The Deadly Mystery of the Missing Diamonds (A Dizzy Heights Mystery)

by T E Kinsey

  She decided to try to help one of the strugglers. She wondered if perhaps they might be able to get closer to something a little more like dancing if they had a partner. They were watching Millie, they were watching each other, they were watching their own stumbling feet. But it wasn’t helping. Perhaps if they had someone to dance with, just one person to concentrate on, it might be less confusing. It couldn’t hurt.

  But which one should she choose? Ernie was most in need of someone’s help – but was he, in fact, beyond help? He had no sense of timing, no feel for the music, no memory for the steps, and no real control over his limbs. It might be best for the gang if they tried to conceal him at the back during the contest and hope nobody noticed him. If he didn’t actually fall over or injure someone, they might get away with it.

  Alfie was a shambling mess, but at least his formless flailings were in time with the music. There was something to work with there. Ellie got up from her chair and jumped nimbly on to the floor. When Millie next called a halt, she made her way over to the dance students. She approached Millie and drew her to one side.

  ‘Hi, honey,’ she said quietly. ‘We met at the dance a couple of weeks ago – the night you gashed your arm. How is it?’

  Millie held up her arm, which was healing nicely. There was going to be a scar but, as Blanche had promised, it looked as though it would be a subtle one.

  ‘It’s not at all bad, thank you,’ she said, just as quietly. ‘I took the stitches out a couple of days ago and it all seems to be fine. But what can I do for you? Do please tell me you’re a dance teacher and you’re the relief column come to rescue me.’

  Ellie laughed. ‘Not quite. But I was wondering if I might be able to help a little anyway. I was wondering if one of them might benefit from having a partner. I was thinking—’

  ‘Alfie,’ interrupted Millie. ‘Oh, yes please.’ She lowered her voice still further. ‘He’s not . . . well, he’s not terribly bright, is he? My aunt had a Jack Russell who could do all sorts of tricks, but I’m not sure I could train poor Alfie to sit on command. If you could give him something to focus on, stop his mind wandering, perhaps he might start to get it.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking. Will the others mind?’

  Millie sighed. ‘They’ll rag him silly, of course, but as long as you don’t mind, I think it’ll help. And as long as your husband doesn’t mind, of course – dancing with another man and all that. He’s the little drummer, yes?’

  ‘I think he knows he’s got nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Then have at it, as they say. Do you know the dance?’

  ‘Well enough. Better than Alfie does.’

  They broke from their huddle.

  ‘Alfie,’ said Millie in her best colour-sergeant voice. ‘We have a plan to help you out. Mrs Maloney has kindly agreed to play the role of your dance partner. I don’t envy the poor woman, but she seems to think you’re worth the effort.’

  The Alphabets laughed.

  ‘Jolly kind of you, Mrs M,’ said Alfie.

  ‘Please, call me Ellie.’

  ‘Right you are, Elsie.’

  The gang laughed again.

  He looked baffled. ‘What? What did I say?’

  ‘Don’t worry about those guys,’ said Ellie, kindly. ‘Just concentrate on me. You know these steps – you just have to stop thinking about them and start doing them.’

  ‘It’s always thinking that’s the problem for me, old thing,’ said Alfie. ‘Never was much good at that. But we’ll get there. I place myself in your capable hands.’

  To everyone’s astonishment, it worked. Sort of. Without the distraction of his fellow dance pupils, without worrying about what Millie might be thinking, and with only the beguilingly confident American woman to concentrate on, Alfie found himself remembering most of the steps. Or, rather, not so much remembering them as simply knowing what they were. He got a tiny bit lost in the middle eight, but Ellie steered him through it and they reached the end without major incident. This being only the second time since they’d started playing for the lessons that the Dizzies had made it all the way to the end of a number without being stopped, his achievement earned him a round of applause from the band.

  ‘I say,’ said Alfie, now slightly out of breath. ‘You’re a bally miracle-worker. Can we have you with us on the night?’ He looked over at Millie. ‘Can we, Miss Mitchell? I mean, it might make all the difference.’

  ‘It’s not up to me, darling,’ said Millie. ‘What are the rules of your silly contest, Bobby – Charlie, sorry.’

  ‘Alphabet Gang versus five of the Wags. No partners. Sorry, old bean. They wanted to avoid the possibility of ringers.’

  ‘She ain’t a ringer,’ said Alfie. ‘She’s my . . . She can be my nurse. Dodgy knee after the war and all that. Need to have her on hand in case it fails me. You don’t mind pretendin’ to be a nurse, do you, Mrs M?’

  ‘I pretended to be one in France for three years. I’m pretty sure I still remember how.’

  ‘See? She’s one of us. D’you think we could get away with it?’

  ‘We could put her in bags and a waistcoat and she could take my place,’ said Ernie. ‘I’m the one who’s going to be letting the side down. She could be Eli. No one there has met me so they don’t know who to look for. They’d never know.’

  ‘I thought you were at school with Masher Watson?’ said Bertie. ‘He’d know at once she wasn’t you.’

  Ernie sighed dejectedly. ‘I’d forgotten about him. Always was an absolute pill, that boy.’

  ‘There’ll be an audience, though, won’t there?’ said Ellie.

  ‘It’s the highlight of the Friday dance,’ said Charlie. ‘The Wags insisted it be in public to maximize our humiliation.’

  ‘Then I shall be on the sidelines, dancing along. Just focus on me and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘That’ll have to do,’ said Alfie. ‘Needs must when you’re nodding and winking at a blind horse and all that.’

  ‘That’s that settled, then,’ said Millie. ‘Time for a break, I think. I could do with a drink. Fifteen minutes, everyone.’

  The musicians downed their instruments and the gang formed up for a full-frontal assault on the beer table. Ellie pulled Alfie to one side.

  ‘You really don’t have anything to worry about, you know,’ she said. ‘You’ve got it.’

  ‘You’re very kind to say so,’ he said. ‘Always been a bit of a duffer, you know. Since I was a child. Ma and Pa despaired. Couldn’t wait to send me away to school.’

  ‘I’m sure you were never as bad as you think. You survived the war, after all. You were on the front line?’

  ‘First Lieutenant, First Battalion, Essex Regiment. Gallipoli, Egypt, then France. Wasn’t so bad as all that, really. Surrounded by good chaps. Camaraderie and all that.’

  ‘I guess,’ said Ellie. ‘But something like three out of every twenty junior officers didn’t make it. More than that, some say. But you did.’

  ‘Well, when you put it like that . . .’

  ‘If you can survive four years of war, you can survive four minutes of dancing.’

  ‘Dash it all, m’dear, you’re right. I bally well can. Were you like this in your what-do-you-call-it . . . aid station? You’d have built the boys right back up. I bet you broke a few hearts, what?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. I’d already given my own heart to another.’

  ‘Yonder drummer chap, eh? Lucky fellow. You met during the festivities?’

  ‘No, we first met years before the war, in Weston-super-Mare.’

  Alfie laughed. ‘Get away. Really? Had an aunt who lived near Weston-super-Mare. Ghastly place. Ghastly aunt. What the blue blazes were you doing there?’

  ‘Travelling,’ said Ellie. ‘With my aunt.’

  ‘Ghastly or otherwise?’

  ‘Formidable. But quite lovely underneath it all.’

  ‘You must have been terribly young.’

  ‘I was sixteen. But the h
eart wants what the heart wants. Have you ever been in love, Mr . . . ?’

  ‘Do please call me Alfie. No, never been lucky enough to find a gel who’ll have me.’

  ‘There’s someone out there for you, I’m sure of it. But look, I’m sorry – I’m keeping you away from the beer. You’d better get back to it before your pals drink it all.’

  She patted his arm and returned to the band.

  ‘Is it him?’ said Puddle, eagerly.

  Ellie smiled. ‘The deserter? I doubt it. He’s either a fantastic actor or he’s the sweetest guy ever to draw breath – my own dear husband excepted, of course. And Barty. But if he’s a master criminal, I’ll eat Ivor’s bass drum.’

  The band packed up quickly after the lesson, and one or two expressed a desire for a chance to unwind at a local pub before retiring for an early night.

  ‘Coach and Horses on Avery Row?’ suggested Skins.

  There were murmurs of agreement, though Puddle’s pal reluctantly declined.

  ‘I’d really love to,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got another engagement. Another night, definitely. And thanks for letting me sit in, by the way – you’re a joy to play with.’

  He left clutching his two instrument cases and the others finished their tidying up. To speed things along, they even pitched in and helped Skins carry his drums and traps to the storeroom – something they almost never did.

  ‘Just think how quickly we could get everything done if you all helped like this every time,’ said Skins as they piled up the last case.

  ‘But then what would we moan about?’ said Elk. ‘Half the fun of setting up and tearing down is complaining about how long it takes the drummer to put all his mysterious gubbins together.’

  Skins harrumphed.

  The pub was a few minutes’ walk away. It was busy for a Tuesday night, but they managed to find a spot where the seven members of the band and their pretend manager could sit or stand together.

  ‘Let the ladies sit down, boys,’ said Benny.

  ‘Don’t worry about us, darling,’ said Puddle. ‘We’ve got legs and we know how to use them.’

  ‘Honestly, Benny dear, it’s all right,’ agreed Ellie. ‘I rather like standing – makes me feel more like I’m part of the goings-on.’

  ‘As you wish,’ he said.

  The drinks arrived and the toast, as had been customary over the past few days, was ‘Blanche’.

  ‘Gone too soon,’ said Puddle.

  ‘Great girl, great sax player,’ said Elk.

  ‘What are the police up to?’ asked Eustace. ‘Have they spoken to any of you? I’ve not seen a soul.’

  ‘The investigating officer goes by the name of Inspector Lavender,’ said Skins.

  ‘We met him this afternoon,’ said Dunn. ‘Man’s an idiot. He’s decided it was Puddle and Danny working together.’

  ‘What?’ said Puddle loudly.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Skins. ‘He’ll get nowhere with it. He’s got no evidence, just a working whatsaname.’

  ‘Hypothesis,’ said Ellie.

  ‘That’s the fella. He got all worked up by the idea of the poison being in the cocktails and decided Danny was the killer, then thought you must have been in on it because you chose the gin.’

  ‘But I always choose the gin. I didn’t—’

  ‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Dunn. ‘He’s an idiot.’

  ‘What about Danny, though?’ said Mickey. ‘Is he an idiot?’

  ‘Not sure about him,’ said Skins. ‘We had a chat with him. You did, an’ all, didn’t you, love?’

  ‘I did,’ said Ellie. ‘He’s quiet and thoughtful. He seems . . . gentle. The way he talked about their rivalry with the other club not coming to blows – like he disapproved of violence.’

  ‘Could he be the deserter, then?’ said Benny. ‘Someone who didn’t want to fight wouldn’t want to hang around on the front line.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Ellie. ‘He seems bright enough to steal the diamonds, too.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Elk. ‘Deserter? Diamonds?’

  ‘Ah, sorry,’ said Benny. ‘Should I not have said anything?’

  ‘No, it’s all right, mate,’ said Skins. ‘We should probably have told everyone anyway.’

  ‘Told us what?’ said Mickey.

  So for the next ten minutes, Skins, Ellie, and Dunn told the rest of the band about Superintendent Sunderland, Arthur Grant the deserter, twenty-five thousand pounds’ worth of rough diamonds, and the rumoured resting place of the Treasure of the Mayfair Murderer.

  ‘Twenty-five thou? Bleedin’ ’ell,’ said Mickey. ‘You could live the life of Riley on that.’

  ‘You could take it easy, join a gentlemen’s club, horse around with your pals . . .’ said Ellie.

  ‘Murder lady sax players,’ said Eustace.

  They all looked at him.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ he said. ‘Vera from the Finchley Foot-Tappers fell ill after working there. Now Blanche is dead. He clearly tried it out on Vera, realized he’d got the dose wrong, and had another go when Blanche and Puddle showed up. Didn’t matter which one took the poison as long as it was a girl who played the saxophone. Probably even liked the randomness of it. A bit of godlike power, like tossing a coin to see which one died.’

  ‘So you’re backing Danny as the deserter and the murderer, then?’ said Benny.

  ‘Why not? Nobody said cowards can’t be killers.’

  ‘That’s all well and good, like,’ said Mickey. ‘But what are we gonna do about it? And do we get a share of the diamonds?’

  ‘The best thing we can do,’ said Ellie, ‘is keep our eyes and ears open. If you can go along with the fiction of me being your manager for a little longer, I can come and go at the club whenever you’re there. I was going to carry on speaking to the Alphabet Gang one by one – seeing what I can find out – and if I ever get the chance I’m going to have a snoop round the rest of the club. I’ll bet they have all sorts of nooks and crannies where folks can hide things.’

  ‘We can chat, too,’ said Elk. ‘Everyone loves a musician. We might be riff-raff the rest of the time, but once we pick up an instrument we’re royalty. We have a certain cachet.’

  ‘Do we?’ said Mickey. ‘Is there an ointment for it?’

  Elk looked momentarily doubtful. ‘I think that’s the right word. My wife said it the other day. Perhaps. Don’t matter. Point is, we can all pal up with these blokes and they’ll lap up the attention. We can root the bugger out.’

  ‘Best play it cagey, though,’ said Skins. ‘If we all suddenly go in there, acting like we’re all best mates and asking loads of questions, we’re going to spook him. Probably be best if you leave it to us three.’

  ‘Why you three?’ said Eustace. ‘Why not some other three?’

  ‘No reason other than that we’re the ones Sunderland asked to do it. It’s not like there’s any glory or reward we’re cheating you out of.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Ellie. ‘We all want to catch Blanche’s killer and it doesn’t much matter how we get it done. I’ll be honest, I think the police will handle that just fine – but if we can help, then so much the better. But the deserter is only really of interest to Superintendent Sunderland, and if you can all just be aware of what we’re trying to do and not give anything away, that would be . . . what is it you guys say? Spiffing?’

  ‘I’ve never said “spiffing” in me life,’ said Mickey. ‘But I’ll play along. Always happy to settle with a deserter. I hate them cowards.’

  ‘Very well,’ Eustace conceded. ‘And what do you plan to do next?’

  ‘I’ll come along to the dance lesson tomorrow,’ said Ellie, ‘and see who I can talk to.’

  It was once again Ellie who saw an opportunity to talk to one of the Alphabet Gang the next evening. Having helped Alfie on Tuesday it was a natural move to offer the same support to Ernie. As before, she approached Millie shortly before the break and suggested she dance with Ernie. Millie ag
reed and the rest of the Alphabets ragged their dancing duffer.

  ‘Couldn’t we just erect some sort of screen for Alfie and Ernie to dance behind?’ said Bertie. ‘Like a windbreak on the beach, or a changing screen in a lady’s boudoir.’

  ‘And have them come out in different outfits,’ said Charlie. ‘I like it. Turn it into a comedy act. Distract the Wags from our collective ineptitude.’

  ‘Oh, top-hole idea,’ said Bertie. ‘Have them come out dressed as gels – there’s some choice outfits in the Ents Committee costume trunk.’

  ‘Now look here,’ said Alfie. ‘More than happy to be the class duffer – been that all my life – but I draw the line at actually asking chaps to laugh at me.’

  ‘That’s the point, though, isn’t it?’ said Bertie. ‘You come out dressed to make them laugh and you’re in control of it. You’re the one setting the pace, d’you see? They’re not laughing because you’re a duffer, they’re laughing because you chose to do something funny. Completely different kettle of kippers.’

  ‘Would you mind awfully if we concentrated on the dance steps for now and sorted out the finer details of the presentation some other time?’ Millie was once again becoming impatient.

  ‘Right you are, Miss M,’ said Alfie. ‘Lips buttoned. Dance on.’

  Ellie joined Ernie, but quickly found that he was a hopeless case – an actual lost cause.

  ‘I’m so sorry, m’dear,’ he mumbled, as the number ended and Millie announced the break. ‘I just can’t seem to get the hang of it at all.’

  Ellie squeezed his arm. ‘We’ll think of something.’

  ‘Beginning to think Bertie’s idea might not be so hare-brained after all,’ he said. ‘If we just come out from behind a screen dressed as fillies . . . or a . . . Actually, that’s not a bad idea. That might work.’