Cherringham--Follow the Money

by Neil Richards

  Slowly.

  This was all so strange.

  To see their home this way.

  To think … people did this while they were sipping wine, eating Helen’s delicious food.

  Terry turned and headed back downstairs. She waited until she heard him banging and clattering down in the kitchen, then turned to inspect the other side of the wardrobe.

  *

  It took Alan Rivers only minutes to drive to their house.

  Claire always liked him — though she had heard grumblings that he wasn’t the sharpest policeman into the world.

  Still, he seemed nice.

  He looked properly concerned.

  He had pulled out a pad to write down the details of what they had seen upon coming home.

  “And you haven’t checked for other stolen items? Made an inventory?”

  Terry answered for them both.

  “No. I mean, we’ve seen enough. Figured you might want to get cracking on the case.”

  Alan nodded.

  “Computer. Jewellery. But they missed your laptop, right Mrs. Goodman?”

  She nodded.

  “And valuable silverware?”

  “I haven’t checked that,” she said quietly.

  “Right. We’ll need as compete a list as you can. So will your insurer. You have theft insurance, I assume?”

  “Damn right we have!” Terry said.

  Knowing Terry, Claire guessed that whatever list he generated would have more than a few non-existent items on it.

  “So Alan, how did they do all this and not trigger my alarm?”

  The officer didn’t immediately answer.

  Instead he walked to the front door.

  He opened the keypad just to the left as you entered the home.

  “Operates by code, right?”

  “Yup.”

  Another nod from Alan.

  “And you two … are you the only people who know that code?”

  “Yes. Well, no,” Terry said. “Our son Olli — Oliver. He knows it, of course. And the people who put it in. Think they could know it?”

  Alan turned away from the box.

  “Not if you set your own code, secretly, after they installed it. Something to check on anyway.”

  “So, how’d the robber do it?”

  Terry might be confused, thought Claire.

  But she could easily figure out what Alan Rivers was about to say.

  “Someone got in, jimmying a door or a window somewhere. That’s something else we’ll need to check. Then they have a certain amount of time before the alarm goes off, the alert goes to the monitoring company … then to us.”

  “That’s thirty seconds,” Terry said.

  “Quite long,” Alan said taking a step closer to the both of them.

  “Well,” Terry grinned, “if I’ve been out with my mates, having a few, I don’t want to screw things up by rushing.”

  Alan turned and looked directly at Claire.

  “On a night like that,” Alan said to her, “with your husband out, you’d go to bed? House all locked up, with Mr. Goodman out? Alarm on?”

  Claire nodded.

  “I’d worry if I didn’t,” she said, “We’re quite isolated down here. And Terry, well he always managed to get the code in.”

  Alan seemed to consider this.

  Terry pressed him. “So, what you think? Where does your investigation start?”

  “It has started … Though the robber leaving your gun, even that TV, and missing the other computer. All seems very amateurish to me. Rushed.”

  “And all the chairs being knocked over, like they just tore through the place.”

  Alan nodded.

  “It’s confusing. I’ll check on things, the door locks, the alarm. But I have to be honest with you. A lot of break-ins — even in Cherringham when they happen, which isn’t often — they go unsolved. People recover, claim on the insurance, get more security.”

  “I’ll kill the bastard that did this.”

  There he goes again, Claire thought. Always with his language.

  “Hope not, Mr. Goodman. That would be one way to make things worse. Just let me do my job, sir.”

  Terry nodded at that.

  “Now you’d best lock up. Change that code, by the way. And I will keep you posted on things.”

  Claire saw her husband nod.

  Then the police officer turned, ready to walk away.

  But he stopped.

  “But I have to tell you. If the alarm was working — meaning that someone knew the code — well, that … I don’t know …”

  He paused. Then said only, “Good night.”

  She watched as the Cherringham police officer walked out of their house.

  Her beautiful house that now felt cold and violated.

  And Terry shut the door as Alan walked down the steps to his patrol car.

  3. A Secret

  Sarah dashed out of the building, hurrying to Jack’s Sprite where he had … the top down!

  “Sorry,” she said opening the door and getting in. “Had to make sure Grace was all set for a conference call on a new account.”

  Jack started the engine. A throaty rumble that always signalled that this little sports car was no generic vehicle for picking up groceries and ferrying kids to school and football matches.

  He started to back up out of the parking space. At this time of year, with no tourists, there was always space in the middle of Cherringham.

  “Grace up to it?”

  “Absolutely,” Sarah replied. “Well, to be honest, she is a bit nervous, but if we want to expand the business she will have to tackle things like this on her own.”

  “Is it a test?”

  “More like practice. Who knows — she might be better with the networking and people skills than I am.”

  “Doubt that,” Jack said smiling.

  He started down the main road out of the village that took them past the Ploughman’s and down to the toll bridge.

  “And Jack — top down? It’s nearly winter.”

  “Operative word there is ‘nearly’. I like to hang onto these days racing around in the open air as long as possible.”

  He loved this car, she thought.

  Jack was someone who had lived a full life in NYC — then lost so much.

  It was great that the bouncy little sports car gave him so much pleasure.

  And after they’d gone through the toll, he turned to her.

  “So, I’m very glad we’ve been invited for lunch at your mom’s. But any clue what it’s about?”

  And Sarah had none.

  “No. She just said she’d like us to come over. Lunch and all that, but she also had something ‘to discuss’.”

  “Seems like mother and daughter both like mysteries …”

  She turned to him. “To be honest, it’s very unusual. Mum’s usually pretty up front about what she’s thinking. This — well, it’s totally out of character.”

  “Will be interesting then.”

  “Yes, I think it will. And Jack … brrrr.”

  “Too windy?”

  She laughed.

  “You might say that.”

  He grinned. “Okay, okay. Top goes up for the ride back.”

  “You’re a star.”

  “Anything for my partner in crime.”

  And hearing those words, Sarah felt that there was nothing better than driving around like this, top down, chilled, with such a good friend.

  *

  Sarah’s mum, Helen, led them into the sitting room, a tray of sandwiches and tea cups all set.

  Music playing. Opera.

  “Helen, ‘La Traviata’. Callas as Violetta?”

  “Jack! You do know your opera.”

  “Fantastic voice — and actress. Just wish I had seen her ‘live’.”

  Sarah had even started listening more bravely to opera, guided by Jack’s recommendations.

  And she could see its power, the overwhelming drama o
f the music, the stories.

  They had talked about going to Covent Garden for a performance, as soon as the crazy workload had got a bit easier.

  “Do sit down …”

  “Mum, can I help?’

  Helen shook her head.

  Sarah could tell that despite the beautiful music filling the room, the plaintive sounds of Callas seemingly floating about the orchestra, her mother seemed … what?

  Distracted?

  Agitated?

  Something was up, and that didn’t put Sarah at ease at all.

  “No, I just need to get the tea. That’s all set. A nice lunch for you.”

  Jack had already taken a seat, letting the music work its charms.

  She wondered if he could tell she was picking up on something from her mother.

  She guessed that he did.

  But Jack could always be patient.

  She took a seat on the other side of the table with sandwiches and her mum’s best tea service.

  *

  And of course they had to wait until that first sip.

  Ceremony must be observed.

  Sarah tried to keep her anxious thoughts at bay.

  Then: “Jack, did you see I got some bagels, you being a New Yorker and all that. I know how you must love them.”

  Sarah looked at Jack as he reached down and grabbed one of the puffy doughnut shaped items, followed by a bite.

  “Helen, you bet I do. So thoughtful!”

  In fact, Sarah knew that Jack found the local incarnation of the famous New York bagel, while physically resembling a bagel, was actually miles away in taste.

  Literally!

  Of course, he’d be as gracious as could be to her mum.

  The egg and cress sandwiches, on the other hand, were truly delicious. Not an average egg mayonnaise … was there some chutney in there? Pickle?

  I’ll need to get that recipe, Sarah thought.

  And still they hadn’t got to the reason for this luncheon.

  Finally her mum put down her teacup and plate with a half-eaten sandwich.

  She looked at them both.

  “So, the reason I asked you two here … well, I have this friend. Claire Goodman. And she and her husband, their place was robbed the other night …”

  “Alan on the case?” Jack asked.

  Helen nodded. “Yes. He’s talked to them, been over to the house. Everything I’m sure that the police are supposed to do.”

  “They live in Cherringham?” asked Jack.

  “Over at Planter’s Croft,” said Helen. “You know, that little development further down the river?”

  Sarah knew the houses. Two acres of fine riverside land on which four ‘executive’ homes had recently been built in landscaped grounds.

  “Not short of a bob or two then,” said Sarah.

  “I’ve seen the houses from the river,’ said Jack. “Couple of million a shot, huh?”

  “And some,” said Sarah, waiting for her mum to continue.

  Sarah didn’t have a clue where this was heading.

  Her mother had seemed to prefer not talking about what she and Jack did, except for the occasional, slightly nervous … you will be careful now, Sarah, won’t you?’

  “Well, Helen,” said Jack. “I imagine Alan will do what he can.”

  Helen nodded at first, then looked away.

  Then, when turning back …

  “That’s just it. He can’t you see. Because — well, he doesn’t know everything.”

  Sarah saw Jack look over, eyebrows arched.

  This tête-à-tête over egg mayonnaise sandwiches was proving interesting to him as well.

  “And why is that, mum?” Sarah finally asked.

  And Helen revealed the secret that only she knew.

  *

  Her mum’s account began with the dinner party — her new friend in the Oratorio Society, and her rough-around-the edges husband. The pair of them going home to a house that had been ransacked.

  Jack asked what had been taken.

  “That’s just it, Jack. The robbers took some things. A computer here, Claire’s jewellery. Left the big TVs, the silverware, the whole place in a shambles.”

  “Must have Alan confused,” Jack said.

  “Oh, I’m sure it does. But you see, everything was a mess — cushions pulled out of chairs, mattress off the bed, and the wardrobe … clothes tossed to the floor, shelves emptied. As if they were looking for something.”

  Her mother was taking a bit of time to get to the point, Sarah noticed.

  But nonetheless, they finally seemed to close to the issue at hand.

  “You see, Claire told me, that they were definitely looking for something else.”

  “Hmmm,” Jack said.

  “Yes. Something else that in the end … they found.”

  “And what was that, mum?” Sarah asked.

  “Why — her ‘running away’ money! Nearly 20,000 pounds, and all of it gone!”

  “Hang on,” Jack said, grinning. “’fraid you have me stumped there. ‘Running away’ money?”

  Sarah had heard the term. Something even some of her friends back in London talked about.

  So she explained just exactly what that was to Jack.

  *

  “Maybe it’s a British thing, Jack. But wives are often encouraged by their mothers to gather a bit of money as the years go by in a marriage. Gather it, hide it. Then, if things turn sour, instead of having nothing … they’d have something to — well — ‘run away’ with. To get away. A bit of independence.”

  “And all very secret?” Jack said, turning back to Helen.

  “Oh, yes. I mean what husband would want his wife pocketing cash, stowing it away for some unfortunate day when the marriage simply had to be escaped? I regret I never mentioned the idea to Sarah here.”

  Sarah nodded.

  When her marriage ended due to her husband’s cheating, she was indeed left scrambling.

  Fortunately her parents were willing to help, at least till she got back on her feet and could support herself.

  “Wait a second,” Jack said. “I think I see the problem. The robbers came, found the money — but Claire Goodman didn’t tell Alan about it?”

  “Precisely. I mean, how could she? If she told Alan, he would have to talk to her husband about it. Then he’d know. It would be just terrible. And now — she has none of the cash.”

  “Mum. I’m beginning to see where you’re going with this …”

  Helen tilted her head as if it couldn’t really be that obvious.

  “You do? I really debated having you two over. I discussed it with Michael, of course. And Claire. She was reluctant. But I said — you Sarah, Jack — well, she could trust the two of you with her life.”

  “And her secret …” Jack said.

  Helen nodded.

  Then Helen leaned forward.

  “Could you look into it? I mean, I hear what great things you’ve done in the village. Helping people. Regular Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, the two of you.”

  Jack laughed at that.

  “Now there’s an image of myself that I had never imagined.”

  “Me neither,” said Sarah. “Miss Marple? Thanks mum.”

  “Oh come on darling,” said Helen. “You know what I mean …”

  Sarah looked at Jack.

  Would he be interested in this?

  After all, it could be messy. A possibly rocky marriage, nosing around things while keeping someone else’s secret?

  Finally Jack put his hands together.

  Sarah knew that sign.

  He was in.

  “Helen, how about this.” A look to Sarah. “If Sarah’s game … we can talk to Alan. Say that you mentioned what happened to the Goodmans. Would he mind us looking around? Asking a few questions?”

  “And nothing about the money?”

  “Nada,” Jack said. ”Secret kept. Until — maybe, if and when we find out anything. Then, well we’ll see.”


  “Her husband, that Terry, he mustn’t know about the money.”

  “Gotcha,” said Jack.

  “And will Alan be okay with the two of you? I mean, he is the police officer.”

  Again Jack laughed.

  “I do think your local constable has become quite comfortable with having us around.”

  Sarah’s mum looked at her

  “He used to like you, Sarah. Maybe still does.”

  Sarah shook her head.

  Nothing her mother would like more than for her to be married again.

  And even better to the local, upstanding police officer.

  “That was when I was still at school, mum. Ages ago.”

  “All I’m saying is that if someone holds a candle for you this long, well you know what I mean, maybe it’s time you started thinking …”

  Sarah stared at her mother, thinking … not now, please.

  Her mother got the message and didn’t go on.

  Jack filled the silence. “Sounds like a plan to you, Helen?”

  “Yes. It’s what I hoped. She’s such a sweet woman. And her singing voice? You both must come to the concert.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  Jack stood up.

  “So Miss Marple and I need to plan what to do, hmm?”

  “Watch it Jack,” said Sarah.

  Helen stood up.

  “And mum, when you get a chance, that egg mayonnaise recipe would be great.”

  That made Helen beam.

  And she walked them to the door.

  Her mother was from a different generation; had seen things that Sarah could only imagine.

  But despite Sarah’s own fear about coming back to Cherringham when her London life imploded, to go home again, she had never felt closer to her parents.

  And as her mother stood at the doorway, she walked with Jack back to his Sprite.

  And true to his word, he had started putting the top up.

  “Hey! No, Jack. It’s okay. Turned a shade warmer. The sun, the air. It’s nice out now. Leave it down?”

  “Was hoping you’d say that.”

  And she got in, looking forward to the plans they’d make and really hoping they could help her mother … and her mother’s now-trapped friend.

  4. A Conundrum

  Jack settled back in the passenger seat of Sarah’s RAV-4 but didn’t take his eyes off the road. It wasn’t Sarah’s driving that made him nervous, but even after two years living here these crazy thin English roads were still nerve-wracking.