Strictly Murder

by Lynda Wilcox

  I took some ham from the fridge along with the cheese to let it come up to room temperature and added lettuce to the salad. Then I reached the frying pan down from the shelf above the stove.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  I swung the pan in my hands for a moment. Jerry stared at it as if thinking I might use it to hit him.

  “I just wanted to see you. See how the recovery was going. I phoned KD’s thinking you were still there. She told me you’d come home, already.”

  Already? I’d been at Bishop Lea for nearly four days, playing the part of the invalid. While it’s nice to be pampered once in a while, I had begun to feel overly protected, wrapped up in cotton wool by KD’s kindness. She had brought me home the previous day after a trip to the showroom for me to choose a new car.

  “I’m fine,” I reassured him. “I still get the occasional headache but that’s no reason to lie, malingering, at KD’s.”

  “Malingering? Hardly that, surely? It was a pretty nasty smash you had, Verity.”

  I shrugged and turned away from him, pouring eggs into the pan. A good omelette needs constant attention. Like a man, really.

  I served his before I served my own, urging him to get started.

  “You should always eat an omelette whilst it’s hot.”

  I carried my plate to the table a moment or so later, glad to see him tucking in. We ate in companionable silence.

  “Mmm. Excellent.” He smiled in satisfaction as he finished the last of the eggs and ham. “Did Jacques teach you how to make such a brilliant omelette?”

  He sat back in the chair, fingers interlaced over his stomach.

  “Cheek!” I laughed. “I’ll have you know that Jacques admits I make a better omelette than he does.”

  “I can well believe it, if that was an example.”

  I cleared the plates to the draining board and brought the cheese on to the table.

  He picked up his wine - he’d barely touched it so far, but then he was driving - holding the glass by the stem, twirling it back and forth in his fingers, an action that reminded me of my employer.

  “Do you enjoy cooking, Verity?”

  I reached into the back of the cupboard for a packet of crackers to accompany the cheese before I answered.

  “I don’t mind it but it’s more that I enjoy my food. I should have thought that was obvious,” I said, putting a hand on my tummy and waist. In fact, I had lost quite a bit of weight after several days on hospital rations.

  He ran an appreciative glance over my body.

  “From where I’m sitting, I can’t see anything I don’t like the look of.”

  I blushed and sat down offering him a grape from the fruit bowl on the table.

  “I take delivery of my new car, tomorrow.” I changed the subject. “Courtesy of KD.”

  “That’s very generous of her.”

  “Oh, I shall pay her the insurance money, when I get it, but, yes, she is very kind.”

  “She obviously makes a lot of money from her books.”

  “Well, I’m her PA not her accountant,” I smiled across the table before cutting a sliver of cheddar, “But I’m sure she does.”

  “Who says crime doesn’t pay?” He laughed. “Maybe I should turn to writing.”

  “You could always collaborate with KD on your cases.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of a closer, more personal, collaboration.”

  His hand closed over mine, hazel brown eyes searched my face, hoping for… for what?

  “I’ll admit that the middle of an important murder enquiry is hardly the best time to fall in love …” He went on, hesitantly.

  “Is that’s what happening?” I asked, thinking back to my conversation with Val and Jacques.

  “I don’t know. But I’d like to find out.”

  I withdrew my hand. Confused, I left the table, moving our used plates and cutlery to the sink. I squirted washing-up liquid into the bowl before turning on the tap, watching as the contents bubbled and frothed — a pretty good description of my brain at the moment.

  He pushed back his chair and came and stood behind me, hands sliding round my waist to hold me, hot breath tickling my skin as he buried his face in my neck.

  “Verity, Verity,” he murmured.

  I could feel my body responding to his, to the brush of his lips on my neck, my throat. I tried to concentrate on the fact that I had my hands deep in soap suds.

  “Jerry, this is too soon.” I made an effort to sound brisk, matter of fact. “I’ve barely known you a fortnight.”

  “Two weeks, three days,” he whispered, husky voiced, as his mouth caressed my neck, my cheek, my mouth.

  Was the man keeping count? I thought only women did that. Reluctantly I pulled away.

  “Tea towel.” I pointed to a couple of hooks in the front of the work surface. “Pots. Dry.”

  “You’re a hard woman,” he said, sliding his arms, slowly, from around my middle and picking up the cloth.

  I wasn’t but, never again wanting to be hurt, after Rob had left me I’d built a barrier around my heart. The brickwork had started to crumble when I’d met Valentino but I’d buttressed it well and the wall had remained intact. Did I really want to demolish it now for a man who riled as much as he attracted me? Besides, I had other preoccupations at the moment.

  “I’m not, Jerry, believe me, I’m not. I just need time to sort my life out. I need to forget all about JayJay, car crashes, and Greg bloody Ferrari before I can think about other things …”

  I placed a freshly washed plate on the drainer.

  “Did you fancy Ferrari?”

  “No, I fu…”

  I’d been about to lash out in fury at the question until I saw the twist to his mouth, the laughter in his eyes.

  “His body, yes. Him, no. He was too busy fancying himself.”

  When we’d finished the pots I took him by the hand led him through to the living room. He slid his arm round my shoulders as I curled up next to him on the settee.

  “You know, Jerry, we’ve forgotten the book.”

  “The book?”

  “Yes, JayJay’s exposé. You remember, Holly told me she was writing a memoir.”

  “Mmm.”

  “So what happened to it?”

  “Well,” he muttered in between kissing the top of my head gently, soothingly rather than lustfully like before, “There was a page of it under the bed in Willow Drive. Obviously missed by your eagle eye, Miss Marple.”

  “What?” I pulled away and turned to face him. He laughed.

  “No, I’m joking. We found it in her safety deposit box at her bank.”

  “Oh! And?”

  “Well, as a work of literary merit …”

  “Idiot!” I punched him, playfully, on the arm. “Did you find anything in it? Any hint who killed her?”

  He drew my head back onto his chest, stroking my hair.

  “She certainly didn’t hold back. Vicious isn’t the word for it, it’s pure vitriol in places. And she’d been doing an awful lot of prying into other people’s business.”

  “Mmm? Including Candida Clark throwing acid at somebody, perhaps?”

  “How did you know that?” The policeman was back in his voice.

  “Just something Holly told me. She overheard part of a conversation JayJay had with Candy without, I think, seeing the significance of it.”

  I thought back to my first visit to Silverton. According to Holly, JayJay had remarked on ‘how disfiguring acid could be’. I’d thought at the time it was a strange way to describe spilling vinegar on a dress and that the presenter had implied far more by it than Holly had realised.

  “And you never thought to tell me?”

  “Well, you didn’t seem to want my help.”

  I sounded petulant, even to myself.

  “I didn’t want you getting hurt,” he said, quietly.

  “And you never told me about finding the book,” I pointed out.
>
  “Touché.” He smiled briefly before becoming serious again. “She also knew about Ferrari’s hit and run and John Brackett’s serial womanising.”

  “But that doesn’t help,” I cried. “We know that Greg could not have killed her and I hardly think …”

  “No, Brackett’s out of it as well. He’s another one with a cast iron alibi.”

  He sighed but my thoughts had moved on.

  “The bed, that’s another thing. How had that got there? And who had a key to Willow Drive?”

  I fired questions at him as if thrashing out a story with KD rather than discussing a real murder with the chief detective assigned to the case.

  “Oh, the bed’s easy. We traced the previous occupants who admitted leaving it there. They’d bought a new one and didn’t want the trouble of getting rid of the old when they’d moved out, but Verity …” shifting his position, he gazed at me sombrely for a moment …“if this relationship between us is to develop …”

  “Do you want it to?” I asked softly, suddenly aware that his answer was important. I needed to be totally sure of him before I let my defences slip.

  “Yes. Haven’t I made that obvious?”

  “You’ve made it obvious that you want my body,” I pointed out.

  He shook his head.

  “That’s not enough. Yes, I want your body but I also want the rest of you, only you have to understand …”

  “That you’re a policeman and I’m not?”

  “Exactly!”

  He looked relieved, smiling at me like some physics professor whose student had finally grasped some abstruse but vital part of relativity. How typically male, I thought, to only see his own side of the argument.

  “And you don’t think that this might also apply to me?” I said.

  “What might?”

  That I might want all of you. Including the bit that’s a policeman.”

  “Oh.”

  I gave him a moment to let this sink in.

  “And I have an enquiring mind, Jerry. I’m curious about things, that’s why I do the job I do. Will you accept that,” I saw him about to interrupt and hurried on, “if I also accept that I have to stay out of the job you do?”

  He heaved a sigh.

  “Fair enough. And if you do come up with any more ideas on this case, you will let me know?”

  I nestled back against him.

  “Of course.” I reassured him before adding, “And will you keep me informed of your progress? As far as you can do, that is?”

  He gave a sardonic laugh as his arm went round my shoulders.

  “If I make any progress, I will, yes.”

  On Friday morning I woke with an impending sense of excitement. Unsure as to the cause, I didn’t linger in my bed but showered and dressed quickly before wandering through to the kitchen for toast and coffee. Over breakfast I tried to analyse why I felt so restless and ill at ease. Was it my relationship with Jerry Farish? I didn’t think so. I found him attractive and hard to resist. Soon, I promised myself, I would give up that particular fight. The problem didn’t lie with my employer. KD had eased my earlier worries over my job and I appreciated the thought behind buying the encyclopedia. I appreciated even more her kindness in buying me a car and laughed out loud at the memory of our time at the showroom.

  “That’s the car for you, Verity.”

  She had pointed out a Citroen C1 at the back of the lot.

  “It’s such a lovely colour,” she’d said, running a hand over the royal blue paintwork. “It goes with your hair and will really suit you,” she’d added.

  I didn’t mind what colour of car I had. As long as it was cheap to run, easy to drive and got me from A to B then my boss could have bought a Ferrari, for all I cared.

  Ferrari. I pulled myself up short, shivering at the name. Maybe the cause of my disquiet lay there, in the demise of a man with whom I’d had dinner little more than a week ago. I made more coffee, pacing around the kitchen while I waited for the kettle to boil, getting my thoughts in order. Strangely, I felt no compulsion to investigate the death of Greg as I had with JayJay. For all that I had met and had a meal with the man, somehow his death didn’t touch me as much as finding JayJay’s body. Other than asking if I’d fancied him, Jerry had mentioned nothing yesterday regarding the police enquiry into Ferrari’s death and I hadn’t liked to question him about it. With two high-profile cases on the Inspector’s desk, it was scarcely any wonder the man had looked so haggard and care-worn when he’d arrived on my doorstep. I made the coffee, stirring the rich brown fluid in a desultory way as I thought about the murders.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the new car. Once the delivery driver had gone and the keys were in my possession, I phoned KD to let her know.

  No sooner had I replaced the phone then it rang again.

  “Is that you, Miss Long? It’s Holly Danvers here.”

  “Oh, hello, Holly. How are you?”

  “I wondered if you could call round and see me this afternoon, say, about three o’clock?”

  Well, why not? It would give me a reason to go somewhere in the new car. I’d had a test drive and been shown where all the buttons and switches were - and which ones operated the lights, indicators, horn and so on - at the showroom the previous morning but the thought of having a tootle, without a car salesman sitting next to me or KD commenting from the back seat, was enticing.

  “Yes, OK, Holly. You’d better let the receptionist know that I’m coming. Tell her I’m from ‘Oh Hi!’ magazine.”

  I might as well use the same subterfuge as before.

  “Yes, I’ll do that.”

  Only when I put the phone down did I realise that Holly had given no reason for wanting to see me. I hoped she might have some new information regarding JayJay’s death, though it was just as likely she wanted to know how I was getting on with my investigation and the answer to that was ‘not very well’. So what was I going to tell her? I shrugged and picked up my bag, rummaging through the contents for my notebook but my searching hand failed to close around the familiar spiral binding. Frustrated, I upended the bag over the sofa, lip salves, pens, odd coins and a roll of peppermints cascaded onto the floor. So did the toy gun that my boss had pointed at me a couple of weeks ago. I went and put it in the desk drawer and only then remembered that the notebook was still in my case since my stay at KD’s.

  Walking back from the bedroom I flicked through the pages, looking for the list of questions I’d made about JayJay’s death and the notes I’d made after Jerry’s visit to Bishop Lea.

  Who was Spaniel? Had Jaynee used it in a derogatory way or in a nicer, fonder manner? Clearing the clutter that now littered the settee, my eyes fell on a folded piece of yellow paper. Taking it to the bin I realised, just in time, that I held in my hand the Crofterton Dog Show programme. Eureka! This was just what I needed. I sat on the space that I had cleared, straightening out the creased sheets over my knee, mentally kicking myself for not having thought of it sooner, while I rapidly scanned the list of classes.

  Oh!

  There were seven types of spaniel. Seven! Hell’s teeth! Damn stupid bloody JayJay and her stupid bloody diary. Why was nothing ever easy? Ah, hang on a minute, I thought as my fingers traced down the list in mounting excitement. After Clumber, Cocker and Field came King Charles, Cavalier KC, Springer and Sussex. Well, well, well, not so stupid Jaynee, after all. Quite clever, in fact, if I was right and Spaniel referred to Kenny Cameron of Mariner Productions. I eased back with a satisfied sigh, thinking through the implications. I now reckoned I’d worked out all the names in JayJay’s diary. Was I any further forward in knowing which of them might have killed her?

  Was I heck as like!

  Chapter 15

  Coming out of the lift and crossing the foyer towards me, Holly looked fresh and young in her green slacks and white blouse. She looked so much like a sprig of lily of the valley, I could almost smell it. Her ginger curls formed a perfect aureole a
round her head like a saintly halo in a Russian icon.

  “Oh, Verity, it’s been awful,” she confided, as we went up in the lift.

  “Why? What’s been happening?” I asked, glad to see we were back on first name terms.

  “The police have been here, interviewing everyone and searching the offices.”

  She looked composed although I noticed a distinct redness and puffiness around her eyes. Had she cried for Greg Ferrari as she had for his co-star, I wondered.

  “Tell me all about it in a minute.” I said, aware of other employees passing us in the corridors, and I thought it best we weren’t overheard

  Once in her office I looked around in amazement.

  “Gosh, Holly. What have you been doing?”

  The room was transformed from the drab but functional work space I’d seen before, the furniture had been re-arranged, a new pale wood filing cabinet stood against one wall and her desk was clear of papers. A small indoor fern in a gaily coloured pot brightened the corner next to a coat stand.

  “Well, my office looked like a bomb had hit it after the police search so I decided it was time for a clean-up.” Holly explained.

  “I’m impressed,” I told her. “Your office is far neater than my own. You should see the clutter on my desk, for a start.”

  I laughed but Holly looked to be in earnest when she said:

  “My mother always told me that cleanliness was next to godliness.”

  With nothing to say to that, I simply sat down and took out my notebook and pen.

  “I suppose the police wanted to know about Greg Ferrari?”

  “Yes, they did. I still can’t believe it, first JayJay murdered and now Greg. Are you …”

  I held up a hand to prevent what I felt sure was going to be the inevitable question.

  “No, I’m not investigating Greg’s death, even though I met the man and had dinner with him.”

  Her eyes flared.

  “I’m still trying to work out who murdered Jaynee though it’s more than likely possible that the same person killed both of them.”

  “So, if you find who murdered JayJay you’ll have discovered who killed Greg as well.”