The Beachcomber

by Josephine Cox

  “That’s right.” He cast his mind back. “The children were growing up, and she decided she wanted to learn a new language … She started French classes. She went twice a week, and loved it. She was getting very good, too.”

  Kathy considered that for a minute, then said, “What about the people she went to class with? Did you know any of them?”

  Her question hit hard. “My God! I never thought of that.” It was possible, he thought. “She will have made friends there, but she never mentioned anyone in particular.” He grew frantic. “There’s something else too – something really strange!”

  Digging into his trouser pocket, he took out an envelope, which he handed to her. “Read this, Kathy. The letter is from the florist I appointed to deliver a regular supply of flowers to the churchyard. Read it … tell me what you think.”

  Curious, Kathy opened the envelope. Taking out the letter, she proceeded to read it aloud:

  Dear Mr. Marcus,

  I know you asked me not to contact you, except in the event of any hiccup with the regular payments for the fortnightly delivery of flowers. This is not the reason for my contacting you. The flowers are delivered as we agreed, and the payments are paid into my bank account on time. There is no problem there.

  The trouble is, someone appears to be deliberately destroying the flowers by throwing them out of the container and strewing them about. They then replace your flowers with their own.

  I can imagine how distressing it will be for you to read this letter, and I’m very sorry to have to be writing it. I haven’t written before, because at first I thought it might have been an accident, or someone playing a prank. But then it happened again and again, and it began to look like a deliberate and calculated act of wanton destruction.

  Of course I quickly replaced the flowers, and kept an eye on them as far as I could. But it’s happened again. This time they were torn into shreds, and were almost unrecognizable as the roses and gypsophila we delivered. Some attempt appears to have been made to burn them on the path close by; the church-warden came to the shop and told me about it. He was most upset, and so was I. It beggars belief that someone could do such a thing.

  In all my years as a florist, I have never known anything quite like it. The church-warden has confirmed that no other flowers in the churchyard have been interfered with, so I’m afraid it appears to be a personal attack on either you or your family.

  I’m sorry, Mr. Marcus, but I really am out of my depth here. Please advise as to what you would like me to do.

  Yours respectfully,

  Margaret Taylor

  “But that’s terrible!” Kathy was shocked to the core. “Who in their right mind would want to destroy flowers in a churchyard? And why only the flowers sent to your family?” Knowing the history of his family’s tragic circumstances, Kathy couldn’t help but be afraid for Tom himself.

  Tom had been stunned by the letter, and it showed in his voice now as he confessed, “The letter came yesterday. I couldn’t bring myself to discuss it with anyone, not even you. Oh, I wanted to! But I thought it was unfair to burden you with it.”

  Now she could see why he had been out there walking the beach at such an ungodly hour. “That’s why you couldn’t sleep, isn’t it?” she remarked. “That’s why you were pacing the beach when everybody else was tucked up in their beds?”

  He smiled. “Not you, it seems.”

  She admitted it. “No. For some reason, I couldn’t sleep either.”

  “But you’re right,” he murmured. “What’s happened is shocking and awful, and whoever is doing it must be sick in the mind!”

  Kathy found it hard to believe. “I just don’t understand why anybody would destroy your flowers.”

  Tom had thought long and hard about it. “Someone must really hate me.”

  “Or someone hated your family?”

  Tom had already considered that, but it was inconceivable. “It doesn’t make sense. It’s me they want to hurt … they can’t hurt my family anymore. It’s me who sends the flowers. Besides, if it was my family they resented, why would they replace my flowers with fresh ones? It must be me they have a grudge against.”

  His explanation only served to make Kathy even more fearful for him. “Can you think of anybody who would hate you enough to do this?”

  He smiled sardonically. “I’ve beaten many a rival company to a lucrative contract.”

  “Do you really believe a business rival would do such a thing?”

  Serious now, he shook his head. “No. That’s not the way it works. We all have to make a living. You win some, you lose some. That’s the way it is in business.”

  Talking with Kathy had helped his mind to focus, because now something else occurred to him.

  “I’m beginning to think that whoever drove us off that cliff was after me and not my family. They just happened to be there when the opportunity presented itself. I’ve thought and thought, and I reckon that’s why the flowers are being left … as a kind of twisted apology. Don’t you see, Kathy … whoever did this is getting at me. It’s my flowers they’re destroying. It’s me they want dead!”

  Though Kathy followed his reasoning, she daren’t think about it too deeply, or she would never have another night’s sleep. “I’m not so sure.” Like a dog with a bone, she was loath to let it go. “I can’t believe anybody would kill an entire family just to get at you. Maybe you were just unlucky enough to meet some mad killer that day; someone who started out with murder in mind, and you and your family just happened to be there.”

  Tom had to admit, “All right, it’s possible.” But it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. “It still doesn’t explain why somebody is destroying my flowers and putting fresh ones in their place. To me, that seems like a personal thing.”

  Kathy relented. “You’re right. It’s a strange business. It’s best you go and try to resolve it one way or another; I can see that now.”

  “I want rid of it, Kathy.” His mind was made up. “Whoever it was that robbed my wife and children of their lives must be made to pay for it.” His voice fell to a hush. “I need to know why! And if it was me they were after, I also need to make sure they don’t get another chance to finish the job.”

  He took her in his embrace, his face against the softness of her hair and his voice low in her ear. “It’s coming between us, and I don’t want that. It will always be there. Unless I can put it to rest once and for all.”

  She knew that. “When are you going?”

  “Not until after the weekend,” he promised. “Inspector Lawson is away on a course until Wednesday morning; his secretary’s put me in first thing. So, I’ll be leaving on the Tuesday, staying overnight in London.” Turning her face to his, he kissed her tenderly. “Besides, I’m hoping that Jasper will be back by then.”

  “Why? Are you missing him as much as I am?”

  “There is that, yes.” He smiled mischievously. “But I need somebody to keep an eye on you … protect you from all those handsome chaps who come in and out of the site office. I don’t want you running off with any of them.”

  “Oh, you needn’t worry.” She had an urge to tease him. “Mind you, there was a man last week though … big, handsome chap … he had a brand-new car. Now, if he were to ask, I might just be tempted.”

  “Would you now?” Swinging her round, he kissed her long and passionately.

  When he let go, she still had her eyes closed. “All right, you win,” she muttered. “He can keep his car. I prefer your kisses any day.”

  They kissed again, and talked some more; the rain fell all about them and the skies grew black with the onset of night. “Time to go,” he murmured, and she didn’t argue; though she longed for the day when the kisses wouldn’t stop there.

  Arm-in-arm, oblivious to the rain, they walked back to Barden House, talking of their future, and contemplating the outcome of Tom’s visit to London. “We’ve got three full days before I leave,” Tom reminded her. “Let’s make the mos
t of it.”

  That night, alone in the house, Kathy lay on the rug in front of the fire, her wistful gaze uplifted to the photograph of her father and the woman he had loved. “I wonder if I’ll ever know the same kind of happiness as you found,” she whispered. “I know I’ll never want anyone else but Tom, but I’m so afraid I might lose him.”

  The clock ticked on the mantelpiece and the minutes sped by. The heat from the cheery fire and the rhythmic sound of rain pattering on the window-panes made her sleepy. She thought how cozy it all was.

  Yet it felt empty and cold without Tom. “Dear Lord, bring him safely home again.” Believing we make our own mistakes and have to find our own solutions, Kathy rarely asked the Lord for anything, but at this moment she felt in need of comfort and reassurance.

  After a while she fell asleep, her head resting on her arms and her heart heavy with love.

  One way or another, it had been a long day.

  CHAPTER 13

  WITH THE HOUSEWORK finished, Kathy got ready to go into Bridport, where she would get her weekly shop, and hopefully a few bargains from the market. “I’ll even have time to pop in and see Mabel,” she told herself in the hallway mirror. She had come to look forward to their intimate little chats; though it was a furtive affair as her husband was always lurking in the background, ready to pounce.

  Before leaving, she glanced at the mantel-clock. “Half past ten … plenty of time before I see Tom.” They’d arranged to meet at six thirty, when he’d planned to take her into Dorchester for a quiet restaurant meal. It would be a real treat; they could sit and talk, and enjoy every possible minute before he took off for London on Tuesday.

  Another glance in the mirror ensured she hadn’t forgotten anything: hair brushed, lipstick on; yes, that was all right. “Got my purse and bag … yes.”

  At last, she was ready for off. Yet when she opened the door and saw the rain-clouds gathering, she decided, “Best take a coat, just in case!”

  Going back to the peg in the hallway, she unhooked her mackintosh. Throwing it over her arm, she secured the front door, then made her way down the path, her gaze reaching toward the harbor, where she hoped she might see Tom.

  He wasn’t there. “He’s probably getting ready for Tuesday,” she muttered. The thought of him going away laid a dark cloud over her mood.

  Unusually, the bus was on time. “Morning, Miss.” The conductor was a funny chap, with the jerky manners and appearance of a bird.

  Small and quick, he had a slightly bent head and pointed features, the most prominent of which was his long, narrow nose. “Morning,” she replied brightly. “How are you today?” Rain or shine, he always seemed to have one thing or another wrong with him: either it was too hot for him to breathe, or it was so wet it got into his bones. Today was no different.

  He gave a strangled groan. “It’s my back,” he answered painfully. “I got out of bed this morning and could hardly walk.”

  Kathy always sympathized, which was fatal because now he made a beeline for her every time. “You’ll have to see a doctor,” she advised, handing him her fare.

  “Seen him already … that many times I might as well set up house in the surgery.” Turning the rachet on his ticket-machine, he expelled her ticket and handed it to her. “I’m a martyr to pain, that’s what I am,” he moaned, before moving on, at surprising speed, to another passenger, where exactly the same conversation ensued.

  A while later, the bus turned into the stop and Kathy got off. “See you later,” the conductor told her.

  Kathy smiled and waved. “Poor devil!” On this particular journey he had even found time to sit beside her, regaling her with stories of his bad leg and his poor heart, and the awkward way he had to lie in bed because of his back pain.

  Though she would rather have spent the journey sitting on her own, thinking about her and Tom, Kathy didn’t begrudge the conductor a few minutes of her time.

  Quickly covering the few hundred yards along Bridport High Street, she breezed into the market. This was a place she loved; with its many stalls and colorful stallholders, it had a cheery, happy atmosphere. “Got some lovely red apples … tanner a bag,” one chap called; being fond of a good apple, Kathy promptly bought a bag.

  For the next hour or so she went from stall to stall. She chose some chintz fabric to make a set of curtains for the bathroom, and for fourpence-halfpenny she purchased a small, pretty picture of a sailing boat to hang on the hallway wall. She was slowly adding her own touches to Barden House. She bought fresh bread from the baker’s stall, some vegetables from the greengrocer, and a scrubbing brush for the back step, where the gutter dripped and made a mess.

  When her bag was full and her feet were beginning to ache, she made her way to the café.

  Pleased to see that the window-table was empty, Kathy went inside. Dropping her heavy bag to the floor, she sat herself down. “Morning, madam, what would you like?” The waitress was a sloppy young thing, with a face that said, “I couldn’t care less what you want, just order it and let me get back to my wireless.”

  Her off-hand manner didn’t bother Kathy one iota. “Dandelion and burdock, please.”

  Without a word the waitress moved off to fetch her drink.

  Meanwhile, Kathy was expecting Mabel to appear any minute. But there was no sign of her. When the waitress returned with her order, Kathy asked, “Is Mabel in today?”

  “Not today, no.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Who knows?” Shrugging her shoulders, she hurried away. Nat King Cole was in the middle of his song, “Unforgettable.” Being a great fan of his, she didn’t want to miss it.

  Kathy was worried. It wasn’t like Mabel to miss work. Kathy thought her to be of an age when most people retired, but Mabel just kept going. Whether it was from choice or necessity wasn’t clear, but she hardly stopped, at least from what Kathy had seen on a busy day. And in this café, most days were busy.

  While she sipped her drink, Kathy was acutely aware of Mabel’s husband peering at her from behind the serving hatch. She didn’t care much for him, so she averted her eyes as much as possible.

  When she went up to the counter to pay, he was standing by the till. She counted out the coins and placed them on the counter. “Is your wife all right?” she asked.

  “Gone to see her brother!” he grunted. He then slapped her change onto the counter, and took himself off at great speed into the kitchen.

  Kathy neither liked nor believed him. Never mind that his manner was highly suspicious, when he told her that Mabel was with her brother, Kathy knew he was lying.

  Mabel herself had told her how she had not spoken to her brother in years because of something that happened before the war. Looking back, it had been something and nothing, Mabel had told her, but they had lost touch. Now Mabel did not know where her brother was; it was a great sadness to her.

  Now, as Kathy put the change into her purse, she was aware of someone watching her. When she looked up, it was to see Mabel’s husband disappearing behind the kitchen door. “He’s hiding something,” she muttered as she went down the street. “Why is he lying about Mabel?”

  At the bus stop she took out her handbag and, rummaging through it, found the piece of paper with Mabel’s address. “I wonder …” She remembered it wasn’t too far away, but did she have enough time?

  By the time the bus pulled in, Kathy’s mind was made up. “Sorry,” she apologized to the conductor, who was urging her on board, “I’ll catch the next one.”

  She went down the High Street and, finding the street where Mabel lived, she hurried past the cottages until she found the right one. She thought it strange though that all the curtains were drawn.

  Apprehensive now, Kathy tapped on the front door. When there was no answer, she lifted the knocker and let it drop. When there was still no answer she dropped her bag to the ground, opened the letter-flap and, putting her mouth close so as not to disturb the neighbors, she called out, “MABEL!
It’s me, Kathy. MABEL, are you in there?” The silence was deafening. “Answer me, Mabel. Are you all right?”

  Squinting through the letter-flap, she couldn’t make out a dark shape, right there on the floor at the foot of the stairs. “MABEL!” She believed it must be Mabel, lying unconscious, unmoving, arms spreadeagled and her legs twisted in a peculiar fashion. “Oh, my God … MABEL!” Still there was no answer, and not a flicker of movement.

  With her heart in her mouth, Kathy realized there was no time to be lost.

  Running to the nearest neighbor, she banged her two fists on the door. Startled by all the noise, the man flung open the door. “What the devil’s going on?”

  “It’s Mabel! I think she’s fallen down the stairs … she’s not moving. We need to get an ambulance … quickly!”

  Flinging on his shirt, he told her, “The nearest phone box is at the end of the street. You run and phone the ambulance, while I see if I can find something to get me inside the house.”

  With that he hurried back inside his house, while Kathy went at a run down the street, leaving her shopping bag where it had fallen.

  Once inside the phone box, she quickly got through to the emergency services. After giving Mabel’s address, she was instructed to “Get inside the house if you can, and stay with the injured woman. Keep her calm and still. The ambulance will be there in ten minutes.”

  Relieved, Kathy ran back to where the man had given up trying to break the door with a crowbar, and was now running at it with the weight of his own body. Once, twice, he put his shoulder to it, before the door splintered and sprang open. “We’re in!”

  Mabel couldn’t be woken. “Do you think she fell down the stairs?” Distraught with worry, Kathy sat on the floor, not daring to lift or hold Mabel for fear of hurting her. “It’s all right, Mabel,” she whispered softly. “I’ve got you now. You’re going to be all right.”

  The man ran his concerned gaze over Mabel’s obvious injuries. He noted the gashes on her forehead and the large, torn areas of skin on her neck. “If you ask me, he did this!”