Grace Smith Investigates

by Liz Evans

  ‘Yes. All right, there was an element of duplicity in what I did.’ ‘Duplicity. Lovely word.’

  Peter grabbed my wrist and jerked me off the bonnet so that we were face to face again.

  ‘Listen. I love you. I don’t want to. It’s probably as big a bummer for me as it is for you. You weren’t in my plans at all.’ He was still hanging on to my right wrist. Now he captured the left, raising both hands to his shoulders. Leaning forward, he locked his lips on mine, kissed me hard and kept on kissing until I relaxed and responded.

  To be honest, if you’re going for outdoor sex, a sun-baked rutted farmyard isn’t recommended. What with lumps in your skin, dust in your teeth and ants scuttling for cover, it takes away some of the magic. When Peter reached for the waistband on my jeans, I called time, sat up and started rebuttoning.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Wrong time, wrong place.’

  ‘And wrong man?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘I meant what I said about caring, Grace.’

  ‘But then you’re ace at faking it, aren’t you, Peter? Esther Purbrick thought Rainwing was her friend. And it was all just to get close to Selwyn and find out the best way to stick the knife in.’

  ‘No it wasn’t. I do like Esther. We needed some investment capital. They’d have got it back in spades when the film took off. How was I to know they’d need it to buy that freehold?’

  ‘Did you tip off the Environmental Health about their latest place?’

  ‘No need. I should think anyone who’d been near the dump had done that. I’ve probably done Esther a favour. Once she’s free of Selwyn, she’ll fly a lot higher. Some people hold you to earth and others carry you to the stars.’

  ‘If you start quoting the lyrics from ‘The Wind Beneath My Wings’, I’m gonna belt you.’

  He laughed and pulled me into his lips. This time it was a gentle kiss - more tenderness than passion. ‘Come with me, Grace. We can still pull this off. You and me - together. We could travel. New York, California, Florida. Have you ever been to the States?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’d love it.’

  ‘Would I? Knowing I’d ruined your mum’s life back here?’

  ‘If that’s all that’s bothering you, I won’t go through with the deal.’

  ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Of course.’ We were still sitting on the yard floor — a few yards apart so at least one of us could keep temptation at arm’s length. Now, however, Peter shuffled closer.

  I tried to move back, but was defeated by the car bumper in the back of my shoulders.

  ‘We’ll sell the tapes back to them. We needn’t be too greedy. Say two hundred thou? Hamish can afford it. Hell, they can both afford it. They don’t even need to know it’s us.’

  ‘So we are back to blackmail?’

  ‘It’s not blackmail. It’s just what I’m entitled to. What I’d have got legitimately from my grandfather if she’d married my real father. You don’t think Hamish is going to practise any of that standing-on-your-own-two-feet philosophy on his own daugh¬ters, do you? They’ll spend that sort of money easily on my sisters over the next ten years. Believe me, darling, we’d only be taking what’s morally mine.’ He slid right in against me and took another kiss. ‘I love you, Grace. I really do. We’d be good together. And what have you got to stay here for?’

  What indeed? My family found me an embarrassment; my flat received sympathy cards from the Salvation Army; my car was knackered; my career looked to be going the same way if Vetch’s closed; my best mate was heading for a new life in London; and the only thing sharing my life was a bunch of vicious succulents. Now I’d decided I could handle the cross-dressing thing, Peter and I could have a lot going for us. (Not least a shared wardrobe and joint Valentine’s Day cards from Terry Rosco.) I kissed him back.

  When we eventually came up for air, Peter said: ‘What are we going to do about Carter?’

  ‘What had you in mind? Adoption?’

  ‘I meant in connection with Luke. I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed him; he had access to the cottage.’

  ‘But no motive, until he saw that nasty little tape. And the official theory is that Luke was killed by a light bulb.’

  I filled him in on the line of police intelligence (without mentioning Carter’s contribution to that oxymoron).

  ‘A light bulb. A bloody light bulb. All that talent and he dies over a light bulb.’

  ‘That’s life for you. Always ready for a laugh at your expense.’

  ‘At least the finance company will be happy. We held them off for months by not telling them the old boy was dead. They finally found out a few weeks back. They check the death registrations in each district periodically. Can you believe that? Well, they can have their property now and good riddance. We’ll be long gone. Won’t we?’

  ‘I guess we will.’

  ‘What about Carter? Do you think he’ll have called the police about me grabbing him?’

  ‘I think Carter could be persuaded to keep his mouth shut.’ I rubbed my middle and forefinger against my thumb.

  ‘You’ll have to deal with that. Just until we get the cash from Hamish.’

  ‘Are you so certain he’ll pay? He may tell your mum to take a hike.’

  ‘He’ll pay. He enjoys the kudos of being married to a successful politician. And besides, he deals with corporate negotiating. It’s not a field where you can afford to look like the biggest chump on the block. Talking of those tapes . .. ?’

  ‘They’re in the village.’

  Standing, he held out a hand to me. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Can I drive?’

  I took the route along the main road rather than going through the village, and turned right to crawl and bump down the rutted track to Brick Cottage. I put us on to the verge outside the closed garage door and led the way to the garden gate. Grannie Vetch’s bike was propped a few yards further along the wall, with the Rouses’ ginger moggie treating the front basket as his own personal snooze pad.

  Carter was standing in the centre of the overgrown patch of cottage lawn with an old tyre lying at his feet. He must have packed something into the bottom, because the three DVDs tapes and the stack of glossy photo prints were clearly visible at the top of the centre ring.

  ‘What the hell?’ Peter struggled with the gate catch and then vaulted over it.

  Carter didn’t even bother to look at him. To me he said: ‘Now?’

  ‘Now.’

  He lit the twisted spill of paper in his left hand with the disposable lighter in his right, threw the flaming brand into the tyre, and leapt backwards. The result was incredible. A tower of flame shot eight feet into the air with a throaty roar of joy at being activated.

  ‘Bloody hell, Carter! What did you use?’

  ‘Mixed petrol with lighter fuel. Not bad, eh?’

  ‘No!’ Peter tried to make a grab for the tyre but the heat drove him back. Dragging his sweater over his head, he beat at the flames. It had the effect of fanning them out like flower petals. One petal explored his trousers. The material caught.

  Hopping on one leg, he beat at the other with his bare hands. He managed to extinguish it at the expense of some charred flesh.

  Carter laughed. With a snarl, Peter took a kick at the fiercely burning tyre. It merely had the effect of shifting the bonfire a fraction and setting the bottom of his trouser leg on fire again. This time he had to collapse to the grass and really hit on the blaze to douse it.

  When he started crawling over to the pyre, I had to shout: ‘Peter! Leave it. It’s too late.’

  He turned bewildered eyes on me. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I just don’t have your talent for being a bitch, I guess. Goodbye, Peter. Break a leg. In fact, break two.’

  Wheeling Grannie Vetch’s pride, I headed for the village. Carter followed me. So did the stink of burning rubber. There were already a couple of people pointing to the column of black smoke when we re
ached the main street.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said, trying to smile. ‘Just getting rid of some rubbish.’

  I turned left. Not because I had anywhere to go, but because I had no other immediate plans for my life.

  Carter’s asthmatic breathing was still in my right ear. ‘It was that politician woman in those photos, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Look, Carter, do everyone a favour and forget the whole thing.’

  ‘What about that perv? I’m going to report him to the police. He tied me up. And he hit me. He ought to be in prison.’

  We were nearly at the Royal Oak. A subdued-looking Kelly was sitting on one of the front benches, sipping a bottle of fizzy water. As soon as she spotted us, she got up and went inside.

  I looked back at Carter and caught the disappointment on his broad freckled face. Despite everything, the kid still had hopes that some fairy godmother was going to sprinkle magic dust in Kelly’s eyes and turn him into Robert Pattinson.

  Slotting my free arm through his, I drew him along. ‘You’re right. Peter does deserve to be arrested for what he did to you. But if he is, the police will want to know why he did it, won’t they? And once they find out about those hidden tapes, they’ll probably start wondering if Luke’s death was quite as straightforward as it seemed. I don’t think Kelly could stand up to much questioning, do you? She’s not as smart as she thinks she is. She’ll probably start contradicting herself. I know she never intended to kill Luke, but...’

  Carter considered this, crease lines denting the raw pink peeling skin of his forehead. ‘You mean I should keep quiet for her sake? She don’t even like me.’

  ‘But you love her, Carter. You’ll be making a big sacrifice for the sake of Kelly’s happiness.’ (And keeping Faye’s name out of it - although I didn’t mention this essential point to Carter.)

  We’d reached the churchyard. By unspoken mutual consent we headed for Carter’s namesake and sat on the cross steps. The cat selected a patch of grass and settled down to groom.

  ‘You mean ...’ Carter said slowly, ‘it would be like that bloke in Casablanca. When he makes her get on that plane with her husband even though he really loves her like mad?’

  ‘You watch films like that?’

  ‘It’s my gran’s favourite. She thinks it’s dead romantic.’ He thought about my idea for a few more seconds and then said: ‘OK, I’ll do it. For Kelly.’

  I gave him a hug. ‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’

  His face twisted and large tears spilled over his sandy lashes. ‘It’s rotten being in love.’

  ‘I know.’

  Watched by the cat, Carter and I had a good blub together.

  40

  Hello there.

  I bet you thought I’d forgotten my promise to retrieve those negatives from Barbra, amongst all the angst and heart-wringing of the last couple of days?

  Well, I hadn’t, but it took a while before I could get a lift out to Wakens Keep. There was no way I was going to manage a twenty- mile cycle ride there and back, and ‘borrowing’ Luke’s car would have involved returning to Brick Cottage, which I couldn’t face. In the end Vetch agreed to drop me off on his way to a meeting in Tunbridge Wells.

  ‘I trust you have the taxi fare home, or an appealing thumb to attract the passing trucker, sweet thing, since I shall not be passing this way again for some hours.’

  The parking bays were half empty in Wakens Keep’s central square, and the weather had reverted to normal British summer conditions - sulky grey clouds and threatening showers. Even the gnome colony in Barbra’s front garden had hauled their little painted butts off to explore elsewhere. There was an air of approaching shorter days and autumnal nights about the place this morning.

  I asked Vetch if he didn’t want to come in for a minute and say hello. ‘You don’t have to eat anything.’

  ‘I think not, sweet thing. Barbra has been rather - distant, shall we say, when I have telephoned recently. I suspect she has found someone else whose charms are even more irresistible than mine. Hard as that may be to believe. Ah well, once more into the breach. My new partner is a hard task-mistress.’

  ‘I thought that was one of your favourite fantasies, Vetch.’ I waved him off before heading for Barbra’s front door.

  Vetch was right. There was another man in her life.

  ‘Gardener, handyman, bodyguard, whatever,’ she said, gesturing through the kitchen window at the figure who was snipping off the heads of perfectly formed roses.

  I’d had to practically force my way into the house and charge through to the back like a thick-skinned gatecrasher in order to find whatever it was she so obviously didn’t want me to find as she tried to shut the door in my face.

  A live-in lover seemed an unlikely candidate for cupboard skeleton. Barbra Delaney wasn’t the sort who’d have been put out if I’d found her romping in the jacuzzi with an entire paratroop regiment. But something about the situation had definitely spooked her. The casual tone was just a shade too nonchalant.

  ‘I decided I needed a bloke around the place. Comes in handy for all sorts. Want a drink?’

  ‘Is the beer finished?’ There were a couple of bottles standing in the sink, both half full.

  She took another from the fridge, levered off the top and passed it to me. ‘What do you want? If it’s about yer fee, I’ll give you a cheque now.’

  ‘What about your will? I haven’t given you those names and addresses.’

  ‘I’ve been having a think about that. Maybe I was being a bit daft. My Lee’s getting married. He’s not going to risk prison by trying to bump me off, is he? Best to leave it. I’ll pay you for what you’ve done, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  Visibly relieved, she went to fetch her chequebook. I took my beer and wandered outside to watch the demon gardener hacking down what looked like a healthy clematis. He had his back to me, but something about the worn and faded denim jeans and jacket nudged a memory.

  ‘Hello again.’

  He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Sorry, miss, I don’t ...’ Then the memories clicked in for him too. He faced me full on with a broad smile spreading from his mouth to his eyes. ‘Well, hello there, darling. I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’ Barbra’s return coincided with this last sentence. You could have fast-frozen fish fingers in the look she gave me. Plainly the woman was possessive when it came to the domestic help.

  ‘He caught me skinny-dipping off Seatoun beach the other week.’

  ‘And a glorious sight it was.’

  ‘Where’s your mate? Been taken on as the butler?’

  ‘Moved on. He’s not one for staying put.’

  ‘And you are?’ I looked consideringly between him and his new employer. He was quite relaxed about the whole situation. Barbra, however, was still making like the ice-queen. But then she knew just how dangerous this situation was - and he didn’t. Yet.

  ‘The lady was kind enough to offer me a rare little deal here: bed and board.’

  And extras?’

  ‘What the hell’s that to do with you?’ Barbra snapped. ‘We’re both free, single and over the age of consent.’

  ‘Well, one out of three, at least.’

  She still tried to bluff her way out of it. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Barbra. I saw the wedding snaps, remember? Both sets. Or are they doing Mix-Your-Own-Man kits now? Add eight pints of water to the ashes, stir thoroughly and leave overnight for the perfect mate? You’re looking pretty good for a nine-year-old corpse, Sean.’

  He wasn’t in the slightest jot embarrassed. With an easy grin, he winked and said: ‘It’s Mike these days, darling. Mike Smith.’

  ‘Fancy that. I’m a Smith myself. We could be related.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that wonderful. It’s me long-lost sister.’ He plonked a kiss on my cheek before I could fend him off.

  ‘Pack that in,’ Barbra said. ‘I’ve told you, you’re on probation. Any of that and you’
re out. Come inside,’ she ordered me. ‘Out here the bloody bushes have ears.’

  I let myself be led back to the privacy of the kitchen. Barbra rescued the two bottles from the sink and plonked them on the table. ‘Sit down.’

  We both sat. Sean tilted the beer to his lips and used it as cover to drop me another wink. I kept a straight face and looked him over. The lush Viva Zapata dark brown hairstyle and moustache had gone, replaced by grizzled grey locks cropped close to his head. And the luminous skin was now tanned to the shade of cream toffees and seamed by paler lines like leaf veins. The eyes were the same, though: deep brown and just inviting a girl to jump in and drown in their twinkle.

  I must admit that if I hadn’t seen him in the same place as Barbra, I wouldn’t have made the connection. (Well, I hadn’t during our earlier encounter, had I?) But now I had. And it gave me a particularly self-satisfied glow deep inside.

  ‘So what do you want?’ Barbra growled.

  ‘The formula for raising the dead, for a start.’

  ‘Now don’t you be giving her a hard time over that,’ Sean admonished. ‘She’d to identify me from no more than my da’s old watch and a ring. How was she to know I’d lost the pair to my old mate Bri at the cards?’

  ‘This would be Bri the best man, would it? The one who looks to be at least six inches taller than the bridegroom in those wedding pictures?’

  ‘He was burnt,’ Barbra said forcibly. ‘How close do you think I looked? Have you ever seen someone who’s been charred until you can see their bones falling out? I just read the engraving in the jewellery and said yeah ... that’s my old man, now get me out of here.’

  She sounded genuinely shaky. I gave her the benefit of the doubt; even if six inches was rather a lot of benefit to be conceding. ‘Doesn’t explain why you decided to join us Smiths, Sean.’

  ‘The tax, darling. And the insurance. And the cards. And the losing. There’s many reasons why a man should want to leave his old life behind. Not that I’d want you to be thinking I left my family with it. I always kept an eye out for them. My Lee’s done all right for himself. You should see the fancy place he works. And he’s got himself a little cracker of a girl there.’