Deadly Stuff

by Joyce Cato

  A stoop-shouldered older man, he was sipping orange juice and eyeing the toast rack thoughtfully.

  ‘I see you’ve ordered the omelette. How is it?’ she asked him cordially.

  ‘Wonderful. Cooked, but still moist in the centre. And I can’t quite pick out all the herbs. Basil, of course, rosemary, and I think a touch of thyme. And something else …’

  ‘Sage?’ she suggested.

  ‘Could be.’ The older man turned to her and smiled. ‘You’re not one of us. I know everyone in the society. Mind you, that’s not saying much nowadays. I swear I’ve seen a couple of people already milling about that I don’t know from Adam. I’d swear they weren’t members of the Greater Ribbles at all, but still, I suppose Vicki and Maurice know their business.’

  Jenny smiled. So this sharp-eyed old man had already spotted both herself and Pippa Foxton as impostors, had he?

  ‘Damn! Caught me out,’ she said with a grin. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I’m just cadging a free breakfast. No, actually, I’m the cook, and I’m just checking that everything’s fine with the food and the service.’

  ‘Ah, well then, let me assure you that it is. Dinner was wonderful, and this omelette has a deft lightness of touch. And I’m also relieved to get your bona fides. For a minute there’ – he leaned to one side and spoke through the side of his mouth in an exaggerated parody of someone trying to be discreet – ‘I thought you might have been one of Maurice’s dreadful women.’ His eyes twinkled before he nodded solemnly.

  Jenny blinked. ‘OK,’ she said, elongating the word thoughtfully. ‘Well, I’m pretty glad to be able to report that I’m not. Has many of them, does he? Dreadful women, that is?’

  ‘Sorry, I’m an inveterate gossip.’ The old man grinned into his orange juice. ‘I’m Robert Llewellyn by the way.’ He held out his hand in introduction and, as Jenny shook it gently, she couldn’t help but notice both the liver spots on his skin, and the hard, bulging knuckles that spoke of arthritis.

  ‘This is going to be my last year in the society, I think. I’m retiring. Obviously, I’ve lost any semblance of tact! Besides, my old hands aren’t what they used to be, and you need to be nimble-fingered in this game,’ he added sadly.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Jenny said softly, and meant it.

  ‘Oh, I had my time. Time was, everyone in the surrounding five counties came to me for badgers. Badgers were my speciality. Foxes too, of course, but I loved my badgers.’

  Jenny nodded and smiled.

  ‘Of course, Maurice didn’t rate them. But then, nobody really cares what Maurice thinks. Except those who have to, poor sods.’

  Jenny encouraged him to finish the omelette before it got cold. That was the only thing about eggs – they cooled rapidly. Then she said casually, ‘So who has to? Care about what Maurice thinks, I mean?’ she asked. And then wondered why she was feeling so curious. After all, the doings of the Greater Ribble Valley & Jessop Taxidermy Society were hardly any of her business, were they?

  Robert thought about it for a moment, however, and then sighed. ‘Vicki, I suppose. She’s treasurer, but Maurice is the real power behind the society. When he says “jump” she has to ask “how high?” Then I suppose there’s people like the young up-and-comers. Ian, Francis, and one or two of the others, perhaps. Maurice always seems to get the commissions, and if he gets more than he can comfortably handle, or if he gets some that he considers beneath him, he sometimes doles a few of them out to his favourite acolytes and toadies, if they kiss his boots enough.’

  ‘Ugh, that sounds revolting,’ Jenny said.

  ‘It is. But not as revolting as watching that man work his so-called charm on the ladies. I swear, I don’t know what they see in him.’

  Jenny shook her head in puzzlement. And wondered idly just who it was that Maurice had ‘worked his charm on’ that Robert Llewellyn had so objected to. Surely not his wife, not unless he’d either married a much younger woman, or Maurice had been into older women at some point. No, she mused, it was far more likely to have been his daughter, or a niece maybe.

  But just then, her breakfast came, and Jenny turned her attention to it.

  The sausages were crispy brown and done to perfection – not too greasy. The bacon, likewise was good quality and hadn’t been pumped full of water, like so much of the stuff that they sold in supermarkets nowadays. The kidneys were a shade rare – she’d have to have a discreet and gentle word about that downstairs later. The tomatoes were grilled properly without being dry, and her egg, sunny-side up, had just enough runny yolk to be appealing.

  All in all, not too bad.

  She reached for the toast and tucked in happily. Beside her, Robert contemplated his orange juice and his knobbly hands and sighed.

  Jenny had just eaten her second slice of toast, when the big man himself joined the table just a few places down from her own setting. She noticed that the younger man seated at the place to his immediate right, quickly drank up the last of his coffee and pushed away from the table and left, leaving half of his own meal untouched.

  Maurice didn’t seem to notice, but Jenny saw that the woman who was sitting on his left had watched the young man’s departure with interest. She leaned across and began to talk with the chairman of the society with a bright smile lighting up her face.

  Clearly, Jenny thought, Maurice was either loved or loathed. And since there was no one now sitting between them, she couldn’t help but hear what they were saying.

  ‘So, have you seen much of the city yet?’ The woman, a fifty-something with attractive steel-grey hair cut in a bell-shape, had wide brown eyes and a gamin face. ‘Last night I walked down to Christ Church and the meadows, but I didn’t see any deer. Today, I’m hoping to get down to the Sheldonian and maybe even the Ashmolean Museum, time permitting of course. I wouldn’t want to miss any of your lectures, naturally, Maurice.’ She held out a silver-looking coffee pot and gave it a gentle shake.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘No thanks, I never touch the stuff,’ Maurice said, wrinkling his nose fastidiously. ‘There’s a blend of tea I prefer, but I doubt that St Bede’s would run to it, so I brought my own supply of tea bags and had a cup up in my room before I came down.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course, I remember.’ The woman poured herself a cup and then smiled at him eagerly. ‘So, just what have you come up with to open the conference? You’re giving the opening address, aren’t you? I bet you’ve got something special up your sleeve.’

  ‘Thank you, Maureen,’ Maurice said. ‘And yes, I have, but you’ll just have to wait and see, like all the others. And to answer your first question, yes, I took a stroll last night to take in the sights. I also captured a few images on the old digital mobile phone. I wanted to get a nice cover shot of the dreaming spires and all that for the summer newsletter. That reminds me, have you seen Margery? She’s supposed to be writing the next one, isn’t she? I don’t suppose it will even occur to her to get some atmospheric photographs of the place.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it would,’ Maureen agreed rapidly. ‘And I think it was so wise of you to insist on Oxford, when everyone else seemed so set on Edinburgh. I mean, Edinburgh’s all right, and all that, but Oxford is lovely. And staying in a real Oxford college is so much nicer than putting up in some generic faceless hotel, isn’t it?’

  Maurice nodded and smiled, clearly pleased by the praise. ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘Much more classy,’ Maureen agreed.

  Jenny thought personally that she was rather piling it on, but then obviously Maurice Raines was the sort who lapped up praise and flattery, so perhaps she was right to over-egg it.

  ‘How’s your mother, by the way? I meant to ask before,’ Maureen continued, clearly intent on building on her success with a touch of tenderness. ‘She must be nearly ninety now, isn’t she? I think it’s so marvellous when you can keep your parents so long, don’t you?’

  Maurice, whom Jenny had noticed without surprise had also ordered
the omelette, paused with a forkful of egg and herbs heading towards his lips. ‘Well yes, when they’ve still got it all intact up here,’ he said, putting down his fork in favour of tapping the side of his temple meaningfully. ‘But poor Mother is starting to wander a bit now, I’m afraid, but it’s her dicky ticker that’s worrying us most at the moment.’

  ‘Oh I am sorry to hear that,’ Maureen said at once. ‘Is she still managing at home, or is she in the hospital? I’ll have to send her some flowers.’

  ‘No, we’re keeping her at home for the moment. She has carers come in twice a day, but I suppose it’s only a matter of time before even that becomes impossible. I’ve asked Laura to start looking into suitable care homes in the vicinity. That’s the sort of the thing that Laura’s so good at.’

  From the way Maureen’s face promptly fell, Jenny surmised that Laura was probably Mrs Raines. Who was, presumably, absent.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure she’ll find somewhere nice,’ Maureen agreed, less than enthusiastically. ‘So, like I said, we’re all looking forward to your opening speech this morning, Maurice. Can’t you give me a hint as to the highlights?’ Maureen pushed back the sleeve of her long green blouse to check her watch. ‘Only forty-five minutes to go. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. It’s to be in here, isn’t it? Not in that JCR place?’

  ‘Yes, it’s in here. Once the last of us stragglers have finished eating, I dare say they’ll be clearing the decks, ready for the day’s activities. During the day as you know, hall is being used by the buyers and sellers. They’ll be setting up their tables and stands here every day, which is where most of us will be congregating between our lectures and demonstrations, so it makes sense to start proceedings here. And because we’re in a college, and we’ve got the choice of a number of lecture halls as well as other communal spaces to work in, we need a focal point. Something we wouldn’t have been able to do in a bloody Edinburgh hotel right?’

  ‘Oh quite right,’ Maureen fawned shamelessly. ‘I think it’s ever so clever of you to have thought of it, Maurice.’

  Jenny, who’d begun to find the floorshow less entertaining, so much as slightly nauseating now, pushed aside her plate and rose.

  As she did so, Maurice said, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen this journalist fellow who’s supposed to be covering the event for the local press, have you?’

  ‘No? Who’s he?’ Maureen asked avidly.

  ‘Oh, just some freelance reporter I invited along to write up the highlights. If we can get a story in the papers here and back home, it’ll give the society some good coverage and press.’

  And help boost your business too, no doubt, Jenny thought cynically. For she had no doubt that the reporter in question would have been well bribed to mention Maurice’s taxidermy company very prominently in any and all articles.

  But, as she made her way down to the kitchens to have a word about the proper way to grill kidneys, she knew that she’d be back at ten o’clock to hear Maurice’s opening speech. For some reason, she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  She was beginning to see the attraction of conferences. There was something about watching and listening to a group of people playing away from home that was fascinating to someone as interested in human nature as Jenny Starling.

  Besides, what harm could it possibly do?

  When Jenny climbed the stairs back to hall a short while later, she found Pippa Foxton and Ian Glendower entering just in front of her. Ian was dressed casually in jeans and a green-and-white check shirt, but Pippa, Jenny noted with a wry smile, was dressed in a pretty A-line skirt and what looked like a genuine raw-silk wrap-around top in a matching shade. And, unless Jenny was much mistaken, she was walking like a professional cat-walk model on another pair of Jimmy Choo shoes in the very latest shade of lime green.

  Blinking, she dragged her eyes away from the eye-catching footwear and glanced around. The hall was packed with people taking their places in the folding chairs that had been set out in rows, and facing high table, from behind which, presumably, Maurice was due to give his speech. Although some paperwork was already laid out on the middle table, there was as yet no sign of the great man himself.

  Aware that she had no official status here, Jenny decided not to join the ranks of the true Great Jessies, and retired instead to a place at the back, up against the far wall. Here, most of the breakfast tables had been stacked. She leaned herself comfortably against a wall, and looked down at the edge of one of the folded tables and found herself looking at a chameleon. It wasn’t very big, but it was a vivid emerald green, and its small claws showed stark and delicate against the pale wood.

  Intrigued, despite herself, Jenny leaned down for a closer look. Although she wasn’t a fan of reptiles, she could see the appeal in preserving such a specimen, for the skin was exquisite and she wondered which of the taxidermists had done the work on it. Although she was no expert, even she could tell it was fine work, for the animal looked perfect.

  She reached down and very gently picked it up, placing it carefully in the palm of her hand and bringing it up to look at it in a better light. It had a tightly pointed green snout, a delicate flap of skin at the throat, and big, globular green eye-sockets, with a small, realistic-looking black eye right in the middle.

  One beady eye suddenly moved to look down at her hand, whist the other eye, independently, swivelled up to give her a questioning look.

  ‘Oh sorry,’ Jenny said before she could stop herself. ‘I thought you were stuffed.’

  The chameleon turned both eyes to look accusingly down at her hand, and Jenny hastily lowered it back to the table. There, after an agonizingly long pause, it very slowly moved off her palm and back onto the wood.

  Jenny glanced quickly around, but luckily nobody was paying her any attention. Instead, all eyes had turned to the entrance where Maurice Raines had appeared, wheeling in a large wooden crate on a trolley. He had about him the air of a showman, and there was a hush and a buzz as speculation filled the room.

  Jenny looked back down at the chameleon.

  The chameleon looked up at her. Jenny shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me, I’ve no idea what’s in the crate.’

  The chameleon contemplated the table thoughtfully. Just then, James Raye appeared at her side. ‘Oh, good, you’ve found Norman.’ He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. ‘I thought I’d lost him for good. I damn near had a heart attack. The thought of searching for him in a building this size was giving me palpitations.’

  Jenny looked back at the chameleon.

  Norman?

  A chameleon called Norman?

  Norman turned one eye to look at her, challenging her to comment. Jenny contemplated discretion and valour and all that sort of thing, and turned her attention back to James. ‘I thought he was stuffed. Well, you can hardly blame me. He was so still – I mean, utterly motionless.’

  James grinned. ‘Lizards are like that. He’s my niece’s pet actually. Libby, that’s my older sister, and her brood are off to Disneyland in Florida for a couple of weeks, and somehow I got custody of Norman. I couldn’t leave him for five days back at my flat, and he’s not the sort of pet you can really ask a friend or a neighbour to babysit, is he? Not like a fluffy kitten or a cute dog. So I had to bring him. Unfortunately, the small solarium – or do I mean terrarium? – well anyway, the glass tank-cum-travelling-case thingey they put him in isn’t as secure as his proper big tank back home, and he keeps giving me the slip.’

  Jenny grinned. ‘Now pause and take a deep, calming breath.’

  James did so, and rolled his eyes, then looked down at the lizard, which seemed to be contemplating a small nail head that was protruding slightly from one of the tables. ‘I swear that he should be called Houdini, rather than Norman, but that was Gracie’s choice.’

  ‘Gracie being your niece?’

  ‘Right.’

  Jenny glanced down at the chameleon, which froze in the act of slowly putting one clawed foot in front of the other. Awa
re that he was the focus of attention, both of his bulbous eyes looked up at them. If he could have spoken, clearly he would have asked them just what they thought they were staring at.

  He was that sort of a lizard.

  ‘I rather like Norman,’ Jenny said.

  The chameleon delicately put one foot down in front of the other.

  ‘So do I, but I’d better get him back to his tank. I won’t be a tick.’ He carefully scooped up the reptile and headed quickly for the exit, casting a look to the front of the room as he did so.

  Jenny saw that Maurice had now manoeuvred the crate into place, and had placed a large cloth over the front of it and was busily removing one side of the crate in order to facilitate a no-doubt spectacular ‘show’ at some point during his speech.

  Which he now seemed ready to deliver.

  Prepared to be entertained, Jenny settled her well-padded shoulder more comfortably against the wall, and waited to be amused.

  Simon Jenks saw the motorway turn off sign for Oxford and indicated in plenty of time. He glanced nervously at the petrol tank though, and hoped that he’d have enough fuel to incorporate this detour on his trip down to Hayling Island without having to top up just yet. The cost of petrol nowadays was enough to bring him out in a cold sweat, but he knew that once he’d teamed up with Laura, he could persuade her to use his car during their little holiday, even though she would probably prefer to use her top-of-the-range BMW. Then, at the nearest petrol station, he could find his wallet low on cash, and she’d be quick to offer him the use of her credit card.

  One of the many things that Simon liked about Laura was her generosity with plastic. Not that he was a total sponger, he thought hastily, but business was tight these days. The double, or was it treble-dip, recession was hitting him hard along with everyone else and besides, the little jaunt to the coast was all her idea, after all. It was only fair that she pay for the bulk of it.