by Rebecca Tope
‘But that’s not scary. He usually likes being questioned by the police. It makes him feel important and useful.’
‘I know. But he doesn’t like his mother being involved. And she’s not happy about it, obviously. And Moxon was really heavy, apparently. Not like he usually is at all. And Ben doesn’t know what to say to him.’
‘He told you all that in a couple of minutes?’ Simmy hugged the flower book to her chest, thinking she must have been out longer than she realised.
‘Yeah. And some more. He thinks maybe Moxo thinks he killed old Mr Henderson.’
‘No, Bonnie, he doesn’t think that. There is no way in the world that can be right. He knows Ben. He likes him. He trusts him. For heaven’s sake, that’s just plain stupid.’
‘You don’t have to tell me. But the thing is, it’s all about the evidence, you see. And Ben thinks there might be some that looks bad for him. The way he left me outside, and got blood on his legs, and there not being any sign of anybody else. The police don’t have any choice but to follow all that up. Nobody knows that better than Ben, and that’s what’s worrying him.’
Simmy took a deep breath. ‘Which is why it’s crazy. If he was ever going to kill anybody – and that’s a ludicrous idea – he’d be incredibly careful not to leave any evidence. He’d make a brilliant criminal, because he knows so much about how the police work.’
‘Yes,’ said Bonnie impatiently, ‘but that won’t count for anything, will it? Not if they think they’ve got evidence.’ She shouted the last word, and then turned away. Simmy thought she heard tears in the voice, and put a hand on the girl’s delicate shoulder.
‘Come on. Moxon’s got far too much sense to go following a stupid trail like that, whatever it might seem to be suggesting.’
‘Ben says he won’t have much choice,’ Bonnie insisted, her voice rising again.
‘Calm down. If it really is looking that way, then it’ll be because somebody deliberately arranged it. And Moxon will understand that.’
‘Eddie Henderson set us up? Yes! That must be it. We almost worked it out already, didn’t we? Can I call Ben and tell him?’
‘Better not. He’ll be in a lesson, won’t he? The break must be over by now.’
Lesson. Break. She knew she was using words from her own schooldays that might well be obsolete, but their meaning was still clear. Bonnie nodded. There were strict rules about using phones during school hours. ‘I could text him, though,’ she said brightly.
‘If you must,’ Simmy shrugged. ‘And then we’re going to leave it for the rest of the day, and focus on work.’ She deliberately lowered her own voice, hoping for a note of authority. ‘Did you get me that list of hotels yet?’
‘One or two.’
‘So get it up to six, and then we can start phoning them. Christmas will be here before we know it, and we’ll have lost our chance. You can draw up some ideas for what we’ll be offering them, as well. Table centrepieces and big displays in the foyer is as far as I’ve got.’
‘All right. Yes, you’re right. I shouldn’t be obsessing about stuff I can’t do anything about. It’s not productive.’
The girl was clearly quoting her boyfriend, but Simmy couldn’t fault the sentiment. ‘Quite right,’ she approved. Then, having got Bonnie focused on a specific task, she found herself quite unable to shake off thoughts of Ben in police custody, being charged with a murder because of some quite obviously ambiguous evidence. But would such evidence – so patently open to the wrong interpretation – carry any weight in court? Would the Public Prosecutor even accept that it comprised a reasonable case?
When her mobile rang, she felt as if somebody somewhere had heard her thoughts and was coming to the rescue. The little screen admitted it had no idea who was calling.
‘Simmy? It’s Christopher. Are you too busy to talk?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Good. It’s about Lynn – would it be totally out of order if she joined us this evening? She’s dreadfully upset about Dad, and Barry’s being a prat about it all, apparently. I told her I’ve got plans, but she really needs to get out of the house. Is that okay, do you think?’
Simmy’s instant reaction was disappointment, followed by surprise at her own feelings. ‘That’s fine,’ she said heartily. ‘It’ll be good to catch up with her a bit more. Same time and place as we decided this morning?’
‘Actually, Lynn’s not keen on Chinese. I can book a table at the Belsfield. Would that be okay with you? I’ll pay.’
She remembered how her father had always scorned hotel food, as being below his demanding standards. He was probably very out of date on the subject, and besides, Simmy Brown was no gourmet. ‘All right, then,’ she said.
Bonnie’s inquisitive look was impossible to ignore. ‘That was Christopher,’ Simmy said. ‘He wants me to have a meal with him and one of his sisters this evening.’
‘Better tell Moxon, then,’ said Bonnie crossly.
‘What? Why should I?’ The idea was deeply irritating. ‘It’s nothing to do with him.’
‘Everything has to do with him,’ said Bonnie. ‘He’ll want to know what they say, and whether you think either of them could have killed their dad.’
It was akin to the feeling a mother must have when she’s just got her baby to sleep, and then some noisy intruder wakes it again. She had Bonnie nicely settled at a distracting task, when Christopher had to phone and stir things up again. Exasperation rose to the surface. ‘That’s nonsense,’ she snapped. ‘And what makes you think you can listen in to my private calls?’
The big blue eyes filled with reproach. ‘I couldn’t help it. You were standing right there. Am I supposed to pretend to be deaf? And anyway, I never asked you who it was. I didn’t say a word. You told me of your own accord.’
‘I suppose I did. Sorry. I didn’t even know he had my number. I try not to give it to anybody.’ She slammed the mobile down on a shelf. ‘I hate the damned thing most of the time.’
Bonnie smiled her forgiveness. ‘It’s a bit late for that. We’re stuck with them now. You’re just being stubborn, don’t you think?’
‘Like my mother,’ Simmy acknowledged. ‘What a thought!’
Two more customers gave them something to do – matching very particular shades of mauve and lilac with a patch of curtain material for one woman, and explaining in great detail how to keep poinsettias in good condition for the full twelve days of Christmas to another. Both women made Simmy want to scream – Don’t you know there’s more to life than this? And yet, how could she, when she was making a living from just such trivia? And how could she ever justify telling another person what was the right way to get through life? What made her think she knew which way was better than any other way?
She maintained a helpful, polite manner and was rewarded with genuine thanks. ‘You’re amazing,’ said Bonnie admiringly.
‘I was screaming inside,’ Simmy admitted.
‘They’re not all like that.’
‘No, thank goodness. Is it lunchtime yet?’
‘Pretty much. I’ll get the bagging, shall I?’ The bagging had been a rural term for a packed meal taken by children to workers in the fields – in a bag. Ben had discovered it from an old man he’d met on one of his historical researches. He’d taken to referring to the constant supply of food he kept in his schoolbag as his bagging, leading to it being adopted by Bonnie and then Simmy.
Simmy laughed. ‘Cornish pasties and a bottle of cider today, is it?’
‘Muesli bars and an apple for me. Don’t know about you.’
‘I think I might still have a packet of crisps somewhere.’
As they snacked at the back of the shop, Simmy had a thought that she couldn’t resist expressing. ‘But Moxon can’t have any grounds for suspecting Ben, because you can be a witness. You can swear the man was dead when you got there. They’d have to take that seriously.’
‘Mm,’ said Bonnie, avoiding her eye.
‘What?�
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‘I didn’t actually see him. I was still outside when Ben went in. He saw the door looked odd and made me wait.’
‘But you looked through the window. You told me on the phone.’
‘That was later. I might lie, though. I would, like a shot, but Ben isn’t going to let me. He’s going to make me tell the absolute truth, in every detail.’
‘Oh,’ said Simmy glumly. ‘That’s a pity.’
Chapter Ten
Angie Straw broke with her usual practice by paying another visit to Persimmon Petals at half past four. ‘I want to see Bonnie,’ she announced, ignoring the elderly man who was trying to choose flowers for a lady friend.
‘Well, here she is,’ said Simmy briefly, over the customer’s stooped shoulder.
Bonnie went down to the front of the shop, standing meekly to attention. Simmy’s mother was at least eight inches taller than the girl, and used it to her advantage. ‘I need to know just what happened on Tuesday,’ she said firmly. ‘Kit Henderson was a friend of mine, and if I understand things correctly, I might have been witness to his slaughter instead of you. That’s if you hadn’t offered to go and see him, when Eddie wanted it to be me. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Mother,’ Simmy hissed. ‘Can’t you do this somewhere else? I’m trying to help this gentleman with his flowers.’ The old man was sending nervous glances in all directions, obviously concerned for his own safety.
‘Where do you suggest?’ Angie demanded.
‘Outside. Anywhere but here. Better still, wait until Bonnie’s finished for the day and take her for a coffee or something.’
‘I haven’t got time for that. I’ve been trying to get away all day, but the phone kept ringing, and some people arrived without any warning. Just showed up wanting two rooms. I’m going to have to put “Reservations Only” on the sign at this rate. It’s more than I can cope with.’
Simmy had often wondered at the way her parents had handled out-of-the-blue guests. People would see the B&B sign as they drove by and decide to give it a try. It was a normal part of the business, but it put a lot of strain on a couple trying to live some sort of private life. ‘You can’t do that,’ she told her mother. ‘You know you can’t.’
‘Well, something’s going to have to give, I can tell you that. Now, Bonnie – will you die of cold if we stand outside for a few minutes?’
‘I don’t expect so.’
‘Come on, then. I’ve got to have something sensible to tell Russell, and you’re my best hope.’
‘He knows about it, does he? The murder?’ Bonnie’s question was asked as they left the shop, and Simmy never heard the reply. With an effort she attended to the dithery customer, who eventually spent ten pounds on a modest bunch of hothouse freesias, which did at least smell nice. She followed him outside, looking up and down the street for her mother and assistant.
It was no longer raining, but darkness had come already and there was a penetrating little wind funnelling down the high street. She found the pair against a wall twenty yards away, their backs turned to the chilling gusts. ‘So what’s all this about?’ she asked loudly, interrupting an obviously earnest conversation.
‘None of your business,’ said her mother. ‘You’re not involved. Go back to your precious customer.’
‘He’s gone. And it is my business, much as I wish it wasn’t. I saw Kit on Monday. Frances left me that book. I let Bonnie and Ben go down there on Tuesday. I’m a lot more involved than you are – that’s for sure.’
‘She’s worried about your dad,’ said Bonnie quietly. ‘She needs to explain to him that it’s nothing for him to get upset about. But she can’t just lie and hope he’ll be reassured. He’s too clever for that to work. You don’t have to get cross about it,’ she finished.
‘Worried, upset, cross – that’s just about how I feel about all this mess. And you are, too, with Ben in trouble.’ She looked desperately up and down the street as if hoping for a saviour to materialise. ‘We’re all in the same state, aren’t we?’ She sighed. ‘Sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to shout.’
‘Yes, well,’ said Angie, never one to apologise if she could avoid it.
‘Anyway,’ said Bonnie. ‘Have I been any use, do you think?’
Angie included Simmy in her reply, which was her way of attempting to soothe ruffled feelings. ‘A bit. I was right that Eddie came here on Tuesday and asked you to ask me to visit his dad. But you, Bonnie, offered to go instead, and then Ben said he’d go with you. But Eddie wouldn’t have known Ben would be going – just you. And you left that quite vague, didn’t you? No mention of an exact day or time for a visit.’
‘That’s right. That’s what I was just saying. I remembered all that about Christopher and the long hours he works, and then it all got a bit sidetracked, and Eddie went away without anything really being decided.’
‘Which isn’t what we were saying this morning,’ Simmy realised. ‘And that’s good, isn’t it?’ She gave Bonnie a glance that she hoped conveyed the message – Don’t say anything about all that in front of my mother. Except it was quite likely to be too late, given Angie’s determination to extract the whole story from Bonnie.
Bonnie merely shrugged, which suggested she’d understood. Then she shivered. ‘This wind isn’t very nice,’ she muttered. ‘Can we go in?’
‘Mum? Are you finished with Bonnie now? She’s freezing, look.’
Angie waved an arm in a gesture of Do what you want. Then she said, ‘It’s not as if anybody really liked the blasted man. Nobody’s going to be broken-hearted that he’s dead. It’s just a lot of trouble and suspicion for not very much.’
Simmy cast an anxious look at Bonnie. Had the girl learnt yet that Angie Straw was prone to such remarks, and ought not to be taken seriously?
‘He was murdered, don’t forget. Nobody deserves that, however unlikeable they might have been. And Kit wasn’t as bad as all that. No worse than most people. We never had any reason to dislike him, did we?’
‘In a way, it’s even worse, don’t you think?’ said Bonnie hesitantly. ‘It gives everybody a headache.’
‘What?’ said Angie.
‘She means the moral ambiguity of it,’ Simmy said. ‘If a good person murders a bad person, nobody knows what they’re meant to think.’
‘They think: well done, you. Serves the swine right.’
‘They don’t. You know they don’t. We’ve said all this before. Some laws are absolute, with no excuses or mitigations. In theory, anyway,’ she finished, aware that she was coming close to contradicting herself.
‘Except when moral ambiguity gives you a headache,’ said Angie sarcastically. ‘Well, never mind now. I’ve got what I came for. Thanks, Bonnie. I’m sure Ben’s going to be back to normal in no time. Although it must have been pretty nasty for the poor boy.’
Again Simmy attempted a silent message to the girl. What have you told her?? Bonnie gave a little shake of her head in reply. ‘That’s okay,’ she said to Angie. ‘I don’t think Ben’s too upset, actually. You know what he’s like.’
Simmy hurriedly added, ‘He loves the whole business. Doesn’t he, Bonnie?’ Too late, she realised she’d said the wrong thing. Instead of trying to divert her mother away from any dangerous ground, in which she might learn that Ben Harkness was under suspicion, she had only made it sound as if he had somehow engineered his presence at the bungalow at the crucial moment. And again, she wondered how such a coincidence could possibly be explained away. Had Ben known something was likely to happen, when he offered to go with Bonnie?
‘He’ll get himself into trouble one of these days,’ said Angie.
This time Bonnie and Simmy were united in staring open-mouthed at the crass remark. Ben had been in the direst of trouble only a few months earlier. He had come close to death at the hands of criminals. His mother, Bonnie and Simmy had all been frantic, and Ben had become even more treasured by them as a result. ‘God, Mum. Listen to yourself,’ said Si
mmy.
‘All right. I know I’m being insensitive. I’ll go. Shall I give your love to your father?’
‘Of course,’ said Simmy tiredly. ‘And I’ll see you at the weekend. Saturday lunchtime, if that’s all right.’
Again, Angie merely waved, and went rapidly down the street towards her home in Lake Road.
‘She’s quite something, isn’t she,’ said Bonnie.
‘She’s a disgrace. What did she want to know all that for, anyway? She’s not usually bothered to know the gory details.’
‘She knew the family. They’ve been friends forever. She definitely is bothered. Actually …’
‘What?’
‘She seemed more than bothered. She seemed to be scared of something. As if she might have an idea who did it, and wanted me to tell her something that would prove her wrong.’
‘Which you couldn’t do.’
‘No,’ said Bonnie with regret.
‘Because if you could, that would get Ben out of trouble at the same time.’
‘Right.’
Simmy became thoughtful, trying to remember everything she’d ever known and experienced of Kit Henderson. The fragmented picture that resulted was inconsistent with the scrappy comments she had heard in the past few days. The stereotype of a family man surrounded by children, twinkly and smiling and smudged by sticky fingers, was nowhere near the reality. He had been critical of them much of the time, complaining when they cost him money and leaving almost all their care to his wife. There had been moments when Simmy suspected he could not remember who she was. He had almost never spoken directly to her until she’d been about thirteen, when he began to show more interest. And then, at her wedding, he had insisted on dancing with her. ‘I’m your surrogate father,’ he’d declared. ‘I’ve known you from the first day of your life.’ He had been drunk, and had held her too close. But so had two or three other middle-aged men. It seemed to be part of the whole wedding experience.
And yet he had danced very well, twirling her round and remaining very nimble on his feet despite the drink. She had laughed, and realised she was actually rather enjoying it. Tony, her new husband, was a useless dancer. He had agonised about that first ritual waltz they were required to do, practising for weeks. And still he trod on her toes three times.