The adrenalin-fuelled burst of activity died quickly. Leaden, rubbery legs brought me to a gasping halt. Lungs heaving, I stood there firmly promising myself (yet again) more frequent workouts in the gym, or, more realistically, a few snatched minutes of exercise every morning. Instead of getting back into bed after letting Gorgonzola out, I would get down on the carpet and do a few energetic press-ups.
I closed my eyes, leant against a wall and turned my face up to the soothing warmth of the sun. What on earth had possessed me to challenge Spinks like that? I must have been mad. My heart rate rose again. What on earth was I going to do now? I’d better think of something fast. Should I abandon the investigation, hand over everything to the local police? If I did, something would be salvaged. They would be able to arrest the Mackenzies, and that part of the distribution network would be closed down. But the source would be untouched… It would be like leaving a rogue cancer cell in the body… I opened my eyes and searched the sky for a sign. And there it was. A wrought iron one, bearing the words Clarinda’s – the original tearoom. A good restorative cup of tea or coffee might steady the trembling legs. I pushed open the door.
The place was fairly crowded and I had to edge my way to an unoccupied table at the back of the small room. Snatches of tourist conversation, the muted clink of china and cutlery, the delicious aroma of freshly baked cakes – I let it all wash over me, then pulled the little menu card toward me and studied the list of exotic teas. Earl Grey Blue Flower, Japanese Jasmine, Raspberry Fruit, Mango, Peppermint…I’d taken so many risks already this morning, why not continue to live recklessly? I ordered a pot of Earl Grey Blue Flower and a giant rock bun, to be followed up twenty minutes later by a pot of the Raspberry Fruit and a slice of irresistible orange cake.
An hour after I had come in, I brushed away the last lingering crumb and sat back, jangled nerves restored. Yes, it definitely paid to take risks. And I would take another risk by tackling Hiram J Spinks. Buoyed up by that somewhat shaky logic, I drove back to the hotel.
I swung the car into a parking place beside the heather bed and donned my dark glasses in keeping with the Mafia look. Spinks might be waiting for me. Marvellous stuff those fruit teas. Somehow I felt anticipation more than fear. Now I would be disappointed if he didn’t react to my ultimatum. Would it be a brief note under the door, a staged meeting at the foot of the stairs – or a bullet in the brain? I crunched my way across the gravel.
It was not Spinks but the formidable proprietress of the White Heather Hotel who lay in ambush in the vestibule. And the bullet hit me straight between the eyes.
‘Miss Smith, I must ask you to depart from these premises by noon tomorrow. You have broken one of the cardinal rules of this establishment.’ Under stress, Mrs Mackenzie had adopted quaint, old-fashioned turns of phrase.
‘Ru-les?’ Gasped out, strangulated, it wobbled in the middle and tailed off into an ignominious squeak.
She nodded grimly and flung out her arm in a dramatic gesture. My eyes followed her quivering finger. In an awesome demonstration of her direct line to God, a shaft of sunlight illuminated the brass plate.
THE MANAGEMENT REGRETS
NO PETS CAN BE ENTERTAINED
‘Pets?’ I said, genuinely bewildered. How on earth had she found out about Gorgonzola? What terrible crime had my cat committed? Whatever it was, it must be something so awful it had quite overwhelmed Mrs M’s recent fawning deference.
‘There’s no point in denying it, Miss Smith. I have the proof.’
‘Proof?’ I croaked. Surprise seemed to have rendered me monosyllabic.
‘Naturally.’ She drew back her thin shoulders in indignation. ‘You do not suppose that I would accuse one of my guests without proper evidence?’
Cravenly, I shook my head. If only I knew what feline crime had been committed… Perhaps I could brazen it out. ‘I really think there’s been some—’
She silenced me with an imperious sweep of the hand that indicated we should repair upstairs to my room. I trailed behind the ramrod-stiff back, thoughts racing furiously. Had Gorgonzola shredded the curtains, laid out half-eaten rodents in a neat row on the carpet, broken open the Mackenzie birdcage and slaughtered the inhabitant?
Mrs M waited grimly outside my room till I caught up with her, then threw open the door with a flourish. Cautiously, I peeked in. The room seemed just as I had left it. The curtains were unshredded, the carpet was mercifully clear of chewed corpses, and the white sheets of the still unmade bed were unsullied by the stiff little body of a budgie/canary.
I sighed with relief. ‘Er, what…?’ I said uncertainly.
In her eagerness to confront the culprit with the evidence of the crime, she swept past me, shouldered me aside might not be too strong a term. She stopped by the bed and gazed pointedly at the heaped sheet lying in rather rumpled folds. I followed her over. Surely she wasn’t going to accuse me of wrinkling the bed linen?
‘Cat hairs, Miss Smith. Paw prints. And…’ she paused for maximum effect, ‘…underneath it’s even worse!’
With all the assurance of a magician performing a well-rehearsed trick, she grabbed a corner of the sheet and twitched it back.
Gorgonzola blinked innocently up at us. Half a goldfish dangled from her mouth. Under one enormous muddy paw, another large specimen from the Mackenzie pond lay glassy-eyed, its bright colours already fading.
With a shriek of, ‘Oh my God!’ Mrs Mackenzie reeled back and sat down heavily on the bedside chair.
‘Oh my God!’ I echoed.
Two courses of action were open to me: limited admission, something on the lines of ‘Oh, I thought it was the hotel cat. Perhaps I have rather encouraged it’, or complete denial. Unwisely, I chose the latter course.
‘I’ve never seen that cat before. It’s certainly not mine,’ I declared firmly.
I stared menacingly at G, daring her to show any signs of familiarity. She stretched lazily, jumped softly from the bed, and treacherously deposited the half-eaten fish at my feet.
‘Cats seem to like me,’ I said lamely as she purred loudly and twined herself affectionately round my legs. In desperation, I grabbed her moth-eaten tail and gave it a warning tug. Playfully, she used my leg as a scratching post.
‘Shoo! Go away, moggy,’ I gritted, trying to keep up the pretence.
I should have remembered that Gorgonzola was a sensitive cat, especially touchy about remarks that reflected on her breeding, or lack of it. Her tail swished angrily, her eyes closed into mean little slits. With a cobra-like hiss she swiped aside the valance sheet and disappeared under the bed.
Nervously, I gazed at the swaying sheet. This was a side to her character that didn’t often surface, but when it did, her sulks tended to last for hours. With a bit of luck, she would stay there out of harm’s way. Cheered by that thought, I glanced over at Mrs Mackenzie, who was clearing her throat preparatory to relaunching hostilities.
I got in first. ‘Surely you don’t think that I could have anything to do with a mangey thing like that?’ I snapped. ‘I’m really quite insulted!’
Half-convinced by my vehemence, she wavered. A look of uncertainty flitted across her face.
On cue, Gorgonzola shot out from under the bed and pounced on the YOURS holdall containing the tins of food. As usual, I had left it invitingly open for any Mackenzie inspection. Deftly, she fished in it with her paw. From its depths she extricated her working collar, a reminder to me of her rank and importance. She deposited it at my feet and sat back with a self-satisfied purr. She had sold me down the river and she knew it.
With the parting shot of ‘Laundry charges!’ Mrs Mackenzie swept balefully from the room.
And that was how, next morning, I came to leave the White Heather Hotel under somewhat of a cloud.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Before that ignominious expulsion I had my little tête-à-tête with Spinks. After the irate whirlwind exit of Mrs M, I slumped onto the chair and stared morosely at the dead fish. Th
e fish stared coldly back. Out of sight, out of mind would be better for all concerned. I lifted it by the tail and deposited it in the wastepaper basket. Then I took it out again. I flushed the body down the loo and set about preparing for tomorrow’s departure. Gorgonzola left her packing to me, having meanwhile effected a strategic escape through the half-open window.
Before I started the packing I called up headquarters on the encrypted mobile line. ‘As of 1200 hours, 25/6, address no longer WHH. Closing in on target. Message ends. Scotch Mist.’
While I awaited acknowledgement and any fresh instructions, I gazed over the trim lawn to the pond, now sadly depleted of some of its inhabitants. Mr M seemed to have been assigned to patrol its margins. And tomorrow, when I checked out, two goldfish, koi-priced, would undoubtedly feature on the bill under ‘Additional Items’.
The mobile beeped acknowledgement, but with no fresh orders from their end. I was on my own. Stressed out by the day’s events, I straightened the rumpled sheet and lay down on Gorgonzola’s paw work. I’d just think things over a little, get things straight in my mind…
Murdo Mackenzie doing his J Arthur Rank act on the dinner gong jerked me awake. I groaned and reluctantly sat up. Apprehension battled with excitement. Ahead lay the confrontation with Spinks. If he didn’t accept my challenge, didn’t make contact tonight, my chances of keeping an unobtrusive tail on such a violent and slippery customer were almost nil.
The dining room was already quite full, but I spotted him almost immediately, sitting at a table isolated from the rest by a huge potted palm in a stone urn, one of Mrs Mackenzie’s attempts to inject a little Victorian ambiance. The table was near the far wall, but he had positioned his chair in direct line with the door to have a clear view of everyone entering. For an instant his cold eyes locked onto mine. I could feel those eyes boring into my back as I made my way, not too fast, not too slow, to a table near the window and chose a chair with its back towards him. He’d have to make the first move.
The message came while I was studying the menu. Mackenzie sidled his way up to my table and gave a tentative cough, the signal that he had something to impart.
‘Yes?’ I growled. I didn’t look up.
He cleared his throat, ‘Mr Spinks has asked you to share his table.’
‘Tell him I’ll come and join him after the dessert,’ I grunted, not lifting my eyes from perusal of the card.
He shuffled uneasily. ‘You did say after the dessert?’ he quavered.
I turned over a page of the menu, continued my close perusal, and he scuttled away. I’d quite enjoyed that little exchange. So…Spinks had made his move, and I’d made mine. Pawn to king four, twice, you might say.
‘Are you ready to order, Miss Smith?’
I’d failed to notice Mackenzie’s silent return. He was standing behind my left shoulder, pad and pencil in hand.
‘Why yes,’ I said sweetly. ‘As you may know, Mr Mackenzie, I am leaving the hotel tomorrow?’
Desperately hedging his bets, he revolved his head in a bizarre half-nod, half-shake.
‘Well, since it’s my very last chance to sample Mrs Mackenzie’s outstanding cuisine, I think I’ll choose from the à la carte menu.’ Ordering from the most expensive dishes wasn’t just gross self-indulgence (though, of course, it was – I really would regret no longer being able to sample Mrs Mackenzie’s gourmet cooking). It was another move in my dangerous game. You see, I’d calculated it would take quite a lot longer to cook and serve one of the à la carte specialities, and that would keep Spinks on the hook.
I smiled my most dazzling smile, then delivered the body blow. ‘That arrangement about meeting him after dessert, did it suit Mr Spinks, by the way?’
He choked. The poised pencil point lunged wildly over the white page. This time his response was a half-shake, half-nod.
I played it cool. ‘If I may see the wine list?’
He rushed off to fetch it. Keeping Spinks waiting should give me a much-needed psychological advantage. I hoped it would underline the fact that I was the buyer, he the seller. He wouldn’t like it. I’d have to be even more careful. I didn’t let this thought put me off my meal.
Most of the guests had finished their meal and left. I laid down my spoon, pushed back my chair and stood up. The moment could be postponed no longer. For one awful instant I thought he had called my bluff and gone, but there he was, glowering over at me. He’d repositioned his chair so that he was partly screened by a drooping palm frond. Face expressionless, I made my way towards him past tables littered with empty wineglasses and crumpled serviettes. It took quite an effort. My heart was thudding furiously, and there was a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was the moment when I could blow everything with one careless word.
An empty packet of Marlboro lay discarded on his table, the ashtray overflowed with butts. He had been waiting a long time and the wait had not improved his temper.
He consulted his watch with an aggressive flick of the wrist. ‘You’ve sure screwed up my schedule, ma’am. I gotta lot of business to do.’
‘Well, Mr Spinks,’ I said, beckoning the timorously hovering Mackenzie to bring the coffee pot, ‘a good business deal should never be hurried, don’t you think?’
That was met with a grunt that could’ve been either agreement or disagreement.
I plunged on, not wanting to lose the initiative. ‘May I ask if you’ve come to a decision? You’ll find partnership with us very lucrative. But we require an indication that you’ll meet our standards.’
I took a long sip of coffee, gratified to see that my hand was rock-steady.
Spinks’s smile did not reach his eyes. ‘I could name you a place, time and date. But it’s not justa question of dough, ma’am. It’s a matter of trust.’
‘It is indeed, Mr Spinks,’ I said softly and looked him straight in the eye. Perhaps I’d seen too many James Bond films. He picked up the empty packet of Marlboro and slowly crushed it between his fingers. All the time his eyes held mine. Perhaps he’d seen the same movies.
He seemed to come to a decision. ‘OK, ma’am, it’s a deal.’ He gave the mangled packet a final twist and let it fall. ‘You gotta map?’
I nodded and reached into my bag. As my fingers closed round the map’s oblong shape, my forehead broke out in prickles of sweat. Those underlinings of mine were copied from that same leaflet with the red and yellow corner protruding from the inner pocket of his loud jacket.
I fumbled around with bent head as if searching irritably for something I was sure was there, then staged an exclamation of annoyance, ‘Sorry, I must have left it upstairs.’ In a desperate bluff, I scraped back my chair and half rose.
Spinks raised his hand in a staying gesture. ‘Guess we don’t really need one.’
I sank back onto my chair.
He made no attempt to produce his own map – didn’t, of course, want me to set eyes on those pencilled indications he’d made. ‘The drop will be in a few days.’
Yeeesss. Outwardly impassive, inwardly jubilant, I nodded a business-like acknowledgement. I poured myself another cup of coffee, and for the first time in our encounter relaxed. I should have known better.
‘There’s just one thing, ma’am,’ his voice was deceptively casual. ‘I’m a careful guy, and I’d feel a whole lot better if you cut me in on one of your drops before I fill you in on some more details.’
My throat contracted, sending some drops of Mrs Mackenzie’s quality coffee down into my lungs. Through a paroxysm of coughing my mind was racing. Why hadn’t I thought of this, had some reply ready? I raised streaming eyes in simulated affront.
‘You can’t really expect…’ I choked. ‘The organisation won’t like it. Won’t like it at all…’
His eyes were on me, calculating, cold. Then he raised his fist and brought it down with a thud on the mangled Marlboro packet. ‘No see, no deal. I’ve gotta be sure too, ma’am.’
I stood up. ‘I’ll have to check, Mr Spinks. As I
told you, I’m leaving the hotel tomorrow. You’ll be here if we want to contact you?’ I hoped the stressed if would restore a little of the psychological balance in my favour.
Hiram J Spinks nodded his head and smiled. A smile I didn’t like one little bit.
In a last defiant gesture against Mrs Mackenzie and her rules, Gorgonzola spent an untroubled night stretched out on my bed. Which is more than can be said for me. As the brief darkness of the June night gave way to the pale grey of dawn, I lay there open-eyed and sleepless, staring up at a mark on the ceiling. It could be done, yes, it could be done. Though to get Customs to mount a mock drug drop somewhere would take a deal of persuasion. Officialdom being what it was, there would be countless obstacles to overcome. But my department carried a certain amount of clout and… Optimism restored, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep for a whole three hours.
Before I showered, I communicated with headquarters to give them time to mull over my request. Then I packed, subjected the sheets to a close inspection for cat hairs, and disposed of all evidence. There was no other difficulty as far as Gorgonzola was concerned. I could tell she was feeling a trifle guilty about yesterday’s little incident, so I was sure I’d find her near the car.
Breakfast was served by Murdo Mackenzie, sleepy-eyed and somewhat rumpled. He’d either been up early loading tins of haggis onto his van, or mounting an all night anti-cat patrol round the goldfish pond.
After breakfast I gathered up the holdalls and went downstairs to face the Gorgon. Mrs Mackenzie had taken up a strategic position behind the heavy reception counter. When she saw me, she compressed her lips into a thin line of disapproval, then mindful of my Mafia connections, stretched them in an ingratiating smile.
‘If you’ll just present me with my account, Mrs Mackenzie, I’ll be on my—’
‘I think you’ll find it all in order, Miss Smith.’ The bill was slapped down in front of me. A bony finger pointed at the items near the bottom of the page under the heading EXTRAS.
No Suspicious Circumstances Page 14