“Did you smell anything odd while the fire was burning?”
“What do you mean odd?”
“A strong odor that normally you don’t smell.”
“Like gasoline?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I thought I smelled some sort of petroleum product, but I assumed it was her artist paints and paint thinner and such. You know, the studio was filled with those things.”
“So, you didn’t see, smell or hear anything odd prior to discovering the fire.”
“No. I’m sorry. I wish I could help you and Janet. But the fire was as much a surprise to me as to anyone. I’m just glad I saw it before it spread. Oh.” He snapped his fingers and cleared his throat. “You keep asking about that night, did I see anyone that night who was a stranger.”
“You just remember someone?” McLaren leaned forward slightly, hopeful of a lead.
“Well, I realize I should’ve mentioned this sooner, but I was so focused on the possible stranger lurking about her place just prior to the fire. I did see someone, yes.”
“Did you know him? When was this?”
“Oh, earlier in the day. Late morning. Maybe ten thirty or eleven o’clock. I don’t know exactly.”
“But you know this person?”
“Sure. I’ve seen him at Janet’s many times. I guess that’s why I didn’t remember right away or mention him to the police at the time. But I know him. He’s more or less a permanent fixture around her place. When you asked about a stranger—”
“Yes. Right. What’s his name?”
“Oh, sorry. Bruce Parrott. Works at Haddon Hall the last time I heard. He was a guide. Might still be. Does something else when there are no booked groups to lead around. Can’t think what it is. Server in the restaurant?” Ian frowned and blinked rapidly, trying to recall the information. “You’ll find him if he’s not left, though I suppose he might have done in five years. He used to be a musician with Janet’s original trio, when it was just forming. She fired him under unpleasant circumstances, I heard. You ready?” Ian stood up, picked up the car key, and followed Miles out of the pub.
TEN
The Sleeping Fox was noisy—perfect for Helene’s purpose. Perfect for masking her conversation and not being overheard, as might happen with a phone call.
Helene sipped her wine and glanced around the pub’s crowded room. A little late for Buxton’s after-work crowd and a little early for any person wanting dinner, the pub appeared to cater to a healthy mix of locals and tourists wanting a pick-me-up drink or snack. The chatter and body count would increase around seven o’clock, but the circumstances would still work. All she needed was Sean Fallon.
She dunked the end of the biscotti into the wine, shook off the excess liquid and bit off that part of the biscuit. The almond flavor, enhanced by the dark muscatel wine, consumed her tongue and mouth, and she slowly crunched down on the hard biscuit, wanting to savor every fragment. We should have made these, she thought, dunking another portion of the biscotti into the purple wine. We should have offered them as part of our Christmas biscuit assortment or with the picnic wine hamper. We would have had hundreds of orders for them. She took a sip of wine, her fingers cradling the bottom of the glass’ bowl, and let go of the resentment over the missed opportunity. They’d had their hands full as it had been, them with less than half a dozen staff. They’d never lacked for business and their upscale British classic recipes had always been in demand. Even when they dared to experiment with those classics and branched out into flavored shortbread and cranberries in hot cross buns. No, I’ve nothing to complain about. Janet and I did very well with our catering…
The outside door squeaked open, letting in the fragrance of approaching rain. She had positioned herself rather like a police officer would have—backed up in the corner of the booth and facing the entrance. So she had no need to turn to see if Sean had come in. It wasn’t Sean, she noted rather irritably. Just another twenty-something year old joining the group by the darts board.
She bit off another mouthful of the biscotti and flicked the crumbs from her suede skirt. It matched her brown boots and accented the flecks in her otherwise navy-colored tights. She had taken care over her dress, choosing the right wardrobe to wear for Sean. Readjusting the plunging neckline of her cotton pullover, she crossed her legs.
Her gaze shifted to the darkening landscape outside the pub’s window. Even now, three quarters of an hour or so before sunset, the lights from neighboring businesses spilled golden and white across the cobblestone courtyard. Buildings farther down the open area hunched over, darkening shapes against the darkening sky. Some windows glowed with life, like eyes staring into the gloom, while other windows closed their sleepy shades to the world, black rectangles in the black mass. Pinpricks of light popped up along the street, more yellow beckons lighting people along their way. In the gloom between the dark face of the two-storey building across the way and the shadow thrown by the pub, Helene could just discern a tall, muscular figure picking its way across the uneven quadrangle. A flash of amber beneath the overhead light fixture outside the pub’s door revealed the walker’s short, curly hair, and seconds later Sean Fallon joined Helene at her table.
“You want a beer or something?” Helene said, leaning forward slightly to make herself heard against the background noise.
“Naw.” Sean’s thumb stroked the edge of the pressed paper beer mat. It advertised a local brew. “What’s so damned important?” He sized Helene up, rather like a mouse looking at a snake.
“Darling! Such an attitude. And we’ve just got together. You’re looking quite handsome, I might add. Keeping yourself fit. You do weight lifting?”
Sean could feel as well as see Helene’s gaze traveling over his broad shoulders and tanned face. He swept an unruly lock of his hair back over his ear and settled back against the padded leather booth. Let her look, he thought. I’m immune.
Helene evidently liked what she saw, for she muttered something low and indistinguishable and stretched her hand across the table. The silver bangle bracelets clattered against the wooden surface. Patting Sean’s hand, she said, “You sure you don’t want a drink? It’ll smooth those ruffled feathers of yours.”
He shook off her hand and had the satisfaction of seeing her blush. “I don’t want a drink. I want to know what’s so bloody big deal that I had to meet you. I haven’t seen you for years and all of a sudden you ring me up and tell me to hightail it over here.” He flicked the beer mat toward the bottles of vinegar, catsup and teriyaki sauce grouped at the end of the table. The mat hit the bottles with a bang, like a bowling ball hitting a group of ninepins. “Never did like this place.”
Helene looked around the room. “Why? What’s wrong with it? I thought everyone liked The Sleeping Fox.”
“Too old timey for my taste, that’s all. The food’s okay, rather better than most. But all this coaching days décor…” He sniffed and angled himself so he had a better view of the window. “Now, what’s so important?”
“All right, darling, I’ll put you out of your misery, but I must say I don’t remember you being so fussy when you worked for Janet and me.”
“That was five years ago, Helene. I was eighteen when Janet died. I should hope I would’ve matured a bit since then. Anyway, what’ve my likes and dislikes to do with this cozy little chat? You’re not going to offer me my old job, are you?”
“Would you take it if I did?”
He screwed up his mouth and snorted.
“I didn’t think you would so I didn’t even waste my breath by asking.”
“So what—”
“A business proposition of another kind, Sean. You’re…what, now? Twenty-one or twenty-two?”
“Twenty-three. Why? You’re nearly fifty, I bet, though I have to hand it to you, you don’t look it if you are.”
“Thank you. We’ve both weathered rather well after…well, since our catering days together. Though you were so young then. Sti
ll are young. I’m sorry I lost track of you. What have you been doing since then?”
“You really interested or is this some play for time?”
“Sean, dear, I was always interested in you.”
“More outside the kitchen. You weren’t exactly subtle in letting me know what you wanted.”
“It never worked though, did it?” She smiled and saluted him with her wine glass.
“You weren’t lacking in skills, Helene. I just wasn’t interested.”
“You and Kathryn still together?”
“We’re married.” He wiggled the fingers of his left hand and Helene nodded.
“Imagine me overlooking that. I only had eyes for you, darling, when you came through the door. Never occurred to me to look for a wedding ring. Congratulations. I hope you’re both deliriously happy.” She leaned forward so he had a good view of the swell of her breasts.
“You were never more sincere, Helene. I’ll take that as a warm wish for our future.” The corner of his mouth skewed upwards again and he gazed at her with half-lowered eyelids.
“Oh, Sean, I’ve always wanted you to do well. That’s why Janet and I took you into our employment. We knew how hard it was for you with that burglary charge against you. No one wanting to hire you, no one trusting you. Such a black mark ruining your future. And totally undeserved, we found out, because you did turn out to be such a gifted worker.”
“You were all heart, Helene.”
“Thank you, dear. I told Janet the first time I saw you that we needed to give you a chance. And see? You’re married and…doing what?”
“I’m a chef.”
Helene blinked, unsure if she heard him correctly in the clutter of surrounding conversation. “Really? A chef?”
“No need to be surprised. Working for you and Janet all those years…”
“I’m so glad you are able to continue in the culinary field, Sean. Janet and I knew you had real talent.”
“So now you can pat yourself on the back, pleased that you rescued a little tearaway from a life of crime.”
“Oh, darling, it wasn’t that bad. You just took a wrong turn.”
“And you were there to keep me on the tarmac. Very obliging.”
“It wasn’t so hard. You always had the talent.” She took a sip of wine, watching Sean over the rim of her glass. It was hard to judge if he’d make a scene or not when she told him. It had been a risk, talking in a public place, but the risk seemed less than meeting in a less frequented spot where they might be seen and remembered. And she didn’t want to go to his house or, worse yet, have him come to hers. Putting the glass down on the mat, she said, “All right. You want to know what this is all about. It’s simple enough. I’d like to know why you torched Janet’s artist studio right after you killed her.”
ELEVEN
Sean’s voice raised an octave in tone as he squeaked, “I killed her? Are you crackers? Why would I kill Janet? Besides being a pacifist, I liked the woman. Why do you think I killed her? Who’s been talking?”
“No one’s been talking, darling.”
“Well, you got the idea somewhere. People don’t generally make up stuff like that.”
“Sean, dear, don’t look at me like you think I had anything to do with this accusation. You frighten me.”
“So, where did it come from—and why bring it up now? I thought the investigation ended years ago.”
“Just a friendly warning.”
“Friendly, like Janet was so friendly when she fired me?”
Helene reached out her hand again to take Sean’s, but he folded his arms across his chest. Instead, her fingers sought the steam of her wine glass and traced the ridges. “That was unfortunate, yes. I wish it wouldn’t have happened.”
“You couldn’t have talked to her, persuaded her to keep me on, I guess.” He said it so bitterly that for a moment Helene really entertained the idea of taking Sean back into her life.
Shaking her head, she said, “It wasn’t that easy, darling. It was her decision, when it came down to the final vote.”
“I thought you were partners, equally sharing in decisions and profits.”
“Yes, we were partners, but not equal. Janet really owned most of the company, so it was her decision in the end.”
“How fortunate for you that you didn’t have to soil your hands in such an unpleasant decision.” He eyed her again, searching her face. Her expression hadn’t changed. “Or was it so unpleasant?”
“Dear! What do you mean by that?”
“Maybe you got tired of having an ex-con, however refined and reformed he might have looked, for a worker. Maybe I was affecting your business, coloring your company name.”
“Sean, no one knew anything about you. You were completely anonymous to our clients.”
“Then why fire me?”
“Honestly, dear, this isn’t the time or place to discuss this.” She paused as a couple passed their table, glancing at her.
“I’ll drop it for now, but I want to talk about this later. You—or Janet—can’t pick up a down and out kid one minute and then turn around and give him the boot. There’s got to be a reason.”
“I’m sorry you’re still bitter.”
“Bitter!” He barked the word in a rush of cynicism and anger. “Let it happen to you and then tell me five years later how it’s colored your life.” He grabbed Helene’s wine glass and downed the last of its contents, then shoved the glass toward her. “So, you still haven’t told me why you’re all sweetness and light and brought up the subject of Janet’s death. What’s going on?”
“Just thought we could come to a business agreement.”
“Business agreement? The last time I was in business with you—”
“All right. Bad word choice. Understanding. You like that word better?”
“I thought I understood you pretty well. Obviously not. So, what sort of understanding? You want me to confess to something I didn’t do?”
“Of course not! How ridiculous of you to suggest that.”
“Then what?”
Helene’s fingers lay across the foot of the wine glass, limp and at ease. She said very slowly, “I’ve been thinking about that day, the day Janet died. Little things pop into my mind, now. Some of them not too pleasant to recall. Like the way you parted from the company.” The pub’s front door opened as three people entered, and the votive candle flame on the table bobbed briefly in the stir of air. “But, as you said, we’re not here to talk of that right now. My little business proposition is simple, dear. In summary, I will go to the police and tell them that you killed Janet and torched the artist studio…unless you pay me a little something to keep quiet.” She didn’t smile, but merely looked at him, open eyed and waiting, letting him consider her suggestion. Thirty seconds ticked by, during which one of the dart teams won, a groan came from the people watching the telly, and a police car’s siren wailed down the High Street.
Sean leaned forward and, keeping his voice low, said, “Your idea being that I had the perfect motive to kill Janet.”
Helene shrugged, her eyes large and bright. “Why, darling, of course. Don’t you read about those disgruntled employees going back to their former employers and killing them?”
“Those disgruntled employees don’t seem too concerned about who else gets in the way. Haven’t you read about innocent—and some not so innocent—people being killed?”
“There are always precautions, dear. Letters to lawyers, for example.”
“Reading ‘In case I die, Sean Fallon is responsible. The cassette tape of our conversation is in my desk drawer.’ That about it?”
Helene smiled slowly and picked up the last bit of biscotti. “Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?” She took a bit of the biscuit, swallowed, and blotted her lips on the serviette. “Now, what’s it to be? Me or the cops?” Her voice had turned cold and the humor had left her eyes. “Do I continue to keep quiet?”
Sean stared at the flickering candle flame
, his mind whirling.
“I’d think your professional career—not to mention your marriage and your wife’s good name—would be worth paying me to keep quiet. What’s money when your future is, shall we say, cloudy?”
“How much is this protection going to cost me?”
“Oh, darling. Not much. Not really, when you think of all you could stand to lose.”
“How much, Helene?”
“Let’s start out with, say, two hundred pounds a month.”
“Start out!”
“Inflation, dear. You know how the price of living keeps going up.”
“And how long is this going to continue…assuming I go along with your proposition and assuming I have the money?”
“Oh, dear. I hadn’t quite thought that out yet. But I’ll let you know after a few payments. I know how you hate surprises.”
“I repeat—why are you doing this now? You could’ve gone to the coppers when this happened. You need money for a new car or something?”
“Darling, I’m not so crass as that. I hid the truth from the police and the firefighters during their investigations, didn’t say a word about you, believe me. But now I think the truth is worth more to you, isn’t it? A wife and a thriving career will do that, won’t it?” She brushed the remaining biscotti crumbs from her fingers and smiled. “And, being worth more to you naturally makes it precious to me. I always liked you, Sean. I had an idea we’d get together one of these days.”
“You didn’t even know what I was doing until a few minutes ago when I told you. So you can’t have come prepared to squeeze me dry. What’s the real reason for all this?”
“You’re right, darling. But that doesn’t negate my business offer. There’s a man.”
“What man? One of your and Janet’s other employees?”
“No. A man came to see me. He got my name and phone number from Janet’s mother.”
“Nora? Why would she give that out?”
“She’s hired this man to investigate Janet’s case. She’s always been upset with the verdict of accidental death, so she’s hired him to find out the cause of Janet’s death.”
Torch Song Page 8