Classic In the Pits--A Jack Colby classic car mystery (28 page)

‘Don't you think it risky?'

‘It's all money coming in, isn't it? The place'll go under without a boost.'

‘I meant risky for Mrs Nelson,' I said drily.

A long silence. ‘Maybe, but so's life, isn't it?'

Perhaps Tim had come to the same conclusion as I had: that if Mike's killer was still around, Boadicea would be put directly in the line of fire, but with the net drawn closer around her. There was another interpretation of the risk to her – that the excitement so soon after her release from hospital could be bad for her recovery, especially with the party being held at Old Herne's where her husband had been murdered.

‘Having it here seems undiplomatic,' I told Tim, but surprisingly he disagreed.

‘There's good reason to have it here. Protection. And besides, you've got to consider the soul of the place. That's why they want it here. Soul. To show Old Herne's is going on. That's what it needs.'

‘Plus a good manager.'

‘Yes.' Tim looked round his beloved hangar. ‘Mike wasn't much of one, was he? If he'd gone on the way he was we'd have gone bust. Mr Arthur knew it, Mr Ray knew it, Mrs Anna, them Howells – and me too. It had to be saved one way or another.'

J
uly passed in low gear, perhaps because I was impatient for that welcome home party to be over and done with and it was fixed for the last Saturday of the month. It still seemed to me the height of madness to gather the staff and family to welcome Boadicea home when one of them could have been responsible for her attempted murder and probably Mike's death too.

Brandon more or less admitted that the hunt for Mike's killer had stalled. The trace evidence on which he'd placed so much faith had produced no clear path and without new input was likely to remain that way. Alibis presented the same problem – no clear path. Those closest to Mike had known-whereabouts for most of the vital period but in view of the crowds milling around at Swoosh none of them could be pinned down to the
whole
period.

I, too, felt I'd stalled. I rarely saw Jessica – it always seemed to be: ‘Sorry, Jack, far too much to do – next week, I promise you.' Zoe had taken a week or two off. Len was here (his idea of a week off is to come in on mornings only) but was so preoccupied with a new baby to admire – a Lancia Fulvia under attack from rust – that he was one hundred per cent in dreamcarland.

July hosts the beginning of the so-called dog days, the hottest days of the year (if we're lucky) when the sun beats strongly, the wind drops and everything is still, as there's no wind to drive one's sails.

I felt just like that now though there was precious little heat in the sun. But I was becalmed. No word from Dave – save that he declared he would pop in on the welcome home day, and Brandon had told me he would be there. Not, obviously, to cheer Boadicea back, but in her interests. Altogether the festive day was beginning to take on the air of Armageddon rather than a summer party.

I paid a couple of visits to Old Herne's but was no further forward. It was like a disturbed ants' nest – everyone rushing around and doubtless doing their own jobs but looking like chaos to an outsider like me. Glenn and Jessica seemed the best of friends, Fenella seemed to be doing her best not to take over Jessica's job, and Tim was in a perpetual sulk because cars and hangars were not going to be the feature of the day. I could persuade no one to stop and explain what this great day was going to involve.

At last, a week before the event, I managed to buttonhole Jason.

He grinned. ‘Arthur told me Anna was to have whatever she
really
wanted.'

‘Old Herne's?' I asked.

He answered me seriously. ‘No. Anna doesn't care two hoots about the place. She wants a childhood.'

‘So I gathered, but how do you give her that? A visit to the seaside?'

‘What do kids like, apart from mobiles and computers? Playing with animals, fairgrounds, clowns, all of that stuff.'

‘You're turning Old Herne's into a children's paradise?' If so, no wonder Tim was sulking. It seemed a crazy idea. Boadicea had had a tough time, and as Mike's widow a duty of care towards her was certainly in order, but to this extent? Billionaire or not, Arthur was pushing the boat out. And then it struck me that this could be one big throw of the dice in the hope of moving his main objective forward: finding out who had killed his son.

‘That's the idea. Only for the day,' Jason added reassuringly. ‘It'll be fun. It'll be fifties Dodgems, ghost trains, Punch and Judy – all the things she missed as a child. I can just see you riding a carousel horse, Jack. I'm looking forward to it. We're calling it Whoosh by the way.'

‘Open to the public?'

‘By invitation only. You'll come, of course.'

‘Thanks.' I was torn. I had to be there. I loved fairs, but this one was going to be work too, as far as I could see. ‘What about Anna herself, Jason? Somebody has tried to kill her once, and someone did kill your father. They could well strike again.'

‘They could anywhere, anytime,' he replied seriously. ‘And at Old Herne's she can be guarded.'

‘Brandon said he'll be there.'

‘That means one man, maybe two, Jack. I'll have more than that around on guard.'

Against who or what though? Can guards guard against the unexpected, which was what we would be dealing with in this case? Reason told me that no one would choose a public place like Whoosh; much better to leave the strike until Boadicea was at High House and vulnerable. Reason didn't have it all its own way, however. The ‘what if' factor kept breaking in. What if someone was determined to make a point? Welcome Home Day would be ideal.

What point though? Old Herne's must come into the picture, either for its monetary value or its heritage. ‘Vaulting ambition', as Shakespeare termed it, has led to many a murder in the past, and there were too many gloating eyes fixed on Old Herne's to ignore its possible importance in this case. I thought of President Kennedy's famous speech: ‘Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.' Substitute Old Herne's for country and how many of those at Whoosh would forget self? Was that even possible in today's world? I wondered. It comes down to choice for us all. I'd made a choice in turning my back on the oil trade in favour of Frogs Hill, classic cars and little money. Arthur, Jason and Tim would go to the battlefield for the coming Armageddon on Old Herne's behalf.

I consoled myself that Whoosh might have its lighter side, confirmed by a phone call from Liz asking what this crazy Whoosh day was all about.

‘Jessica says she's hired me a dress,' she wailed, when I explained.

‘What on earth for?'

‘Jason's giving some kind of performance and wants me as a partner. Fine, but I've got to dance with him too.
Dance
and a
dress
, Jack. Me! Can you imagine?'

I couldn't. Liz and skirts were strangers. And as for dancing – forget it. ‘What sort of dance and dress?' I enquired.

‘Get this. In a pantomime. He's Harlequin and I'm
Columbine.
Ugh. I'll look like a tarted up fairy queen. Could I wear my jeans underneath?'

‘No,' I said firmly. ‘You can't dance in jeans.'

‘I can't dance anyway. I'm a singer.'

‘Is Colin going?'

A pause. ‘I'm afraid Jason has cast him as Clown.'

I hadn't laughed out loud for some time, but did so now. It was only when I rang off that I remembered that pantomimes included villains.

Should I take the Lagonda? I was still dithering over this vital matter when Armageddon in the form of Whoosh arrived. No, the Lagonda was for sheer pleasure. The Alfa? No. Whoosh was no ordinary working day. I settled for the Gordon-Keeble again, the nearest in age to the fifties theme of the day and, as a grand tourer, more suitable to face Armageddon. I felt comfortable in it as I slid into the seat. The Gordon-Keeble and I knew adversity, and could face anything – or so it seemed as I set out. I was on my own because Len and Zoe were driving to Old Herne's with their respective partners again.

I'd seen nothing of Old Herne's since my conversation with Jason, so I was unprepared for the extent of the transformation when I reached it. For starters, the car park was presided over by human pixies and humans in jolly animal outfits. Jolly little squirrels and monkeys and owls peered down from the surrounding trees – stuffed ones, not human. The Gordon-Keeble and I had arrived just after Len, who gazed in severe disapproval at the jollification around him.

‘Don't know what Tim's making of this lot,' he muttered.

I could guess, but ‘this lot' proved nothing compared with what awaited us at Whoosh itself. It was like walking into the Land of Oz. It looked like Disneyland competing with an English fairground, and there were hordes of people here to enjoy it, despite its being by invitation only. The grand opening was to be at twelve noon, less than half an hour away, which just gave me the time for a speedy reconnaissance. Before my amazed eyes, I saw swings, carousel, coconut shy, Punch and Judy, a Haunted House, dodgems, tame animals roaming around through the crowd and plenty more. Looking towards the track, I could glimpse what just might be ponies. Tim must be apoplectic. Somewhere, however, I could hear one of those Laughing Sailor automata which to me had always struck a sinister note, and I had my first shiver of the day.

Had Jason had a hand in choosing all these attractions – for want of a better word – or were they Boadicea's choice? I suspected Jason, for Whoosh held the spirit of Nightmare Abbey, the fun with the dark carefully hidden behind. My imagination? Or perhaps it was intentional. I passed the Punch and Judy stand which looked, from the already attached gallows, as if it was going to present the traditional Punch rather than the modern softened down version. Of course it would be in its original form, I realized, because that's how it would have been when Boadicea was a child. Of course the Laughing Sailor would be cackling his head off. Of course there would be screams of fright and fear from the Haunted House. Fear was part of growing up, provided good triumphed. As I fervently hoped it would do today. But if Boadicea knew who had killed Mike and perhaps held a vital clue …

I stopped this train of thought. I had to remain alert, and detached observation was best for that.

A small stage had been erected for the opening ceremony just outside the clubhouse, and Arthur and Jason duly led Boadicea out at twelve o'clock with Peter wheeling Ray behind them. Boadicea looked pale; she was wearing cream which didn't help her looks but showed the ordeal she had come through. She looked round at us all, but did not seem to be taking much in during Arthur's short speech of welcome. Her gaze returned to the delights all around her, but she did manage a: ‘Thank you,' in a low voice, before spotting something more interesting – a tame deer trotting past the stand.

‘Bambi!' she cried out.

It caused a general sympathetic laugh, but Boadicea took no notice. She threw off Arthur's arm, stepped down from the dais, and went over to the deer, crooning to it, until Jason took her arm and led a procession round the treats in store for her. I followed, watching as she went from delight to delight, taking no notice of anyone.

Where, I wondered, could an attack take place? The carousel? The Haunted House? The latter was an obvious possibility, although it would be difficult for the assailant to set it up. He'd have to hide himself (or the bomb?) inside the house. I seized the chance to have a word with Jason, when Boadicea exchanged escorts.

‘Is she up to this?' I asked.

‘No, but she's insisted,' he replied. ‘Wants to try everything, and why not?'

I couldn't think of any rational reason, but I was on edge. It was beginning to feel like a replay of the Nightmare Abbey false alarm, and I remembered how that night had ended. ‘You do know the guards?'

‘Yes.' He grinned reassuringly. ‘It won't happen, Jack.'

I only hoped he was right, but couldn't believe that. Or were these just bogeys of my own? Whom should she trust? Whom should she fear?

Sure enough, Boadicea headed for the Haunted House, and I could see Jason and Peter arguing about who should go with her in the little train that ran on a track through the house. The train was divided into boxed compartments, and Jason won the argument by jumping into the leading box beside Boadicea. Peter promptly jumped into the second. I was relieved to see that, even though I was uneasy. With the two of them there, one could not act – but perhaps I was wrong. On tenterhooks, I listened from outside to the shrieks as unexpected skeletons must have loomed up or ghostly figures drifted by the passengers. I only hoped none of them held an unghostly knife. The tension level rose until at last it sank as the train appeared again with Boadicea in fine form, laughing in genuine pleasure. I noticed Peter wasn't laughing, however, as he grimly held on to Boadicea's arm after they'd disembarked from the train.

Jason came over to me. ‘See, Jack? Nothing to worry about,' he said, with a touch of mockery.

Wrong. There was plenty to worry about, and the funfair had only just begun.

Jessica had told me there would be a longish break for a lunch to which she was invited. I was not, which was frustrating, even though I had no formal responsibility for Boadicea. It was hard to see how anyone could attack Boadicea at the lunch table, but nevertheless it was possible. Did she have a poison taster …? There was nothing I could do, so feeling like a spare wheel, I went to the outside café to get something to eat. Jenny Ansty was there, which was welcome.

‘Ah. Just like me, excluded from the Top Table, I see,' she greeted me cheerfully as I walked by her table with my tray of food. ‘Come and join me.'