The Grasmere Grudge

by Rebecca Tope

  The uncanny echo of Simmy’s night-time inspirations made her yelp. ‘That’s what I thought. I woke Chris in the middle of the night to tell him. But how did you know?’

  ‘The Internet,’ said Ben wearily. ‘She restores antique textiles, including stumpwork. She must have known what it was worth and decided to get it for herself somehow. Then when Jonathan beat her to it, she went mad with rage and killed him. She’s big and strong enough – and could probably have taken Jonathan by surprise. I mean – whoever did it managed to get his belt off him, before using it to throttle him. How would they manage that, unless he trusted them and thought they wanted the belt for some harmless purpose?’

  ‘They could have knocked him out first,’ said Bonnie.

  ‘We never mentioned the Pruitts last night,’ said Simmy.

  ‘We were stupid not to.’

  ‘It looks as if Moxon was right to warn me and Chris, though,’ Simmy concluded. ‘They must think they’ve got more reason than ever to believe it was him.’

  ‘What exactly did he say yesterday?’ Ben asked. ‘You haven’t told us.’

  She gave a rapid summary, the gist of which was that Malcolm Pruitt had done his best to incriminate Christopher, and the police seemed to be taking it seriously.

  ‘We should call Moxo and show him what I’ve worked out,’ said Ben. ‘Then he can call the Penrith people and get them to release Christopher. I did think he looked a bit dodgy, I must admit.’ He hesitated, giving Simmy an uncertain glance.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Bonnie. ‘I already told her there’s a lot that points at Christopher. She took it really well.’

  ‘Well done,’ approved her swain.

  ‘She also thinks there must be something Christopher isn’t telling us. Something about the auction business, probably. Something he knows about the stumpwork.’

  ‘Hey – I am here, you know,’ Simmy protested. ‘I can speak for myself – and I didn’t say any of that last part.’

  ‘Any news of the runaway wife?’ asked Ben, with a meaningful expression. ‘If she really has run away, that is.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Simmy was feeling very much as she had the previous evening, perhaps more so. Names were once again flying around, with hints of conspiracies and concealments. ‘You’re not accusing her of murder, are you?’

  ‘It did cross my mind,’ he smiled. ‘I promise you, I’ve gone through absolutely everybody, including Daphne Schofield and Valerie Woolley.’

  ‘But not poor old Philip, I hope,’ said Simmy impatiently.

  ‘No, not Philip. But he very probably knows a lot more than he’s told you, as well.’

  The conversation took place in bursts of high intensity, between customers and phone calls and a big delivery of fresh flowers. Bonnie carried the new blooms into the back room and set about sorting them, bringing batches through to the shop to be displayed. Ben ran through his findings in exhaustive detail. The Pruitts were causing some difficulty, with much more speculation than hard evidence informing his theories. The behaviour of Scott Penrose, when looked at from a degree of distance and detachment, struck them all as bizarre. Ben repeated his suspicion that some kind of smokescreen was in operation. ‘He should have been more worried about his wife and baby,’ he kept saying.

  Simmy’s attention was painfully split between Christopher and Tanya, with Flo also nagging at her. ‘How long will they take to question Chris?’ she wondered. ‘I can’t bear not knowing what they’re saying to him.’

  ‘It probably depends on how forthcoming he is,’ said Ben. ‘If they think he’s holding something back, they’ll keep at him for quite a while.’

  ‘I could phone Moxon and see if he knows what’s happening.’

  ‘You could, but it won’t do any good.’

  ‘You should go home,’ Bonnie told him, shortly before one o’clock. ‘See how Tanya is, and patch things up with your mum. You’re too tired to think straight, anyway. You’ve said the same things about eight times already, and it makes less sense each time.’

  He laughed in rueful agreement. ‘Okay, then. Can you tell me if you hear anything from Christopher? Or anybody else. It’s all going to kick off today, I can feel it. There’ll be an arrest by sundown, I bet you anything.’

  Simmy delivered the pink-and-purple flowers to Newby Bridge, and drove back through Bowness, as heedless of her surroundings as she had been earlier in the day. What if it was Christopher? The question kept running through her mind and churning through her guts. Would she still marry him, and wait for his release from prison? Of course not. If he had committed murder, that would make him an entirely different person from the one she thought she knew. How could she even be giving the thought space in her head? However tricksy the antique business might be, with labyrinthine transactions going on behind the scenes, she could not believe it ever ended in cold-blooded murder. But it was tricksy. And Christopher had gone to Grasmere to find the man who cleared houses and did dark deals, giving an explanation that had felt weak from the start. Had he, along with a number of others, been so enraged, even humiliated, by the startlingly large sales figure for the piece of Jacobean embroidery that it made him want to kill the man responsible? Had there been some kind of horrible conspiracy, involving both the Pruitts, and possibly even Nick the tax avoider?

  And where was Florence Penrose?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘The police did a re-enactment,’ said Christopher, at five o’clock that afternoon. ‘It was remarkably thorough. They reconstructed the exact times, with all the neighbours where they were last Monday. They had me and Malcolm Pruitt doing exactly what we did then.’

  ‘So, they didn’t take you to Penrith, after all?’ said Ben. He had been invited to the debriefing by Simmy, the street door firmly closed, and the four of them drinking tea and talking intently at the back of the shop.

  ‘They did, actually. They explained what was going to happen and then we all trooped down to Grasmere.’

  ‘Was Moxon there?’ asked Simmy.

  Christopher shook his head. ‘Didn’t see him all day.’

  ‘So – let me get this straight. They knew from the start that it wasn’t you who killed Jonathan – right? They took you into their confidence and got you to play the part of the man who found the body.’ Ben was tapping his teeth with his pen, having yet again brought all his notes and flowcharts and spreadsheets.

  ‘Not at all. Right to the end I thought it was some sort of trap. They watched me like hawks, waiting for some contradiction or inconsistency. They made me go over and over my reason for being in Grasmere in the first place, and when I last spoke to Jonathan and what I knew about the stumpwork.’

  ‘That came into it, then?’

  ‘Very much so.’ Christopher flushed and glanced uneasily at Simmy. ‘There’s quite a lot I haven’t told you, I’m sorry to say.’

  ‘Does that mean you knew all along who killed Jonathan?’ asked Ben.

  ‘No. Absolutely not. I still can’t see exactly how it must have happened. At least … I suppose I can, if I think about it.’

  ‘So, they’ve made an arrest? Did you see that happen? When did they let you go? Come on, man. Tell us everything.’ Ben’s impatience was reflected by Bonnie and echoed by Simmy.

  ‘All right, don’t bully me. It’s complicated, okay? And it’s not finished yet.’

  All three stared at him hungrily, wanting the whole story, while also desperate to hear the name of the killer. They stood around him, where he sat on the only chair on the premises, the very picture of a reluctant witness having the truth dragged out of him. ‘They had everything noted down, like the script of a play. Vehicle movements, actual words spoken – as close as they could get to what happened. Malcolm Pruitt got a real grilling, the same as me. There was a woman detective constable, recording it all. They got local shopkeepers to try and do the same as they did last week, as well.’

  ‘Vehicles,’ Bonnie repeated slowly. ‘That charity
van, collecting for a jumble sale, as well?’

  Christopher nodded, with a smile of approval. ‘You’re getting warm,’ he said.

  ‘CaniCare! I knew it!’ yelped Simmy. ‘I was right all along.’

  ‘You very nearly were,’ said her fiancé. ‘Apparently. As I keep saying, I don’t know the final details. All that happened afterwards, while I was sitting in a police car at the other end of Grasmere.’

  ‘Was it a fake? The stumpwork? Did Beverley Pruitt forge it, or whatever the word is for needlework?’ Bonnie had pushed forward, claiming this new theory as her very own.

  ‘No, of course it wasn’t a fake. The V&A person would soon have spotted it if it was. But it was never Kathleen Leeson’s. When Jonathan brought it to us to sell, he had to explain where he got it, and he just said he’d spotted it in the CaniCare shop a while back. I went along with it, like a fool, and let it go at that.’

  ‘But – didn’t Daphne Schofield say she’d seen it in Mrs Leeson’s house?’ said Simmy.

  ‘She did, because Jon had put it there, with all her other junk, as a way of hiding it. After the old lady died, Jonathan already had it in his possession, and knew it was worth a fair bit. And he couldn’t tell the true story of where he’d got it from.’

  ‘Which was where?’ Bonnie and Simmy asked simultaneously.

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m guessing it was some poor innocent car boot seller, who might well cut up rough if he or she spotted it when it was sold. So, he had the crackpot idea of letting it go to charity, with a lot of other stuff from the Leeson house, then buying it back for a few quid, all fair and square. That would give it a proper provenance, and the car boot person would never make the connection.’

  ‘What a risk, though!’ Ben blew out his cheeks. ‘What if someone else got to it first? Or if the charity people recognised what it was worth? Didn’t Scott say they have experts to come and value things they’re given, before they put it up for sale?’

  ‘Yes, they do. And Jonathan was one of those experts. The trouble was, there were people involved in CaniCare who knew Jon’s attitude towards dogs and objected to him on those grounds. Sounds bonkers, I know, but everybody’s heard the way he kicked Mrs Leeson’s dog, which set her against him. She made enough fuss for most people in Grasmere to know about it. It made him a hated figure amongst the old ladies who volunteer for CaniCare, and he was blacklisted.’

  ‘So – what happened?’

  ‘He sent Beverley Pruitt to do it for him. She could at least go through the textiles, with her special knowledge. She bought the stumpwork on his behalf.’

  ‘But she knew how valuable it was and demanded a share of the proceeds,’ Ben interrupted. ‘And when he didn’t pay up, she throttled him.’

  ‘No, she didn’t. Don’t jump ahead. She gave the charity twenty-five quid for it, saying it was exactly what she needed for a little collection she was making, and that it was probably only worth twenty or less. She took two or three other things at the same time, to muddy the water.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Bonnie. ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘Jon told me,’ said Christopher simply. ‘It’s what I’ve just told you. He said he couldn’t give the full facts, and how would it be if we fudged it a bit. I didn’t take much persuading, I must admit. I was new and wanted to keep in everybody’s good books. We decided to sit on it for a year or so, then say it was originally Mrs Leeson’s, if anybody queried it, because she was dead by then and no relatives existed to contradict us.’

  Simmy stared at him as she processed the implications of Christopher’s confession. ‘That makes you an accessory to a crime,’ she realised. ‘Good, God, Chris!’

  ‘I know it does,’ he said softly. ‘But it’s not such a terrible one, is it? Not like murder.’

  ‘Hardly a crime at all,’ said Ben. ‘Not if Jonathan really did buy the thing in the first place. Which it sounds as if he did.’

  ‘He never said for sure, one way or the other,’ Christopher admitted. ‘But wherever it came from, he needed to keep it covered up for a while. That’s what started the whole ludicrous business in the first place.’

  ‘So, who else knew the truth?’ asked Ben.

  ‘The manager of the Ambleside shop soon put two and two together and told Scott Penrose. Then things got very nasty.’

  Simmy wanted to crawl away and analyse her feelings in private. But first there were still more questions to be settled. With an effort, she asked, ‘Have they found Flo yet? She’s still not answering her phone. I tried just after lunch today.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s in any danger,’ said Christopher calmly. ‘I was just coming to her, in fact.’

  ‘Good,’ said Bonnie, who was beginning to look worried. ‘Simmy’s very concerned about that poor little baby.’

  ‘This is where I have to start guessing,’ said Christopher. ‘I overheard some comments from a couple of police people, which sounded as if the drama at Banerigg yesterday was mostly staged. I got the impression they’d worked it out and weren’t at all bothered about the safety of the woman. All that kerfuffle last night with Penrose was carefully planned.’

  ‘What?’ Simmy was floundering. ‘Why?’

  ‘Think about it. He knew his wife had been seeing you and didn’t know for sure what she’d told you. He might have heard that you were pally with Moxon, as well. So, he needed to quell any suspicions you might have.’

  All three of his listeners fell quiet at the implication. ‘So – are you saying the killer was Scott Penrose?’ asked Ben slowly. ‘Just like that?’

  ‘I’m saying I think it must be. It’s not Nick, or the Pruitts, or Valerie. Process of elimination.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Ben. ‘I wonder.’

  ‘You left yourself out of the list,’ said Bonnie.

  Christopher flinched, and then leant forward to glare at her. ‘I told you – they’ve got nothing on me.’

  ‘Except collusion to sell a valuable artwork of very doubtful provenance,’ said Ben. ‘And being in possession of knowledge of a grudge against Jonathan as a result. You would have known that the CaniCare people would have realised their loss as soon as the sale results were announced. And I don’t see that Beverley Pruitt is altogether in the clear, either. There was a scam going on, however you look at it.’

  ‘Lots of people had grudges against Jon. It goes with the territory.’

  ‘And Scott Penrose’s must be rather recent,’ said Simmy. ‘Only since the sale two weeks ago.’

  ‘Unless it’s been happening regularly, of course,’ said Ben. ‘What if Jonathan had been systematically ripping off the charity shops around the whole area? It’s easy enough, from the looks of it.’

  Simmy was still fighting to stay focused. ‘I went to the Ambleside shop,’ she said suddenly. ‘The man there was complaining at the huge job of sorting donated stuff fast enough. There was a great stack of it in the back room. I suggested a jumble sale.’ She frowned. ‘Do charities run jumble sales? He didn’t seem very taken with the idea.’

  ‘Useful,’ nodded Ben with a patronising air. ‘Seeing it for yourself, I mean.’

  Bonnie was watching Christopher. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, about the scam?’ she challenged him. ‘And you knew all about it.’

  He attempted a flippant reply. ‘You might think that. I couldn’t possibly comment.’

  Simmy sighed. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘I promised to go and see my parents.’

  ‘And my mum told me to say she wants to see you this evening,’ said Ben. ‘I guess it’s about Tanya.’

  ‘And I should go home and check in with Corinne,’ said Bonnie. ‘I need fresh clothes, as well.’

  Again, they all looked at Christopher. ‘Well, I don’t have to be anywhere,’ he said. ‘They’ll have got on without me at work, and my flat can look after itself.’ He faced Simmy, with an expression of defiance. ‘I guess we need to talk.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘It can wait un
til tomorrow.’

  Then his phone warbled, and he answered it with an obvious feeling of dread. ‘Right … Thank you … Yes, I’ll get back to you tomorrow. Thank you again.’ He looked up at Simmy. ‘It’s Philip. He died at three o’clock this afternoon,’ he said. ‘And I’ll have to arrange his funeral.’

  Simmy fulfilled her promise to her parents and was there before six-thirty. The summer season had meant that every room in their B&B had been full for many weeks, with relentless washing, cooking, cleaning and organising as a result. ‘We double-booked the big room last week,’ said Angie, with an angry look at her husband. ‘He took the message and never told me about it. It was enormously embarrassing.’

  ‘You should let an agent handle all that for you,’ said Simmy.

  ‘It sounds sensible but would be hugely irritating in practice. As it is, I can weed out the obvious troublemakers. And it would all be done by Internet robots who wouldn’t understand the nuances. To them a dog is a dog – but I like to know the size of the thing before I let it into one of my bedrooms.’

  ‘Can I stay for supper? I’ve hardly had anything all day.’

  ‘You look as if you haven’t slept for a week, either. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Well …’ She had no wish to try to explain the complexities of the past day, let alone week. ‘It’s been a bit chaotic lately. I went to Christopher’s auction on Saturday, and I don’t seem to have taken a breath since then.’

  ‘It’ll be that murder, I suppose. The man who was killed because he stole some antique embroidery. Did they catch who did it yet?’

  ‘What makes you think it was because of the embroidery?’

  Angie eyed her daughter with an expression that said, Don’t play games with me. ‘It just seems obvious, I suppose.’

  ‘Does it? I don’t think the police are finding it very obvious. They’ve been doing one of those crime reconstructions in Grasmere today. Chris had to go and do everything all over again.’