Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery

by Joanne Phillips

  Flora couldn’t resist a jubilant smile in Marshall’s direction.

  ‘But, like Marshall said, in business you have to know when to change and when to stick with what you know. What’s happening with Rockfords? Any news on their new branch in Shrewsbury?’

  Marshall rocked forward and planted his feet on the floor. ‘They’ve pulled out of the lease for the offices in Battlefield. Don’t know what that means for us, exactly.’ His tone was casual, but the atmosphere in the office changed immediately.

  ‘What?’ Flora nearly dropped the jug of water on the floor. ‘When did you hear this?’

  ‘Just now.’

  Max sat down heavily, his brow creasing. He waited for Marshall to carry on, but Flora was too impatient to wait.

  ‘What do you mean, just now? Like, you got a text or something?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, what then?’ She came to stand beside her uncle and laid a hand on his shoulder. For some reason she needed the support.

  Marshall took a deep breath. ‘I found out just before this meeting. I was … chatting with the younger son of the Rockford clan.’

  ‘He phoned you? Out of the blue? What for?’

  Looking up into Flora’s eyes, Marshall said, ‘No. He dropped by. I talked to him in person.’

  ‘You … In person?’

  No. It couldn’t be.

  ‘The man you were talking to outside was David Rockford?’ Flora’s cheeks began to burn. ‘Are you sure?’

  Marshall threw her an odd look. ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘What was he doing here, son?’

  ‘I think he was sizing us up, to be honest,’ Marshall told Max. ‘We got chatting outside. He’s okay. Kind of friendly.’

  ‘Well, he would come across as friendly, wouldn’t he?’ Flora cut in. ‘Sizing us up, trying to take away our customers, dropping round here all the time, undercutting us at every opportunity.’

  Acting so kind and concerned that day when she’d been spooked by the guy in the hoodie. Gazing at her with those deep green eyes.

  Furious at herself for being so easily taken in, Flora turned her anger on an easier target. ‘I can’t believe you would consort with the enemy like that, Marshall. He’s probably much cleverer than you realise, I bet he was pumping you for information. Did he mention me?’ she added, then could have bitten off her tongue when she saw Marshall’s amused expression.

  ‘No, he didn’t mention you. Why would he?’

  ‘No reason.’

  ‘And I wasn’t consorting with anyone.’

  ‘Of course you weren’t,’ Max said, reaching over the desk to give Marshall’s hand a reassuring pat. ‘And Flora, I think you’ll find our Marshall is more than a match for that Rockford boy, eh?’

  Marshall grinned and nodded. Dropping to her knees to check on a sleeping Otto, Flora made a gagging motion under the cover of the desk. What a love-in. No wonder she hadn’t managed to convince Max he should give Marshall his marching orders. The question was, if she decided to do it herself would Max back her up?

  Not likely.

  When she stood again Marshall was eyeing her with interest. ‘Have you and David Rockford met before?’ he said, smirking.

  ‘What? Of course not. I had no idea who he was.’

  ‘Well, that’s not what I asked. But you said earlier he was round here “all the time”. Are you sure you haven’t bumped into him yourself at some point?’

  Flora glared at him. An image of Marshall’s face pressed against the office window sprang into her mind. He knew perfectly well they’d met before. The swine.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. And stop trying to deflect attention away from yourself, you’re the one who’s been–’

  ‘Consorting. With the enemy, right. But maybe you were thinking about a different kind of consorting?’

  ‘Children, please.’ Max was smiling, but his expression was strained. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. Now, if Marshall says Rockfords might not be taking up those premises it’s a cause for celebration. My vote is that we dig in a while longer and see how things go. What do you think? We can meet up again in, say, three months and see where we’re at. Okay?’

  Flora nodded mutely; Marshall reached over the desk and shook Max’s hand.

  Like he shook David Rockford’s hand.

  Just what had they been discussing? Flora wanted to know so badly it was like an ache in her gut, but there was no way Marshall was about to share it with her. And she had no intention of exposing herself to any more teasing, either.

  The coffee machine started to announce itself ready for action. ‘I’ll have one of those,’ her uncle said. ‘Marshall?’

  ‘Gotta go, I’m afraid. Great seeing you, Max. Catch up soon, yeah?’

  Flora looked away while they hugged. She ignored Marshall’s ‘See you later, Flora’ and busied herself making the coffee. Two sugars and as milky as possible for Max. He took his coffee the same way as her dad.

  They took their mugs down into the warehouse and sat by the open shutters with their feet on packing crates, enjoying the sunshine.

  ‘You and Marshall. Not going too well?’

  The understatement cut through Flora’s annoyance and she started to laugh.

  ‘No, not really. You noticed, huh?’

  Max nodded sagely. He opened his mouth to speak, but Flora cut him off.

  ‘Let’s talk about something else. Like you said, let’s just leave things as they are for a while. See how it goes.’

  Her uncle’s face was a picture of relief. While he sipped his coffee, Flora filled him in on the latest from the Maples, finally telling him her theory that the Captain’s death may not have happened exactly the way the warden told it.

  ‘That’s a serious allegation, Flora. If you really believe she’s lying shouldn’t you go to the police?’

  ‘They’d laugh at me. I’ve got no proof, no evidence. Although …’ Flora told Max about the strange man in black who’d visited the Captain the day before his death. ‘I found out who he is – he’s a solicitor with offices by Castle Gate. Chances are he was the Captain’s solicitor, and that’s why he was visiting. But I’m no closer to finding out what really happened to the Captain. Or to proving to Joy that it’s nothing to do with Mr Felix.’ The memory of knocking the old man over in the library made Flora wince. ‘I have a feeling about this Mr Vasco, though. I just can’t put my finger on what it is. Max? What’s wrong?’

  Flora laid her hand on her uncle’s arm. Max Lively looked like he’d just swallowed something completely disgusting.

  ‘That solicitor, what did you say he was called?’

  ‘Vasco. It was written on the nameplate of his office and I saw him inside, talking on the phone. W Vasco and Co., Solicitor. Wills, trust and probate. That’s what gave me the idea that he might be visiting the Captain to help him write his will. Why?’

  ‘Vasco,’ Max repeated. He shook his head. ‘Billy Vasco. It must be him – there can’t be many solicitors in Shrewsbury with a name like that. Unless it’s his son – how old is your man in black?’

  ‘Fifty.’ Flora shrugged, she wasn’t great at guessing ages. ‘Maybe mid fifties.’

  ‘The very same, then. Well, I don’t believe it. You’d have thought he’d have been disbarred by now. Billy Vasco still operating, and in his old stomping ground no less. Well, nothing should surprise me anymore, I suppose.’

  ‘So you know him? You know this Mr Vasco?’

  ‘It was years ago.’ Max sipped his coffee thoughtfully. ‘When I was working for the council. It caused quite a stir, mainly because it involved a fellow councillor – can’t remember his name now. Robert? Phil?’

  ‘Uncle Max, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Could you, like, start at the beginning?’

  Max smiled and shifted to the side so Flora could perch on the crate by his feet. A swallow flew up to the edge of the doors, hovered for the shortest moment, then turn
ed abruptly and flew away. Flora tipped her face to the sun and listened.

  ‘I don’t remember all the details, to be honest. Just that one of the bigwigs on the council got involved in something bad. Nightclubs, it was, if memory serves. Something to do with a dodgy licence. Anyway, this Billy Vasco of yours, he made it all go away. Sharp, he was. Odd-looking fella, big bushy beard and ginger hair.’

  ‘He’s still got the beard, but not the hair.’

  ‘Ha! No, I don’t suppose he would after all these years. Well, he was a hotshot back then, and like I said, he made it all go away for Phil. Or was it John? John … what was his name?’

  ‘Max? Tangent. Coming back to the story?’

  ‘Sorry. We all figured Vasco must have had someone in his pocket. The councillor had to step down of course, but at least he avoided prison.’

  Flora slipped her foot out of her flip-flop and rotated her ankle. ‘And how does that make Mr Vasco such a bad egg? Sounds like he was just doing his job. Seedy though it was, obviously.’

  ‘There was a sting in the tail for the councillor. Word was, Vasco blackmailed him. For years. Fleeced him good and proper, used what he knew to earn himself a nice little sideline. And I had it on good authority it wasn’t the first time.’

  ‘That’s terrible! What, and this was common knowledge? How did he get any clients in the first place?’

  ‘He was good, for one thing. Really clever, especially about financials. Knew all the red tape and the ins and outs of the legal system. Wills, probate, embezzlement, tax avoidance, he was your man. And it wasn’t common knowledge at all – you’re forgetting that your old uncle was pretty high up in the county council. I had my ear to the ground, that’s all. Like I said, it was quite a scandal. And it wasn’t the only one he was involved in, either.’

  Flora tucked her legs up and rubbed them. She had goosebumps on her calves.

  ‘What happened to him?’ she said, but Max had put down his mug and was staring at her, his expression grave.

  ‘Flora, I don’t want you mixed up in anything that’s got Vasco’s name on it. You say you followed him?’ Flora nodded. ‘Why? What on earth are you getting mixed up in now?’

  ‘I wanted to find out who he was. He was the last person to visit the Captain before he died.’

  Max didn’t say anything for a while. He got up and stood by the shutter, looking out at the empty yard. Flora took in the greasy patches on his collar and felt a stab of sadness deep in her belly.

  ‘Flora, I want you to promise me something.’

  She looked up, shielding her eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘Promise me you won’t go near Vasco again. He’s bad news, and whatever he’s up to, you don’t want any part of it.’

  The day she’d bumped into Mr Vasco was the same day she’d been followed. Or not followed – the guy in the hoodie might have been totally innocent. And of course the two things couldn’t be connected, but thinking of those footsteps on the cobbles behind her and the reflection of the faceless figure in the shop window caused her goosebumps to turn into a shiver.

  And then the memory of the guy with the green eyes, so concerned and caring when she confessed to being spooked, caused a completely different kind of shiver. David Rockford – yuk! And she’d been so gooey over him. Marshall had stitched her up, not telling her straight away who he was. Not sending him packing. She wouldn’t forget that in a hurry, no way. She didn’t need any handsome strangers to protect her, she knew exactly what she was doing. And Max’s words had just given her an idea.

  ‘Flora?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Will you promise?’

  She nodded. ‘Okay, Uncle Max. I won’t go near him again.’

  It was just as well he couldn’t see her right hand, or the way her fingers were firmly crossed behind her back.

  Chapter 12

  The ringing of the phone woke Flora early on Monday morning. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and pulled her ragged old dressing gown around her shoulders, tying the belt in a daze. She looked at her alarm clock, which she hadn’t bothered setting on her day off. It was seven thirty.

  Otto was snoozing in the middle of the duvet, his paws still fighting away an imaginary foe. Flora tutted disgustedly.

  ‘Oh, you just have a lie in, why don’t you? It’s not like you kept me awake all night or anything. Don’t let a little thing like the phone wake you up, will you?’

  She grumbled her way through the lounge and out into the hall. Her mum and dad had been old school when it came to telephones, and the only one in the entire bungalow was situated on the wall by the front door. The part-glass front door, which meant if anyone walked past the drive right now they’d catch an eyeful of Flora in ratty PJ bottoms and gaping dressing gown with her hair sticking up like a flat-top. She tried to flatten her hair with one hand while reaching for the phone. Which stopped ringing the very second she touched it.

  ‘Just great. Perfect, in fact.’ Not even bothering to dial 1471, Flora traipsed back through the bungalow on autopilot. Otto was stretching out on the bed, rolling from side to side, his face a picture of bliss.

  ‘Shove over. It’s not officially morning yet. Don’t get any ideas.’

  But no sooner had Flora snuggled down, her pillow cool under her cheek, than the ringing started up again. This time she made it in thirty seconds flat.

  ‘Flora?’

  ‘Joy. What’s up?’

  Flora couldn’t help the silent groan that escaped her lips. Seven thirty on the morning of her day off meant it had better be some problem of mammoth proportions.

  ‘They’re moving me, Flora. On Saturday.’

  ‘Moving you where?’ Surely this wasn’t the time to be asking for a quote from Shakers, although if Joy really had decided to leave the Maples Flora would offer to do the removal for free.

  In fact, she’d be glad to see her friend out of there. Maybe then they’d all get a bit of peace.

  Joy’s voice was muffled, as though she was trying to cover her mouth and talk at the same time.

  ‘I can’t hear you. Say that again?’

  ‘They’re moving me to the third floor. The warden found my medication. She knows all about the asthma and she says I can’t stay in my unit anymore. This is it, Flora. This will be the end of me. I don’t know what to do.’

  Flora rubbed her eyes and thought for a minute. Time to be super tactful.

  ‘Joy, maybe this isn’t such a bad thing. You’ve been so ill lately – your medication doesn’t seem to be working at all. You knew you couldn’t hide it forever.’

  ‘Someone must have tipped them off,’ Joy whispered. ‘Cynthia turned up at six o’clock this morning and demanded to know what meds I had on the premises. Apparently residents have to get approval for medication now, they’re cracking down on health and safety or something. We’re only allowed a week at a time.’

  Flora sighed. She could see where this was going.

  ‘How could anyone have tipped her off, Joy? No one knows about your condition except you and me.’

  ‘Not so. Aubrey knows. I had it as a teenager. He knows all about it.’ The old lady laughed breathlessly. ‘I flushed the tablets down the toilet so she wouldn’t find them. Unfortunately I forgot to get rid of the packet.’

  Flora shook her head in despair. Otto’s wet nose pressed into Flora’s palm. He probably needed to pee. She knelt down to stoke him. Poor Joy, there all alone with her favourite companion in exile. ‘What can I do? Do you need more medication?’

  ‘No, the warden’s marching me off to the centre’s doctor at nine. I need you to come over and talk to her. Will you do that for me? Will you tell her that I’m fine, that I don’t need to be moved up to Special Care? It’s only asthma, for goodness sake. It’s not like I’m really sick.’

  Flora ended the call with a promise to visit later that morning. She let Otto out into the garden, then emptied a tin of dog food into a bowl. Joy’s fears about the third floor were totally unfoun
ded, but her psychological state was now in even greater peril. Still, she baulked at the idea of talking to Cynthia. Why would the warden listen to Flora? She hadn’t seemed especially keen on her meddling last time they’d spoken. But a promise was a promise. And while she was there, it would be an ideal opportunity to ask about the Captain’s visitors. Mr Vasco would be on record if he were there on official business. No matter what Max had warned, Flora was determined to find out what the shady solicitor was doing at the Maples. She owed it to Joy to prove once and for all that there was nothing to worry about on the third floor – now more than ever.

  And she figured Mr Vasco was as good a place as any to start.

  ***

  ‘No. Absolutely not. I’m sorry, but I’ve got the entire complex to think about, not just your friend. I can’t risk having another death on the premises. Joy is seriously ill – you do realise she has chronic asthma?’

  Flora kept her head down and fixed her eyes on the warden’s sturdy shoes. There was no way she was admitting to knowing about it for the last six months. Cynthia would have a fit.

  ‘Anyway, your fears are unfounded. She’ll be perfectly safe up there. We provide the very best of care here, and I resent the insinuation that our residents are anything but well looked after.’

  The warden was sitting on her desk, not behind it, looking down on Flora, who felt like a naughty school girl asking for permission to be excused from PE. They were in the office behind the main reception with the door half open; Elizabeth could be heard typing outside, her long nails clacking furiously against the keyboard.

  On her way over, Flora had tried to get the Vasco connection straight in her head. Ida was bothering her – the other unfortunate Maples’ resident who died just after Christmas. Joy had said the same man visited Ida on Christmas Eve. And Ida had died only days later, just like the Captain.

  A solicitor visits a resident of a retirement village – and if Flora’s instinct was right, the visit was most likely linked somehow to the writing of their will – and the next day, or day after, the resident is dead. Deaths in old folks’ homes aren’t usually suspicious, of course. In some cases they are almost to be expected. But it was too much of a coincidence to mean nothing. If Vasco didn’t have such a shady past it could be written off as pure bad luck, but Flora wasn’t convinced. She wondered if the Captain and Ida were connected in some way – what if the person who benefited most from their deaths was in league with Mr Vasco? Maybe he even faked their wills, getting them to sign all their money over to him, then engineering their deaths in some way, too impatient to wait for nature to take its course.