Detective Ruby Baker series Box Set

by Daisy White

  When I take Laura to the desk, she passes me the money normally, but as I go to give her change, she puts her hand over mine, and I feel the rustle of paper between our palms. She closes my fingers over the coins and paper and rushes out into the street.

  Slowly, I uncurl my fingers, pop the coins away and smooth out the torn bit of paper.

  TRIXIE

  Brighton 7654

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “How did you get on with Laura?” Johnnie asks, as we sweep up and start throwing dirty towels into the laundry baskets.

  The last client managed to drop her shopping bag as she went out, and the floor near the door is still sticky with ginger beer. I dunk the mop into the tin bucket and squeeze it vigorously against the side, splashing my legs.

  “She obviously knows something more about the day Ella was taken, but she isn’t going to say. She’s terrified.” I feel in my pinny pocket for the bit of paper, “She did give me a name and telephone number just as she left, but then she almost ran out of here . . .”

  “Let’s see it then,” Johnnie says, shutting the appointment book with a snap.

  I show them the piece of paper, hoping that someone will say, ‘Oh Trixie, she’s the neighbour of so-and-so.’

  “Means nothing to me. You’ll have to ring the number, angel. Bit exciting to get a lead, though,” he adds. “Why did Laura go to the police after all this time?”

  “I don’t know. The only thing she did say was that she heard Stocker was sick, probably dying, and maybe she decided she could finally clear her conscience. She does seem very genuine and sweet,” I say.

  Eve shrugs. “I knew a Trixie Belfont when I was at school, but apart from that I’ll keep asking around. It would be proper justice for Beverly to find out who was behind all this, now Ella has been found. I still can’t believe it! And exactly where has she really been all these years?”

  Catherine is just as excited. “I don’t mind admitting when I’m wrong, and I certainly was. You tell Beverly next time you see her how sorry I am, please, Ruby, and I will get over to Rottingdean. It was just . . . all the evidence was against her. It just didn’t seem possible that she was innocent. Are you going to ring that number now? Then we can find out how this Trixie woman fits into things.”

  I take a deep breath, and dial the number carefully. The line connects, and I bite my lip with anticipation. But as the phone rings and rings, my excitement turns to disappointment. I replace the receiver with a sigh.

  “Doesn’t matter, love, you can try a bit later. Remember to call if you need us,” Catherine says, comfortingly.

  I lock up and wave goodbye to the stylists. Johnnie, however, walks with me as far as the end of the road.

  “Are you coming out on Saturday night, Ruby?”

  “Yes, probably. I just need to check Mary is OK with it, and I can’t be late.”

  He smiles at me. “Good. I thought we might go to Black Rock for a swim, and then maybe a coffee bar? Ruby, just one thing . . .”

  Uh-oh, I think, hearing his tone change.

  “That chap you meet occasionally . . . of course it isn’t any of my business, but do be careful, won’t you?”

  I’m about to blurt out the full story but Johnnie, despite his obvious concern, is distracted and edgy. “I will. He’s just . . . just a friend from way back. He’s working in this area for a bit and moving on for the winter.” Of course I have no idea what Will’s plans are, but I am hoping he’ll move on. It seems to reassure my employer.

  “OK. As long as you're happy. Do you still want to start the apprenticeship properly next month? I checked, and you and Mary can do night classes once a month, but still do all the practical stuff at the salon. You need to have a staff ratio of two senior stylists to one apprentice, but Joyce quite often fills in when we’re busy and she’s qualified so I think the paperwork is all sorted.”

  “Thanks Johnnie!” I hesitate, then try all the same. “Um . . . Johnnie, is everything alright with you?”

  “Of course, angel, and you are sweet to ask. You know, I’m quite surprised you do still want to do hairdressing, Ruby . . .”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact you’re running an investigation bureau out of my back room?”

  “But that wouldn’t exist without the salon. It's part of what we do. You know, talking to people . . .”

  Johnnie laughs, gives me a quick hug, and leaves me to walk briskly across to Brenda’s Cafe to meet Beverly and Ella. Beverly is punctual as usual. She looks totally different with her daughter by her side. Her face is glowing, her hair pinned up and she’s wearing a pretty red print dress and brown sandals. Big sunglasses are pushed up over her little upturned nose, and as I wave and hurry over she makes that impatient gesture with her hand, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  We meet with a hug and she laughs, tears in her brown eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you, Ruby. She’s come home.”

  “Hello Ella. How are you settling in?”

  Ella smiles at me and surveys the crowded cafe without apparent interest. But her pale little face has a touch of colour and although she says nothing, she sits very close to Beverly.

  Beverly lowers her voice as her daughter looks away again, this time out towards the sea. “We’ve told her that she’s my daughter, and she knows what happened, but I don’t think she’s taken it in. Most of the time she drifts around like a little ghost, although she smiles a lot, and she gave me a hug yesterday.” Her eyes fill with tears at the memory. “That’s why I agree that this will be a good idea. For that little girl’s sake and for Ella’s. We need to find out what happened so we can get on with our lives.”

  Brenda bustles over, smiling at both of us now. “Tea for you ladies? I’m so pleased your Ella is back. I heard it from Stephanie this morning. I’ll bring you a meal, shall I? Chicken and chips? My treat! Ella, you have turned out as lovely as your mum, and I can’t tell you how glad we are to have you back.”

  While the girl smiles vacantly, I’m a bit worried about how Beverly is going to take this. After all, these people who ignored her, shouted at her, gossiped about her and lied to convict her, have been proven wrong. So what, they all become best friends suddenly? I say as much when Brenda has moved on to another table, and she smiles.

  “It doesn’t matter. I have my daughter back, and I have a second chance at my life. If people want to ease their consciences by giving me free food then let them! I don’t blame them. As we kept saying, all the evidence was against me.” Her gaze narrows and she slips for a second into the old Beverly. “It isn’t over, you know, Ruby. I said this was a second chance and I meant it. Before, I was so scared of everyone, so worried what people thought of me and how I would scrape together enough money to get a decent dinner for my daughter. It’s different now. My aunt has offered me the job of running her post office in Rottingdean. She’s getting on a bit now and wants to hand it over. Now people know I’m innocent and Ella is home, we’ll make a life over that way. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know exactly what happened and who set me up.”

  Well, this is a change from the other day. “Really? Are you sure?” I lower my voice. “Has Ella mentioned anything at all?”

  Beverly shakes her head. “No. She might in time, but just now she’s totally bewildered. She clung to me like a little child when they finally told her I was her mother, but I got the impression she only did it because there's nobody else for her to cling to. According to Ella she remembers nothing but being on the beach and another girl asking if she would take her for an ice cream.”

  “Do you think that’s true?”

  She shakes her head. “Who knows? But if Ella won’t talk . . . I hope in time she might open up, but meanwhile I do want you to find out what happened to her. Where she’s been and who she’s been with.”

  “I wasn’t getting on all that well before. Seeing Beach Girl might help. There may be some connection and hopefully Ella will f
ind a way to tell us.” Do I tell her about my conversation with Will? I don’t think I can, with Ella sitting next to us. It’s weird enough discussing her with Beverly, as though she isn’t here.

  “Something will give. Because things are starting to unravel, aren’t they? We’re getting deeper. Ella coming home is just the start. All these things are happening, and they are happening because something has changed,” Beverly says, slightly confusingly.

  “Maybe circumstances have changed with the person who took her,” I suggest carefully, scooping up the last salty, steaming chip. “You know, I wondered if that was why Laura felt she was finally able to come forward. If the person was, say, old and sick and likely to die soon . . .”

  “You still think it had something to do with the Stockers, don’t you?” Beverly lowers her voice, glancing nervously at her daughter.

  I shrug and glance at my watch. “Yes. In fact, I’m convinced they took Ella.” I look up from the chips at the girl, and find she is staring right at me. Her eyes are wide, and the little colour she had is draining from her face. “Actually, Beverly, I did get a name today. Someone who may be involved. Trixie?”

  Beverly repeats the name, shaking her head, but Ella is gripping the edge of the table, her mouth trembling. I wait, half watching her, pretending to rummage in my bag, but nothing happens.

  “Have you heard the name, Ella? It’s not a common name round here, is it?” I force a smile but she drops her gaze abruptly, picking up her cup but not drinking.

  Beverly turns to her daughter, but I touch her arm gently. “It’s OK, I have a telephone number for Trixie, so I’ll try calling her later.”

  “I suppose so . . .”

  “As soon as we’ve eaten we need to head off to catch the bus and meet Mary at Alice’s Farm,” I add quickly.

  Kenny appears bang on time, pulling into the side of the road and tooting the horn of a beige Ford Capri just as Mary hurries down the hill with Summer.

  “Phew, I thought I wasn’t going to make it in time. Kenny, what is that?” Mary laughs.

  “It’s your transport, Madam,” Kenny grins, leaning an elbow out of the window, a cigarette hanging from his tanned fingers.

  “Where did you get it?” I ask him suspiciously as we clamber in. The door handles appear to be held together with string, and there is fungus in a damp patch on the roof.

  Kenny shrugs. “Oh, if you don’t mind a few minor imperfections you can easily pick up an old banger for a few quid. This one will probably last a few months and then I’ll sell it on.”

  “If it doesn’t fall apart in the meantime . . .” I giggle as I open the passenger door and the handle drops off into my hand.

  Mary squashes up on the back seat with the others, and Summer blinks sleepily at everyone, but doesn’t start wailing.

  Beverly curls her legs away from what seems to be a rusty hole in the floor, and puts an arm around her daughter. Ella stares at Summer for a long moment and then looks out of the window. She doesn’t seem to be upset at being in a car, which suggests she is used to it.

  “Do you like car journeys, Ella?” I smile at her, and she turns towards me, dark blue eyes serious. Then she just shrugs, and returns to the view out of the window.

  “Nice try,” Kenny says, changing gear with a terrible grinding noise and turning up the hill. “It won’t take long to get up there, and it’s better than walking!”

  “It is. Thank you, Kenny,” Beverly says politely, clinging on tightly to the seat in front.

  Alice’s Farm, far from being the grim institution I imagined, is a long, low flint farmhouse just off Dyke Hill Road. The driveway is clear of weeds, and despite the rather ugly collection of newer buildings surrounding the original house, it looks welcoming. The garden is rather wild, but someone has trimmed pathways through the tall seeding grasses and wildflowers. I can hear children laughing from somewhere in an overgrown orchard, which sprawls along one side of the house. The trees are full of little green apples.

  Kenny parks neatly next to a rusty trike, a couple of bicycles, and a pram with one wheel missing.

  The manageress, Miss Smith, comes out with a baby on one hip and two toddlers clinging to her stained apron. Her greying hair is pinned into a bun, and her eyes are small and black. But her expression is kindly, and she beams at us all, before shouting to the children in the orchard that they need to come in for tea.

  “It's always busy at this time of day, because I get them all back from school. But at the moment most of them have just started their summer holidays, so God help me, I’ve got them all the time. Thanks heavens for my wonderful staff, or I’d disappear under a pile of toys.” But she is laughing as she shows us in.

  We hurry down a red-tiled hallway, pass a big room with the table laid for tea, and Miss Smith indicates a shut door to our left. “She’s just in there reading a book. She knows you're coming, but she still hasn’t said a word, poor love. Let me know when you're done and she can come and have her tea with the others.”

  I push open the door, hoping belatedly that we aren’t so much of a crowd we scare Beach Girl out of her wits. But is seems likely that John Stocker has done that already.

  She is curled up on a battered orange sofa reading a paperback, but as we enter the room, she swings her legs to the floor and stares at us, taking in the adults. As Ella enters the room she stares hard at her.

  “Hallo. I’m Ruby. Do you remember I found you on the beach?” I smile at the child.

  For a moment there is no response, and she stares only at Ella. Then she runs to her, flinging her arms around the other girl.

  “Ella?” Beverly says gently, urgently, “Who is this?”

  The rest of us are frozen, absolutely stunned by her reaction. Ella is hugging her back and both girls have tears running down their cheeks. Beach Girl is smaller than Ella, and her shiny brown hair hangs just below her shoulders, but clinging together in the centre of the room, they could be sisters.

  Summer is starting to wriggle in her mother’s arms, making small whiny noises, so Mary puts her down on a rug in the room, crouching next to her.

  “Ella, do you know this girl?” Kenny finally asks the obvious, putting a hand on Ella’s arm, smiling down at them both.

  Two blank, tear-streaked faces turn to his, but neither of them speak.

  I hesitate, looking at Beverly, but she shrugs, shaking her head, clearly as bewildered as the rest of us. Torn between crying out with frustration and pity for the silent pair, I start to talk. “Ella, did this girl live with you and your dad? You said he lived in London, and you don’t remember where. I’m going to tell you what I think, and if I’m wrong, you tell me, OK? I think you lived mostly in Brighton, and I think the man who called himself your dad was actually John Stocker.”

  Both girls are staring at me now, their intensely bright gazes fixed on mine. The younger girl moistens her lips, but does Ella give the faintest shake of her head?

  Encouraged, I continue. “I believe that you, Ella, were taken from your mum when you were very young, which is why you can’t remember anything about it. I think John Stocker took you, and you lived with him and his wife, Susie.”

  Ella’s expression changes, and she bites her lip, but she still says nothing.

  “You know her, don’t you? Susie Stocker. It’s OK, you don’t have to be afraid now. You’re safe with us.”

  I leave Ella for a moment, and address the other girl. “You were taken by the same people, weren’t you? I don’t know how long you have been living with Ella, but if you tell us your name we can find your real mother too. We can help you to go home.”

  “Lily,” says Ella suddenly. “Her name is Lily and she is my sister.”

  Beverly takes a sharp breath, and then puts her hand over her mouth.

  “That’s a pretty name,” Mary says idly, playing with the baby in her corner. “Do you remember when Lily was a baby? Was she like Summer?”

  “No,” Ella whispers. “None of my sister
s were babies. We got them when they were already girls.”

  “Where did you get them from, sweetheart?” Beverly asks her daughter, twisting her fingers anxiously. Her cheeks are pale, and she darts a worried glance at Kenny.

  Ella shakes her head slowly. “Big towns. They always came from big towns. But . . .” Here her mouth droops, “but when they came home with us they were always sad. I wasn’t allowed to play with them, but I did. I wasn’t meant too, but I always did,” she repeats.

  Lily leans against Ella, and nods. “She came down and let me out, and we played until he came home.” These must be the first words she has uttered since her screams on the beach, and her voice comes out a little croaky. She clears her throat nervously, putting a hand to her chest, like she’s surprised the words popped out.

  “I had to put her back then, but she knew I’d always come back . . .” Ella’s brow furrows. “Lily was my last sister, because all of the others have left now.”

  “Where did they go?” Kenny asks, lighting a cigarette casually.

  “She said that all little girls have to grow up and leave home,” Ella tells him. “He never said where they went and I wasn’t supposed to bother him with things like that.”

  “Do you mean Susie?” I ask.

  “She said I was special, and I wouldn’t have to leave home. But she was getting poorly, and he was there more and more. He was poorly too, and he coughed all night. One evening he said the doctor was coming so I had to go down with Lily.”

  “She stayed the night with me, but he gave her medicine so she went to sleep, and he put her in the other room,” Lily confirms.

  “When I woke up in the morning everyone was gone. Lily and her and him,” Ella says confusingly. “I wasn’t in bed . . . I was inside a box. Not too small, and the lid came off when I pushed it, but I was scared.”

  “You must have been so frightened,” I say. “What did you do?”

  “I was tied up too. I knew that he must have done it, because she would never have let him do that to me. Later he came back and untied me. He was nice to me then and let me come back into the house. That lady came to cook dinner. Do you remember her, Lily?”