4 Death at the Happiness Club (16 page)

‘So you left her alone for her own protection?’ said Amaryllis. She saw Zak consider this, and wished she had been able to remove the snarkiness from her tone. But he must already know what an idiot his father was, surely. As she knew, Zak himself had his faults, but nobody had ever suggested he lacked intelligence, even if he didn’t always use it.

‘Well, it worked, didn’t it?’ he said indignantly. ‘She left, and she didn’t get caught up in anything else, and she’s safe with the police now.’

‘She could be facing a murder charge, for all we know!’ snapped Amaryllis. She had never been a close friend of Penelope Johnstone, although of course they had met at Cosy Clicks from time to time, but as Darren spoke she was starting to feel more and more sympathetic towards the woman.

‘That isn’t my fault,’ said Liam.

The expression on his son’s face suggested he had a different opinion about this.

'Then what?' said Amaryllis.

'What?'

'Then what did you do - once you'd got back here?'

'Then I started to think it was time to get out of the van, maybe go up to the Holiday Inn for what was left of the night. I had only just decided on that when you got here. I saw the security light go on, so I just opened the door and shone the torch at you.'

'And fired the gun,' said Amaryllis, trying hard to keep the accusing tone to a minimum. Surely the man must feel some guilt about risking his own son's life by firing an unfamiliar gun in a semi-confined space?

Apparently he didn't, for he continued, 'I suppose I'd better get on down to the police station and report my Porsche stolen. The sooner they know about that the better. I left my mobile in the car too, so I haven't been able to call anyone and get help.'

He had particularly guileless blue eyes, Amaryllis noticed. No doubt that was how he had managed to get Penelope to put up with him for such a long time. He probably hypnotised women routinely just for the hell of it. Fortunately she was immune.

'Not so fast,' she said, pushing him in the chest to force him to sit back down just as he tried to stand up. 'They won't listen to your car problem at this time of night - you might as well wait until morning to report it.'

She thought she should have turned him in to the police immediately, but they wouldn't have thanked her for producing another possible suspect right now. They would be better equipped to deal with him in the morning, after Charlie Smith had a few hours sleep. And after all, he had sent her and Zak away quite decisively.

'But they might catch the people who - ' he began to say.

'They won't find the car,' said Amaryllis, 'unless either they're very lucky or the people who've stolen it are really stupid. For instance, if the same people stole it that I'm thinking of, they might try and take it across to Ireland on the ferry. That would be pretty stupid. Or they could cross to Zeebrugge from Rosyth, of course,' she added, thinking of Christopher and Caroline and their little jaunt.

'But I want it back,' he said. Now he had turned into an obnoxious toddler. Amaryllis wondered how Zak felt, seeing his father regress at this speed. But maybe he was used to it: maybe this was another of Liam's techniques for getting round women. Once again, it wasn't going to work on her.

She shrugged her shoulders. 'It's in the lap of the gods,' she told him. 'Now, are we going to settle down here for the rest of the night, or what?'

'What?' said Zak and Liam, both at the same time.

'I could go up to the Holiday Inn,' said Liam. 'I wouldn't want to waste a night there. I've paid for it, after all.'

'I think you should stay here with Zak,' said Amaryllis.

'What about you?' said Zak, his eyes sending some sort of message. She couldn't quite work out whether it was a desperate plea not to leave him alone with his dad, in case something even sillier happened, or the opposite, a sort of get out and leave us alone to talk it through man to man thing.

She had already resigned herself to staying, just to keep an eye on Liam Johnstone, who was a slippery customer if ever she had seen one, so she didn't really need Zak's approval or otherwise. She didn't expect to sleep, so after confiscating the keys to the vehicle, and using rubber gloves and kitchen roll to pick up the gun and lock it in a drawer to which she also confiscated the key, she persuaded Liam and Zak to lie in the bunk beds while she took the very much less comfortable bench seat.

There were things about Liam's story that didn't make a lot of sense, but paradoxically that made her more inclined to believe it all. His utter selfishness and disregard for any obligations to other people, for instance. She had seen these qualities before, not exclusively in men but more often in them than in women, especially women with children, who once their nurturing switch had been clicked on, never quite seemed to be able to switch it off again. Or maybe a valve was a better analogy. Whatever.

Both Liam and Zak had started snoring by this time. Great, thought Amaryllis. Stuck in here for the rest of the night with men and their noises. Just as well I don't really want to go to sleep. Just as well I can stay awake for forty-eight hours at a stretch and still have all my faculties undimmed…. Just as well I'm superhuman and…

She woke up with a start and saw the daylight outside. That didn't mean much of course: up here at this time of year daylight began at about three-thirty in the morning and didn't finish until ten in the evening, which could be a little annoying if you wanted to snoop round the town under cover of darkness as she often did.

Something had wakened her: some noise that wasn't to do with snoring men or the creaking of the camper-van as people turned over in their sleep. Just before the door burst open, she jumped off the bench and stood alert, back to the wall, waiting. The two armed police officers said nothing as they stood there in the doorway, one pointing a gun at her and one facing towards the bunk beds where, unbelievably, Zak and his father still slept. Another officer who followed them spoke at last.

'Don't move,' he said unnecessarily to Amaryllis. 'Who are your friends?'

He gestured towards the beds.

'Liam Johnstone and his son, Zak. Be careful where you point these,' she added. 'They can be dangerous in the wrong hands.'

Inspector Forrester sighed heavily.

'Don't get smart with me, Ms Peebles. You're coming down to the station and staying where we can see you until we sort a few things out.'

She was just about to fling herself forward and deliver a swift karate chop when Liam Johnstone unwittingly created a diversion by rolling out of the top bunk on to the floor. He landed with a huge crash, and the policemen all jumped. One of them dropped his gun, swore and reached down to pick it up. Liam got there first, wriggling along, and got hold of it. He sat up on the spot where he had landed and levelled the gun at Inspector Forrester.

'For goodness' sake,' said Amaryllis. 'Don't be so silly, Liam.'

She brushed past the others and disarmed him with minimal fuss, presenting the gun to Inspector Forrester with a slight flourish. 'I would take care of this, if I were you. I don't think your trained monkeys can be trusted with it.'

He handed the gun back to the officer who had dropped it.

'You might as well put these away, guys,' he said. 'Ms Peebles, you're under arrest. And you two. Don't try and struggle, you'll only get into more trouble.'

He had brought plenty of reinforcements, and Amaryllis decided it would be more interesting to go along with them than to fight. She hoped this wasn't a sign of impending senility on her part. After all, there was no knowing what she might find out once she was inside the police station. And getting Liam locked up in the interests of public safety was definitely a big plus.

Chapter 20 Some of my favourite things

'So, your favourite dog is a Labrador, is it?' said Detective Chief Inspector Smith.

'I had to write something,' said Maisie Sue nervously, staring at him over the interview room table. She wasn't entirely sure how the police operated here, but she didn't think she had actually been arrested. There certainly hadn't been any hand-cuffs involved, the way there might have been where she came from. Two nice police officers, including that little Sergeant Whitefield who looked much too young to have anything to do with crime, had come over to her house and asked her to go round to the police station and make a statement.

'Favourite colour,' he mused. 'I don't see the point of that.'

'I guess it's to make sure you and your future partner see eye to eye over décor,' said Maisie Sue.

Chief Inspector Smith leaned across the table and lowered his voice.

'I hadn't even started filling the form in. Didn't have time. And I must admit I was having second thoughts. Not sure about pursuing happiness any more, I suppose.'

'It's in our Declaration of Independence,' said Maisie Sue.

The form hadn't been well-treated since she last saw it. Somewhere along the line, a great big stain had been allowed to spread across the middle of it, almost obliterating the part where Maisie Sue had written a 300-word explanation of what she wanted from the Happiness Club. She was quite glad Chief Inspector Smith couldn't read it - or perhaps the forensic people had some way of seeing through the stain. What was the stain, anyway? It looked almost like -

'Eugh!' she exclaimed, jumping back from the table and almost causing the chair to topple over. 'Is that blood on my Happiness Club form?'

'Yes,' said Chief Inspector Smith without looking up. 'But this isn't the actual form. It's a copy.'

'So you xeroxed the bloodstain?' said Maisie Sue incredulously.

'Not exactly,' said Chief Inspector Smith with a heavy sigh. 'I believe it's printed from a digital photograph.'

'But whose is it?' she asked. 'The blood, I mean?'

'I'm afraid I can't divulge that information at present,' he said.

'Is this the person who was shot?' she persisted.

'I can't comment on that either.'

'Is there anything you can comment on?' she snapped, and then felt guilty. It wasn't his fault; he was hemmed in by rules and regulations on all sides. She was just an unfortunate American who happened to have gotten into the middle of it all. 'Excuse me. I shouldn't have said that. It isn't up to you to decide when to comment, is it?'

'Believe me, if I thought it would help in any way, I'd tell you the whole story,' he said. 'We're stumbling around in the dark with our eyes closed at the moment.'

'Could I have a glass of water?' said Maisie Sue. She didn't really want any water; she was testing their good-will.

'Yes, of course!' he said, jumping to his feet. 'I meant to offer you a cup of tea and a biscuit. Would you like some tea?'

'I guess I haven't lived in the UK long enough to appreciate tea,' said Maisie Sue. 'I'm more of a coffee drinker.'

'Fair enough,' he said. 'We can do coffee too… Sergeant Whitefield: one coffee, one tea, plate of biscuits, no custard creams, please.'

'I quite like your custard cream cookies,' said Maisie Sue after Sergeant Whitefield had gone.

'You do? Oh, well, we might still get something even better.'

There was definitely good-will.

But Sergeant Whitefield was back in two minutes without the refreshments. She whispered something to Mr Smith, and he leaped to his feet again and left the room with her. Maisie Sue stared at the frosted glass window which, she suspected, led only to a corridor inside the police station, and wondered if she would be out of here by lunch-time. She had decided to go down to the wool-shop later to see if Jan was back from her holidays. If, as she suspected, the Happiness Club no longer existed, she would have to try and re-invigorate her meager social life some other way. She knew there were no men at Cosy Clicks who could solve all her visa problems by marrying her, but at least she would have the moral support and warmth of the women she knew there. Penelope… Amaryllis…. Giulia Petrelli, once she showed her face again. Maybe she could persuade them all to take up quilting too. She had once had an idea for an Old Pitkirtly quilt which could be hung up in the entrance hall of the Cultural Centre. Christopher had shown signs of being supportive, or at least hadn't said he would never hang it there, which she took to mean he would actively encourage its creation. The quilting group could assemble it in the Folk Museum. That would only be fitting.

Maisie Sue had got as far as wishing she had thought to bring a pencil and paper with her so that she could start sketching out designs, when the interview room door opened again.

Inspector Forrester started to show someone in, realised the room was occupied and hastily retreated, leading the man out again quickly before Maisie Sue could get a proper look at him.

She didn't think she recognised him, and yet there was a certain fleeting familiarity about him. He was about her own age, dark hair graying at the temples. He seemed like the sort of man who didn't really accept the idea of getting older. She knew all about that kind.

A few minutes later Chief Inspector Smith came in again. He looked a little stressed and anxious.

'I think that's about all for now, Mrs MacPherson. If we need to speak to you again, I think we know where to find you. Thank you very much indeed for your help.'

On the way out, Maisie Sue thought she heard Amaryllis's voice, raised in anger, but there was no sign of her, and Sergeant Whitefield, who was showing her out, didn't say anything.

But just outside the police station she bumped into Christopher, and he had plenty to say.

'Have you seen Amaryllis?' he demanded as she came down the steps. It had started to rain since she had gone into the building, and she wanted to get on down to the wool-shop as quickly as she could, so she was a little impatient with him.

'No, I haven't seen Amaryllis, and isn't it time your life stopped revolving around her?' she snapped.

He stood on the pavement with his mouth open - not a good look - and stared at her as if she had hit him.

'You might try asking how I am, and what I was doing in there,' she suggested. Then she worried he might think she was pushing American values at him: be nice to everyone and extra polite to people you don't like. 'I'm sorry - I've been questioned by the police, and there was blood on my Happiness Club membership form, and I have no idea what is going on... But I did hear Amaryllis’s voice,’ she added, relenting.

'Let's go for a drink,' he said.

She thought it was a little early for a proper drink, but once they were in the Queen of Scots, not sitting at Christopher's usual table but at a much nicer spot at the other side of the bar, she found she could manage a glass of wine.

'It isn't too bad over at this side of the bar,' he said, sipping his Old Pictish Brew and glancing around. 'You get more light from the window, and whatshisname, the landlord, can't watch you.'

'Why do you always sit at the other side?' said Maisie Sue, curious about ancient British drinking customs.

He shrugged. 'That's just what we do…. I suppose that's why we're still here in Pitkirtly and your family went to the States. We're set in our ways and afraid to try anything new. We'll probably be the last people left on the earth when the sun explodes.'

She shivered. 'I guess I don't want to think about that too much.'

'So - are you all right after being interrogated by Chief Inspector Smith and his sidekicks?'

'I'm fine. He isn't exactly a ruthless interrogator. There wasn't any medieval torture involved. What were you doing outside?'

'Looking for Amaryllis. She went off somewhere last night and I haven't seen her since.'

'Does that bother you?'

He frowned. 'It isn't unusual for her to do things without telling me - it's just that I have a bad feeling about her being out all night. Stewie and I waited up for her and Zak.'

'Stewie? Zak?'

'I don't suppose you know them. They're just a couple of local kids. Stewie's staying with Amaryllis for some reason that she hasn't finished explaining to me yet, and Zak - well, he was worried about his mother, and that's why the two of them went off together.'

'His mother?'

'Penelope Johnstone.'

'Ah. Yes, I guess I do know Zak. He came along to the Happiness Club a couple times. He was on the trip to Inchcolm when the boat exploded. He's a good-looking boy….Oh, my!'

She paused, trying to work it out.

A good-looking boy… A good-looking older man with a trace of grey in his hair and an air of entitlement. But why should he be at the police station? Had something happened to Zak? Or to Amaryllis? Had that really been her voice raised in protest?

She told Christopher all she knew, which only took a few sentences.

'Ah,' he said. 'The absent father. The reason Penelope went to the Happiness Club in the first place.  Zak told us she threw him out.'

'Threw Zak out? Why in the world -?'

'Not Zak. His father. She threw him out because he got into trouble shooting at gulls near the headland in Aberdour. I was there at the time. With my sister.'

'She threw Mr Johnstone out but she still worried about him,' said Maisie Sue slowly, piecing it together. 'So when she rushed past me, going towards the Happiness Club, it was because she thought he was there and -'

'And about to do something bad,' he finished. 'And he had his gun with him!'

'He shot someone?' said Maisie Sue.

'He shot someone in the office at the Happiness Club, and the blood got all over your membership form,' said Christopher.

She winced. It wasn't a nice thought.

'And now they've arrested him,' she said.

'I wonder where Amaryllis fits in,' said Christopher thoughtfully. She didn't take him to task this time for thinking the world revolved around Amaryllis; it was clear that his friend had something to do with Mr Johnstone's appearance at the police station. 'I don't suppose you saw Zak and Penelope at the station too?' he added.

'I don't think so,' said Maisie Sue.

'I wonder where they've got to.'

They sipped at their drinks in silence for a little while. It was kind of restful.

Or at least, it was until Jemima Stevenson and Dave burst in.

'There you are!' said Jemima to Christopher breathlessly.

'Told you,' said Dave.

'We've got Jock McLean back!' said Jemima.

'Oh, woohoo,' said Christopher sarcastically. He really wasn't quite as nice and polite as he used to be, thought Maisie Sue.

Jemima and Dave took no notice. They brought two more chairs over and crowded round the table.

'You get a different perspective on things from here,' said Jemima, gazing round the room. 'More light from the window, too.'

Dave went to get the drinks in.

'So Jock McLean's tunneled his way out of hospital, then,' said Christopher. 'Where is he? Did you dump him on his own door-step just like the NHS would have done?'

'No, of course not,' said Jemima crossly. 'We took him round to my house. He can sleep in the front room. Then he won't have to go upstairs.'

'If you can stand him, that sounds fine,' said Christopher. 'Just don't let him smoke his pipe in the house. You don't want to go home and find a pile of smouldering ruins.'

'It's funny,' mused Jemima. 'He doesn't seem all that bothered about smoking his pipe now. I suppose blowing up the boat gave him a bit of a fright… What's been going on? Have we missed anything? Where is everybody?'

Dave brought over the drinks, including another glass of wine for Maisie Sue. She reflected gloomily on the amount of alcohol she'd been drinking just lately. Maybe she'd be able to claim Scottish citizenship on the grounds of having fifty per cent alcohol in her blood.

'Amaryllis seems to be round at the police station,' said Christopher. 'Maisie Sue's just been there.'