‘A bit. But before you start, I’ve still got plenty of tablets. It will clear up again in no time.’
‘You know what I think about all that. And what about your asthma? I just don’t think it’s right that you–’
‘Well, anyway.’ Joy cut her off with a wave of her hand. ‘If I can just find my key your duties are over for today. And I’ve got Otto to protect me, of course.’
Flora waited for her to open the door and for Otto, the pug with as much bounce as a saggy mattress, to start his customary yapping around their ankles. She liked dogs, she really did. Just not as much as she liked people. And she definitely preferred dogs when they were quiet.
But not this quiet. Joy called out Otto’s name and stepped inside. She stood in the centre of the small room, turning around in a slow circle, her face beginning to take on a puzzled expression. Flora followed and closed the door behind her. The silence was unexpected, but not inexplicable. Maybe the mutt was taking a nap. Or chewing a particularly tasty bit of slipper.
‘Otto! Otto, no!’ Joy clapped her hands to her cheeks and let out a piercing scream.
Curled up on the floor, close enough to Flora’s feet that she might have stepped on him, Otto was writhing in a desperate, choking panic, tangled up so tightly in the long cord of the blind his eyes were fairly popping out of his head. Joy lunged forward but Flora was closer. She dropped to her knees and tried to loosen the cord from around the little dog’s neck.
‘Get some scissors,’ she shouted. Joy veered off towards the kitchenette. ‘Come on, little man. Try and stay still. You’re only making it worse.’ But Otto was beyond hearing, his pitiful yelps cut off by the tightening band.
‘Is he bleeding? Has it cut him?’ Joy handed her the scissors, sobbing. Flora shook her head.
‘I thought that too, but it’s just the red cord.’ She snipped carefully, first releasing the animal’s neck then moving down to his paws. As soon as he could, Otto began to bark, which Flora took as a positive sign. She held him still with one hand and worked the scissors with the other. Joy stood by with a crocheted blanket, poised and ready to pounce.
‘That was close.’ Flora sat back on her heels and watched Joy cradle her baby. ‘How the hell did he get tangled up like that?’ She looked at her friend and pulled a face. ‘Joy, you should have those cords tied up. It’s really dangerous to leave them dangling.’
Joy glared at her, clearly rattled. ‘Well, I know that, thank you very much. And I did have them tied up – look, they wrap around that bracket there.’
Flora looked at the two-pronged bracket on the wall. ‘It must have come loose.’ She shook her head. ‘We’ll have to ask the warden to get someone to look at it. Poor Otto.’ The dog was panting in Joy’s arms, but apart from a slightly disgruntled countenance and a patch of missing fur where Flora had accidentally snipped it along with the blind cord, he didn’t appear to have suffered any serious injury. ‘You should get him checked out at the medical centre. Do they look at pets there?’ But when Flora turned back to Joy she found her friend staring fixedly at the wall.
‘Flora, I don’t think this was an accident at all.’
‘What do you mean?’ Flora pushed herself up to standing and gave Otto a little tickle under his chin. He closed his bug eyes in delight.
‘That cord didn’t come loose by itself. It was tied up this morning when we left. Someone must have been in here and let it down. Which means …’
Flora raised her eyebrows. ‘Which means what?’
Joy mimed wrapping a cord around her neck with her free hand and tipped her head to the side, tongue lolling. Then she pointed to Otto and put her finger to her lips.
‘Joy, Otto can’t understand what you’re saying. You can speak out loud.’
‘He understands everything,’ she whispered, kissing him on his head.
‘Well, it’s a shame he can’t talk as well, because then he could tell us exactly what happened. But you can’t be serious. Who on earth would try to hurt Otto?’ Flora looked at the pieces of red cord scattered on the beige carpet. For a second she imagined the dog up there still, wound even higher, dangling like a parachutist caught in a tree. She shook the image away with a shudder. Joy was regarding her with narrowed eyes.
‘I am deadly serious. And it proves I was right about him, Flora.’
‘Who? Right about who?’
But Joy wasn’t listening. ‘I knew it from the moment I saw him – it’s him and he’s come back to get his revenge. Otto is only the beginning.’ Her friend clutched the pooch to her chest so tightly he peered out from the blanket in alarm.
‘I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Joy.’ Flora reached out and loosened her friend’s grip. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea and calm down. Joy?’
But Joy was staring out of the window, her shoulders and neck suddenly rigid with tension. The slats of the blind threw striped shadows across her pale face and her breath quickened, coming out in small pants, mirrored by the pug. Outside, the motorised buzz of a mobility scooter caught Flora’s attention. As she followed Joy’s gaze, Mr Felix looked up and lifted his hand in a tentative wave. Joy hissed and swept the blinds closed, plunging the room into darkness.
Chapter 2
‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been calling you for hours.’
Flora flopped into her worn leather office chair and spun it away from Marshall’s accusing face. What a day. And it looked like there wasn’t going to be any respite yet.
‘What, then?’ she said, spinning back to glare up at him. ‘What’s so urgent that you have to phone me on my day off? You’re always reminding me that you’re the manager, you’re responsible for the day-to-day running of the business, not me. But now there’s a problem you can’t cope with? Super-man Marshall? Surely not.’
Flora clamped her mouth shut and let the sudden silence wash over them. Had she just said all that out loud? Evidently if you imagined saying something often enough it would come out on its own one day.
Marshall’s eyes narrowed and he took a step back, glancing over his shoulder before crossing his arms in front of his chest. It was the briefest gesture, but Flora knew him too well.
‘Stuart and Steve can’t hear us, don’t worry. You’re not going to lose face in front of the lads.’
Oh, now he was angry. For just one second, just the tiniest second, Flora enjoyed the way his broad shoulders tensed and his lips, usually so full and smiling, became thinner as he stuck out his jaw. Damn, but he was good looking when he was angry. Such a shame he was also a complete pain in the arse.
‘I do not, nor will I ever, give a crap what those two think of me, but I’d appreciate it if you could restrain yourself from balling me out.’
Flora gritted her teeth, willing herself to keep her mouth shut. Sometimes it felt like Marshall was forcing her hand, trying to push her to do something about the intolerable situation they’d found themselves in. Her father had taken Marshall on just after her mum got sick, when he couldn’t keep running the business and look after his wife. But when Peter Lively had died only six months after Flora’s mum lost her fight with cancer, the business had passed to her. Flora knew her dad had trusted Marshall like family, but even though Shakers’ “manager” might be her Uncle Max’s stepson from a long-ago marriage, he sure as hell needed to try and remember who was really in charge.
She relaxed back into her chair and laced her fingers together. ‘Look, I’ve not had the best of days. So why don’t you just tell me what the problem is.’
‘It’s Rockfords.’
Flora’s stomach did a somersault for the third time that day.
‘What about them?’
‘They’re coming. Here.’
She looked around the office. Shakers Removals had premises under a section of Shrewsbury’s railway arches, one of five down-at-heel units tucked out of sight – and often out of mind – of the town’s more successful businesses. The glass-walled office sat at the top of a set of metal
steps, perched above the warehouse below. It had been a hive of efficient activity back in the days when her dad was around. Now the whole place had an air of neglect.
‘Here?’ she said.
‘To Shrewsbury. They’re opening a branch right on our doorstep. This is bad news, Flora, the worse kind. We can’t compete with a multinational like that. No way.’
‘I don’t believe it.’ Flora pushed her cropped fringe off her forehead and rubbed her eyes. They felt gritty and sore. The bitten-down fingernails of her right hand found their way into her mouth again. Marshall rolled his shoulders and pulled a stacking chair across the room, positioning it on the other side of the enormous, paper-covered desk. He looked at her, his head on one side. He was wearing his fraternity sweater, the one with the eagle on it and the frayed cuffs, and his hazel eyes were concerned now, not angry. Flora forced a smile. Tears threatened, but she would not cry, especially not in front of Marshall. She looked up at the photos on the noticeboard. This business had been her father’s pride and joy; she still felt the need to make him proud almost a year after saying her final goodbye.
How could she make him proud if she let his business fail?
But no, there was no way she would allow that to happen.
She focused on the calendar behind Marshall’s head, willing her tears away. What she saw there brought a wry smile to her lips. Marshall, still watching her intently, raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘It’s funny now?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s Friday the thirteenth. I just noticed. The perfect day for bad news.’
Marshall held her gaze for another second, then nodded as though he’d understood far more than she had meant to say. ‘Looks like you need a time out. I’ll go tell the others.’
Flora noticed that Marshall had pushed the box of own-brand tissues slightly closer as he stood. He knew her so well, knew she would rather stick pins in herself than be seen crying.
‘I’m sorry,’ she called out on impulse as he headed for the stairs. ‘Looks like I picked a hell of a day to go off on a jolly.’
He lifted his hand then let it drop without turning around. She watched him all the way out of the warehouse door, then she pulled out the diary to check for messages. Nothing. And no bookings either. Rockfords or not, soon they were all going to have to face up to some harsh truths. Shakers was in trouble. And Flora had no idea what the hell she was supposed to do about that.
***
Stuart and Steve sat on packing crates while Flora perched on a mahogany table she’d never seen before. Its presence in the warehouse was a little worrying, but now was not the time to ask which poor soul had moved into their new house minus their dining table this week. Marshall’s behaviour was still bothering her. One minute he was tensed for a fight, all jutting jaw and frowns; the next he was passing her tissues and playing the good guy. He’d seemed genuinely worried about her reaction to the Rockfords news – he knew how she took everything so personally.
‘You’re not responsible for the worldwide recession,’ he’d said during one of their many rows about the state of the business.
But Flora knew he thought he could do so much better if she’d only give him free rein.
Marshall returned with beer and pizza and they all tucked in, eating in gloomy silence until Flora said, ‘Come on, guys, it’s not the end of the world.’ Her words sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.
Stuart sighed. ‘Business has been crap lately anyway. It’s not like this is going to make it any worse.’ He shoved another slice of pepperoni into his mouth and chewed it solemnly. Flora tried to hide her exasperation. It was difficult for Stuart and Steve, they were on casual contracts – Shakers couldn’t support more than two full-time employees. Even so, they’d been employed pretty consistently for the last few years, despite the recession. None of them knew that Flora paid herself a pittance so she could keep their wages flowing. She had a feeling Uncle Max suspected, but out in the wilds of Whixall he was in no position to be inspecting the accounts.
‘Come on.’ Flora adopted a tone of voice more jolly than she felt. ‘I’m sure we can think of something.’
‘Maybe you should go see David Rockford,’ Marshall said, fixing Stuart with a sardonic stare. ‘You could ask if there’s any work going. They’re bound to be recruiting soon.’
‘Marshall! There’s no need for that.’ Flora jumped off the table and laid her pizza to one side. She began to pace around the perimeter of the warehouse, kicking boxes out of her path as she went. ‘We’ve got to stick together,’ she said. ‘This is not the time to be bickering.’
Marshall kept his eyes on the wall. Stuart’s expression had darkened but he continued munching on his pepperoni – Steve was keeping quiet, but there was something tense about his shoulders, and he’d hardly touched his pizza. Or his beer, which was definitely worrying.
Flora sighed and leaned against one side of the shutters. A breeze blew in and ruffled her hair. She tipped her face to the last of the sun and closed her eyes. Honestly, being in charge of three male employees was a lot more challenging than people might imagine. Keeping these boys in check was something her dad had not prepared her for. If only he’d managed to stick around a bit longer … She swallowed. While her mum’s death had been expected, only a matter of time, her father’s had taken everyone by surprise. He’d only been sixty-four, fit and robust, hauling furniture with the strength of a man half his age. Flora knew his heart attack was just another word for a broken heart. He hadn’t the will to go on without her mother.
But he’d had faith in her, and he’d wanted Shakers to be hers one day. Most days that was enough to get her through.
‘It’s time to make some changes, that’s for sure,’ Marshall said.
Flora opened her eyes and pulled a face in the direction of the car park. There was no one to see her, but it made her feel better anyway.
‘Damn right. Can’t go on like this.’
Steve’s contribution. Flora waited for Stuart to pipe up.
‘What do you suggest, mate?’ he said.
Flora couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘We all know exactly what Marshall’s talking about, so don’t come all “what do you suggest”, Stuart.’ She ignored his shocked expression and rounded on Marshall. ‘And you – you should know better. We need to stick together, we need to keep doing what we’re doing and try harder. Work harder. We don’t need to change direction in the middle of the worst recession this country’s ever seen, and we don’t need wild ideas.’
‘It’s not a wild idea. It’s a proven business strategy – the company I ran back home did real well out of commercial storage and I think–’
‘I don’t want to hear it again, Marshall. And if you were doing so well “back home”, why are you still here? Why don’t you go back to the States and do us all a favour?’
‘Could you two, for once, for all our sakes, just give it a bloody rest? Could I just eat my pizza in peace and not have to listen to you two bickering for a couple of minutes?’
Flora turned to Steve, outraged. ‘What do you mean? Just who the hell do you think you’re–’
‘Flora.’ Marshall’s hand was on her arm, his eyes twinkling. ‘Leave it, okay?’
‘No, it is not okay,’ she said, annoyed by how shaky her voice sounded. But she left it all the same, too angry to push it any further. There was so much wrong with Marshall’s plan she didn’t know where to start. And as for Steve …
Stuart and Steve exchanged a glance. Their discomfort filled the warehouse the way the excess of testosterone had ten minutes ago.
Biting back her anger, Flora squared her shoulders and thought about her dad. What would Peter Lively do right now? A major competitor muscling in; dissent amongst the ranks. The pub of course! A change of scene was just what they needed, and an extra supply of beer couldn’t hurt the boys’ mood either.
Stuart and Steve brightened instantly, looking even more pleased when Flor
a said the drinks were on her. But as they were locking up, Marshall said, ‘I’ll give it a miss, okay? I’m not in the mood.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Flora tried to hide her disappointment. It wouldn’t do for Marshall to think she actually wanted him around, although a team-building exercise at the local pub didn’t seem like such a great idea without him.
‘What went wrong with your trip out?’ he asked over his shoulder, pulling down the metal shutter and slotting it into place in one smooth movement.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Earlier. You said you hadn’t had a very good day either.’
Flora looked down at the back of Marshall’s head as he closed the padlock and took out the key. Should she tell him about Otto? He’d probably only make a joke of it.
‘What?’ Marshall stood and saw the look on Flora’s face. ‘Come on. I’ll walk up with you. You can tell me about it on the way.’
Flora shrugged. Annoying though he was, it would be good to have someone to sound off to. Voicing her concerns about Joy might show her how silly they were.
They walked up past the heavy commuter traffic, under the railway bridge, heading for the castle. As Flora spoke she was relieved to see Marshall’s face remain serious. ‘Poor old Joy,’ he said when she got to the part about finding Otto. ‘What a thing to happen.’
‘She’s convinced someone did it on purpose. I know, it’s totally crazy. Do you remember that old guy we moved in?’
‘They’re all old, Flora.’
‘Mr Felix, he was called.’
‘In a wheelchair?’
‘Not really. He can walk, he just uses one of those mobility scooters. Anyway, she’s convinced it was him. Wouldn’t say another word about it, just kept repeating over and over something about him “getting his revenge”.’
‘Wow. Heavy stuff. How did it happen, do you think?’
Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery Page 2