Grace Smith Investigates

by Liz Evans

  My dinner companion jerked awake again. I guessed he answered to Uncle Alfie. Scrambling up, I wheeled him forward on to the lawn, not caring whether Kevin-flaming- Drysdale saw me or not. So he and Minnie had parted by mutual consent, had they - the lying toad.

  Joan Reiss hurried over. ‘Uncle Alfie, there you are. I was becoming quite concerned.’

  It was odd hearing a woman of her age calling someone ‘Uncle’.

  ‘This young woman has been taking very fine care of me. We’re going to listen to the band now.’

  It was the first I’d heard of it, but I was game if he was.

  ‘I don’t think he should have any of the barbecued meats, Grace. It’s too late for his digestion. And make sure you wrap up, Uncle Alfie. It’s getting cooler now. And I think alcohol would be unwise ...’

  I rolled Uncle Alfie gently away down the sloping lawns until Joan was out of earshot.

  Unexpectedly he chuckled. ‘She’s a grand bossy girl, isn’t she? Her father said she came out of her mother’s womb telling the midwife what to do.’

  Recognition suddenly clicked into place. Uncle Alfie must be Alfred Carnegie, the co-founder of Wexton’s Engineering.

  He seemed pleased that I knew. ‘Not that I had much to do with the engineering. I had my own business: I was an accountant. Still am, I suppose. What is it my great-nephew says? Old accountants dinna fade away, they just fail to balance eventually.’ He gave another chuckle and slapped the sides of his wheelchair.

  The nap and walk seemed to have revived him. He started tapping along with the saints who were currently marching in.

  ‘He was a fine cheeky devil, Wexton,’ he said out of the blue. ‘Employed me to do the books for his new company. And then asked me to put in one hundred pounds in return for a ten per cent stake because he couldna afford to pay me!’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Jacked him up to fifteen per cent and took the deal. Best thing I ever did. They’ve played me fair over the years; verra fair. She was a Wren, y’know, young Joanie. Her sister Blanche too. Used to come home on leave at weekends. We all knew that Reiss chap didna have a chance soon as she set her cap at him. He was engaged to another lassie, y’know. She soon saw her off. Know what I do sometimes?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I tell her I’ve left ma shares to that son-in-law of hers. I havena, of course. But my, it’s a treat watching her face and thinking mebbe there’ll come a time when she canna have her own way over the company. Do you not think I might have a steak?’

  ‘Mrs Reiss said ...’

  ‘Bugger Mrs Reiss. I’m not having a female I’ve known since she was a wee girlie with scarred knees telling me what to eat.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ I wheeled him into line at the barbecue.

  I peeked over the nearest shoulder. There wasn’t a charred beefburger or sausage in sight. The chef nursed fillet steaks, lobster tails and salmon to mouth-melting perfection before flipping them on to china plates. You even got silver cutlery and linen napkins to go.

  The shoulder must have sensed me peeking. It turned, swishing a curtain of black hair against my nose.

  ‘Hello,’ Marina Payne said. ‘Fancy seeing you here. Is this social or work?’

  ‘Bit of both ...’ Apart from Uncle Alfie, no one else I knew was in earshot. ‘Listen, I’d be grateful if you’d not mention the day job.’

  ‘If you like ... but you could be the hit of the party, you know. Private investigator sounds much more interesting than solicitor, dentist or ...’

  ‘Builder?’

  ‘Especially builder. People leap flowerbeds at my approach because they think I’m going to try and sell them a kitchen extension.’

  She waved to someone on the lawns. I glanced back and saw Amelia was flitting from group to group. In the softly lit dusk she looked almost unreal - a fairy creature from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  ‘Never think we were best mates at St Aggie’s, would you?’ Marina said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thanks. You could have lied and said I didn’t look quite ready for the knacker’s yard yet.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought ... you’d have had a less bubble-headed best mate, frankly.’

  ‘Sometimes your mates choose you.’

  She paused to turn away and point out a couple of lobster tails to the server. Once again I had the nagging sensation of knowing her from somewhere other than Swayling’s building yard, and then she’d turned back and it was gone.

  ‘Did you manage to catch up with Tom Skerries?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I caught up with everyone else - his wife, his kids, his sister-in-law, his drinking mates - but Tom remains a myth.’

  ‘You’re not mything much ...’ Marina smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, I might have something. I meant to call you ...’

  She was interrupted by a shout from the terrace. ‘Listen ... Listen, everyone ...’

  The band took their cue and delivered another rolling crash of cymbals.

  ‘Hi ... everybody listen ...’ Amelia clapped her hands. ‘I’m going to open my presents now.’

  We all got the message. This was a participatory event. We duly headed back to the terrace. Amelia giggled and gurgled until her audience had collected. There was a pile of wrapped parcels on one of the terrace tables.

  ‘OK. Now you’ve all seen that glorious car my lovely husband bought me ...’ She blew a kiss at Stephen, who was perched with one buttock on the terrace rail. ‘And this is another little surprise gift ...’

  She drew the curling golden string of a tiny box and started to unwrap it. I didn’t pay much attention. Kevin was in the crowd a few paces ahead of Uncle Alfie’s wheelchair. Judging by the way she was hanging on his arm, the female with him must be Mrs Kevin Drysdale.

  I could only see the back view. Which was OK, I guess - if you happen to like size twelves with small butts, perfect legs, flawless olive skin and a long tumble of gleaming black hair.

  A smattering of applause brought my attention back to Amelia again. She was proudly displaying a pair of diamond ear studs.

  ‘Now, what shall I open next ...?’ With one finger to her lips, she tiptoed her other hand over the parcels.

  ‘Mine ...’ Patrick pushed forward. ‘Open mine, Mummy.’

  ‘Yours? All right ... which one is it?’

  Gathering the wrapping disaster to his chest, Patrick offered it to her.

  Raising her eyebrows in conspiratorial excitement to her audience, his mother wrestled with the sticky tape. ‘Darling, whatever have you got in here? It feels ever so exciting ...’

  ‘I made it.’

  ‘Made it ... well, that makes it a zillion times better, doesn’t it? Oh, it’s a picture ...’ Amelia rustled off the paper.

  ‘It’s all of us ... see. There’s you, Mummy. And all of us ... me and Bone and Theo and Charlotte.’

  ‘And all the grandchildren, of course,’ Bone said, turning the frame slightly to give everyone a better view.

  Amelia’s face changed as the light died from it.

  There - caught in technicolour - was Amelia above the picture of those three hulking American teenagers. OK, they were only step-grandchildren, but the illusion was destroyed. She was no longer the beautiful ageless fairy princess; she was just a middle-aged mum of four with the cash to buy expensive make-up and clothes.

  I caught the mocking expression flitting across Bone’s eyes and understood. It had been her idea, not Patrick’s.

  Her brother was beaming proudly. Despite his earlier claim to hate his mother, she was still his mum and he wanted her to be pleased.

  Amelia looked at him. Then at Bone.

  ‘You bitch.’ She drew back her arm and hit Bone across the face so hard that the girl was flung back on to the flagstones.

  Stephen broke the paralysis that froze us all for a moment. Stooping, he tried to help his daughter up.

  ‘Get off. Let me go ...’ Kicking and scrabbling fre
e of his grip, Bone sprang down the steps of the terrace and raced away around the side of the house.

  ‘What’s the matter? Mummy?’ Patrick looked bewildered. He tried to catch at his mother’s skirt.

  Amelia whisked it free. ‘Stay away from me. How could you ... it’s all your fault. It’s everyone’s fault ... I told you I didn’t want a party ... I hate you all ...’

  ‘Amelia ... stop it this instant!’

  Stephen’s attempts to restrain her were rewarded by a stinging slap across the face. We all watched fascinated as the imprint of her fingers developed on his skin.

  With a sob, Amelia hitched up the designer frock and ran back indoors. Stephen muttered what might have been an apology and followed her inside.

  Patrick had had enough of the grown-up world. Instead of the congratulations and kisses he’d expected for his efforts, he’d unleashed an unfathomable hatred. He promptly burst into hiccuping sobs and threw himself at his grandmother, wrapping his arms tightly round her waist.

  ‘It’s all right, Patrick, Mummy’s not feeling very well ... Come and help me inside for a moment.’ She guided him gently with an arm around his shoulders in through the French windows.

  The rest of us let out our breath with a massive collective WOOOOO.

  It was a decisive moment. Did we all make our excuses and go home now that our party hosts had plainly gone off the whole idea? Or did we figure it was a pity to waste all the time and money that Joan Reiss had poured into this posh bash?

  What do you think?

  The band let rip with a swinging selection of rock-and-roll. It gave me a brief moment of nostalgia for the fry-ups at Shane’s greasy spoon.

  ‘Let’s get those steaks, Uncle Alfie.’

  We loaded up at the barbecue, and rescued a couple of glasses of orange juice from a passing waitress. I’d intended to intercept Marina Payne and find out what she’d been planning to tell me about the elusive Tom Skerries, but I couldn’t see any signs of her plain pink suit on the lawn.

  We circulated. It was an odd experience. I discovered I was invisible. Uncle Alfie, happily eating off his lap, got the odd tight smile and nod, but I was treated like an extension to the wheelchair. After a while it dawned on me that they thought I was some sort of paid nursing attendant.

  I took the steak plates back into the house, collected two desserts and took Uncle Alfie on a tour of the grounds, still trying to track down Marina.

  The old boy seemed quite happy to bob along wherever I chose. Sounds of laughter and splashing drew us into the barn.

  Half a dozen guests were skinny-dipping, sending waves of chlorinated water over the discarded piles of clothes scattered over the tiles. I stayed long enough to check none of them was Marina.

  ‘By heavens, did you see the bust on yon blonde?’ Uncle Alfie cackled as we wove back between the rhododendrons.

  ‘Shame on you. You’ll go blind.’

  ‘I am anyway. Might as well enjoy it.’

  He chuckled away to himself and then suddenly his head fell forward. Alarmed, I checked his pulse and breathing. He was fast asleep again.

  I pressed on, rounded a large bush - and came face to face with Kevin and his wife.

  ‘Hello, Grace. I thought it was you. Minnie, this is Grace Smith. She’s a friend of Dad’s. You remember, the one who sorted out the Marilyn Monroe business for him.’

  A friend of Dad’s. So that was his story, was it?

  Minnie widened her huge brown eyes. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Grace.’

  ‘Same here,’ I lied. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d be grateful if you’d not mention my job. I’m sort of undercover tonight.’ I tipped my glasses to the bottom of my nose as I spoke in order to give Kevin the full benefit of my you-two-timing-liar glare.

  ‘Did you have an accident?’ Minnie asked, staring at my multicoloured face.

  ‘No. I did it on purpose. Excuse me, I’m working ...’ I barged past them, catching Kevin’s toes with the wheels and silently wishing acute PMT on Minnie.

  Marina was still nowhere to be found. I tried the front of the house. The drive and verges were now clogged with parked cars, making it difficult to manoeuvre Uncle Alfie. I was bending down, unsnagging him from a bumper, when Stephen Bridgeman stalked out of the front door and headed down the drive.

  A couple of seconds later Bone followed. She’d pulled a short denim jacket over her dress and was hunched into it, collar up and hands thrust into the pockets.

  I straightened up as she came opposite us. ‘That was a rotten thing to do.’

  She didn’t bother to pretend she’d no idea what I was talking about. ‘How was I to know she’d take it like that? I mean, it was just a flaming joke, for heaven’s sake. What’s the big deal about being fifty?’

  ‘Then why set Patrick up? You could at least have had the guts to take the blame yourself.’

  She kicked the gravel. Tiny stones splattered against the chair wheels. ‘He’s OK. Gran’s with him. He’s already got a labrador puppy out of it. He ought to be grateful to me. At least he doesn’t have to put up with her trying to put him in dresses made for six-year-olds and pretending, like, you can’t possibly be old enough to have started yet. Stupid bitch ...’ The nearest car got pebble-dashed by another shower of stones as Bone lashed out - and then she was flouncing away towards the gates.

  ‘Why didn’t you ask Marina Payne if she knew where Tom Skerries was?’ I shouted after her. ‘If she’s such a big mate of your mum’s?’

  Bone came to a quick stop, swung round and clipped back. ‘Because she is a big mate of my mother’s, of course,’ she said in a voice pitched just loud enough for me to hear. ‘Not that she’d worry, but if she told Daddy ...’

  ‘That his fourteen-year-old daughter was dating a married bloke with three kids,’ I finished for her.

  ‘I’m not dating him. Not anymore. I just need to get him to Claudia’s dance. And anyway, I did ask Mrs Payne. I rung up the building yard loads of times, pretending I was different people, but she always said they didn’t know Tom. Which was a rotten lie. But they were probably fiddling on his tax or something. Tom said they all did it. That’s why it was OK for him to take their customers.’

  ‘More fool him. Is Marina around?’

  ‘She was upstairs talking to Mummy through the door. The stupid cow’s locked herself in the bedroom. She says she’s never coming out again. We should be so lucky. I’m off.’ She swung away and clumped towards the gate. Night had finally fallen, and with no lighting in the front apart from the beams of a car that was trying to manoeuvre off the verge, her dark outfit was soon lost in the gloom.

  ‘Spunky little thing, ain’t she?’

  ‘Hello, Uncle Alfie, I thought you’d dropped off again.’

  ‘Just conserving my strength. What are we doing amongst all these cars?’

  ‘I was looking for someone. Hang on ...’ I heaved him round and headed for the front door.

  ‘Doesn’t look much like her mother, does she, yon spunky bit. Got a touch of old Jack Wexton in there somewhere, though. Happens like that. Looks skip a generation. Joanie’s girl now, she favours her Auntie Blanche, Joanie’s little sister, may the puir soul rest in peace.’

  ‘Dead, is she?’

  ‘These many years. Puir girl died on her honeymoon.’ Those milky eyes tipped back and stared into mine as I tilted the chair to get it up the front step. ‘I gave her away, you know. Asked me to since her father was dead. Proudest moment of my life walking down the aisle with little Blanche on my arm. Seeing her like that ... in white lace and satin ... there wasna a man in that church, married or not, who wouldn’t have changed places with young Henry that morning.’

  ‘Henry?’

  ‘Her man. She married a chap called Henry Summerstone.’

  CHAPTER 32

  Henry informed me he wasn’t denying the connection. Which was magnanimous of him, considering it was a matter of public record.

  ‘You didn’t exactly
volunteer the information either, did you? I mean, didn’t you think that the fact your missing jogger worked for your sister-in-law’s company was just the tiniest bit relevant?’

  ‘No.’

  I threw my best oh yeah sneer. It was totally wasted. Even if Henry hadn’t been blind, the room was pitch dark anyway, with the only light filtering in from a forty-watt bulb in the hall.

  It was late. It had taken me a while to shake off Uncle Alfie after he’d dropped his little bombshell. With Amelia having a mega-sulk in her bedroom and no sign of Joan, I hadn’t liked to abandon him in case he trundled off into the rhododendrons again and got forgotten until the next weeding session.

  I’d tried wheeling him to the edge of a chattering group and leaving him there, but when I glanced back from the terrace, they’d all edged away, leaving him stuck in the middle of the lawn like a rather bizarre garden ornament.

  Trotting back, I’d trundled him to the edge of another lot clustered around one of the tables and left again.

  It was like dropping a blob of detergent into greasy water. As one they broke apart, reclumped and spread out over the garden.

  In the end it had taken me nearly an hour to find someone the old boy knew, and by that time there was no sign of Marina Payne anywhere so I’d headed out for Henry’s and a spot of self-righteous tantrums. And found myself falling over the furniture in a pitch-black dining room.

  Henry had pointed out that he had no way of knowing when the bulbs blew until someone came to the house and told him.

  ‘Have you got a spare? It could be dangerous moving around in the dark,’ I’d asked after flicking the switch fruitlessly.

  ‘For whom, m’dear? I have been moving in the dark for over forty years and I can honestly say that Beano has never complained about the lack of facilities in the billet. Where are you, boy?’

  The dog had responded to a couple of sharp clicks of his master’s fingers. I’d heard his tail beating enthusiastically against the furniture as he moved nearer. There’s something unnerving about having a wet nose thrust into your crotch when you can barely see the rest of its owner.

  ‘Do you mind, Beano? I’m not that sort of bitch.’