Andrea Frazer - Holmes and Garden 01 - The Curious Case of the Black Swan Song (6 page)

‘Certainly did. They’re having to move me, as the corridor outside my old room is part of the crime scene, so I’ve packed my bags and left them to be relocated. I say, did you have a visit, too?’

‘I did.’ Garden kept it short, as he felt another wave of nausea wash over him.

‘Did you notice the name of one of his DCs? It’s only Moriarty, which is absolutely stupendous don’t you think?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you feeling OK, John H? You seem a little green around the gills,’ Holmes asked with concern, dipping a large slice of bacon into the yolk of his second egg and lifting the loaded spear to his mouth.

‘I’m fine,’ answered Garden curtly, trying to tune out the sound of enthusiastic chewing from the other side of the table. ‘I think I’ll just go outside for a little smoke while you finish up, then we can have a fresh coffee together.

‘No skin off my nose. I’ve already had my first pipe of the day. See you in a minute, old boy,’ replied Holmes, now savagely attacking a perfectly innocent sausage with his admirably sharp knife.

Garden stopped at Reception on the way out, noticing that Pippa was now on duty, and asked if his neighbour could be relocated. The man played the bagpipes, and was perfectly happy to do so in another location, and he knew his room allocation was restrained by him having booked a budget break.

‘Oh, yes, that’ll be Mr Jones. He’s stayed with us before on a few occasions, and he leads quite a nomadic existence, from what I remember. I’ll get him moved. He’s used to it by now,’ Pippa told him, with an impish little grin.

Garden then wandered out to the back of the hotel and lit up in the courtyard, but well away from the bench on which he had sat the previous day, which was taped off anyway – in fact, well away from the walls of the building. If he was under another window, goodness knows what could be thrown out of it and, sure as God made little green apples, it would land on him.

In the long past he would’ve been the fall guy over whom the potties would have been emptied of a morning. Life was like that, he found. The Law of Sod was alive and well and directing his life from the wings.

When he returned, Holmes was just putting down his knife and fork and reaching for his napkin with which to wipe his mouth. ‘Feeling better?’ he asked, from behind a mask of white damask, rather than the paper which he had expected.

‘Much more human,’ replied John H., and passed on the snippet of information that he had gleaned on his way downstairs.

‘So, there will be another gathering of the guild tonight, then?’

‘Definitely.’

‘So we’d better have all our business concluded and be back for that, if we can. I suggest we order another coffee and slip off to the guests’ lounge, and see if we can’t place ourselves, separately, in prime positions for a little bit of eavesdropping. We can pick up newspapers for cover from the reception desk.’

‘Splendid idea,’ replied Garden, who couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t indulge, quite against his will of course, in a little snooze while thus positioned. The residents’ lounge, however, was nearly empty, as the police had taken possession of it, and so the two men decided to see if they could rearrange their appointment with the local estate agent for the morning rather than the afternoon, giving them a little more time to deal with Garden’s mother and the moving of his worldly possessions.

Anna Merrilees did not wake until eight forty-five and, she too awoke feeling fairly normal. It only took a few seconds, however, before a great wave of misery rolled over her. Dear Berkeley was dead.

He was – had been – such an attractive and masculine man and she had had such a soft spot for him. If she’d ever fancied a husband, he would have been her first choice.

Millicent Fitch, also a member of the Ladies’ Guild, awoke with tears on her cheeks. She had dreamed of the man she had, many years ago, had a one-night stand with. Although this had haunted her in her younger years, because behaviour of that sort was not so tolerated then, in her later years she had come to view it as the one romantic spot in her past.

Not that it had been really romantic; more frantic, but memory put a rose-coloured wash over everything, and now her memories were fond ones – most of the time. If only he could have quit his constant womanising with much younger females. She felt he had been making rather a fool of himself at his age, and had been considering having a word in his ear about behaving more like his age and not his shoe size.

Although she had shed real tears the evening before, Agatha Crumpet was more her usual self this morning, and the burning anger she often felt was again ablaze in her breast. When she considered what had happened in the past, Berkeley Bellamy had ruined her life, and she blamed him completely for what happened.

Young girls, at that time, knew little or nothing about stopping babies and, as the older and more experienced man, he should have been prepared to take precautions. He should have thought of the possible consequences of taking advantage of her, and not just laughed when she told him, several weeks later, that she was pregnant.

She knew how experienced he had been, for it had been he who had organised the abortion for her – and paid for it. Her father had been told that she was visiting an old friend, but her mother she had had to confide in, and things had never been the same between them for the rest of her mother’s life.

Her own life was irreparably marred, and she had felt soiled for ever. Never had she got close to another man, feeling only fear, revulsion, and guilt at the very thought, and her tears had been an unexpected reaction to the man’s death.

Casper Staywell lay in his hotel room that morning, exultant at the death of the man who had cuckolded him. He and his wife had stayed at The Black Swan for a few days a couple of years ago and, if he looked back honestly, his marriage had not been the same since.

Now that they were separating, he had finally learnt that she and Bellamy had had a brief fling during their stay, and that they had kept in touch ever since, occasionally meeting up for a bit of rumpy-pumpy. He was shocked and horrified at this information, and had vowed to come back and give the man a bloody nose.

Well, he’d certainly taken the ultimate punishment now and, although he couldn’t tempt his wife to come back to him, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that the man who had ‘taken advantage of’ his wife was dead. May his filthy soul rot in Hell.

Chapter Seven
Still Saturday

Justin Budge, when called on the telephone, said he would be delighted to show them round if they could make it to the office at eleven o’clock, as at half past he had an appointment with a Mrs Hughes from the same hotel, to view various properties. Mr Budge may have seemed free with his information, but this snippet from his agenda for the day was nothing compared to what he had to tackle later: something which was so well under his hat that, if he’d worn a wig, it would have been under that as well.

As it was now a quarter to the hour, the two newly minted detectives returned their newspapers to the reception desk and went outside to walk to the office, both of them lighting up, as they reached the exterior of the building. They were making hay while the sun shone, really, as clouds were slowly but unrelentingly rolling in, and it looked like a return to the previous wet weather so far this summer was on the cards.

‘Wow! That looks just about perfect,’ enthused Garden as he peered through the window, the estate agent not yet having arrived. ‘I wonder what’s at the back and upstairs.’

‘I’m hopeful there may be further office space behind the front office, so we can have a public face and a private face where we can get on with our work in peace,’ replied Holmes, relighting his pipe which had gone out, a frequent occurrence which he dealt with almost unthinkingly.

‘And I could move into the flat,’ squeaked Garden, who was only now realising that he could be about to inspect his future home, ‘and stay with you in the meantime, which was a very generous offer, by the way. Thank you again.’

‘Don’t mention it, old boy. I’ll be glad of the company, if truth be told. Aha! I think I see our chappie just crossing through the flowerbeds,
en route
to us now,’ he concluded, pointing with the stem of his pipe at the figure of a young, fair-haired figure in a dark grey suit, and a smile that was visible even at this distance.

The figure checked momentarily and waved in their direction. ‘Yes, that looks like him,’ confirmed Garden, feeling a flock of butterflies start to flutter their wings in his stomach. This was the beginning of the rest of his life, and it was indescribably exciting as well as daunting.

Once more, a scaly dragon version of his mother reared up in his head and gave a puff of flame but, this time, he imagined himself mounted on a horse and in a suit of armour, sword at the ready. She was not going to win. For the very first time in her life, where he was concerned, she was going to lose the battle – and he’d finally become himself.

Justin Budge jogged over to them, arriving at their side not one whit out of breath, and looking one hundred per cent the fit youngster he was, curse him. He greeted them smoothly – a bit too smoothly – whipped the keys to the kingdom from his jacket pocket, unlocked the door, and invited them to enter their future together.

The inside proved to be everything that the outside had promised them, and there was already a built-in reception counter in place, with room for a small desk and chair behind it. There was also room for a few chairs for anyone who was waiting to be seen. The place was clean, light and airy, and had been well maintained.

Moving through to the back part of the building, there was a good-sized room that stretched most of the way across the width of the front office, with plenty of wall space for filing cabinets.

‘Wow!’ was all Garden could find to say.

‘Superb! Perfect!’ Holmes was also lost for words at the ideal layout of the ground floor.

‘It used to be an estate agent’s office,’ offered Budge with a smirk of superiority, as this business had evidently had to close due to the cataclysmic fall in house prices, and had, therefore, reduced the competition in the town now that business was tentatively on the up again. ‘Would you care to see the upstairs as well? The access is from just beyond the back office. Did you notice the access door to the staircase?’

Neither of them had, so deep had they been pulled into their dream of the future that beckoned them so strongly now, and they followed him up to the first floor. Here was the ideal bachelor or starter flat. It had a small kitchen and shower room, a fair-sized living room and bedroom, and a box room that could be used for occasional guests.

‘There is also access to loft space, although it hasn’t a great deal of headroom, but would do for storage,’ Budge explained further, but he didn’t have to do a hard sell on these two. In fact he didn’t need to do any sort of sell at all. They both thought it was perfect, and Garden was already working out where his furniture would go. ‘Well, what do you think, or would you like me to leave you alone for a few moments so that you can discuss it in private?’

‘Most considerate of you, Mr Budge. We’ll meet you outside in a couple of minutes,’ replied Holmes.

When he had left, the two men broke into enormous grins, and Garden started dancing round the living room, Holmes eventually joining in, although at a more stately level, and with a mite more decorum than Garden’s disco fever. ‘It’s absolutely what I’d have designed myself,’ declared the older man.

‘Mentally, I’ve already moved in. It’s absolutely perfection, and will solve all of my accommodation problems, not to mention how what we use downstairs for will solve my work problems,’ chortled Garden, still prancing around.

‘Let’s just take a glance out of the windows to pass a bit of time, then we’ll go downstairs and tell him we’ll take it. I’ll even offer to go over to his office and sign the papers immediately, then we’ll go and see your mother.’

That soon stopped Garden in his dance of exultation. ‘Stiff upper lip, old man. The sooner you tackle her, the sooner the situation is over with. And you don’t even need to give her your new address which, for a while, will be my address.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ replied Garden, fascinated with the idea that he didn’t even need to tell his mother where he was moving. He’d been so used to answering all her questions with the absolute truth – or nearly always – that he hadn’t even considered withholding information from her to preserve his peaceful existence.

‘You toddle on back to the hotel and I’ll get the lease either signed or drawn up, if it’s not prepared. I’ll join you as soon as I can. I’ll meet you in the bar,’ said Holmes, with a twinkle of anticipation at what the future held in his eyes.

When Holmes left his office after a very satisfactory conclusion of their business together, Justin Budge rubbed his hands together in glee. It wasn’t one of his habitual gestures, but with the thought of his next appointment, it looked like it was going to prove a very propitious and profitable day for him.

Although Josephine Hughes had put it about that she was looking over a house in the local area, she was actually a very wealthy woman indeed, and had her eye on The Black Swan as a new business venture. Having Googled her, Budge had discovered that she was deceptively ruthless in her dealing in acquiring what she wanted, and he had no doubt that she would achieve her goal in this case.

The fact that old man Bellamy was dead only made the situation a great deal more interesting, and he was looking forward to putting up a smoke screen this lunchtime, while planning the preliminary approach to the new owner. In his opinion, The Black Swan was worth a small fortune and was in a suitably ripe position to be plucked by a slick and experienced woman of business.

Tiffany Jakes had turned up for work as usual, but she had been as sick as a dog before she left her humble abode. Her pregnancy was beginning to show, and she had had to wear a looser skirt and a roomier blouse so as not to give the game away.

Berkeley had been almost unbearably cruel when she told him about her delicate position, and had mocked her predicament, but he was dead now and she was carrying his child. She was going to give birth to the natural heir to the hotel, for he or she would inherit as a child of the recently deceased owner and not just a grandchild like the other heir.

Things had suddenly gone in a very good direction, although she had been devastated at first at the father’s reaction to her plight. She had envisaged herself living in her little flatlet, an unmarried mother without the funds for child care and living off benefits, but now she would be the mother of the future owner of The Black Swan, and she would have to be taken care of, as would her child.

Two residents at The Black Swan were also almost dribbling with anticipation at the ownership of the hotel changing. Both Jane Harrison and Niles Carrington had ‘found’ each other the day before and exchanged stories about how their respective families were cheated over property transactions.

Now in alliance, they had determined to hunt down the chiselling git’s granddaughter and find out who inherited upon his death. They would have justice for their families, one way or the other, and this was now the only course open to them.

His granddaughter, having been approached briefly by each of them in turn on the day of her grandfather’s death, had gone into hiding this morning, and was planning to spend some considerable time closeted in the kitchen with Tony Burke, the chef, planning the new menu.

She knew he had been wanting to modernise and improve the food for some time and had met only with resistance from Berkeley. She knew of his enormous frustration, and thought that his ideas might improve custom and spread their reputation even further, and was determined to make this change to the menu one of the first marks she made upon the hotel’s running.

She had wanted free rein to put her stamp – the stamp of youth – on the place for a long time, but her grandfather had told her she must wait until she had attended college first, and gained some sort of qualification in management, before he would trust her judgement.

She would not be going to college now. She would be able to take over and stamp her personality all over the business, and see how her ideas worked in reality.

Chef was in an excellent mood today, now that his plans for the hotel’s food were to be realised, and he whistled as he went about his work while waiting for Pippa to keep her appointment with him. Life was good once more, and he intended to get full enjoyment out of it.

When Holmes got back to The Black Swan, he had no trouble locating Garden, who was sitting at a table near the windows looking out over The High. Holmes went straight to the bar and ordered two glasses of champagne – this was one of the very few establishments left that sold such a beverage by the glass – and went to sit down at the table with them, babbling about getting an official partnership agreement drawn up by his solicitor.

It didn’t take him long to realise that things were far from well with John H., however. As he was saying, ‘I just thought I’d get us a glass of champers to seal the occasion,’ he became aware of the silly grin on Garden’s face and the slightly glassy look in his eyes. ‘You’ve already celebrated, haven’t you?’ he asked.

‘More like Dutch courage,’ the younger man replied. ‘My mother is a formidable woman, and I’d die of fright if I had to have the conversation I’m planning to have with her stone cold sober.’

Holmes lifted a hand and began to click his fingers, eventually catching the eye of a member of the catering staff and ordering two dishes of the day to be delivered to their table. ‘You need to put a lining on your stomach. If you eat something solid, it’ll help to soak up the alcohol and sober you up a bit. Be a good chap.’

‘Only if I can have the glass that you’ve bought for me as well.’ Garden was digging in his toes.

‘Only if you promise to have no more before we visit your mother, and agree to have a strong black coffee after we’ve eaten.’

‘OK, but you’re a hard man, Holmes,’ Garden conceded, immediately scooping up the glass that had been brought to the table for him and necking it in one. ‘Aah! That’s better. Bring on the nosh.’

John H. had certainly made a beast of himself with his lunch and, when he had finished eating, Holmes had had to come round to his side of the table and wipe the gravy from his chin with a napkin. He had, however, given in and drunk two cups of coffee, and was a tiny bit less giggly than he had become when Holmes escorted him out to his car.

Practically pouring him into the passenger seat, he asked, ‘What address?’ which only brought out the playful in Garden. He tittered a bit and said, ‘Shan’t tell you. You’ve got to guess.’

‘Lucky I took a look in the register, then, when I went to the little boys’ room, wasn’t it? I’m not so green as I’m cabbage-looking,’ retorted Holmes with a smile of superiority. ‘Sometimes I even live up to my name.’

By the time they pulled up outside an unnaturally neat, four-square bungalow in a road of similar dwellings, Garden was much more in control of his wits, and had broken into a cold sweat of fear. ‘What am I going to say to her? I’m terrified,’ he admitted.

‘I’ve got that covered as well,’ replied his partner, and produced a hip flask from an inner pocket. ‘I keep this for emergencies, and I see this as qualifying as such. Here you are, just to recapture that Dutch courage you were seeking earlier.’

Garden made a grab for it like a drowning man at a straw, and took a long pull at the contents, before breaking into a fit of coughing at the sheer strength of the spirit. ‘What the hell’s in that? Meths?’ he asked, trying to get his breath back.

‘Polish vodka,’ replied Holmes, trying to look innocent.

‘And I thought you were a man who played by the rules,’ said John H., looking towards the front door fearfully. ‘Do I have to do it now?’

‘The sooner the better. See? I’m getting out of the car with the keys. There’s no reason for you to stay in there now, as you can’t make it move. I’m just about to go up the path and ring the doorbell, so you’d better come with me or you mother won’t have a clue who I am or what I’m doing on her doorstep.’

Garden was panicked into exiting the car and trotting up the garden path behind Holmes, his face a mask of sheer terror. Holmes pressed the bell and, after a couple of moments, the door opened slowly to reveal a woman who couldn’t have been more than fifty. She was well made-up, her hair was as immaculate as the outside of the dwelling, and she was dressed with more than a flair for fashion.