Classic Mistake

by Amy Myers

  ‘Melody?’ Justin asked nervously.

  ‘No. A murder case.’

  ‘That one in Maidstone?’ Justin asked to my surprise. ‘Dad says the word’s going round it’s Carlos Mendez.’

  Why should the word ‘go round’, I wondered. The police hadn’t released the name, so far as I knew, but why should it be of such particular interest? Even if George Taylor knew Carlos, Carlos was apparently in Maidstone only for a brief visit. I glanced over to see the Gentle Giant George carefully polishing glasses. Too carefully, so I strolled over to him. ‘Did you know Mendez?’ I asked.

  ‘Met him years back when I first got to know this place. I wasn’t running the pub then. He wasn’t too popular round these parts.’

  ‘Not with me, certainly. He ran off with my wife.’

  That caught his attention and maybe loosened his tongue. ‘He started up a Mexican band with local lads in the late eighties – based here at the May Tree they were. Owner encouraged him. Mendez filled the lads’ heads with dreams of glory, dressed them up in white suits, built up their reputation, then left them in the lurch when he walked out on them. Band split up – the Brits were no use without the Mexican himself.’

  ‘Who was the owner of the May Tree then?’ It was news to me that Carlos was connected with the May Tree. My youthful visits here had preceded Carlos’s arrival, and it made me irrationally uneasy at the thought that it was in this very pub that Eva and Carlos had met and presumably cemented their relationship.

  ‘A chap called James Fever bought it when the brewery sold it after the shoot-out,’ George told me. ‘I bought it from him in the 1990s when he retired. He died a few years back.’

  ‘So quite a few people would have been interested in the news that Carlos was back in town. Apparently, Carlos was thinking of contacting them.’

  George did not reply. The subject, he indicated, was closed.

  For me too. Daisy came marching up as I paid the bill. ‘What are you going to do about Melody? Leave it to my Justie to sort out?’

  I considered this. I’d love to do just that so that Justin would get the brownie points, but Daisy was in a fighting mood. I had no choice. I had to be tough on the lad.

  ‘Show us the barn where you think Melody’s hidden,’ I told Justin firmly. ‘It’s time to get this settled.’

  I thought he was going either to refuse or punch me, but without great enthusiasm he led us along a lane that shortly turned into a track, which, judging by the tyre marks, had been used for more than cows. Certainly tractors, and possibly a Morris Minor. When we reached Huggett’s barn, as Justin eventually named it, it did not even possess a lock. The door was swinging open in the wind, and Justin seemed to be swivelling between nervousness and belligerence.

  As well he might. The barn was empty.

  In the silence that followed I noted two things: the first was that Justin looked anguished, presumably because he thought he’d been wrong about the barn; the second was that there was a number plate lying on the ground. I went over to pick it up.

  ‘Melody’s,’ Daisy breathed as she snatched it from me. ‘Justie, where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ His terror at her threatening tone was so great that even Daisy held back.

  She turned on me instead. ‘What are you going to do about this?’

  ‘Start again, but not today.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to fingerprint this plate or something? Or get some DNA off it?’ she said indignantly as I turned away.

  I had a vision of what Dave would say if I marched in with a number plate and demanded instant forensic attention. I also noted Justin was near to tears.

  ‘I’ll get the team on it,’ I told her.

  ‘Promise?’ She eyed me narrowly.

  I came clean. ‘No, but I’ll do my best, Daisy.’

  ‘OK,’ she said, more peaceably than I had expected. ‘And, Jack, you should meet my Gran.’

  ‘You think she has pinched Melody back?’ I joked.

  ‘No. That other case of yours. She knew the May Tree Inn way back. She knew all about Carlos and the Charros.’

  THREE

  I parted from Daisy with some reluctance, because Melody had been a pleasant diversion from the sword of Damocles poised above me in the form of Eva. Unfortunately, it now seemed there was a tenuous point of contact between Melody and Carlos – the May Tree – and certainly I was curious to meet the famous Gran. I had been impressed by Daisy’s attachment to Melody, which was a tribute both to the Morris Minor and her Gran. I’d told Daisy I was eager to meet the lady, but first I needed to catch up with events elsewhere. It was only just over twenty-four hours since I had become involved in Carlos’s death, but in that time anything could have happened – not least to Eva.

  The nearer the Lagonda brought me to Frogs Hill the more Damocles’s sword began to wobble over my head. I didn’t have long to wait until the action began again, although it was heralded pleasantly enough. As I drove along the lane I could see someone perched on the wall above the high bank, and I pulled into the Frogs Hill forecourt in a much happier frame of mind. There she was, my Cara.

  I had not seen her for a while, not through any lack of a wish to do so, but because she was busy putting down new roots in Suffolk. Even though she had told me she would be galloping to the rescue, seeing her here, rather than in Eva’s company, was a surprise to be welcomed. She looked at ease as she patiently waited for me to park the Lagonda. With her mass of curly dark hair and broad forehead, she looked at first glance like a younger edition of Eva, although where passion and anger beset her mother, Cara had assurance, and where Eva had stormy rages, Cara had control. Won at a price, I imagined, as a means of survival as a child. There was a detachment about her that always suggested to me that Cara did not give her trust easily. Does she trust me? I don’t know, but she accepts me, as I do her foibles, and that is enough.

  She smiled at me, and the detachment vanished. This was a lady bent on saving the situation her way. ‘Gotcha,’ she remarked, standing up to greet me.

  ‘Did you fly here on self-propelled wings, sweetheart?’ I looked round for a car but saw none.

  ‘I told Eva she could have the Fiat to do some shopping to take her mind off things.’ What else, I thought, when one’s husband has just been murdered? Although I did concede that Cara had as so often hit the right nail on the head for the right time. ‘I asked Len to pick me up from Charing station,’ she continued.

  That was a tribute indeed. Asked? Len did not ordinarily tear himself away from his beloved Pits, asked or not. ‘Are you staying here? Spare bed always made up.’

  ‘With Eva in full throttle? It’s my public duty to stay at the hotel with her.’

  ‘A medal for gallantry.’

  She grimaced. ‘Gallantry called for from you too, Jack. I want your help.’

  ‘Willingly given,’ I replied, ‘with the proviso that the police think I’m suspect number one for Carlos’s murder.’

  ‘No. Eva seems to have reserved that spot for herself. I went straight to the hotel and she had just returned from police HQ. High drama. She claims I’m the only person she can rely on.’

  ‘Funny. Yesterday she said that was me. Seriously, Cara, what was the story that came over to you?’

  Unusually, Cara hesitated. ‘You first.’

  I obeyed. ‘She told me she and Carlo had come down because he needed money and proposed to get it through some kind of business deal, perhaps to do with his former band members. He went out for the evening, and as they had separate rooms it was not until the police called yesterday morning that she knew he had not returned.’

  ‘Ah. Did she tell you they were splitting up?’

  ‘No. He was her “dearest Carlos”.’ This was far from good news.

  ‘Did she tell you her “dearest Carlos” came down before her on what he thought was a lone mission, and that having insisted on knowing where he was staying she rushed down by train in pursuit?’

&
nbsp; ‘No.’ We were off again. This was the Eva I remembered so well. Depending on what she thought would fit the occasion, there was a different story every five minutes. Take your pick which one was true.

  ‘She discovered, she says, that although he was skint he was planning to move in with some other woman. Carlos’s band had not done too well in the north of England and he had indeed said he was coming here to get some big-time cash for them both. She presumed that both meant her, but she found out that it didn’t. He had a floozie. So when Carlos announced he had to make this trip, Eva was sure he was bringing this other woman. So she followed him down here and found to her surprise that, with or without the floozie, he actually was staying at the hotel he had claimed to be honouring with his presence.’

  ‘How does a business rendezvous at Allington Lock tie up with illicit liaisons? Or doesn’t it? Do you believe her?’

  ‘No. According to her, she stayed in the hotel although she knew Carlos had this meeting. The mother I know would be chasing him with a hatchet down that towpath if she thought another woman was with her beloved.’

  ‘Or not so beloved, according to you.’

  ‘It varies, Jack. She also told me Carlos was thrilled when she arrived at the hotel. The other woman wasn’t in evidence, though she maintains this was merely because Carlos had secretly hidden her away. He was full of the big deal he was about to make.’

  ‘Tell me the worst,’ I groaned. ‘Do you think she told the police about this other woman?’ Eva was essentially naive. It would be typical of her to tell them about this probably non-existent woman, thus giving herself a motive for murder.

  ‘If it was a business deal not an assignation for Carlos,’ I continued, ‘she’d have no motive for killing him. Not before he caught the golden goose, anyway.’ Eva had never been one for missing an opportunity such as that. Her wealthy relations had done very well out of similar opportunities in their own country.

  ‘I agree, and if she told the police about this floozie, that’s scary. It’s possible …’

  I helped her out. ‘That she did discover he was with his current flame and not a billionaire. And that, even worse, she wasn’t waiting in the hotel for him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cara said bluntly.

  ‘No gun was found by the body, so the police wouldn’t have much to go on,’ I pointed out. ‘Carlos was shot, and though Eva can wield a gun, it isn’t like her to pack one on a trip like this one.’

  ‘Even if she planned to kill him?’

  I struggled with this one. ‘She isn’t one to carry out her own dirty work either.’

  Cara nodded. ‘She could have conspired with someone.’

  ‘Who would—’ I did a double take. ‘Me?’

  Cara grinned. ‘You’re not always in the limelight, Jack. Quite apart from Spanish relatives, Eva has always had plenty of men around. I expect she did during your marriage. If I hadn’t inherited your ugly face I might even wonder about my parentage.’

  That took me aback. It implied she had done just that. I looked at my beloved daughter and could see myself in her. ‘No way, Cara. You’re mine.’

  I winced when I remembered what a fool I had been twenty years ago, however. I’d had so many stars in my eyes that I couldn’t see the meteors about to crash on my patch of earth. I don’t know whether Eva was physically unfaithful to me throughout our marriage, but in the last year I had suspected that was the case. Plenty of men, all spellbound by her fiery southern beauty, as once I had been. I doubt whether any of them had forgotten her; she had the habit of blowing in and out of people’s lives whenever she fancied, whether as a breath of warm air or a blast from the frozen north. Either way, she was unforgettable.

  ‘Your point’s taken, though,’ I continued. ‘I tend to discount the conspiracy theory though, especially with past chums. Carlos filled all her dreams at that time, and I doubt if any of her other conquests would resurrect themselves all these years later.’

  ‘She could have brought a lover with her,’ Cara said dispassionately.

  From her face she was longing for me to shoot this down, which I could with ease. ‘Why on earth would any lover want to assist in murder if she and Carlos were splitting up anyway? No, this business deal is much more likely – thank heavens.’ I’d no wish to go chasing Eva’s lovers.

  Cara cheered up. ‘Eva told me she and Carlos knew a man called James Fever, who owned the pub Carlos performed at before he did a runner. Would he be a candidate?’

  ‘Hardly. He’s no longer alive. He took over from the earlier manager, Tony Wilson, who served fifteen years for murder. I must have met Fever. In fact, in my righteous fury I think I went over to tackle him when Eva hopped it, because I thought he’d encouraged it. As far as I recall, he put me right and gave me a free pint to calm me down.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Cara said firmly, ‘whether Eva did or not have old friends to call on round here, she told me that Carlos most certainly did, so we must follow that up. You can help out there.’

  ‘OK by me.’ That was sorted then. Cara was on the warpath.

  Then she became my Cara again. ‘Jack, do you really think Eva could have had something to do with Carlos’s death?’

  No point in beating about the bush, and we were in this together. ‘She’s capable and stupid enough to have let rip, but whether she did or not – well, who knows? If she did bring a pistol with her … I’ll find out what’s happening on the police investigation,’ I finished hastily, seeing her face fall. Then I stepped awkwardly out of my comfort zone – and probably hers. ‘And you, daughter mine, are you happy in Suffolk?’

  ‘Yes, and for ever after.’ She laughed, which for once made me struggle with resentment at having missed so many years of her life. For what? Had they ill-treated her, ignored her, cosseted her? As Cara never talked about it, I wasn’t foolish enough to cross-examine her further. But I had my doubts, and that laugh had sounded just a trifle forced.

  ‘Just a phrase,’ she added airily. ‘I’m not a great hand at being Mother Earth though, so Harry shoulders most of that. I work part-time for a local publisher, which suits me fine, and then help Harry out the rest of the week. We’re running a farm shop now.’

  ‘Don’t miss the bright lights of London?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘What if Eva …?’ No, that was a step too far. Cara had retreated into Miss Self-Assurance again, and I didn’t want to throw her off with a nightmare that might never happen. I need not have worried.

  ‘Wants to move in with Harry and me?’ she picked up. ‘I’ll refuse, don’t worry.’ She looked closely at me. ‘And you need not worry about her moving in with you again either. She’s determined to return to The Family.’

  My turn to laugh partly in relief. The Family was a joke between us, and I had no doubt it would close its protective arms around Eva in due course, but it was good to hear this reaffirmed. Then I sobered up. ‘Suppose she really did kill Carlos and it’s me who finds the evidence?’

  She came over to me and kissed me in a motherly sort of way. ‘We’ll sort this together, Jack. And now,’ she added, ‘drive me back to the station, will you? I fancy a lift in that Gordon-Keeble of yours.’

  ‘Good taste,’ I said approvingly. As Dad had bought it from its first owner in the late 1960s, I had known it all my life. It felt a family car therefore, and it was only fitting that its rare outing (due to an accident that had left it fragile) should be for Cara’s benefit – even if she had ordered her ‘taxi’ in her best schoolteacher tones.

  All went quiet for a day or two, which was both a relief and a worrying sign. Silence is not always golden: sometimes it’s creepy. I tried to contact Brandon in vain; he replied with a put-off message that told me nothing. Cara had told me she would let me know immediately of any developments her end and undertook to investigate the story of the floozie, while my best – my only – course of action was to pursue the contacts that Carlos had had here in his previous life.

  He
had last come here (as far as my current information went) in the late 1980s for some years and had left when he ran off with Eva in 1991. Carlos and the Charros had been formed locally and presumably from local musicians, but where were they now? He was unlikely to have made any new contacts in Kent during his absence, so as Eva had said he was contacting former band members, I should do the same (even though this might have been one of her inventions). I’d forget about other lines of enquiry. Not that I could think of any, in fact.

  Further Internet research on the Charros brought painfully meagre results, as did local newspaper archives. A few fuzzy photos and a few more places where they had held gigs. I was getting nowhere.

  I heard nothing from Daisy for a day or two, for which I was grateful, although on that score I had one not very helpful nugget to follow up which had been thrown at me by Dave. Otherwise progress on Melody had been non-existent. That was odd in itself as her colour alone would help her stand out. I had taken the number plate in to Dave and been duly laughed all the way out again. He told me there had been no reports of any abandoned Minors, let alone pinky-grey ones, only this nugget of a sighting. Not a situation to get excited about: a thought that failed to cheer.

  Just as I was nerving myself up to set off on Saturday morning on a carefully planned casual call on Eva, Zoe came over to the farmhouse. By grace and favour she and Len sometimes devote Saturday mornings to jobs that particularly interest them. Zoe wanted to know whether I was aware that Len was chatting about Morris Minors with a gorgeous blonde and could I please do something about it as she needed to consult him about a warped cylinder head and gorgeous blondes were my province not hers.

  I groaned and accompanied Zoe to the Pits, where Daisy greeted me with her usual sunny smile and my clouds lifted a little. ‘No firm news yet,’ I said brightly, ‘but lines to follow up.’ I tried to give the impression that I had been working non-stop on Melody.

  She looked somewhat bleak at this as she interrupted: ‘Gran might help.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want her to know Melody is missing?’