Wicked Words: A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries)

by Jean G. Goodhind

  ‘Or even a Steiff.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  Honey rolled her eyes. ‘Famous teddy bears. Made in Germany.’

  ‘Not this one. He was made for a stage production of The Three Bears. The charity bought him once the theatre had finished with it. That’s why he’s so big.’

  ‘You are so well informed.’

  His eyes twinkled when he grinned at her. ‘I try to keep abreast of things.’

  The wake at the Poacher was in full swing.

  Honey scanned the crowded bar, finally finding Mrs Arlene O’Brian sitting in a window seat, a gin and tonic in one hand and a chicken leg in the other. If she was grieving it didn’t show. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were merry, and she was laughing at a rude joke somebody had just told.

  ‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ Honey asked the winsome widow. She didn’t wait for an answer.

  ‘Cheers!’ Arlene O’Brian, formerly Mrs Donald Tipping, swigged back the not inconsiderable contents of her glass.

  Clearing her throat and taking a small sip of vodka and tonic gave Honey enough time to consider her words. The widow was here for the funeral. Doherty and her had agreed that she couldn’t possibly know anything about the stolen teddy bear and its grisly contents.

  ‘I thought you’d like to know that they’re digging a fresh grave for Sean. I’m afraid it could be some time before the police are finished with the present grave.’

  ‘As long as he’s where he wished to be interred,’ said Arlene with a nod of her neatly coiffured head. Her hair was dyed beige blonde with a hint of pale pink.

  ‘The policeman in charge asked me to convey his condolences,’ Honey added.

  Arlene looked at her with shiny bright eyes and blinked. ‘Is that the one you’re sleeping with? I hear you met him on the rebound when Sean dumped you.’

  Honey felt her face going red.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Your mother told me,’ said Arlene with a surly curling of scarlet lips. ‘She said that there was interest between you. I bet there was. I bet you wanted him to put some money into that business of yours. I bet that was all you wanted him for. Well, my Sean saw through you. He knew a gold digger when he saw one, mark my words. Well I got him! I got him!’

  Hoteliers were tolerant by virtue of the fact that they had to deal with some right idiots at times. But this was too much. Whatever gaskets Honey possessed blew left right and centre.

  ‘You stupid bitch.’

  It wasn’t often that Honey lost her temper but Arlene had bugged her good and proper. She pointed a rigid finger to within an inch of Arlene’s upturned nose.

  ‘Let’s get this straight,’ she growled. ‘I wouldn’t have gone out with your old man if he’d been the last man on earth. I don’t do geriatrics. I like them young, virile, and hot to go. So don’t kid yourself that he was Prince Charming and that you’re the bloody Fairy Princess. I didn’t come here to talk about your husband and him fancying his chances with younger women …’

  ‘Just hang on there, you policeman’s Jezebel! Just ’cause I’m a bit older than you don’t mean to say that I’m past it. You know the old saying, just because there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean to say that there’s not a fire in the grate. And there was plenty of fire in Sean’s grate, I can tell you,’ exclaimed Arlene, her eyes glittering and her voice shrill enough to strip wallpaper.

  ‘Then it was two old grates together,’ said Honey, sick and tired of hearing that same old saying about snow and fire grates. ‘And you were well and truly welcome to each other. I’ve never been keen on role play in the bedroom and Sean in a Superman costume would have made me puke. I’ve seen better muscle on the legs of an earwig!’

  Arlene tossed her blonde-haired head, the veneer of respectable wife superseded by the old brass she really was.

  ‘You’re only saying that because you didn’t nab him! I did. Me and old Sean were made for each other.’

  ‘You bet,’ Honey snapped back. ‘Two old antiques together.’

  Arlene’s face reddened, but she wasn’t out for the count just yet.

  ‘You’re frigid then. My Sean was probably too fruity for you!’

  ‘On the contrary, Mrs O’Brian. Your husband was over-ripe. Time to be turned into mush!’ Honey shouted. The words came out before she could stop them. And everyone in the room stopped talking. She heard a breathless gasp from those who had heard. A few titters also.

  ‘Whoops!’

  Arlene was glaring at her.

  Honey was unrepentant. She’d sounded callous but try as she might there was no way she was about to apologize.

  Arlene spoke first. ‘Cow.’

  ‘Bitch!’

  Her mother’s perfume fell over her in a suffocating haze. ‘Hannah! That is so insensitive. Arlene has just been widowed, in case you’ve forgotten.’

  Honey rolled her eyes. Old ladies stuck together.

  ‘My fault,’ she said. In a way it was true. She’d got so riled thinking of her name being linked with Sean’s that she’d forgotten where she was and who she was with. ‘I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have said that.’

  Arlene went from fishwife to wounded wife in one swift move. Tears had replaced red-faced anger. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the corner of a lace-edged handkerchief.

  ‘I’m quite upset,’ mewed Arlene, playing to her audience for the sympathy vote.

  ‘You weren’t just now.’

  ‘Well I am now. Grief is like that. It hits when you least expect it.’

  It could be so. Honey gave her the benefit of the doubt and shook her head. ‘I suppose that was rude of me. I shouldn’t have said it. I’ll make it up in any way I can.’

  Arlene O’Brian’s face froze as though someone had pressed the pause button on a remote control. Her tears evaporated in double-quick time.

  ‘Well you can make a start by getting me a double gin, ice, lemon, and not too much tonic. And get one for your mother. She deserves one.’

  Chapter Seven

  That a man had been found dead stuffed inside a giant teddy bear made the six o’clock news.

  Honey was watching the television with her eyes closed – listening to it but only vaguely. Bundling old ladies in and out of taxis was extremely tiring. Watching them enjoy themselves at a funeral was more so seeing as they were drinking and she couldn’t.

  Jealously she’d watched them downing their gins, their whiskies, and the glass of champagne specially laid on by Sean’s middle-aged son who was something in the wine trade – she hadn’t caught what. Being designated driver she’d held off the booze, having slowly sipped her way through a single vodka and tonic. After that it was pure tonic water – grieving when everyone else was indulging big time.

  She made up for lost time once her mother, her mother’s cronies, and Bobo the dog were all dropped off, the car was in the car park, and she was finally sat down.

  The restaurant was heavily booked tonight and owning a hotel meant when it called for all hands to the pumps, there were no exceptions. She was it.

  Just one glass of wine before I go on duty, she told herself. Accordingly Honey poured herself a glass of Australian Shiraz, knocked that back, then poured herself another. The wine was accompanied by a few chocolates left over from Christmas plus a wedge of very gooey Camembert – delicious for dipping when left out of the fridge for a few days. The crackers she’d found had gone soft so she opted for sucking the cheese off her finger.

  The news over, she turned the television off. Quality time for at least an hour before re-entering the fray. First get really comfortable. The chair cushions were old-fashioned springs and horsehair beneath tan-coloured velour. Sinking into the soft cushions was like being swallowed by a marshmallow.

  Using her toe, she prised off one shoe then the other and wriggled her toes. She followed this with a plump chocolate and a sip of red wine.

  Bliss!

  Comfort eating and comfort for the body; it didn’
t get any better than this.

  The phone began ringing just as she’d popped in her second chocolate – a Brazil nut, one of her favourites.

  ‘Hellope.’

  ‘Hellope? That’s not the name I want. I’m sorry but I appear to have the wrong number.’

  Shoving the chocolate to one side of her mouth. Honey sat bolt upright. ‘Casper?’

  ‘Ah! Honey. I take it you’re eating something.’

  Honey sucked in her lips. Why did Casper always make her feel she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t – like making chasseur sauce with red wine instead of white or wiping her nose on her sleeve? Or eating chocolates …

  ‘I’ve just come back from a funeral.’

  ‘Have you heard the news?’ He failed to offer his deepest sympathy; neither did he ask who had died. Casper was not naturally sympathetic. If something happened to him that was a different matter; he expected sympathy. It was giving it out that was a problem.

  Honey sighed. ‘Of course I have. I was there when they found Teddy Devlin.’

  ‘Teddy Devlin? I’ve never heard of him,’ he said dismissively. ‘I’m talking about C.A. Wright. He’s been found murdered – stuffed inside some outlandish costume and thrown into an open grave, so I hear.’

  The chocolate swallowed, Honey took the opportunity to explain the identity of Teddy Devlin and his link with the victim. Casper St John Gervais was chairman of the Bath Hotels Association. For Bath he wore his heart on his sleeve. Crime made him shudder. It shouldn’t be happening. Casper was the person who had pressurized her into being Bath Hotels Association Crime Liaison Officer.

  Explaining what was going on in the crime sector was all part of her remit, though for the most part she preferred keeping Casper in the dark. He got too uptight about things. OK, murder was something to get uptight about, but she was on the case. So were the police.

  She went over the day’s major happening.

  ‘Teddy Devlin is a very large teddy bear used by the Devlin Foundation for fundraising activities. I was there when C.A. Wright’s body was found stuffed inside him.’

  ‘Honey! You didn’t hear me. C.A. Wright. Are you hearing me now?’

  Honey put down her glass, closed her eyes and blinked them swiftly open again.

  ‘I thought I’d just explained that. He’s the big bug who writes reviews for the national newspapers.’

  ‘Of course for the nationals. He certainly wouldn’t be doing it for the regional press, would he?’ Casper sounded totally disgusted that she would even suggest such a thing.

  Just for once Honey was having none of it. Perhaps the wine had gone to her head.

  ‘Now listen carefully to what I’m saying, Casper. C.A. Wright was inside that bloody bear. Personally I feel sorry for the bear. Wright was a right shit. In fact I suggested to Doherty that my name should be on the list of suspects – along with half the hoteliers and restaurant owners in Bath.’

  She said it with vehemence and for her pains perceived an unequivocal silence on the other end of the phone. Casper was considering what she had said. He’d had to have had a run-in with Wright himself.

  C.A. Wright had come close to having his ears chopped off in her own establishment following his criticism of Smudger’s baked Alaska. This occurred just after C.A. had got Honey alone and offered to give her a glowing review. All she had to do was accompany him inside the walk-in closet in his room – with the doors closed – in the dark – naked!

  Following her rebuttal – which consisted mainly of terms not resorted to by well-mannered hoteliers – he’d put his venomous revenge into action. Unfortunately he hadn’t taken on board that the head chef at the Green River Hotel ran a tight ship on a short fuse. C.A. enjoyed making hotel staff squirm. Following Smudger’s threat to do something very nasty with the rough end of a pineapple, the famous, ill-respected and well-disliked reviewer took a sharp exit. He never did write the bad review, mainly because he’d left behind a very brief leather thong that hadn’t been there before he’d taken the room. Honey had threatened to expose him. ‘With your thong rather than without,’ she’d informed him.

  ‘I suppose you have a point,’ said Casper at last after he’d given what she’d said due consideration.

  Honey reached for another chocolate – a soft one that could be swiftly despatched without curtailing her speech.

  ‘A very valid point. He was a well-hated man.’

  ‘That’s beside the point. We don’t want this crime hanging around. We want it solved. See to it, Honey. See to it very quickly. I shall expect there to be a list of suspects referred to very shortly.’

  ‘You can bet on that. In fact I’ll have a queue forming. Those that didn’t get a bad review had to have given in to blackmail.’

  ‘I have heard rumours,’ said Casper in a muted tone.

  His tone made her wonder whether Casper wasn’t keeping his own dealings with the man to himself. ‘He seemed to home in on certain people,’ Casper added in a manner that made her think Casper himself was not one of them; that Wright wouldn’t dare.

  She slumped back into her chair and prepared to confess. ‘I think it depended on whether you had a walk-in closet and were up for standing around in the dark with no clothes on.’

  ‘I see.’ So non-committal! ‘I think we need to close ranks on this.’

  Honey’s eyebrows shot up. ‘In what way?’

  ‘We have to protect each other’s backs.’

  ‘We do?’ She thought about it. Hoteliers plus highly disliked reviewer plus bad publicity equals murdered reviewer. She’d cottoned on to where he was coming from. ‘You’re right, Casper. Every hotelier in Bath is a suspect, but more so those whose businesses he ruined – and I understand he ruined quite a few.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Casper said chillingly.

  Doherty rang just as she’d crushed the empty chocolate box and was fighting to do up the zip on her skirt.

  ‘We’ve located where Wright was staying. A Mr Dodd at the Laurel Tree Hotel stated that he left there alive and well yesterday morning. My sidekick went round to get a statement. Only thing is we can’t find any luggage. It’s not at the hotel and it wasn’t down the hole with Wright.’

  ‘How about our eco-friendly gravedigger and the church warden? Did they see anyone hanging around?’

  ‘No.’

  The way he said ‘no’ was slow and thoughtful. Something was bugging him.

  ‘So?’

  ‘There’s a cesspit just back from the grave that used to serve the church. It’s not used any longer since they got connected to the main drain, in fact it’s in the process of being broken apart and filled in. One of the men is a local bloke named Ned Shaw. He’s got a criminal record.’

  ‘For violence?’

  ‘And rape.’

  Chapter Eight

  Death for C.A. Wright had come by virtue of a meat skewer through the neck, pretty just if Smudger’s reaction was anything to go by.

  ‘But it wasn’t me,’ he’d added.

  Doherty had promised to keep her informed, so Honey put the matter to the back of her mind and went all out to concentrate on her guests and them alone. Tonight the Green River Hotel would have her undivided attention.

  Mary Jane, she of the paranormal persuasion, had a habit of picking up friends and bringing them back for tea or dinner. Referring to them as ‘friends’ was perhaps a rather broad term for these people she came across in her wanderings around the city. For the most part she’d met them only that very day and had instantly struck up a conversation ultimately leading to an invitation to dine with her.

  Mary Jane had habits that she’d acquired since living in Bath. Number one habit was that she frequented Sally Lunn’s coffee shop quite a lot. Smiling benignly at everyone, she easily got into discussions with strangers from all over the world. In the twinkling of an eye the strangers became friends and were invited back for tea and crumpets or carrot juice and swordfish soup.

  Toni
ght her guests were proving to be rowdier than the norm. Today she’d picked up half a dozen young people. Declining her offer of tea and crumpets, they’d purchased bottles of wine – quite a few bottles of wine as it happened.

  Using the excuse of clearing wine glasses from the table, Honey took the opportunity to look them over.

  They looked like students, the girls lithesome and fresh-faced, the young men broad-shouldered and looking ready for a scrum – on the rugby pitch of course, not with the girls, though on second thoughts …

  Mary Jane looked up at Honey as though everything was fine – no different that if she were surrounded by people of her own age, which was quite considerable.

  ‘I was telling these good folk about Sir Cedric and the fact that he lives in the closet in my room and how he talks to me and tells me things.’

  To Honey’s mind the little group looked as though they’d been drinking all day; either that or their heads were made of cast iron and thus too heavy for their necks. Their chins were making little elliptical movements as their balance took time out to readjust.

  One of the young men looked up at Honey with what could only be described as lust in his eyes. His smile was toothpaste white and his face well-scrubbed, though a five o’clock shadow was threatening his jaw line.

  ‘You’re nice,’ he said. He smiled stupidly before his chin sunk on to his folded arms.

  ‘He likes you,’ said one of his equally inebriated friends.

  Honey grabbed what was left of the wine from the table. ‘And you’re drunk.’

  She threw Mary Jane an accusing look.

  Mary Jane bit her bottom lip. They were friends and she kind of had free rein about the place, but she knew when she’d reached her limit.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘But they’re great guys really. Honest they are.’

  One of the students tugged at Honey’s arm. ‘Do you know that my friend here does table tapping?’ he said, nodding in the direction of Mary Jane. ‘She reckons she can reach people on the other side. Isn’t that incredible?’