Lost Property: A shocking tale of wartime secrets and romance (A Janie Juke mystery Book 2)

by Isabella Muir

  'He's free with his money is our Hugh. You know it's not even his? That wife of his was the one with the rich family. Handy she went and died on him and left him the lot.'

  With all the thoughts running around in my mind, the over-riding one is how to get this unpleasant woman to leave.

  'How about I tell you a few home truths?' she says. 'The man you're working for is a liar.'

  For the second time I'm being told not to trust Hugh.

  'I'm pleased you are here, Dorothy,' I say, deciding to compound the lying that appears to surround this case. 'I'd like to ask you a few questions, concerning a brooch.'

  She glares at me, before a sickly smirk spreads over her face.

  'What brooch would that be?'

  'I think you know the answer to that.'

  'Why don't you spell it out for me?'

  'You stole a brooch. It was when you were a land girl, during the war.'

  'Ha,' she pretends to laugh, but the sound is hollow. 'Now let me think, I'm reckoning you weren't even born back then, were you?'

  'Hugh has proof. He's shown it to me.'

  'Proof, eh? Well, you need to be careful, throwing accusations around. Could get yourself into trouble and I'm sure your dad wouldn't like that now, would he?'

  My heart starts to thump uncomfortably fast, as the adrenalin floods through my body.

  'How did you find me, Dorothy? Who told you I worked here?'

  'Oh, you're not hard to find. You should know all about tracking people down, done a touch of that yourself, haven't you?'

  'Kenneth,' I say, sensing some of the pieces of my puzzle slotting into place. Kenneth would have told his sister everything. It would have been no surprise to Dorothy when Libby and I turned up at her house. 'What happened to the brooch, Dorothy?'

  'Now, I don't think that's any business of yours, is it?'

  'I could make it police business though.'

  'So, the young lady is foolish enough to threaten me. Well, think again, you're a little out of your depth here. Let me guess the story that Hugh has cooked up. I expect he's told you that I took something so precious from his wife that she carried the sadness to her death bed.'

  I can sense my hiccups coming on and start deep breathing to try to control them. Dorothy gives me a quizzical glance. 'Not going to faint on me, are you?' She sounds genuinely concerned, any bitterness gone from her voice.

  I pour myself some water and sit down, while she remains standing.

  'Why did you get yourself mixed up with all this?' she says, 'You could walk away now, pretend you've never met either of us.'

  I shake my head, wondering what it is she is so desperate to hide. Throughout the time we have been speaking no customers have come into the van. But now the door opens and Ethel Latimer walks in and approaches the counter.

  'I won't disturb you, I can see you're busy,' she says quietly, taking a sideways glance at Dorothy.

  'Did you need to exchange a book?' I ask her, knowing the answer as there is no book in her hand and no space for one in the small handbag she is carrying.

  'I just wanted to let you know about mum,' she says, with an emphasis on the final word.

  'I might be a little while here,' I say, aware that Dorothy is watching us.

  At that moment Dorothy puts a hand on my arm, 'You carry on and speak to your friend. I only came to tell you one thing,' she says, as I pull my arm away from her.

  Before I can respond she walks towards the door.

  'Wait, you haven't told me anything,' I say, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.

  'Tell Hugh he won't be seeing me again. I'm off and this time he'll never find me,' she says. Then she opens the door and leaves, before I can say another word.

  'What was all that about?' Ethel asks me.

  'Believe it or not, that was Dorothy Elm, the woman who slapped your mother-in-law round the face, twenty-five years ago.

  'Goodness, was it? I wish I'd known that while she was standing right here beside me. I'd have given her a piece of my mind and no mistake.'

  I take a few more sips of water, trying to reconcile my emotions, which are a mixture of relief and frustration.

  'Are you alright?' she asks, 'you've gone very pale. She's upset you hasn't she? Seems like not much has changed after all these years, she's still got a nasty streak in her.'

  I take some gentle breaths and force my face into a smile to reassure her. 'What was it you were going to tell me about Freda?'

  'I was wondering whether you had a chance to talk to Phyllis? Remember I told you the two of them have been chatting about the old days.'

  'No, events have kind of overtaken me. Mind you, I'm surprised Phyllis made it over to visit, she's done something to her ankle. She was hobbling the last time I saw her. I can't imagine that getting on and off a bus would have been much fun for her.'

  'Well, you know Phyllis better than I do, but I'd say there isn't much that will stop her once she's put her mind to something.'

  'Has Freda spoken any more to you? About the incident with Dorothy?'

  'Bits and pieces come out, now and then. She mixes up the past with the present a lot of the time, so it's difficult to be sure what she's trying to say.'

  'Was there something specific?'

  Ethel nods. That press cutting you left, the one with the photo of the two of them. Well, she keeps it tucked inside the front of her Bible. She's always kept a Bible beside her bed, not that I've ever seen her reading it. But these last few days she keeps taking the article out and points at the photo, stabbing at it with her finger, saying, "lies, it was all lies".'

  An investigator has to focus primarily on the evidence. Supposition and hearsay don't stand up in court and are no basis for a conviction. Later on that day, when the library van is quiet, I take out my notebook and read through the concrete evidence I have gathered.

  Of course, for evidence to be relevant, there has to be proof a crime has been committed. I have proof that Dorothy was wearing a brooch that looks as though it could be valuable, but I only have Hugh's accusation the brooch belonged to his wife. Everything else: the suggestion that Dorothy is in danger; Kenneth's strange behaviour; and Freda's memory of her encounter with Dorothy are all circumstantial bits and pieces that don't add up to very much.

  There is only one route left open to me now and that is to confront Hugh and give him one final opportunity to tell me the whole truth and nothing but.

  Chapter 26

  Rosetta Summer answers the door at Hugh's lodgings, welcoming me in with a flamboyant wave of her hand.

  'Oh, it is lovely that you come today. Mr Furness is still in his room, but I make coffee and we can all sit together,' she says.

  Her greeting is heartfelt, but on this occasion I need to have Hugh to myself, to be able to talk freely.

  'Thank you, that sounds very nice. But, could I have a little time with Mr Furness? I have some personal family business to discuss with him.'

  'Of course, of course. You come to see him, not me. I understand,' she says, her voice deflated, the brightness faded from her face.

  'No, not at all. If Hugh and I could have a few moments to chat, then if you'd like to join us...?' I hesitate, realising I am issuing an invitation to the poor woman in her own home.

  While we are hovering in the hallway I hear footsteps and glance up to see Hugh, slowly descending the staircase.

  'Janie,' he says, his body language still that of a man who is defeated.

  'I thought we could have a quick chat,' I say, 'if you're feeling well enough?'

  'Oh, I'm just fine,' he says, his voice belying his words. 'Mrs Summer, would you mind if the two of us used the sitting room for our conversation?'

  'I will bring you coffee,' she says, smiling politely and then she turns and walks off to the kitchen.

  Hugh and I sit opposite each other, in the velour-covered armchairs that are positioned either side of the fireplace.

  'Hugh, I'll come straight to
the point. You've told me a lot about your past, but I think there's a lot more you haven't told me.' I look directly at him, watching for his reaction.

  He avoids eye contact for a few moments, gazing down at a piece of white fluff on his dark grey trousers and flicking it onto the floor. Then he looks up at me.

  'You are astute. Yes, I have misled you.'

  'I need much more than that, Hugh, I need to know why you have chosen to mislead me. It's time for you to explain to me all that happened between you and Dorothy back in 1944.'

  Before he can answer there is a knock on the door. I get up to open it and in walks Rosetta, carrying a tray with a pot of coffee, cups and saucers and a plate of freshly baked shortbread. She puts the tray down on the sideboard and leaves the room, without saying a word.

  'I feel guilty, asking Rosetta to stay out of her own sitting room,' I say.

  'I can tell you all about guilt, my dear,' Hugh says, bowing his head, his voice thick with emotion.

  'There's more to the story than you've shared with me so far, isn't there?'

  'I should have realised when I first met you.'

  'What?' I ask him.

  'I employed you because of your tenacity. I should have been more open with you from the start and I'm sorry for that. But it will have made little difference to the ending.' There is a desperate sadness, even exhaustion in his voice.

  'Nothing has ended yet, Hugh. I promised you I'd find Dorothy. Well, I've done that. But now you need to tell me the real reason you hired me.'

  His hands are in his lap and I notice they are shaking.

  'About eighteen months after Winnie and I were married I received a letter from Dorothy. She had tracked me down through the RAF. The day the letter arrived was the same day Winnie had her second miscarriage.'

  Tears are now running down his face, along the side of his nose, dropping onto his chin. I have to stop myself from jumping up and wiping them away for him.

  'I'm so sorry, Hugh. That must have been difficult for you both.'

  'More difficult when I read the contents of Dorothy's letter. She told me I had a son.'

  I suppress a gasp, not wanting to distract him from sharing his painful memories.

  'Dorothy was demanding money. She said that life was very difficult, trying to manage on her own with a baby. She asked me to send money once a month. I didn't show Winnie the letter, I knew it would break her heart to think I had a child out there somewhere. I wrote back to Dorothy, telling her that of course I would send money to help her care for my son, but in return I wanted to know about the child. I asked for a photo, begged her to tell me what he was like. Of course, if I'd been single I would have offered to do the decent thing and marry her, but I told her that wasn't possible. I said if she told me where she was living I would visit. I wanted to see my son.'

  'What happened? Did you meet him?'

  He shakes his head, using the handkerchief to dry his face. His hands are still trembling and he is looking away from me, avoiding my gaze. 'Dorothy wrote back saying she would never let me see him. The letter was ranting, almost hysterical. She said I had betrayed her by marrying someone else. All she wanted was money and if I didn't send it she would tell my wife everything.'

  'Oh, Hugh,' I say, searching for the right words and failing miserably. 'So, you've been paying her ever since?'

  'I was to send the money to a PO Box at the main Tidehaven post office. I guessed she must have been living somewhere nearby, but I couldn't be certain. Winnie must have known all along. I couldn't understand why she would have been taking the Tidehaven Observer, but she must have guessed something. When she died and I found the press cutting, I realised we had both kept secrets from each other. Twenty-five years of secrets and lies.'

  His gaze is down and his voice is almost a whisper. I can't bear to see him brought so low.

  'She's taken an awful lot of money from you over the years. I guess now you have told her that the payments will stop she has realised she will have to move?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'When we were there the other day, at her house, Libby and I took a look around. All her stuff is in boxes. Then Dorothy came to see me at the library van. She told me to tell you that you will never see her again. She is moving somewhere you will never find her.'

  His expression is pained now, as though he is torturing himself by replaying the memories. 'She has played me like a fool. For twenty-five years I've sent her money, to help support my son. A son I was never allowed to meet, I didn't even know his name. I used to imagine what he looked like, wonder if I'd recognise myself in him. She never told me about his schooldays, his friends, his hopes or his dreams. And do you know why that is?'

  When I don't respond he continues, with vitriol in his voice, 'The reason is, my dear, that I don't have a son. How about that? Dorothy has had the last laugh alright. Finally, I am here with a chance to meet him and he doesn't exist.'

  His voice has become louder, almost shrill, his breathing quickens and I notice he is sweating. Then his cough starts, the moment I have been fearing all along. As I move over to him to put my hand on his back, to offer some comfort, his cough gets louder. The sitting room door opens and Rosetta rushes in.

  'Oh no,' she wails. 'I call an ambulance?' She stands on the other side of Hugh, who is now struggling to breathe in-between the coughing. I nod at her, our eyes meeting above Hugh's head. I listen solemnly to her making the phone call from the hallway, as I continue to rub Hugh's back, talking quietly to him, reminding him to breathe slowly, in the hope that a soothing voice may help to calm him.

  After half a lifetime of hoping that one day he would meet his only son, to be told that he never existed, is the cruellest of blows.

  Chapter 27

  An hour or so later Hugh is being well cared for in hospital, back on oxygen and I am making my way to the Tidehaven Observer offices. Fortunately, Libby is at her desk.

  'Janie,' she says, her face lighting up and then changing into a frown when she sees the concern on my face.

  'Can you get away for a while?' I whisper, having already piqued the attention of her colleague at the neighbouring desk.

  She grabs her jacket and handbag and follows me out of the building.

  'Where are you parked?' I ask her. 'Did you drive in or catch the bus?'

  'I drove, I'm due to go over to Brightport. Some competition to do with cake-making or some such nonsense. What's going on, Janie, you look really frazzled?'

  'I'll explain on the way.'

  'Where are we headed?'

  '73 Faversham Road

  'Righto, I'm on it.'

  As we drive up to Dorothy's house I fill Libby in on the day's events, as well as the encounter I had with Dorothy yesterday.

  'What a cow,' she says.

  'Don't hold back,' I say, smirking.

  'She's made the poor man believe he has betrayed his wife for years, handed over money, all for nothing. He's held on to his hopes for more than twenty years and now she's told him there is no son. But you think Hugh does have a son, don't you?'

  'We've seen him.'

  'The dishy bloke?'

  'I'm sure of it. Kenneth's job was to keep Hugh from finding out the truth. Plus, I reckon the boy doesn't even know what his mother has been up to for all those years. I'm so mad with myself that I didn't get a photo. If I'd caught the three of them on camera, then Dorothy wouldn't be able to deny it. As it is we're going to struggle to get an admission from her.'

  'Will Hugh be okay?'

  'He's not a well man and all this turmoil isn't helping.'

  We park outside Dorothy's house and I am barely out of the car before Libby is pressing the buzzer.

  'I'm a girl on a mission,' she says, turning to me and grinning.

  We hear the chain going on, then the door opens a crack.

  'Oh, it's you two,' Dorothy says, 'well, there's a surprise.'

  'Let us in, Dorothy. We have some information for you that is to your a
dvantage,' I say.

  She slides the chain back, opens the door wide and stands back for us to enter.

  'What's that then?' she asks.

  'I'm not speaking to you standing here on the doormat. How about you do the courteous thing and show us into your dining room?' I say.

  She makes a grumbling noise, turns and walks along the hallway and we follow. Once inside the dining room, we stand beside the mahogany dining table, where the single apple is still on display, now even more shrivelled.

  'Hugh is in hospital,' I say, watching for a reaction.

  She raises an eyebrow and then pulls out a chair and sits down. 'Might as well take the weight off.' She gestures to us to sit down on the opposite side of the table.

  'He's extremely poorly, the doctors are concerned about him,' I continue, ignoring Libby's questioning glance.

  'What's it to me?' Dorothy says.

  'Do you really want your son to lose the chance to meet his father?' I say.

  'What son?' she says.

  'Come on, Dorothy, don't play games with us. We know you've lied to Hugh. You do have a son - his son.'

  'How dare you call me a liar? You'd better have some proof. I could do you for defamation of character.'

  'Dorothy, do you realise there is a strong possibility that Hugh could die?'

  'We're all going to die,' she says.

  'I don't believe you are a bad person, Dorothy. This is your opportunity to make amends,' I say, trying to keep my voice objective, yet persuasive.

  'Why should I want to make amends? My life has been tough. He was alright, with his fancy wife and all her money.'

  For a few moments none of us speak. Dorothy glares directly at me, as though she is trying to weigh up her options. I hold her gaze, wondering which of us will be the first to surrender.

  'Raymond,' she says, her voice almost reverential. 'He's a good boy.'

  I raise an eyebrow.

  'Oh, I know, he's a young man now, but he'll always be my boy.' There is a softness in her voice I haven't heard before.

  'Hugh doesn't want to take him from you, Dorothy. Is that what you're frightened of? Is that why you lied to him?'