“Oh, don’t worry, it’s only a few minutes away, and the paths are quite dry after this lovely sunny weather. We don’t want to spoil your beautiful shoes.” Liz set off and after exchanging a glance, Sasha and Sebastian followed. “There are lots of handy benches. We can have a seat and you can tell me what I should do. Oh, I’m very excited about this! I can’t wait to see Marge’s face when I tell her what I’ve done.”
Sasha laughed her high-pitched laugh. “Probably safest not to tell her anything until we’re sure the transaction has gone through.”
“Don’t worry, I plan to be very, very careful,” said Liz. “In fact, I’m not going to tell her a thing until I can tell her how much I’ve accumulated.”
The lane led to another of Bunburry’s picturesque streets, a row of houses all in the distinctive honey-coloured Cotswolds stone, but each one individual, some only one storey, some two, one narrow dwelling with a mediaeval arched doorway even rising to three.
“Nearly made it,” said Liz. “Marge won’t come this far because of her arthritis.”
They rounded the corner to find a small wooden sign proclaiming the entrance to the park.
“This isn’t the main entrance, of course,” said Liz. “The proper entrance is very near The Horse. It would have been a nice walk for you when you were staying there.”
Sasha made a strange choking noise.
Liz turned, concerned. “Are you all right, Sasha dear? You haven’t gone over on your ankle, have you? Oh dear, Bunburry isn’t very suitable for such lovely shoes.”
Sebastian gripped Sasha by her upper arm. “She’s fine,” he said.
“But since you can’t have had any time to visit it, I’m rather pleased you can see it today,” Liz continued. “We’re very proud of it. It was created in 1878 when a local landowner donated ten acres for it.”
“Goodness,” said Sasha, her voice high, “you sound like an encyclopaedia.”
Liz gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s a bit of a pet subject of mine. The landowner insisted it was called Victoria Park because he hoped Queen Victoria might reward him with a knighthood. She had just been proclaimed Empress of India, so to impress her even more, he built a marble Indian pavilion.”
Sasha let out a whimper.
“Oh dear, your poor feet,” sympathised Liz. “Just a tiny bit further, I promise. In fact, I thought we could sit in the pavilion. It’s lovely and cool on a warm day like today.”
“No –” gasped Sasha. “I can’t –”
“Yes, you can walk that far,” said Sebastian firmly. “I’m holding you. You won’t fall.”
“Nearly there,” said Liz. “This bit of the park is so secluded that nobody ever comes here. So we’re in no danger of our investment chat being overheard. It’s so clever the way the hedges have been designed, makes it very private. Look, you can just see the marble pillars now. Isn’t it beautiful? Such incredible craftsmanship. The steps are round the other side.”
Sasha came a halt. “No,” she said.
“Yes,” said Sebastian, his grin fixed, tugging her by the arm.
Liz looked at them enquiringly.
“I’m not going there,” said Sasha. “I don’t want to see –” Abruptly, she stopped talking, breathing fast.
“But it really is worth seeing,” said Liz encouragingly. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m being stupid – of course you’re pressed for time and you want to get back but I’m not taking you out of your way. This is as close as any of the benches and much less public. We’ll go and have a seat and you can explain how much I need to invest. It will be business only – I promise I won’t talk any more about the history of the park.”
“Yes, we need to sort out Liz’s investment,” said Sebastian. He hauled Sasha forward.
Liz set off towards the pavilion. “Goodness,” she said. “What on earth … I thought I saw … No, it can’t be –”
Sasha gave a gasping sob.
“It is,” said Liz. “Look, Sasha.” She pointed at the ground.
Sasha looked, and with a wail, snatched up her cockatoo brooch from the grass. “It was you!” she screamed at Sebastian. “I’m not taking the blame. You were the one who pushed him down the steps. I’m innocent.”
Emma emerged from behind the ornamental hedge. “Sebastian Smith, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Mario Bellini. You do not have to say –”
Sasha had sunk to the ground, moaning. But with unexpected speed, Sebastian dodged round her and started running. Emma set off in pursuit but Alfie, who had stationed himself behind the hedge beyond the pavilion, was ahead of her.
He grabbed Sebastian in a bear hug, pinioning his arms. “I’m a citizen,” he said. “And I’m arresting you.”
Epilogue
“This is so decadent,” sighed Emma. “Drinking at lunchtime on a weekday.” She swirled the straw around in her virulently coloured cocktail.
Marge turned to Liz. “Young people today. If that’s their definition of decadence, I despair.”
“If you want an example of decadence, you need look no further than the bar,” said Alfie. “Love among the optics.”
Carlotta had grabbed William in a passionate embrace, and William was responding enthusiastically, oblivious to the fact that they were observed.
“Eew,” said Emma. “Gross.”
“I think it’s rather lovely,” said Liz. “That pair were meant to be together. It must have been terrible for them when William was locked up.”
“It was terrible for me too,” said Emma. “I couldn’t get a wink of sleep with him hammering on the cell door and yelling that it was a miscarriage of justice. But at least I’ve got a day off in lieu out of it.”
“And what of our other couple?” asked Alfie. “Are they meant to be together?”
“Not since they changed their names from Sasha and Sebastian to The Accused and The Witness for the Prosecution,” said Emma. “Sebastian’s strategy was to say absolutely nothing.”
“I’d never have guessed,” said Alfie. “He just sat there grinning, did he?”
“Not after he discovered that Sasha was singing like a canary without even having been charged. She was desperate to explain that she had played no part in Mario Bellini’s death. She still thinks she must have dropped the brooch at the scene, proving she was there, not that some devious ‘acquaintance’ planted it.”
“Poor Mario,” sighed Marge. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Oscar thought it was a row about money,” said Alfie.
Emma raised the cocktail glass in salute. “Well done, Oscar. Sasha and Sebastian had basically been lying through their teeth to Mario, claiming that everything was all right. But the returns they promised never materialised, and then they made themselves scarce, and wouldn’t answer his calls.”
A bit like his own refusal to take their calls, Alfie thought.
“They were horrified to find him in Bunburry but decided to brazen it out. Sebastian pretended to be delighted to see him and told him they had great news for him. To begin with, he seemed to be reassured, but later he had second thoughts and went to Sasha and Sebastian’s room demanding more details about his investment.”
Marge frowned. “How on earth did they end up at the Indian pavilion?”
“You can hear your next-door neighbour snoring in The Horse, and Sasha was worried that other guests would hear them arguing. So she persuaded Mario and Sebastian to go for a walk.
“All three of them had drunk quite a lot in the course of the evening. They weren’t drunk, but they weren’t completely sober either. The two men got more and more aggressive – Mario didn’t believe Sebastian’s assurances, and Mario was angry he wasn’t being believed. They found themselves up in the pavilion – Sasha isn’t even sure how they got there. Mario started to shove Sebastian, who shoved him back. Mario was at the top o
f the steps, fell backwards, and hit his head. Sebastian and Sasha just ran for it.”
“But that’s terrible!” Liz burst out. “Didn’t they check how the poor man was?”
Alfie felt shocked as well, but Emma merely shrugged. He guessed that she had more exposure than most to the worst aspects of human nature.
“Sasha wanted to, but Sebastian persuaded her that they had to get away, and she mustn’t say anything. They checked out before Debbie had alerted us, so when they came back to see Aunt Liz, they didn’t know the body had been found. I suppose the one good thing is that Mario died instantly.”
She grinned at her great-aunt. “You played a blinder. You never mentioned a death or an accident, so Sasha was convinced Mario was still lying there undiscovered. She didn’t even know whether he was alive or dead, so she had visions of him rising up and accusing them. She’s been completely hysterical – I’m not sure that she’s recovered yet.”
“What’s she being charged with?” Alfie asked.
“Nothing so far. But their financial dealings will be gone through with a fine-tooth comb, so that’s likely to lead to charges.”
“And Sebastian’s been charged with murder?”
“Manslaughter. There’s no evidence that he meant to kill Mario.”
“You know what annoys me a little?” asked Liz. “Sasha and Sebastian seemed all too willing to accept that I was a silly old woman.”
Alfie quickly intervened before Marge had the chance to say anything. “That’s a tribute to your acting skills. I’m going to insist that you’re on the stage in the next production of Agatha’s Amateurs, rather than just playing the piano.”
“I almost persuaded myself I had a savings account with a hundred and twenty-two thousand pounds in it,” said Liz wistfully. “I was quite excited about what I could do with the money.”
“Let me get you another gin and tonic to make up for it,” said Alfie. “Marge?”
“If you insist,” said Marge.
“Emma?”
“Another of these, please.” She sucked the dregs of the cocktail up through the straw.
Alfie went over to the bar. William and Carlotta seemed to be in much the same position as he had seen them last, their arms round one another.
“Mi amore,” breathed Carlotta.
Alfie cleared his throat delicately and she turned round in obvious irritation. But when she saw who had disturbed her, she gave a cry of delight.
“Alfie! If it hadn’t been for you, my William might still be in jail.”
“Alfie. I owe you,” said William. He shook hands with Alfie across the bar, his left arm still round his wife’s waist.
She cuddled up to him, murmuring: “Carissimo.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Alfie protested. “You would have been out in no time – you were an innocent man.”
Carlotta gave a snort of derision. “What does that matter to Sergeant Wilson! Locking up my William. Mi amore, we should bar him.”
William looked horrified and Alfie reflected that Sergeant Wilson was probably one of The Horse’s best customers.
“Now then, darling,” said the landlord. “We’re better than that. Forgive and forget.”
Carlotta turned proudly to Alfie. “What a man! Do you hear him?”
“I do,” said Alfie. “Could I have two gin and tonics, a pint of Brew, and whatever it is that Emma’s drinking.”
“Right away,” said William. “And they’re on the house. I’m celebrating being back with my beautiful wife.” He put both arms round Carlotta and kissed her.
“Right,” said Alfie. “Thank you.” He wondered whether they would be able to tear themselves away from one other long enough to get the drinks. But a few minutes later, William and Carlotta came to the table, each carrying two drinks. It would have been as simple for one of them to carry four drinks on a tray, thought Alfie, but apparently they didn’t want to be parted from one another for a second.
“Thank you all,” said Carlotta. “Thank you for catching the real criminal and returning my William to me.”
“It’s good to be back,” said William huskily and they kissed again. Emma took a noisy slurp of her cocktail.
“Oh, and apologies, Emma, for my language when I was in the cells,” said William, looking a little shamefaced. “I was a bit overwrought.”
“No apology needed,” said Emma. “I’ve heard a lot worse. Generally from the sarge.”
Carlotta and William returned to the bar, holding hands like teenagers.
“Guilt,” said Marge. “He’s feeling guilty because he suspected her of having an affair with Mario, and she’s feeling guilty because she suspected him of murdering Mario.”
“Well, whatever the reason, I think it’s lovely that they’re happy together,” said Liz.
Marge, looking over Liz’s shoulder, hissed: “Ssh – I’m trying to listen.”
Alfie turned to see what she was looking at and discovered that Debbie had come in and was surrounded by a group of women, possibly her customers from the beauty salon. Her face was very pale, unlike its usual tan, and there were dark shadows all round her eyes. Alfie wondered whether this was the result of make-up rather than anguish.
“It was my darling Perro who found him,” she was saying to the enthralled listeners. “Poodles are very intelligent, you know. They’re just as intelligent as Border collies. Perro came and whined and pulled at my sleeve to get me to follow him.”
She gave a long shuddering sigh. “And there, lying at the bottom of the steps to the Indian pavilion, was the most handsome man I had ever seen.”
An echoing sigh came collectively from the group.
“I could see he was very badly injured, that there was no hope.” She stopped in order to compose herself. “He gave a groan, and his eyelids flickered open. He spoke. He said ‘Are you an angel?’”
Her voice broke and she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I said, ‘No, I’m just Debbie Crawshaw, but I’m going to stay with you. Don’t be afraid.’ He said, ‘How can I be afraid with you beside me?’ He told me his only regret was that we hadn’t met years ago. And then he said … and then he said …”
She blew her nose noisily with her handkerchief and Alfie wondered whether this was to give herself time to work out what Mario had said.
“And then he said that the angels in heaven couldn’t be more beautiful than me, and he asked me for a kiss. I kissed him on the forehead and as I held him close, he passed away in my arms.”
There were stifled sobs from her listeners and they clutched one another’s hands for comfort.
“That girl’s wasted in the salon,” muttered Marge. “She should be writing novels.”
“At least we’re never going to forget Mario with her around,” said Alfie.
Liz shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry we never got the chance to collaborate with him on a new ice cream. He was very enthusiastic about it. It would have been nice even to have a small limited edition of Fudge Funiculi Funicula.”
“Fudgetastic Fantasy,” said Marge.
“That was your suggestion, dear. I don’t think he thought much of it. Oh well. It’s a pity we don’t know how to make ice cream.”
“I know how to make ice cream,” said Alfie. “I tried to copy Mario’s recipes, but that never worked. He really was a master gelato maker. But I make quite a good vanilla ice cream. We could mix in chunks of fudge.”
Emma’s cocktail sat ignored on the table in front of her. “That’s a brilliant idea,” she said. “We could do it as a fundraiser in his memory.”
Alfie nodded approvingly. “I can see we’ll have fun fine-tuning the recipe.”
“But what will we call it?” demanded Marge. “Apparently Liz doesn’t like my suggestion, and I certainly don’t like hers.”
“Memento Ma
rio,” said Alfie.
Liz tutted. “I don’t think so, dear. That sounds a little morbid.”
Alfie stared at his pint, thinking. Then – “Got it,” he said in triumph. “If we’re going to celebrate Mario, a ladies’ man if ever there was one, there’s only one possible name. The Bellini Bellissima.”
Next episode
In “Drop Dead, Gorgeous,” the fifth Bunburry book, Deb’s Beauty Salon becomes the last resting place for merry widow and property magnate Eve Mosby, whose passions include haute couture and a young lover. Plenty of people disliked Mrs Mosby, but enough to kill her? And what really baffles amateur sleuth Alfie McAlister and his friends Liz and Marge is that the body is found in a locked room – how did the murderer get in and out?
Drop Dead, Gorgeous
BUNBURRY – A Cosy Mystery Series
by Helena Marchmont
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