“Yes.”
“For good?”
“Yes.” Her eyes are starting to shine.
I fold my arms sternly. “If I look for your necklace as hard as I can but can’t find it because it was lost a zillion years ago or, more likely, never existed… will you still go away?”
There’s a pause. Sadie looks sulky.
“It did exist,” she says.
“Will you?” I persist. “Because I’m not spending all summer on some ridiculous treasure hunt.”
For a few moments, Sadie glowers at me, clearly trying to think of some put-down. But she can’t.
“Very well,” she says at last.
“OK. It’s a deal.” I lift my champagne glass toward her. “Here’s to finding your necklace.”
“Come on, then! Start looking!” She darts her head around impatiently, as though we might start searching right here and now in the restaurant.
“We can’t just go randomly looking! We have to be scientific.” I reach into my bag, pull out the necklace sketch, and unfold it. “All right. Think back. Where did you last have it?”
FIVE
Fairside Nursing Home is in a leafy residential road: a redbrick, double-fronted building with net curtains in every single window. I survey it from the other side of the road, then turn to look at Sadie, who has been following me in silence ever since Potters Bar station. She came with me on the tube, but I barely saw her: She spent the whole time flitting along the carriage, looking at people, popping up to ground level and down again.
“So, that’s where you used to live,” I say with an awkward brightness. “It’s really nice! Lovely… garden.” I gesture at a couple of mangy shrubs.
Sadie doesn’t answer. I look up and see a line of tension in her pale jaw. This must be strange for her, coming back here. I wonder how well she remembers it.
“Hey, how old are you, anyway?” I say curiously, as the thought occurs to me. “I mean, I know you’re a hundred and five really. But now. As you are… here.” I gesture at her.
Sadie looks taken aback by the question. She examines her arms, peers at her dress, and thoughtfully rubs the fabric between her fingers.
“Twenty-three,” she says at last. “Yes, I think I’m twenty-three.”
I’m doing mental calculations in my head. She was 105 when she died. Which would mean…
“You were twenty-three in the year 1927.”
“That’s right!” Her face suddenly comes alive. “We had a pajama party for my birthday. We drank gin fizzes all evening and danced ’til the birds started singing… Oh, I miss pajama parties.” She hugs herself. “Do you have many pajama parties?”
Does a one-night stand count as a pajama party?
“I’m not sure they’re quite the same-” I break off as a woman’s face glances out of a top-floor window at me. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I head briskly across the road, up the path to the wide front door, and press the security buzzer.
“Hello?” I call into the grille. “I don’t have an appointment, I’m afraid.”
There’s the sound of a key in a lock, and the front door opens. A woman in a blue nurse’s uniform beams at me. She looks in her early thirties, with her hair tied back in a knot, and a plump pale face.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. My name’s Lara, and I’m here about a… a former resident.” I glance at Sadie.
She’s gone.
I hurriedly scan the whole front garden-but she’s totally disappeared. Bloody hell. She’s left me in the lurch.
“A former resident?” The nurse prompts me.
“Oh. Er… Sadie Lancaster?”
“Sadie!” Her face softens. “Come in! I’m Ginny, senior staff nurse.”
I follow her into a linoleum-floored hall smelling of beeswax and disinfectant. The whole place is quiet, apart from the nurse’s rubber shoes squeaking on the floor and the distant sound of the TV. Through a door I glimpse a couple of old ladies sitting in chairs with crocheted blankets over their knees.
I’ve never really known any old people. Not really, really old.
“Hello!” I wave nervously at one white-haired lady who is sitting nearby, and her face immediately crumples in distress.
Shit.
“Sorry!” I call quietly. “I didn’t mean to… er…”
A nurse comes over to the white-haired lady, and in slight relief I hurry after Ginny, hoping she didn’t notice.
“Are you a relation?” she asks, showing me into a little reception room.
“I’m Sadie’s great-niece.”
“Lovely!” says the nurse, flicking on the kettle. “Cup of tea? We’ve been expecting someone to call, actually. Nobody ever picked up her stuff.”
“That’s what I’m here about.” I hesitate, gearing myself up. “I’m looking for a necklace which I believe once belonged to Sadie. A glass-bead necklace, with a dragonfly set with rhinestones.” I smile apologetically. “I know it’s a long shot and I’m sure you don’t even-”
“I know the one.” She nods.
“You know the one?” I stare at her stupidly. “You mean… it exists?”
“She had a few lovely bits.” Ginny smiles. “But that was her favorite. She wore it over and over.”
“Right!” I swallow, trying to keep calm. “Could I possibly see it?”
“It’ll be in her box.” Ginny nods again. “If I can get you to fill in a form first… Do you have any ID?”
“Of course.” I scrabble in my bag, my heart racing. I can’t believe it. This was so easy!
As I fill in the form, I keep looking around for Sadie, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Where’s she gone? She’s missing the great moment!
“Here you are.” I thrust the form at Ginny. “So, can I take it away? I’m nearly next of kin…”
“The lawyers said the next of kin weren’t interested in having her personal effects,” says Ginny. “Her nephews, was it? We never saw them.”
“Oh.” I color. “My dad. And my uncle.”
“We’ve been holding on to them in case they changed their minds…” Ginny pushes through a swing door. “But I don’t see why you can’t take them.” She shrugs. “It’s nothing much, to be honest. Apart from the bits of jewelry…” She stops in front of a pin board and gestures fondly at a photo. “Here she is! Here’s our Sadie.”
It’s the same wrinkled old lady from the other photo. She’s wrapped in a pink lacy shawl, and there’s a ribbon in her white candy floss hair. I feel a slight lump in my throat as I gaze at the picture. I just can’t relate this tiny, ancient, folded-up face to Sadie’s proud, elegant profile.
“Her hundred and fifth birthday, that was.” Ginny points to another photo. “You know, she’s our oldest ever resident! She’s had telegrams from the queen!”
A birthday cake is in front of Sadie in this photo, and nurses are crowding into the picture with cups of tea and wide smiles and party hats. As I look at them, I feel a crawling shame. How come we weren’t there? How come she wasn’t surrounded by me and Mum and Dad and everyone?
“I wish I’d been there.” I bite my lip. “I mean… I didn’t realize.”
“It’s difficult.” Ginny smiles at me without reproach, which of course makes me feel a million times worse. “Don’t worry. She was happy enough. And I’m sure you gave her a wonderful send-off.”
I think back to Sadie’s miserable, empty little funeral and feel even worse.
“Er… kind of-Hey!” My attention is suddenly drawn by something in the photograph. “Wait! Is that it?”
“That’s the dragonfly necklace.” Ginny nods easily. “You can have that photo, if you like.”
I take down the photo, light-headed with disbelief. There it is. Just visible, poking out of the folds of Great-Aunt Sadie’s shawl. There are the beads. There’s the rhinestone-studded dragonfly. Just as she described it. It’s real!
“I’m so sorry none of us could make the funeral.” Ginny sighs as
we resume walking down the corridor. “We had such staff problems this week. But we toasted her at supper… Here we are! Sadie’s things.”
We’ve arrived at a small storeroom lined with dusty shelves, and she hands me a shoe box. There’s an old metal-backed hairbrush inside, and a couple of old paperbacks. I can see the gleam of beads coiled up at the bottom.
“Is this all?” I’m taken aback, in spite of myself.
“We didn’t keep her clothes.” Ginny makes an apologetic gesture. “They weren’t really hers, so to speak. I mean, she didn’t choose them.”
“But what about stuff from earlier in her life? What about… furniture? Or mementos?”
Ginny shrugs. “Sorry. I’ve only been here five years, and Sadie was a resident for a long while. I suppose things get broken and lost and not replaced.”
“Right.” Trying to hide my shock, I start unpacking the meager things. Someone lives for 105 years and this is all that’s left? A shoe box?
As I reach the jumble of necklaces and brooches at the bottom, I feel my excitement rising. I untangle all the strings of beads, searching for yellow glass, for a flash of rhinestones, for the dragonfly…
It’s not there.
Ignoring a sudden foreboding, I shake the tangle of beads out properly and lay them straight. There are thirteen necklaces in all. None of them is the right one.
“Ginny. I can’t find the dragonfly necklace.”
“Oh dear!” Ginny peers over my shoulder in concern. “It should be there!” She lifts up another necklace, made from tiny purple beads, and smiles at it fondly. “This was another favorite of hers-”
“I’m really after the dragonfly necklace.” I know I sound agitated. “Could it be anywhere else?”
Ginny looks perplexed. “This is strange. Let’s check with Harriet. She did the clear-out.” I follow her back down the corridor and through a door marked Staff. Inside is a small, cozy room in which three nurses are sitting on old floral armchairs, drinking cups of tea.
“Harriet!” says Ginny to a pink-cheeked girl in glasses. “This is Sadie’s great-niece Lara. She wants that lovely dragonfly necklace that Sadie used to wear. Have you seen it?”
Oh God. Why did she have to put it like that? I sound like some horrible grasping person out of Scrooge.
“I don’t want it for me,” I say hastily. “I want it for… a good cause.”
“It isn’t in Sadie’s box,” Ginny explains. “Do you know where it could be?”
“Is it not?” Harriet looks taken aback. “Well, maybe it wasn’t in the room. Now you mention it, I don’t remember seeing it. I’m sorry, I know I should have taken an inventory. But we cleared that room in a bit of a rush.” She looks up at me defensively. “We’ve been so stretched…”
“Do you have any idea where it could have gone?” I look at them helplessly. “Could it have been put somewhere; could it have been given to one of the other residents…”
“The jumble sale!” pipes up a thin dark-haired nurse sitting in the corner. “It wasn’t sold by mistake at the jumble sale, was it?”
“What jumble sale?” I swivel around to face her.
“It was a fund-raiser, two weekends ago. All the residents and their families donated stuff. There was a bric-a-brac stall with lots of jewelry.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Sadie would never have donated this necklace. It was really special to her.”
“Like I say.” The nurse shrugs. “They were going from room to room. There were boxes of stuff everywhere. Maybe it was collected by mistake.”
She sounds so matter-of-fact, I suddenly feel livid on Sadie’s behalf.
“But that kind of mistake shouldn’t happen! People’s stuff should be safe! Necklaces shouldn’t just disappear!”
“We do have a safe in the cellar,” Ginny puts in anxiously. “We ask residents to keep anything of real value in that. Diamond rings and so forth. If it was valuable, it should really have been locked up.”
“It wasn’t valuable exactly, I don’t think. It was just… important.” I sit down, rubbing my forehead, trying to organize my thoughts. “So can we track it down? Do you know who was at this jumble sale?” Doubtful looks are exchanged around the room, and I sigh. “Don’t tell me. You have no idea.”
“We do!” The dark-haired nurse suddenly puts down her cup of tea. “Have we still got the raffle list?”
“The raffle list!” says Ginny, brightening. “Of course! Everyone who came to the sale bought a raffle ticket,” she explains to me. “They all left their names and addresses in case they won. The star prize was a bottle of Baileys,” she adds proudly. “And we had a Yardley gift set-”
“Do you have the list?” I cut her off. “Can you give it to me?”
Five minutes later I’m clutching a four-page photocopied list of names and addresses. There are sixty-seven in all.
Sixty-seven possibilities.
No, possibilities is too strong a word. Sixty-seven outside chances.
“Well, thanks.” I smile, trying not to feel too daunted. “I’ll investigate this lot. And if you do come across it…”
“Of course! We’ll all keep an eye out, won’t we?” Ginny appeals around the room, and there are three nods.
I follow Ginny back through the hall, and as we approach the front door she hesitates.
“We have a visitors’ book, Lara. I don’t know if you’d like to sign it?”
“Oh.” I hesitate awkwardly. “Er… yes. Why not?”
Ginny takes down a big red-bound book and leafs through it.
“All the residents have their own page. But Sadie never had very many signatures. So now that you’re here, I thought it would be nice if you signed, even though she’s gone…” Ginny flushes. “Is that silly of me?”
“No. It’s sweet of you.” I feel a renewed guilt. “We should have visited more.”
“Here we are.” Ginny’s flipping through the cream pages. “Oh, look! She did have one visitor this year! A few weeks ago. I was on holiday, so I missed it.”
Charles Reece, I read, as I scrawl Lara Lington across the page, nice and big to make up for the lack of other entries. “Who’s Charles Reece?”
“Who knows?” She shrugs.
Charles Reece. I stare at the name, intrigued. Maybe he was Sadie’s dearest friend from childhood. Or her lover. Oh my God, yes. Maybe he’s a sweet old man with a cane who came to hold his dear Sadie’s hand just one more time. And now he doesn’t even know she’s dead and he wasn’t invited to the funeral…
We really are a crap family.
“Did he leave any contact details, this Charles Reece?” I look up. “Was he really old?”
“I don’t know. I can ask around, though.” She takes the book from me, and her face lights up as she reads my name. “Lington! Any relation to the coffee Lington?”
Oh God. I really cannot face it today.
“No.” I smile weakly. “Just a coincidence.”
“Well, it’s been a real pleasure to meet Sadie’s great-niece.” As we reach the front door, she gives me a friendly hug. “You know, Lara, I think you have a little of her in you. You both have the same spirit. And I can sense the same kindness.”
The nicer this nurse is to me, the crappier I feel. I’m not kind. I mean, look at me. I never even visited my great-aunt. I don’t do cycle rides for charity. OK, I do buy The Big Issue sometimes, but not if I’m holding a cappuccino and it’s too much hassle to reach for my purse…
“Ginny.” A red-haired nurse beckons her. “Can I have a quick word?” She draws her to one side and murmurs under her breath. I just catch the odd word … strange… police.
“… police?” Ginny’s eyes have widened in surprise.
“… don’t know… number…”
Ginny takes the slip of paper, then turns to smile at me again. I manage a rictus grin, totally paralyzed with horror.
The police. I’d forgotten about the police.
I told them Sadie wa
s murdered by the staff at the home. These lovely saintly nurses. Why did I say that? What was I thinking?
This is all Sadie’s fault. No, it’s not. It’s my fault. I should have kept my big trap shut.
“Lara?” Ginny peers at me in alarm. “Are you all right?”
She’s going to be accused of homicide, and she has no idea. And it’s all my fault. I’m going to ruin everyone’s career and the home will be shut and boarded up and all the old people will have nowhere to go…
“Lara?”
“I’m fine,” I manage at last, in a grainy voice. “Fine. But I have to go.” I start backing out of the front door on wobbly legs. “Thanks so much. Bye.”
I wait until I’m down the path and safely back on the pavement, then whip out my phone and speed-dial DI James’s number, almost hyperventilating in panic. I should never have accused anyone of murder. I am never, ever, ever doing that again. I’m going to confess everything, tear up my statement-
“DI James’s office.” A woman’s crisp voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Oh, hello.” I try to sound calm. “This is Lara Lington speaking. Could I speak to DI James or DC Davies?”
“I’m afraid they’re both out on calls. Can I take a message? If it’s urgent-”
“Yes, it’s very, very urgent. It’s to do with a murder case. Could you please tell DI James I’ve had a… a… a realization.”
“A realization,” she echoes, obviously writing it down.
“Yes. About my statement. Quite a crucial one.”
“I think perhaps you should talk to DI James personally-”
“No! This can’t wait! You have to tell him it wasn’t the nurses who murdered my great-aunt. They didn’t do a thing. They’re wonderful, and it was all a terrible mistake, and… well… the thing is…”
I’m psyching myself up to bite the bullet and admit I invented the whole thing-when suddenly I’m brought up short by a horrible thought. I can’t confess everything. I can’t admit I made the whole thing up. They’ll instantly resume the funeral. I have a flashback to Sadie’s anguished cry at the funeral service, and feel a shiver of anxiety. I can’t let that happen. I just can’t.
“Yes?” says the woman patiently.
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