‘Excuse me, can I just interrupt you there: “celery vee”?’
‘Erm, you know, when you mean, “oh, well, that’s the way things go”.’
‘Ah, c’est la vie.’
Cheryl cringed. He must think she was a real idiot. ‘I know I’m not putting this very well but I know that Lance Nettleton was the last person Edith wanted to inherit her house. She wanted me to have it because she knew I’d love it like she did.’
‘But there’s no actual evidence for your claims, other than what you’ve told me?’
She’d hooked his interest but it was slipping away. She needed to lie to make him go around there.
‘He admitted it,’ she said, crossing her fingers hard to authorise the fib. ‘He leaned into me and said, “I stopped you getting Brambles, didn’t I?” And he winked. Please, you must go and question him.’
‘Is that true?’
Cheryl quickly sat down on the edge of the sofa. ‘Yep. Sure as I’m standing here.’
‘Well, I’ve got your number. I’ll be in touch Mrs . . . er . . . Parker.’
‘Miss Parker. Thank you. Will you let me know? When do you think you’ll go?’
‘I’m not sure it will be today.’
Jesus, they should be up there with a full forensic team in half an hour and making Lance do a polygraph.
‘But you will let me know?’
‘I promise you someone from the department will be in touch with you,’ said DC Oakwell, not very convincingly.
When Cheryl put the phone down, she thought that it wouldn’t do any harm going back up to Brambles and telling Lance what she knew. If he thought the police were on to him, he just might be scared enough to incriminate himself. It was worth a try, for Edith.
Chapter 51
Della was quite impressed with the offices of F. U. J. Financial Holdings/Lady Muck on her first trip there early on Friday evening. It was a much more modern and open space to work in than the Diamond Shine office. And she noticed that the store cupboard was full of good quality cleaning products in case the girls wanted to use them rather than buy their own. Seeing them triggered off an idea in her head which she squirrelled away for later.
‘Jimmy thinks I’m shopping in Morrisons,’ Connie said. ‘Well, I will be after this but I thought we needed to touch base face to face for a catch-up. Plus I thought you’d like to see HQ for the first time.’
Della sat down stiffly on one of the two swivel office chairs. ‘Good idea. I like it and it’s very well situated. Handy being able to park at the back, too, so that no one will be able to see your car from the front.’
‘Yeah, I’ve been lucky. It’s not cheap, though. Especially when I think what our first office cost when we set up Diamond Shine.’
‘Where was that?’ asked Della.
‘Above a laundrette on Ketherwood Road. Godawful place, no heating. But we thought it was fabulous, because it all felt very real and exciting that we were in business.’ Connie delved into the bag in her mind which contained the remaining memories of those days. ‘ We had an old desk that we’d bought from a junk shop, two chairs, shelves made out of bricks and planks of wood. Oh, it was very high tech. Mum and I and Jimmy walked all over Barnsley posting leaflets through letterboxes in all weathers. In those days we worked as a team of equals.’ She felt a stab of sadness inside her breastbone. When had it all started to change? And why hadn’t she noticed it and done something about it before it was too late? She hopped back into the here and now.
‘Can I get you a coffee? Or a tea?’
‘Tea would be nice, please. Black, no sugar.’
Connie went off into the kitchen and Della sat waiting. She noticed a photo on Connie’s desk of a smiling woman holding a baby and a beautiful blonde at their side. She picked it up and studied it.
‘That’s my Jane and my mum and my auntie Marilyn,’ said Connie, returning with two mugs full of tea.
‘Marilyn? So that’s where you got the name from?’ said Della.
‘My auntie Marilyn could have ruled the world if she’d lived longer. Bloody womb cancer,’ said Connie with a sad smile. ‘She and my mum were wonderful women, but my aunt Marilyn was the beauty of the family. It helps me to think that I’m her when I’m ringing up trying to find clients.’
‘And have you found any more?’
‘Well I’ve got Gemma’s clients, of course, and Astrid’s, and a couple of enquiries trickled in today for house and office bombs, but they’re just one-offs.’ Connie looked down at the photograph as Della replaced it on the desk. ‘In the old days, me and my mum used to love doing bombs, gave us something to get our teeth into.’
‘Oh, your mum worked with you?’ Della took a cup from Connie. ‘Thank you.’
‘She was the most hard-working woman I ever met. Tough as nails and soft as cotton wool at the same time.’ She smiled and Della noticed the love in her eyes.
‘Is she still around?’
‘She died last year. Physically anyway. Mentally, she died long before that. Alzheimers. Bloody awful disease. I looked after her as long as I could but she needed specialist care. It broke my heart having to put her in Oak Lodge. But she was a living shell, a walking coma. I used to wish she’d just slip off during the night and be free. Then one night she did and I thought I was going to die with her.’ She coughed hard and turned away blinking.
‘My mother has Alzheimers too. She’s in Sunset Park,’ said Della.
‘That’s such a beautiful place,’ said Connie with a sad smile. ‘I would have liked Mum to have gone there.’
Della didn’t want to talk about her mother. She didn’t want to imagine what it must have been like to have a mum who was also her best friend. She felt the loss of that relationship keenly, even though she’d never had it to lose.
‘So, back to business,’ she said. ‘We have to get Hilda to leave Diamond Shine. She doesn’t like change. She’ll stick faster than a limpet with a super-glued foot until she’s forcibly winkled off her rock.’
‘How do we do that, then?’
‘I’m not sure yet. But I’ll think of something. There has to be way, there is always a way.’
‘Oh, before I forget.’ Connie opened a drawer in the desk and handed over an envelope. ‘It’s your wage from Lady Muck,’ she explained.
‘Thank you,’ said Della, taking it, though it gave her no joy to. If she allowed herself to really think about what she was doing she would be disgusted with herself, because it was against all her principles of loyalty and made her feel more than a little grubby.
‘How are things in the office? Is he giving any clues to what’s happening next between him and . . . her?’ Connie asked, after taking a small sip of tea, but it was too hot.
‘There was a slip-up last week when Ivanka told Jimmy off for something he’d said and he was clearly afraid that I’d picked up on it. He knew that I was surprised because it all happened too fast for me to stop myself reacting. I suspect there were words said about that between them.’
‘Jimmy’s been very restless at home,’ said Connie. ‘Anxious. Like a cat on hot bricks.’
‘He’s convinced that Roy Frog doctored the website out of some sort of revenge, because he hates Jimmy yet he knows he’ll have to sell out to him sooner or later, and that’s certainly the theory I’m fuelling. He believes that Astrid and Gemma have gone to work for Cleancheap not knowing that he will likely end up as their boss again in the near future, and that’s making him feel very clever and smug. He has plans to grind poor old Roy Frog into the ground when the day of negotiation comes for stooping to the level of taking on his staff and hacking his passwords.’
‘Oh dear,’ replied Connie. ‘He’s got that all a bit wrong, hasn’t he? Poor Mr Frog.’ And she laughed, and Della found herself smiling with her.
‘I tried to get him to buy me a new car last weekend,’ sighed Connie, ‘but he said the business couldn’t afford it. That annoyed me.’
‘I can imagine.’<
br />
‘What does she look like? Ivanka?’
‘Erm . . .’ Della found that she wanted to tilt any description to the unflattering, despite the fact that she didn’t want to feel sorry for Connie. She didn’t want to feel anything for Connie if she could help it.
‘She’s tall and long-legged with long dark-blonde hair but they’re those extension things and the colour doesn’t quite match. She’s slimmish but she’s put on a fair bit of weight since she started working for us.’ She didn’t add that she suspected it was through all the fine dining Jimmy had introduced her to.
‘Pretty?’
‘She’s not my idea of pretty,’ said Della, which was true. ‘She’s got full lips and a little nose and wears a lot of makeup, because she’s very spotty. I confess I liked her to start with, before I realised what an expert liar she was. She’s getting more arrogant with every passing day. I have no doubt she is gearing up for being boss-lady, which is why I shall shortly be going on the sick to let her rule her potential kingdom. She has a lot more faith in her abilities than I do.’
‘Do you think he loves her, Della?’ Connie asked, trepidation flooding the brave question that Della suspected she really didn’t want to know the answer to. She didn’t want to know the answer to it herself either. But yes, she did believe Jimmy might be in love; he was certainly going to a lot of trouble for Ivanka.
‘I think he’s definitely infatuated. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a mid-life crisis thing.’
‘Well, if it is, and it fizzles out I shan’t be around to pick up the pieces and try and patch my marriage together, just in case that had crossed your mind.’ Della noticed how Connie’s eyes were locked on the photo on her desk as she spoke. Then she snapped them away and looked straight at Della. ‘It’s not happening fast enough. What can we do?’
At that moment it came back to Della what she had been thinking when she looked at the stores cabinet.
Chapter 52
Cheryl knew that Lance was in because his car was outside and she’d just seen a curtain jerk closed upstairs, but he wasn’t answering the door when she hammered on it.
‘I want to talk to you, Lance Nettleton,’ she shouted through the letterbox, feeling braver as she spotted the Watsons from across the lane step out of their front door; she knew now they were totally on her side. ‘You murdered Edith. I know it and you know it.’
The door to Brambles was suddenly ripped open and there stood lanky Lance with his dyed black hair and stupid moustache as if someone had drawn a line on his top lip with a thick Sharpie.
‘Piss off or I’ll call the police.’
‘I’ve called them myself and they’re coming up,’ hissed Cheryl and just for a moment, she saw him blanch.
‘I’ve told them all about you stealing cheques from Edith’s chequebook and how you heard Edith say that she was leaving her house to me and so you killed her,’ she shouted, loud enough for the Watsons to hear because they would spread it around, she was certain of that. ‘She would never have gone upstairs with a ladder. You killed her because she had disinherited you, you slimy, vile, creepy—’
Lance stormed forward and grabbed Cheryl’s arm, then as quickly released it, when he realised he could be laying himself open to a possible charge of assault.
‘I’m going to have you up for slander,’ he barked at her.
‘You can’t, because slander’s when you tell lies and I’m not because you really are a murderer. Why did you tell me she was lying down and couldn’t come to the phone when she was already dead? Why did you keep the funeral a secret? I’ll tell you why: because you wanted her cremated to destroy any evidence . . .’
‘There was no evidence because there was no crime, you stupid cow. Now fuck off,’ Lance screamed and Cheryl knew he was rattled.
‘She wanted to be buried next to her husband and you denied her that. You’re scum and the police will find that out.’ Oh how she wanted to fly at him and hurt him, like he hurt her lovely old friend.
She turned to the Watsons and called over, ‘You tell everyone what he did. He mustn’t get away with it.’
When she turned back, Lance had scuttled back into the house, pulling the door shut behind him and locking it. She opened her mouth to shout some more, but she had done what she came for and was spent. Another couple of people across the lane were framed in their doorways observing the drama and Mrs Watson was scurrying over to enlighten them. Cheryl straightened her back and walked over to the bus stop. If only what she had just done had changed anything; but it hadn’t. At least the smarmy git hadn’t got Edith’s money. The original will had bequeathed all her money to the local cats’ home. It was just a shame that a much shadier animal got the rest.
Chapter 53
The house phone rarely rang for Connie these days, even though there was a time when she never seemed to be off it, talking to doctors, nurses or staff at Oak Lodge; but never a gossipy, swap-news, catch-up conversation and she so wished she had someone that she could talk to now and confide in. Ironically, based on those credentials, the nearest thing she had to a friend was Della. Her enemy was the best friend she never had – what did that tell her about the state of her life?
So when it rang that Sunday morning she expected it to be for Jimmy, but it wasn’t.
‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Jane! How good to hear from you, love. Are you back from your holiday then?’
‘Last night. I sent you a postcard, did you get it?’
Connie laughed. ‘No, love, but you know what the post is like and I hear that American post is especially bad, isn’t it? Did you have a good time? Was the weather nice?’
‘Yes, very and no, it was freezing,’ Jane laughed. ‘Mum, I’m flying over next Sunday. It’s just a shortie – I’ll be there a few hours. Anders has a meeting in Leeds and I said I’d come with him. Any chance I could take you for lunch?’
‘There is every chance, my darling,’ said Connie giddily. ‘I’ll tell your father. He’d love to see you.’
Jane gave a small dry laugh. ‘I think we both know he won’t give a damn so I’d rather you didn’t say anything. I really mean that. Besides, I want to talk to you in private.’
Connie felt a wave of sadness wash over her. She wished she could travel back in time and change so many things, one of the main ones being the relationship between her daughter and her father. He hadn’t given her what she had needed most: his time and attention. It was worse than not having a father around at all. Now that Connie knew he didn’t have time to take his daughter to the pictures or the zoo because he was supposedly working so hard, yet had enough of it to escort floozies to places of interest, her blood could have boiled until it flew out of her veins. ‘Okay love, you just tell me where and when and I’ll be there. You are all right, aren’t you?’ Connie didn’t like the sound of that ‘want to talk to you in private’ line.
‘Of course I am,’ Jane laughed and her mother’s anxiety went back to bed. ‘ We will have a long natter next week. Antonio’s? I’ll text you with the time. How are you? Everything okay?’
‘Yes, everything’s fine.’ Apart from the fact that your dad is a lying tosser with a secret mistress and I’m spending your inheritance on Windolene. ‘Just fine, love.’
*
The police hadn’t called Cheryl by Sunday morning, which had really annoyed her, though she had sort of expected it; but she had no intention of letting them forget her and was going to ring them again Monday morning. The one good thing was that she was so obsessed with gathering any detail which would constitute a case against Lance that Chartreuse Clamp and Gary and his lucky sausage episode was pushed to the back of her mind. Then, just as she was about to make herself an omelette for lunch, there was a knock on the door.
She looked through the window to see a man in a dark woollen coat standing outside. She put the chain on the door before opening it and felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck because he looked very official.
&nb
sp; ‘Cheryl Parker?’ said the man. ‘DC Oakwell. We spoke on the phone on Friday. I wonder if I could come in.’ He held up a black leather-type wallet holding a warrant card with his photo on it. He’d had his hair cut since the picture was taken, she noticed. It was much shorter now and a touch more grey. She’d imagined DC Oakwell to be older when she’d talked to him on the phone, and slightly built, like Jack Frost. She hadn’t expected him to be so tall and smart or attractive. She thought he might have a very nice smile, although he wasn’t exhibiting one at the moment because he was wearing a strict face of authority. But a home visit could only be good news, couldn’t it? They were taking her seriously after all. She was delighted to open the door.
‘Come in,’ she smiled. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Er, no thank you,’ he said stiffly, taking a small notepad and pen out of his inner coat pocket. A drift of his aftershave tickled her nose and she found herself breathing it in deeply. It was, as Astrid might have put it, a proper man smell.
‘So, did you go and see Lance Nettleton?’ Cheryl asked him excitedly. ‘Did you find out any information?’
‘I did go up there, yes,’ replied DC Oakwell. ‘And I did speak to Mr Nettleton, who denies that he made any admittance to pushing his aunt down the stairs . . .’
Cheryl huffed, before she was cut off, ‘Well, he would say that, wouldn’t—’
‘Look, I have to warn you that Mr Nettleton is considering making a formal complaint against you.’
Cheryl’s eyes rounded and she placed her finger on her chest. ‘Wha-at? Me? Are you joking?’
‘No, Miss Parker, I’m not joking at all,’ said DC Oakwell, who certainly didn’t look as if he had much humour in him. ‘From what he tells me, you went up there throwing stones at his window to alert his attention—’
‘I most certainly did not . . .’
‘. . . and accusing him of murdering his aunt, deliberately maligning him in front of the neighbours even though there is no evidence to support that. You can’t just throw allegations around like that, you know.’
Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Café Page 22