Conflicted Innocence

by Netta Newbound

  “I doubt that—comfort eating because she loves her food, just like her mummy.”

  We both laughed.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind having her again? We shouldn’t be back as late this time.”

  Lee appeared in the hallway behind Lydia, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder.

  “Morning, Geri. I hear you got some good leads yesterday. James says you’re a natural.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I felt my cheeks redden. “But I really enjoyed myself.”

  “Well, you don’t need to worry about this little one. Lydia had a wonderful time yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry again about the problem you had. I don’t intend to take her back there in a hurry.”

  “You can’t blame them. I guess they thought they were just protecting this little one.” She bounced Grace on her hip.

  Grace chuckled and made a grab for Lydia’s dangly hoop earring and pulled.

  “Hey!” I reached for her pudgy fingers and pried them open. “Less of that, Missy-moo.” I blew raspberries on her hand, then turned back to Lydia. “I know what you mean, but, once she knew I was aware of the situation, why didn’t she let you take her? She’s my daughter, and surely it’s up to me to decide who she stays with—not her. First thing tomorrow, I’ll start looking around the other day care nurseries in the area.”

  James came out of our front door. “You ready to rock and roll, Geri? We need to get on the road before rush hour. Morning, Lydia, Lee.”

  *

  This time we went directly to the nursing home. An extremely tall woman with severely cut, jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes greeted us at reception.

  “Good morning. How may I help you?” When she smiled, I noticed the dark mulberry lipstick she wore had smeared on her teeth.

  James didn’t miss a beat. “We’re here to visit my Aunt—Monica.”

  “Fabulous, let me check where she is for you. I won’t be a tick.”

  She vanished through the same door we’d gone through yesterday, only to appear seconds later with Charlie Fenton.

  “Harold warned me you’d be back.”

  My heart sank.

  “I don’t appreciate being lied to,” he continued, his nostrils flaring.

  I felt the blood rush to my face for the second time that day, and looked at James hoping he’d be able to talk his way out of trouble.

  James, cool as a cucumber, smiled. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t mean to, but I felt it was easier to tell a white lie instead of putting you on the spot.”

  “So you are reporters?”

  “No. Is that what he told you? I’m an author. I write true crime novels, and the murder of Monica’s first husband is one of the subjects of my latest book. I need to see her one more time, please?”

  “No-can-do. I’m sorry.” His body language seemed to relax a little. “We’ve been told by her next of kin not to allow you anywhere near her, so it’s more than my job’s worth, I’m afraid.”

  “Not just for five minutes? You can stay with us if you prefer.”

  “Not for five seconds—I’m sorry.”

  “Fair enough.” James shrugged and, putting his hand on my elbow, led me from the building.

  “Now what?” I hissed, knowing he was far too calm not to have a backup plan.

  “Now we try to find another way in. You might have to go alone while I create a diversion.”

  “Me! No way—I couldn’t possibly.” I gulped.

  “Course you can—you’ll enjoy the buzz.”

  “What if I get arrested?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll bring you a cake with a file in it.” He raised his eyebrows comically.

  “I’m serious, James.”

  “So am I.”

  I nudged him playfully.

  We walked towards the car and, just as we got to the end of the path, James glanced back towards the reception. Suddenly, he scooted left along the side of the long grey building, yanking me with him.

  I felt like a criminal, and a bubble of laughter began at the pit of my stomach.

  As we rounded the corner, James abruptly stopped causing me to crash into the back of him.

  “James! Watch out!” I hissed.

  “Shhhh.” He pointed to two women dressed in kitchen whites leaning against the back wall, next to the only other door.

  The women were arguing about something. The older of the two threw her cigarette angrily, and after giving the other woman a mouthful, flounced back inside. The younger woman exhaled noisily, amid a cloud of dirty grey smoke, and shortly after followed her colleague.

  A lot of banging and clanging noises carried out of the door. “We can’t get in that way,” I whispered.

  “Wait there.” James edged his way closer to the building. I had no idea what he intended to do until he bobbed down and picked up the discarded cigarette from the ground. After studying it briefly, he put the dimp to his lips and took a hard pull at it.

  “James!” I shuddered. “You don’t even smoke.”

  He cringed and wiped his lips with his sleeve. “Come on,” he said, retracing his steps towards the front of the building.

  As we approached the main entrance, he took another pull on the cigarette and it glowed orange, then he threw it into the rubbish bin.

  Both leaning against the wall, we waited for what seemed like forever and nothing happened. Just as I was beginning to think the cigarette had gone out without causing any damage, a small plume of smoke rose from the bin. Within minutes, flames licked out of the top of it.

  “As soon as you get a chance, get in there,” James hissed. “Fire!” he then yelled, running into the reception, causing a rumpus, and emerged moments later with the tall receptionist and a fire extinguisher.

  As soon as they passed me, I quickly ducked inside and through the doorway leading into the large lounge. I dreaded bumping into Charlie again.

  Monica was sitting in the same seat overlooking the garden.

  “Hi, Monica,” I said, sitting down beside her.

  She didn’t respond, just continued staring out of the window.

  “Are you looking at the petunias?”

  She turned to face me. “Petunias are my favourite.”

  “I know. Mine too.”

  She waffled on, telling me the same as yesterday about the different types of petunias.

  I nodded, no idea how I would change the subject without freaking her out again. But I figured I had to just go for it. I didn’t have much time to waste.

  “Monica, do you remember I came to see you yesterday? You were telling me all about Damien, your first husband.”

  “Was I?” Her forehead creased and she scratched her cheek.

  “Yes. Don’t you remember? You told me how he was killed—you know—bang, bang!” I held my hand up like a gun the way she had yesterday.

  Monica turned to face the window again. “Deserved it, too,” she eventually said. “He wasn’t a good husband.”

  “But better than the one you ended up with.”

  She nodded again. “True.”

  “Was it Harold who pulled the trigger?”

  She frowned. “No. He was supposed to, but he chickened out at the last minute.”

  My stomach did a triple somersault. “Men!” I shook my head.

  Monica laughed. “Men!” she also said.

  “So who pulled the trigger in the end? Did the coward get somebody else to do it?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m your friend, remember? You were just about to tell me who shot Damien.”

  “Oh, that was me. I didn’t like it, though. It was messy. I didn’t expect to get his brains all over me.

  My entire body trembled at her cold-hearted confession. It took all my energy to keep my cool.

  “That would have been the worst thing. Not something you get over easily.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Which is why I didn’t do it again to Harold—figured I deserved everythin
g he did to me.”

  “Nobody deserves to be treated badly. Look at him, living the life of Riley while you’re shut up in here.”

  Her expression was troubled for a second.

  “What did you do with the gun?” I asked.

  “Harold wrapped it in my dress. Did you bring me some strawberries?”

  “No, sorry. I’ll bring you some next time.”

  “I love strawberries. I used to grow them, you know.”

  “You still didn’t tell me where you hid the dress, Monica.”

  “Harold took it to work and threw it away. Never found again. Do I know you?”

  “I’m Geraldine—your friend, remember?”

  “Are you here to fix my bed? It squeaks all night and lets the little people know I’m awake.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t fix beds.”

  The door flew open and Charlie charged through it. “Hey! What have I told you? You can’t be here.”

  “I’m sorry, Monica. I’ve gotta go.”

  “Try the bay,” she called after me.

  Feeling exhilarated, I ducked past Charlie, sped from the lounge and through reception to freedom.

  James was pacing the pavement beside the Jeep.

  “Quick! I got caught,” I huffed.

  We got in the car in record time and fled the scene, just as a red-faced Charlie reached the gate and bent double, his hands on his knees.

  “Woohoo! You were right—that was a buzz!” I squealed. “And you won’t believe what Monica told me.”

  “Go on—spill.”

  “Hang on. Let me get my breath back.”

  We turned the corner, and once we were far enough away James pulled over.

  My heartbeat had returned to a more normal rhythm and I turned to face him, a beaming smile on my face.

  “I was only freaking right—they did it.”

  “She told you that?”

  “I didn’t even have to persuade her. She sang like a little birdie.”

  “Go on. Tell me everything.”

  I relayed the whole story to him word for word. The blood pumped through my veins making me jittery, and my voice came out in short bursts.

  James put the car in gear and swung back into traffic.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back to Manchester to check out the cab office.”

  Chapter 28

  “Fancy a run out to show me the cottage tomorrow?” Lydia asked, standing behind him in the kitchen doorway as he lifted the boiling kettle.

  Lee shuddered and closed his eyes as he took a long controlled breath. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Lyddie.” His voice sounded much calmer than he felt.

  “We need to decide what we’re going to do with the place. If nothing else, we could probably do with putting it on the market,” she said.

  “There are too many things left to do before it can be sold. If we try to sell it in the state it’s in, we probably won’t even get what we paid for it.”

  “All the more reason to weigh it all up—get some quotes for the work.”

  “I don’t know, Lyddie. I don’t think I can face it.” He turned and handed her a steaming mug.

  “Thanks, babe.” She headed through to the dining area and placed the mug down on the table.

  He followed her.

  “Remember what you told me—it’s just a house.”

  He shrugged.

  “Say it.”

  “I don’t need to say it, I know it’s just a house, but I just can’t face going back there yet.”

  “Of course you can. If I managed to face this place after everything, then you can face the cottage. After all, those people meant nothing to you, and you weren’t even responsible for their deaths.”

  “I know, but...”

  “But nothing. It’s just a house, Lee.”

  He felt his shoulders sag at her words. She wanted him to be brave and face his fears, but how could he?

  “Maybe I’m not as brave as you think, Lyddie.” His voice cracked, and he could finally hear the raw emotion he had been feeling for weeks.”

  Lydia gasped, jumped from her chair and gripped him around the waist. “You are the bravest man I know. And we’re together, aren’t we? You don’t need to face this alone.”

  He nodded as long overdue tears filled his eyes and dripped down his face.

  She wiped the tears away, reached up onto her tiptoes and kissed his nose.

  His whole body sprang to attention. He bent to kiss her lips, lightly at first, but then the passion took over. He needed her immediately. And, for the first time in a long time, she welcomed his advances instead of shoving him away.

  As they were getting dressed, the sleeve of her blouse rolled up slightly and he noticed a bandage on her arm.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  She snatched her arm away and pulled the sleeve down. “Nothing,” she snapped.

  He took hold of her hand and rolled up the sleeve again. “The truth, Lydia?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “It’s nothing. Honestly.”

  “You won’t mind if I see for myself then, will you?” Lee picked off the white tape and began unravelling the bandage.

  Lydia began to sob.

  “Hey, Lyddie. What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

  She shook her head, her mouth opening and closing as though she couldn’t find the right words.

  He gasped when the bandage fell away, revealing an infected gash on her forearm. “What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I can’t help it.”

  “You mean you did this to yourself?”

  She nodded. “I don’t mean to. Just sometimes, it helps.”

  “Oh, Lydia. This has all been too much for you, hasn’t it?” He kissed her arm, gently. “You need to tell me when you’re not coping. Together we can deal with anything.”

  He held her until her tears had ceased. Then, the sound of Candice pounding down the stairs broke the moment, and Lee got to his feet.

  “Get dressed, love. I’m taking you to the doctor.”

  Lydia nodded, clearly relieved he knew her secret.

  Candice appeared in the doorway.

  “Eeew! Did you just...?”

  Lee and Lydia glanced at each other and burst out laughing.

  “Eew. You did—and on the table where we sit and eat! That’s disgusting!”

  Her raised voice woke Grace who had been sleeping in the lounge.

  “Shhh. Now see what you’ve done,” Lydia said, tucking her pale-blue blouse into the long, flowing skirt.”

  “Lydia?” Lee said softly as she reached the door.

  She turned back to face him.

  “We will go tomorrow. You’re right, it’s just a house.”

  She smiled and turned from the room.

  ***

  Jeannie sat filing her long, red nails as we entered the cab office.

  “Oh, hello again,” she said, smiling seductively at James.

  “Hey,” he said, giving her his sexiest grin, which amused me a little.

  She sat upright, allowing him a bird’s-eye view of her ample cleavage. She didn’t even acknowledge me.

  “Is Chris about?” James asked.

  “He’s just popped to the bakery for a pie—he won’t be long. Take a seat.”

  Within seconds of us sitting, James on the windowsill and me on the chair, Chris arrived, his hands loaded with several paper bags.

  “Don’t say I never give you ‘owt,” he laughed, plonking the bags down on the desk.

  Jeannie pointed to us.

  “Hey, Chris.” James got to his feet and reached for his hand.

  “Oh, hello again. How’s it hanging?”

  “I was wondering if you could spare a few more minutes, mate.”

  “Sure. Couldn’t Dad help you?”

  “Oh yes. He was very informative, but something else came to light since, and I just wanted to run it by you.”

  “You’d b
etter come on through.”

  We followed him through to his office.

  “So, how can I help you?” he asked once we were all seated.

  “Now, this is a very delicate situation. We’ve been given some information, but the person in question has dementia,” James said.

  “Dad hasn’t got dementia—he gets forgetful at times, but it’s not dementia.”

  James held his hands up, shaking his head. “No, sorry. I’m not talking about your dad.”

  “You’re not? Then who?”

  “A woman who used to be connected to this place. She told us the murder weapon had been hidden here somewhere.”

  “Here? In the cab office?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Where would they hide something here?”

  “We hoped you’d be able to help work that one out.”

  He pursed his lips to one side and shook his head. “Sorry, I have no idea. Maybe the old dear was pulling your leg.”

  James gave his own head a quick shake. “I don’t think so. She was probably just confused if anything. Do you think your old man might be up to another visit?”

  “I’m sure he is. Hold on, I’ll call him.

  *

  Alan met us eagerly at his front door once again and invited us through to the lounge.

  “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

  “No, thanks, Alan. We don’t intend to keep you too long. We just want to pick your brain again.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser.” Alan sat down and folded his arms around his knees. “Fire away.”

  “We think something may be hidden in the cab office.”

  “Something? What?”

  “Well, it’s possibly pie in the sky, but, the murder weapon.”

  “You mean the gun that killed Damien?”

  James nodded.

  “How? I don’t understand. He wasn’t shot at the cab office.”

  “I know, sir, but there is a slight possibility the gun was hidden there.”

  “That would mean it was one of us that did it! Is that what you’re saying? One of his workmates shot him?”

  James shrugged. “It may just be the rantings of a sick old woman, and it probably is, but we need to check it out.”

  “Did you report it to the police?”

  “No, like I said, it might not be worth involving them at this stage.”