Detective Ruby Baker series Box Set

by Daisy White

  Good point. I’m still in my bra and knickers, “I’ll be quick, I promise!”

  With a last blissful look around our new accommodation, Mary lets herself out of our new front door. Her footsteps echo down the hall and clatter quickly down the stairs.

  When I’m sure she’s gone, I pull on the pink shift dress, smudge some more black eyeliner around my lashes, and then slowly pick up my little zip-up bag. I only thought of this as today, but yesterday there were five pairs of white knickers in my pile ready for packing. Today, as I unpacked, there are four. We can’t have mixed them up — Mary hasn’t unpacked her underwear yet.

  I really don’t want to keep scaring my best friend. I want her to be as happy as she was today when she saw that crib, so I need to be alone to check. The careful intruder, the one who didn’t move any of our belongings, and neatly screwed the lid back on the tin when he’d stolen the cash, could easily have searched the room. Pearl has a lot of clothes, and a proper jewellery case with tons of cheap stuff, but Mary and I only had a bag each. It wouldn’t take long for a methodical person to find what they were looking for.

  My fingers shake as I unzip my little bag and tip out the contents. A few bits of costume jewellery, my daffodil earrings, a little beaded bracelet, one of the only gifts Mum ever gave me, and a cheap brass locket with a photograph of me and two of my sisters. It was only taken last year, but I love it.

  George’s signet ring is in with the clutter, and totally at odds with the other pretty, sentimental pieces.

  I’m just telling myself to stop being so silly when I touch a heavier piece of jewellery half caught in the lining of the bag. I pull out a man’s heavy gold-coloured signet ring. It is identical to the one thrown into the salon courtyard. I hold it up to the light and even though the room is so warm, I feel as though someone just chucked a bucket of ice over me.

  Chapter Seven

  This ring is cleaner than its twin, but otherwise identical in every way, with the criss-cross markings and emblem of a lion’s head.

  What the hell is happening here? Before I can even try to think it out, Mary calls from downstairs.

  “Hurry up, Ruby — Johnnie’s here!”

  I shove both rings and the rest of the mess into the bag, zip it up and chuck it under the bed. Then I step into shiny pink ballet pumps and catch a glimpse of the blonde girl in the mirror. She looks older and a bit tired, but she forces a smile. My finishing touch is the sweet white plastic purse with a yellow flower on it, which Pearl gave me last week. It matches my pastel outfit perfectly, but the sheen has gone from the evening. Only sick perverts steal girls’ knickers.

  I lock the front door securely behind me, and dash downstairs to where Johnnie is waiting impatiently with a carload of people. Mary climbs into the front, and Victoria and Ted pull me into the back.

  “Wow, your hair!” Victoria exclaims. “You look stunning, sweetheart. I take it this was another magical Johnnie makeover?”

  Johnnie laughs, “Of course. I’m pretty pleased with the results. I’m doing some new advertising boards for the front of the salon, and having some more styling books printed. Hopefully it will attract some gorgeously sophisticated clients.”

  “I thought you adored all those gossipy old ladies?” Ted takes my chin between thumb and forefinger and turns my head to survey my new hairdo from all angles. I swat him away, smiling, enjoying the cool breeze on my bare neck and shoulders.

  “Oh, I do.” Johnnie releases the brake and the car pulls smoothly away. “But they don’t spend much money, bless them, because they don’t have any. To take my business up a notch I need big spenders. These models and society girls are perfect.”

  “Hey, people! Want a hot tip for tomorrow’s three o clock?”

  Prince Monolulu keeps pace with us for a moment, patting the car admiringly. He’s a real-life African prince, and a legend round here. He offers betting tips in exchange for cash, and I think he’s often on the racecourse as a bookie in the summer.

  “Can’t today. I’m broke! Maybe next month,” Johnnie smiles and waves as the car pulls away. Prince Monolulu smiles back, elegant and as strangely dressed as ever, with his huge feathery head-dress, rows of bangles and purple shirt. Rumour has it he does the rounds at all the markets offering his betting tips. I don’t know anyone who’s ever won anything based on his advice.

  I twist my head round to watch him wander off across the road behind us, and raise a regal hand to acknowledge a bunch of yelling teenagers across the road.

  “So how do you like your new place?” Johnnie shouts over the noise of the engine. This car, a rather too clean and sporty green 1955 MGA, suits Johnnie down to the ground but it’s clearly not meant for so many passengers. Victoria’s long legs are propped between the front seats, and I’m jammed in uncomfortably.

  “We love it!” Mary says enthusiastically and I add my thanks, wedging an arm round Ted’s shoulders to give Victoria more room.

  “Great! I knew you would. Victoria, darling, move those gorgeous legs of yours a little to the left. I need to change gear.”

  She shifts one bare foot onto Mary’s shoulder. I breathe in the scent of the sea and enjoy the ride.

  As we make a right turn, I see lovers strolling on the pier. The old man who rents stripy deckchairs by the hour is yawning as he stacks them in giant mounds. The air smells of the seaweed, fish and chips, candyfloss, and rotting rubbish — proper scents of Brighton. The blue sea is as calm and unruffled as an oil painting.

  It takes about half an hour to drive up to Glebe House and Ted gives us a running commentary of the Brighton sights until Victoria tells him to shut up. She rummages in her bag and produces a shiny box of cards.

  “Oh no, not again!” Ted groans. “Last time the cards predicted I had to make a great choice and Johnnie had travel opportunities coming his way.”

  “It came true. You just need to look at it in a positive light,” Victoria tells him with a steely green glare.

  “Yes, I went up to London, and Ted had to choose which film to see at the Odeon!” Johnnie cackles from the front seat.

  “Fine.” Victoria pretends to be offended. “I bet Mary and Ruby want me to do their cards!”

  “Yes, of course we do!” I tell her, smiling, and squinting in the low sun.

  “Liar,” Ted pokes me in the ribs. I squeal and poke him back. “In fact, we really do because maybe they’ll say whether Mary is having a boy or girl,” I point out.

  Mary is much happier now everyone knows she’s pregnant. In fact Kenny, Ted and Johnnie are always sweetly protective of her on party nights. The baby will have three doting uncles. She beams, and rubs her stomach.

  “I bet it’s a boy,” says Victoria. Ted opens his mouth to disagree and she puts a hand over his lips.

  “No fighting in the back!” Johnnie says.

  We round a bend and come out of a new housing estate to a wooded area at the foot of the Downs. “We have arrived!”

  The entrance to Glebe House is marked by two huge stone urns filled with weeds. The majestic impression is slightly ruined by the fact that one of the urns lies on its side, and the stone gateposts are just piles of rubble.

  Despite this, the car crunches over stones and gravel, and creeps through a pale green oak wood. I take a deep gulp of the soft downland air, and feel myself relax a little. Rings and the mysterious watcher can wait. Mary and Pearl were right in a way. I can’t do anything but wait for his next move. But I suppose that answers my own question about who’s winning this freakish game. This weirdo holds all the cards at the moment and I don’t like not being in control.

  We pull up at the edge of the weed-strewn driveway, which is flanked by grassy lawns and towering oak trees. A few other cars are here already. It’s clearly a popular spot. I can see a couple of other groups around picnic blankets, the girls in bright shift dresses, and boys in tight trousers and jeans. Further away there are couples wandering among the trees, and up ahead, on top of the Downs, a
herd of cows is grazing on the green slopes. You’d never know that just round the corner behind us, you can also see those brand-new, box-fresh houses, and the beginning of the town.

  I stagger out from the cramped back seat and take in the view. The whole place is carpeted with wildflowers — a few I recognise, like buttercups and daisies, but lots I don’t, including a purple flower that winds its way through the white daisies like velvet thread. Clearly this was once a formal garden but it has now grown wild. Time has blurred the edges of once neat lawns, and weeds creep across the gravel driveway.

  Further away, a large, oblong ornamental lake lies in front of a younger, slimmer tree-line. The grey slabs that line its perimeter are covered in lichen and cracked with age. Despite the heat, the water looks dark and cool in the sunlight.

  “Ouch, my legs aren’t working now,” complains Ted, uncurling from the seat in his turn. “Ooh, is that Victoria’s new man? The one we aren’t allowed to meet yet because he needs to think she’s so studious and well-behaved?”

  Victoria looks across, “Oh great, he’s here already. Shut up, Ted, you’re just jealous because nobody will go out with you. Leon!” She waves at a skinny man in spectacles who is leaning against an oak, smoking. The man waves back and wanders over. Johnnie grins and lights a cigarette of his own. “One look at her friends will tell him she’s nothing of the sort.”

  Mary straightens her dress and tidies her hair with one purple-nailed hand. She takes a look at the gardens around us. “I suppose the ruins of the actual house are hidden behind those trees. Isn’t it beautiful, though?”

  I retrieve a picnic basket and hamper of food, which luckily seems to have survived the journey, and look around, “Where’s the Witch Stone?”

  “It’s over on the other side of the driveway — see where the lawn is cropped short by the deer? I believe the original spot where Lady Isabella was murdered was nearer the house, but the stone was put up many years later. Sadly, the house was left in ruins after the last fire. People said it had supernatural causes.” Leon’s voice sounds educated, with just a hint of an accent. Welsh, maybe? He smiles at me as he and Victoria join us hand-in-hand.

  “Everyone, this is Leon. Behave yourselves,” Victoria says sternly. She glares at Johnnie, who is clearly delighted at the chance to stir things up.

  “Let me take that for you.” Leon leans down to take the picnic basket. “Is that where you want it — by the stone? It’s a lovely spot, but blighted with bad history. In fact this whole area was once associated with witchcraft. Glebe House was originally built near its own church and village, but both were abandoned by the gentry who inherited it, and now all the buildings lie underneath that new estate you pass through at the end of the drive.”

  He’s gangly and a bit clumsy, with hair that is just a bit too long, big brown eyes like a puppy-dog, and a slightly hooked nose. Not my type, but I can sort of see why Victoria is smitten. That voice could be talking about the most boring subject in the world, and you’d probably stop and listen. He’s all gentle helplessness and old-fashioned charm.

  I jerk out of my trance, and smile at Victoria to let her know I approve of her new man, even if Johnnie isn’t looking that friendly. “Yes, please, just this side of the Witch Stone. Nice to meet you, Leon. Do you know a lot about the area?”

  “Leon is writing a book on the history of Brighton,” Victoria says proudly. She’s obviously keen to show off her new boyfriend’s academic credentials.

  “Really? I do hope you’re getting some of the interesting stuff in. Too many history books are just plain boring,” Johnnie says.

  Victoria gives him a cold glance, but Johnnie turns to unpack the hamper. There’s a lot — sandwiches, biscuits, miniature pork pies, bottles of champagne, and some little meat pastries in a box of ice. Mary’s in front of the stone, which is a bit like a gravestone, but taller. I drop my purse down next to a clump of buttercups, and wriggle over to read the inscription:

  ‘In memory of Lady Isabella Gordon, aged 19, who lost her life in 1922, but is remembered forever.’

  It’s a bit bland, as memorials go, but I still feel a pang for the long- dead girl. What an awful way to die, in the flames and the smoke. There is no mention of the girl who died last year — was it Katie? It seems slightly distasteful to ask, like some kind of gossiping granny. My hand trembles slightly, and my cigarette drops ash onto the blanket. I brush it away and get a grip on myself, but when there is a lull in conversation I scan the crowds for the watcher.

  “Are you interested in history?” Leon asks us, accepting a glass of champagne from Victoria.

  I squint through the line of trees, picking out the blurred shapes of crumbling walls, and weed-strewn stones. “Sort of. I suppose I am if it’s local. Did the family never try to rebuild the house after the fire?”

  Leon shakes his head. “I believe there had been a couple of fires in the kitchens before, but this last one, during the war, took most of the main building, and I imagine it was just too much trouble, not to mention too expensive, to rebuild.”

  “I think the last of the family line was killed in the war, and with nobody to claim it, eventually it was handed over to the council,” Victoria says. “I heard a rumour recently that they are going to sell the land for building. I’d love a house up here.”

  “Hello, you lot!” Kenny casts a shadow over our picnic blanket. “I hope you haven’t eaten all the food, you greedy pigs.”

  Victoria introduces Leon, and adds pointedly that he is writing a book, but all I can see is James standing next to Kenny. He grins at me, turquoise eyes squinting in the sun, and Mary giggles just to annoy me.

  Kenny has his usual plaid shirt half hanging out of his black work trousers, but James is in a fitted tweed jacket, worn over Levis, and his white T-shirt and tan skin make him look like a film star. It’s a great look. He looks like a more masculine Johnnie, and has that same lazy grace. My heart starts to hammer at my rib cage like a lovesick schoolgirl. A few other girls further away give him flirty glances, but he doesn’t pay any attention. “I like the new hair, Ruby.”

  Ted has found Linda and presents her with a bunch of wildflowers before ushering her over to our blanket. “Got room for another one?”

  “Of course! Love the dress, Linda darling — red is so now. Is that necklace new?” Johnnie opens another bottle, and pushes the plates towards the newcomers. “So, Leon, tell us more about this book? Is it about Brighton or this area in general?”

  “Well, it’s more about this stretch of the South Downs, really. The mix of ancient historical fact and fiction is really fascinating—”

  “Like this site. Wasn’t Glebe House originally built on a burial site?” James asks.

  “Not exactly, but there is evidence of human sacrifice and tribal activity through the centuries in this general area. It was perfect, you see. There’s a natural spring — it actually feeds the ornamental water feature in this garden — there’s grazing for animals, and a high point to watch out for approaching enemies. One of the most important burial sites in this area is Long Barrow on the next hill. You can access it from Dyke Hill Road and — sorry, I do go on when I’m interested in a subject, and I often forget how boring it is to everyone else.”

  Victoria smiles affectionately at her boyfriend, “He never stops working! We went out for a walk this morning and he started mapping out Roman remains, and picking up flints that might have been arrowheads or something.”

  It’s one of those balmy, peaceful evenings with great company and delicious food that I hope I’ll remember forever. If I could tuck the memory in my old locket, along with the photo of my sisters, I would take it out on a cold winter’s day when I’m old and grey, and savour the warmth and sweet smells of summer. It doesn’t do any harm that James and Kenny settle next to Mary and me.

  Another group by the trees has a couple of musicians and soon the sound of jazz floats through the cigarette smoke.

  “Have another drink, Ruby
.” James upends the bottle and passes me a glass.

  “I’ve already had too much, and that isn’t my glass,” I look hazily around. I’m well on my way to a champagne hangover tomorrow morning. I really need to slow down, but I’m having a good time. Maybe just a couple more. After all it isn’t often that we have champagne on tap.

  “James, Eve at the salon was telling us about the history of this place. She said that a girl was murdered up here last year.” He’s a reporter so he must know all about it, and despite my reservations I want to know what happened. Not just gossip, but hard facts.

  “Hmm . . . it was a big story for us, but in a really lousy way. You always want to get the news first, but then it turns out to be someone you hung around with. That’s not good. You don’t exactly get hero status for writing about something like that,” He sighs, and screws up his eyes against the last rays of spring sunshine.

  “You knew her?” Now I feel really bad.

  “Oh not well, but she was seeing a friend of mine for a while. You know how it is when we all go out. You know everyone, but you sort of don’t.” James smiles and then his expression changes. “It was a difficult situation, but some men turn to violence when they can’t get what they want, and that’s what happened with Katie. It was very sad, but a simple case for the police. Awful for the family though obviously, having the police and then us hanging around when they just wanted to shut themselves away.”

  Somebody shrieks from the ornamental lake, and then we hear a couple of splashes. Inevitably, most of our little group wants to join the swimming party.

  James takes my hand to pull me up, and holds on for a bit longer than he needs to. He slides his fingers up my wrist and rests them lightly on my arm. I get that flash of attraction again, and wander with him towards the lake. The grass is sweetly scratchy under my bare feet as my pink dress floats out in the lazy evening breeze. Mary’s laughing at my side, Victoria drags Leon along, and Johnnie strolls at the rear with his cigarette. A few ducks fly off in alarm, as we collapse on the daisy-scattered lawns that surround the oblong of dark water. At three corners there’s a mouldering stone statue, but the fourth corner is bare.