“I know who you mean. I’ve heard Norman speak of her.” Natalie sat down on the arm of a fireside chair.
Hetty nodded. “Yes, of course. Anyway, as we were leaving she told us about someone who worked at your care home back in the nineteen sixties who was dishonest. Apparently this woman used to make a big fuss of wealthiest residents with poor memories and then try and persuade them to leave her some money when they popped their clogs. Have you heard anything about that?”
Natalie shook her head. “No, I haven’t but then I’ve not been there long.”
“Do you think you could find something out about it?”
“I could try although I’m pretty sure there’s no-one around now that’s been there anywhere near that long but they still might know of something. May I ask why you want to know?”
“Of course, of course,” said Hetty, “but promise you won’t tell anyone?”
Natalie giggled. “That sounds sinister but don’t worry I’ll not say a word to incriminate you.”
“It’s to do with old Joe’s inheritance and the people who are likely to benefit from it. It seems someone is trying to upset the applecart, so to speak. First Biddy was attacked and then there were the weird messages...”
“…But we think they were done by a prankster,” Lottie reminded her sister.
“Yes, yes, we do. The thing is we’re wondering if the person who was grooming the old folks back in the sixties might be Pamela Bray. We know she worked in the care home back then because she told us she did. What’s more, she seems determined to get hold of some of Joe’s money.”
“Is the Pamela you’re referring to, Jim Bray’s mum?”
“Yes, but of course she wouldn’t have been a Bray back then because that’s her married name,” Lottie pointed out.
“How fascinating, I wonder if it was her. I’ll ask around tomorrow when I’m back at work and let you know one way or the other. I must admit I’m probably as intrigued as you are”
“Thank you,” said Hetty, “we appreciate that.”
Lottie nodded. “And now we must leave you to get dressed otherwise the day will have gone.”
“Sadly it will. I’m not too keen on these dark dull days before Christmas.”
“Me neither,” Hetty agreed; “roll on spring.”
“Oh, I’ve just remembered,” Natalie stood as the sisters prepared to leave, “Your daughter-in-law asked me the other day if there were any job vacancies at the care home and there are. Two in fact both part-time so if she’s still interested get her to call this number and ask for Diane. She’s ever so nice and I know for a fact that she prefers to have people working there who live in the village.” Natalie wrote the number down on the back of a used raffle ticket.
“That’s good timing,” laughed Lottie, “because we’re going along there now to see the kitchen which is finished at last.”
When they arrived at the Old Bakehouse, Lottie repeated what Natalie had told her and gave Sandra the piece of paper.
“So we assume you’re thinking of working at the care home,” said Hetty, “Do you think you’d like it?”
“I’m sure I would. I mean, I know some of the jobs will be a bit grotty but I’ve got a strong stomach so can handle that.” She tucked the piece of paper in her pocket, “I’ll give this Diane a ring in a minute while I make the tea. Anyway, come and see the kitchen. I think you’ll be impressed.”
The sisters followed Sandra through the kitchenette and then into the transformed baking room.
“Oh, my goodness, it’s gorgeous,” gasped Hetty, “and the oven door has come up really well.”
“It has, hasn’t it? Bill rubbed it down and painted it with a special paint. He’s very proud of it.”
Hetty opened the black oven door, peeped inside and then shuddered.
“So what will you do with the kitchenette?” Lottie asked, “I mean, it’s surplus to requirements now you have this lovely room.”
“Bill and I were discussing that last night and we’re not sure. I mean, we could knock out the wall between it and the dining room to make that much bigger or we could have the sink, cupboards and so forth removed and then use it as a sort of office or just a spare room. What do you think?”
“Not sure,” confessed Lottie, “I mean, knocking down the wall would make an awful lot of dust which seems a shame when you’ve just got the place ship-shape. What do you think, Het?”
“I’m inclined to agree and the dining room is more than big enough for the five of you.”
“Yes, it is but we were just thinking about Christmas and things like that when we’d need more table space. Having said that there’s enough room for ten people already so I suppose we’ll forget that idea for now and we can always do it in the future anyway.”
“Did you get the carpet in the sitting room done alright?” Lottie suddenly remembered that it was due to be fitted on the Tuesday just gone.
“Yes, we did and we love it. Come and see. We’re thrilled to bits now the room is finally done.”
The sisters followed Sandra into the sitting room where Bill who had the day off work was sitting on the couch. He stood as they entered the room.
“Wow!” Lottie was awe-stuck, “What a transformation. It doesn’t look like the same room as when you first moved here.”
Hetty slipped off her shoe to feel how soft the carpet felt. “Hmm pure luxury and it goes beautifully with your furniture.”
“Thank you,” said Sandra, “we think so too.”
Lottie looked at the wall between the two front windows. “I see you’ve hung up Joe’s painting of the robin. That’s a lovely touch.”
“Ah, but look what we’ve given pride of place to,” Bill waved his hand towards the wall above the piano.
“The raven,” gasped Lottie.
“No,” chortled Bill, “it’s a scruffy crow.”
On Friday evening, Hetty and Lottie went to the Crown and Anchor where they had planned to meet up with Debbie. The sisters arrived first and to their delight found their favourite table near to the fire was free. When Debbie arrived they were surprised to see she was accompanied by her husband, Gideon.
“Lovely to see you, Gideon,” said Hetty, as he and his wife sat beside each other on the opposite side of the table to the sisters, “and I see you’re having a drink.”
Gideon smiled. “It’s only lager shandy so I’m playing safe. As you know I’m no drinker.”
Debbie took a sip from her large glass of wine. “I insisted he come out with me because it makes me feel guilty when I leave him at home.”
“Well, you shouldn’t feel guilty, love. I go out and leave you when I play the organ at church and when I go to work.”
“Yes, but you only work a couple of days a week and it’s not the same as being left in the evening, is it?”
“Whatever you say, dear. Anyway, if you’ll excuse me I see Sam’s here so I’ll go and have a word with him and leave you ladies to talk about women’s stuff.”
“Women’s stuff,” chuntered Hetty, as Gideon crossed the bar towards Vicar Sam.
Lottie smiled. “Yes, but to be fair he’s quite right, isn’t he, Het?”
“I suppose so.” As Hetty reached for her glass of wine, her phone beeped. Hurriedly she pulled it from her handbag and saw she had a text message from Natalie. As she read it her face dropped.
“Oh, well, back to the drawing board. Natalie has asked around at the care home but no-one it seems knows anything about the woman in question.” Hetty returned the phone to her handbag.
“There must be another way to find out,” reasoned Lottie, “I mean, the sixties isn’t that long ago, is it?”
Hetty laughed. “It might not seem it to us but it’s actually fifty years ago and more so a lot of folks around here weren’t even born then.”
“No, I suppose you’re right which makes me feel quite old.”
“Have you tried Googling it?” Debbie asked, “Because quite often if you type in th
e right keywords it’ll pick up something or other. I mean, I daresay it got into the local papers at that time so something might come up about it.”
“Good point,” Hetty took out her phone again, “What shall I put?”
“What’s the care home called?” Debbie asked.
Lottie shook her head. “No idea.”
Hetty switched on her phone. “Me neither.”
“Hmm, in that case go for a few keywords like Pentrillick, Pamela, care home, residents and financial exploitation and see if that picks anything up.” As Debbie spoke she was aware that someone was behind her. She turned to see Pamela Bray, her face was a ghostly white and tears filled her eyes. “I can’t believe you think it was me,” she whispered.
Hetty’s jaw dropped. Lottie’s cheeks glowed red. Debbie fiddled with her hands.
“We…it’s just…well…” Hetty muttered.
“It’s just we heard the other day about the business at the care home in the sixties and you told us you were there then and so we…” Lottie couldn’t continue.
“…Put two and two together and made five.” Pamela sat down heavily on the chair vacated by Gideon.
Hetty’s face was nearly as red as the poinsettia on the ledge behind her. “A lot more than five.”
“So, do you know who she was?” Debbie nervously asked, “The woman at the care home, I mean.”
Pamela nodded. “Yes, her name was Freda George and she was a nasty piece of work. I daresay she’s long dead because she was in her late forties back then and a heavy smoker too.”
“May we get you a drink?” Lottie forced a smile.
“Yes, please. Vodka and Coke.” Pamela remained glum.
Lottie took her purse from her handbag. “I’m so sorry for, well, you know.”
“So am I,” mumbled Hetty.
Debbie nodded. “Me too.”
As Lottie went to the bar Hetty fiddled with a beer mat. “Please let me explain, Pamela. You see, well, we’re just trying to find out who attacked Biddy because we’re sure it wasn’t Irene and we want to get her released so when we heard about the care home thing and the fact someone there had been dishonest we thought we’d better check it out because we knew you’d worked there and … I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, I can see where you’re coming from and I’m pretty thick-skinned. In fact if I were in your shoes I’d probably have thought the same. What’s more I’m on your side because I think Irene is innocent too and so does Jim.” Pamela’s look was still stony but then lips quivered and her face broke into her huge grin. She leaned her elbows on the table and looked at Hetty and Debbie in turn. “So,” she said, “if I’m not the bad guy, who is?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
On Saturday December the first, Hetty woke early and looked from her bedroom window. The morning was dull and a fresh wind was blowing from the south west. The deadline for applications for a share of Joe’s legacy had ended at midnight and she prayed that all those eligible for the windfall were safe and well.
Likewise, next door inside the single room he occupied at Tuzzy-Muzzy, Jim Bray woke up and looked at his phone. He noted the date and heaved a sigh of relief; there had been no threats to his life and soon he would be able to collect his cheque and return home to normality. With a huge grin on his face he leapt from his bed and with a spring in his step went into the en suite bathroom for a shower; he then went downstairs to the dining room where he met his mother, Pamela for breakfast; she was equally jubilant.
Meanwhile in Penzance, builders, Larry and Harry prepared for another day’s work; they usually took Saturday off but because there had been a lot of rain during the month of November they were a little behind with their schedule and keen to catch up.
At the Pentrillick Hotel, Geoff Barnes ate an early breakfast for he was eager to get to the hospital in Truro to pick up his wife, Biddy, who was well enough to leave.
In the same hotel, Norman was woken by his phone ringing.
“Congratulations,” said a familiar voice, “looks like you and your siblings are in for a six way split.”
“Jackie, I thought it’d be you.”
“So will we be celebrating later? After all the Christmas lights go on tonight so there should be a lovely atmosphere.”
“Yes there should and I’d love to celebrate but it doesn’t seem right somehow, not with poor Irene still being locked up. On a brighter note though, Biddy’s on the mend and is being released from hospital today.”
“Is she?”
“Yes, I saw Geoff when I got in last night. He’d not long been back from the hospital.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant then. But as you say the Irene factor does rather put a damper on things. I just wish the police weren’t so convinced she’s guilty but then we can’t really blame them because the evidence does seem to be stacked up against her.”
“Yes, it does and I’ve just remembered something else, Jackie. When I got in last night, Anna, one of the receptionists here said that a single room will be vacant as from today if you’re interested.”
“Oh wow lovely, tell her yes please. I mean I’ve enjoyed my few days here with Hetty and Lottie but I’d rather be independent as you well know. It’ll be nice to be back in the village too and nearer the pub.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll book the room for you then when I go down for breakfast.”
Inside Sea View Cottage there were no signs of jubilation. At the table in the kitchen, Jack and Martha sat and unenthusiastically ate slices of buttered toast.
“I suppose Mum’s new found siblings will be rejoicing today,” said Martha gloomily.
“Don’t be bitter, sweetheart, they’ve all had their problems and to be fair to them they’re all on our side.”
“I know, but Mum’s had it far worse than the others and she’s still suffering.”
Jack reached across the table and squeezed his daughter’s hand. “Have faith, Martha. I’m sure something will crop up soon to prove your mother’s innocent.”
“Humph! Not while that dumb Inspector Fox is in charge. As far as he’s concerned there’s no need to even look for anyone else.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“I do. I was here when he arrested Mum and it was horrible.”
Inside his office, Detective Inspector Fox went through the evidence and statements regarding the assault on Bridget Barnes for a third time in as many days. The evidence against Irene Hewitt seemed pretty conclusive yet he wasn’t convinced and Bridget herself refused to believe that it was Irene who had attacked her despite the fact she fitted the description given and held the accused’s necklace in her hand. Furthermore, Irene wasn’t in need of money so the motive was thin and it was feasible, as many people claimed that she had been framed, but if that were the case, by whom? Was it possible someone had broken into Sea View Cottage and stolen the necklace? Possible, yes, but there was no evidence to back it up. Then there were the envelopes containing notes sent to the persons due to benefit from the will of Joseph Williams. Who was behind that childish hoax and did it matter? He thought it unlikely and already the incident had been marked and dismissed as the work of a prankster, hence to pursue said person further would be a waste of police time and resources.
He re-read the statement by Henrietta Tonkins who claimed that she saw a figure near to the alleyway leading down to the beach shortly before she found Biddy unconscious. Henrietta, or Hetty as she insisted she be called, swore blind that the person was not Irene but regrettably had been unable to give a description, due to having her head bowed against the inclement weather, other than to specify the person in question wore flashy white trainers with blue squiggles down the sides. As a result of that identification they had put out a request on the radio and in local newspapers for said person to come forward so that he or she might be eliminated from the enquiry but to date had received no response. Was it possible then that the mystery person seen by Hetty had just attacked Bridget Bar
nes? Possibly, on the other hand it was most likely someone who didn’t live in the area and so was unaware of the police request.
Detective Inspector Fox gathered up the papers and returned them to their file.
“Something will turn up, I’m sure. I feel it in my bones.”
“Can we get a Christmas tree today?” Vicki asked, as the family sat round the table eating breakfast in the dining room at the Old Bakehouse, “after all it is December now.”
Sandra frowned. “I thought we’d decided to have a real one this year.”
“We did,” said Vicki.
“Well in that case it’s too early as it’ll have no needles left on it by the twenty fifth.” Bill sprinkled brown sugar on his porridge.
Vicki scowled. “But hundreds of people are selling them on roadsides and other places and have been for some time now so people must be buying them.”
“Well, perhaps they like vacuuming up pine needles,” teased Sandra, “but I don’t. Besides, we have a new carpet in the sitting room and so I don’t want it messed up in the first month of having it.”
“You could put an old rug under the pot,” reasoned Vicki, “or even a sheet of polythene.”
“Maybe but it wouldn’t prevent the needles falling, would it?”
“Some trees have needles that don’t drop so readily.” Kate was keen to back up her sister.
“Yes, and they’re a lot more expensive,” Bill replied, “and I think we’ve spent quite enough lately.”
Sandra nodded. “We certainly have.”
“Well I think it’s not fair,” persisted Vicki, “one of the girls in our class at school said her tree went up a week ago. What’s more, the Christmas lights get switched on in the village tonight so if we don’t have a tree we’ll look like real party poopers.”
Sandra shook her head. “I intend the tree to go in between the two windows which means it won’t be visible from outside anyway so no-one will know whether we have a tree or not.”
The Old Bakehouse Page 17