Illusions (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 2)

by Jean Saunders

  ‘It’s me all right. And I’d say it’s your mother’s notebook where she kept details of all her clients. That’s what he wants, Moira. You gave it to me, remember?’

  ‘But how did he know that?’

  They looked at one another. Alex had told no-one about the notebook, and it was hardly likely that Moira herself would have done so. Unless it was at the funeral shindig, when everyone had got more than a bit merry and some had stayed on overnight, swapping anecdotes and comparing notes about the dear departed Leanora. Had she mentioned it to the major, she thought suddenly? But now wasn’t the time to confide in Moira about such a possibility.

  ‘I think I should go back to town and check that everything’s still where I left it,’ Alex said. ‘But it’s also time you told me what could be in that notebook that someone else would not only be so keen to find, but desperate enough to commit murder for it.’

  ‘Mother didn’t confide everything in me—’

  ‘But you knew who some of her clients were, didn’t you? And this house, Moira — who paid for it?’

  ‘What does that have to do with it?’ she said.

  ‘Your mother was hardly in the big-time, was she?’ Alex went on relentlessly. ‘She wasn’t a household name like those who do the travel circuit and draw huge crowds. One of my friends attended one of those lectures in York, so I know what I’m talking about. Nobody had ever heard of your mother, as far as I know. So how could she afford all this?’

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but my father left her well provided for,’ Moira said sullenly.

  Alex shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve been hearing some very interesting things about your background and the tragic local murder. Your father was a local bus driver, wasn’t he? And he died years ago, long before you and your mother moved into this flashy place. That’s why she still dressed the way she did when I met her on the cruise ship. In her heart she was still the same little housewife she had always been, scrimping and saving, and it suited her to watch and listen, and then amaze people by her psychic powers.’

  As Moira glowered, Alex went on swiftly. ‘I’m not saying she didn’t have any powers, but she knew how to use them all right. So how did she come by all this wealth?’

  Moira crumpled suddenly. ‘It wasn’t my idea, or even mother’s idea. Someone suggested how they could make some money, and don’t ask me who it was, because I don’t know. It wasn’t harming anyone.’

  ‘It harmed her in the end though, didn’t it?’ said Alex, without any idea what Moira was talking about, but knowing enough to pretend that she did. It was how Nick operated.

  But she could see by Moira’s tightening lips that she wasn’t going to get anything more out of her, and she was more than anxious to get back to London now. She needed to check that Leanora’s notebook was safely where she had left it, and to feel assured that nobody was trying to get at her. She didn’t want to be anybody’s mysterious Miss B. She’d rather revert to being Audrey Barnes any day.

  She listened to her own chattering thoughts, and gritted her teeth. This wasn’t how a private eye was supposed to react. She smiled at the other woman encouragingly.

  ‘Don’t worry, Moira, we’ll sort out this stalker one way or another. Most of them are harmless, and take a sadistic kind of pleasure in hiding behind these puerile messages. May I take this one with me — and any others?’

  ‘I don’t have any others. I burned them.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ Alex said, silently fuming, ‘but never mind. I’ll see if I can get anything out of this one.’

  She didn’t know what, but she had to sound confident and authoritative. It was what Moira was paying her for.

  Moira rammed it back into the large envelope and handed it over silently. ‘And you’ll be in touch?’ she said at last.

  ‘As soon as possible. And if you get any more like this, let me know at once and don’t destroy them.’

  She had the feeling that Moira was as anxious to be rid of her as she was to get out of there. For all its size, and the sunlight streaming through the windows, the house was as oppressive as ever, and she was sure she could feel Leanora’s presence hovering over them.

  She shuddered. She felt so jittery that London and normality would be like a breath of fresh air, and she had no intention of staying in tonight. She’d call a friend and go out to a club, maybe even the Rainbow Club where she’d first met Gary Hollis. It was sleazy by any standards, but a bit of good old honest sleaze might be just what she needed.

  To hell with it, she might even give Gary a call, she thought recklessly. She hadn’t seen him in months, and tearing through the night on his Harley with the scent of his leathers in her nostrils was enough to get the adrenalin going in her veins. Which was quite something, considering the state of her nerves right now.

  But once she got back to town after endless jams and hold-ups in the traffic, she knew she had to go to her office before she did anything else. Just to check that all was well.

  She unlocked the door and went in, and then she simply stopped dead, her heart pounding with sickening speed, and her stomach contents curdling at the chaos she found there.

  Chapter 6

  Every drawer in the place had been pulled out and over-turned. The desk lamp was broken and papers were scattered everywhere. For a few seconds Alex simply couldn’t take it in. She felt personally despoiled and violated, as if she was exposed to the world. And then rage took over at the utter carnage in front of her. She flung her bag into the midst of the shambles, righted her chair and sat down on it shakily, breathing hard for control.

  Like a horse gathering up steam, her father used to joke. And at the thought of his teasing voice her eyes stung, and she dashed the weakness away, knowing how close she was to tears. But she wouldn’t damn well cry. It wasn’t her style.

  She had to think logically. Somebody had got in here, knowing she was away. Or maybe not. It could be simply a coincidence. And pigs might fly. But you had to consider all the options. It could have been a straightforward burglary... but the only things on show worth stealing were her computer and other office equipment, and they appeared to be untouched.

  And it could have been somebody looking for something in Miss B’s possession, the thought screamed at her. The thought had been there all the time. but she had deliberately put the most likely possibility out of her mind, knowing that she couldn’t ignore it for ever.

  She swallowed. What had begun as a bit of harmless curiosity on her part because she couldn’t resist looking into what made a clairvoyant tick, had turned far uglier.

  Leanora’s murder was a matter for the police and really none of her concern, since the killer was already in custody. But now she was involved, whether she wanted to be or not. And just how far she was involved, she still had no way of knowing.

  She gave a shudder. All her instincts urged her to tidy up her office and restore it to its usual, well, not exactly pristine state, but a comfortable shambles that belonged to her alone. Opposing that was the certain knowledge that she should inform the police, not touching anything until it had all been gone over for fingerprints.

  But that would entail explanations, especially if Nick got to hear of it, which he surely would. And she couldn’t guarantee not to blab more than she should to him. More than she wanted to, anyway. She still had a case that involved client confidentiality.

  Already, she knew she wasn’t going to report this break-in. The superintendant of the building had greeted her quite cheerily when she arrived, so he couldn’t have been aware of anything amiss or he would have told her. Being a stickler for procedure, he would also have reported it already. And that fact alone told her two things.

  One, that the burglar was a professional who had got into the building without alerting anyone. And if he was that efficient it would seem futile to bother changing the locks. And two, although he might have left no trace for outsiders, he had definitely wanted to let her know of his pre
sence by leaving the gigantic amount of chaos for her to find.

  A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the office’s recent lack of use. He had wanted her to know he’d been searching for something. But he hadn’t found it.

  Before leaving for Worthing, she’d locked it away in her small hidden wall safe. She flicked open the controls. The notebook was still there, and she rammed it into her bag and hugged it to her for a moment. Then she set about systematically tidying her office with robotic precision.

  By the time she left, having checked the answering machine messages and also that nothing had been done to her computer — no cryptic messages or wiped disks -- she left the office and went home. She entered the flat with her nerves brittle-sharp, but nothing had been disturbed there.

  She began to breathe a little more easily. So maybe it hadn’t been the stalker searching for Leanora’s notebook after all.

  Maybe it really had been a coincidence. Maybe it had been the sneak-thief who had made off with her purse and found one of her old business cards inside, with only the address of her office on it, and had taken a chance on finding something worth taking. Then why not the computer? a nagging little voice asked, but she refused to listen.

  It was far easier on the nerves, she decided, to be as lulled into a sense of relief, as it had been to fly into a panic. And no real harm had been done. She still had the important item, and once she had taken a shower and washed her hair to remove the grime of travelling, she was going to curl up with a hefty drink at her side, study Leanora’s notes more thoroughly, and put any relevant details on the laptop that she kept safely at home.

  ***

  The phone was ringing as she came out of the bathroom, her hair turbanned in a thick towel.

  ‘Alexandra Best,’ she said automatically.

  There was no answering voice, and she felt a swift curl of fear knot her stomach.

  ‘Who is this, please?’ she said, as coolly as she could.

  The line went dead, and she immediately dialled 1471. She didn’t wait for the number, and simply pressed 3 to get the caller back. After several rings, someone picked up the phone and she heard a low chuckle.

  ‘They say curiosity killed the cat, don’t they? Mind it doesn’t kill you, Miss Best.’

  She slammed down the phone, staring at it as if the face behind the voice would suddenly materialize in front of her. It wouldn’t, of course, and that kind of thinking was more in Leanora’s line than hers.

  She frowned. She didn’t know the voice. But she could describe it — just. She knew Moira had had calls from her stalker, and she quickly dialled her number.

  ‘Moira, it’s Alex Best,’ she said abruptly cutting across the niceties in the other woman’s reply. ‘Look, there’s something I need to know. Can you describe the voice of the man who’s called you before? The stalker, I mean.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Moira answered. ‘I always referred to it as a man, mind you, although it was so muffled, and sort of dark, if you know what I mean, that it could have been a woman. It was definitely educated though, and it didn’t have any regional accent. Why? Have you discovered something?’

  ‘Well, hardly. I’ve only been back in London for a couple of hours. But I’m working on a theory,’ she said vaguely, ‘and I just wanted to get all the information I could.’

  ‘I see. Well, actually, I was going to call you. There was something in the local paper this evening. Trevor Unwin’s killed himself.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mother’s killer. They’ve named him now, and he’s been found dead in his cell. Apparently he had terminal cancer, and they think he’d been storing up his painkillers and sleeping tablets, so he won’t even be brought to justice. It’s rotten luck, isn’t it?’

  Good God, is that the only way she can describe it — as rotten luck? thought Alex.

  ‘It hardly matters in one sense, of course,’ Moira went on matter-of-factly, ‘because if he’s on the other side now, mother will be able to deal with him.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,’ Alex said in a strangled voice, just managing to resist mentioning the hope that they had both been dispatched in the same direction.

  She was definitely going whacko now, she thought, as whacko as they were.

  ‘Well, thanks for letting me know, Moira,’ she said, when they ran out of conversation. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  She finished drying her hair, wondering what significance, if any, this could have on the case. So the loner had killed himself. It wasn’t unheard of, especially if he had been facing a life sentence for murder, as he surely would have been. Though just how long would that life have been if he had terminal cancer? Did he even know?

  Had he consulted Leanora at some time? And had she been the one to tell him his days were numbered, and this had triggered him into the frenzied attack on her? Or had someone paid him to do the deed? And if so, what did he have to gain by it if he was truly alone in the world?

  But was he? The unanswered questions surged in Alex’s head now. Even a loner had to have some acquaintances. Family. People who knew him. Nobody could be totally alone and living on their uppers. The Social Services saw to that. And as far as she could tell from the newspaper report, nobody seemed to have bothered too much about his motive for murdering Leanora. He had so obviously been guilty of the crime.

  A picture of the way that insipid little woman had been hacked about was suddenly so vivid, so very red in Alex’s mind, that she shuddered uncontrollably for a few minutes, until she realized the phone was ringing again.

  She snatched it up. It might be Nick. Or Gary — though that was extremely unlikely, unless he was possessed of some of Leanora’s sixth sense, and knew how badly she needed to talk to somebody normal.

  It was the girl who lived one floor down. The model-cum-out of work actress.

  ‘Oh Alex, the postman asked me to take in a packet for you while you were away. Shall I bring it up?’

  ‘Of course — come and have some coffee, Charmaine — or something stronger. I’ll be glad of some company.’

  ‘Oh — thanks, but I can’t stay long. I’m meeting someone later. There might be a job in the offing.’

  ‘Great,’ Alex said mechanically. ‘See you soon then.’

  She didn’t blame the girl for her lack of enthusiasm. She didn’t exactly invite confidences from her neighbours. She wasn’t deliberately stand-offish, but she considered that the less people knew about what she did and how she went about it, the better.

  Unfortunately, it also shut out friendship, and if she wasn’t careful she could turn into as much of a loner as one Trevor Unwin, she thought with another shudder.

  Consequently, she ushered Charmaine into her flat with a wider smile than usual. She had dressed in jeans and T-shirt after her shower, and her hair had been combed to a pike-straight sheen now. As always, Charmaine commented on the fact after declining coffee on the grounds that it was fattening, and opting for something in a glass.

  ‘God, I wish I had hair like that. Mine’s a ball of fluff if I don’t straighten it out with tongs before every shoot.’

  She made it sound as if she was on a modelling assignment every day of the year, which Alex knew she certainly was not. ‘At least you’re a natural blonde,’ she said generously.

  ‘Oh sure,’ Charmaine grinned. ‘Everywhere, too,’ she added with a wink.

  Alex laughed, handing her a glass of wine and pouring her own favourite tipple. The stick-thin model-cum-whatever perched on the edge of a chair now, and already made her feel gargantuan, so what were a few more ounces on her thighs?

  ‘So where’s this packet you took in for me?’

  ‘Oh Lord, my brains! I nearly forgot.’ She fished it out of the so-called model’s bag she always carried. Alex wondered if she took the thing to bed, since it was never out of her sight. She handed over the brown paper packet with the printed label addressed to Miss A. Best.

  It didn’t
look like anything much. Probably publicity material or junk mail, and it could be left until later.

  ‘So what’s this new job that might be in the offing?’ she asked, when small talk flagged. Charmaine wasn’t a great conversationalist, and that was putting it mildly.

  ‘It may be a TV ad,’ she said with more animation. ‘I can’t say too much about it yet, but this agent I’m meeting is keen to get me on the small screen.’

  ‘Be careful, Charmaine,’ Alex felt obliged to say. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve been around!’

  And she was all of nineteen, which made Alex feel like Methuselah at twenty-six. And Charmaine was already glancing at the watch on her slender wrist, clearly wondering how long she had to stay, when she was itching to be somewhere else.

  ‘Well, thanks for taking in the packet, and I hope it all goes well for you,’ Alex said, winding up the meeting neatly, and ignoring the obvious relief in the other girl’s eyes.

  Minutes later she was alone and slitting open the sellotaped packet with minimal curiosity. And then her heart leapt. Instantly she remembered something Moira had said.

  He sent me some dead flowers once…

  And now he’d sent them to Alex. They were wrapped in plastic to stop the liquid from the stems seeping out through the post... wasn’t it illegal to send substances that leaked through the post?... they had once been lilies, and the leaves had already mouldered and were a disgusting mess inside the plastic. There was no card, no message, but there didn’t need to be.

  It was him, of course. The stalker, the vandal, the probable hit-man, once-removed. She threw the lot into the bin, then took a few deep breaths and pulled it out again.

  This was no way for a PI to behave. There might be clues in the wrapping, the label, the postmark... but it was so smudged that she couldn’t read it.

  It was odd though, that two women should have been sent dead flowers. Even odder when Moira herself was a florist. The crazy suspicion entered her head that maybe it was Moira herself doing this. Perhaps she had gone completely off her rocker by now, and…