A Vicky Hill Exclusive! (33 page)

I got out my camera, took some snaps, and as I zoomed in on the pewter goblets, I thought . . . DNA! Retrieving a clean tissue from my safari jacket pocket, I picked up a goblet and froze.

Tucked inside was a purple Coff-Off wrapper.

Of course, Mrs Poultry wasn’t the only one who liked this particular brand of ghastly cough drops – but she was the only one who smoothed out the wrapper and folded it into a neat square.

Surely she wasn’t part of the coven? Hadn’t Topaz accused her uncle of having several mistresses? Maybe I was too eager to think the worst and this was simply a love nest?

Thoroughly baffled, I wiped the rim of both goblets, put the tissue in a baggie, and left the tower. On reaching the Pavilion I ran off a few more shots and cycled on to the BMW and put the bicycle in the boot.

Back at the
Gazette
, I parked Annabel’s car in the alley and set off for The Marshes.

All I could think about was dear, friendly Barbara. Even if she
were
a witch, was she capable of murder?

‘O
Where did you find it, you clever girl?’ Barbara cried. I was standing on the front porch outside her end of the terraced Edwardian house. She had pulled the front door closed behind her ‘to keep the heat in’.

‘The Three Tuns car park,’ I said, carefully watching her reaction. ‘Perhaps someone borrowed it?’

‘And I bet I know who, too,’ Barbara muttered to herself. Putting on a bright smile she added, ‘Well, I mustn’t grumble. It could have been dismantled for parts. These bicycles are rare, you know. I’ve had this since—’

‘I’m puffed out from cycling,’ I said, short-circuiting one of Barbara’s interminable stories. ‘Any chance of a cuppa?’

‘Not now, Vicky dear. I was just about to take a nap.’

This was a first. Since when had she passed up an opportunity for gossip?

I noticed Barbara’s right foot was heavily bandaged. ‘Oh, how thoughtless of me!’ I exclaimed. ‘Let me help you inside.’

‘Dr Jolly was a little rough,’ she said, shifting her weight and wincing with pain. ‘Leave the bike against the wall, would you? Thank you for coming. Bye, dear.’ She turned, as if to disappear into the house.

‘Wait!’ I said. ‘I’m stuck in a love triangle with Topaz and Dave Randall and don’t know what to do.’

Barbara swung around, her face alive with curiosity. ‘A love triangle?’

‘I desperately need your advice.’

Clearly torn, she asked, ‘Can it wait until tomorrow?’

‘In fact, I’m so upset, I think I’m going to faint.’ I began to sway from side to side and deliberately dropped the bicycle to the ground.

Barbara darted forward and grasped the handlebars, giving me a chance to duck under her arm and race inside.

Like most terraced houses of the period, the front door opened directly into the living room with a tiny kitchen and bathroom beyond. To the right, a staircase led upstairs to the bedrooms above.

I was immediately drawn to the gateleg table on my left, piled high with scraps of material and an open needlework box. There, devoid of his battledress, lay a naked GI Joe doll wearing an eye patch and smoking a pipe.
Bloody hell!
How blatant can Barbara get! No wonder she tried to stop me coming in.

‘It’s for the window display,’ Barbara said, wheeling her bicycle indoors. ‘I’m going to make a little suit. What do you think?’

Her attitude towards these killer dolls took my breath away. It was as if we were discussing knitting patterns. ‘It certainly looks like Wilf,’ I said, wondering what our editor had done to deserve such treatment.

A loud crash sounded above our heads, followed by a string of expletives ending in ‘Bollocks!’

We both froze. Barbara had company.

‘You’d better leave, dear.’ She looked nervous.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs, and I came face-to-face with the man with the shaved head and handlebar moustache. My heart practically stopped. Any doubts as to Barbara’s coven connection vanished.

‘Freddy?’ Barbara stammered. ‘This is Vicky. We work together.’

‘Hullo,’ I said.

Freddy just scowled. Dressed in dirty jeans and sleeveless T-shirt, Freddy had a naked woman tattooed on his upper right arm –
SADIE
. Up close, he was even more intimidating.

‘Freddy is my nephew.’
Nephew? Nice one, Barbara
.

‘Where the hell did that come from?’ Freddy declared, catching sight of Barbara’s bicycle.

‘Vicky found it at The Three Tuns.’

‘The Three Tuns.’ Freddy’s eyes bored into mine. ‘Fancy that.’

My stomach was churning. He was no fool. ‘Well, I’d best be off,’ I said quickly. I’d have to ask about the coven another time.

‘Why don’t you stay for a cuppa?’ Freddy said. ‘You can help me make it.’ It was a command, not a request.

Barbara sat down heavily in the armchair, her face creased with worry. No doubt wondering if he would betray her.

I trooped after Freddy into the kitchen. He shut the door and whirled round, pinning me against the wall. ‘What the hell is your game?’ he snarled.

‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘You think I’m
blind
?’ Freddy said, jabbing his finger into my shoulder. ‘It was
you
in the woods last night! Give me the camera. I want those photographs.’

‘You must be confused. It was Annabel Lake,’ I said, crossing my fingers behind my back.

‘Aunt Babs told me this morning that Annabel Lake was in the hospital,’ he snapped. ‘
You
hot-wired that car.’

‘Oh
that
!’ I said wildly. ‘Annabel said I could borrow it. I had a tryst with Dave Randall and, on my way back to the car, heard all the commotion. I suppose I panicked.’

‘And stole my aunt’s bicycle.’ Freddy glowered.

‘I thought she’d get a lift home,’ I said.

‘Aunt Babs has
nothing
to do with this,’ Freddy declared, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘And don’t you tell her or else you’ll be sorry.’

It seemed rather odd for a grown man to be afraid of his aged aunt. Unless . . . in a flash I suddenly knew where I’d seen Freddy’s face before. It was on the wall of Gipping police station:
WANTED FOR FAILURE TO APPEAR IN COURT, DRIVING WITHOUT A LICENCE
– hence the bicycle –
AND DISTURBING THE PEACE
.

Freddy was on the run.

‘Does your aunt know you’re a wanted man?’ I said casually.

Freddy stepped back, shocked. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Let’s make a deal,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you tell me all about your little group, and I’ll keep your secret.’

‘You’re wasting your time,’ Freddy said. ‘That lot couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery. They’re amateurs.’

I didn’t believe him for a minute.

‘Are you two all right in there?’ Barbara called out.

‘Be right out in a few!’ Freddy yelled. He stomped over to the countertop and put the kettle on the stove.

‘At least give me some names,’ I said. I retrieved my notebook from my pocket and took out my pencil. ‘Who’s Barry?’

‘Only met him once before.’ Freddy shrugged. ‘Runs the organic Pick-Your-Own Farm Shop over on Pennymoor.’

‘And the others?’

‘Don’t know and don’t really care,’ Freddy said. ‘I only joined for a laugh.’
A laugh?
Freddy might appear tough, but he had no idea what he was up against.

‘Look, we know for a fact Lady Trewallyn is involved,’ I said.

Freddy gave me a strange look. ‘Of course she is.’

‘I need some help.’ I knew I was breaking one of Dad’s rules, but time was running out. Pulling my wallet out of my jeans pocket, I looked inside. ‘This is all I’ve got.’ I handed him a five pound note. ‘I don’t get an expense account.’

Freddy snatched it. ‘Barry told us old Rawlings had been after her assets for months. Even offered her a ton of money. Then, suddenly, she drops him like a hot potato. Typical woman.’

This was interesting. Rawlings had wanted to join the coven, too, but Lady Trewallyn had refused. Why?

‘Can you get a photograph of her in action?’

Freddy laughed. ‘She’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘One of my mates runs a car service,’ Freddy said. ‘He took her to Heathrow Airport.’

Damn!
Not the answer I was hoping for and definitely not worth five pounds.

The kettle began to whistle on the stove. ‘Pass the tea bags, will you?’ Freddy said.

Catching sight of the kitchen clock, I realized hospital visiting hours would soon be over if I didn’t get a move on. ‘Thanks, but no thanks for the tea. If you hear anything, call me.’

Leaving Freddy in the kitchen, I went to bid Barbara goodbye but found her fast asleep in the armchair, snoring gently. I was so glad she wasn’t involved.

Operating the coven under the guise of the Eco-Warriors was sheer genius. What’s more, someone had warned Lady Trewallyn I was hot on her trail. Yet there was still the unanswered question. Who killed Sir Hugh – and, why?

I
set off for Gipping Hospital with Annabel’s BMW keys and even stopped at Tesco to buy her a bunch of grapes and box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray chocolates. Knowing I would be the harbinger of disappointing news, I thought it might help soften the blow.

A male nurse with a pierced eyebrow, dressed in green hospital scrubs, directed me to the patient common room overlooking a neglected walled garden.

Annabel was the youngest of several elderly patients by about fifty years. She sat by the window in a wheelchair engaged in animated conversation on a two-way radio. She wore a peacock blue silk robe embroidered with dragons. I half expected her leg to be in a cast but only her ankle was lightly bandaged.
All that fuss for a sprain!

Annabel waved me over, finishing her conversation with an affected, ‘Roger, I read you. Over and out.’

‘I brought your car keys and some treats,’ I said.

‘Leave them there.’ Annabel gestured to a plastic side table next to a very uncomfortable-looking upright chair.

I did as I was told and sat down.

‘What happened to your face?’ she asked.

‘I walked into a door.’

‘You should look where you’re going,’ Annabel said. ‘Thank God I’ve got this radio. Belongs to one of Pete’s kids so he can keep me up-to-date with news.’

‘How are you?’

‘Fine, until I saw
this
.’ She picked up today’s copy of the
Plymouth Bugle
. ‘I see you missed a hot story.’

I took the newspaper and gasped with dismay. Splashed over the tackiest tabloid ever were the headlines:

GIPPING BLACK WIDOW!

LADY BY DAY, TRAMP BY NIGHT:
SORDID SECRETS OF KANDI KANE

‘I LOVED HER,’
SAYS BROKENHEARTED PIMP IN PORSCHE

Naturally there was a photograph of Chester in sunglasses looking forlornly off-camera. There was even a full-length snap of Lady Trewallyn in full showgirl regalia, complete with a towering sequined headdress and exposing plenty of naked flesh.

It turned out that Chester Forbes and Kandi Kane had been running a scam for years. He’d earmark wealthy, elderly pensioners for Katherine to seduce; marriage would be brief – thanks to her sexual appetite – and they’d split the proceeds. Only this time, it seemed, she had genuinely fallen in love.

‘Pete is furious. I
knew
I should have gone to the church.’ Annabel clicked her tongue with disapproval. ‘Instinct, Vicky, instinct! I would have spotted there was something fishy about him a mile off and, of course, I always guessed she was an imposter.’

Blast Annabel! Blast Pete! Blast Chester!

‘She’s done a bunk, of course,’ Annabel went on. ‘Mrs Evans told me. Eloped with old Sharpe to live in Spain.’

So much for Mrs Evans being
my
informer.

‘Oh, and Ronnie Binns’s little chicken sensation is on page eleven,’ Annabel said. ‘Instinct, Vicky! I told you his story was not for us.’

I turned to page eleven.

ALIEN CHICKENS!

A GARBOLOGIST’S NIGHTMARE!

A photograph of Ronnie in his waders looking scared was accompanied by a close-up of what looked more like E.T. than a chicken. Ah! The wonders of Adobe Photoshop, I thought. It certainly explained Ronnie’s convenient attack of amnesia. But I wasn’t fazed. Annabel could think what she liked, but I knew better.

Annabel grabbed the bag of grapes, fastidiously pecked at a few, and put them back on the table. ‘I don’t like pips.’

‘When can you be discharged?’ I asked.

‘I have a slight concussion, and they won’t let me out unless I stay with a friend. Oh . . .’ Annabel’s scowl changed to a sugary smile. ‘Vicky, I wondered—’