Shadow in the Smoke

by Jo A. Hiestand

  Chapter Ten

  The Sleeping Fox was noisy—perfect for Sean’s purpose. Perfect for masking their conversation and not being overheard. From his past experience with Helene, she had to be up to something pawky, if not criminal. Talking to her before she got too riled up gave him the advantage. He was off the mark.

  Sean sipped his beer and glanced around the pub’s crowded room. A little late for Buxton’s after-work crowd and a little early for any person wanting dinner, the pub appeared to cater to a healthy mix of locals and tourists wanting a pick-me-up drink or snack. The chatter and body count would increase around seven o’clock, but the circumstances would still work. All he needed was Helene Brogan.

  Speak of the devil. The outside door squeaked open, letting in the fragrance of approaching rain. He had positioned himself rather like a police officer would have—backed up in the corner of the booth and facing the entrance. So he had no need to turn to see if she’d come in. It wasn’t Helene, he noted rather irritably. Just another twenty-something joining the group by the dartboard.

  His gaze shifted to the darkening landscape outside the pub’s window. Even now, three quarters of an hour or so before sunset, the lights from neighboring businesses spilled golden and white across the cobblestone courtyard. Buildings farther down the open area hunched over, darkening shapes against the darkening sky. Some windows glowed with life, like eyes staring into the gloom, while other windows closed their sleepy shades to the world, black rectangles in the black mass. Pinpricks of light popped up along the street, more yellow beckons lighting people along their way. In the gloom between the dark face of the two-storey building across the way and the shadow thrown by the pub, he could just discern a tall, feminine figure picking its way across the uneven quadrangle. A flash of amber beneath the overhead light fixture outside the pub’s door revealed the walker’s short, curly hair, and seconds later Helene joined him at his table.

  “You arrived early, Sean. Couldn’t stand the thought of losing one minute with me?” She stood beside the booth, holding a glass of wine and a plate of biscotti, smiling.

  Sean muttered something intelligible, got up, and placed the goblet and plate on the table.

  She slid into the booth and arranged herself on the seat. “Thank you, darling. There are so few real gentlemen left these days, so it’s refreshing when a man comes to a lady’s aid, like seating her or opening doors. And no one stands up anymore when a lady enters or leaves the room. When did that all start, do you think? With the women’s lib thing?” She bit off a mouthful of the biscotti and flicked the crumbs from her suede skirt. It matched her brown boots and accented the flecks in her otherwise navy-colored tights. Readjusting the plunging neckline of her cotton pullover, she crossed her legs.

  Sean’s thumb stroked the edge of the pressed paper beer mat. It advertised a local brew. “Okay. You’re here. Now, what’s so damned important?”

  “Darling! Such an attitude. And we’ve just got together. You’re looking quite handsome, I might add. Keeping yourself fit. You do weight lifting?” She gazed at his broad shoulders and tanned face.

  Sean snorted and swept an unruly lock of his hair back over his ear. He settled back against the padded leather booth, giving her a look that conveyed “I’m immune”.

  Helene evidently liked what she saw, for she muttered something low and indistinguishable and stretched her hand across the table. The silver bangle bracelets clattered against the wooden surface. Patting Sean’s hand, she said, “You need something stronger than beer. How about a whisky? It’ll smooth those ruffled feathers of yours.”

  He shook off her hand and wiped his fingers on his jeans. “I don’t want a scotch. I want to know what’s so bloody big deal that I had to meet you. I haven’t seen you for years and all of a sudden you ring me up and tell me to high tail it over here.” He flicked the beer mat toward the bottles of vinegar, catsup and teriyaki sauce grouped at the end of the table. The mat hit the bottles with a bang, like a bowling ball hitting a group of ninepins. “Never did like this place.”

  Helene looked around the room. “Why? What’s wrong with it? I thought everyone liked The Sleeping Fox.”

  “Too old timey for my taste, that’s all. The food’s okay, rather better than most. But all this coaching days décor…” He sniffed and angled himself so he had a better view of the window. “Now, what’s so important?”

  “All right, darling, I’ll put you out of your misery, but I must say I don’t remember you being so fussy when you worked for Janet and me.”

  “That was five years ago, Helene. I was eighteen when Janet died. I should hope I would’ve matured a bit since then. Anyway, what’ve my likes and dislikes to do with this cozy little chat? You’re not going to offer me my old job, are you?”

  “Would you take it if I did?”

  He screwed up his mouth and snorted.

  “I didn’t think you would so I didn’t even waste my breath by asking.”

  “So what—”

  “A business proposition of another kind, Sean. You’re…what, now? Twenty one or twenty two?”

  “Twenty three. Why? You’re nearly fifty, I bet, though I have to hand it to you, you don’t look it if you are.”

  “Thank you. We’ve both weathered rather well after…well, since our catering days together. Though you were so young then. Still are young. I’m sorry I lost track of you. What have you been doing since then?”

  “You really interested or is this some play for time?”

  “Sean, dear, I was always interested in you.”

  “More outside the kitchen. You weren’t exactly subtle in letting me know what you wanted.”

  “It never worked though, did it?” She smiled and saluted him with her wine glass.

  “You weren’t lacking in skills, Helene. I just wasn’t interested.”

  “You and Kathryn still together?”

  “We’re married.” He wiggled the fingers of his left hand and Helene nodded.

  “Imagine me overlooking that. I had eyes only for you, darling, when I came through the door. Never occurred to me to look for a wedding ring. Congratulations. I hope you’re both deliriously happy.” She leaned forward so he had a good view of the swell of her breasts.

  “You were never more sincere, Helene. I’ll take that as a warm wish for our future.” The corner of his mouth skewed upward again and he gazed at her with half-lowered eyelids.

  “Oh, Sean, I’ve always wanted you to do well. That’s why Janet and I took you into our employment. We knew how hard it was for you with that burglary charge against you. No one wanting to hire you, no one trusting you. Such a black mark ruining your future. And totally undeserved, we found out, because you did turn out to be such a gifted worker.”

  “You were all heart, Helene.”

  “Thank you, dear. I told Janet the first time I saw you that we needed to give you a chance. And see? You’re married and…doing what?”

  “I’m a chef.”

  Helene blinked, looking as if she’d not heard him correctly in the clutter of surrounding conversation. “Really—a chef?”

  “No need to be surprised. Working for you and Janet all those years gave me an education.”

  “I’m so glad you are able to continue in the culinary field, Sean. Janet and I knew you had real talent.”

  “So now you can pat yourself on the back, pleased that you rescued a little tearaway from a life of crime.”

  “Oh, darling, it wasn’t that bad. You just took a wrong turn.”

  “And you were there to keep me on the tarmac. Very obliging.”

  “It wasn’t so hard. You always had the talent.” She took a sip of wine, watching Sean from over the rim of her glass.

  It was hard to judge what was coming. It had been a risk, agreeing to talk to her in a public place, but the risk seemed less than meeting in a less frequented spot where they might be seen and remembered. And he didn’t want to go to her house or, worse yet, have her come t
o his. He eyed her, steeling himself, for even though he already felt manipulated, he had a suspicion she was about to drop a bomb.

  Putting the glass down on the mat, she said, “All right. You want to know what this is all about. It’s simple enough. I’d like to know why you torched Janet’s artist studio right after you killed her.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sean’s voice raised an octave in tone as he squeaked, “I killed her? Are you crackers? Why would I kill Janet? Besides being a pacifist, I liked the woman. Why do you think I killed her? Who’s been talking?”

  “No one’s been talking, darling.”

  “Well, you got the idea somewhere. People don’t generally make up stuff like that.”

  She dunked the end of the biscotti into the wine, shook off the excess liquid, and bit off a piece. She chewed slowly, looking thoughtful, as though wanting to savor every fragment. Her fingers cradled the bottom of the glass’ bowl as she took a sip of wine. “Sean, dear, don’t look at me like you think I had anything to do with this accusation. You frighten me.”

  “So, where did this accusation come from and why bring it up now? I thought the investigation had ended years ago.”

  “Just a friendly warning.”

  “Friendly…like Janet was so friendly when she fired me?”

  Helene reached out her hand again to take Sean’s, but he folded his arms across his chest. Instead, her fingers sought the steam of her wine glass and traced the ridges. “That was unfortunate, yes. I wish it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “You couldn’t have talked to her, persuaded her to keep me on, I guess.” He said it bitterly, and was dazed to discover he still hurt.

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t that easy, darling. When it came down to the final vote, it was her decision.”

  “I thought you were partners, equally sharing in decisions and profits.”

  “Yes, we were partners, but not equal. Janet really owned most of the company, so it was her decision in the end.”

  “How fortunate for you that you didn’t have to soil your hands in such an unpleasant decision.” He eyed her again, searching her face. Her expression hadn’t changed. “Or was it so unpleasant?”

  “Dear! What do you mean by that?”

  “Maybe you got tired of having an ex-con, however refined and reformed he might have looked, for a worker. Maybe I was affecting your business, coloring your company name.”

  “Sean, no one knew anything about you. You were completely anonymous to our clients.”

  “Then why fire me?”

  “Honestly, dear, this isn’t the time or place to discuss this.” She paused as a couple passed their table, glancing at her.

  “I’ll drop it for now, but I want to talk about this later. You—or Janet—can’t pick up a down-and-out kid one minute and then turn around and give him the boot. There’s got to be a reason.”

  “I’m sorry you’re still bitter.”

  “Bitter!” He barked the word in a rush of cynicism and anger. “Let it happen to you and then tell me five years later how it’s colored your life.” He grabbed Helene’s wine glass and downed the last of its contents, then shoved the glass toward her. “So, you still haven’t told me why you’re all sweetness and light and brought up the subject of Janet’s death. What’s going on?”

  “Just thought we could come to a business agreement.”

  “Business agreement? The last time I was in business with you—”

  “All right. Bad word choice. Understanding. You like that word better?”

  “I thought I understood you pretty well. Obviously not. So, what sort of understanding? You want me to confess to something I didn’t do?”

  “Of course not! How ridiculous of you to suggest that.”

  “Then what—”

  Helene’s fingers lay across the foot of the wineglass, limp and at ease. She said very slowly, “I’ve been thinking about that day, the day Janet died. Little things pop into my mind, now. Some of them not too pleasant to recall. Like the way you parted from the company.” The pub’s front door opened as three people entered, and the votive candle flame on the table bobbed briefly in the stir of air. “But, as you said, we’re not here to talk of that right now. My little business proposition is simple, dear. In summary, I will go to the police and tell them that you killed Janet and torched the artist studio…unless you pay me a little something to keep quiet.” She didn’t smile, but merely looked at him, open eyed and waiting. Thirty seconds ticked by, during which one of the dart teams won, a groan came from the people watching the telly, and a police car’s siren wailed down the High Street.

  Sean leaned forward and kept his voice low. “Your idea being that I had the perfect motive to kill Janet.”

  Helene shrugged, her eyes large and bright. “Why, darling, of course. Don’t you read about those disgruntled employees going back to their former employers and killing them?”

  “Those disgruntled employees don’t seem too concerned about who else gets in the way. Haven’t you read about innocent people being killed…and some not so innocent?”

  “There are always precautions, dear. Letters to lawyers, for example.”

  “Reading ‘In case I die, Sean Fallon is responsible. The cassette tape of our conversation is in my desk drawer.’ That about it?”

  Helene smiled and picked up the last bit of biscotti. “Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?” She took a bite, swallowed, and blotted her lips on the napkin. “Now, what’s it to be? Me or the cops?” Her voice had turned cold and the humor had left her eyes. “Do I continue to keep quiet?”

  Sean stared at the flickering candle flame.

  “I’d think your professional career—not to mention your marriage and your wife’s good name—would be worth paying me to keep quiet. What’s money when your future is, shall we say, cloudy?”

  “And how much is this protection going to cost me?”

  “Oh, darling. Not much. Not really, when you think of all you could stand to lose.”

  “How much, Helene?”

  “Let’s start out with, say, two hundred pounds a month.”

  “Start out!”

  “Inflation, dear. You know how the price of living keeps going up.”

  “And how long is this going to continue, assuming I go along with your proposition and assuming I have the money.”

  “Oh, dear. I hadn’t quite thought that out yet. But I’ll let you know after a few payments. I know how you hate surprises.”

  “I repeat, why are you doing this now? You could’ve gone to the coppers when this happened. You need money for a new car or something?”

  “Darling, I’m not so crass as that. I hid the truth from the police and the firefighters during their investigations—didn’t say a word about you, believe me. But now I think the truth is worth more to you, isn’t it? A wife and a thriving career will do that, won’t it?” She brushed the remaining biscotti crumbs from her fingers and smiled. “And, being worth more to you naturally makes it precious to me. I always liked you, Sean. I had an idea we’d…get together one of these days.”

  “You didn’t even know what I was doing until a few minutes ago when I told you. So you can’t have come prepared to squeeze me dry. What’s the real reason for all this?”

  “You’re right, darling. But that doesn’t negate my business offer. There’s a man—”

  “What man? One of your and Janet’s other employees?”

  “No. A man came to see me. He got my name and phone number from Janet’s mother.”

  “Nora? Why would she give that out?”

  “She’s hired this man to investigate Janet’s case. She’s always been upset with the verdict of accidental death, so she’s asked him to find out the cause of Janet’s death.”

  Sean snorted and grabbed his car key. “Let him investigate. There’s nothing to find. The coroner ruled on the case long ago. He won’t find a thing.”

  “I wouldn’t be so smug about that, dear
. I’ve heard he usually gets what he’s after.”

  “He a cop, then?”

  “He was. Michael McLaren. Now he looks into cold cases. Quite successfully, too.”

  “You said that.”

  “So, do I go to the cops or not, Sean?”

  “Why not talk to this chap, if he’s so keen to dig around in Janet’s case. He’ll probably listen to you.” He stood up, looking down at Helene. “Better yet, he’ll probably believe you.”

  “I’m serious, Sean. I want the first two hundred quid by Monday night. You’ve got a week, or I’ll tell a very convincing story to the police.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “You’ll have to work on your bluff, dear. Even I’m not convinced.”

  “I don’t have to convince you of anything, Helene. You know I’m innocent.”

  “Do I? Funny thing about the police—they’re inclined to believe a convicted burglar’s capable of murder. You’re going to have a difficult time convincing them otherwise. Is it worth it to you and your wife?”

  Sean turned toward the door, his face drained of color.

  “I’ll call you Sunday and let you know where to deliver my money, shall I?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Haddon Hall perched like a crown on the hill above the River Wye. It threw back the late afternoon sun, its light gray stone taking on the faintest of a yellowish tint under the light. McLaren paid the parking fee and stopped his car alongside a Ford Galaxy. Could do with a wash, he thought, glancing at the grimy exterior. He shook his head. Some people just didn’t know how to take care of things.

  His shoes scrunched into the limestone gravel, sending up small plumes of dust that settled on his shoes and on the sparse patches of grass that poked through the hard ground. All right, he mentally corrected his assessment of the Ford’s owner as he gazed at his dusty shoes. He walked up to the entrance and paid the admittance fee to the Hall. Slipping his wallet into his trousers back pocket, he gazed at the nail heads studding door in the Hall’s gateway. Should’ve kept some folks out without too much trouble… The stone steps, saucer-shaped from millions of feet over the centuries, led from the gateway up to the lower courtyard. McLaren stepped aside as a group of school children ran down the steps and funneled through the archway. They laughed and jostled each other as they made for the restaurant.