by Quig Shelby
James watched her go and grinned. At last it was over, but he didn’t like the way Susie Chang was staring at him.
John Lacey smiled ruefully to himself. James Middlemass, the priest who had stolen his childhood was one of Dela’s followers. Now why had that surprised him?
John wanted to talk, but Lance had gone to see his wife again. Her jealous lover was smouldering, although not with passion. He’d killed Sharon and then himself with a knife covered in Lance’s prints. Now she could return to Lance’s arms whilst her killer languished in the dark place with the other tormented souls.
‘Felix, thanks for coming, I’ll be in touch later today,’ said the matron.
With The Caring Hands Nursing Agency closed, Felix had picked himself another permanent job. It was elderly, but at least he’d been promised no lifting. Dela thought he was mad, but he hated asking her for hand outs, besides it was only three nights a week.
Felix scanned the residents in the lounge on his way out. Five of them were already dressed in pyjamas, sitting along the back wall like store room dummies, with two more arguing purposelessly in the middle of the floor; it looked like his kind of place.
Bheki placed the two statues in the scruffiest bag she could find. She was riding the tube to the auction house, and wanted them raising as little attention as possible. Pastor Goodyear had already pulled some strings, and they were going to be appraised this morning. If they were genuine they would make the revised catalogue, and the next auction. She said a little prayer for grandma Akuaa and Joost; one was her past, and the other she hoped would be her future - for this morning at least.
Chapter Thirty Five
Bheki threw her cases onto the bed, and almost fell on top of them. She quickly regained her balance knowing if she had fallen Joost would have pounced on top of her. Not as if she would have minded, but she just had to have some clean bed linen first. No one was picking up the phone, and Joost went to the lobby to arrange some.
Talking to Mr Wheatley behind the desk were the same two ladies who had taken such a shine to Joost at the breakfast table. When they finally turned to leave they were without their make-up or their scarves. Well I never, thought Joost - tranny’s!
‘No problem at all Sir. I shall get Mr Crowley to bring it up.’
‘Oh and Sir,’ said Mr Wheatley, as Joost readied to turn around ‘Madam Fang Fong’s here at the weekend. She’s a real pro,’ and he winked.
Neither Joost, nor any guest for that matter, could miss the horrendous posters of Madam Fang Fong that hung everywhere, leaving little escape.
‘Not my cup of tea,’ replied Joost.
‘That’s what they all say Sir, at the beginning,’ said Mr Wheatley, as Joost headed to the bar for a quick drink.
Before Joost returned to their room Mr Crowley had delivered the new linen, and Bheki had made the bed. She was in the bathroom undressing as Joost placed a twenty pound note on the pillowcase; she was in for one hell of a pounding. And whether it was the décor or just the sentiment, but Bheki was feeling like a hooker again; the bed was clean, but the day would be dirty.
‘Here, you’ve been good,’ said Joost, and he slipped another twenty into Bheki’s pants.
She could have remonstrated, but she was feeling too sleazy, and licked Joost’s face.
‘I guess we should rest now,’ said Joost, lying back on the bed, finally worn out.
‘Must we?’ asked Bheki.
‘For a little while.’
Bheki was borderline manic depressive, and when she flipped either side of the line it brought out her inner hooker. Joost preferred her depressed though, she was easier to control.
On the way to Pastor Abel’s, Joost stopped the car at an ornate village post box surrounded with Ivy, and pushed in a little packet addressed to Lucy Middlemass. Inside was a bent bicycle reflector, and a message - ‘Dilwood’s still a bad driver.’
Pastor Abel was in the dining room.
‘They’ll be here in an hour. Anyone care for a bite to eat?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think I could take anything else in,’ said Bheki.
‘What have you got?’ asked Joost.
‘Well Mai does some great Chinese food,’ said Abel.
‘It’s Thai,’ said Bheki ‘she’s from Thailand.’
‘Really,’ said Abel ‘anyway the foods great; although I think Plackcedes is a little jealous.’
Plackcedes was their cook.
Abel went to the door, and shouted his wife who duly arrived
‘Miriam, ask Mai to bring us in some bites, nice and hot.’
‘Drinks anyone?’ asked Miriam.
‘Cola please,’ said Joost.
‘Make that two,’ said Bheki ‘I’ve been working up a thirst all day.’
‘And something to cool your tongue dear,’ said Miriam to Abel.
‘Another cola,’ he said with twinkle in his eye, and he carefully watched her ass leave the room.
‘So how’s this going to work Joost?’ asked Abel.
‘I was hoping you were going to tell me,’ replied Joost
‘You’re the magician my boy. Just tell me what you need,’ said Abel, as Mai brought in the food, and three colas with ice.
‘Let me think,’ said Joost.
Disguise and deceit were soon rejected as devices, leaving John to do his thing once Joost had beckoned him forth. The problem was there were only two packets of John’s calling card left; Joost couldn’t use them both so that left ten minutes for each visitor - period.
The mask was centre stage, in the middle of the dining table. Joost, Abel, two large African men, one slightly more portly than the other, and a sombre Englishman who gave his name as Frank Sleigh impersonator, sat around, and equally spaced. The order of service had already been designated, and all eyes fell upon Joost as he inhaled his snuff.
John Lacey was a little taken aback at the numbers, and felt like the freak at a travelling carnival.
‘Sorry John I haven’t got time to explain, but can you help my friends? asked Joost.
The ‘friends’ tried to hide their horror at the diminutive reptile, even though they’d been pre-warned.
‘Are you sure their friends Joost?’ asked John.
‘Acquaintances then,’ said Joost.
He didn’t really have time for semantics.
John could sense Joost’s urgency.
‘Alright Joost let’s have it,’ said John.
‘In a nutshell, three grieving gentleman with three dearly departed to contact,’ said Joost.
John sighed, and was glad that Joost only had one packet remaining. Otherwise he would be touring the globe like Harry Houdini, who incidentally was a barrel of laughs.
‘Let’s get going,’ said John.
Pastor Goodyear held a stopwatch in front of him.
‘Ten minutes each gentleman,’ he announced, and the séance conveyor belt began.
The first had lost a wife, the second contacted his dead mother, wanting to know where the will was hidden. But the most poignant reuniting was Frank’s, who like Joost had lost a daughter; through leukaemia aged just 14. His was also the most tearful.
The widowed gentleman had a second wife to console him, although no more as he learned she’d poisoned his favourite wife. And the lost son discovered the will was hiding behind a painting of his step-sister, which wasn’t a good sign.
‘Thank you and farewell,’ said John, who’d actually enjoyed his moment of fame.
‘Be careful Joost,’ was the last thing they all heard, as the little crocodile froze before their eyes.
If Joost wondered why John hadn’t found Stella and Hildy so quickly, John was saved from saying they weren’t ready for the heartache.
Frank was still rubbing his
sore eyes as the pastor escorted the two African gentlemen to the front door. They shook his hand exuberantly.
‘Now don’t forget the auction,’ said Abel referring to Bheki’s statues.
‘Do not worry Abel,’ said the most portly ‘it has been well and truly earned.’
‘Is there the chance of another visit to see our dearest?’ asked the other gentleman.
‘I wish there were,’ replied Abel ‘but unfortunately the means to such an end ran out tonight.’
As much as he trusted the Pastor, which in truth wasn’t as much as Bheki would have liked, Joost hadn’t mentioned the solitary remaining packet; after all it could save their lives.
Frank Sleigh was dabbing away the eyeliner that had ran onto his cheeks. He was in his early fifties, and already divorced, when his daughter had died. He’d piled on the pounds recently, but wore a girdle to hold in his stomach. Joost looked at him, there was something familiar about the face but he couldn’t quite place it.
Bheki came back to join them.
‘Ready to eat my dear?’ Abel asked her.
Bheki shook her head.
‘We’ve got to go Abel,’ said Joost ‘some unfinished business.’
‘It’s alright Joost, and thanks for sharing John. What are you going to do with him now?’ asked Abel.
‘I guess I’ll keep the mask as a souvenir, now all the powder has gone.’
Had the Pastor tried to catch him out thought Joost, and why was Frank staring at him so intensely?
‘Yes, and thank you from me,’ said Frank ‘although it wasn’t easy.’
‘It’s hard to let go of love,’ said Joost.
‘I know, but at least she’s OK’ said Frank.
A look was exchanged between them that could only be shared between two grieving father’s.
Bheki was feeling miffed, but at least this time Joost didn’t hold onto his melancholy. He was depressed sure enough, but Bheki had the antidote in her pants, and if he was feeling guilty then hell she had no objection to beating him black and blue. In the beginning she’d found it disconcerting with clients, but it hadn’t taken her too long to enjoy it. And maybe she’d uncover the not so secret camera in their hotel room too, and let Wheatley and Crowley in on the show. Bheki smiled to herself, when the mood took her she could be a real bitch.
Chapter Thirty Six
Lucy buttered more toast, and with the plate balanced on her lap wheeled herself back to the breakfast table. As always, Christine had left today’s newspaper, and any mail, on the table. There were two items of correspondence; one from an old university friend, she recognised the hand writing, and the other a small packet.
Damn she’d forgotten the jam, and without thinking stood up, and walked towards the fridge. She grabbed the jar, and just as she returned to the table her legs began to buckle. She fell into her cradle.
‘Oh my God,’ she said aloud, although there was no one to hear her; the house was vacuous.
She leant forwards on the edge of her chair, and pushed her legs to the ground. She couldn’t stand again, but there were only two slices of Dela’s cake left; soon she would have no need of her chair.
She ripped open the top of the packet, clawing inside like a bear for honey. Then it reappeared - a bicycle reflector fashioned in the shape of a butterfly, by a love struck beau, who’d faded into the background after the accident.
She’d never asked about the wreckage on the lane, and always assumed the police had mopped it up; so where had this come from? And who’d posted it? She looked down at the scribbled note on the table ‘Dilwood’s still a bad driver.’
Did it mean Dilwood Benson had run her over? After all there weren’t that many Dilwood’s around. But who would know of their association, and who in heaven’s name had posted it? She twisted the butterfly in her hand, and a gentle smile sat upon her face. Maybe next year she would continue her studies, after all, she could say she’d been to Lourdes.
Felix sighed as he drove up the hill to The Cedars Care Home. He had mixed emotions. It was nice to be nursing, if you could avoid the hands on, and sleep through the night. However the patients could still be demanding, and more often than not he had a short fuse. He made his way to the staff room where matron was waiting.
‘Hi Felix.’
‘Caroline,’ he acknowledged in return.
She was smart and courteous, had always dreamt of being a nurse. She genuinely cared for her patient’s, and lived and breathed the nursing code. She was the antithesis of Felix.
‘I’ll get the carers,’ she said.
Ten minutes later, Felix was facing his night staff; Janet, Tina, and Roy. They were all in their forties, spick and span, and talked about the residents as though they were old friends. It wasn’t a good start, but perhaps they were trying to impress.
‘Ready for bed Harold?’ asked Janet in the TV room.
‘Not yet,’ he replied, and Janet went along the line.
Felix was disappointed, watching in horror as no one was frog marched to bed.
Felix continued giving out the meds from the trolley, and Roy helped him recognise the patients, whilst Janet and Tina made the teas.
Throughout the night hourly checks were completed. Those that needed turning were, and none of the buzzers were disabled. The staff slept, but only on their hour break; there were plenty of other jobs to do. Sort out the laundry, prepare the breakfast tables, and for Felix, check the care plans.
Felix hated it, and already it was making him ill. Even though he never lifted a patient his back was playing up. Psychosomatic, but nonetheless he wasn’t coming back.
There was one chink of light, when he was forced to change a dressing on Gertrude Souza; a dear old lady in her eighties, racked with arthritis. She’d led an exemplary life, spending much of her fortune on the needy. But it wasn’t pleasant having others clean your mess, and she felt embarrassed by the loss of dignity. She wanted a way out, and somehow sensed Felix could help.
‘Kill me,’ she whispered in his ear, as Tina stood at the end of the bed holding her new dressing.
Felix hated this; his work scrutinised by the carers.
‘Are you alright Gertrude?’ asked Tina.
‘She’s fine,’ snapped Felix.
‘Actually can you check on Alice for me,’ he said ‘she sounded a bit chesty earlier on.’
‘Sure,’ said Tina, marching off.
‘What did you say dear?’ asked Felix.
‘Please, kill me,’ wheezed Gertrude.
Felix wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or bad. He’d never actually murdered anyone who’d asked for it; then again there was always a first time.
‘Don’t be silly dear,’ he eventually said.
‘I helped in the war you know,’ said Gertrude.
‘Good for you,’ replied Felix.
This tittle tattle always got Felix’s goat.
‘I could see it in the soldier’s eyes, those that had killed.’
Felix knew where Gertrude was going, so he helped her along.
‘I’m a nurse dear, not a killer.’
‘I can tell,’ said Gertrude unperturbed ‘the others won’t do it, there too gentle, but you, you’ve killed before.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Felix.
‘We’ll see,’ said Gertrude smiling.
Break time, and Gertrude’s words were still going through Felix’s head. Should he, dare he? He’d never killed anyone on his first day, but then again he wasn’t coming back. In the end he decided to leave with a bang.
She didn’t fight as the pillow blocked out the light. Felix mopped his brow, and went to join the others in the lounge.
‘How did you get on with Gertrude?’ asked Tina.
‘Did she ask you to
kill her as well?’ asked Janet.
From the expression on Ralph’s face they knew she had.
‘Let me guess,’ said Roy, and he mocked Gertrude’s voice ‘I could see it in the soldier’s eyes, those that had killed. The others won’t do it but you’re a killer, I can tell.’
‘Don’t worry Felix, she says it to all the new staff. No one’s killed her yet though,’ said Janet.
As morning arrived Felix felt even more anxious, and insisted on checking the patients alone.
‘Everyone’s fine, no incidences to report, and I’ve updated Winifred’s care plan,’ he handed over.
Caroline was disappointed with his rush to escape, but it was only his first shift, and perhaps he was exhausted.
‘See you tonight,’ said Caroline, as Felix left.
Not a cat in hell’s chance he thought, and nearly flew to his car.
When he got home Dela was holding up the phone ‘it’s Cedars,’ she said.
‘Hi Felix, its Caroline here, matron at Cedars.’
He could tell from her voice something was wrong.
‘Hi Caroline,’ said Felix.
‘Bad news I’m afraid, we found Gertrude dead this morning. Can you come in this afternoon, and write a report.’
‘Of course,’ he replied, and before he could add ‘what a shame’ Caroline had put down the phone.
Felix looked terrified. Was his predilection about to catch up with him?
‘Have you been a naughty boy again?’ asked Dela.
Felix nodded.
‘It’s not your fault sweetie,’ she said ‘it’s mine. I’ve just let you have too much freedom. Anyway don’t worry, it’ll be swept under the carpet like all the others, mark my words.’
Felix felt relieved; after all Dela was rarely wrong.
‘But Felix, I must reign in your impulses.’
Felix felt a knot in his stomach.
‘From now on you must wear this,’ and she held up a clear plastic chastity cage - a CB6000s to be precise. The s stood for small.
‘But Dela ...’
She held a finger to her mouth.
‘No protestations Felix. Here I’ll even help you put it on.’