THE FLOWER ARRANGER AT ALL SAINTS a gripping cozy murder mystery full of twists (Suzy Spencer Mysteries Book 1)

by Lis Howell

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Robert said quietly. He turned to Tom, who was watching with beady eyes. ‘Glad to hear you’re coming home, Tom. I’ll see you in Tarnfield. Goodbye, George.’

  Robert walked out of the ward and through the hospital into the car park. It was no longer sunny. Grey clouds were coating the sky like stale batter. So George Pattinson was recovering! He was fine, and Mary was dead. Robert felt angry, and rammed his key into the car door. Then he stopped himself. Wasn’t it only yesterday that he had felt glad to be alive? He remembered that he had never felt suicidal when Mary was dying, but he had felt that life was something just to be endured. Last spring and summer had been seasons to bear, sometimes ironically beautiful but never a source of pleasure. Yesterday had changed all that. He liked being alive. Did that mean he was a hypocrite too? No better than George?

  He knew his urge to go and see Suzy wasn’t just because of Tom’s odd note. Seeing George Pattinson for the first time in a year had unsettled him and he wanted to be with someone who wasn’t part of his past. He sat in the driving seat and thought about it. The note with the Isaiah reference surely had to have come from the person they had started to call the flower arranger. Perhaps the same person had knocked Tom down? But why? There was only Suzy whom Robert could talk to. He put his foot down, and headed for Tarnfield.

  34

  The Thursday after Trinity Sunday, continued

  Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid . . .

  From the Collect for Purity at Holy Communion

  In the dark shabby over-furnished grandeur of Tarnfield House, Jane Simpson followed her husband’s unresponsive back out of the kitchen. She trailed him through the long dim hall, where pink and golden sunlight filtered from a Gothic stained-glass window above the stairs, and into the stuffy, paper-strewn little room at the back of the house that he called his office.

  Jeff had hardly emerged during the last five days, except to go to the golf club or the Plough. He had communicated with his wife through barks and the odd note left on the kitchen table. He had come to bed after her, and risen silently while she was still in an uncomfortable doze. There had been no sexual activity between them for years, though there had been the inevitable bumping or brushing and the occasional chat in the night. Now Jeff lay immobile at the farthest edge of the bed, ignoring any attempts from Jane to speak to him.

  During the day, in front of other people it was just as before. The Simpsons had fewer social engagements than they liked others to think. But in the last four or five days there had been tea with the Ridleys, and the golf club lunch at the weekend loomed. But between the two of them there had been no conversation.

  On Thursday morning, Jane pounced on her husband when he wandered into the kitchen to make some coffee. She had been waiting in there, knowing that if he heard the slightest noise he would avoid the room. But she’d trapped him by silence. He’d mooched in, and stopped when he saw her. But he said nothing and turned around, put his mug noisily into the sink, and stomped out. She’d been on his heels.

  ‘Jeff,’ she said twice in a wheedling voice. Then she stood on the threshold of his office and watched as he sank heavily on to his chair and turned to the screen on his desk. He ignored her.

  ‘Jeff darling, Russell is coming back tonight. He called earlier when you went out to get the paper. He sounded awful. Jeff, what are you going to do?’

  Her husband turned round and looked her up and down in disgust. ‘What am I going to do? I don’t know. I’m still thinking about it.’

  ‘But what about Russ?’

  ‘Why should I give a fuck about him?’

  ‘But he’s your son, Jeff. How can you believe that awful woman?’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Jane! We were childless for twenty years and then a baby comes along. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it before. Russell hasn’t got one Simpson feature. And he’s useless.’

  ‘How could you say that!’

  ‘It’s easy. He’s a waster and a loser. A total waste of space. He’s thick like you.’

  There was a silence. Jane Simpson stopped peering up coyly from under her eyelids. For the first time, she looked at her husband levelly.

  ‘I see.’ She sounded cold now. ‘So you really think that any son of yours would have been brainy and capable? Like you?’

  Jeff ignored the heavy sarcasm. ‘So you admit it. He’s not mine, is he?’

  ‘What do you think? I tried to talk to you about it but you just wouldn’t listen. When nothing happened year after year, I went to the doctor’s and then I went to Newcastle for tests.’

  ‘Without my permission?’

  ‘What was I supposed to do? Have you refusing to get treatment, then buggering off with someone else — saying it was my fault? Not that that would have done you much good . . .’

  Suddenly Jane laughed nastily. ‘You know, it’s quite funny. I was absolutely fine, and it was you who couldn’t function. But I got all the stick for it.’

  Jeff couldn’t resist. He asked, ‘How can you be so sure it was my problem?’

  ‘Because if you must know, it was wham bam, right up the spout the first and only time with someone else. And you and your bloody mother were so relieved you never asked any questions. No one would ever have known he wasn’t yours, except for Russ’s blood group. That’s how Yvonne found out, isn’t it? Through the hospital, when he had his tonsils out.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘But no one knows who Russ’s father is. I’m the only one who knows that.’

  ‘Yvonne mentioned a name.’

  ‘She was guessing.’

  ‘Or your boyfriend told her.’

  Jane opened her mouth and closed it again. That possibility hadn’t occurred to her. The man who’d fathered Russ could never have known for certain. But he might have guessed. And if he’d had a relationship with Yvonne — like half of the men in Tarnfield — he might have talked.

  ‘You can’t be sure,’ she said quickly. ‘Not without a DNA test or whatever it is. And why would you do that?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Be honest. I just solved your problem for you. Did you want your precious mother to know you were firing blanks?’

  She paused, growing more confident as she thought it through. ‘You didn’t complain at the time, did you? But you knew, all right. That’s why you weren’t even a good father, were you? Maybe Russ has turned out badly because he was brought up by you!’

  ‘You bitch! I did everything for that boy.’

  ‘Except give him the time of day. I should have walked out when I found out he was on the way. We might have been poor but we wouldn’t have been used!’

  ‘Well, it’s not too late. You can bugger off now.’

  ‘Fine. If you want a divorce, go ahead. I’ll take you for all you’ve got, which isn’t much, let’s face it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I had a reason for playing away. You didn’t, you dirty bastard. Don’t think I didn’t know that you were screwing everyone you could get your hands on. Including Yvonne Wait. Well, the worm’s turning now, Jeffrey. I’d get alimony, and you know it. Then I’d make you sell this dump and I’d get a decent bungalow.’

  It was the first time Jane Simpson had thought about a future without Jeff. For forty years her whole life had been focused on being a Simpson of Tarnfield House. She looked up at the yellowing ceiling with the flaking paint, and then down the corridor to the dirty fanlight and encrusted door. It suddenly seemed too much. Why should she fight day after day with the dust and grime in this cavernous hall and these mouldering rooms?

  She turned, and left her husband at the desk with his mouth open. Over her shoulder she said calmly, ‘It’s you who’s the loser and the waster. And the coward. Even Frank Bell had the guts to tackle Yvonne Wait.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Jeff yelled, goaded. ‘How do you know it wasn’t me?’

  He stood up sharply and ran down the hall after h
er, his cumbersome belly shaking in his tight cream-coloured jumper with the gold golf club crest on the chest. He staggered forward and grabbed the banisters.

  ‘How do you bloody well know it was him? It could have been me!’ he called again. But Jane had shut the kitchen door in his face. He leant there, wheezing. A minute later his wife opened the door and looked out. He was still leaning on the newel post, breathless.

  ‘Janey,’ he gasped, ‘I think it’s my heart. Oh God . . .’ He slid to his knees and rested his head on the bottom stairs. His eyes rolled. His wife grabbed the phone from the antique hall-stand. With one hand she punched 999. With the other she stroked his shoulders.

  ‘Ambulance,’ she said tersely into the phone. ‘And make it fast.’

  * * *

  ‘And so you see,’ Babs Piefield said breathlessly to Suzy, ‘I really can’t sit with Nancy on Saturday because I’ve got to go and pick up Tom Strickland. Now her husband is in hospital, Jane Simpson can’t possibly go.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do anything I can to help,’ Suzy said. ‘Don’t worry about it, Babs. If you want me to keep Nancy company on Saturday, I will.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Suzy. I know Nancy will appreciate it. And I really want to help everyone as best I can . . .’

  Suzy raised an eyebrow. It would have been unbearable for Babs to give up the chance of going to fetch Tom Strickland. Not only would the trip mean she’d be a local heroine but she would also get first-hand information about Tom’s accident and the changes proposed at All Saints!

  ‘But I always sit with Nancy on Wednesdays and Saturday afternoons when Daisy is on her late shift,’ Babs was explaining. ‘I know she really depends on me, and this week it’s worse than usual because Nancy’s got an awful cold. If you could pop over . . .’

  Suzy was mildly surprised. On the few occasions she’d spoken to Mrs Arthur when she ventured into the garden, she had seemed quite self-sufficient and hardly in need of a nursemaid. But Babs was clearly agitated about neglecting her, so the easiest thing was to agree. Rachel was coming to stay for the weekend but she wouldn’t mind popping into the Arthurs’ for an hour, Suzy thought. She liked seeing inside people’s houses and she wasn’t really one for the great outdoors.

  ‘Well, thanks again.’ Babs backed down the hall. As she did so she caught sight of Robert in the living room. ‘Oh, hello. You’re here again,’ she said pointedly. She couldn’t resist giving Suzy an old-fashioned look, but commuted it into a forced smile before hurrying out.

  Robert was playing a noisy word game on the floor with Molly while managing at the same time to look over Jake’s shoulder at the computer screen. He’d come straight round to Tarn Acres from the hospital, but had been hijacked by the kids before he could tell Suzy about the note by Tom’s bed.

  Suzy said, ‘Molly, give Robert a break. You can watch kids’ TV now. And Jake, I need you to go down to Lo-cost for me. If Rob’s staying for tea we need more spaghetti.’ Jake grumbled as he got down from the desk, but Suzy could see that he was pleased.

  ‘Does this mean I get some help with my course work?’ he asked.

  ‘Maybe.’ Suzy smiled at Robert. ‘I haven’t even asked you if you want to stay?’

  ‘That’s all right. I do.’

  ‘Great.’ Suzy watched Jake amble into the hall, and Molly tune in to the TV.

  ‘OK, now we’ve got a second, tell me what you found at the hospital.’

  ‘It was a get well card. No, it was just a notelet. And in it was the message: Isaiah 5:11.’

  ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘No, I’m not. Get the Bible. What does that verse say?’

  Suzy leafed through Jake’s Good News Bible. ‘I don’t believe it. It says, You are doomed! You get up early in the morning to start drinking, and you spend long evenings getting drunk . . .’

  ‘That’s it!’ Robert was so excited he stood up, and Molly tore her eyes from the TV to look at him. He sat down again, but without thinking he grabbed Suzy’s hand. ‘It’s the flower arranger. That must be the person who knocked Tom down. Tom said there were dried flowers in the envelope.’

  ‘Really? What were they?’

  ‘He said marigolds. Where’s The Language of Flowers?’ He had brought it round after Molly had asked about it, the evening he’d taken Jake to the college. It had been good of him to think of something for Molly too.

  Suzy grabbed it from the shelf. ‘Yes! Look, Robert. African marigolds mean vulgar minds. You couldn’t get more vulgar than Tom Strickland.’

  ‘Exactly! That proves it, doesn’t it? First Phyllis, with a reed. That means indiscretion and has a direct reference to Isaiah. Then Yvonne with the hellebore message, all about Isaiah. Now Tom, who survived but who got his message in the post. It’s conclusive. We’ve got to tell the police.’

  ‘But we can’t be the only people to have realized what’s going on.’

  ‘We were the only people to see the hellebore. I agree that it could have just been over-imagination on our part. But now there are these flowers, and the note to Tom Strickland.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Suzy bit her lip. ‘But I felt such a fool last time I tried to explain all this to the cops.’

  ‘So we need to talk it through with someone else. We need an objective view . . .’

  ‘Look, my best friend Rachel is coming this weekend. It’s not long to wait. Come over on Saturday night for supper and let’s see what she thinks.’

  But would it be soon enough? And even if Suzy trusted her best friend, why would Rachel’s opinion be worth listening to? Yet Robert could see that Suzy was unsure now about telling the police. It did all seem far-fetched. The change in the weather from the grim grey of winter to the bright normality of the sunshine, plus the way the police had treated her as an idiot when she had tried to talk, had undermined her confidence in her earlier judgement. Well, maybe Rachel would help restore it, he thought. He became aware that Suzy was holding his arm, waiting for his reply.

  ‘OK,’ he said.

  The front door slammed and Jake came ambling into the room. As if guilty, Suzy jumped away.

  ‘Here’s the spag,’ Jake mumbled, and chucked the packet on to the kitchen counter. Then he turned away and shambled out. They heard him banging up the stairs. His body language had signalled discomfort. He was at the stage when a happy, open face could look cherubic one minute and Gothic the next. Suzy said nothing, but she had noted his change of mood.

  But twenty minutes later, when he joined them at the table, he seemed happier.

  ‘What time is Dad coming to pick us up tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘In the morning. About eleven.’

  ‘Great,’ he said. Suzy shot a worried glance at Robert. Until then Jake had shown no enthusiasm for going to Nigel’s. I hope he doesn’t suddenly feel resentful of Robert, she thought. But at the first whiff of bolognese sauce Jake was cheerful and chatty again. As they waited for their pasta, Molly came bouncing over and put the kitten into Robert’s lap.

  ‘She likes you. D’you like kittens?’ Molly said, as it fought to get away.

  Jake guffawed. ‘I like kittens. But I couldn’t eat a whole one.’

  ‘Jake,’ Molly whined, ‘you’re horrible.’ Her brother cackled, the cat fled, Robert sucked a scratched finger, and the smell of singed tomatoes filled the kitchen. Apologetically, Suzy caught Robert’s eye. But he was smiling. Whatever had upset Jake earlier was over and normal service was resumed.

  Jake ate his meal, forcing himself to think ahead. He loved his dad but he hadn’t really wanted to go to Newcastle that weekend. Like a lot of children, he was totally pragmatic about his parents’ separation and he’d hoped that Robert might offer him another trip to the college computers on Friday. But now he was glad he was getting out of Tarnfield. On his trip to Lo-cost to get the spaghetti, he’d been accosted by Matthew Bell.

  ‘Oi, you. Spencer.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come ’ere. Listen. If you say owt to your
nosy mam about our trip to Carlisle, you’re for it. OK?’

  ‘I’m not going to split.’

  ‘Fucking better not. You just keep yer mouth shut. Or else.’

  ‘I’ve said I’ll keep quiet.’

  ‘I won’t be around next week. Me mam’s sending me to me sister’s. I’ve got exams to take in Carlisle. But see them lads over there?’ Matthew gestured towards two of his older gang. ‘They’ve got their eyes on you. If you say anything, they’ll be round at your house. Your mam an’ your sister ’ad better watch out. Understand?’ He put his hand on Jake’s arm. Jake shook it off, and walked away.

  Secrets were OK, Jake thought. You were supposed to have them from your parents. But this one made him feel really uncomfortable. It was scary. He bitterly regretted going out with Matthew Bell. The trip had been tense and he knew he had been manipulated. At times he felt really scared about what they had done. At least going to his dad’s at Newcastle gave him a weekend’s respite, and then Matthew would be away for a week. I’ll just have to keep my head down, he thought, and hope this all goes away somehow. He remembered Matthew Bell’s balled fists waved in front of his face, and gagged. Then he attacked his spaghetti bolognese with ferocity.

  35

  The weekend of the First Sunday after Trinity

  Be ye sure that the Lord He is God: it is He that hath made us and not we ourselves.

  From the Jubilate Deo, Psalm 100, sung at Morning Prayer

  The next morning, the Friday of half-term week, Suzy saw the children off with Nigel in his new posh car, made up the bed in the spare room, and then drove into Carlisle to meet Rachel from the train. She parked in the Lanes multi-storey car park. It was another beautiful day. The city’s biscuit brown buildings stood out against a pure blue sky. Rachel’s train wasn’t arriving till three o’clock and Suzy had some knickers and socks to buy, but the job took no time. She bought a sandwich in Marks & Spencer’s, prowled round the shops, walked round the pretty old town hall with the steps up the outside, and went and sat on the wall by the cathedral.