by Rebecca Tope
‘Poor fellow.’ Malcolm turned to Simmy. ‘Now – about the flowers. Would it be possible to put in an order and pay you now, and you keep it on hold until there’s a funeral date? I’m not sure where I’ll be, you see. The wife’s booked us onto one of those winter cruises, and there’s no way she’d agree to cancel it. I mean – Kit was a mate, I know, but not as close as all that.’
Simmy gave assurances that such an arrangement was perfectly feasible, while privately wondering how she could make certain of remembering the transaction. Kit’s funeral could be a month or more away, if the police investigation was protracted and the coroner declined to release the body.
The man went away, leaving Simmy, Bonnie and Eddie unsure of where they’d got to before his arrival. There had been something about Kit Henderson’s dalliances with other women, Simmy remembered, hoping they would not revert to that unsavoury subject. The man was dead – let his secrets die with him.
‘That was Cheryl’s husband,’ said Eddie. ‘As I suppose you worked out. Fancy her wanting a cruise, though. She was always such an ordinary little thing when she worked with Dad. Ran around after him without a word of complaint. Really fallen on her feet now, by the look of it. Married an older man who dotes on her, and takes her off to the sun.’ He shook his head at the unpredictability of life.
‘Was she a friend of the family as well? I mean – why did she go to Fran’s funeral?’
‘We all knew her,’ said Eddie vaguely. ‘She always knew where Dad was, if we ever needed to talk to him. My mum would joke about the way she kept tabs on him – like a devoted sheepdog with her master.’
‘Sounds quite nice,’ said Bonnie comfortably.
‘I should go,’ said Eddie, to Simmy’s relief. ‘I hope I haven’t upset you, either of you.’ He smiled at Bonnie. ‘You’re a brave girl, I can see that. It must have been awful for you on Tuesday. And it was all my doing, I know. Sorry if I shouted at you. I’d got the idea in my head that the only hope was if you and your boyfriend saw something, you see. It was a desperate clutching at straws, I can see now.’
‘That’s okay,’ Bonnie mumbled.
He left awkwardly, clearly aware that he had behaved badly and given the women a superior edge.
They waited a few moments before exhaling exaggeratedly. ‘Well, he’s a one, isn’t he,’ said Simmy.
‘Do you think it might all have been a bluff?’ Bonnie said slowly. ‘What if he killed his dad, and was here to check whether Ben or I saw anything that pointed to him? That’s what people do, you know,’ she added seriously. ‘It’s like when they go back to the scene of the murder to check they didn’t leave any clues. It’s a compulsion.’
‘I don’t think Eddie killed his father.’
‘Okay, but we keep coming back to him, don’t we? He might be much cleverer than he looks. He might have set it all up.’
‘No, Bonnie. We’ve already decided that’s impossible.’
‘Oh, yes. All the same, I don’t trust him. Why does he keep coming here? Surely he’s got better things to do.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Simmy. ‘But I expect we’ll find out eventually.’
Her premonition that the day would be a decisive one was starting to look rather shaky by the end of the morning. True, there had been the visitation from Eddie Henderson, but nothing else had happened to resolve the central question as to who killed Kit. It had been foolish to suppose it would, she told herself. The police would be conducting interviews and forensic examinations, and following up people from all aspects of the Hendersons’ life. That would lead to an arrest and prosecution, she was sure.
The alarm of the previous day over Ben Harkness’s role in the crime seemed to have evaporated, as Simmy had known it would. If there were any grounds for continuing alarm, they centred on Helen, and not her son. Helen’s name had come up repeatedly in association with that of Kit Henderson, and yet she had not gone to Frances’s funeral. And that suggested that she had not been particularly close to the family.
Another customer put in an appearance, making a regular Friday request for flowers to adorn the house over the weekend. Simmy had put some effort into this practice, making a special feature of the way this could give added significance to family life. She had created a leaflet to this effect, giving it out with all the orders, deliveries and purchases. ‘Give your weekends an added dimension, with a display of fresh flowers’ it suggested. She offered discount rates for regular orders, and the whole thing had been a modest success.
As she left, the customer was confronted with another arrival, necessitating a little dance in the shop doorway.
Simmy looked up to see her old friend DI Nolan Moxon standing there. The very fact of his presence revived all her premonitions; the expression on his face confirmed them.
Chapter Thirteen
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked him quickly.
Bonnie had been tinkering with a display near the back of the shop, and only now noticed his presence. ‘Is it Ben?’ she demanded, her voice high with panic.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said, unconvincingly. ‘Going over everything one more time, that’s all.’
‘So what’s with the grim face?’ Bonnie asked rudely. ‘You scared us.’
‘It’s a grim business. And I didn’t anticipate much of a welcome after yesterday.’
‘You told Ben he was a suspect. He was really worried. So was his mum.’
‘I did not say he was a suspect. Nor anything like that. He ran away with it, all by himself.’
‘He said there might be evidence that pointed to him, because he was in the room just as the man died, and I didn’t see anything much, so couldn’t be a proper witness. He said evidence is the thing that matters, and everything else gets pushed aside.’ Bonnie’s fears were flooding out of her, her eyes shining with tears. ‘It was horrible,’ she finished.
‘I know,’ he said gently. ‘And I think your young man might have learnt quite a lot from it. In a good many ways, I might add.’ Then he looked to Simmy, who was waiting passively for his attention. ‘That book,’ he said. ‘We keep coming back to it. Can we go through it again, do you think?’
‘If you like. It’s here somewhere. I keep forgetting to put it away safe.’ She spotted the book propped beside the computer, half covered with cellophane. She had pushed it aside when wrapping the weekend flowers for the latest customer. ‘But it seems rather ridiculous to expect it to solve a murder, doesn’t it?’
Bonnie gave a smothered laugh, and Moxon looked pained. ‘That is not at all what I mean,’ he said. ‘Although, I do think there might be some significance to it. Mr Henderson died holding a list of instructions from his wife. It seems reasonable to wonder whether there was a disagreement over that list between him and the person who killed him. Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And this book was on the list. Do you see?’
‘So were plenty of other things.’
‘I know. Mrs Henderson made her wishes very plain.’
‘Sounds really bossy,’ said Bonnie. ‘It’s what Ben calls power beyond the grave. People think they can go on controlling their family after they’re dead.’
‘It’s a natural desire, I suppose,’ said Moxon. ‘Nobody wants to be forgotten.’
Neither female had a reply to that. The detective went on, ‘Your book was the only legacy that was listed individually. That makes it look important.’
‘But it’s not,’ Simmy insisted. ‘It was only that Frances wanted it to go to someone with a feeling for flowers. It was an obvious choice, when you think about it. It wasn’t worth selling it. I don’t imagine it would fetch more than twenty pounds in Christopher’s auction rooms. It’s just a nice thing, with sentimental associations.’
‘We showed the list to everyone in the family. None of them had any comment to make.’ Moxon sighed.
‘Why should they?’ said Simmy. ‘It was directed at Kit, not them. He’s
got to get a dog and plant some trees, not them.’
‘True. So why did he die with it in his hand? He must have seen it before, and it’s not too difficult to memorise everything in it. So why would it be at the centre of a fight that led to murder?’
Simmy was feeling increasingly uneasy. ‘Should you be telling us all this? I mean why are you?’
Bonnie gave him no chance to reply. ‘He’s just brainstorming, hoping you’ll come up with something he hasn’t thought of.’
Moxon closed his eyes. ‘You get more like Ben Harkness every day,’ he groaned.
‘I can’t come up with any helpful suggestions,’ said Simmy. ‘Except that it seems quite unremarkable to me that Kit should keep the letter – list – whatever you call it, close by. It was a direct message from his wife of forty years, who’d just died. It would feel like a connection to her. He might even have wanted to make amends to her by following the instructions in every detail. People keep saying it wasn’t a great marriage, don’t they? Well, didn’t your psychology course tell you that those are the ones where the surviving partner feels more acute grief? If it’s been a close and loving couple, it’s easier to cope when one of them dies.’
‘Is it?’ He shook his head. ‘Sounds like an oversimplification to me.’
Simmy let it drop, with more urgent concerns in mind. ‘Something makes me think you’ve got one of the Hendersons in mind as the killer. And that’s absolutely horrible.’
‘No worse than thinking it was Ben,’ muttered Bonnie. ‘Following where the evidence leads, right?’
He sighed again. ‘That’s more or less it, yes. But there’s a lot more, not connected with the family at all. He fell out with his workmates more than once. He was completely estranged from his parents and siblings for most of his life. Nobody will say anything too harsh against him, but we’re not getting a sense that he was especially liked.’
‘He was all right,’ Simmy automatically defended. ‘Women liked him.’
‘Probably for the wrong reasons,’ said Moxon dourly. ‘And there could be a bit of a money question, too.’
‘Money!’ Bonnie cried. ‘That’s the most common motive for murder, Ben says.’
‘Ben’s wrong, then. The most common motive is loss of control, usually under the influence of drink, and a sudden flash of rage.’
Bonnie waved a hand. ‘Those don’t count. I mean premeditated murder.’
‘They didn’t have any money,’ said Simmy. ‘That’s why they never had any foreign holidays, and lived in a shabby bungalow, and always needed a better car.’
‘We had a quick look at the background. All part of a routine investigation. Mrs Henderson’s mother – the one who did these pictures in your book – was something of a hoarder. She collected old things. We found a very elderly neighbour who remembers her very well. She only died ten years ago. Her things were all sold off in a house sale, but the neighbour says there was some sort of trouble over items of jewellery. They went missing. The family fell out over it.’
Simmy and Bonnie exchanged a long silent look, both minds working hard.
‘So – you think Frances had her mother’s jewels tucked away, and when she died she left them to Kit, and one of their children killed him and took them?’ Simmy was unusually brusque in her summary of a theory that struck her as ludicrous.
Moxon drew back, raising his chin as he did so, as if about to deliver a robust defence. His nostrils flared and his eyes grew more prominent. ‘That was unworthy of you,’ he said, visibly fighting for self-control. ‘Oversimplifications are never wise. What I said was that there could just possibly be a connection with some valuable items that have been unaccounted for, perhaps. We are doing our best to track these items, which is no easy task. We have no supporting evidence that any valuable jewellery even existed. There are people who can help us, of course. Ten years is not unduly long.’
Simmy deflated rapidly. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why that made me so cross.’
‘I do,’ said Bonnie. ‘You thought it might look bad for Christopher, and you didn’t like the idea of that.’
Simmy frowned. ‘You haven’t even met him properly,’ she accused. ‘What makes you think you know what I think of him?’
Moxon was watching them both closely, nodding slightly to himself. ‘You knew him as a child, didn’t you?’ he said.
‘What does that have to do with anything? We’ve been through all that. It’s the whole reason why our families know each other in the first place.’
‘So he’s like a brother to you? Is that it? And the others? Are you just as close to them as well?’
‘I haven’t been close to any of them for about twenty years. I did some of the flowers for Frances’s funeral, and then I went to it for my mother’s sake, that’s all. And when Frances left me this book, I met the family again. On Monday. I’ve seen them all in the past week. So what?’ She almost shouted the final words.
‘Why did you tell us about the jewellery?’ Bonnie asked. She had been quietly thinking ever since the information had been revealed. ‘If you don’t think there might be something to it, that is. You must have a reason.’
Again, respect and admiration were clear in his eyes. Again, he said, ‘You really are learning a lot from Ben, aren’t you?’
‘He makes everything seem so obvious,’ the girl smiled. ‘There are rules, you see. People generally have some reason for saying things, even if they don’t seem relevant. People like you, anyhow. You don’t just waffle on about stuff that’s not important. So there’s something about these jewels that you think Simmy or I might know, or find out, or suggest. Isn’t there?’
‘Why not just get to the point?’ demanded Simmy. ‘This is giving me a very bad headache.’
‘There really is no exact point. But I have to admit, I thought it might be worth running past you. Listen—’ He looked cautiously towards the street door, checking that nobody was about to come into the shop, and went on to speak in a slow, formal tone: ‘This is not part of the main investigation. I’m happy to admit that there is no direct evidence pointing to valuables being stolen, or anything of that sort. And yet, it is a lead, and we have no choice but to take notice of it. Given that we’ve had a lot of useful assistance from you and your young friends in the past, it occurred to me that there could be some more help in a less than official capacity. Christopher Henderson runs an auction house near Keswick, as I understand it. This raises a number of ideas – theories, even. It gives him all kinds of opportunities. Now, don’t get excited.’ He raised a hand to forestall the protest that Simmy was about to make. ‘We have no reason to think there’s anything going on there – other than the inevitable minor scams and deceptions. But if the police show up, asking questions and poking around, that would be totally counterproductive. Plus, we haven’t enough manpower to send anyone up there for the best part of a day. So you …’ He spread his hands in a wordless appeal.
‘You want me to go as a spy for the police? How in the world do you think I could even begin to recognise a scam even if it was happening right under my nose? I don’t know the first thing about what happens at an auction.’ But she remembered that Christopher had invited her to go, and she was already more than half hooked on the idea.
‘Take Ben with you,’ said Bonnie. ‘He’d find the whole thing absolutely thrilling.’
Moxon gave her another beam of approval.
‘Just what I was thinking,’ he said.
Simmy made no promises. Instead, she raised objections about having to close the shop, not knowing what Ben’s commitments might be, worrying that she might feel conspicuous or even bid for something accidentally.
‘It doesn’t start until ten,’ Moxon told her. ‘And goes on until about five. You could close an hour or so early, and be there by noon. The sale would still have hours to go.’
Simmy pouted mulishly at the idea of the shop only being open for a couple of hours. Then she sighed, and said, ‘W
ell, given how quiet it is these days, I suppose it wouldn’t matter.’
‘Christopher’s not going to be selling his grandmother’s jewellery, is he?’ Bonnie said. ‘He wouldn’t be such a fool.’
‘Not this weekend, anyway,’ said Moxon. ‘I believe items have to be delivered at least ten days before the sale date.’ He huffed a brief laugh. ‘Although I imagine he can break his own rules if he chooses to.’
‘You said you didn’t actually think that was what had happened,’ Simmy reminded him.
‘I said there was insufficient evidence for any firm theory,’ he corrected her. ‘I’d just be happy for you to go along and get a sense of how it all works. You never know – it might be the start of a whole new interest for you.’
Bonnie giggled. ‘I know she doesn’t want me to say it, but I think Simmy already has a new interest, and it’s called Christopher,’ she said. ‘And don’t shout at me again,’ she warned Simmy. ‘I can tell by your face – every time anybody says his name, you go pink.’
‘Which makes it all the more unlikely that I’ll spy on him as you want me to.’ She had abandoned any attempt to deny the involuntary flushes that came with discussion of her old friend. At some point in the past twenty-four hours, she had indeed reverted to her adolescent feelings for him. Deny them as she might, these feelings were simmering warmly inside her, and no way would she ever manage to persuade Bonnie otherwise. At least it wasn’t Melanie, her previous assistant, who had made it a personal mission to find Simmy a mate. Bonnie might be interested, but it was far from being an obsession.
‘I could send a detective constable, I suppose,’ said Moxon. ‘If you really won’t do it for me.’
‘I really don’t see why I should act as an unpaid secret agent for the police,’ she said.
‘You might think of it as a public service, in the interests of society at large.’
‘Ben would love it, if you took him with you,’ Bonnie commented. ‘I wish I could go as well, but Corinne’s got me lined up for some shopping in the afternoon. And I’ve got to take Spike for a run. He’s getting fat.’