4 Death at the Happiness Club

by Cecilia Peartree

  She saw now that Christopher was writing notes.

  'So where was Penelope going?' said Jemima.

  'She seemed to be headed straight for the Happiness Club,' said Maisie Sue. 'She almost knocked me over, and I thought it was odd that she didn't stop to say hello or to apologise. Then…' She closed her eyes to picture the scene, but opened them almost at once in startlement, remembering. 'She didn't get as far as the Club itself. She turned down a side opening.'

  'Into the yard behind the row of buildings!' said Amaryllis gleefully. 'Penelope's the killer! I always thought there was something evil going on under that quilted body-warmer.'

  'Oh, dear, I don't think so,' said Maisie Sue, feeling guilty that she had even mentioned Penelope's name.

  'But surely,' said Christopher, 'she could just as well be the victim?'

  Jemima gasped. Dave patted her hand again. Amaryllis stared at him in amazement. Maisie Sue, realising her mouth had dropped open, closed it quickly in the hope that nobody had noticed.

  'Has anybody seen her since then?' he asked.

  They all shook their heads in unison. Maisie Sue wondered whether to pour another round of drinks.

  'Did you see anyone else?' Amaryllis asked her. ‘Or hear anything?’

  'I don't think I did,' said Maisie Sue. 'No, wait. There was something.’ She frowned, trying to remember. ‘A big car passed me, going quite fast, when I was almost home. But I don't know who was inside.'

  'Did you see what kind of car it was?' said Amaryllis.

  'Oh, yes,' said Maisie Sue happily. Pearson had been into designer cars and had constantly grumbled about not being able to afford one because of Maisie Sue's hair styling habit using up all his money - which was of course a gross exaggeration. 'It was a cream Porsche - I can't recall what model.'

  'Are you sure?' said Amaryllis doubtfully. Maybe she was wondering if Maisie Sue knew the difference between a cream Porsche and a custard cream cookie.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure… There was a cream Porsche in the yard at the Happiness Club too. I don’t know if it was the same one, but there aren’t too many Porsches in Pitkirtly, right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Amaryllis.

  ‘There aren’t too many people pretentious enough to have one, either,’ said Christopher. The others nodded and made little sounds of agreement. Maisie Sue looked round at them all. There was something missing. She had often noticed a dissenting voice when they were all together like this. Then she remembered about Jock McLean.

  ‘I guess this can’t be connected with what happened to the boat?’ she said tentatively.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Amaryllis. ‘That seemed to be an accident. And yet…’

  ‘Was it not just a build-up of gas in the water-heater though?’ said Dave.

  ‘And a spark from Jock McLean’s pipe,’ added Jemima. ‘I always knew that pipe couldn’t be healthy.’

  Amaryllis had begun to pace up and down. ‘We need to find out more about the police investigation,’ she muttered.

  ‘That isn’t usually a problem for you,’ said Christopher. ‘And now you have Charlie Smith as your best friend it should be even easier.’

  ‘Who’s Charlie Smith?’ said Jemima.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Smith to you,’ said Christopher. ‘But thanks to the magic of the Happiness Club, he and Amaryllis have become quite close.’

  Amaryllis glared at Christopher, and for a moment Maisie Sue wondered if she was going to attack him physically. But she just kept pacing and said, ‘No need to introduce red herrings. I’m trying to think straight.’

  ‘I hope this won’t mean the tea-dance being cancelled,’ said Jemima suddenly.

  Maisie Sue recalled seeing the tea-dance on the Happiness Club programme. She hadn’t been sure about it. Fine for Jemima and Dave, who would presumably go together, but going to something like that on her own was a daunting thought. Would it be like a high school dance with boys or men sitting in a line down one side of the room and girls (women) at the other? A barn dance might have been better as a way of mixing people up. But if someone had been shot, it wasn’t very seemly to talk about dancing, was it? She had another unpleasant thought straight after that one.

  What if the shooting victim should be Sean or Dee or Dilly? What if one of them was in hospital even now – or worse? Wouldn’t the others want to give up on the Happiness Club in that case? Or at least move to another town and start again? She couldn’t imagine the two sisters carrying on without their brother. And how upset would he be if one of his sisters had been shot?

  But Amaryllis was right: they needed to know exactly what had happened, and to whom, before they could start wondering how it would affect anything.

  'We don’t even know if anyone's died yet,' Christopher pointed out. 'If it was just a case of shots being fired, the police might investigate. But there'd be no victim. And no ambulance.'

  'I know,' said Jemima. 'I think we've come to expect there to be a victim.'

  'There's bound to be a victim,' said Amaryllis. 'And how can we help to solve the case if we don't know anything?'

  'Maybe the police have had enough of our help,' suggested Christopher.

  Amaryllis frowned.

  ‘I guess we’ll have to wait till it gets in the papers,’ said Maisie Sue uncertainly.

  Amaryllis glared at her.

  ‘I never wait to see things in the papers,’ she declared with a magnificent disregard for the truth. ‘We need to find out now – tonight.’

  Chapter 17 Finding out

  Christopher almost wished he hadn't gone round to Amaryllis's flat that evening after work when he saw how things developed. They had enjoyed the meal at the Golden Peach, but it wasn't exactly the 'meal out together' he had suggested, since they had been forced to join Jemima and Dave, who were already enjoying spring rolls with hot sauce as a starter. He couldn't work out whether Amaryllis was disappointed or not; she was so polite that it was impossible to read her thoughts.

  Now, just as the evening should be drawing to a close, she was re-energised and he could see he would have his work cut out to prevent her from doing something very silly that night. It was quite on the cards that she would try and break or bluff her way into Pitkirtly police station, threaten or even blackmail the duty sergeant or some hapless police constable and persuade someone to share all the details of the investigation with her.

  As they said good-bye to Maisie Sue, who had started to look very tired and worn after her third whisky, Amaryllis frightened the woman by saying to her, 'Don't forget, if things go pear-shaped and they come round and arrest you, I'm a P.I. You can employ me if you need to.'

  'I guess I'd go to a lawyer in that situation,' said Maisie Sue.

  'You don't want to do that,' said Dave grimly. 'You can't trust lawyers as far as you can throw them - and most of them have got so fat by leeching money off everybody else that you couldn't throw them very far.'

  Maisie Sue didn't say any more about it, probably because she was too tired to argue, particularly with Dave, who, as Christopher knew only too well, could argue all night about trivia. With Jock McLean, his usual sparring partner, absent, he would be looking for another challenge.

  'They all walked along the road together until their paths diverged.

  'You go that way, don't you?' said Amaryllis innocently to Christopher, who kept walking with her, down the hill towards Merchantman Wynd after Jemima and Dave had branched off.

  'I thought I'd see you home - just in case there are any gunmen hiding in the bushes.'

  'I don't expect you'd be much use in that situation.'

  'At least I could go and tell Jemima and Dave what had happened, and they wouldn't have to wait for tomorrow's papers,' he said.

  She laughed. He was pleased to see she wasn't glaring any more.

  She suddenly stopped, almost in mid-stride, and clutched at his arm.

  'How do the papers get their information?'

  'Well, I suppose they send reporters r
ound to pry on people. And hack into phones. That kind of thing. Then there are press conferences and statements.'

  'And members of the public tipping them off. Like the neighbour Jemima and Dave spoke to… And the papers have reporters who check with the police station every so often to see what's been happening,' she said. 'Of course! How could I be so stupid? Come on, hurry up.'

  'Where are we going?'

  'There's a public phone-box further down the road - past my flat. Down near where the Elgin Arms used to be. It's the only one in Pitkirtly that still works.'

  'But why? Isn't your mobile working?'

  'Mobiles are so this century,' she said as she speeded up. She had taken his arm and was practically dragging him along behind her. 'Everything can be traced now. Except a call from a call-box.'

  Oh, well. Christopher shrugged mentally. It could be much worse. Ringing the police and pretending to be a reporter was mild compared with what she could have done. He decided he'd better stick with her in case this was just a front for some more sinister purpose.

  The phone box was actually in working order, which was in itself miraculous. Amaryllis insisted he should come into it with her, which made it quite a tight squeeze. He would have to go on a diet before their next adventure. All that Belgian chocolate had gone straight to his stomach.

  'Have you got some change?' she said. He maneouvred into a position where he could search his jacket pockets without actually punching himself or Amaryllis in the chest, and at last produced a handful of coins. The machine took credit cards too, but he guessed she didn't want to use one in case it could be traced. Not that the police had the resources to try and trace every call they got from someone claiming to be a reporter. Or at least he hoped they didn’t.

  The phone seemed to ring and ring for ages.

  'I'll give them five minutes,' she said. 'Perhaps there's only one officer left in the building and he's along at the other end of the corridor or just outside the door having a smoke.'

  Eventually she spoke to someone; the conversation seemed to drag on a bit at the other end of the line but Amaryllis's few comments were brief and uninformative. She was frowning again as she replaced the receiver.

  'The cleaner,' she said crossly. 'You'd think in this day and age, and with all the stuff that’s going on around here, they would have someone on duty overnight, but the cleaner says all the night calls have to go through the switchboard in Dundee. And there's a fault with switching them through at the moment and she's fed up answering the phone to all those nuisance callers like me who've managed to get hold of the station number. And if she doesn't get the offices finished before the end of her shift Chief Inspector Smith will complain there are crumbs under his desk… Funny, I didn't think he would be so picky.'

  'Dundee?' said Christopher, startled.

  'I suppose we're lucky it's not Manchester,' she said gloomily.

  They extricated themselves from the phone box and it was just then that they had their first stroke of luck, in the sense of finding out what was going on, that was.

  Zak Johnstone was walking towards them, strolling down the road as if he didn't have a care in the world. But when he recognised them, he turned and ran away. That was his first mistake.

  The second one was struggling when Amaryllis caught up with him.

  'Let him go, for goodness' sake, otherwise he'll sue,' panted Christopher, arriving at last at the point halfway up the hill where Amaryllis had overtaken the boy.

  'I will do anyway,' said Zak. 'She's a menace to society and ought to be locked up. My Dad says.'

  'There are no other witnesses,' said Amaryllis. 'I'll say you attacked me. Teenage tearaway overpowered by brave elderly lady, the headlines will say.'

  'Elderly?' said Christopher.

  'I'm over forty,' said Amaryllis. 'That counts as elderly in the media.'

  'Why did you run away just now?' said Christopher to Zak.

  The boy shrugged his shoulders. 'No reason. Didn't want to talk to you.'

  Christopher looked at the boy closely. He was somehow different now. When they had first encountered him, he had been the confident, swaggering one of his group of friends, apparently unmoved by getting into serious trouble with the police. Christopher had given him a chance to do some voluntary work in the Cultural Centre during the summer while he was on probation and waiting to do community service because of these earlier incidents. He was lucky that his university studies hadn't been interrupted.

  On the face of it, Zak came from a supportive, well-to-do home and hadn't caused any trouble at school, something which had stood him in good stead when he had to face a court. But Christopher suspected there was more to it than that. Now the boy seemed to have lost a lot of that self-confidence; he was wearing clothes that looked as if they needed a wash, and even his face and hands could have done with coming into contact with soap and water. His hair had grown longer than was currently fashionable, and flopped about all over the place. He looked less like a young man on his way to an evening out, and more like someone uncertain of where he was going, than he had ever seemed.

  Amaryllis relaxed her grip slightly.

  'Why did you run?' she said. 'Is there something wrong?'

  'Just about everything,' he suddenly said on a sigh, as if it was a relief to tell someone.

  Christopher glanced around. They were almost at Merchantman Wynd. He wondered how Zak would react if they invited him into Amaryllis's flat. It might be better to take him to the pub or the nearest fish and chip shop.

  'Let’s go round to the Queen of Scots and have a chat,' Amaryllis suggested.

  Christopher glanced at his watch. It was nearly closing time.

  'It's a bit late for that,' he said.

  'Oh, damn,' said Amaryllis. 'We'd better go to my place. It's just along here… It's OK,' she added, to Zak. 'You'll be quite safe with us. In fact, I've got a surprise for you.'

  'What sort of surprise?' said Christopher suspiciously.

  Amaryllis laughed. 'I forgot - it'll be a surprise for you too. I thought you might guess when you were in the flat earlier. But you didn't notice anything.'

  He didn't know what she was talking about. Had she taken up some sort of extreme sport and left the equipment lying around her apartment? Had she bought a sequined dress in readiness for the Happiness Club tea-dance? Had Chief Inspector Smith taken up residence? He discounted the last of these possibilities immediately. Apart from anything else, if Chief Inspector Smith had been on tap, so to speak, she wouldn't have made all this fuss about trying to find out what had happened today.

  There was a sort of scuffling sound as she opened the door.

  'It’s all right, it's only me,' called Amaryllis. 'I've brought a friend of yours. And Christopher.'

  Christopher just had enough time to feel miffed at being last to be mentioned before they opened the living-room door and saw a young man sitting on one of the off-white sofas. Surely she hasn't got a toy-boy, was his first thought. Then something about the boy's sandy hair and startled expression struck a chord.

  'Stewie?' he said.

  Zak had stopped in his tracks. 'What are you doing here?' he said to his friend and erstwhile partner in crime.

  'He's staying here for a while,' said Amaryllis. 'His gran thought it would be a good idea.'

  'She threw me out,' said Stewie, the hurt and betrayal still in his voice. 'What are you doing here?' he said to Zak accusingly, sounding almost as if he feared a usurper.

  Christopher stared at Amaryllis. How did she always manage to surprise him? He had never suspected her of this kind of altruism before.

  'I'll tell you about it later,' she said to him in a low voice.

  Zak and Stewie didn't exactly indulge in a brotherly hug. Instead Zak circled round the sofa like a lion trying to intimidate a gazelle, while Stewie sat on the edge, poised for flight.

  'Sit down, Zak,' said Amaryllis briskly. 'Now, tell us what's wrong.'

  He perched on a smaller
chair near the window, almost as if he thought he could escape through it if necessary. Without looking at Stewie, he muttered, 'It's Mum. She's gone off somewhere.'

  Christopher had a sinking feeling in his stomach. It sounded almost as if their question about Penelope - perpetrator or victim? - was about to be answered.

  'When did you last see her?' said Amaryllis.

  'About lunch-time, at home,' said Zak. I'd just got up, and she got a phone call and went rushing out.'

  'She didn't say where she was going, then?' asked Amaryllis.

  He shook his head. 'Not exactly. But she said something that made me think she was coming through to Pitkirtly.' He frowned, as if trying to recall something. 'What was it? - maybe something to do with that stupid Happiness Club?'

  'Is your father at home?' said Christopher, suddenly remembering Zak was the one whose father worked away from home and only re-appeared every so often to take Zak to the gun club. It was one of those things that made him despair of people.

  'Not really,' said Zak uncomfortably. He glared at Stewie as if the whole thing was the other boy's fault. Stewie shrank back against the sofa cushions.

  Amaryllis paced to and fro. The patch of carpet in front of the windows hadn't yet worn out, but it was only a matter of time, thought Christopher, remembering countless previous occasions when she had paced there.

  'Not really?' said Christopher. 'What do you mean?'

  'Mum threw him out of the house last week. She found out he'd been shooting at gulls. On the beach. The police came round. She went mental.'

  'On the beach?' said Christopher. 'Where is it you live?'

  'Aberdour,' said Zak.

  Christopher narrowed his eyes. 'Near the headland? Before you get to Silver Sands beach?'

  'It's about there,' agreed Zak. 'How do you know?'

  'There was someone shouting at us and waving his arms,' said Christopher thoughtfully. 'My sister said she'd been shot, but it was just a graze… We saw a police car later on.'

  'He said there'd been somebody about,' said Zak. 'But he was only shouting to apologise, you know. He didn't mean to scare you.'