The Ghost of Christmas Past: A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries Book 8)

by Jean G Goodhind

  A heartfelt wish was replaced with a heartfelt sigh. ‘Just keep him here until the taxi comes. That’s all I ask.’

  She didn’t voice the fact that she was going to defy her mother’s wishes and get in touch with the police. No need to go through the lost property department. She’d get in touch with Doherty and ask him to run a check on the loss of a pantomime horse.

  Unlike the fairy of heartfelt wishes, the fate fairy hadn’t flown to warmer climes. Doherty phoned her.

  ‘I need to speak to you.’

  He’d got in fast and she pre-empted what she thought he was going to say – telling Lindsey about his proposal.

  ‘I haven’t told her yet.’

  ‘This isn’t personal. I hear that employees of Mallory and Scrimshaw stayed there overnight. Are they still here?’

  All thoughts of reporting the whereabouts of Galloper trotted out of her mind.

  ‘Well yes. With the exception of their boss that is.’

  ‘He won’t be coming. He’s pinned to his desk – in a manner of speaking.’

  Chapter Ten

  Looking perplexed, shocked, and hung over, the ten employees of Mallory and Scrimshaw were huddled in small groups in the bar. Doherty’s intention was to carry out preliminary interviews while the trail was still hot – though Clarence Scrimshaw’s body was stone cold.

  David Longborough squeezed the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb.

  ‘Do we have to do this now? We all have things to do.’ His impatience was obvious.

  ‘Yes. We do.’

  Doherty’s tone was sharp and to the point. Ordinarily he could be as laid-back as anyone, but when it came to his profession he was deadly serious and lethal.

  Although the oak-panelled walls usually lent warmth to the ambience of the room, the employees – or rather former employees – of Clarence Scrimshaw added an air of melancholy, even of guilt.

  Honey stood by the door, watching as they fidgeted and exchanged nervous glances. Mrs Finchley was hugging her handbag to her chest, eyes staring at her feet. Unsuccessful in his challenge to Doherty’s authority, Longborough now harboured a blank look. Across from him, Samantha Brown looked terrified as though someone was about to be accused of something.

  Just before they’d come in, Honey had fired up the coffee machine behind the bar. Everyone had a drink in front of them. Some had coffee. Some had water.

  She hung around at the end of the bar. There was something she wanted to say to Doherty.

  Their eyes met. He got the message and joined her.

  She kept her voice low. ‘Mr Scrimshaw never turned up for the party. His bed was never slept in.’

  ‘Did anyone try to find out where he was?’

  ‘Not that I know of. But they all acted like they hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t turned up; either that or they didn’t care whether he was there or not. Nobody seemed that concerned.’

  The sight of the head of the pantomime horse hanging over the back of a Chesterfield settee helped alleviate the fraught atmosphere. The rest of the creature had been stuffed between the back of the sofa and the wall. David Longborough and the woman with the dyed black hair sat pensively to either side of the horse’s head. Every so often the woman glanced at its grinning teeth and did her best to open up the distance between them.

  Honey took the time to explain its presence to Doherty and apologised on the horse’s behalf. ‘It’s lost. A taxi is coming to collect it later. If that toothy smile and googly eyes are going to put you off your job, I’ll have it removed now.’

  ‘I’m used to it. I’ve had lawyers sitting in on interviews that looked like that.’

  The woman with the severe black dye job, no longer able to shift further, asked if the horse had to stay where it was.

  ‘Yes,’ said Honey. ‘Galloper forms part of an ongoing missing property mystery.’

  She knew the remark would attract a querulously raised eyebrow from Doherty. She took a glance at his face. Yep! There it was. His eyebrow was almost sky-high.

  ‘I’ll explain later. First things, first. Yes?’

  ‘Right. I’ll stick to the case in hand. When’s Cool Cat Casper likely to come clawing at my tail?’

  ‘I’ve informed him.’

  Whenever some heinous crime occurred, it was Casper who stepped forward like some latter-day Knight of the Round Table, determined to seek and destroy – or in this day and age, lock up – the perpetrators of serious crime. Nothing, absolutely nothing, should, in his opinion, be allowed to sully the reputation of the fairest city in the world.

  Bath had been declared a World Heritage City some time back. In Casper’s opinion, the accolade fell something short of the mark. Bath, to him, was the centre of the universe.

  He’d been surprised when she’d phoned.

  ‘Honey! You’re going to tell me how much you admire my Christmas decorations and wish to make a return visit? Am I right?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  She’d visited him two days previously and had, of course, been stunned by the aesthetic superiority of his Christmas decorations. Everything, from the swathes of silk festooned over the windows, to the angels hanging in a celestial flight over the stairwell, were colour coordinated in subtle shades of violet, mauve, and silver.

  In contrast, the decorations at the Green River Hotel looked outdated and store-bought. Her predominantly red and green decorations were randomly festooned to fill gaps rather than to declare any kind of fashion statement.

  Casper adored fashion statements. He also adored handmade clothes, coffee-coloured young men, and clocks. Reception at La Reine Rouge was full of clocks.

  Just before coming into the bar, she’d quickly phoned and told him about the murder of Clarence Scrimshaw.

  He’d sucked in his breath and for a moment she almost believed he was going to cry, ‘woe is me.’ Anyway, he didn’t say that, but he did take a moment to collect himself. In her mind’s eye she could imagine him genuflecting and raising his eyes to heaven.

  At last he surfaced.

  ‘How very inconvenient for this to happen now. And the employees of this man were staying with you?’

  She’d confirmed that indeed they had been staying with her.

  ‘Then you have to give the police all the assistance possible. Nothing else matters. This terrible occurrence must not be allowed to fester over the Christmas period. We must do all in our power to wrap this case up before the New Year, mustn’t we?’

  ‘We?’

  His meaning wasn’t lost on her. He expected her to work the case with Doherty despite it being a holiday and despite her having a hotel to run.

  ‘I will, of course, be available to lend you support. Now, where did this event occur?’

  ‘The event – the murder – happened at his office, so I understand. No one else was there. As I’ve already told you, his staff were all here.’

  ‘How terribly convenient for you with regard to their interrogation.’

  There were times when Casper St John Gervais sounded like the Grand Inquisitor.

  ‘Every avenue will be investigated.’

  ‘A very untidy affair in my estimation. Doubly so as I knew the man professionally,’ he added. ‘He’d admired my poetry. Said it had languorous appeal.’

  This was the first Honey had heard Casper declare himself a poet, and whatever languorous appeal meant, it sounded pretty positive.

  ‘Did he publish your poems?’

  ‘No.’ He sounded disappointed. ‘Mr Scrimshaw said poetry doesn’t sell, but I didn’t kill him for saying so. I wouldn’t want you thinking that the fact that he rejected my work might cause me to end the man’s life. I am of the opinion that he may have been a little too hasty in rejecting my work. I think that on publishing a small tome of my select sonnets he may have been pleasantly surprised.’

  ‘Do you want to know what Casper said?’ she asked Doherty.

  ‘I can guess. Hang around. You might be able to vouch fo
r the alibis of these people. They may not be able to remember much due to intoxication. I understand they were a bit drunk.’

  ‘Merry,’ returned Honey, unwilling to admit that she might be running a rowdy bar and therefore attract the attention of the licensing justices.

  Doherty gave her a knowing look.

  ‘You don’t need to sit in. Just be on hand if required?’

  She said that she would be. There were plenty of things that needed doing before the holiday. One thing she still hadn’t ticked off her list was collecting a sausage supply from her favourite shop in Green Street. She’d do that as soon as Doherty was gone.

  It was one of those times when she needed something physical to do in order to take her mind off things. Ideally she would have liked to stay in there and listen to the questions being asked and the answers given.

  In the meantime, she took over the vacuum cleaner while Anna went for a lie down. She’d questioned whether Anna should be in at all.

  ‘The baby is due soon.’

  ‘Not yet. Not for two months.’

  Honey could barely believe it. Anna looked fit to burst. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘The doctor say now. I say no.’

  What that was supposed to mean was anyone’s guess. Honey scooted around the dining room, music from her iPod deafening the sound of the suction.

  Once the dining room was done, out she went into Reception, moving furniture, vacuuming up pine needles, and setting discarded party hats onto the window ledge for future use.

  Lost in Dire Straits belting out ‘Going Home’ and the noise of the vacuum cleaner, she was totally unaware of the world outside her mind.

  Then a hand landed on her shoulder.

  The vacuum shot forward. A plant stand wobbled and a blue and white Chinese-style vase fell sideways.

  She shouted an expletive as the vase landed in her arms. Her earphones dragged at her ears and twisted tightly around her neck, ending up drooped around her shoulders.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Driver. Please, let me relieve you of this. Not broken is it? No. I can see it’s unblemished – like its owner,’ he said, his voice as smooth as his looks, his teeth white against the healthy tan of his face.

  She pulled her hat down onto her head with both hands and took deep breaths.

  ‘Professor Truebody! You really shouldn’t creep up on people like that.’ It was the first time she’d spoken to him face to face and close up.

  Not for one moment did he look even slightly abashed. He seemed more amused. One side of his wide mouth lifted in a smile that was both cynical and triumphant.

  ‘I’m sorry. Look, I just wanted to say that if you see your daughter, can you tell her that I’ve gone on ahead?’

  ‘Lindsey?’

  ‘Such a lovely girl, Lindsey. Just like her father. Great guy. Shall I put this back for you?’

  ‘Great guy’ was not how Honey would have described her ex-husband. At times she wondered what she’d ever seen in him. But she’d been young. Youth had a lot to answer for.

  She told herself that it cost nothing to be courteous and pasted on a smile that was as uncomfortable as ill-fitting shoes – too tight to wear for long.

  ‘Yes, please do,’ she said in answer to his offer to replace the vase. She handed it to him and watched as he placed it back on the pedestal. Professor Jake Truebody was well built – athletic for a professor of history – and he moved like a sportsman, not like a man who browsed books and dealt in things long dead. Carl had moved like that.

  ‘Do you sail, Professor?’

  He turned round and seemed genuinely surprised by the question.

  ‘No. I don’t. I don’t like water much.’ She noticed he had a tan. It looked fake.

  ‘That’s unusual for people from Maine, isn’t it? I thought they all liked the water.’

  ‘Only those who live near it.’

  His style was smooth and easy. She guessed he could charm the pants off any woman he wanted. The trouble was that it was Lindsey who was off out with him, Lindsey whom he appeared to be charming.

  ‘So where are you and my daughter off to today?’ She tried to sound casual, but the worry that he might charm her daughter’s pants off sat like a gremlin clinging onto the back of her head.

  ‘Sightseeing. I thought it best to keep out of the way with all this going on.’ He jerked his chin in the direction of the bar. ‘Have you any idea when they’re likely to be finished? I realise that it’s necessary, but it is slightly disruptive. I think under the circumstances that it’s best I keep out of the way.’

  Honey was very much aware that only personal details – names and addresses – would be taken. Any statements likely to be needed would be done down at Manvers Street. She explained this to him and added, ‘I shouldn’t think it will take too long. A couple of hours. No more.’

  ‘All the same … I’ve got a lot of territory to discover.’

  As long as it’s not Lindsey’s body you’re aiming to discover, she thought to herself. Mothers shouldn’t interfere and she’d never been like that. Lindsey had always been left to work things out for herself and advised when advice was requested. Not like Honey’s mother, who didn’t so much offer advice as give orders.

  However, Truebody was a guest. She had to remain courteous.

  ‘This is a murder investigation, Professor. I’m afraid I have to ask for your forbearance.’

  ‘Of course.’ His smile remained the same, but the look in his hazel eyes was searching. This man, she decided, was trying to read her – just as Doherty read her. Doherty could get beneath her covers and read her chapter by chapter any day of the week. Truebody was a different matter.

  ‘You don’t mind me dragging your daughter off with me, do you?’

  She was right! Was she that much of an open book?

  ‘Of course not. Anyway at her age, it’s up to her.’

  She congratulated herself on sounding so incredibly sincere. Inside she was seething.

  ‘We must get together and talk about old Carl,’ he said in that languid drawl of his.

  ‘Yes. We must.’

  Was he kidding? Didn’t he realise that she and Carl had parted on less than friendly terms?

  She did that thing where she was observing but not observing. Even if Jake Truebody had been a celibate priest, she still wouldn’t trust him. And anyone who’d been a close friend of Carl’s wasn’t likely to be very trustworthy, and certainly not celibate.

  The same question she’d asked from the moment she’d read the letter was whirling around in her head. What are you doing here, Professor Truebody? Why turn up now claiming to know my husband and taking my daughter away from me? It made her want to hold fire on speaking to Lindsey about her engagement – or proposed engagement – to Doherty.

  She watched surreptitiously as he stood there, six feet tall and more, winding a thick woollen scarf around the lower half of his face. After pulling his hat down more securely, he adopted a pair of dark glasses. She wanted to ask him why he was bothering to do that. The sky outside was leaden, not a streak of blue or a puffy cloud in sight.

  ‘Adios,’ he said, and raised a gloved hand.

  ‘Have a nice day.’ She didn’t mean it. Hopefully, if he did have a nice aspect to his day, it would take him away from her hotel and her daughter.

  ‘That man is very orange,’ said Anna. Her belly had rounded the corner from the residents’ lounge before the rest of her. She was waving a feather duster in one hand and rubbing her back with the other.

  Honey agreed with her. ‘Perhaps he might get mistaken for an amber traffic light, as in get ready to go.’

  ‘I do not think he likes it here.’

  ‘I do not like him here, so I really don’t care if he dislikes it here. He can leave any time he likes.’

  Normally, Honey took it personally when somebody proclaimed that they didn’t like the Green River Hotel. Some visitors loved the traditional decor, the fat sofas in the bar, the teste
r and half-tester beds, the cornice running around the walls just a few feet from the ceiling, the chandeliers, the dado rails, and the eighteenth century wooden shutters and brocade curtains at the windows.

  Out-and-out complaints were usually addressed with calm consideration and the offering of soothing extras, like a free bottle of wine or tickets to whatever was on at the Theatre Royal. The latter were sometimes available at a knock down price, or even free, though this only occurred on those rare occasions when one of the stars or production crew was staying and handing out freebies.

  Sometimes it was a professional moaner, somebody who made a point of complaining to get something – or preferably everything – knocked off the bill. They were part of the scene and a professional hazard.

  Anna was shaking her head. ‘No, Mrs Driver. Not that. He does not like the police, I thought. Then I thought, it is not them he does not like, it is you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. You, Mrs Driver. You come in. He goes out. He went to his room after breakfast when he saw the police come in, but you came in at the same time. Now he has left the building. He goes when you arrive.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘There was nobody else around to frighten him. Only the people who stayed and the police, but he is trying to avoid you, I think.’

  The last piece of information related to the employees of Mallory and Scrimshaw. Truebody wouldn’t know any of them. Anna could well be right and the professor was trying to avoid her. Well, she had made it plain that Carl drowning at sea had been no great loss to her. She certainly hadn’t welcomed the professor with open arms and an invitation to chew over old times. And there was the matter of Lindsey. He’d obviously taken a shine to Lindsey and her daughter was responding in a friendlier manner than her mother.

  ‘This is news,’ murmured Honey, her eyes immediately going to the double doors that had closed so resolutely behind the man who was trying to steal her daughter.

  She didn’t care if Jake Truebody didn’t like her. She didn’t care that he’d known her husband – as long as he didn’t bring up the past. The past was dead.