.’

  ‘You remember it, then?’ Ben gave the man a probing look. ‘A year after the event with all the old ladies and dogs you must have dealt with since then – and still you remember Mrs Leeson.’

  Penrose said nothing.

  Ben turned to Christopher. ‘You were involved, weren’t you – right back at the start? When the old lady died?’

  ‘Haven’t I already said so? My parents knew Philip. They suggested I could help with the old lady’s things.’

  ‘You told me you didn’t meet him until a few months ago. You did it all on the phone,’ said Simmy.

  ‘That’s right. So?’

  Yet again, Ben scrutinised his notes. ‘The van,’ he said. ‘A charity van was in the cul-de-sac on Monday morning. Collecting stuff for a jumble sale. Was it somebody from CaniCare?’

  ‘We think it might have been the murderer,’ said Bonnie. ‘It does seem to connect, you see. Doesn’t it?’

  ‘It could have been any one of a dozen charities, on perfectly innocent business,’ said Scott carelessly. ‘So what?’ The echo of Christopher’s challenging So? was impossible to miss.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ Christopher interrupted. ‘You can’t just dismiss it like that. If your charity is implicated, then the van’s a vital part of the picture. The police will know from the witness which charity it was that was holding the jumble sale, then you could be in for a grilling.’

  ‘Christopher’s right,’ Ben endorsed.

  Simmy had lapsed into thought. ‘Why did you demand to talk to me?’ she asked Penrose. ‘When you should be out there trying to find your wife and child.’

  ‘I needed you to convince this boy – and his little friend – that I did not kill the Woolley man. I wanted an adult who would hear me out and realise what nonsense the whole thing is. And no way am I going “out there” looking for Florence. I haven’t got a tracker on her car, you know. She’ll be all right. She’ll come home tomorrow, you see.’

  ‘You’ve got two cars, then?’ said Ben, as if this in itself
was cause for suspicion.

  ‘Yes,’ said Scott shortly.

  ‘Your parents are back,’ said Bonnie, lifting her head. ‘I heard the car. And we should see if Tanya’s okay.’

  ‘Tanya!’ Simmy was horrified at her own neglectfulness. She should have enquired for the girl at the very start. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘She says the wound is throbbing, and she felt a bit warm,’ said Ben. ‘But they slathered it with antiseptic cream, so she’ll be fine.’

  ‘I should go and see her. Where is she?’ Simmy got out of the armchair. ‘Upstairs?’

  ‘She went to bed. You’re too late, if Bonnie’s right that my parents are back. They can take over now.’

  Bonnie was right. The front door closed loudly, and voices were heard in the hall. ‘We should go,’ said Simmy to Christopher. ‘It’s half past ten.’ She found herself feeling nervous about facing the Harkness parents. Her reason for being there was flimsy, and she had done nothing useful regarding the injured Tanya. Helen had not been particularly friendly when they had spoken the day before.

  Christopher followed her out of the room, where they found Ben’s father in the hallway. Helen was just visible at the top of the stairs. ‘Hello?’ said the man, raising his eyebrows. ‘You’re Simmy Brown, aren’t you? Is something the matter? What time is it?’ He looked tired and slightly confused. ‘Must be late. I’m knackered. School again tomorrow.’ He sighed. ‘Is Tanya all right?’ he added.

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen her. Ben asked me to come round and talk to a man who turned up here this evening. We got carried away talking and didn’t give Tanya a thought. I’m sure she’s fine – she’d have come down otherwise.’

  ‘A man? What man? Is this part of his latest venture into solving a murder?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Simmy, suddenly seeing the whole business through the somewhat jaded eyes of a schoolteacher nearing retirement. ‘And I’m afraid we haven’t got very far, after an hour of talking.’