by M C Beaton
Fell hugged her in a sudden rush of gratitude. “I know you really wanted a bookshop, Maggie, but this is a going business. But I’m not going to do anything at the moment. I’ll wait a bit.”
“Sure,” said Maggie, detaching herself gently. “I’m just going up to my room. I haven’t quite decided which paint to get.”
Maggie went upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind her. She sat down on the bed. She knew, she was sure, that Mrs. Melissa Harley was after Fell’s money. But there was no way to prove it. She had a sudden desire to watch Melissa covertly. She went downstairs and told Fell that she was going to call on her mother. Fell was busy unwrapping china and only nodded.
Maggie went out into the golden glory of the summer’s evening. She felt small and grubby and toadlike. She looked up at the clock on the town hall. The health shop would be closing soon, Melissa would be locking up, and Maggie could get a clear, calm look at the woman she considered her rival. She took up a position in a doorway opposite the health shop and waited. Five-thirty. A shop girl came out and walked off down the street. Maggie shifted restlessly.
“‘Allo, Maggie.”
She found the grinning face of the Italian barman, Gino, from the Palace two inches from her own.
“Waiting for a pick-up?”
“I’m waiting for a friend,” muttered Maggie. “Go away.”
Gino was handsome and knew it. He was wearing his off-duty clothes of leather jacket and jeans with gold chains nestling in his chest hair. He smelt overpoweringly of Brut.
“So you’ve moved in with the drip,” said Gino.
“Go away!” hissed Maggie.
Gino patted her on the bottom and walked off, whistling.
Maggie saw Melissa Harley emerge. She looked tired. Her hair was screwed up on a knot on top of her head. She was wearing a trouser suit and flat shoes. Her jacket was open, revealing a slightly bulging stomach.
She must have been wearing a body stocking last night, thought Melissa. And she’s not really beautiful at all. It was only my jealousy that made her appear beautiful.
Feeling comforted, she headed homeward.
♦
But Maggie did not realize that Fell only saw the Melissa he wanted to see, and that was the glamorous woman of his dreams. She realized later that she should have said nothing. But as soon as she was in the door, she burst out with, “I saw Melissa Harley in the High Street.”
Fell’s face brightened. “Did you talk to her?”
“No, I just saw her, and Fell, she’s quite old and not that good-looking. She must have been wearing some sort of foundation garment when we saw her in the restaurant, because she’s got a bulgy figure and I think she must be near fifty.”
Fell’s face darkened. “You didn’t go to your mother. You went to spy.”
And instead of denying it hotly, Maggie said miserably, “I only went to get another look at her. I’m worried about you, Fell. I think she’s after your money.”
Fell rose to his feet. His face was closed and set and bleak. “I’m going out for a walk,” he said.
“I – I’m s-sorry,” babbled Maggie, “but I couldn’t bear to see you tricked.”
“Yes, quite,” said Fell and walked out of the door.
He walked and walked that evening along by the river. He walked until his legs were as weary as his soul. He felt a dull hatred for Maggie. How dare Maggie interfere in his dreams? Well, he was not going to be chained to Maggie the way he had been chained to his parents. He was not swapping one prison for another. He would tell her in the morning she had to go. It was his house and his life.
♦
Maggie lay awake, waiting for him to return. If only she had never criticized Melissa. If only she had denied spying on her. But Fell was so naive. She heard Fell come in. Somehow Maggie felt his feelings seeping through the walls of her room. The fun was over. Fell would never forgive her. She would have to leave. Back to Mother, back to waitressing, back to empty days and lonely nights.
She remembered that enchanted meal in the restaurant, where she had put on the ring, where she had been happier than she had ever been in her life before, and she turned her face into the pillow and wept.
Maggie cried so hard that it was some time before she realized someone was knocking at the downstairs door.
She sat up and scrubbed her eyes dry with a corner of the sheet. She heard Fell open his bedroom door and go down the stairs. Maggie climbed out of bed and put on her dressing gown. She crept quietly downstairs and stood, listening.
Fell opened the door. A huge figure stood silhouetted against the street light outside.
“You Fellworth Dolphin, Charlie’s boy?” asked a gruff voice.
“Yes; what do you want?”
“I’m Tarry Joe’s boy. Let me in.”
“Why should I?” Fell remembered that Tarry Joe had been a railway worker at the station in his father’s day.
“Want me to talk about the robbery on the step?”
Maggie moved swiftly to the desk and took out the cash box as she heard Fell exclaiming, “What robbery? I don’t know anything about a robbery.”
Maggie let herself out of the back door into the garden. The new gardening equipment was lying about, along with plants from a gardening centre for the newly weeded garden.
She seized a spade and dug a hole in the soft earth and dropped the cash box into it, shovelled earth over it, and patted it flat. Then she crept back into the kitchen. She could now hear voices in the living room. “Anyone want a cup of tea?” she called.
There was a silence and then the man said sharply, “Who’s that?”
Maggie walked into the living room and said brightly, “I heard someone arrive, Fell, and I thought you might like a cup of tea.”
Her eyes quickly took in the visitor. Massive and brawny in a denim shirt with cut-off sleeves exposing tattooed arms, a bullet-like head with small babyish features crammed in the middle of a large face.
“Who’s this?”
“My fiancée, Maggie,” said Fell in a dazed voice. “Maggie, this man…” He looked helplessly at Tarry Joe’s son.
“Andy. Andy Briggs.”
“Andy,” said Fell, “says my father was part of a plan to rob a train. Andy here is looking for a place to stay. He also wants money.”
“Why should we give him any?” asked Maggie.
“Because,” said Fell in a thin voice, “he says he has proof of my father’s involvement in the robbery and if we don’t pay him, he’ll go to the police.”
Maggie came in and sat down. “What robbery?” she asked. “When did it happen?”
“It was over twenty years ago,” Andy said. “Never heard of the Post Office train robbery?”
“I remember that,” said Fell. “There was a trainload of used notes being taken from the North back down to the central post office in London. The train was attacked by masked men at Buss Station.” His voice sharpened. “The guard was bludgeoned to death. They never caught anyone.”
“That’s right. My father went to Spain with his cut, took me with him, and the silly sod drank himself to death. Your father got his cut for tipping us off about the train and looking the other way.”
“Fell’s father’s dead,” said Maggie.
“Heard that,” said Andy laconically. His small eyes focused on Fell. “Don’t want the world to know your dad was a criminal.”
“I don’t mind,” said Fell. “Go to the police.”
“Then let me put it another way, sonny,” said Andy. He had a duffel bag at his feet. He bent down and opened it. He pulled out an old service revolver. “You get me the money. I’ve been dossing in this town and know you’ve been left a mint. So we go to the bank in the morning and you pay up or I’ll blow your brains out.” Andy swung round on Maggie. “And you go and get me tea and some sandwiches. One false move and I’ll kill your boyfriend.”
Maggie rose and went into the kitchen.
Fell stared numbly at Andy. F
ell had been brought up on threats that God would punish him if he was bad, a God of wrath, a God with long flowing locks and a long beard. He felt he was being punished for having kept that money in the cash box. He felt weak with fear. He could feel his knees trembling under his dressing gown. He was sure he was about to wet himself. He could have cried with weakness and shame and fright.
In some of his many fantasies, he had been threatened by a gunman, but had disarmed him with one karate chop. He prayed that Maggie had somehow run out of the kitchen door for help.
But the kitchen door opened and he heard Maggie say brightly, “Tea’s ready.”
Andy was sitting with his back to the table where Maggie placed the tray.
“Don’t move,” he said to Fell with a grin and Fell knew that Andy was well aware that he, Fell, was too frightened to move a muscle.
In the same moment, as in a dream, Fell saw Maggie lift a marble rolling pin off the tea tray. Just as Andy was about to rise to his feet, Maggie brought the rolling pin down on his bullet head with all the force given to her by fear.
Andy gave a choked sound and tumbled forward onto the carpet. Fell leaped out of his chair and grabbed the gun from Andy’s limp hand. Blood was oozing from the back of Andy’s head onto the carpet.
Fell sat down on the sofa and levelled the gun at the recumbent Andy. Maggie stood shaking, her hands to her mouth. Then she crept round and sat down next to Fell.
“We can’t let him bleed to death,” she whispered.
“Give it a minute,” Fell whispered back. “He may be faking.”
“What, with all that blood?”
“Okay, have a look at him.”
Maggie shuddered. “I can’t. Oh, I can’t. You have a look at him.”
Fell handed her the gun, but it dropped from Maggie’s nervous fingers to the carpet.
Fell picked up the gun and put it in a drawer. Then he got down on his knees and shuffled over to the body. He felt Andy’s wrist. No pulse.
“I think he’s dead, Maggie.”
“He can’t be. Oh, what are we to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Fell helplessly. “Maybe we should call for an ambulance.”
“Then I’d be a murderess and the court would take all your money.”
“If the money comes from a robbery, then they’ll need to have it.”
“But what if he was bluffing? What if your father had nothing to do with it at all?”
“Let’s look in that bag of his,” said Fell.
They tipped out the contents of the bag. It contained dirty laundry, a long knife, a passport, and a driving licence.
Fell sat back on his heels.
“I think he would have taken my money and killed us both. What if…what if we just got rid of the body and then tried to find out ourselves if Dad really had anything to do with that robbery?”
“Should we put the body in the boot of my car and dump it in the river?”
“No,” said Fell. “Let’s bury him in the garden. Thank God he arrived in the middle of the night. Let’s hope no one saw him. Anyway, we’ll just need to hope he’s not reported missing. I need to pee.”
“Me too,” said Maggie. “You first.”
After they had both finished with the bathroom, they went outside to the garden. For once Fell blessed his parents’ desire to ‘keep ourselves to ourselves’. A high hedge on both sides of the garden blocked off any view from the neighbouring houses. A tall lilac tree to the left shut most of the view from the windows next door on that side and a holly tree on the right shielded the view from there.
“I buried the cash box,” said Maggie. “It’s over there. Where will we put him?”
“Close to the house. No danger of being seen that way.”
They both took up new spades and began to dig. “My arms ache,” complained Maggie.
“It’s got to be deep,” said Fell. “We don’t want stray cats or dogs digging it up.”
The sky began to lighten and the first birds twittered from the trees.
“That’s good enough,” said Fell at last.
They leaned on their shovels and looked at each other across the open grave, their faces white and strained in the growing light.
“Better get him,” said Fell wearily. “We’ll take the wheelbarrow. You hold open the kitchen door for me, Maggie.”
Maggie held open the door. Fell pushed the wheelbarrow inside the kitchen. With Maggie behind him, he opened the living-room door.
He let out a gasp.
The only sign of Andy was a dried pool of blood on the carpet. The street door was standing open. The duffel bag was gone.
“He can’t have been dead!” said Fell.
“Thank God,” said Maggie, and began to cry.
∨ The Skeleton in the Closet ∧
Three
THEY slept a little. Maggie awoke, hearing Fell downstairs. She rose and dressed, hurriedly and without care.
Fell was sitting over a cup of coffee, staring into space.
“I don’t know what to do, Maggie,” he said bleakly.
Despite the fact that she was still terrified by the events of the night, Maggie knew in that moment that she had gained a reprieve. Fell would not throw her out, not immediately anyway.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” asked Maggie.
“Possibly. It’s a nightmare. Why did I never remember the robbery when I saw the money in the cash box? It was right after that Dad had his first heart attack. I was set to go to university, but I had to stay at the Palace instead. I’d been working at the hotel in my gap year and so I just stayed on.”
“Let’s go out somewhere in my car for breakfast,” said Maggie briskly, “and then we’ll go to the library and read up on everything we can about the robbery.”
“What should I do with that gun?”
“I’ll put it up in my room in the suitcase under the bed. Let’s go, Fell. If we sit here, I’ll get too frightened to move at all.”
“Right.” Fell went to the drawer, took out the gun and handed it to Maggie, who took it gingerly. She went back to her room and tucked it at the bottom of an old suitcase.
They went out to Maggie’s car, which was parked outside. The sun shone down on another perfect day.
“Mr. Dolphin!” quavered an old voice from the front garden on their right.
“Mrs. Moule,” said Fell. He raised his voice. “Good morning.”
Mrs. Moule appeared at her gate, leaning on a Zimmer frame. “You young people,” she chided. “I don’t know where you get the energy. Digging the garden in the middle of the night.”
“That’s us,” said Fell with a manufactured breeziness. “Working all hours to make the place nice.”
Mrs. Moule cackled with laughter. “Well, if you’ve any energy left over, my garden could do with weeding.”
Fell waved. He and Maggie got into the car. Maggie drove off and then stopped farther down the road. “Wait a bit,” she said. “My knees are shaking. Just think, Fell. What if we had been burying a body? How could she have seen us?”
“Probably heard us or saw us through the branches of that tree outside the upstairs window. It was getting light, remember?”
“I wonder whether we should go to the police,” said Maggie.
“It’s a bit late for that, Maggie. They’d wonder why we didn’t call them immediately. And what if they froze the money in the bank? We’d lose our first bit of freedom.”
Maggie privately though they had lost it already, but he had said our freedom, and that was enough for her.
She let in the clutch. “Where are we going?” asked Fell.
“I thought we’d go out to one of those motorway restaurants and eat junk food, comfort food, for once.”
“You’re a good sort, Maggie.”
Maggie felt the sunlight outside flooding her insides with yellow light. But she felt she had to say something about Melissa Harley.
“About Melissa,” said Maggie. “I feel now
I behaved disgracefully. I wasn’t trying to isolate you from people, Fell.” Lie, screamed the voice of her conscience. “But I just didn’t want to see you tricked.”
Fell sighed. “I suppose you think a woman who looks like that would never be interested in me.”
“Not at all,” said Maggie quickly.
“I was hurt,” said Fell. “Badly hurt by your snooping. But the events of last night have made me pretty much forget about it.”
“Let’s not talk any more about it at the moment,” said Maggie, negotiating a roundabout and turning down onto the motorway.
“I’ve had about two driving lessons,” said Fell. “But I can’t imagine myself ever driving on a motorway. Look at them! The inside lane does seventy miles an hour. But the middle lane does eighty and the outside lane ninety or more.”
“You get used to it,” said Maggie. “When I first started driving, I would keep to the inside lane and just chug along behind the trucks.”
After several miles, she turned off at a motorway restaurant.
Soon they were seated over enormous breakfasts of toast, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beans and sausages.
“So if we can stay awake after this lot,” said Maggie, “we’ll go back to town and start at the library. Are any of your father’s old workmates alive?”
“I’ll need to ask around. Dad was pretty old when he died. I hate this. I don’t know if I can live in my house again. I’ll always be waiting for a knock at the door, dreading that Andy will come back.”
“Let’s not think about that now. But perhaps we should get some sort of security, a burglar-alarm system, something like that, and a peephole on the front door so we can see who is calling. We can look up the business pages in the directory for a security firm.”
Maggie regretted the idea of a greasy breakfast although she finished every bit of it. She felt tired and heavy.
She drove them back into Buss and they parked outside the public library. “When was the robbery?” asked Maggie.
“It was sometime in the seventies. Wait a bit. They talked of nothing else in the town. Let’s start with the local newspaper for 1978.”