A Pasty In A Pear Tree

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A Pasty In A Pear Tree Page 11

by Daphne Neville


  Ginger nodded. “Yeah, Shelley and I were amongst them as were most of the stall holders, and even the fair folks who were further away came down to see what was going on when they heard the police sirens.”

  Misty shuddered. “It must have been horrible seeing poor Simeon’s lifeless body being pulled from the lake.”

  Shelley, keen to divert the talk away from such a morbid subject and back in line with the party spirit surrounding them, said, “Ah, it looks like the choir have finished their Cornish stuff and everyone’s going to start singing carols now. That woman, Hetty has just sat down on the piano stool. I don’t know about you lot but I quite fancy a bit of a sing-song.”

  Ginger scowled. “Yeah well, each to their own, I suppose. I’ve never been into singing carols so won’t know any of the words.”

  Misty’s face brightened. “I will because I was in the church choir when I was a kid and I really like singing, especially carols. I’ve always loved them because they meant it was Christmas and Christmas meant presents.”

  “You weren’t,” said Ginger, unconvinced. “In a church choir, I mean?”

  “I bloomin’ well was. I’d show you some pictures of me in all the clobber but I can’t because they’re all in me mum’s photo albums and she lives in Battersea.”

  Shortly after the singing got underway, Aimée’s phone rang and the call was from a number she didn’t recognise.

  “Excuse me,” she said, rising, “better take this outside. Might be important and it’s much too noisy in here.”

  She left the pub by the main entrance and leaned on the front of the building beneath the coloured lights hanging from the fascia board.

  “Hello,” she said, glad to have answered before the ringing stopped.

  “Hello, Madame Dupont. You don’t know me but I have news for you regarding the death of your husband.”

  Aimée frowned. “News, what sort of news?”

  “I don’t want to tell you over the phone but I have a room at the Pentrillick Hotel and so if you could meet me here I’ll be waiting for you in the bar.”

  “Okay, yes, but how will I recognise you?”

  “I’ll be sitting at the bar on a stool and I’m wearing black trousers and a red shirt.”

  “Right, I’ll be there in ten minutes then. I just need to collect my handbag from inside the pub and to say goodbye to my friends.”

  “Of course, I understand. There’s no rush as I shall be here all evening.”

  “Lovely, goodbye then.”

  “Goodbye.”

  Misty frowned when Aimée told her of the phone call. “Sounds a bit odd. Would you like me to go with you? I mean, you’ve no idea who he is and he might be dangerous.”

  “No, no, there’s no need for that, you stay and enjoy the singing. Whoever he is sounded very nice and there will be plenty of people in the hotel and especially in the bar so we’ll not be alone.”

  “Yeah, that’s as maybe,” said Shelley, her face set in a scowl, “but where did he get your number from?”

  Aimée frowned. “Oh, oh, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps someone at the hotel gave it to him.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have thought so,” said Ginger, “that’d be really unethical.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? If I’m honest I have given my number to several people including all of you. So he could have found out from almost anyone.”

  She quickly put on her coat, threw her silk scarf round her neck and picked up her handbag.

  “See you in the morning for breakfast, Misty. Goodbye everyone and enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  She then hastily left the Crown and Anchor leaving her new friends to join in with the singing.

  “Right,” said a choir member with whom Hetty was not acquainted as she finished playing ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing,’ “time for ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas,’ I think.”

  “I hope you mean the Cornish version,” said Tommy, having just had his glass refilled, “we haven’t sung that since last Christmas.”

  “Of course that’s what I mean,” said the choir member,” whose voice was very deep, “start playing, maid.”

  Hetty looked confused. “Okay, but what exactly is the Cornish version of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas? I mean, I’ve never heard of it. Is it the same tune?”

  Kitty giggled. “Yes, it is, Hetty, so you’ve no need to worry. It’s our very own version. We wrote it this time last year.”

  “You wrote it,” said Hetty, hoping she looked more enthusiastic than she felt.

  Bernie nodded. “Yes, we decided to put our own words to it, you see, and so to make it fair twelve people were each allocated a number between one and twelve and had five minutes to come up with a line which related to Cornwall.”

  “Only five minutes,” chuckled Lottie, “that’s not very long.”

  “Long enough,” said Tommy, “anyway, we only did it for a bit of fun.”

  “It’s really silly,” said Kitty, “so please don’t judge us harshly.”

  Vince from the garage chuckled. “No, please don’t because back then, like now, we’d all had a drink or two.”

  “Okay, so will someone tell me what the words are?”

  “I’ll quickly sing it to you starting with twelve,” said Kitty, “No need to accompany me though as I’m very familiar with the tune.”

  Kitty cleared her throat.

  “On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me -

  Twelve bagpipes wailing,

  Eleven mermaids dancing.

  Ten piskies chanting.

  Nine boats a fishing.

  Eight kilts in tartan,

  Seven shirts for rugby,

  Six pies of pilchards,

  Five…rum and shrubs,

  Four saffron buns,

  Three hevva cakes,

  Two Newlyn crabs

  and a pasty in a pear tree.”

  “Bagpipes,” said Hetty, not sure whether to laugh or cry, “surely they belong to Scotland not Cornwall.”

  “Yes and no,” said Alex from Hillside who was into history and had written the line for bagpipes, “You see they were common in Cornwall during the nineteenth century and are also mentioned in Cornish documentary sources dating from eleven fifty to eighteen thirty. So I think we can lay claim to them as well.”

  “Oh,” was all Hetty could say.

  “I can play the bagpipes,” said a slightly inebriated voice.

  “Lovely,” said Alex, with enthusiasm. “Do you have them with you?”

  “No, they’re back in me caravan. I’ll bring ‘em with me next time I’m in though.”

  Lottie muttered beneath her breath, “Mrs Hookaduck playing the bagpipes, that’s all we need.”

  It was well after midnight when Misty left the pub along with Shelley and Ginger all with arms linked to steady each other. As they stepped out onto the pavement to the sound of ‘Deck the hall with boughs of holly,’ they were surprised to see Aimée’s scarf lying just a few yards away near to the car park entrance. Misty unlinked her arms and picked it up.

  “She was in a hurry, wasn’t she? Not to have noticed she’d dropped this, I mean.”

  Misty folded up the scarf and placed it in her handbag. “Still, never mind, I’ll give it to her in the morning when I see her for breakfast.”

  “And when hopefully she’ll have some interesting news to tell you,” said Shelley, “although I really can’t see what it might be and whoever the bloke is he ought to go to the police if he knows something useful.”

  “I agree totally,” said Misty.

  “You off already?” called a voice from the car park. It was Finn out in the smoking area with Woody.

  Shelley sighed. “Yes, we have to work tomorrow. Remember?”

  “Yeah, I know and we’ll be back soon too. Got to get the old beauty sleep. We only came out for a fag, well, and to get away from the carol singing. Not really our scene.”

  “
Oh, we rather liked it. Anyway must go. See you in the morning.”

  “Yep, goodnight, ladies.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Misty went down for breakfast on Sunday morning she was surprised to find that Aimée was not already in the dining room, for being a dedicated business woman she had said during breakfast the previous day that to rise early every morning was her golden rule. Assuming that she might have had a later night than usual talking to the mystery man and had for that reason overslept, Misty draped the silk scarf across the back of the chair in which Aimée usually sat and then ordered her own breakfast. Half an hour later and with breakfast eaten there was still no sign of Aimée. Misty was confused and a little alarmed and so when she caught the eye of the young waiter she asked if Madame Dupont had already been down for breakfast.

  The waiter shook his head. “Sorry, but I’ve not seen the lady at all this morning.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  Misty picked up the scarf to return to her room. She took the stairs because she didn’t like the way the lifts jolted when they stopped. When she reached the first floor where her room was located, she paused and then decided to go up another floor to knock on Aimée’s door. She knocked twice and there was no reply, so she rang Aimée’s phone. No-one answered. Misty returned to the stairwell and slowly made her way back down to her own room where she sat on the bed with her legs crossed. Something was wrong; she could feel it in her bones and felt compelled to do something about it. Without further ado she left her room again and went downstairs to the reception desk.

  “Good morning,” said Anna, brightly, “how may I help you, Ms Merryweather?”

  “I was just wondering, have you by any chance seen Aimée, you know, Madame Dupont this morning?”

  Anna shook her head. “No, but then I only came on duty a few minutes ago. May I ask why you want to know?”

  “Oh yes, of course, it’s because I’m worried. She hasn’t been down to breakfast, you see. She’s not answering her door either or her phone. I haven’t seen her since last night when we were in the pub and that’s why I’m anxious. You see, last night Aimée got a phone call from some bloke who said he was staying here and that he had information about the death of her husband, you know, Simeon Dupont. He asked her to meet him here in the bar and she agreed. I think something might have happened to her.”

  Anna frowned and called to the porter who was lurking near the doorway. “Keep an eye on the desk for me, please, John. I won’t be a mo, just need to check something out.”

  John nodded as Anna took a key card from under the desk. “Come with me,” she said to Misty, “We’ll go and take a look.”

  Inside Aimée’s room it was evident that her bed had not been slept in that night nor had the shower or bath been used. Yet her clothes still hung in the wardrobe and her toiletries were in the bathroom.

  “Oh my god, I don’t think she came back here at all last night,” said Misty, feeling goose-pimples prickle her arms. “Her handbag is not here and neither are the shoes and coat she was wearing when we were with her in the pub.”

  “Most odd,” said Anna, “I think I’ll give the police a ring and ask their advice. Were it not for the fact that she was supposed to meet someone here last night I wouldn’t be too concerned, but as it is it seems most perculiar.”

  Misty nodded. “I agree and Aimée’s hardly likely to have done a runner to avoid paying the bill because she’s loaded.”

  The police were puzzled by Aimée’s disappearance and questioned Misty to ascertain the details and nature of the phone call that she had received. They then sent out a team of officers to make door-to-door enquiries in order to try and establish whether or not anyone had seen her leave the Crown and Anchor on Saturday evening or indeed if anyone had seen her since then. Meanwhile, Misty prepared to go to the pub when it opened at midday to ask everyone there with whom she was acquainted if they’d seen Aimée, but before that she phoned Shelley to tell her and Ginger that Aimée was missing, knowing that they would be at Wonderland as it was half past eleven and so the venue would have opened up for the day.

  “I knew it,” said Shelley, after she had passed on the news to Ginger. “I thought it sounded dodgy last night. She should never have gone.”

  “What’s that then?” Finn asked, hearing the distress in Shelley’s voice as he pinned a poster for a new video game on the chalet door.

  “Aimée’s disappeared. Some bloke phoned her when we were in the pub last night and told her that he had news about Simeon’s death. He asked her to meet him at the hotel and she went. It appears she’s not been seen since.”

  Finn left Woody to man their retail outlet and stepped into the girls’ chalet. “Really, that sounds a bit fishy. I mean if the bloke had news he should have told the cops.”

  “Exactly, she should never have gone.” Shelley was close to tears.

  “Was the bloke who rang her French or was he English?” Finn asked.

  Shelley shrugged her shoulders. “No idea because Aimée didn’t say, but that’s a very good question. All we know is that she said he sounded very nice.”

  “But obviously wasn’t,” Ginger muttered.

  “Stupid woman,” Shelley hissed. She wanted to shout but knew it would be unwise with customers browsing, “Misty offered to go with her last night because none of us liked the sound of it but she was confident that she’d be alright because there would be plenty of people around in the hotel bar.”

  “Hmm, but it sounds like she never even got as far as the hotel,” said Finn.

  “Yes, that’s the impression I get too,” Shelley, sat down on a stool to steady her legs. “Poor Misty she sounded distraught. Naturally she’s called the police. Well, actually the hotel did that, and it appears that no-one at the hotel recalls seeing her at all last night. What’s more, there are only ten men amongst the hotel guests staying there and they’ve already been questioned and all have alibis for the entire evening so it looks like the bloke who rang was lying through his teeth and wasn’t at the hotel at all.”

  Ginger frowned. “Yes, it certainly seems that way, but why?”

  “Search me,” said Shelley, “but I hope to God that she’s okay.”

  Having spent the daylight hours at home tidying up the back garden of Primrose Cottage and burning dead twigs and brambles on a bonfire, Hetty and Lottie knew nothing of Aimée’s disappearance until they went to the service of Nine Lessons and Carols in the church on Sunday evening. It was Miss Vickery who told them after the service which came as a shock for the service had been heart-warming and filled them with the Christmas spirit, hence the sisters were instantly deflated when they heard the news.

  “It appears the lady left the pub while we were all singing carols and has not been seen since, but her scarf was found by her friends lying out on the pavement outside the Crown and Anchor when they left. No-one is saying so but I fear the worst bearing in mind what happened to her poor husband.”

  Hetty frowned. “But why would anyone want to hurt Aimée? I thought her very likable even if she did think my dress was more suited to someone younger and slimmer.”

  “You don’t know that she thought that, Het,” tutted Lottie, “I reckon it’s just your conscience punishing you because it cost too much. Anyway, as you say, what possible motive could anyone have for harming her? But then on the other hand as yet we know of no motive for the death of poor Simeon and he was very likable too.”

  “True enough,” said Miss Vickery. “I do hope this is all resolved soon or I fear it will put a damper on Christmas. Not to mention the fact I feel a little nervous living alone. It’s not nice knowing there is a murderer in our midst and I find myself looking over my shoulder far more than I used to and I even look under my bed every night, which is really silly.”

  Hetty scowled. “Well, in spite of what everyone else might think I don’t believe that Simeon was murdered at all. There’s not a jot of evidence to back that up. I mean, the fact hi
s fingerprints are on an empty wine bottle proves absolutely nothing. He could have sat alone in the maze and had a skinful because he was unhappy about something.”

  Lottie tutted. “Oh, Het, you’re just saying that because of the diet threat and don’t forget Tess said she’d been told by Shelley that Simeon always wore a Rolex watch and it’s now missing. Besides what could have bothered Simeon so much that it would have caused him to drink large quantities of red wine and vodka? Everyone says it’s a lethal combination.”

  Miss Vickery nodded. “I have to agree and what’s more, I should imagine if one were to drink that much then one would be ill for days.”

  Hetty remained obstinate. “The watch could be anywhere. He may have lost it before his death. And as regards the bottles, who’s to say they were full when he started drinking that night anyway? He may have been an alcoholic and hidden them in the maze so that Tess wouldn’t find them. I know she kept his room in the café tidy so he wouldn’t have risked hiding them under the bed. On the other hand, he might have been having a drop every night since Wonderland opened and liked sitting in the maze for some reason but on that last night he overdid it because he was feeling low and then fell into the lake on his way back to the café.”

  Miss Vickery thoughtfully nodded her head. “You’ve both made some very good points and in defence of your sister, Lottie, I think the fact that Simeon knew he’d committed a crime by having two wives might have been enough to turn the man to drink in excess. I mean, had he been caught he would have found himself up before the magistrate and then no doubt been sentenced to a few years in prison.”

  Hetty nodded smugly. “Precisely and so it was an accident.”

  A few days earlier, when Jeremy Liddicott-Treen had overheard his father tell his mother that Monsieur Dupont’s death had been upgraded from unexplained to suspicious and that the police had told him confidentially that it was likely the French patissier was murdered, he was devastated. For it seemed obvious to him then that the person whom he had seen skulking in the woods in the early hours of Monday morning might well have been the murderer and for some reason he had returned to the scene of the crime. Because of this piece of information Jeremy now checked daily to see if the glove was still on the railings where he had placed it, for he knew it was very important that he discover to whom the glove belonged. However, on Sunday because he had not been able to slip away he thought he would give the glove a miss, but then during dinner that evening, his father mentioned that Monsieur Dupont’s widow had mysteriously disappeared. Hearing this caused Jeremy to lose his appetite for he knew it was imperative that he check for the glove before the day was out. And so much later in the evening when he knew his father was in his office attending to some paperwork, he told his mother who was reading, that he was going up to his room to play the new video game he had bought the previous day at Wonderland. He then slipped from the house and walked up towards the car park.

 

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