Detective Ruby Baker series Box Set

by Daisy White

  “Your boyfriend looks happy tonight,” Kenny observes dryly.

  “Horse talk,” Pearl says, and leads the way firmly to the other side of the bar. The place is packed and when she suggests we sit outside, nobody objects. “Oh look, James is here early!”

  James is sitting with a couple of lads from Moses’s stable. When he sees us, he finishes his conversation and wanders over.

  “What are you up to?” Kenny asks, as we clatter out into the fresh air, finding a table under the shade of a hedge.

  “Just chatting. My car goes a bit faster than yours, Ken, but I haven’t been here long. That Cartwright interview only took half an hour. He was a boring old sod.” He grins at his friend. “You need new wheels!”

  I sip my drink, watching the sun fade below the skyline, and the view narrow from a patchwork quilt of half of Sussex, to our own little dip in the Downs.

  “How’s your investigation coming on, Rubes?” Pearl asks. “Did you manage to follow up on Pridey’s owners?”

  “Purple Corner Chemicals? No, I haven’t had a chance, and I’m not sure how I’d ever get to speak to them. Donovan says it’s very rare for the owners to come down to the yard, and Pridey’s owners are listed at an address in Yorkshire.

  “Why is the horse in training in Sussex then?” Kenny asks.

  “Because they don’t choose the nearest, they choose the best, you nit!” James says, grinning.

  “I think you should pursue it, Ruby,” Vic tells me.

  “Only because you want to be right about the suffragette connection,” James tells her.

  She rolls her eyes. “Protesting about banning the bomb is a totally different thing to protesting about women’s rights at a time when we were fighting for the vote. You really can’t compare the two here, except in the possible execution. I believe around eight million women gained the right to vote by 1918, as a direct result of those brave suffragettes. Oh, I nearly forgot, Sophie rang me today,” Victoria announces, changing the subject neatly, picking up her gin and orange.

  “What did she want? She’s a snooty bitch, from what I’ve seen,” Pearl says.

  “She’s okay. Not that I know her properly. We only got talking at the party, but she knows a lot about photography. Anyway, I need to return the book she lent me,” Victoria says. “She did also ask if my reporter friends were going to run the interview she gave them the other day . . .”

  “You know very well we aren’t.” Ken passes me a cigarette, and stretches his long legs out across the bench. “She asked to see us because she saw that we did the first story. We never actually said we’d run this story. It was those little sleazy snippets that got her, but Benjy is a twerp. I found out today he got sacked from one of the nationals, and that he’s the brother-in-law of our editor, who’s keeping him sweet by letting him write a few stories occasionally. I knew there was something personal about it.”

  “Did Sophie say anything interesting?” Pearl wants to know.

  “No, not really. She can’t wait to get back to Cambridge, but she is very concerned about her wayward brother, and his reputation.” Victoria swirls the drink in her glass, watching the bright liquid. “I’ll tell you one thing she did say that was just a bit odd. We were talking about Brighton Racecourse, and I was explaining where we stood to get my photographs, and she said that to get the best ones you needed to be up in the stands. She was full of enthusiasm and chatting normally, but then I asked her if she was on the course the day Rita died. She got quite cross and said absolutely not, but it was obvious from her comment that she must have been up there at some point, because she was busy describing the exact spot to get that winning shot. You know, third row in, and the fourth seat from the left, all that kind of thing.”

  I consider this information, letting my gaze drift around the pub. I wave to handsome Barney, who is chatting to a skinny blonde girl at the bar, and he grins lazily back. His dark curls have a bit of hay in them, but it doesn’t seem to be putting her off. Lots of other lads, and girls I vaguely recognise now. They are a lean, suntanned lot, with intense gazes and tight jeans. Joey Castle and Alex Davies are clinking glasses, looking perfectly friendly despite being rivals. Joey is sleek and blond, and Alex has light brown hair and freckles. He looks a bit like Simon, the missing stable lad. Both jockeys are very good-looking and that, plus their status, clearly accounts for the girls hanging around their table.

  “Even if Sophie was on the course last week, or at any other time, I don’t see that she could have anything to do with Rita’s death,” Kenny says, blowing smoke into the balmy summer air. “Unless she was in the crowd and gave Rita a shove. You know, to get her out of the way, so darling Roger could find a nice girl to date?”

  “That’s a long shot, even for you,” Pearl says, laughing. “You aren’t that desperate for a story, are you?”

  “I know, I know. It’s probably just because she’s made it very obvious that she wants to distance her family from all this, so she wouldn’t admit to ever setting foot on Brighton Racecourse,” Kenny says thoughtfully.

  “She’s a cold fish,” James says, “but obviously very clever. I mean, she goes to Cambridge! She made it very clear that we were servant class, and only just tolerated above stairs.” He’s grinning. “Not that I mind. I’m perfectly happy hanging out with the other servants.”

  “How’s Joanna?”

  He pulls a face. “Still very upset about Rita naturally. I’m taking her to see Doctor Zhivago next week, to try and cheer her up.”

  “I really need to talk to her again, if I can,” I say.

  Kenny looks at him closely. “Going to get yourself some boyfriend points for being so sympathetic and understanding?”

  “No! Well, yes, but not like that. God, Ken, you are a cynical bastard. Actually, I really like her. She’s interesting,” James says defensively. He adds to me, “Rubes, she said for you to drop round any time. I think she was out with Sammy the other night, and they seemed to spend the whole time discussing Rita. You know, I get that they are grieving but it’s unhealthy to try and push her death into something that it isn’t.”

  We linger, drinking and smoking, letting the horsey chat flow around us. Everyone is talking about Basil’s Pride, speculating, fantasising, commiserating with Joey for being jocked off in the first place, and Donovan for losing his Derby ride. I lean against Kenny, his arm across my shoulders, his hand stroking my hair, but my brain is ticking off facts. How am I ever going to get to the truth about Rita, when every day more suspects seem to pop out of the ground like weeds after the rain?

  Eventually, groups of people start to leave, wandering off into the balmy night. When I collect a last round of drinks, the landlord is yawning, picking up glasses and looking pointedly at his watch.

  James gives Victoria a lift home, and crams Pearl and Donovan in the back. They agree to drop the lovers at Tegdown Stables, and James is still arguing with Victoria as they drive off. There is some cat-calling and good-natured banter between the lads, but I see no sign of any real unrest or arguments between the two stables.

  “I’m going to see Joanna again tomorrow,” I tell Kenny. “Sammy is now worried that the police are more interested in the missing racehorse than finding out who killed Rita. And how the hell am I going to track down Pridey’s owners?”

  He takes my hand and links our fingers together. “I think that might be a rotten lead, to be honest. Think about it. Would she really have tried to kill a horse in a race where one of her lovers was riding? Come off duty now, Ruby Baker, or I may start to feel neglected, and you know I’m as keen as you are to solve this one.”

  “You never come off duty,” I point out, and he grins.

  “True. If there’s a whiff of a story, I can’t stop myself. It’s like dogs and rabbits.”

  Ken and I wander back to his car, but don’t quite make it. We sit on the springy turf, breathing in the summer-scented night. From here we can see over to Tommy’s yard, but Moses’s is out of
sight to our west. The silence is broken only by the chirp of tiny night creatures, and the low hoot of an owl hunting in the bushes further down the hill.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” I push away my thoughts of stolen racehorses and smile at Kenny. One of the things I love about being with him is that I feel so comfortable. We can talk nonsense or discuss politics, or journalism, or even my cases, without me ever feeling like I have to make an effort to be someone I’m not. Of course there are things I’ll never tell Ken, but I imagine he has secrets of his own. The older you get, the more there is in your past, and you don’t have to share all of it with everyone you meet. I’m not the same person I was four years ago.

  “Magical.” Kenny kisses me. For a summer romance, it can’t get much better.

  Is it anything more? I don’t know, but I’m like Rita in that I don’t want to get married. Not now, perhaps never. But I do like Kenny, and he’s a friend as well as a lover. I feel safe with him, which is a new experience.

  For a while we lie together, arms around each other, staring at the inky sky, talking rubbish. Something is niggling at me, something is wrong. I sit up, breathing deeply, and as I identify the smell, there is a crackle, and sparks fly up from Tommy’s stables.

  “The yard’s on fire!” I scream, leaping to my feet and clutching Kenny’s arm.

  “Quick, we can get there in the car and go down to help.”

  “What about calling the fire brigade?”

  “The nearest telephone box is miles away on the other side of the stables. I’m sure Tommy’s already done it.”

  We drag open the doors and hurl ourselves into the car, with Kenny frantically turning the ignition key. Nothing happens. The motor groans and splutters sullenly into silence.

  “Shall we just run?” Desperate for action, thoughts of screaming, terrified horses filling my head, I swing my legs back out of the car.

  “One more go!” Kenny pumps the clutch and turns the key. The ignition is slow to catch, and I bite my lip, almost holding my breath as the red and gold flames dance higher and higher, reaching up into the night sky, defying the blackness.

  Mercifully, the engine roars into life, and we pull off the grass, onto the road with a squeal of rubber and a scattering of stones. Ken puts his foot down, and in five minutes we are pulling up outside the stables.

  A huge plume of thick black smoke curls upwards, drifting like an evil spell across the grassland. We park in the field outside, taking care not to block the driveway for the fire brigade, and throw ourselves out. As I run towards the archway, Kenny grabs my arm. “Be careful, okay?”

  I shake him off, hand over my mouth as realisation dawns. “Look! The fire is worse near the other end of the stables.”

  “So?” He has to shout over the roar of the fire, and the yells of the lads.

  “In the corner, next to the tackroom, above Seaboy’s stable. Oh God, Kenny, Pearl’s up there with Donovan!”

  There is already a human chain passing buckets of water from hand to hand, and we join in. Lads are leading frantic horses out of danger, running along next to their terrified charges. One, who I think is Joey, is riding bareback, leading three others. His black horse rears up, coat gleaming in the flames, but he yanks it back down to earth, and coaxes all his animals away under the archway.

  Desperate to see if Pearl is okay, I abandon my bucket for a moment, ignoring Kenny’s yell. I am trying to push through the mass of people when I catch sight of Barney, black curls plastered with sweat. “Barney! Did Donovan get out? Was Pearl with him?”

  “I don’t know. We can’t get near that side of the yard yet. Fire brigade’s on the way. Here, can you take this bucket and then I can help with the horses.”

  I get as close as I can to the flames, chucking my pathetic little bucketful into the fire, running back, passing the empty bucket and receiving a full one. The heat scorches my face, and I almost can’t breathe from the dense smoke. Horses are still neighing, but from what I can see through my stinging eyes, most of the stable doors are now standing open. Shielding my face from the heat, I scream Pearl’s name, even as strong arms circle my waist, pulling me away. “Ruby! We can’t do anything. Wait for the fire brigade.” Kenny yanks me to the safety of the brick archway just as the beams from another stable fall in with a crash like thunder, scattering deadly sparks across the yard.

  Tommy, his square face smut-covered, his chest bare, is directing operations, pointing along to the paddock for the horses, and yelling at lads to go the other way with sacks of feed and tack.

  Unable to keep still, but recognising that getting burnt to a crisp isn’t going to save my cousin, I grab another bucket and start throwing water again. The yard is full of people now, in night clothes, or bare-chested like Tommy. Some standing next to the water trough, one of them hastily filling buckets from its murky depths. But none of them is Pearl.

  The welcome jangle of the fire engine drives us to further efforts with our water chain, but the firemen push us aside and connect their hoses and pump. A stream of silver gushes out, meeting the flames with a hiss and crackle of defeat and victory.

  As soon as I can, I dodge the firemen and run around the back of the stables. The fire is dying as quickly as it started, and the smouldering wreckage of the corner stable, the tack room, feed room and at least three other stables, can now be seen. How could anyone have survived that?

  There are no signs of any survivors, but I run straight into a solid body. He reaches out to grab me. I scream, but he curses and holds me away from him, steadying me.

  “Miss Baker, calm down and keep away, please,” DC Little says.

  His voice is gentler than normal, without that usual edge of impatience. I know he’s trying to comfort me. He tries to block my vision, to prevent me from seeing the thing on the ground, but I shove his arm away.

  The body is charred, lying still with arms outstretched, and I know it must be her. In the darkness and in my confusion I don’t wait to look too closely. I slump against the wet brick wall, digging my nails into the cobbles and brick, hurting my fingers. My lovely Pearl, so vibrant and full of life, is reduced to a blackened, grotesque doll. Tears are pouring down my face, mixing with soot and sweat.

  Tommy strides towards us, wiping his sweaty face with a rag. “What have you found, then?”

  “A body, sir. Sorry to ask, it’s not pretty, but do you mind having a look and telling me if you recognise the face?” The policeman stands to one side, indicating the thing that lies helplessly twisted and blackened in the wet grass.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I shove a fist in my mouth, waiting, watching them both. From behind me, I hear Kenny calling my name, but I can’t speak, can’t move. The pain fills my chest, clogs my throat, and makes my fingers tingle. ‘Please, please, please . . .’

  Tommy peers down at the body, squinting at the face. “I can’t be sure, but it could be Simon Arden. The height is about right. He’s one of mine, or he was before we went AWOL.”

  I force myself to peer more closely, relief flooding my chest, making my legs weak. Of course it’s a boy, not a girl, and not my lovely cousin. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been hurt in the fire . . . Where the hell is she?

  “Simon Arden is the boy who went missing after the horse was stolen?” DC Little asks.

  “Yes. I haven’t seen him for a couple of days now. Do you think he’s responsible for this?” Tommy waves an arm at the devastation.

  “At the moment, I really wouldn’t like to say. We won’t know until we do a thorough examination, but I would speculate that it looks like he’s been shot.”

  “Hell! What is going on around here?” Tommy says, his big shoulders slumping.

  “I’ll need to take a statement from everyone here tonight, including you, sir.”

  “Do what you like. Someone’s trying to break me, aren’t they? They’re trying to ruin my yard and everyone in it, take my horses . . .” He breaks off, running his big hands through his mop of
untidy hair.

  Kenny slips out of the darkness, and plucking me away from the shadows, folds me into his arms. “Ruby, what are you doing? I’ve been looking—”

  He breaks off as he too catches sight of the blackened object on the grass. “Bloody hell. Who’s that?”

  I stumble over my words. “I thought . . . I thought it was Pearl. Kenny, I haven’t seen her or Donovan, and I’m so worried . . .”

  “Ruby! What are you doing here?” It’s her, my cousin, barefoot, with tangled hair, still clutching an empty bucket.

  “Pearl! I thought that was you. Where the hell have you been?” I scream at her through my tears. Then, as we cling together, wiping each other’s faces, I take a deep breath. “Is Donovan alright?”

  “Yes. God, Rubes, it was terrifying. The heat and the noise, and all those poor horses trapped . . .” Her eyes are bright again, and she bites her lip, still holding firmly onto my hand. “We got Seaboy out, and then just ran round opening doors at the far end of the yard. I think the fire must have started in the feed room, because when we ran down to sound the alarm, the smoke was just rushing out from under the door.”

  “Right, that’s enough. This is not a party, it’s a crime scene. Move away, sir, and you, Miss, right down to the other end.” DC Little is clearly exasperated, yet his beady eyes flicker from one face to another, and I can tell he’s been taking it all in, letting us all run on for a while to see if we say anything incriminating. Now, he’s obviously heard enough.

  For the first time, Pearl focuses on DC Little. Kenny puts a gentle hand on her arm. She blinks, and looks down at the body. “Who the hell is that?” Her voice is shrill, and she’s breathing fast. “We never saw anyone else in the fire, or we’d have tried to get them out. I swear all the lads got out safe, because Tommy did a head count.”

  Tommy says dryly, “He wasn’t with us last night because he skipped off after Pridey went missing.”