Holly froze, her hand on the doorknob. She turned slowly. ‘You’ve had the police here?’
‘Of course I have!’ Una spun her wheelchair away from the desk and zoomed past the stalking gods with astonishing speed. She pulled up a hand’s breadth from Holly’s knees. She was panting slightly. Dark red patches mottled her face. Out of the corner of her eye, Holly caught a glimmer of black and yellow as the python moved uneasily. She forced herself not to look.
‘Two oafs in uniform came,’ Una said. ‘They poked around a bit but of course they didn’t find him. I told them they needed sniffer dogs, but they said it was too expensive. I said I’d pay for them myself but they just left. I couldn’t believe it! I don’t suppose O’Brien’s has access to sniffer dogs?’
‘Bloodhounds?’ Holly murmured, as a vision of Andrew McNish pursued through the house by a baying pack flashed through her mind.
‘The ones I saw on television were labradors, but I don’t have any objection to bloodhounds, if that’s all you can get,’ said Una Maggott. ‘You can ask Mr O’Brien when you report to him. I’m simply saying, Ms Cage, that there’s no point in looking for Andrew without dogs. He’ll be under the floorboards, or walled in by now. They’re not silly.’
Holly felt weak. ‘Who?’ she managed to ask.
‘Whichever one of them murdered him, of course!’ Una snapped. ‘It could be anyone. Maybe they’re all in it together. How would I know?’
9
Crazy as a loon, Holly thought. Going the same way as her father. Nodding in what she hoped was a thoughtful, reassuring manner, she surreptitiously twisted the doorknob behind her back, planning a quick exit.
Una Maggott was not deceived. The mottles on her face darkened. She slammed her hands onto the arms of her chair in an agony of frustration.
‘You don’t believe me, do you? Oh, this is a nightmare! Why will no one believe me? I’m telling you, my brother never left this house!’
Holly actually felt herself rock back on her heels, as if she had received a physical blow. This was one shock too many.
‘Your brother?’ she asked faintly.
‘Brother, half-brother—what does it matter?’
‘But I thought—I was told—Andrew McNish didn’t have any family,’ Holly heard herself saying. ‘He was abandoned in the ladies’ room at—’
‘Yes.’ Una bared her teeth. ‘Dumped like a sack of garbage by his floosie of a mother—my so-called stepmother! She’d milked my father of everything he had, so she had to find another patsy, didn’t she? She wouldn’t have wanted to be lumbered with a child. That would have spoiled her chances properly.’
‘You’re saying . . . are you saying that Andrew McNish is your father’s son? By a—by his second wife?’
‘By the bleached blonde nobody my father moved into this house barely a year after my mother died!’ snapped Maggott. ‘Yes! But whoever his mother was, he was still my brother—the only close family I have left in the world. We found each other three weeks ago. It was a miracle! It meant the world to me—to both of us. And now he’s dead!’
‘Ms Maggott—’
‘One of the jealous, money-hungry parasites in this house killed him and made it look as if he’d run away.’ Una gripped the arms of her chair. ‘And the police fell for it, hook, line and sinker! They were only up in his room for two minutes. They couldn’t have searched it properly. They said there was no sign that he hadn’t left of his own free will. But there must have been. There must !’
As Holly gaped at her, she took a shuddering breath and made a massive effort to pull herself together.
‘I’m sorry, Ms Cage,’ she said dully, sinking back in her chair. ‘I’ve been under a lot of strain in the past few days. I haven’t explained myself very well. I can’t really blame you for doubting me—I’d probably do the same, in your place. But, believe me, I’m not mad, I’m not paranoid and I’m not senile, whatever you might think.’
‘Oh, I don’t think anything like that,’ Holly said, lying through her teeth.
Una grimaced. ‘Well, the police obviously do. They wouldn’t listen to me. They didn’t believe me when I said I slept very lightly, and would have heard the stairs creaking if anyone had come downstairs on Tuesday night. When I told them that even if Andrew had got outside, he couldn’t have got out of the grounds because I had the remote control for the gates, they said he’d probably just climbed over the fence. Well, you’ve seen that fence! How could Andrew have climbed it?’
‘A ladder?’ Holly murmured, against her better judgement.
‘If he’d used a ladder, it would have still been there, leaning against the fence, on Wednesday morning, wouldn’t it? But there was no ladder, or anything like a ladder. I told those idiot police, but they paid no attention to me at all!’
Una was getting worked up again. Little puddles of foam had formed at the corners of her mouth. Holly could well understand why the police had given her short shrift, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself from trying to make the woman see reason.
‘I suppose they thought that Andrew could easily have taken the ladder away with him and then dumped it, so you wouldn’t realise too soon that he’d gone,’ she said gently.
Una clenched her fists. ‘Stop making excuses for them!
They didn’t listen because they’d decided I was a crazy, besotted old woman who wouldn’t admit the truth! The others had pulled the wool over their eyes properly. It’s true that Andrew’s clothes are gone and the silver teaspoons are missing. It’s true the spoons are worth something—they’re antique. But Andrew wouldn’t have taken them—the idea’s ludicrous!’
Not really, Holly thought ruefully. Andrew knew a bit about antiques—Andrew knew a bit about most things involving money. Very likely the Maggott teaspoons were worth a lot more than Holly’s savings, even with a brand new wedding ring thrown in. Andrew McNish, spoon thief. How have the mighty fallen!
She leaned back against the door, facing the fact that she had arrived too late, that Andrew wasn’t in this house any longer. Tension drained out of her as the prospect of confronting him vanished. Suddenly she felt exhausted. She had the absurd desire to close her eyes and simply go to sleep where she stood. But Una Maggott, no longer an enemy but a pathetic, even tragic, figure, was glaring up at her, waiting for a response. She managed to rouse herself.
‘Andrew had a lot of debts,’ she said.
‘I know that!’ Una snapped. ‘I could have settled all that. I told him I would. Settle the debts and start him off in business again. Why not? What else did I have to do with my money? I was alone in the world—we both were. Why would he go away, when by staying he could have made a fresh start?’
‘He told you he was alone in the world?’ Holly asked slowly. ‘He didn’t mention any other family or . . . or a girlfriend, for instance?’
Una shook her head. ‘There was no one. I was glad of that, I must admit. Selfish, I suppose, but frankly I didn’t want anyone standing in the way of our getting to know one another, catching up on lost time. Oh, there had been various girls in the past, Andrew said. But at the time we met there was no one special.’
Only the one he was planning to marry on Tuesday, Holly reflected grimly. Till a better offer came along—a crazy, rich old snob of a half-sister who was going to solve all his problems, and was likely to resent a little blonde girlfriend plucked warm out of Gorgon Office Supplies.
Something has come up . . . She could see exactly how it must have been. Andrew had been skating on thin ice. The ice had cracked and he’d found himself in deep water, with killer whales closing in. Then, miraculously, someone had thrown him a lifeline. So he’d grabbed it, shrugging off any baggage that might have weighed him down. As it happened, the baggage was Holly.
He had probably been quite sorry about it. Looking back with a clear-eyed coldness that rather startled her, Holly found herself quite certain that Andrew had genuinely cared about her, as much as he’d been able to care about
anyone. He had proposed to her impulsively, in a moment of enthusiasm, but she was sure he’d meant every word he’d said—at the time.
Yet . . . hadn’t she always known, deep down, that his first loyalty would always be to himself? That he wasn’t completely to be trusted? Wasn’t that why she had always taken such care to maintain the breezy persona he seemed to find attractive, and keep her various insecurities well hidden?
The one thing she couldn’t understand was why he had left Una Maggott’s protection. Had he received an even better offer? Or . . . had he seen O’Brien photographing him, and decided he had no choice but to run? That would be an irony.
‘You have to find those teaspoons, Ms Cage,’ Una said, leaning forward. ‘If you can find them, it will prove Andrew didn’t take them. If you can find his bag, it will prove he never left. Then the police will have to come back and locate his body. I can’t look myself. I’m helpless, stuck in this wheelchair, and there’s no one else I can trust! Please help me!’
Her face was working. Tears were glinting in her hard little eyes. Holly thought uncharitably that they looked more like tears of rage and frustration at being cheated of something she wanted than signs of grief for a man she’d known only a few weeks. But they were very real, for all that. There was no doubt that she was in terrible agony of mind. It would be cruel to refuse her.
But I have to refuse, Holly told herself. I’ve got to get out of here. Andrew’s gone. This poor crazy woman’s just another one of his victims. And I can’t help her. I’m not really a detective. I’d be taking her money under false pretenses.
This last thought sobered her like a dash of cold water. Of course she couldn’t start some mad, useless search of the house. How could she have considered it for a moment? She hardened her heart and considered her options. She had to humour Una—find a way of letting her down gently. It wasn’t just a matter of humanity. It would be a long walk home to Mealey Marshes if the woman lost her temper and refused to ask Eric to drive her. In fact, Holly wasn’t at all sure she could even find her way back to the highway.
And she didn’t want to be thrown out of the house before she’d seen Andrew’s room. It was just possible that a thorough search might reveal some clue as to where he’d gone. She knew from experience that while Andrew kept his inner life securely locked away, he was untidy in small things, often leaving fading cash register receipts, dog-eared business cards, charity buttons, bottle caps and little piles of loose change lying around. It was as if some part of him yearned for his secret doings to be revealed. Or perhaps he thought that casually emptying his pockets and leaving the resultant debris in plain sight gave the impression he had nothing to hide.
She thought of a ploy, and felt almost ashamed of her own cunning.
‘Ms Maggott, I’ll do a quick check of Andrew’s room for you—no charge,’ she said smoothly. ‘But I’m afraid that searching the house would be a waste of my time and your money. Surely the teaspoons and Andrew’s bag of clothes would have been hidden with his body, which, as you yourself said, will be impossible to—’
‘No!’ Una shook her head decisively. ‘At least, not the teaspoons. They’re far too valuable. They’ll have been put somewhere accessible—so the murderer could retrieve them and sneak them out of the house when all the fuss has died down.’
‘Then they’re probably already gone,’ Holly said, seizing the offered lifeline.
But again Una shook her head. ‘It’s been too risky to move them. The fuss hasn’t died down, has it? I’ve seen to that. They’re still here—I’m positive. Wait a minute and I’ll get you the key to Andrew’s door.’
She spun her chair around and zoomed back to the desk.
Well, that had been a washout. Reluctantly Holly accepted the fact that she’d have to be firmer.
‘Ms Maggott, as I said, I’ll do the bedroom but I really can’t search—’
‘Well, not today, not today, I understand that,’ the woman said irritably, spinning the chair around again and speeding back to the door like a paralympic hockey champion going for a goal. ‘You’re not dressed for it. You can do that tomorrow.’
She slapped an old-fashioned, long-shanked key into Holly’s hand. ‘I had Andrew’s door locked and the key brought to me on Wednesday morning, the moment I realised he was missing,’ she said. ‘No one’s been in his room since, except the police. It’s at the end of the corridor, next to the bathroom. Look for clues, Ms Cage! There must be something. Then report back to me, and we’ll discuss our next move.’
She was bright-eyed now, quivering with manic energy.
‘Be as unobtrusive as you can. If you meet anyone, don’t say what you’re doing. Say you’re in real estate—Bowers and Benn, giving a free valuation, trying to persuade me to sell.’
‘Who are you talking about, Ms Maggott?’ Holly asked desperately.
‘All of them!’ The woman flapped her hands impatiently. ‘All the parasites in this house!’
Holly gave up. Without further comment, she opened the door and went out into the entrance hall. It was deserted. The portrait of Maggott the undertaker smirked at her mockingly. The hanging chains swayed, jingling softly. The stairs stretched upward into gloom.
There was a loud hiss behind her and she looked sharply around. Una Maggott was peering at her through the crack in the door, looking madder and more paranoid than ever.
‘Keep your eye on that key,’ Una whispered. ‘They’ll get it from you if they can. It’s the only key left for upstairs— all the others are lost. It’s usually in the bathroom door up there, and they’re all complaining because I won’t put it back. What does it matter if the bathroom doesn’t lock, I ask you? Surely people can knock?’
She pulled her head back and the door snapped shut. Holly made for the staircase.
The stairs, covered by a faded runner worn down to paper thinness, creaked, groaned and cracked agonisingly as she climbed them. It was like stepping on an ancient creature in pain. So much for ‘unobtrusive’. The sound must have been audible all over the house.
At the top of the stairs a silent corridor stretched left and right, dimmed by murky green embossed wallpaper and lined with gleaming cedar doors. Each door bore a brass number polished to a high shine, and was disfigured by a rubber draught excluder fixed to its base. Cold light streamed from the open bathroom door. The scent of lavender air-freshener hung in the air, masking, but not quite concealing, a faint, unpleasant odour that hinted at blocked drains.
The place must once have been a boarding house or private hotel. It strongly reminded Holly of the inappropriately named Bella Vista, where her great-aunt Stella had taken refuge after Great-uncle Herb went off the rails and burned down their house after a bad day at bowls. It had the same depressing ambience, the same air of lives compressed by closed doors.
Barely had this thought crossed her mind when the door marked 5, directly opposite the head of the stairs, snapped open. A short, doughy-faced woman with a mobile phone pressed to her ear peered out. She had protuberant blue eyes, a slightly receding chin, and a helmet of shiny brown hair. Her stout body was encased in beige woollen trousers and a hand-knitted beige cardigan heavily ornamented with chocolate brown crocheted edging. She looked so very like a pug dog in a wig that Holly was temporarily at a loss for words.
‘Who are you?’ the woman yapped aggressively.
‘I’m . . . doing an inspection for Ms Maggott,’ said Holly, finding her voice.
She wondered who the woman was. Another member of Una Maggot’s staff? A paying guest? Whatever, she was obviously one of the ‘parasites’ Una suspected of doing away with Andrew McNish.
‘Did you hear that, Cliff? the woman said into the phone. ‘An inspection for Ms Maggot!’
Without waiting for an answer she turned her attention back to Holly, compressing her lips and bunching her cheeks so she looked more pug-like than ever.
‘It’s not convenient at the moment, I’m afraid,’ she said in a high, arti
ficial voice. ‘I’m taking an important call. And please don’t disturb my son in number 7 either. He’s not well.’
She jerked back into her room and pulled the door shut.
‘Well, heavens, Cliff, I don’t know,’ Holly heard her say on the other side of the polished wood barrier. ‘Obviously it’s got something to do with . . . No! I wouldn’t lower myself to . . . Cliff, you’ll have to come! I’m at the end of my tether! Drop in after dinner . . . Yes, just pretend you’re . . . No she won’t, it’ll be all right. There must be something we can do to stop . . .’
The voice faded. The pug woman had either begun to speak more quietly, or had moved away from the door.
Holly caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. She looked quickly to her right, and jumped. A figure was dancing backwards out of a doorway near the end of the corridor. As it moved into the puddle of pale light streaming through the open bathroom door, Holly saw that it was a tall and very buxom woman with a shoulder-length mop of frizzy sand-coloured hair. A lime green tracksuit strained over her ample bottom and jiggling bosom. Her joggers were as brightly white as the pile of sheets in her arms.
The woman bounced around, saw Holly and gave a small shriek. Then she laughed and tugged out the earphone wires trailing from beneath the mass of her hair.
‘In a world of me own, I was,’ she called in a husky voice with a faint Irish lilt. ‘Sorry, I’m sure. Can I help you, at all?’
‘Oh, no, no I’m fine, thanks,’ Holly babbled, hurrying down the corridor towards her. ‘I’m just having a look around. For Ms Maggott. A real estate inspection.’
‘Oh, yes?’ the woman said, smiling broadly. She was older than she had seemed from a distance—perhaps a nudge over forty. She had a little gap between her front teeth, like Madonna or the Wife of Bath. Her mouth was wide and generous. Her narrow hazel eyes crinkled at the corners, sparkling under sparse, sandy eyebrows, and fringed by eyelashes that were barely visible. Golden brown freckles speckled her blunt, good-natured face and the backs of her strong, capable hands.
Love, Honour & O'Brien Page 10