Something in the Blood (A Honey Driver Murder Mystery) (10 page)

It was obvious by his response that he didn’t recognise her voice.

‘It’s the hotel lady that was asking questions about Elmer Maxted. I suppose you’ve heard the news.’

‘Yeah.’ He sounded horrified. ‘Poor bloke. Who would have thought it, eh?’

She counted off all the bits of information she’d come across. Was Bob the Job for real or was he as spectral as the ghost Mary Jane insisted came out of the closet? Was her information likely to be pure fabrication?

‘When you drove him around, did you ever take him to Limpley Stoke?’

‘Sure. I told you. He wanted to visit the church. Took his time of course. Wanted to meet the vicar you see. Had things he wanted to ask so he said.’

She breathed a sign of relief. Her confidence returned.

‘What sort of things?’

Ivor paused before his words began again in that very Welsh, singsong way. ‘Well, I can’t say for sure, mind you, but it was something to do with family.’

‘His family?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he stayed there quite a while?’

‘Three days in a row.’

‘Three days!’

She couldn’t help sounding surprised. Why would anyone – even the most ardent sightseer or family historian, want to spend three days peering into old and very dusty archives? Surely he couldn’t have spent all that time in the company of the vicar? Just in case she was wrong, she asked Ivor.

‘He saw the vicar on the first day. I saw them talking. But not after that. He just went into the church and walked around the gravestones and all that. Took some time that did. I waited until he came out and we went sightseeing. Not that he seemed that interested in the sightseeing. He was quiet when he came back. Doing a lot of thinking you see. Finding out about your ancestors can be a bit daunting you know.’

After thanking Ivor for his help she put her phone away and headed home. So Mary Jane’s friend was right. There was no mention that he’d actually visited Charlborough Grange and introduced himself to the family. According to Ivor he’d gone no further than the church and its grounds. Would searching through the archives take three consecutive days?

That, she decided, was a question that had to be answered.

The hotel was in darkness. Loud snoring drifted out from the settee in the room just behind reception. The night porter was (almost) on duty.

She took off her shoes.

‘No point trying to creep in, mother.’

Lindsey’s head bobbed up from where she was lying full stretch on a brown leather chesterfield.

Honey jumped. ‘I wish you’d stop doing that.’

‘Scaring you or waiting up for you?’

‘Both.’

Honey eased herself onto the settee beside her daughter. ‘Are you spying on me?’

‘Yes. You’re such a virgin when it comes to men.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Don’t remind me that I’m your daughter etc., etc., I mean you haven’t indulged for a while. That’s why I’ve got to look out for you.’

‘Lindsey, I’ve only been out for a drink.’

Lindsey reached over and made a lengthening motion from the tip of her mother’s nose.

‘OK, my nose is growing like Pinocchio’s.’

Lindsey huddled forward, her face, even in the gloom, glowing with interest.

‘So! Tell me what he’s like.’

‘Who?’

‘The policeman. And don’t try and look so innocent. Grandma told me you had a date with him.’

‘There’s nothing to it.’

Lindsey gave her that ‘
who do you think you’re kidding
’ kind of look.

Honey held her head to one side and looked at her daughter. ‘Are you always going to be looking out for me?’

Lindsey nodded.

‘I thought so.’

Chapter Fifteen

Honey was taking a shortcut through the Guildhall and feeling as fizzy as an uncorked bottle of champagne.

For the first time since becoming an amateur sleuth, she was approaching her mission in a relaxed manner. Her mind was open to possibilities. In fact it was like a great white board on which the problem is detailed in green felt tip and all the connecting factors are entered around it.

The Guildhall market was a magical place, where stalls dealing in antiques jostled with those selling a wide variety of cheese, garlic sausage and dried flower arrangements.

She sniffed the air, enjoying the way the mix of fragrances cleared her head and her mind.

Suddenly she had a eureka moment. it was there – the unmistakable tang of oriental spices. The sack covering Elmer’s head had reeked of spices.

She looked round in the hope that she might find the source of the smell, perhaps a suspect. Stupid really. Was there likely to be a sign saying ‘Get your small sacks here – ideal for placing over the head of your victims?’

When she saw where the smell was coming from and the stallholder, she smiled; Jeremiah Poughty, the very same who had taken over her reception area on orders from Casper.

She could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t missing the hospitality trade one little bit.

Cloves, cinnamon, bay leaves, turmeric and a host of other scents filled her head and cleared the excesses of the night before. There was a clichéd exoticism about them. A hint of the east, Persian markets, the Alhambra and over-indulgence of the senses.

It was all for sale under the sign printed in garish red letters on an apple green background, which screamed HERBS AND SPICE AND ALL THINGS NICE.

Jeremiah’s stall. He waved before turning a beaming smile on a woman customer who, even at this distance, Honey could tell was giving him aggro.

‘What’s that one?’ The woman’s voice had all the enchantment of iron filings.

‘Turmeric, honey.’ Jeremiah settled one hand on his slim hips which were tightly clad in tan suede trousers. He wore a matching waistcoat festooned with embroidered flowers. The waistcoat was worn over a peasant-style shirt. His lipstick was purple and his complexion was as shiny and brown as a conker.

‘And that?’ The woman poked her finger at another small sack and sniffed.

‘Paprika, dahling.’ He nodded a greeting to Honey. ‘Looking for something exotic to spice up our life are we?’

The woman did not appear to notice that he was talking to someone else. She pointed a podgy finger.

‘Pretty colour. Got much taste?’

‘Lots of honey, honey.’

The woman frowned and shook her head.

‘I’m not sure. I normally only buy such things when uncontaminated by human hand. Preferably in plastic bags and on a supermarket shelf. Are your hands very clean?’ said the woman, her small eyes narrowing in her pudding face.

Jeremiah threw her an indignant look. ‘If you want something in plastic, go trot along to the supermarket.

Jeremiah was committed to all things green and free trade and free love and everything else that didn’t come pre-packaged and with a hefty price. His tone was dead end and don’t pass go.

The woman took on a shocked expression, wrapped her sheepskin coat more tightly around her body, then shuffled off to the next stall.

Jeremiah recovered quickly. ‘Win some, you lose some. Oh well. There’s great demand for what I sell.’

As stalls went Jeremiah Poughty didn’t have a bad one. It was a well-stuffed pitch – wooden shelves at the back filled with sacks of vibrant-coloured powders, beans, nuts and other items she didn’t recognise. Bunches of herbs, thyme, parsley, fennel and sage hung in bunches overhead. Some substances stuffed in between looked questionable.

‘Jeremy, can I ask you something?’

His eyelids fluttered nervously. ‘Sure. But if it’s a date, I’m not your type.’

She smiled. ‘No, and I’m not yours.’

She looked over his stall and upwards at the sign.

‘Nice little spot, Jeremiah. Herbs, Spice and All Things Nice.’

Suddenly Jeremiah was all teeth, wide mouth and floating hands. ‘Spice adds a little colour to your cooking – you should try some.’

The words came rat-a-tat-tat out of his mouth.

‘It’s mine and Ade’s.’ He nodded towards his partner who was wearing a green T-shirt, matching silk scarf and trousers too tight for decency. Like an unripe banana, thought Honey.

He smiled briefly by as he was bagging up half a pound of dried beans for a crusty with three rings in his nose, in the usual uniform of ragged parka jacket and half-shaved head, with a half-starved dog.

‘I will. But not today.’ Honey dug her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans. Designer of course. Bums and thighs were a nightmare without a good cut.

‘On the house,’ he said, offering her a small bag of dried herbs.

Honey grinned. ‘Can I put this in my mother’s curry?’

‘What you do to your mother is your affair. It’s a free sample – we give it to other customers too.’

She eyed him quizzically. ‘Just how highly spiced is it?’

Jeremiah pursed his beautifully sculptured lips. ‘I told you. Purely legit, dahling thing.’

Honey took the brown paper bag and slid it into her leather one.

‘Go on,’ he said. ‘What do you want to ask me?’

‘About these sacks …’

The necks of the sacks containing the spices were rolled over revealing the brightly coloured contents. Honey fingered them thoughtfully.

‘They’re just sacks,’ said Jeremiah with a nonchalant shrug. She noticed his eyes slide sidelong to his partner.

‘A sack like these was found covering the head of the man they dragged from the weir the other day.’

‘Oh my!’ Jeremiah jumped and grew taller. Although his teeth showed he wasn’t smiling. ‘He was murdered?’

‘He was that.’

‘How terrible! Poor man! Suffocated with spices and hit over the head with a blunt instrument.’

She wasn’t sure either from his expression or tone of voice whether he was being facetious or strangely enraptured. She didn’t know him well enough to judge but felt obliged to burst his bubble.

‘You know I’m Crime Liaison Officer for the Hotels Association, don’t you?’

She hadn’t been given a formal title or had it described in writing, but the handle seemed close enough.

He looked askance at her.

She took advantage of his off-guard moment.

‘He was killed three days ago. Saturday night sometime.’

‘Dreadful.’

‘Where were you last Saturday?’

His features froze before he burst out laughing. ‘You’re just joking. You can’t really ask me questions. You’re not a policeman, dahling.’

She raised one questioning eyebrow. ‘A sack smelling of spices? You’ve got loads of them here.’ She spread her hands, indicating tier upon tier of small, filled bags. ‘A friend of mine who
is
a police detective would be interested in hearing that.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ Jeremiah’s hand splayed across his mouth. He looked horrified.

She nodded. ‘I would.’

He glanced nervously towards his partner, then back at Honey. His eyelashes fluttered darkly over his cheeks. Honey was sure they were made of nylon. As he leaned closer, the smell of his perfume obliterated that of the spices. ‘I was out two-timing my boyfriend,’ he said softly. ‘You won’t say anything, will you?’

Honey fixed her eyes on Jeremiah’s partner who was still serving. ‘Who were you with?’

His tongue swept along his bottom lip. ‘I really couldn’t …’

‘Perhaps I should ask your friend.’ She made a sideways move. Jeremiah followed her like a mirror image.

‘No! There’s no need to.’ He glanced over his shoulder.

Ade was now talking with the young man from the coffee stall.

‘Andrew Charlborough. I was with him.’ The name came out in a rush of breath.

Honey asked him to repeat what he’d just said, and he did.

She wasn’t often amazed at what people with status and money got up to in their spare time. She’d seen Sir Andrew Charlborough at a number of auctions. They were hardly on nodding acquaintance, but she’d judged him as an upright, respectable citizen, the sort that’s in bed by eleven with a good book and a long-term wife.

‘You mean the antiques dealer?’

Jeremiah nodded. ‘And before you jump to the wrong conclusion about the man, I was invited to give a quote for some plants he wanted. A bloke who works for him and sometimes delivers for us asked if I’d be interested. He introduced us, said he was interested in very big tropical plants.’

‘So why wouldn’t you want your partner to know?’

Jeremiah chewed at his lip. ‘I kept the deal to myself. And the money.’

Honey’s mind was already darting elsewhere. It kept coming back to her that Elmer’s head had been covered with a small sack smelling of spices. ‘So what happens to the sacks once they’re empty?’

Jeremiah shrugged. ‘Mostly I give them away. Or chuck them. Some people buy by the sack – the big customers that is.’

She eyed him speculatively.

He wasn’t long interpreting her look.

‘I have not a killing bone in my body!’

She shook her head. You couldn’t detect a murderer just by the looks of him. Just because he denied the fact didn’t mean anything either. She’d hedge her bets.

‘Can you provide me with a list of regular customers? The bigger buyers?’

Jeremiah shrugged his narrow shoulders. ‘There’s only a few. Shipping orders ain’t our style. Half a pound here, a pound there. That’s what I call big, honey.’

Honey kept her gaze fixed on Jeremiah’s face. ‘Please. It would be a great help.’

Recognising he had to put himself out, Jeremiah sighed and nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can.’

Her jovial mood had turned greyer, just like the weather. Elmer had found his way to Charlborough Grange. So had Jeremiah.

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, before doing anything else, she phoned Doherty and asked if there had been any developments.

‘No.’

Not very forthcoming. Well two could play at that game.

‘OK. So I won’t tell you what I know. See you.’

‘Hang on there!’

Schooldays came to mind.
I won’t show you mine unless you show me yours.

‘We’re tracing his movements. We’ve spoken to the taxi driver who ferried him around.’

‘I guessed you would. I hear Elmer was interested in the Charlborough family. Do you know them?’

‘I’m only a common copper, but I have heard of them. What’s the connection?’

‘I think they figure somewhere in Elmer’s family tree. It’s possible that’s why Elmer went to the church. He was checking out the parish register.’

‘Whoa right there. That line of enquiry is a dead end. Elmer was taken there and back by the taxi driver. It’s not a case that he went missing in the grounds or thereabouts. We found him in the river, which means he must have been killed somewhere in the city. Mrs Herbert did say he went sightseeing there and on the night he disappeared, he went out quite late.’

She had to concede that he had a point.

‘So there you are,’ he crowed. ‘That’s the way it was. We have a witness who overheard Elmer arguing with Mervyn Herbert. She also gave us a very good description of his car.’

‘So Mervyn Herbert is the chief suspect. You’re still looking for him?’

‘Yes.’

He asked her out. She said she’d take a rain check. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted to him; she was. It was nerves. Plain and simple.

As if there wasn’t enough to do in running the hotel, her mother had stopped over and was hounding her about having carpet laid over a truly lovely stone floor. ‘Look, Allied Carpets are doing a great deal …’

She was in the middle of checking the new menus – Smudger liked to change them every three months – and having her mother breathing fire over her shoulder did nothing to help her concentration.

Lindsey saved her bacon.

‘That nice bookseller is here to see you again,’ she said as she flounced past, a litre of Gordon’s gin in one hand and a bottle of Glenfiddich in the other.

Honey stopped what she was doing.

Lindsey’s footsteps went into reverse. ‘I know you’re fancying this policeman, but so what? Two guys are better than one.’

‘Lindsey! That’s two-timing – even though neither have quite started yet.’ She tried to look shocked.

Her daughter shook her head.

‘Even if you dump both of them in the end, play around a bit first. It’ll make you feel good about yourself.’

Honey’s jaw dropped.

Lindsey made a clicking sound, gave her customary wink and resumed her trek to replenish the bar.

Honey shoved the menus into a folder until later.

‘Lead me to him. Mother, this is the sort of man you should have found for me in the first place.’

Her mother frowned. ‘A bookseller? Do you think I would introduce you to a bookseller? You know there’s no money in selling books. It’s a mug’s game. Besides, he’s American.’

Honey’s mouth dropped. ‘Dad was an American.’

Her mother made one of those sounds a senior citizen makes when she’s been caught out and is reluctant to face the consequences.

Mary Jane waylaid her on her way to greet John Rees.

‘I need to make arrangements to hold a séance,’ she said. ‘Do you know of anyone whose loved ones have passed over who might be interested in attending? Older people in particular take great comfort from it.’

Honey turned round just in time to see her mother beating a fast pace across reception.

‘Mother! Mary Jane would like a word with you.’

Her mother came to a giddy halt. It wasn’t often she got trapped into doing something she didn’t want to do. She was usually the trapper.

Mary Jane’s lucid voice rang across reception. ‘Gloria, my dear …’

Honey exchanged a secretive smile with her daughter who had just emerged from the bar.

Lindsey shook her head. ‘Granny won’t be pleased.’

‘Never mind. It’ll keep her occupied for an hour. Now, where have you put my visitor?’

‘Prince Charming awaits you in the lounge with a cup of coffee,’ said Lindsey then smiled as Honey unconsciously tidied her hair as she passed an ornate French mirror.

‘I wonder, is he really Prince Charming or a frog in disguise?’

‘You won’t find out until you kiss him.’

Nothing was going to stand in the way of her plan to drive out to the church at Limpley Stoke. She’d phone the vicar first to make an appointment. John Rees had delayed her plans, but even a girl pushing forty has to have fun.

His hair was sandy, his face slim and warm hazel eyes danced with humour behind frameless spectacles. He removed them when she entered and stood to greet her. It was old-fashioned and oddly touching. She half expected to look down and see that her sensible skirt had turned into a crinoline.

‘Mr Rees. I’m so sorry I missed speaking to you when you last called. There was a misunderstanding. I thought your being here was my mother’s doing.’

One side of his face seemed to rise in amusement, his eyes twinkling as though he’d read her mother just like – well – a book.

Standing in front of him like this made her nervous. She rubbed her hands down over her hips and offered to pour another coffee.

‘No. Thank you,’ he said.

Making the effort to sound the professional hotelier, she tucked her skirt beneath her as they both sat back down.

‘So! What can I do for you?’

‘I want to hold a book fair.’

Green River had a very handsome conference room overlooking the park at the rear. Conferences and wedding fairs brought in good revenue. Why not a book fair?

‘I think we have exactly what you are looking for. Our conference room holds sixty people …’

‘No,’ he said. He raised his hand, his palm facing her like a halt sign. ‘You misunderstand. I’m holding a book fair at the shop. I run themed evenings complete with wine and cheese and whatever – and sometimes the books are about wine and cheese. I pick a theme you see, select the books covering that particular subject, and objects featured in those books. For instance, I’ve done a modern art theme. The books were on modern art – the wine and cheese were the same – but I asked local artists to lend me their paintings for the evening – price tags included.’

Honey wasn’t quite sure where this was going, but hazarded a guess.

‘You’re going to use hotels as a theme? Haute cuisine perhaps?’

The thought of the inclusion of the latter sent a shiver down her spine. What if the Epicureans attending were niggardly with praise and slated whatever dishes the Green River produced? Smudger didn’t take criticism. He got huffy very easily and it was her that had to contend with his moods.

‘I favour a Victorian theme for my next event and that, of course, will include the clothes of the era. Not the big crinolines and stuff like that. I don’t have the room, but smaller things; gloves, mittens, hats …’

‘Underwear?’ said Honey as the Queen’s voluminous undergarments, already displayed behind glass, came to mind.

‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘Just enough to set the scene. I understand from Alistair at the auction rooms that you own a very famous pair. I’d like you to display them if you don’t mind. And then I’ll select the books to go with it.’

Honey nodded. ‘Victoria’s pantaloons are yours for the asking.’

The fact that she wasn’t going to earn anything out of his fair wasn’t important. But something else was.

‘Am I invited?’ she added.

He smiled. ‘Would you come?’

She smiled back. ‘Of course I will.’