Christmas Crackers

by David W Robinson

  Wild-eyed, Toni stared around. She leapt to her feet and rushed for the door, only for Gemma to intercept, grab hold of her and drag her back to her seat.

  Forced to stay where she was, Toni’s face sank. “There ain’t much point denying it any more, is there?” she said, all traces of her English accent gone, replaced with her natural, southern Australian drawl. “You’ve got it right, Murray. Old Arthur Murphy was a complete jerk. He treated his wife as badly as he treated his employees. He was screwing around behind her back all the time he was with her. I know. I’m a product of that screwing around. My mother worked for him as a housekeeper. When she fell pregnant with me, he told her to get an abortion. She refused and he fired her. Do you know what kind of life my mother had, a single woman in 1980s Melbourne, struggling to bring up a kid and hold down a job on her own? And then there was the money to consider. Murphy was worth millions. When he died, some of that should be mine, but it never would be. His name wasn’t on my birth certificate, and a paternity suit, trying to prove it with DNA or whatever, would cost money we never had.”

  She sucked in a shuddery breath. “Then he got old. He needed permanent nursing care. I was a nurse. I applied for the job and I got it. He could barely take care of himself and I gave him some of the punishment back that he’d inflicted on others like my mother. I made his last two years a living hell, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he relied on me. While I worked for him, I learned all I could about him and his wife and their son, Lewis Murphy. I knew that when the old man went, those millions of dollars would fall in Lew’s pocket and half of it should have been mine. So I set about tracing him. Took me the better part of a year and a half, but I finally found him right here in Northern England. Selby. A little boy brought back to this country by his mother when he was a month old. It had to be him. I knew the old man didn’t have long to live and that’s when I decided that Lew had to die before he learned of his inheritance. That way he wouldn’t be able to will it to anyone else and I could put in a claim. But I guessed I would have to move fast. If it took me over a year to find Lew, it would probably take the pros less than a month. So I made all my plans, which included your nephew, overdosed old man Murphy on his painkillers, and jumped on a plane to England.”

  Toni glared at Joe. “By the way, Murray, finding your nephew had nothing to do with Australia loving its rugby. As you guessed, I’d changed the surname to Murray, just to confuse Helmsley, and when I Googled Lew Murray, Yorkshire, it came up with Lee Murray as a close match. A prop forward for the Sanford Bulls, your nephew. Everything else, you got right on the mark. I called in to that diner of yours to make sure your nephew still worked there and that Helmsley would show. When I saw his car pull in, I got to the Lazy Luncheonette before him and made sure he’d contacted your nephew, then I followed him back to the Sanford Park Hotel. I met him on the car park and told him I was the one who contacted him about the real heir to the Murray fortune. And you were right. He’d smelled a con. Told me he knew that the real heir was Lewis Murphy. He demanded to know what was going down and when I told him, he asked for a piece of the action.”

  “If Helmsley knew Lee wasn’t the heir, if he knew who really was, why did he come to the café in the first place?” Joe demanded.

  “He figured he and I could reach a deal. We’d murder Lew Murphy and blame it on your nephew.”

  “But before he could cut that deal, you murdered him instead?” Joe spat the words out.

  Toni nodded. “I played the frightened little girl and asked if I could have a drink. While his back was turned, I sunk the knife in him, took his business card and his office keys and left him to die.”

  “But let’s be honest, you’d always planned on that, hadn’t you?” Sheila asked.

  Toni nodded. “I picked Helmsley at random, from Yellow Pages, but he was like all other private eyes. A crook. Anyway, after taking off the wig and the makeup, I waited on the car park of the Foundry Inn until I saw your nephew arrive and then called the cops. With Helmsley out of the way, I called Lew, and posed as Helmsley. Lewis turned up and I killed him too. I figured the cops would get round to the office eventually and find him dead, but I didn’t figure on you turning up less than two minutes after I’d killed Lew.” She pointed at Stell. “When we were interviewed yesterday, you told me about Helmsley having gone to Norman Parrish, and you also told me about the work Murray and his pal here had been doing. I figured you all had to go. I guessed that since I had no connection with Parrish, they wouldn’t trouble me again.” Toni sighed and glared at Joe. “But I didn’t figure on you, did I? That first morning at your place, I deliberately didn’t speak to you, and because you were so busy, I guessed you wouldn’t recognise me.”

  “And we might not have done,” Joe admitted, “if you hadn’t lapsed into your native slang.”

  ***

  “I don’t understand why she picked on me, though,” Lee complained the following morning when the rush was over at the Lazy Luncheonette.

  “You just happened to be useful,” Sheila told him. “You were nearby with a name that she could utilise.”

  “Good job the son wasn’t named Bo Murphy,” Brenda chuckled, “or the wicked little witch might have picked on Joe.”

  Poring over his account of the case, Joe looked up. “Naw. I’d never have fallen for it. No way would our Arthur leave me a fortune, even if he had one to leave.”

  “Some good came of it all, Joe,” Sheila pointed out. “You’re back in contact with your brother.”

  “And Dad can’t wait to see his grandson,” Lee said. “Uncle Joe, you promised I could have some time off to go to Australia. I thought maybe this Christmas.”

  “What? Such short notice? Not likely.” Joe took in the stern gazes of Sheila and Brenda. “What?”

  “Let the lad go see his father, Joe. You can cook, Brenda and I will look after the front and we can always bring Mavis Barker in to do the washing up.”

  “Look, I… oh, for God’s sake, all right.” Joe reached into his pocket and came out with a book of airline tickets. “Your flight leaves Manchester on the twenty-second, and your return is on January third. I want you back in here, in your whites on the fifth otherwise, nephew or not, you’re fired.”

  The Headland Hotel

  “Never let Joe’s appearance or his surliness fool you. Joe is a clever man,” Brenda said.

  Donna Corley agreed with an enthusiastic nodding of her head. “I was astonished when I heard that tale of the Aussie woman. He got all that from one hair on a shirt and the way she spoke?”

  “That’s Joe,” Sheila declared. “He misses nothing.”

  The three women were sat off to one side of the St Hilda Suite, a room which harked back to a more genteel era. Potted plants lined the walls, intricate, wrought iron tables, all painted white, filled the perimeter of the hall, leaving a large space for dancing, and there were posters all over the hotel advertising tea dances.

  “Joe’s not the only one,” Brenda insisted. “We’ve had our moments, haven’t we, Sheila?”

  Her best friend chuckled. “True enough. We’re not just pretty faces. Brenda, tell her about that business at the bank.”

  Brenda blushed. “Oh, that wasn’t me. I rang Joe, and he told me what to look for.”

  “Yes, but you were the one who solved it,” Sheila insisted.

  “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Brenda admitted. “Not like the Rotterdam Ferry or the one you were involved with, Sheila.”

  Donna placed her recorder in the centre of the table again. “Come on, Brenda. Tell me what happened.”

  “Well, it was a long time ago. Not long after my husband passed away.” Brenda licked her lips and warmed to her story. “Back then, Gemma, Joe’s niece, was a detective constable and I think it was one of the earliest cases she worked on. I often wonder if I had a hand in her fast rise to sergeant.” She sighed, wistfully. “Listen to me. I’m waffling. I spent most of my working life in the bank on the
High Street. After Colin died I decided it was time for a change, which is how come I ended up working for Joe. But that first year, I received an invitation to the bank’s Christmas party, on the 23rd, and I thought it would be a chance to catch up with old friends and colleagues.”

  Teller’s Tale

  “I think you needed a good, old-fashioned beer-up like this, Brenda,” Jill Reason said. “You’ve had a horrible year and getting amongst old friends will lift your spirits.”

  Brenda smiled at the platitude, but the smile was not reflected inwardly. Widowed eight months and she had still not fully come to terms with the loss of her husband. The underlying pain eased a little with each passing day, but it was still there, ready to bite when she was not ready for it.

  “And I’m sure everyone will be glad to see you,” Jill pressed on.

  “And I’m happy to see them,” Brenda replied.

  The bank had been transformed from a place of business to a party room. Brenda had spent many years working here, and as a veteran of staff parties, she knew that the moment they closed for business, at four o’clock, the staff would have moved the queue ropes and stanchions, and begun laying out the trestle tables, stocking them with food and drink, ready for the Yuletide thrash, which would begin at half past six with a brief speech from the manager.

  Sat off to one side, close to the windows overlooking Sanford High Street, Brenda reflected that if it had not been for Jill, she would have spent the evening at home, alone, wallowing in drink and her memories until she fell into a haze of half-drunken self-pity and cried herself to sleep. It was no way to spend Christmas.

  Out in the street, traders, many wearing Santa hats or glowing, neon bangles, hollered to the crowds, desperate to squeeze every last sale out of the day before calling it a draw and starting their holiday.

  Across the street, in the shadows of a closed, double door near Boots, a familiar figure was speaking to a man.

  “Isn’t that Diana Linden?” Brenda asked, and pointed across the street.

  Jill followed Brenda’s pointing finger. “Yes. She’ll be making her way here in a minute.”

  Diana was wearing a soft pink, quilted coat, contrasting her dark skin. She was snuggling up close to the man in the doorway, and as she leaned up to kiss him, Brenda noticed something changing hands. Whatever it was, Diana slipped it into her pocket.

  It brought back memories of a similar kiss in a doorway, many years before, when Colin had put a small, yet quite bulky something into her hand, and whispered. “Don’t look at it now. Wait until you get home.”

  Brenda had known what it was before she even caught the bus: an engagement ring, with a little card inside begging, Please. Pretty please.

  “Love’s young dream.” She muttered and Jill once more smiled at the scene opposite.

  “Brenda. Great to see you.”

  The voice of Chris Booth, the branch manager, brought Brenda back from her fond memories. Tall and smartly dressed in his business suit, crisp white shirt and company tie, his shoes gleaming in the overhead halogens, the smile on his lean face mirrored the genuine warmth of his greeting. A good ten years younger than Brenda, he was one of those bubbly, enthusiastic men who had been with the bank since leaving school; the type that was always destined to get ahead. Cool enough in a crisis, amicable when encouraging his staff, yet hard when he needed to discipline them, he generated trust quite naturally, and the branch had been lauded as a company success story under his leadership.

  “I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Jill said and wandered off.

  Chris took her seat alongside Brenda. “So, how are you keeping?”

  “I’m fine, Chris. I have good days and bad days. You know. It’s difficult coming to terms, but I’m getting there slowly but surely.”

  Idly, Brenda wondered how many more clichés she could squeeze into a single speech.

  “I was sorry to see you go, you know. I said so at the time, if you recall.”

  She nodded. “It wasn’t an easy decision, Chris, but I needed a change. I’d been here since the year dot, and with Colin’s passing, I needed to redefine my life.”

  “Word is you’re working at the truckstop on Doncaster Road.”

  “Joe’s café. Well, that’s what it’s called now, but we’re working to change his mind. Joe Murray’s place. You won’t know him, but I went to school with him. We even dated when we were teenagers.”

  Chris laughed. “I know Joe Murray, all right. Who in this town doesn’t? You said, we’re working to change his mind. ‘We’? New man in your life?”

  Brenda laughed this time. “Good God, no. It’s far too early for that. No, I mean me and Sheila Riley. She’s another old friend from the schoolyard. She lost her husband this year, too, and we’re both working for Joe.”

  Chris’s smile faded from his angular features. “Inspector Peter Riley? The police officer?” He waited for Brenda to nod, and went on, “I read about it in the papers. Double heart attack, so we’re told.”

  “Terrible thing. Sheila, Peter, Colin and I used to dine and drink together you know.” She laughed. “Crikey, that doesn’t half sound middle class.”

  The familiar buzz of the main entrance bell cut through the air and Chris excused himself to greet Dominic Granger, admitted by security man Michael Fellows who was on the door. After shaking hands with Booth, Dom gave Brenda a wave and moved to the far side of the room to join his friends.

  Collecting two glasses of white wine, Jill joined Brenda again. Moments later a young blonde walked in the door, and Brenda had to look twice. She was wearing the same pink coat she had seen on Diana a few minutes previously.

  “Sally Hoban.” Jill’s face twisted into a serious frown. “New girl. I think she came on board shortly after you left. Bit, er, snooty, if you know what I mean. Cut above the rest of us. Or she thinks she is.”

  Brenda could see why. A slim, yet busty figure was apparent beneath the open coat, clad in a black mini-dress, baring a considerable amount of cleavage. Gold bracelets adorned her slender wrists, matched with glittering earrings and a necklace, and to complete the picture, she carried a gold clutch bag, slung from her shoulder on a gilt-painted chain. Her baby blue eyes took in the room, and there was an aura of insincerity in the air kisses she exchanged with her colleagues.

  “And is she a cut above everyone else?”

  “Shouldn’t think so,” Jill said. “She lives in a terraced house off Doncaster Road. Not far from your new place of work. Hardly millionaire’s row, is it?”

  Brenda chuckled. “Don’t be bitchy.”

  Sally Hoban left the room for the cloakroom. The bell rang again, Chris opened the door and Diana stepped in. Her greeting for friends old and new was warmer. She cast a broad smile at Brenda, waved, and mouthed, ‘see you in a minute’, before she, too, made for the cloakroom.

  With the room filling and warming up, Chris took front and centre stage, and made a brief speech congratulating his team on the year’s efforts and wishing everyone the best for Christmas and New Year. When he stepped back, music began to play, people began to circulate and it did not take long for the dancers to hit the allocated space in the centre of the room.

  Circulating amongst her friends and colleagues, Diana eventually made her way to Brenda, and sat down with a heavy sigh. “Oh, God. Got to rest my feet for a minute.” She smiled broadly. “How are you, Brenda?”

  “I’m fine, thank you, Diana, and you look a picture of happiness.”

  “It’s Christmas. Isn’t everyone happy?”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Brenda said. “I saw you snogging your boyfriend in the doorway across the street.”

  Diana cackled with glee. “Boyfriend. Zack is not my boyfriend. He’s my partner… or he will be, come the New Year.”

  “Oh. Your partner.” Brenda nodded across the floor. “So what happened with you and Dom?”

  “Just petered out, really,” Diana said with a shrug. “Everyone here thou
ght we were, you know, it, but it didn’t take long for it to go off the boil. Then I met Zack three, four months ago, and I had to end it with Dom. He was a bit put out, obviously.” She laughed again. “Who wouldn’t be, losing a gorgeous thing like me? But Zack, well, he’s something else.”

  “So I noticed,” Brenda commented. “I thought he was slipping a pretty little band of gold and diamonds into your hand while you were cuddling.”

  Diana sipped at her white wine and held out her left hand, where a gold ring, set with a cluster of sapphire and white diamonds gleamed. “We’re already engaged. We’ll probably get married next year, maybe the year after. Have to see how the money goes, but until then we’re getting a place together.” She eyed Booth. “I’m hoping the boss will be generous when I come begging for a mortgage in January.”

  “I’m sure he will be.” Brenda, too, sipped her wine. “So if not a ring, what did Zack give you?”

  “You miss nothing, do you?” Diana chuckled again. “He’s a salesman. You know the kind I mean. Pain in the backside, always trying to push satellite or cable TV onto you. Makes a good living. Anyway, he and his mates are going to Wakefield for a night out. I know what he’s like when he’s had a drink, so I insisted he leave his car keys with me. I’ve been at him all day over it, and he finally gave way in the doorway.” She winked. “But only after I made sure he was on a promise.”

  Brenda laughed, too. “He must be some man if he can fulfil a promise after a skinful of ale.”

  “He’s some man, all right.” Diana stood up as Jill returned. “Gotta go, Brenda. Gotta circulate. Catch you later.”

  The evening began to gather pace, the noise level rose, Brenda herself circulated and at various points found herself in conversation with everyone, including new girl Sally Hoban, who Brenda found well-spoken and pleasant, if a little self-centred.