by G. M. Dobbs
‘Aye,’ Granny said, peering at the sky through the windscreen. It was still cloudless, but didn’t seem to be quite the same shade of blue it had been earlier. ‘A good thunderstorm is what we need. Freshen things up a bit.’
‘Indeed,’ Nigel frowned as a large truck overtook them and then immediately pulled in ahead of them. He checked the mirror, indicated and then drifted across the lane and once more put the truck behind them. He overtook several more vehicles before pulling back into the left lane.
Granny sat there in silence, staring at the road ahead and although she appeared quite calm her mind was turmoil. She couldn’t help but think that she was sitting next to a ruthless man, a man who would do anything, hurt anyone, to get what he wanted.
‘Are you worried?’
Nigel’s question had startled Granny, and she looked at him, obviously unsure of what he had meant.
‘I mean because you missed your tour bus,’ Nigel glanced briefly at the instrument panel. ‘Don’t be. I know a rather good place to drop you off and you’ll find it easy to get a cab. Just tell the driver where you need to be and he’ll have you there in no time.’
Granny smiled and had to shift in her seat to stop the CB radio digging into her back. It was a good things she had deep pockets on her body warmer and she reached in and pushed the radio to the front of the pocket.
‘Thank you for this,’ she said presently. ‘I would have been totally stranded otherwise.’
‘As I’ve said this is the least I can do.’
They were now heading towards the exit that would take them towards Central London, and Granny had the urge to smoke but she fought it off. There was no way Nigel would allow her to partake in her pipe in his gleaming new vehicle, but after everything she had been through today the old woman was in dire need of a nicotine fix.
‘Is it much further?’ she asked.
‘I’ll be dropping you off in ten minutes or so,’ Nigel said. ‘Depending on traffic of course. London is never the easiest of cities for the motorist. It’s quicker to get around the city by bicycle than it is to drive.’
‘Maybe I should have brought my bicycle,’ Granny said. ‘I could have cycled back to Wales.’
‘It’s been more than a hour,’ Gerald complained, meaning that almost ninety minutes had passed since Granny’s text message had come through.
‘She said a couple of hours,’ Arthur said. ‘We’ll just have to sit tight and wait.’
‘I still say we need to go to the police,’ Gerald glumly buried his chin in his cupped hands. ‘Oh Mam, where are you?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Twice said, an understanding tone to his voice. ‘Your mam said not to worry, and if I know her she’s quite safe. There’s not a man alive who would dare try and hurt her.’
‘She’s an old age pensioner,’ Gerald replied.
‘Aye,’ Arthur looked at his son. ‘That she is but she doesn’t seem to realise the fact.’
Maud had gone and now only the three men remained in the living room. Twice looked at the clock and, realising he was on duty in less than a hour made his excuses and left Arthur and his son to it.
‘Ask Granny to phone me when she gets back,’ he said as he stepped outside.
‘Aye,’ Arthur said.
‘Oh Mam,’ Gerald whined, hands held out as if supplicating to some unseen deity. ‘Why do you do these things?’
‘If you get the answer to that question,’ Arthur said, getting up to make a cup of tea. ‘Be sure to let me know. I’ve been married to your Mam for nearly forty years and I haven’t a bloody clue what she’s going to do next.’
Nineteen
‘Are you sure you’ll be okay?’ Nigel asked as he pulled the range rover into the kerb.
Granny nodded.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘And thanks for the lift.’
‘Think nothing of it.’
Granny smiled and opened the door. There were several taxis parked in the rank opposite and she quickly made her way to the front car. She waved at Nigel before getting into the taxi and he waved back and started his indicator.
The taxi driver pressed the button that controlled the meter and immediately the charges started.
‘Follow that car.’
‘What car?’ the driver a young man who couldn’t have been very far into his twenties, since he still had a rumbling of teenage acne on his face, looked at Granny with the same gormless expression she had often seen on her son Gerald.
Granny cast a glance over her shoulders and saw Nigel pull off and join the traffic.
‘That one,’ she pointed.
‘The range rover?’
Granny nodded.
‘The one you just got out of?’
‘Yes.’ It had been a long day and Granny had to bite her lip to stop herself from shouting at the taxi driver. The meter was ticking over and yet the driver had yet to engage first gear.
‘Why?’
‘Because I won’t pay you if you don’t,’ Granny said, firmly. ‘Shall I see if one of your friends would rather take me?’
It had been a quiet day and the taxi driver supposed that any fair, even one from a mad old biddy, was better than nothing. He did a U-turn and went off in pursuit of the range rover.
‘Don’t get close,’ Granny said. ‘Keep about three cars back.’
‘Lady,’ the driver said. ‘This is London if I’m not careful we’ll end up twenty odd cars back.’
Granny took her mobile phone from her pocket, switched it on and became infuriated while she waited for it to go through its usual start-up routine. Modern technology could do some wonderful things, but it could also be a royal pain in the arse and the phone seemed to take even longer than usual before it was ready for use.
‘Bloody Phone,’ Granny muttered to herself.
Eventually after being greeted by her network, and waiting for the phonebook to load Granny was able to tap in her home number.
Arthur answered on the third set of rings.
‘Hello,’
‘It’s Granny.’
‘Where the hell are you?’
‘London.’
‘London! What do you mean London?’
‘London. That’s where I am.’
London, England? Downing Street, Buckingham Palace, Eastenders – that London?’
‘Yes London.’
Granny sighed and took a glance out of the windscreen. Nigel’s car had pulled into the centre of the road and was indicating for a right turn. ‘Now shut up and listen.’
Arthur did so.
Granny quickly brought her husband up to speed on what had happened since he’d last seen her. He’d interrupted a few times but the old woman ignored him, powering through her entire story and repeating as much as she could remember of the conversation between Nigel and the mystery woman on the phone. A few times the driver had looked across at Granny but his glances had been met by a look from the old woman that made him nervous, and so he mostly kept his eyes forward and the taxi a few vehicles behind the range rover.
‘And that’s it,’ Granny concluded. ‘I’ve got to go now.’ She pressed disconnect on the phone and dropped it back into her pocket. She rested her arms on the rear of the front seats and peered through the windscreen.
‘Can I ask you something?’ the driver spoke over his shoulder as he took a left turn into a smart residential street.
‘Slow down,’ Granny said. ‘Look he’s pulling in.’
Ahead of them Nigel was pulling into the kerb, taking a parking space that was reserved for residents.
‘Pull in,’ Granny said.
The taxi did, taking a space between two smaller cars that allowed them a clear view of the range rover.
They watched as Nigel stepped out of the car and then a young woman emerged from one of the apartments opposite.
Nigel smiled and waved.
The woman was dressed in a white uniform of the kind a private nurse might wear and it showed of her shapely fig
ure as she walked. She reached Nigel and suddenly threw her arms around him and they locked in a passionate kiss.
Granny recognised the woman instantly.
It was Natalie.
Nigel’s daughter?
And that certainly wasn’t a father/daughter kiss.
This made no sense at all.
If Natalie was Nigel’s lover, as it seemed, and not his daughter then why was he planning to marry Sheila? And why was Natalie claiming to be his daughter? Had it been Natalie on the telephone to Nigel, was she the woman he suspected had been responsible for Edith’s murder? That made some sort of sense. Perhaps Edith had seem them together, discovered their secret, that they were not father and daughter, or that they were father and daughter and that their relationship was incestuous.
Was that the reason she had been killed, to silence her?
Stan had said Edith seemed to be all at edge when they saw Nigel and Sheila at the village fete. Had Edith known something? Was that what this was all about?
That though still didn’t explain why Nigel was to marry Sheila.
And even more troubling though was the fact that Granny was starting to think that t was Sheila whom the female on the telephone, possibly Natalie, had been referring to when she’d said that this was always going to end in murder.
“It was always going to end in murder”
“Yes but that would have been prepared for, planned for,”
Why would Nigel marry Sheila and then kill her? It was all bizarre and as soon as Granny started on one train of thought, it threw up a dozen questions, none of which she could answer.
The old woman watched dumbfounded, as the kiss lingered and Nigel grabbed Natalie’s pert rump. He may have been old enough to be her father but he certainly wasn’t acting in a fatherly fashion.
Granny cursed when her mobile rang in her pocket, the familiar riff from Smoke on the Water sounding impossibly loud. She’d forgotten to turn it off and she snatched at it, reading from the caller display and seeing that it was Arthur. She wasn’t going to answer it, not now. To do so would make it almost impossible to hang up again and so she refused the call and dropped the phone onto the seat besides her.
‘Well I’ll be dammed,’ she said.
Nigel and Natalie had now broken their embrace and were heading for the apartment Natalie had come out of. They were deep in conversation as they walked but there was no way Granny could figure out what they were talking about.
‘I’ll get out here,’ Granny said and glanced at the taximeter. She rummaged in her pockets and found a twenty-pound note, which she handed to the driver, telling him to keep the change, what little there was.
‘Thanks,’ the driver said and released the central locking, which he’d engaged after listening to the old woman’s telephone conversation and deciding she was unstable and likely didn’t have any money. She was dressed bizarrely and had probably fled from some hospital or other, was his final conclusion.
‘Can I ask you that question now?’ the driver shifted awkwardly in his seat, craning his neck to look at the old woman.
Granny was out of the car, just about to close the door but she leaned back into the vehicle, smiled and nodded.
‘Who are you?’ the taxi driver asked.
‘Me I’m,’ Granny said, paused and then: ‘Miss Marple on steroids.
Twenty
THE BEECHES CARE HOME
Granny stared at the brass plaque besides the impressive looking oak door. It was a three-storey town house, which would have once been a grand private residence, but had now been converted into a last stop saloon for those wealthy enough to afford such luxury in their final years. There was a wall-mounted intercom besides the door.
Granny stood there, frowning.
She simply had to get inside and couldn’t, wouldn’t give up now.
Not after all she had been through.
Not when she was so close to solving both Edith’s murder and the reason behind Nigel eagerness to marry Sheila. The answer to all this, Granny knew deep down in her bones, lay behind that locked door.
Ahh well, Granny thought. It was no good standing around, and the old woman had long since discovered that often the best way to overcome a problem was to simply bulldoze into it. Thinking about things seldom did any good, and mistakes could often turn into triumphs.
She pressed the intercom button.
‘Beeches residential care home,’ came a disembodied voice through a surprisingly bass heavy speaker. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Delivery,’ Granny said. ‘Flowers.’ The old woman figured the elderly were always getting flowers sent to them. The fact that she could be classed as elderly herself and hadn’t received any flowers since last Mothers’ Day didn’t occur to her.
‘Come in,’
Granny smiled and waited for the door lock to disengage, which it did a moment later with an electrical buzz.
Granny went in and found herself in a lavish hallway.
The door closed behind her, gliding silently on the rich red carpet.
The hallway was wide and there was a sign on the wall in front of her informing visitors that the reception was to the left. Another sign warned that all visitors much report to reception.
To the right was a staircase.
Granny decided on the only option open to her and she made for the staircase. She quickly went up to the first landing, and although the staircase continued upwards she went through another door and found herself standing in a spacious hallway that was also carpeted in the same rich red as the hallway downstairs.
Granny stood there for a moment, trying to figure out where to go next when she heard footsteps coming towards her. She looked around, thinking that maybe the stairs offered the best chance of escape when she spotted what looked like a large utility cupboard.
She quickly made for it, opened the door and then ducked inside.
It was too dark to see and Granny reached into her pocket and pulled out a box of matches. She struck one and the flickering flame instantly illuminated the room. It wasn’t exactly a room, more a closet but it was spacious. Indeed it wasn’t that much smaller than Granny’s kitchen back home.
The match burnt down low, making itself felt on the tips of her fingers and Granny shook it out, lit another one and then spotted a overall hanging on the edge of a shelf. She pulled it down and slipped it on over her clothes, having to tuck the hem of her body warmer into the waistband of her leggings. Wearing this she hoped she would be mistaken for a cleaner, which would allow her some movement around the nursing home. She spotted a spray can of furniture polish and she grabbed that and found a couple of dusting rags folded neatly on a shelf upon her head.
Granny leaned against the door, an ear against the woodwork, listening.
She couldn’t hear anything at all outside, but she was cautious as she opened the door and peered up and down the corridor. All was silent and Granny stepped out, closing the closet door behind her.
Arthur tried calling again and this time the phone was answered, but by a male voice which had the effect of making an already worried Arthur even more anxious still.
‘Who is this?’ Arthur asked. ‘This is my wife’s phone.’
‘This is Kevin from Stardust Taxis’. Who is this please?’
‘This is my wife’s phone,’ Arthur repeated. ‘How have you got it?’
‘The lady just left it in my taxi.’
‘Where’s she gone?’
‘I dropped her off at The Beeches.’
‘Which Beach? Where?’
‘No The Beeches nursing home.’
‘Look,’ Arthur paused, willing himself to remain calm which wasn’t easy with Gerald leaning so close as to hear what was being said on the other end of the phone. And to top it all off he could see Dai Twice through the window, in full uniform, coming up the garden path.
‘Open the door for Dai,’ Arthur spoke directly to Gerald and nudged his son when he didn’t show any indication of
moving to the front door. The telephone conversation, it seemed, was of more interest than yet another visit from Dai Twice, but Gerald went to answer the door all the same.
‘What?’ if the taxi driver had seemed confused earlier, he was now well and truly perplexed.
‘No not you,’ Arthur motioned for Dai Twice to sit down and pointed to the phone in his hand. ‘Let’s start again. You’re speaking to me on my wife’s phone so where is my wife?’
‘In the nursing home. I’ve told you.’
‘What nursing home? Where?’ Arthur yelled the last word.
‘The Beeches on Crawthorpe Road, W 12.’
‘W 12, London?’
‘Yes, London. Where the heck do you expect it to be, Barbados?’
‘Why has she gone into a nursing home?’
‘After the man we followed.’
‘What man?’
Arthur listened while the taxi driver told him what had happened since Granny had gotten into his taxi. He said that in two years of taxi driving he had never before been ordered to follow a car. It was like being in the movies.
Arthur could feel a headache coming on.
‘What type of car were you following?’ he asked.
‘A range rover, a very nice one.’
She’s followed Nigel all the way to London, Arthur realised. Though how she quite did that beat the hell out of him since she’d only had her bicycle with her. He hadn’t been at all happy with Granny’s plan to keep Nigel under surveillance and deep down he’d feared something would go wrong, but not for a moment had he considered just how wrong.
‘What shall I do with this phone,’ the cabbie asked, breaking Arthur’s reverie. ‘I’ve not got time to take it back to the nursing home and if I do I will have to charge for the journey.’
‘Just drop it off at a police station,’ Arthur answered, thoughtfully. ‘Did my wife say anything to you before she left.’
‘No,’ the taxi driver said and then: ‘No, wait,’ the phone went silent for a moment while the driver tried to recall the exact words the old woman had used. Finally, he said: ‘She said that she was Miss Marple on steroids.’