by Amy Myers
‘Old Herne’s?’ I asked.
He answered me seriously. ‘No. Anna doesn’t care two hoots about the place. She wants a childhood.’
‘So I gathered, but how do you give her that? A visit to the seaside?’
‘What do kids like, apart from mobiles and computers? Playing with animals, fairgrounds, clowns, all of that stuff.’
‘You’re turning Old Herne’s into a children’s paradise?’ If so, no wonder Tim was sulking. It seemed a crazy idea. Boadicea had had a tough time, and as Mike’s widow a duty of care towards her was certainly in order, but to this extent? Billionaire or not, Arthur was pushing the boat out. And then it struck me that this could be one big throw of the dice in the hope of moving his main objective forward: finding out who had killed his son.
‘That’s the idea. Only for the day,’ Jason added reassuringly. ‘It’ll be fun. It’ll be fifties Dodgems, ghost trains, Punch and Judy – all the things she missed as a child. I can just see you riding a carousel horse, Jack. I’m looking forward to it. We’re calling it Whoosh by the way.’
‘Open to the public?’
‘By invitation only. You’ll come, of course.’
‘Thanks.’ I was torn. I had to be there. I loved fairs, but this one was going to be work too, as far as I could see. ‘What about Anna herself, Jason? Somebody has tried to kill her once, and someone did kill your father. They could well strike again.’
‘They could anywhere, anytime,’ he replied seriously. ‘And at Old Herne’s she can be guarded.’
‘Brandon said he’ll be there.’
‘That means one man, maybe two, Jack. I’ll have more than that around on guard.’
Against who or what though? Can guards guard against the unexpected, which was what we would be dealing with in this case? Reason told me that no one would choose a public place like Whoosh; much better to leave the strike until Boadicea was at High House and vulnerable. Reason didn’t have it all its own way, however. The ‘what if’ factor kept breaking in. What if someone was determined to make a point? Welcome Home Day would be ideal.
What point though? Old Herne’s must come into the picture, either for its monetary value or its heritage. ‘Vaulting ambition’, as Shakespeare termed it, has led to many a murder in the past, and there were too many gloating eyes fixed on Old Herne’s to ignore its possible importance in this case. I thought of President Kennedy’s famous speech: ‘Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.’ Substitute Old Herne’s for country and how many of those at Whoosh would forget self? Was that even possible in today’s world? I wondered. It comes down to choice for us all. I’d made a choice in turning my back on the oil trade in favour of Frogs Hill, classic cars and little money. Arthur, Jason and Tim would go to the battlefield for the coming Armageddon on Old Herne’s behalf.
I consoled myself that Whoosh might have its lighter side, confirmed by a phone call from Liz asking what this crazy Whoosh day was all about.
‘Jessica says she’s hired me a dress,’ she wailed, when I explained.
‘What on earth for?’
‘Jason’s giving some kind of performance and wants me as a partner. Fine, but I’ve got to dance with him too. Dance and a dress, Jack. Me! Can you imagine?’
I couldn’t. Liz and skirts were strangers. And as for dancing – forget it. ‘What sort of dance and dress?’ I enquired.
‘Get this. In a pantomime. He’s Harlequin and I’m Columbine. Ugh. I’ll look like a tarted up fairy queen. Could I wear my jeans underneath?’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘You can’t dance in jeans.’
‘I can’t dance anyway. I’m a singer.’
‘Is Colin going?’
A pause. ‘I’m afraid Jason has cast him as Clown.’
I hadn’t laughed out loud for some time, but did so now. It was only when I rang off that I remembered that pantomimes included villains.
Should I take the Lagonda? I was still dithering over this vital matter when Armageddon in the form of Whoosh arrived. No, the Lagonda was for sheer pleasure. The Alfa? No. Whoosh was no ordinary working day. I settled for the Gordon-Keeble again, the nearest in age to the fifties theme of the day and, as a grand tourer, more suitable to face Armageddon. I felt comfortable in it as I slid into the seat. The Gordon-Keeble and I knew adversity, and could face anything – or so it seemed as I set out. I was on my own because Len and Zoe were driving to Old Herne’s with their respective partners again.
I’d seen nothing of Old Herne’s since my conversation with Jason, so I was unprepared for the extent of the transformation when I reached it. For starters, the car park was presided over by human pixies and humans in jolly animal outfits. Jolly little squirrels and monkeys and owls peered down from the surrounding trees – stuffed ones, not human. The Gordon-Keeble and I had arrived just after Len, who gazed in severe disapproval at the jollification around him.
‘Don’t know what Tim’s making of this lot,’ he muttered.
I could guess, but ‘this lot’ proved nothing compared with what awaited us at Whoosh itself. It was like walking into the Land of Oz. It looked like Disneyland competing with an English fairground, and there were hordes of people here to enjoy it, despite its being by invitation only. The grand opening was to be at twelve noon, less than half an hour away, which just gave me the time for a speedy reconnaissance. Before my amazed eyes, I saw swings, carousel, coconut shy, Punch and Judy, a Haunted House, dodgems, tame animals roaming around through the crowd and plenty more. Looking towards the track, I could glimpse what just might be ponies. Tim must be apoplectic. Somewhere, however, I could hear one of those Laughing Sailor automata which to me had always struck a sinister note, and I had my first shiver of the day.
Had Jason had a hand in choosing all these attractions – for want of a better word – or were they Boadicea’s choice? I suspected Jason, for Whoosh held the spirit of Nightmare Abbey, the fun with the dark carefully hidden behind. My imagination? Or perhaps it was intentional. I passed the Punch and Judy stand which looked, from the already attached gallows, as if it was going to present the traditional Punch rather than the modern softened down version. Of course it would be in its original form, I realized, because that’s how it would have been when Boadicea was a child. Of course the Laughing Sailor would be cackling his head off. Of course there would be screams of fright and fear from the Haunted House. Fear was part of growing up, provided good triumphed. As I fervently hoped it would do today. But if Boadicea knew who had killed Mike and perhaps held a vital clue …
I stopped this train of thought. I had to remain alert, and detached observation was best for that.
A small stage had been erected for the opening ceremony just outside the clubhouse, and Arthur and Jason duly led Boadicea out at twelve o’clock with Peter wheeling Ray behind them. Boadicea looked pale; she was wearing cream which didn’t help her looks but showed the ordeal she had come through. She looked round at us all, but did not seem to be taking much in during Arthur’s short speech of welcome. Her gaze returned to the delights all around her, but she did manage a: ‘Thank you,’ in a low voice, before spotting something more interesting – a tame deer trotting past the stand.
‘Bambi!’ she cried out.
It caused a general sympathetic laugh, but Boadicea took no notice. She threw off Arthur’s arm, stepped down from the dais, and went over to the deer, crooning to it, until Jason took her arm and led a procession round the treats in store for her. I followed, watching as she went from delight to delight, taking no notice of anyone.
Where, I wondered, could an attack take place? The carousel? The Haunted House? The latter was an obvious possibility, although it would be difficult for the assailant to set it up. He’d have to hide himself (or the bomb?) inside the house. I seized the chance to have a word with Jason, when Boadicea exchanged escorts.
‘Is she up to this?’ I asked.
‘No, but she’s insisted,’ he replied. ‘W
ants to try everything, and why not?’
I couldn’t think of any rational reason, but I was on edge. It was beginning to feel like a replay of the Nightmare Abbey false alarm, and I remembered how that night had ended. ‘You do know the guards?’
‘Yes.’ He grinned reassuringly. ‘It won’t happen, Jack.’
I only hoped he was right, but couldn’t believe that. Or were these just bogeys of my own? Whom should she trust? Whom should she fear?
Sure enough, Boadicea headed for the Haunted House, and I could see Jason and Peter arguing about who should go with her in the little train that ran on a track through the house. The train was divided into boxed compartments, and Jason won the argument by jumping into the leading box beside Boadicea. Peter promptly jumped into the second. I was relieved to see that, even though I was uneasy. With the two of them there, one could not act – but perhaps I was wrong. On tenterhooks, I listened from outside to the shrieks as unexpected skeletons must have loomed up or ghostly figures drifted by the passengers. I only hoped none of them held an unghostly knife. The tension level rose until at last it sank as the train appeared again with Boadicea in fine form, laughing in genuine pleasure. I noticed Peter wasn’t laughing, however, as he grimly held on to Boadicea’s arm after they’d disembarked from the train.
Jason came over to me. ‘See, Jack? Nothing to worry about,’ he said, with a touch of mockery.
Wrong. There was plenty to worry about, and the funfair had only just begun.
Jessica had told me there would be a longish break for a lunch to which she was invited. I was not, which was frustrating, even though I had no formal responsibility for Boadicea. It was hard to see how anyone could attack Boadicea at the lunch table, but nevertheless it was possible. Did she have a poison taster …? There was nothing I could do, so feeling like a spare wheel, I went to the outside café to get something to eat. Jenny Ansty was there, which was welcome.
‘Ah. Just like me, excluded from the Top Table, I see,’ she greeted me cheerfully as I walked by her table with my tray of food. ‘Come and join me.’
‘I take it you’re here to spare Anna’s feelings? That’s if she knows who you are,’ I said, glad to accept the offer.
‘I’ve never met her, but Arthur deemed it politic to omit me, successor trustee or not. She’s OK, a bit strange, but it should improve, the hospital says. I told Arthur my absence was fine with me. And before you ask, the merry widow’s doing well.’
‘Found your merry man yet?’
‘I have my eyes on one. Depends on how merry he is.’
‘I hope it works.’
‘So does Jason. He’s tired of having an over-merry mum. Wants me to settle down and bake cakes for him. I told him to get married again. He told me to get lost, only he didn’t use those words. I then pointed out that he owed me because of the Porsche. Talking of which, Jack, are the police going to charge us with wasting their time?’
‘Not if you’re lucky.’
‘And what about Anna?’
I’d asked Dave what he intended to do about Boadicea and the Porsche, though I couldn’t tell Jenny that. ‘Nothing,’ Dave had told me, ‘much as I’d like to. No point wasting more police time as the car’s back safely. When she’s well we’ll have a chat with her. The sort of chat I have when I’m not feeling happy.’
‘I pity her,’ I had said feelingly.
Boadicea, on her reappearance from lunch, gave every sign of enjoying her day of glory, and being back on self-imposed duty I followed her route. Her first port of call was the Punch and Judy show. She and most of the lunch party sat down to watch, and she stared at it entranced, clapping her hands in glee and shouting out at the appropriate moments. I couldn’t share her delight. To me the gleam in Punch’s eye as he lashed out at Judy had the same maniacal gleam in his eye as the Laughing Sailor. The rest of the party, however – Glenn, Fenella, Peter, Jason and Jessica – seemed as glued to the show as Boadicea, as though it were the height of theatrical experience. Perhaps it is, encapsulating murder, punishment, family life, marital relations and a few other aspects of life, yet we all cheered at the end because they were unreal puppets and Punch got his comeuppance.
I’d seen no sign of Doubler thankfully, but any relaxation I felt was promptly squashed when I realized his men could be around. Which brought the unwelcome question of where Jason’s guards were, and – sudden fear – were they covering the ladies’ toilets?
‘Yes,’ Jason reassured me when I tracked him down. ‘Only just thought of it, Jack? And you a detective.’
‘Car detective,’ I reminded him. ‘Car washes don’t need guards.’
Whoosh was going to wind up with a grand parade round the track which included Jason’s performance, and as the afternoon wore on, it became an increasingly peaceful day. A Teddy Bears’ Picnic was laid out on the grass at four o’clock, at Boadicea’s request. Cucumber sandwiches, jelly, trifles, scones and cream, and urns of tea and orange squash made their appearance, plus wine for the sturdier older folk, overseen by a small army of both stuffed and human teddy bears. Boadicea was sitting in one of a small group of chairs, appropriately looking as pleased as Punch, with her nearest (and I hoped dearest) grouped around her, and overlooked by the beady eyes of several guards. The rest of us sat on cushions on the grass. Nothing happened to disturb this peaceful scene, but the contrast between this and what still might lie ahead was something that still lodged uneasily in my mind. I pushed it away, telling myself this was time off. Until Boadicea suddenly rose to her feet.
‘I want a bunfight,’ she shouted. ‘Let’s all throw custard pies.’
A stunned silence followed, until Jessica gave a resigned nod. Luckily, she quickly improvised a plan that those who wished exemption from this treat should wave a white paper napkin. Even so the bunfight was not a huge success, as very few people joined in. Fenella was not one of them, but a blob of trifle arrived on the beautifully made-up face, courtesy I think of Jessica. I looked round hopefully for Colin as a target but there was no sign of him and Jason too had disappeared, so I took it that the Harlequinade was in preparation.
I felt myself relaxing but struggled to fight against it. The fat lady hadn’t yet sung, I reminded myself. A row of seats had been set at the side of the track for Boadicea to watch the parade, and she sat down between Glenn and Arthur, with Peter, Fenella and Ray on the far side. Arthur was looking tired now and no wonder.
Then the parade began – and what a parade. Clowns doing somersaults, furry animals (with humans inside), and various assortments of witches, fairies, and wizards. The procession seemed endless, and the strain of constantly watching for a threat that never materialized began to get to me.
When at last I thought it was coming to an end, I remembered there was still Jason’s performance to go. The stage had been set in the centre of the track opposite the line of chairs, and it was there that Jason as Harlequin and Liz as Columbine enacted a brief mime of stolen sausages and then danced, together with Colin the Clown. Only, in Colin’s case it wasn’t much of a dance, it was more of a lumber, whether intentionally or not. It served to contrast with Jason’s elegant dance with Columbine (doing her best). It finished with Harlequin throwing a bouquet to Boadicea, which she rose to catch with a squeal of delight. A fairy tale ending for her fairy tale day. Now, surely, I could relax.
And then came the dark.
I don’t know what alerted me – a cry or an instinct that something was wrong, a lack of action perhaps … Glancing over as the audience was dispersing I could see Glenn was still in his seat, slumped – and surely not sleeping? Terror gripped me as I pushed past the people in my path as I hurtled towards him. He’d been next to Boadicea. Had the knife or bullet been meant for her? As I reached him, I saw there was no knife, no blood – and no movement.
‘Fainted,’ one of the guards said uncertainly.
No ordinary sleep, this; there was no response. ‘Get the first-aiders over here,’ I yelled. ‘I’ll ring
for an ambulance.’
The St John Ambulance first-aiders, a stalwart presence at such events as this, were there in a flash. My initial role was over while we waited for the ambulance and the police. Fenella and Arthur were at Glenn’s side, but Arthur looked so shaken that, having reassured myself that Glenn was alive, I took him to sit down some yards away, just as Jason, now changed from his Harlequin outfit, came rushing up to us. I left Arthur to him while I remained with Glenn and Fenella.
With a lurch of my stomach I realized I had paid scant attention to Boadicea. What if Glenn were the diversion and Boadicea was the main target? Thankfully, I spotted her with Peter and Ray. She didn’t seem to have noticed that anything was wrong, even when the ambulance arrived.
‘I’ll go—’ Arthur began.
‘Stay there,’ Jason ordered him. ‘Fenella can go with him.’
Arthur sank back, and after the ambulance had left I found myself alone with him. Jessica was taking charge of the disrupted Whoosh, Peter was looking after Ray and Jason had taken Boadicea to the clubhouse.
Arthur began to speak, disjointedly and with difficulty. ‘Glenn was mad at Mike,’ he said. ‘He could have done that murder, Jack. Did he?’
I decided on truth. ‘There’s some evidence but not more than there is for other possible suspects.’ I paused. ‘Is that why you asked me to step in? Because you were afraid Glenn was guilty?’
‘I reckon so. Is this a suicide attempt?’
‘No,’ I said gently. ‘I don’t think Glenn would ever try to kill himself. And even if he wanted to, why here where it would distress you even more? It doesn’t add up.’
Arthur took no notice. ‘But if it was he who killed Mike and attacked Anna—’
‘We don’t know that, Arthur – and this wasn’t a suicide attempt.’
He still took no notice. ‘He could have been afraid of what I might give Mike, or that I might put every dollar I had into Old Herne’s. I wouldn’t do that, Jack, and Mike wouldn’t have let me. He told us all at that lunch that if the Porsche wasn’t found, he’d have the insurance money to put into the place.’