Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery (23 page)

The heat in the latte did nothing to counteract the chill that crept over her skin. She watched the hairs on her arms lift up. Suddenly every detail seemed distinct: the veins on the backs of her hands, like a pale blue-green road map; the freckles that spotted her skin. And as her eyes focused in, then out again, Flora saw the glaring fact that had been missing from the picture all along.

Someone was following her for one simple reason: she was on to them.

***

‘I’m sorry, Dad. I know I’m letting you down here. But I’m pretty sure if you were still around you’d be just as curious as I am.’

Flora smiled up at the photograph on the noticeboard then wiped her eyes on her sleeve. The truth of what she’d said lifted her heart a little – hadn’t Peter and Kitty brought her up to be fascinated by people, inquiring and interested, determined to look deeper than surface explanations, no matter what the situation?

Sometimes she’d been interested to the point of being irritating, of course. A memory made her smile again: herself aged eleven, trying to solve the “mystery” of the strange noises that came from her parents’ bedroom on a Saturday night. She’d been so sure it was a ghost she’d spent hours at the library trying to trace the history of their house on Windmill Lane. Maybe an old mill worker, cut down in his prime, was trying to speak to the living?

She’d driven her parents crazy with questions. Not content with the explanation offered – extra-loud snoring – she’d stayed awake one night and crept in, torch in hand, to find out for herself.

‘That made for an interesting conversation, didn’t it?’ she said to the photo. Her dad stared down at her, his proud gaze fixed forever.

The computer fired up, slow and clunky. Flora filled the kettle while she waited, too edgy to sit for long. The past twenty-four hours had seemed interminable – she’d been worrying at the Captain situation from all angles and sorely needed to find a resolution.

Fact: she’d made a bit of a nuisance of herself after the Captain’s death and someone – either at the Maples or connected with someone there – must have overheard. Fact: someone had been following her, almost certainly trying to find out what she knew. And if that was the case, there must have been something suspicious about the Captain’s death after all.

Fact: if she was on to them, and they – whoever
they
were – knew it, then she may well be in danger too.

In the middle of another disturbed night, Flora had started to wonder about the Six Wishes Foundation. Wasn’t that the only thing that linked the Captain and Ida
and
Mr Vasco? Two deaths and a dodgy solicitor – there had to be something there. A clue. The rest of the night she’d held Otto tightly, sleeping in fitful snatches, dreaming of dogs tangled up in a never-ending string of bright red liquorice that moved on its own and grew tighter and tighter every time the poor beasts struggled.

Marshall broke her reverie with a cheerful, ‘Hey, there,’ and a request for coffee.

‘There isn’t any.’ Flora held out the canister to show him. ‘Someone’s emptied it and didn’t bother to get any more. Typical.’

‘Well, it wasn’t me. What’s eating you today? Oscar keep you up again?’

‘It’s Otto, okay? Is it so hard for you to remember a simple name? Got too much on your mind have you? Like secret assignations with our rival and nemesis.’

‘They’re only our nemesis if they actually manage to bring us down, Flora.’ Marshall smiled and threw himself into a chair, spreading his hands wide. ‘Last time I looked, we’re still here.’ He was back in his usual combo of worn jeans and college T-shirt but somehow he seemed better put together than usual. Flora inspected him surreptitiously from the other side of the room. He’d had a haircut. And his pale green T-shirt looked freshly washed and possibly even ironed. Then she noticed his shoes: black and white Converse. She smiled.

‘Got a date later?’

He pulled a puzzled face. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Nothing.’ Flora laughed and sat down at her desk. The computer was fully operational now, flashing messages about viruses and updates and emails waiting to be read. She ignored them and pulled up Google. Typed
Six Wishes Foundation
into the search box and hit enter.

‘That’s so weird.’

‘Huh?’

‘Come and look at this.’

Marshall rounded the desk and leaned over her. She could smell his natural scent of heat and something spicy, with faint notes of cologne on top. Definitely a date. She felt his chest pressing against her shoulder and shifted away.

‘“The Six Wishes Foundation”,’ Marshall read. ‘Isn’t that the charity you said the Captain left all his money to?’

Flora nodded. She pointed at the screen. ‘But it doesn’t say anything here about servicemen and women.’

‘Should it?’

‘That’s what I overheard. When Vasco was talking after he’d read the will he called it the “Six Wishes Foundation for ex-servicemen and women”. But hold on.’ She clicked on the menu then shook her head. ‘No, nothing. Marshall, this is really weird.’

He turned around and sat on the desk. ‘Go on.’

‘Okay. This is the charity that Ida – the old lady who died at the Maples at Christmas, remember? – this is who she left all her money to, right? But Joy said Ida was a cat lover, and that she’d left it to a charity for sick animals. I remember reading about it. It was in the papers.’ She shook her head again and pulled a face. ‘But I heard Mr Vasco myself, and he was reading directly from the Captain’s will. Ex-servicemen and women, he said. How can it be the same charity?’

‘Search again. Maybe there are two with the same name.’

‘There aren’t. I checked just now. And look, Marshall. There’s nothing on the About page to say what the foundation does. Don’t you think that’s odd?’

Marshall said nothing. He pursed his lips and gazed at the screen. ‘There’s a donate button. Pay through PayPal.’

‘So?’

‘So, if you donated something it would take you through to their merchant account and give you an email address at least.’

Flora raised her eyebrows, impressed. ‘Okay. But I’m only donating a fiver.’

‘You’re all heart.’

Marshall watched while Flora filled out the online form and waited for it to process. She sighed. ‘There’s nothing. Six wishes dot org, that’s it.’

‘Shove over – let me have a look at that website.’

She huffed as Marshall practically sat on her lap, and vacated the chair. ‘What do you think?’ she said, chewing on a nail.

‘I think this strap line – “help make wishes realities” – is so vague it could apply to anything.’ Marshall sat back and looked at her. ‘This Vasco fella – was he Ida’s solicitor too?’

Flora cast back to her conversation with Joy. ‘You know, I’m not sure. I just assumed he was because Joy said this mysterious man in black had visited her on Christmas Eve. Is it better or worse if he was?’

‘No idea. But we should find out.’

‘How?’ Flora looked out of the window for inspiration, but Marshall was tapping away at the keyboard, and then he picked up the phone.

‘What are you doing?’

He tipped his head to the side and winked. Flora sat on the desk and slipped her hands under her thighs.

‘Hi there. Can you hear me okay?’ Marshall spoke into the phone from a distance of about a foot, putting on an American accent totally unlike his own. Flora rolled her eyes, but she leaned in to listen all the same.

‘Is that the Marples care home? Oh, Maples, right. I’m trying to trace my mom’s cousin’s aunt’s grandma – her name is Ida …’ He looked up at Flora and mouthed, ‘Last name?’

‘Smith.’

‘Ida Smith. My mom’s pretty sure she’s been staying in that there care home of yours in – where are you, Shrewsbury?’ He pronounced it Shrew-wus-berry. Flora smiled. What a loon.

‘What are they saying?’ she whispered.

‘Ah. Oh, right. Ah my. Okay, then. And do you have a number for them? Thank ya kindly. Have a nice day, now.’

By the time he ended the call, Flora was shaking her head in despair. ‘Marshall, you are incorrigible. This is serious, you know.’

‘Well, I know that! I was doing my bit for the investigation.’

‘“Have a nice day now.” What are you like? Was it Elizabeth who answered? You’re lucky she didn’t recognise you.’

Marshall’s expression turned serious. ‘Ida Smith, she was very sorry to tell me, died of heart failure on Boxing Day last year. My mom’s cousin’s aunt’s grandma was a very generous lady who donated all her worldly goods to charity, and I have the number of her legal representative right here if I need more information.’

Flora and Marshall stared at the number he’d written down on a scrap of Shakers headed paper. Flora shrugged. ‘Go on then.’

Marshall dialled and held up the phone. They bent their heads together, listening to it ring out. Flora inhaled Marshall’s spruced-up scent again and closed her eyes briefly. A woman answered.

‘Vasco and Co solicitors. How may I help you?’

Flora reached down and pressed the End Call button. She looked at Marshall.

She was close enough to kiss him.

Startled, she jumped away and headed to the opposite side of the room and the empty coffee canister. Where the hell had that thought come from? She was overwrought, was all. All this so-called sleuthing was starting to take its toll on her nerves.

‘You know something? All this – it’s not okay, is it?’

Flora looked over her shoulder and met Marshall’s eyes. For a minute she thought he was talking about them. She shook her head. Because it wasn’t okay. Working together with all this tension and sniping was very far from okay.

But then she realised he was merely voicing his thoughts about the Vasco situation. She berated herself silently then spoke with her back to him.

‘Two residents of the Maples get a visit from a solicitor – who we know is dodgy, or has been dodgy in the past, because Max told us all about him. Both of the residents die within days of his visit. One of them we know made a will – a new will, almost certainly, as it’s reasonable to assume an eighty-nine-year-old man would have made one already at some point in the past – and he made this new will literally the day before he died. And both of them leave everything they own to the same charity.’

‘Which is either supporting sick animals or ex-service people, depending on whose will you happen to be reading,’ Marshall added.

Flora sighed and turned around. ‘What am I missing, Marshall? Or is there nothing here at all? Is it just a coincidence and I’m making too much of it?’

She flicked the kettle on to reboil. Might as well make a cup of tea, although a strong coffee would go down a damn sight better right now.

‘I’m gonna nip out and get us some coffees,’ Marshall said. Flora smiled wryly. Helluva time to start reading her mind.

‘Make mine a double shot,’ she told him. He stopped at the top of the metal stairway and gave her a look.

‘What?
What
?’

‘Nothing. Just don’t go getting your knickers in a twist while I’m gone, okay?’

She made a wafting motion and told him to get lost, then she abandoned the kettle and took up her position at the computer again. Marshall had brought up the Maples’ website to find their number, and Flora moved the cursor to the top of the screen to close the page. But then she stopped. She clicked on the tab that showed the Six Wishes Foundation and stared at it hard. Then, on impulse, she opened another tab and typed “Vasco and Co Solicitors Shrewsbury” into the search box. A single business-card style page opened with the familiar curly V she recognised. She clicked back through them in order, alternating, then randomly. Was she seeing what she thought she was seeing? Or was it just more paranoia?

‘Having fun?’

Flora jumped so high she banged her knees on the underside of the ancient desk. Richie was standing right behind her.

‘You nearly gave me a heart attack! What did you do – levitate up the stairs?’

She turned off the monitor as she stood. Richie had his iPod plugged into his ears as usual, and was nodding his head to a beat Flora thankfully couldn’t hear. She gestured for him to take the headphones out.

‘Richie, where have you been? It’s gone ten o’clock.’

‘We got a job on? I thought that was tomorrow.’

‘It is tomorrow, but you’re a full-time employee. You still need to come into work for the hours we’re paying you for. There might be … other tasks and duties.’

‘Like?’

She wracked her brain but couldn’t come up with a single thing. Which was annoying because she knew damn well there had been loads of stuff that needed doing on down days when her dad had been in charge. She gave Peter Lively’s photo another silent apology. It was no good hiding from it: she really was letting him down.

But then she remembered her conversation with Marshall on Monday and sighed. No point being hard on the kid when they were about to lay him off anyway. And that was definitely a job Marshall could do himself – he wasn’t going to delegate it to her just because it was unpleasant.

The clattering of footsteps on the stairs announced Marshall’s return.

‘Hey, Richie. How’s it going?’ Marshall was carrying three take-out cups, and he handed the spare to their driver. Flora inhaled the delicious aroma and took a grateful sip.

When she looked up again, Marshall was staring at her meaningfully. She stared back and he opened his eyes wide, nodding towards Richie, who was sitting against the far wall, rocking back on his chair. Flora shook her head. She made her face confused and shrugged her shoulders. Marshall rolled his eyes.

‘Richie,’ he said. Flora sat up, interested.

Richie took one earplug out and dropped the chair legs back on the floor with a crash.

‘Shame about the Maples contract. I guess you’ve heard from your aunt, right?’

‘No. Heard what?’

Marshall gave Flora another look, then turned back to Richie. ‘Shakers lost the contract, bro. I thought she’d have told you. Means things are gonna be a bit tight around here for a while.’

Richie shrugged. ‘She never said nothing.’

‘I guess she didn’t realise how it would affect you,’ Flora put in. ‘I’m sure she’d have said something if she did.’