Birthdays Can Be Murder

by Joyce Cato

  ‘Oh damn,’ she said forlornly.

  ‘Yes, Miss Starling. I think “oh damn” sums it up very well. And now, here we are, with yet another murder. Tell me, Miss Starling, do you collect them? Like stamps?’

  ‘Oh damn.’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you, do I, Miss Starling, that I don’t want you running around like some kind of female Sherlock Holmes wannabe, out-thinking and out-sleuthing us poor old coppers?’ Mollineaux was getting downright irate now.

  ‘No, Inspector, you don’t,’ she said meekly.

  ‘Good. So there will be no questioning of the suspects?’

  ‘No, Inspector.’

  ‘No sifting through the rooms for clues?’

  ‘No, Inspector.’

  ‘No accusations, no following of suspects. No interference, in fact, of any kind whatsoever?’

  ‘No, Inspector. And if you would kindly let me get in a word or two, I’d like to point out that I never intended to do any of those things. Contrary to the impression you may have received, Inspector Mollineaux, I am a cook. That’s all. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, and that is all I ever intended to do when I worked for Mr Enderby. It was just unfortunate that Chief Inspector Gunn was …’ She tailed off, unsure of how to put things delicately.

  ‘Incompetent?’ Mollineaux offered helpfully. ‘According to Inspector Hopcroft, that is.’

  ‘Well, let’s just say that he was, er …’ Jenny stopped, aware that she had talked herself into a corner, and tried again. ‘I’m sure that what happened at Enderby Hall will be nothing like what happens here,’ she finished, somewhat lamely.

  ‘I should hope not, Miss Starling,’ Inspector Mollineaux said coldly. ‘Otherwise I might start to think that the murder of Enderby gave you ideas. That it might have inspired you, so to speak. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Oh, quite,’ Jenny said quickly. She was tempted to ask how the murder of an old man, stabbed to death in a locked pantry in a deserted house, could possibly give her ideas on how to murder a young man by poison in a house crammed full with people. But, very wisely, she managed to resist the impulse.

  Instead, she smiled. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, yes,’ he agreed vaguely, dismissing her with a brief wave of his hand.

  Jenny rose and was halfway to the door when Mollineaux stopped her. ‘Oh, Miss Starling. About putting us on to Trevor Watkins. I want to thank you for that. If he’d been allowed to leave we might never have known about him. And it may not come as much of a surprise to know that we would dearly love to get something on our Mr Watkins.’

  ‘No. I’d already guessed that he was not the most popular of men with the police. I was glad to be of help.’

  ‘Yes. But no more help of that kind, all right, Miss Starling?’ he added firmly.

  Jenny looked at him, blinking the blink of the innocent. ‘Of course not, Inspector. As if I would.’

  Randolf Mollineaux looked at her and shook his head wearily. ‘Good day, Miss Starling.’

  Jenny needed no second prompting, and was out the door like a greyhound. Given her full and rounded figure, it was an impressive accomplishment, and Sergeant Mollern watched her cross the hall and hare up the stairs with wide and wondering eyes.

  He shut the door, still smiling. ‘She’s an impressive woman, sir,’ he said, deadpan. ‘And quite beautiful and sexy too. Have you noticed?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mollineaux said, shooting him a warning look. ‘Unfortunately, she’s also a very clever woman, Sergeant. I thought as much the first time she opened her mouth. And our friend Clive Hopcroft has just confirmed it. In spades.’

  ‘You think she really did solve the Enderby case then?’ Mollern asked, interested. He always liked to know the latest gossip.

  ‘Well, did you really believe that Chief Inspector Gunn, of all people, had actually pulled it off all by himself?’

  ‘Well, no,’ Mollern said. ‘I just assumed it was Hopcroft who’d solved it.’

  ‘As did everybody else. But according to Hopcroft, it was our friend there.’ Mollineaux pointed at the door, through which Jenny had so recently departed.

  ‘So, do we take her off our suspect list?’

  Mollineaux smiled. ‘She was never really on it. And I, for one, don’t think for one minute that she poisoned the Greer boy. But let’s not tell her that.’ And he grinned evilly.

  Mollern grinned back. ‘Right. And in the meantime, I take it that I keep a close eye on her?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Mollineaux said quickly. ‘If Hopcroft is even only half right in singing her praises, she’s got a brain like a steel trap. Which might prove very useful to us, but very dangerous for her.’

  ‘If the killer realizes just how sharp our cook really is, you mean? But it’s not all that likely to happen, is it?’ As Mollineaux glanced at him inquiringly, Mollern cleared his throat. ‘Well, I mean, nobody really takes her seriously, do they? A voluptuous woman cook, I mean, well, nobody would ever dream she could be a danger to them.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Mollineaux said feelingly. ‘Because whoever killed Justin Greer is still in this house, or at least in this village. I can feel it in my bones. And if Jimmy Speight wasn’t murdered by someone either living in this house, or strongly connected to it, I’ll be very much surprised as well.’

  Mollern sighed. ‘The trouble with the Speight case is, we’ve got nothing solid to go on. Both Mr and Mrs Greer say they were in bed between five and seven, and so they probably were. I can’t see why either of those two good people would want to bump off their gardener.’

  ‘And of course Justin and Alicia claimed the same thing.’ Mollineaux took up the train of thought. ‘Although in Justin’s case we at least have the inkling of a motive.’

  ‘And then there’s the other staff,’ Mollern carried on. ‘I can’t see that the cook, butler or that nice housekeeper had any kind of motive either, although they were all annoyed at his snooping. Yet somebody bashed that lad on the head with a branch and pushed him into the pond.’

  ‘And if I’m not mistaken,’ Mollineaux said grimly, ‘our clever friend, Miss Starling, has already come to the same conclusions. And if she starts to get some good ideas, and the killer realizes that she has, then …’

  Mollern nodded. ‘She’ll be well and truly up a well-known creek with paddles in short supply,’ he agreed glumly.

  Twelve

  ‘AH, MISS WALKER. I’m glad you’re feeling better,’ Inspector Mollineaux said heartily.

  Babs Walker, descending the stairs and holding on to Arbie as if he were a lifeline, tried her best to look pitiful and pale. She didn’t quite succeed. ‘I can’t say as I really do, Inspector.’ She smiled wanly at the policeman, ignoring Chase and Jenny, who were also in the hall, one passing on to the lounge with a tray of brandy, the other just on her way out.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Mollineaux said blandly. ‘I shall have to take this opportunity, however, to ask you to stay on at The Beeches for the time being. Perhaps Chase will take your bags back upstairs?’

  The butler nodded gravely, settled his tray, and headed purposefully up the stairs. No one failed to see how Babs’s hand clutched her case more tightly, nor did they miss the pleading look she cast Arbie’s way.

  Arbie, in immediate response, tightened his hold on her other cases. ‘Exactly why do you want Miss Walker to stay, Inspector?’ he demanded. ‘Surely you can see she’s upset? She’s just lost her fiancé. The last thing she wants to do is stay around and be reminded of the tragedy. I have offered to drive her back home and—’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir, at the moment. I have also asked all the outside staff and overnight guests to remain in the vicinity as well, if possible.’

  There was such steel in Inspector Mollineaux’s voice that Arbie was forced to concede. ‘Oh, very well,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘But I insist on staying also. Miss Walker needs a friend. Especially in this environment.’

  Moll
ineaux smiled. ‘I’m so glad you feel that way, sir. I was about to ask you to remain also. You may, of course, leave to collect a few belongings.’

  Arbie didn’t miss the significance of the statement. But whereas Babs Walker looked down at them with fear and consternation on her pretty face, Arbie Goulder very nearly smiled. His eyes held those of the inspector for a long moment then he nodded. ‘I shall, of course, be pleased to stay,’ he said affably.

  Mollineaux turned away. As he did so, he caught sight of Jenny, watching it all with a lively interest, and his lips twisted wryly. They were, no doubt, both thinking much the same thing. Arbie might look ridiculous in his white suit, and may appear as a figure of fun with his round girth and strange hair, but inside he was as hard as iron. There would be no cracking Arbie Goulder, of that Jenny and Mollineaux were in silent accord.

  ‘Oh, Arbie, I’m afraid. I don’t want to stay. What if I’m next?’ The pitiful wail came from Babs Walker, who in stark contrast to her escort, looked as if she were about to come apart at the seams.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Arbie said soothingly. ‘I’ll be with you. I promise. I won’t let you out of my sight.’

  Jenny winced at what seemed to her to be more of a threat than a comfort, but Babs didn’t seem to mind. As she watched the couple return back up the stairs, the travelling cook felt almost sorry for Justin’s erstwhile fiancée. Babs might have been able to handle Arbie with ease in the past, but now, Jenny sensed, the shoe was on a very different foot indeed. And if Babs thought she could use him a second time and then cast him aside for someone else, she had better think again. Arbie was far too wily a bird to be fooled twice.

  *

  Jenny didn’t go far. She didn’t, in fact, leave the garden. It was nearly noon, and the village was now boiling with the news, and the last thing she wanted to do was be pumped for information by the locals. Instead she toured the garden, watching as the gardener, an old man with a remarkably subtle back, set about planting the autumn dahlias.

  She was worried about Margie Harding. No doubt the police had insisted on taking everyone’s name and address. Had she lied? Given a false name, or compromised and reverted to her maiden name? If she had, the police were sure to find out in the end. And if she’d told the truth, surely one of the eagle-eyed young police constables would have noted that her last name was the same as that of Alicia Greer’s unpopular lover. What would the police make of it all?

  Jenny was sure it wasn’t looking any too good for the abandoned wife and mother. No matter whether she had lied or told the truth, her illicit presence at that party was going to prove a major stumbling block. Jenny could only hope that she hadn’t done the actual murder.

  Sighing deeply and unable to find peace of mind even amongst the flowers, she lingered for a while longer in the herb garden and then returned to the house – and promptly wished she hadn’t, for something was most definitely up.

  ‘Ah, Miss Starling.’ Mollern pounced on her the moment she set foot in the hall, and on his face was such an expression of polite neutrality that she knew instantly that she was in trouble. ‘The inspector has gathered all the staff together in the library. Perhaps you could join us?’

  Jenny smiled. ‘Of course,’ she agreed, her voice even more polite and gracious. So that’s why the gardener had suddenly disappeared. She’d wondered why he’d left a row of chrysanthemums undone.

  The library was quiet when she entered, as if the very walls had absorbed the tension emanating from its residents, and Jenny had a sense of deja vu as she looked around. Chase was sitting, stiff backed, in one of the chairs, and looked uncomfortable. By the unlit fire, Martha and Vera sat on a small sofa, Martha actually holding Vera’s hand. So they’d gone into the village and got Vera, had they? That seemed a little cruel, as Vera’s timid soul must have been terrified. The daily had gone home at the first opportunity and no one had really expected to see her set foot in the house again.

  The gardener stood by a large bay window, as if he could not bear to be out of the daylight for long. Daphne Williams was staring at one of her own flower arrangements, looking, as ever, the epitome of genteel British womanhood. The party co-ordinator glowered beside her, looking most put out, and Jenny wondered what important function she’d been hijacked from.

  The Junoesque cook took the only other available chair, by the desk. It was instantly apparent why it was the only one free. Inspector Mollineaux was sat on the other side of the desk.

  ‘Now that we’re all here, I’d like to ask you all some questions on the actual running of the house,’ Mollineaux began, and Jenny shot him a quick, surprised glance.

  He’s lying, she thought instantly. He couldn’t care less how The Beeches was run. Something had broken. She suspected that the police had had to send the samples of food and wine to London, which had the sophisticated laboratories needed to analyse poisons. And no doubt the murder of the prominent businessman’s son at Rousham Green had been given top priority. Even so, they must have been very quick off the mark to come up with the goods so soon. And yet, here they all were.

  Jenny’s heart sank. This did not look good. It did not look good at all.

  ‘Mrs Williams. Perhaps you could start. You have help in cleaning the house?’

  ‘Yes. Two girls come in from the village on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.’

  ‘And you use what? Furniture polish? Wax? Disinfectant?’

  The tension in the room escalated as the others finally caught on. Mrs Williams frowned, but looked not at all uneasy. She proceeded to give the inspector a thorough and calm outline of the materials used to keep the house clean, where they were kept, where they were bought, and who had access.

  ‘And Chase. Your duties would include the upkeep of the silverware? Shoes? That sort of thing?’

  Taking his cue from the housekeeper, Chase also gave a thoroughly calm account of where the cleaning materials he used were kept. He tended to guard his territory a little more fiercely than did Mrs Williams, but all the materials were kept in unlocked cupboards where anybody, with a mind to it, might find and use them.

  ‘And, Thorne, isn’t it?’ Mollineaux turned to the gardener, one eyebrow raised.

  So that’s his name, Jenny thought. And how apt it was. His face was creased and darkened with the long years spent working out of doors, and his fierce scowl made him look like a prickly character.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re the head gardener here?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You work in the greenhouse? Amongst other places?’

  Jenny knew a leading question when she heard it, and stiffened. The greenhouse? What, exactly, was kept in the greenhouse? Unbidden, her mind flipped back to the first day she had arrived, when she’d toured the greenhouse in search of edibles. What had been in there exactly?

  When she remembered, she almost groaned out loud.

  The gardener, however, seemed oblivious. ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘You buy the fertilizer. And other substances?’

  ‘Ahh.’

  ‘Weedkiller, for instance,’ Mollineaux prompted silkily, and glanced at Jenny out of the corner of his eye. His lips almost twitched. She was staring morosely out of the window, already miles ahead of everyone else in the room – with the exception of the two policemen, of course.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You made the stuff in the bottle Sergeant Mollern found this morning. A derivative of rhubarb leaves, he tells me.’

  ‘That’s right. Powerful good stuff it is an’ all,’ the old gardener conceded comfortably.

  Mollineaux smiled. He couldn’t help it. Across the table, Jenny stiffened even more. Here it comes, she thought glumly.

  ‘And the paraquat. Did you buy the paraquat, Mr Thorne?’

  Even as the rest of the staff, alerted by the gentle tone Mollineaux had suddenly adopted, began to look anxious, the gardener only leaned complacently against the windowsill. ‘Ahh, but that was more’n twenty y
ears ago now. They don’t make it nowadays, see? T’weren’t much of it left, I reckon. I stopped using it ages ago.’

  Chase and Martha exchanged quick, assessing glances. Two natural allies, they were already thinking alike. How best to wangle out from under, while dropping somebody else well and truly in it. And Jenny didn’t need two guesses in order to name their first choice.

  ‘I see. Tell me, Thorne, apart from yourself, who else had access to the paraquat?’

  At the need for a more than one syllable word in answer, Thorne sighed. ‘Any ’un who went in t’greenhouse, I reckon.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mollineaux wrote the observation ostentatiously in his notebook and Jenny felt like slapping him. ‘Chase. Do you go into the greenhouse?’ he suddenly asked sharply.

  ‘No, sir. It’s not my province,’ the butler replied instantly.

  ‘No. Mrs Williams? You must go in. For flowers and such?’

  Daphne Williams cocked her head very elegantly to one side and thought for a moment. ‘Not really, sir. The greenhouse is mostly used for vegetables and fruits. Mr Greer insists on it. He’s a very practical man. I mainly gather flowers and such from the garden itself.’

  ‘I see.’ Mollineaux scratched his nose. ‘And your young girls? Would they have reason to go into the greenhouse?’

  The housekeeper, for the first time, looked angry. ‘Of course not. I supervise my girls very well. They get paid wages to clean the house, Inspector. I don’t let them go mooning off to the greenhouse.’

  ‘No. Quite. So that leaves you, Mrs Vaughan. As the cook, I imagine you’re in and out of the greenhouse a lot?’

  Everyone looked at Martha, who paled visibly. ‘Not recently I didn’t,’ Martha said shortly, expelling her breath so explosively she almost shouted. ‘I didn’t need to, did I? Not with her coming to do the party and all.’ Martha sniffed. ‘I didn’t have nothing to do with the food, did I?’ she reiterated, just in case she hadn’t hammered home her point quite enough. ‘In fact, there’s only one person here that I knows of that went into the greenhouse, because she came back with a list in her fancy notebook.’