‘What the hell is a Life Guide?’ asked Mr Murphy.
‘Um… it’s….’ I cleared my throat and turned my attention to Ms Chapman. ‘I’d like you to meet Jess,’ I said. ‘She’s a private detective. Like me, actually. We have reason to believe that the Carmichaels’ latest will has been forged.’
‘I am?’ said Jess. ‘I mean…Yes. We’ve just been examining the evidence.’
‘Private detectives?’ Mr Murphy snorted. ‘Yes, girlies, and I’m Donald Trump.’
I held out the two wills, hoping (probably too late) that I wouldn’t end up in jail for theft.
‘I wondered where they’d gone,’ said Ms Chapman and quickly reached out.
‘Not so fast,’ said Jess and pulled them away. ‘We’ve examined both documents. We know you’ve forged Walter’s signature on a second will and set up two bogus charities. The four hundred thousand pounds designated for Bluebell Children’s Home and Wildlife Watch is going to go straight to you.’
‘How dare you suggest such a thing!’ said Mr Murphy, purple in the face. ‘Beth Chapman is one of the most respected solicitors in Harpenden. This is slander.’
‘So you know nothing about it?’ I said to him. ‘The fake charity websites and contact details, set up in an E. Chapman’s name? A calligraphist we know has confirmed that Walter’s signature had been faked. We’re sure our… our contacts in the police will confirm the same…’
‘Why did you get Walter to change solicitors?’ said Jess to Mr Murphy.
‘To save him money. Not that it’s any business of yours. We became very close and…ow!’
He jumped, as if he’d been poked in the ribs. Naughty Walter!
‘Look…’ I said, quietly. ‘Don’t ask me how I know, but own up – you and Walter weren’t exactly best buddies. I’m not saying you didn’t become fond of him, but talk about going over the top… Why make all that stuff up?’
‘You can’t speak to me like that!’
‘Well, he hasn’t left you a single personal item,’ said Jess. ‘That’s dead odd. And you haven’t even put aside… I dunno, that painting of him for yourself.’
‘That proves nothing!’
‘Why did you get Walter to change solicitors?’ she repeated.
His face shone with beads of sweat. ‘All right… Look, we might not have been like father and son but I wanted the best for him. Beth is an old friend. I knew she’d give us a good deal on writing up the new will and selfishly, seeing as it was going to be me involved with sorting everything out after Uncle snuffed it, I wanted someone I knew was going to be easy to work with and professional. I’m a busy man.’ He shrugged. ‘And I’m not a total moron. I know what everyone thinks – that I’ve only been interested in Walter’s money. But that’s wrong. When he fell ill I felt kind of guilty that I’d not visited more often since Auntie Lily died – especially as they’d had no kids. And I think, in his own way, Walter appreciated it – even though I could tell I irritated him. We didn’t have a huge amount in common. But we got closer.’
‘So it was his idea to leave a good amount of his estate to you?’ asked Jess.
He nodded. ‘I asked him to think about it. I mean, sure, the money’s welcome but as my bank accounts would prove, I’m doing very well for myself, thank you. I don’t need Uncle Walter’s inheritance.’ He half-smiled. ‘Although it’ll be nice to book a dream-of-a-lifetime trip to the States… But it’s not like I’ve even got a shopaholic wife and sprogs to support. I think Walter was hoping that one day I’d settle down and have the kids he never could, even though I told him that was unlikely. Plus, as part of the deal, he made me promise to give regularly to my own charities.’ He pulled a face. ‘That was the hardest bit but I’ve looked around and there’s one up in Manchester I’m going to donate to, for professionals who end up homeless.’ He shuddered. ‘I can’t think of anything worse. Just imagine if…’
Whilst he was rambling, Ms Chapman’s eyes had glazed over. In fact, she’d been suspiciously quiet.
‘You said Beth was an old friend?’ I interrupted.
‘We used to… She’s an ex-girlfriend,’ he muttered and loosened his tie.
‘I was a bit more than that, Mikey,’ she said in a tight voice. ‘We almost put down roots together, at one point.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ I asked. They seemed well-matched and both were business people who clearly still got on.
‘Mike wasn’t ready to settle down – didn’t want to commit… But that was a long time ago,’ she said and forced a laugh.
‘How long?’ asked Jess.
‘Eight years,’ said Mike.
‘And five months,’ she snapped.
Wow. Talk about bitterness in her voice. Perhaps Mike had an affair…
‘No one else was involved,’ said Mike, as if he’d read my mind. ‘I just didn’t want the whole wedding and kids package – still don’t.’ He shrugged. ‘These things happen,’ said Mike. ‘I did us both a favour in the long run.’
‘You’ve not met anyone since?’ I asked her.
She sniffed. ‘No one wants a dried up career woman who can’t have kids.’
‘But we never wanted children!’ he said.
Her cheeks flushed purple. ‘You never were good at reading in between the lines. You were my last shot, Mikey,’ she hissed. ‘When we got engaged I could feel my body gearing up for the menopause. I thought if I told you how I really felt – that I was desperate for a baby – it would have put you off and I’d lose my last chance.’ She pulled off her glasses, yanked out a tissue from her trouser pocket and cleaned them until they shone.
‘Beth? The fake will… Do you know what these two are talking about? I thought the break-up was behind us – all these years, you’ve never mentioned it again.’ He shook his head. ‘What were you going to do if we’d stayed together? Accidentally get pregnant?’
‘I thought you’d come around to the idea.’
‘You always were good at winning arguments,’ he muttered. ‘These charities…the four hundred thousand… Why, Beth? Jess and Kimmy are right, aren’t they? I mean, you’re obsessive about detail, I remember how you used to check just your phone bill a dozen times. Any apparent “mistakes” on a document like that, drawn up by you, like charity names, that wouldn’t be accidental.’
We all jumped as the knocker rapped loudly on the front door. I went to open it. Luke and Melissa were there, her arm linked in his.
‘The police are on their way,’ said Luke.
‘You of all people should understand,’ said Beth in a small voice, to Melissa. ‘I bet you’ll take your husband to the cleaners, now he’s done the dirty on you.’
‘It was a long time ago,’ said Mr Murphy. ‘Beth – you need to move on.’
‘That’s precisely what I intended to do. Amongst other things, that money was going to pay for fertility treatment. I’ve spent all my savings and so far it’s failed. This is my only hope.’ She shook her fist.
Poor Beth – despite her sneering attitude, I felt sorry for her. At that moment the police arrived and a male officer hurried forwards and stood in between the former love birds.
‘Folks, let’s all calm down,’ he said.
‘Calm down?’ Beth screeched. ‘I’ve waited years to call in this debt. He ruined my life! Giving me a few measly grand is the least he can do.’
As a female officer steered Beth firmly into the lounge, I hurried into the kitchen, put on the kettle and glanced around… Thank goodness the baking utensils I needed were still left. I grabbed a mixing bowl and my silicone cupcake moulds. Sponge and chocolate, that’s what everyone needed, to induce a friendlier mood.
‘We did it, Walter,’ I whispered and tipped sugar onto the scales. ‘Everything will be in order soon. Now you’ll soon be at those Pearly Gates. Lily won’t have to wait anymore.’ My chest squeezed. The house would feel strange without him – although I had a busy week ahead. A week today was Monday the twenty-fifth. Apart from anything els
e, I had Christmas food to buy.
A gust of cold air gently tickled my neck and I heard three very light, skippity-jumppity thuds – plus the faint sound of the familiar White Christmas music. My cheeks glowed. So what if Mistletoe Mansion was bare and I might spend next Monday just with Jess? I had new friends. A great career ahead of me. Things could have been a lot worse.
Something bleeped and I reached for my phone. It was a text.
“Had 2 go – Melissa wants me 2 look at her guttering – but got surprise 4 U at market on Sat. U’ll never guess wot. Luke.”
Chapter 31
Oh my. Talk about white Christmasses. As the week progressed, the air became crisper than a Pringle from a newly opened tube. It was Saturday, the day of the Harpenden Christmas Market, and yay! Me and Jess had woken up to a carpet of sparkling snow. The impossible had happened – it made Badgers Chase look even prettier than usual. This would be great in the future, I told Jess, when she had the little one – it would give us an excuse to play in the snow.
Jess must have been feeling better, cos she’d chortled and said ‘Who needs an excuse?’ Cue both of us, outside in our boots and dressing gowns, pounding each other with snowballs. I know. Mature or what? But deep snow only came around now and again. If only we had a sledge to slide across the garden on. Mind you, in Jess’s condition that wouldn’t be wise. Perhaps, instead, I could pull my cakes along on it, for the walk into town.
Fortunately, however, Luke had offered to drive me in. I grinned at him, as we pushed our way through what looked like the entire population of Harpenden, crowded around the entrance to the town hall, in the high street. I loved how the fresh snow squeaked under our boots, without the slightest hint of slush. Fairy lights lined the road and everyone was well wrapped up in hats, scarves and wellington boots. Stalls served aromatic mulled wine and warm mince pies… I spotted hot chocolate stands and farmers’ cheese tables in all sorts of cute flavours like cranberry and Port… Mmm, breakfast suddenly seemed like a long time ago.
‘Now, tell me now what that text and my surprise is all about, or the dog gets it.’ I carried my Tupperware box of cakes carefully, as if it contained the unseen manuscript to JK Rowling’s next novel. Luke had offered to drive me into town “as a last favour” because I’d been paranoid that the box would fall over in my car, if the wheels had slid on the snow.
‘I mean it,’ I said and looked down menacingly at Groucho, who wore a cute navy waterproof jacket. I’d bought it for him this week, as the arctic air had descended, and amazingly Luke didn’t object. Just as well, cos Groucho now belonged to him – Luke had adopted the dog as Mr Murphy’s only other option would be to hand him over to the animal rescue centre. Two chocolate button eyes stared up at me and Groucho yapped. ‘Only joking, matey,’ I cooed at my canine friend.
‘I’ve told you all week – you’ll see your surprise once your cakes are laid out,’ said Luke, with one of his teasing smiles.
We headed towards a grand tent ahead, outside a wine shop, near the town hall. A banner was hung across the top of it saying “Harpenden Christmas Market Cake Competition”. ‘What time do they announce the winner?’ he asked.
‘After lunch. I’ve got to be back on the stall at two o’clock.’ Jess had the day off but was shopping in Luton this morning to “accidentally” bump into Ryan. She hoped to make it back in time for the announcement of the winners.
A few metres in front of the stall, Luke and I stopped. Several competitors were already there, wearing aprons and fussing over buttercream icing or glazed nuts. ‘Those entries all look so sensible,’ I muttered. ‘Maybe I should have left off the liquorice Eric Morecambe glasses.’
Luke squeezed my shoulder and tiny patches of pleasure burst into life, all over my body.
‘They’ll love your cakes,’ he said, looking particularly hot in a jacket as green as his eyes. ‘The flavour’s fantastic. Really outstanding.’ He groaned. ‘I should know.’
Poor Luke. And Terry. Plus Jess and Melissa. All week I’d worked to perfect the recipe and they must have each put on half a stone. Although Melissa had gone back to her habit of spitting each mouthful out or discreetly passed chunks under the table to Luke. Then, at the end of the week she’d cried off my tasting sessions, sounding really cheerful, with the only explanation that she was “busy” and vague talk about some sort of trip. Luke wasn’t around as much either, although they’d both been brill on Thursday, helping out with the Carmichaels’ friends when they’d come over to look through the personal items. Not that Luke had acted remotely romantically towards me, which was probably sensible. My stomach scrunched at the thought of him leaving for Brighton soon.
Okay! I admit it! Me and Luke… It felt so… right. He was exasperating and smug, yet ambitious and funny all in equal measure. But most importantly – yes, even more important than his hot bristly cheeks and tight embrace – he believed in me and in taking risks. A smile spread across my face. After the start we’d had, nothing surprised me more than how much we actually had in common. As for his deep, oh so tender kisses… my pulse quickened just at the thought of his tantalising lips on mine.
I nodded to the other competitors. One had visited Mistletoe Mansion on Thursday… Eleanor Goodman, that was it, Lily’s best friend, who’d been mentioned in the will. How carefully she’d searched through all of the bookcases, muttering about Lily’s coveted recipe book.
‘Good luck,’ said Luke. ‘And ta dah! Here’s your surprise – open this once you’ve set up.’ He thrust a small, flat package into my open handbag. ‘I’ve got time for a quick Christmas cinnamon hot chocolate and Stollen slice before I go home to pack. Meet you by the drinks stall in half an hour, if you like. Otherwise… Well. I don’t like goodbyes.’
Before I knew it… before we could, maybe, tell each other how we felt… he and his whistling disappeared into the crowd. I bit my lip. Couldn’t blame him. Most of the time I’d acted as if he and I gelled together as well as a cake mixture that had curdled. Perhaps he didn’t like me so much, after all? But this package… I glanced down. It was wrapped in silver paper. Surely this was proof that he liked me; that our random kissing hadn’t just been a one-off because I’d been spooked and he’d been hyped and we’d both been alone in the dark? I couldn’t remember the last time Adam had kissed me like that. Not even when we had that power cut last month and he’d ignored my suggestion of a candle-lit early night. Instead, he’d strapped a torch to the front of his head. The potholer look was not his most flattering.
I sighed for a second. The last day or two, when I thought about Adam and me, all I could recall was the negatives. I took a deep breath and, emptying my mind of men for a moment, made my way into the tent. A white haired woman in a salmon skirt and postbox red fleece came up to me. She held what looked like a list of names.
‘You are…?’
‘Kimberley Jones – my entry is “Bring Me Sunshine” cakes.’ I set my box down on a table and rummaged in my handbag. ‘Here’s the list of ingredients you requested. Sorry I’m a bit late.’
‘Better late than never. Thank you, dear.’ She nodded over to where Eleanor was standing. ‘You set up on that table over there.’
I headed over. Eleanor gave a tight smile.
‘You were lucky, getting a place in this competition,’ she said. ‘The rest of us had to register over two months ago. Friends in high places obviously help. Although your neighbour has obviously lowered her standards,’
My brow furrowed.
Eleanor passed me a newspaper from under her table. ‘Take a look at page three when you’ve got a moment. Mrs Winsford may not be in a social position to pull many strings next year if she moves in with her new beau.’
What was she going on about? I stuck the paper under my arm and glanced at her traditional Christmas cake, decked with Brazil nuts and cherries. She must have been referring to those photos Melissa had taken with… What was that model called? David Khan.
‘Mine’s a classi
c recipe, of course,’ she continued and puffed out her chest, ‘with a special homemade orange marmalade glaze on top… I strive for perfect depth and immaculate lines.’
Hmm. Those rows of nuts sure were, indeed, symmetrical.
Eleanor glanced across as I put out my cupcakes with the luminous yellow butter icing and black liquorice glasses on top. ‘Simplicity. Class. Good food suited to a given time of year. That’s what Harpenden judges admire.’ She smirked. ‘How unusual. Competitors don’t often enter children’s fairy cakes that also have nothing to do with Christmas.’
‘They aren’t for kids.’ I said brightly. ‘Cupcakes are big business nowadays and anything goes. I felt something different might go down well.’
‘How… inventive,’ she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand, before wandering off to steal a look at the other cakes on show. My gaze followed her and rested on a perfect chocolate log, with what looked like a marzipan robin on top. The woman standing behind it had a grey perm and wore sensible slacks with a hiker’s anorak. She blew on her red hands and smiled at me as I admired her cake’s cylindrical shape. Next to her was a young man plating up a gorgeous sponge with swirls of white buttercream icing on top, covered in a delicate array of tiny edible Christmas decorations – small sugar bells, green holly leaves, sparkly baubles – the effect was classy and subtle, completed with a silver ribbon tied around the sides.
I scoured the other tables, feeling less confident by the second, as each and every one had something to do with Christmas – but there had been nothing about that in the rules. There was a golden coloured Stollen log, dusted with snowy icing powder. Plus another fruit cake decorated with royal icing. Then a sponge in the shape of Santa which would be a huge hit with any kid.
I put down the newspaper and filled in the small name card, writing “Bring Me Sunshine cakes” in my neatest handwriting.
‘Clever. A nod to Morecambe and Wise, no?’ said a voice next to me. I glanced up at a woman, probably around my age, with short auburn hair. She wore a white apron and looked very professional. ‘Been making cupcakes long?’ she said and held out her hand. ‘I’m Ruth.’
Mistletoe Mansion Page 31