No Cooperation from the Cat (18 page)

Others?
There went the alarm bells.

“—work in the living room. We’ll keep out from underfoot, stick to our own territory, and all will work out smoothly.”

Evangeline sniffed, believing that no more than I did.

And what of poor Jocasta? She’d be ricocheting between the two factions, taking the heat from both sides. They weren’t going to be satisfied until they’d given that poor girl a nervous breakdown.

Evangeline and I consulted each other silently. Any objections from us might make the situation worse for Jocasta. Besides, we would hate to miss any of the action.

“You’ll have to tell Jocasta yourself.” I took the coward’s way out.

“She’ll already know,” he said breezily. “We had a long talk with her principals yesterday. They’ll have been on to her by now with the good old stick-and-carrot routine. Repercussions if she doesn’t, a promotion if she does. She’ll come round.”

As though on cue—could she have been listening behind the door?—Jocasta appeared. Red-rimmed eyes downcast, head bowed, looking beaten but not quite broken.

My heart went out to her. She was obviously going to try to make the best of a bad situation. I wished her luck.

“There you are—” Tom greeted her. “Just clear this table and the counter so I can set up.”

“You might let her have a cup of coffee first,” I protested.

“Plenty of time for that when the others get here,” he responded. “We want to be ready to roll. After all,” he had noticed my frown, “the sooner we’re finished, the sooner we’ll be out of here.”

“And how soon will that be?” Evangeline challenged.

“… I’ll do my best.” But the pause had been revealing. “It isn’t entirely up to me, you know.”

“Isolde!” Both Evangeline and I realised it at the same moment. “She’s coming here. Today.”

“Well, she
is
the food stylist.” He shrugged.

I wasted a few precious seconds agonising as to whether it would be better for her to arrive before or after Martha, then common sense broke through and I rushed for the telephone. Perhaps I could reach Martha in time to put her off. Tell her we weren’t feeling well, or something.

But I couldn’t get through. No answer at home and she’d obviously turned off her cell phone. She’d be on her way.

“Too late,” I told Evangeline, hanging up.

“Some days are like that.”

“But why do
we
have to have so many of them?”

“What time are you expecting her?” Evangeline demanded of Tom.

“Um … they should be along any minute now.” I gathered his constant use of the plural was his way of breaking the bad news delicately.

“
They?
” It wasn’t going to work. “What
they
?
Who
they?”

This time Evangeline caught him up on it. “How many food stylists do you need for one little shoot?”

“Edytha and Valeria aren’t stylists—nothing to do with food. They’ll be helping Banquo with the book.”

“I thought Jocasta was going to do that.”

“She is, but it can take more than one. Banquo’s handwriting leaves something to be desired—like legibility. Sometimes he can’t even read it himself.”

Jocasta had gone very quiet, spreading a pale blue cloth on the table, setting out a colourful selection of crockery and accessories, so self-effacing it was only too easy to forget she was there at all.

“Banquo is coming today, too?” Now she spoke with her first trace of animation.

“He’ll be along with his Three Graces.” Tom seemed barely to refrain from grimacing. “Mick will be driving them over.”

So there was a dangerous chance they might collide with Martha in the ground floor entrance lobby. Ordinarily, I’d back Martha, but this time she’d be outnumbered four-to-one. Perhaps I should go downstairs and …

The downstairs buzzer sounded. I checked the video-scan. They’d arrived. Resignedly, I pushed the lock release to let them in and stood watching the screen anxiously to make sure Martha was nowhere in sight.

She wasn’t. Not yet. Thank heaven for small mercies. Now, if we could get them sorted into different parts of the flat before she did arrive—and realised how many of them were here …

Our own bell pealed.

“I’ll do the honours.” Tom went to answer the door. “They’ll have equipment with them. At least, Isolde will. I’ll help them unload it.”

“Where’s Cho-Cho? If they need to leave the door open, she might run out. Oh, there she is.” I caught her up and retreated to my bedroom with her.

“I think I can feel one of my headaches coming on.” Evangeline also was beating a strategic retreat. We had no intention of standing around where we might be mistaken for some kind of welcoming committee.

I settled in the armchair with my book, Cho-Cho curled in my lap, and tried to ignore the thumps and crashes sounding in the kitchen. What on earth were they doing, building a set? So it wasn’t until a sudden lull in the noise that I noticed a lighter tapping, as of someone kicking delicately at the connecting door.

Shifting Cho-Cho to the arm of the chair, I got up and opened the door. Evangeline sailed through, a brimming champagne flute in each hand. Bubbles rose from the sugar cubes in the bottoms of the glasses.

Champagne cocktails—I recognised one of Evangeline’s favourite crisis remedies. A sugar cube sprinkled with a few drops of Angostura bitters, liberally covered with brandy, the whole topped up with chilled champagne.

Champagne cocktails—at this hour! I spent about three seconds considering being scandalised, then reached gratefully for the flute Evangeline held out to me.

At this point, why not? The whole day was out of control anyway. We clinked glasses and took a big swallow.

“Plenty more,” Evangeline said. “I opened a whole bottle.”

Before I could reply, I heard a familiar battle cry from outside and the door burst open.

“Mother!” Martha stormed in. “Mother—what is that terrible woman doing here?”

Evangeline set down her glass and slipped back into her own room.

“Which terrible woman?” I asked.

“That—that—” Martha choked and fought for breath.

I took another calming sip and thought how wise it had been of Evangeline not to bother with half bottles.

“That awful frightful woman from Brighton!”

“Brighton?” I echoed blankly.

Evangeline returned in record time with another champagne cocktail which she thrust into Martha’s unresisting hand.

“What did she say to you? What did she want?”

“Who, dear?” I took a deeper sip of my own. “I haven’t seen any strange women today, from Brighton or not.” It was true. I’d taken good care to avoid all those terrible women. But weren’t they—or at least one of them—from Glastonbury, not Brighton?

“That ghastly woman from the theatre. Ella, Nella, something like that. She was prowling around the dock where you discovered the body. It’s too much!”

“Frella,” I said. “Frella Boynton.” The not-so-grieving widow, I would bet.

“Yes, that’s it.” Martha looked down at her hand and realised what she was holding. “Champagne cocktails—at this hour!”

“Just drink it, dear,” I advised. “It’s going to be a long day.”

“Is she coming up here?” Evangeline went straight to the pending problem.

“I thought she’d already been here. When she saw me watching her, she got into her car and drove away.”

Evangeline relaxed and so did I. I took another sip of my own drink, aware that a blissful smile was creeping over my face—and not just because of the champagne.

For the first time, it had occurred to me that someone else had an even better motive for wanting to be rid of Teddy than I had.

Chapter Nineteen

There was a resounding crash from the kitchen. The wall shook. Once again, I wondered how sturdily this place was built. In the last few days, I had lost any confidence I might ever have had in the competence of architects and builders.

“What on earth?” Martha swung around to face the trembling wall.

“Umm, didn’t you see anything when you came through the kitchen, dear?” If she’d seen Isolde, she wouldn’t be so calm. But what about Jocasta?

“No, the place was empty. I though Jocasta might be in here with you. Oh, yes—there was a strange pile of junk in one corner. I thought it might have something to do with Nigel; it must have toppled over.” She started for the door.

“Umm, dear—” I followed her. I could hear voices now.

“Nigel left a while ago,” Evangeline said. “And there wasn’t any junk there then.”

Just short of the door, Martha stopped and peered closely at the wall. “Was that crack always there?”

“I’ve never noticed it before.” Evangeline frowned.

Oh, fine! I forced myself to inspect it. It was a hairline crack, but it was there. More ammunition for Jasper to use to help speed our eviction.

“We’d better check the other side.” Martha led the way, with Evangeline right behind her. I lagged back, fighting the awful feeling that I’d rather not know.

“What on earth is
that
? And what is it doing here?” Martha stared down at the large pile of junk against the wall. The chipped and flaking wall.

Cho-Cho advanced and sniffed cautiously at a jumble of straps on the floor. It looked like some sort of harness, much too big for her, but she was taking no chances. She backed away and, uttering a loud complaint, darted for the safety of my room.

“It looks like a runner.” Evangeline bent to examine a wickedly glittering thin narrow strip of steel. It had certainly run down the hall, leaving a scar.

“Runner?” Martha stared at the thing blankly.

“As in sled—” Evangeline met my eyes grimly and I winced. This was worse than I had anticipated—and I hadn’t been Little Mary Sunshine about the whole deal to begin with.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Martha snapped. “What would a sled be doing here? And what’s all
this
clutter?” Martha turned to survey the table. “Where did all the ghastly peasant pottery come from?”

Well she might ask. Martha was a porcelain addict through and through. She wouldn’t allow such tat in her house.

“Yes, look at that stuff.” Evangeline, ever ready to fan the flames, picked up a leering cow that was masquerading as some sort of casserole. “Quite revolting, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is!” Martha snapped. “What is it doing here?”

Evangeline turned her attention back to the cracked wall. She wasn’t going to answer that one.

“Mother!” Martha’s eyes widened in horror. “Do you suppose Jasper has succeeded in selling the flat out from under you? And the buyers are moving in already? Without even waiting for you to leave?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s that bad, dear.” I was immoderately cheered. Martha had come up with a scenario that was even worse than the actual situation.

“He won’t get away with it! ”Martha raged. “I’ll— What’s that?”

“That” sounded like the invaders—as I was beginning to think of them—returning, with another load of equipment, to judge from the crash we had just heard.

Slowly, clumsily, inexorably, they were heading this way. I closed my eyes and waited for the explosion.

“Don’t be such a baby, Trixie!” Evangeline’s thump on my back opened my eyes as it sent me reeling forward. I managed to stop myself before I collided with Martha, who was barring the way out of the kitchen.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Martha thundered.

I couldn’t see beyond her, but there was a crash as they obviously dropped whatever they were carrying. Nastily, I hoped it was all fragile and highly breakable.

“You again!”

Uh-oh. Martha had spotted Isolde lurking behind Mick and the unidentifiable pile of stuff he was carrying.

“Dear—” I put a gentle hand on her arm, trying to hold her back from something impetuous.

“All of you!” She shook off my hand. Sure enough, all three of the gruesome Graces were gathered behind him, advancing en masse like a tornado or some other unstoppable force of nature.

“Please—” a small voice pleaded at the back of the crowd. “Let me through … please…”

Reluctantly, some of them shifted and Jocasta stumbled free, tenderly cradling a small pile of tatty notebooks.

“Jocasta! Did you—!” Martha began.

“Right! Cool it!” Mick dropped his burden and strode forward. “This deal is done and dusted,” he informed Martha. “You have nothing to say about it.”

“That’s what you—”

“Tom and Isolde are doing the photographs here in the kitchen. The others are working on the notebooks in the living room. I’ll be going back and forth between the two groups. So will Jocasta. The sooner you shut up and let us get on with it, the sooner you’ll be rid of us. If you don’t like it, you can get out!”

“Oh!” Martha hadn’t been told off like that since her early days in grade school. She opened her mouth and shut it several times. I ignored Evangeline, who was trying not to laugh.

“I can see you’re a very good troubleshooter,” I told Mick.

“Women!” he said bitterly. “Nothing but trouble, all of them! They don’t know what they want and when they get it, they try to change it. Give me the frozen wastes every time!” He picked up his clobber again and headed for the living room.

Looking triumphant, Edytha and Valeria followed him. Isolde advanced to the kitchen table and began arranging some of her pottery.

Martha stood there fuming. She was going to recover in a few moments and return to the fray. I knew. I dreaded it.

“Trixie!” Evangeline said. “Have you forgotten? We have to go to the police station today and sign our statements.”

“So we have.” Suddenly, the day seemed a lot brighter. We had a perfectly legitimate reason for getting out of here and leaving the others to fight it out amongst themselves.

*   *   *

After the formalities, which were over surprisingly quickly—could they have been anxious to get rid of us?—Evangeline and I found ourselves back on the pavement with the rest of the day in front of us.

“It looks like rain.” Even as I spoke, the first drops splattered down at our feet.

“What a surprise.” Neither of us had brought an umbrella.