A Whiff of Scandal

by Carole Matthews

  ‘No! She loves it. She thinks you’re brilliant.’

  ‘Does she?’ Her face brightened.

  Bob’s personal radio crackled into life. ‘Excuse me.’ He turned away from Cassia and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Elecampane,’ he said briskly.

  ‘Where are you Elecampane?’ The voice from the station crackled over the radio like the rustling of paper bags.

  ‘In Great Brayford.’

  ‘Oh, wink, wink. Say no more.’

  ‘I’m in the bloody pub. Making inquiries,’ he added hastily.

  ‘You won’t be too busy to go to a call in Lavender Hill then.’

  ‘Lavender Hill? Isn’t this a uniform’s job?’

  ‘Just go, for pity’s sake. You’re only round the corner, you idle bastard.’

  ‘Okay,’ he looked longingly at Cassia, who was currently absorbed by her gin and tonic. ‘What’s up then?’

  ‘Lady thinks her neighbour is running a house of ill repute.’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking!’ Bob lowered his voice. ‘Not another one.’

  ‘Apparently so. Thought that would make you smile.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s not the one we all know and love?’

  ‘No, mate. Lady lives right across the road. She’s been eyeballing them through a pair of binoculars.’

  ‘What is it up here? Is there something in the water?’

  ‘I don’t know, but whatever it is, mine’s a pint.’

  ‘Is this really that urgent?’

  ‘If you get round there now you’ll catch him with his trousers round his ankles.’

  The line crackled and Bob held it away from his ear. ‘Poor bastard,’ he muttered sympathetically.

  ‘If you need any back-up, Frank Cox will be home soon. I can send him round if you need support.’

  ‘Don’t bother, I can handle it.’ If anyone was going to be in need of support, it was Frank Cox when he got home. ‘I’ll report back, later.’ Bob put his radio back in his pocket. He turned to Cassia. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said flatly. ‘Important police work.’

  It was a shame he had to leave, all this undercover stuff usually got the women panting – except Melissa who had been bored to tears by it all. Melissa! Now there was a thought; perhaps she was starting a chain of village knocking shops. A light bulb lit up in his brain. He could have her for pimping, too, then.

  ‘I overheard you say Lavender Hill,’ Cassia said. ‘It’s only across the road. I live further up the hill from there. I could take you up there. It isn’t dangerous, is it?’

  Pant, pant! ‘You can never tell in this line of work, ma’am.’

  ‘I’d like to do all I can for an officer of the law,’ she insisted.

  I bet you would, Bob thought.

  ‘I could show you where my home is.’ Cassia smiled sexily. ‘Perhaps you’d like to join me for a nightcap – if your work doesn’t prove to be too time-consuming. Did I mention that my husband was in the Bahamas?’

  ‘It should only be a five-minute job,’ Bob assured her. He would make damn sure it was.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dan was fumbling feverishly with the buttons of Rose’s uniform when the doorbell rang. ‘Leave it,’ he said, breathing heavily.

  Rose glanced guiltily at the clock. ‘I can’t.’ She broke away from his passionate embrace. ‘It’ll be my next client.’

  ‘Is he due now?’

  ‘She,’ Rose corrected. ‘Not yet. But she’s often early.’

  ‘Tell her to wait in her car.’

  ‘That could hardly be considered the height of professionalism.’ But then, neither could this, she reminded herself.

  ‘Pretend you’re not here,’ he muttered urgently, his mouth working against her neck.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘It’s not in my nature. I’m the sort of person that opens the door to Jehovah’s Witnesses.’ Reluctantly she extricated herself from his grasp. ‘I can’t bear to let people down.’

  ‘You’re letting me down!’ He looked forlornly at his nether regions.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dan,’ she said, buttoning up her dress. ‘I want this as much as you. It’s just bad timing. Awful timing.’ Her eyes begged him to understand.

  ‘I’ve only just managed to get that undone,’ Dan complained.

  ‘Please, don’t give me a hard time, Dan.’

  He sat back on the treatment couch and folded his arms in frustration over the teepee that was protruding from his lap. ‘It doesn’t look like I’ve got much choice.’

  She smiled and blew him a kiss. ‘Get dressed. I’ll be back in two minutes.’

  ‘Good evening, miss,’ the man said when Rose opened the door. She could tell he was a policeman instantly, even without the giveaway of a uniform. It was a certain intonation of voice that earmarked them all – they must practise it for hours, like doctors must practise illegible handwriting. ‘DC Elecampane from Milton Keynes police station.’ He flashed his warrant card under her nose.

  ‘Good evening, officer,’ Rose replied, smoothing her tousled hair. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Can I have a few words with you, miss? I think it would be best if I stepped inside.’

  ‘Certainly.’ She moved aside. ‘Come in.’

  ‘I won’t beat about the bush, miss . . .’

  ‘Stevens. Rose Stevens.’

  ‘Miss Stevens.’ Bob folded his arms. ‘Can you tell me the exact nature of business that you’re conducting on these premises?’

  ‘I’m an aromatherapist.’ Rose’s voice wavered uncertainly. Why did policemen automatically make you feel guilty? It was like customs officers, they did exactly the same thing.

  ‘An aromatherapist?’ DC Elecampane looked unimpressed. His eyes travelled suspiciously over her uniform.

  It was then that she realised her buttons weren’t done up properly. In her haste, she had buttoned the top one to the next one down, so that she had an excess of collar on one side and, on the other, an abundance of fabric bunched round her waist. She hoped to God her lipstick wasn’t smudged down her chin.

  Bob purposefully took a notebook and pencil out of his top pocket. He licked the end of the pencil. ‘An aromatherapist,’ he repeated while writing it down.

  Rose could feel a vibrant crimson flush spreading from her cleavage to the roots of her hair.

  ‘And do you have a gentlemen with you at the moment?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Rose said, her voice breaking up like a bad mobile phone line. ‘Yes. I have a client with me.’

  He nodded pensively. ‘A client.’

  ‘A client and a friend,’ Rose added.

  ‘There are two people here?’

  ‘No. They’re both the same person,’ she explained. She was going redder by the minute and she could tell the fact hadn’t gone unnoticed by DC Elecampane.

  ‘So this gentleman is a client and a friend.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you’re giving him aromatherapy?’

  ‘He has a bad back.’ Her voice was sounding more and more feeble.

  ‘A bad back.’ He wrote it down, then scrutinised her again. ‘May I have a word with him – your client?’

  ‘Is that necessary?’ Rose looked puzzled.

  ‘I’d like him to confirm what you’ve told me. If that wouldn’t be putting you to too much trouble.’ He cast a nasty, sneering glance at her dishevelled uniform.

  ‘What is this all about, officer?’ Rose was starting to get worried. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

  DC Elecampane took a hearty inhalation of breath. The sort of breath that said he meant business. ‘I have to inform you, Miss Stevens, that we’ve had certain complaints from the neighbours about your aromatherapy business.’

  Rose’s mouth set in a tight line and a fresh surge of colour flooded her face. ‘It’s that poisonous bloody dragon, Anise Weston, isn’t it?’ she fumed. ‘She’s behind this!’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t confirm our source, M
iss Stevens.’

  ‘You don’t need to.’ Rose was dangerously close to stamping her foot. ‘I know full well who it is. It’s the interfering old busybody who lives across the road from me. That’s who it is!’

  The door opened behind her and she whirled round to see Dan emerging from her treatment room. He was fully dressed again and looking considerably less crumpled than she did. ‘Good evening, officer,’ he said. ‘Dan Spikenard.’

  Bob nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Mr Spikenard.’

  ‘I suspect that Rose is right,’ Dan said, his voice neutral. ‘It was probably Anise Weston who telephoned the police. But I’m afraid Rose is an innocent pawn here. Anise is using her – and you – to make life difficult for me.’

  Bob regarded him carefully. ‘And why would she want to do that, Mr Spikenard?’

  ‘I want to build retirement flats on the site of the old village hall. Miss Weston is violently opposed to it.’ His voice and his face were both earnest. ‘She hasn’t got much support in the village. I’m going to build a new village hall as part of the deal, so most people are in favour.’ Dan smiled sympathetically. ‘I think Miss Weston is feeling a bit desperate. I’m sure she doesn’t mean any harm. I’m afraid she hasn’t anything better to do with her time.’

  Rose could feel her jaw going slack as she looked at Dan in amazement. Anyone would think he was Anise’s social worker rather than her arch-enemy.

  DC Elecampane looked appeased. ‘Do you mind if I take a quick look in here, Miss Stevens?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ she said, feeling slightly dazed. Dan winked at her behind the detective’s back and she scowled in return.

  Elecampane opened the door to her treatment room. It was spotless. Dan had folded all his towels neatly and the array of brown glass bottles blinked innocently from the shelf. Even the reflexology poster was looking particularly guileless.

  Elecampane sniffed. ‘Well, that all seems to be in order.’

  ‘I can’t apologise enough, officer,’ Dan said. ‘It seems that you’ve been brought up here on a wild-goose chase.’

  Elecampane smiled knowingly. ‘Unfortunately, that’s part of the job, Mr Spikenard.’ He folded his notebook and slipped it back into his pocket. ‘Would you like me to go and have a word with Miss Weston? Caution her about wasting police time?’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary, officer. She’s just a lonely old soul. It’s unlikely that she’ll do it again. But, if she does, we’ll be sure to let you know.’

  ‘I’ll be on my way then.’ Nodding curtly at Rose, Detective Elecampane said, ‘Sorry to have disturbed your evening, Miss Stevens.’ He looked squarely at Dan and there was a shrewd glint in his eye. ‘And your aromatherapy, sir.’

  Rose collapsed against the door when DC Elecampane had gone.

  Dan’s face turned black. ‘I’m going over there to give that nosey old cow a piece of my mind, and if she was a bloke she’d get a piece of my fist too. She’s nothing but trouble!’

  ‘That was a quick change of tune.’ Rose’s face was grim. ‘What happened to poor Anise, old and lonely and misunderstood?’

  ‘She’s a vicious old bat!’

  ‘You made yourself sound like Great Brayford’s number one citizen.’

  ‘The good detective might not have left so quickly if he’d thought I was going straight over there to murder her,’ Dan grumbled.

  Rose twisted her hands together anxiously. ‘I can’t believe she could be so venomous.’

  ‘This is one of the joys of living in a myopic little village,’ he said, tugging his hand through his hair. ‘There’s precious little to do, so the locals have to make their own entertainment.’

  Rose felt some of the tension leave her body. ‘A bit like we were doing?’

  Dan’s shoulders sagged and he smiled a weary smile at her. ‘It’s spoilt the mood somewhat, hasn’t it?’

  ‘I’d never give Anise the satisfaction of knowing it, but her timing was perfect.’

  They both laughed. Dan took her hands and pulled her towards him. ‘Haven’t you got an oil to get us back in the mood?’

  Rose shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. ‘It was wrong, Dan. I shouldn’t have got carried away like that.’ She stared at the treads on the stairs, which needed painting. ‘When someone comes to you with a bad back, you shouldn’t end up jumping their bones. It’s not professional. Or ethical. Or even sensible.’

  ‘You were encouraged,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I know, and that was wrong of you,’ she admonished him. ‘I should have hit you with the cold spoon while I had the chance.’

  Dan smiled ruefully at her. ‘There’s still time.’

  ‘There isn’t,’ Rose said. ‘My client really will be here in a minute now.’

  ‘Well, I’ll go and give Anise Weston a good talking to then.’

  Rose wrinkled her nose. ‘Don’t be too hard on her. She is an old lady.’

  ‘Now who’s going soft?’ Dan chuckled. ‘She’s a vindictive old witch who delights in making other people’s lives a misery.’

  ‘That’s because she’s got no one to love her,’ she said softly.

  ‘Unlike you,’ Dan replied. ‘Who has someone who adores her.’ He lifted her chin and kissed her on the tip of her nose. ‘Can I see you later?’ His voice was husky.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Rose looked away.

  ‘Why?’ Dan sounded confused.

  ‘What about Gardenia?’

  Dan sighed heavily. ‘I will sort things out.’ The doorbell rang again. ‘If that’s her, I’m not here,’ he said wryly.

  ‘It should be my client,’ Rose said. ‘But if it’s the rest of the Milton Keynes police force, then I’m not here either.’

  Dan smiled. ‘Whoever it is, I think I’d better go.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘I’ll have to come back because I still owe you for my massage,’ he said as an afterthought.

  Rose pulled a face. ‘I can’t charge you after this! Then I really would feel like a prostitute.’

  ‘Who said I was going to pay you in cash?’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  FRANKINCENSE

  A dark oil with a fresh top note and a warm rich tone underpinning it. It modifies the scent of citrus oils, particularly, Melissa. Frankincense is valued for healing blemishes, wounds and old scars. It is a buffer for anxiety and helps to bring spiritual enlightenment, unlock deepseated stress and release the battle-weary spirit.

  from: The Complete Encyclopaedia of Aromatherapy Oils by Jessamine Lovage

  ‘What the hell’s happened here?’ Frank Cox said as he came in the front door. Presumably he had noticed that the twenty-four-tune doorbell was lying smashed to smithereens on the hall floor. ‘Mel!’ he shouted.

  She heard him check the lounge and the kitchen. ‘Melissa!’ he shouted again and she heard him race up the stairs two at a time. The bedroom door was flung open and Melissa flinched as it rebounded on the Garden of Romance wallpaper. Her soft furnishings were certainly taking some punishment today.

  The blood drained from Frank’s face when he finally registered that she was tied to the bed with standard issue police handcuffs, wearing nothing but her birthday suit, with a Ventolin asthma inhaler held in her mouth with a stocking. As he stared at her, his face ashen, she thought she had never loved him more than at this moment.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he gasped faintly when he finally managed to speak.

  Melissa nodded pleasantly.

  ‘Have we had burglars or something?’

  ‘SUFFTHIFF,’ Melissa said enigmatically.

  He came to the bed and with trembling fingers untied the stocking. The inhaler fell into her lap. Clasping her to him roughly, he said, ‘Did they hurt you?’ His voice was cracking with emotion.

  ‘Er, no,’ Melissa admitted. Although, to be fair, it had been jolly uncomfortable waiting for Frank to come home. She’d started to get cramp in her big toe on the foot that was handcuffed to the bed. ‘And
it wasn’t a them, either,’ she said sheepishly.

  ‘One man did this?’

  ‘Er, yes,’ Melissa conceded.

  ‘Didn’t you struggle?’

  ‘Er, a bit.’

  ‘A bit?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  Frank closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. ‘Did he threaten you with a knife?’

  ‘A knife?’ Explaining this was proving harder than Melissa had expected. Perhaps it was because of the shock of finding her like this. If she had been able to break it gently to him over a cottage pie, it might have been easier. But then, if she’d been able to tell him over a cottage pie, she wouldn’t have told him at all.

  ‘A knife,’ Frank repeated. ‘Did he have a knife?’

  ‘Er, not exactly.’

  ‘My poor love.’ Frank squeezed her to him again, which was also uncomfortable as she was still handcuffed to the bed. He looked at her earnestly. ‘This is what they call post-traumatic shock syndrome. Policemen get it all the time. It makes you unable to think or speak properly.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Melissa nodded sagely. ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘I’m going to phone the police.’ He spoke slowly and loudly to her, like you do when you’re speaking to a Frenchman and you can’t speak French.

  ‘Frank, you are the police,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I know, but I have to report this – this hideous crime.’ His slow, loud voice was quivering with tears.

  Melissa cleared her throat. ‘There’s something I need to tell you, Frank. You must listen carefully.’ She wriggled to make herself more comfortable. ‘There hasn’t actually been a crime.’

  ‘Oh, my darling.’ He stroked her hair. ‘You’re more deranged than I thought.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you,’ she lied. ‘I’ve been doing a little part-time job for some time now.’

  ‘Cleaning for Dave at the vicarage?’ Frank looked puzzled. ‘I know about that.’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘In addition to cleaning for Dave at the vicarage.’

  ‘What?’ Frank looked even more puzzled.

  ‘Er, I don’t quite know how to put this,’ Melissa said hesitantly. ‘I’ve been doing some work from home.’

  ‘Work from home?’ Frank now looked completely lost. ‘What sort of work from home?’