The Coniston Case (7 page)

‘I missed you, you know,’ said Kathy, changing the subject in a soft, urgent tone. ‘You just upped and moved and it felt as if you’d forgotten all about me. I never had such good talks with anybody else.’

‘Really? I don’t remember us talking much.’

‘Oh, Simmy, we did! You kept me sane, a few years back when Simon and Claudia were fighting so much and Jo had that horrible glandular fever.’

Simmy was astonished. ‘You always made that stuff sound funny, as if it was material for comedy, not something threatening your sanity.’

‘Right. That’s what I mean. You let me turn it into a laugh, so it all got put into a better perspective. Nobody else would do that.’

‘I had no idea I was that useful.’

Kathy peered at her, but they could barely see each other
inside the dark car. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re still like that? I mean – that police chap seems to really need your help, for a start. And I imagine your parents are pretty pleased that you’ve come to be so close to them.’

‘I really can’t pretend that I’m of the slightest use to them. It’s the other way round – they’ve had to rescue me a few times lately. My father’s turned into a surprisingly good nurse.’

‘But they’ll be glad of the chance. That’s how it works with parents.’

Simmy winced. ‘I don’t expect I’ll ever get the chance to learn that for myself.’

‘You might. Do you ever hear from Tony?’

Simmy had a feeling her friend was getting all the uncomfortable topics out of the way in a single sweep. ‘Hardly ever. Only about the divorce business. It’s all more or less finished now. I suppose he’ll find a new wife.’

‘Very likely. I saw him with a woman last week, actually.’

It was amazingly, irrationally painful. ‘Ouch!’ she said. ‘I didn’t see that coming.’

‘Well, that’s what happens, love. All part of the whole bloody experience.’

‘And I’m supposed to pretend to be okay with it. I’d much rather you hadn’t told me. I might never have known otherwise.’

‘I don’t hold with being an ostrich – you know that. Just get on with your own life, Sim. Aren’t there any likely men around here?’

‘Same as anywhere else. It’s me that’s not giving the right signals. It’s driving Melanie crazy. She’s desperate for me to find someone.’

Kathy laughed. ‘Plenty of time,’ she said, in a tone that clearly meant the opposite. ‘Is that police detective available?’

‘Moxon? Don’t even suggest it.’ She shivered. ‘I have a feeling he’d be keen enough, if I gave him any encouragement. But there’s something a bit …
greasy
about him. I am absolutely certain I could never fancy him physically.’

‘Poor bloke.’

‘I know. It doesn’t seem very fair. But all he represents to me is death and violence and being frightened. It is a shame, but there it is.’

‘Is he good at his job? Do we assume that he’ll get to the bottom of all this confusion in Coniston?’

‘I hope so, assuming he stays on the case. Preferably without me. I’ve got a ludicrously busy day tomorrow. What’ll you be doing?’

‘I’ll have to find Jo, if I can. I need a cover story, which is where you come in.’

Simmy didn’t answer. A large van was coming towards them on a narrow stretch of road, and she pulled as close to the wall as she could before stopping to let it by.

‘He’s going fast,’ said Kathy, before a sharp report elicited a cry from Simmy. ‘What was that?’ Kathy wondered, turning to watch the other vehicle’s rear lights disappearing around a bend. ‘He never stopped.’

‘My wing mirror,’ groaned Simmy. ‘Look. It’s completely smashed.’

‘I can’t see. It’s too dark.’

‘I’d better try and find the pieces. It might fit back together, if I’m lucky.’ She leant over in front of Kathy and took a torch from the glove compartment. ‘Wait a minute.’
Shining the light on the road, she collected up as many pieces as she could find, dumping them onto her friend’s lap. ‘My dad might get it together again, with some gaffer tape. He likes that sort of job.’ She sighed. ‘At least it’s not the van. I’ll be using that all day tomorrow.’

‘Meanwhile, you’re technically illegal, I believe.’

‘Look at the poor thing.’ The actual mirror was dangling by a few wires from a painfully exposed set of inner workings. ‘It’ll drop off if I leave it like that.’ She got out of the car again and fiddled with the mechanism, managing to straighten the mirror and click it into place. ‘That’s better.’ They drove carefully back to Ambleside, and then down beside the lake to Windermere, where Kathy had some difficulty in remembering where she had left her own car. ‘It all looks different in the dark,’ she complained. ‘It was a side road with a name I associated with boats. I parked somewhere in Bowness, and then had to walk a good long way uphill to your shop.’

‘Helm?’ Simmy suggested.

‘Right first time! That was it.’

‘That’s where Ben lives. It’s just along here.’

They found the car and Kathy waited twenty minutes while Simmy went back to her shop to gather bouquets for the early morning deliveries, and switch to using her van. Then she followed Simmy back to Troutbeck and a promised meal. When they eventually drew up at the white-painted cottage, it was eight o’clock. ‘What an adventure!’ Simmy said. ‘I’m sorry it all went wrong, though. It wasn’t much of a guided tour.’

‘I’m sorry I landed on you when you’re so busy. I must say it’s all amazingly efficient.’

‘Don’t say that. I’ve got a nasty feeling I’ve forgotten something vital. Melanie planned it all out for me, so it ought to work, but I should check with her that there wasn’t anything new after I’d gone.’

‘She’d have told you, wouldn’t she?’

‘I didn’t stop to look for a message. I’ll call her now.’

Melanie answered quickly, even breathlessly. ‘Simmy! What happened to you? Moxo called here and said there
was
another dead man in Coniston, and he wanted you to ID him. I’ve been waiting for you to call and tell me about it.’

‘That’s it – the whole thing. We were on the way to the pub in Near Sawrey and Moxon phoned me, so we had to dash to Coniston. We never did get a drink, and now we’re starving hungry. I’ve got those three orders with me for Troutbeck, so I can do them first thing tomorrow. Was there anything new?’

‘But who
was
he? Was he murdered? Why are
you
involved?’

‘I’ll tell you tomorrow, Mel. I have to keep my mind on the job. So do you.’

‘All right, then. And no, nothing new came in. Only Ninian Tripp. He was sorry to miss you. And he said the price I charged for his vase was just right. He’s bringing one or two more at the weekend.’

Simmy experienced a pang of regret at not seeing Ninian. Her mental image of his long fair hair and clay-stained clothes was a sweet one. ‘Thanks, Mel,’ she said with a sigh.

Reminiscing with Kathy occupied the rest of the evening, assisted by a bottle of red wine, followed by a glass or two of brandy, which had been a habit of theirs in former times. Kathy’s life had always been very different from Simmy’s, but the divergence now was stark. She had earned promotion in her department, suffering resentful reactions from a close colleague, which had made her working days far from pleasant. ‘I’m thinking of making a complete change,’ she confided. ‘Especially seeing what fun you’re having, working for yourself. It’s a completely different world. Nobody looking over your shoulder all the time, and always something new to do. I mean – that amazing model tower in your window, for a start. Such creativity! I feel only semi-human compared to you.’

‘That was Ben,’ Simmy said. ‘His idea, and mostly his work. And it’s really been there for too long now. It’s
getting stale, and bits are starting to fall off. I don’t think we gave it enough varnish.’

‘But what a lovely idea!’

‘He borrowed it from some museum in New York. No – a botanical garden. The Christmas display or something.’

‘He seems quite a special kid. And Melanie’s impressive as well.’

‘I know. We’re a real little gang.’ Simmy laughed. ‘Even though I’m old enough to be their mother.’

‘Well, I’m jealous.’ Kathy drained the brandy glass and looked at her watch. ‘Must be time for bed. I guess you’ll want to start early tomorrow. Leave me here and I’ll have a quick explore of Troutbeck before setting off to find my daughter.’

‘Go and see the church. It’s got very famous windows.’

Kathy pulled a face. ‘I think I’ll pass on that. I’d rather go and find a good waterfall or dry stone wall. It’s all about the outdoors up here, after all.’

‘Not in February.’ Simmy shivered. ‘It’s dangerous on the fells in winter. People
die
.’

‘So it would seem,’ said Kathy in a hollow voice.

Simmy woke early on Friday, the words
Valentine’s
Day
the first to enter her head. The orders had considerably exceeded her expectations to the point where she had seriously considered turning a few away. So many romantic souls in the world, she thought ruefully, and not one of them thinking of her. All those beautiful velvety roses, the colour itself a powerful suggestion of sensuality and warmth. Despite the absence of scent, they were still fabulous. Carefully packed in her van and the back room
of the shop, they would remain in perfect condition for days, if necessary. Her disenchantment from earlier in the week evaporated completely as she indulged in a final five minutes under the covers, thinking about love and loss and the eternal hope that everyone carried with them, whether they knew it or not. As a florist, she was instrumental in fuelling those hopes, today of all days.

Except, she remembered, some of her contributions over recent days had done the very opposite. A man had killed himself, another had been murdered – Mrs Aston had flung the floral peace offering violently across her farmyard and Mrs Crabtree had cried. Had the same person arranged the flowers for Aston and Crabtree and also killed the man who was not Jack Hayter but an old friend of DI Moxon? She sighed, hoping that none of the undoubted police effort to answer these questions would involve any more demands on her. She had more than enough to do already.

Kathy came downstairs in a dressing gown, as Simmy was boiling the kettle for coffee. ‘What time is it?’ she asked blearily.

‘Seven-fifteen. Sorry. Do you want a drink?’

‘Tea, if that’s okay. Surely you’re not delivering flowers before it’s even light?’

‘I thought eight would be acceptable. A nice start to the day for the recipients, and I might catch them before they go to work. I’ve got everything planned out, starting locally and working southwards.’

‘What do you do if they’re not in?’

‘Good question. It does rather take the shine off when that happens. I either find a willing neighbour or go back again later.’

Kathy thought about it for a minute. ‘What if the willing neighbour is a sworn enemy and never hands them over? Or reads the message and tells everyone in town that Jenny has a lover called Frank?’

Simmy shuddered. ‘Don’t!’

‘Well, I wish you luck. It looks a bit icy out there.’

‘Does it? I haven’t looked yet.’ She pulled back the kitchen blind and was alarmed to see hoar frost covering the bare stalks of her garden as well as the grass and trees. ‘Good God – the roads’ll be lethal. It hasn’t been like that since before Christmas. My father told me it was going to be fine. At least mild and ice-free.’

‘When did it last rain?’

‘It drizzles much of the time. The roads aren’t dry, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘But it’s not
sheets
of ice. Your tyres should manage well enough if you go steady.’

‘It scares me,’ Simmy admitted. ‘And the van’s tyres are nothing special.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t let it stop me. I’m going out at nine, icy or not. I’m going to find Joanna and make sure she’s all right. That’s what I came for, after all.’

‘Have you tried phoning her again?’

‘Sent her a text, not saying anything much. I’ll drive to her digs and take it from there. I can’t imagine she’ll be halfway up a mountain in this weather.’

‘She might, if it’s weather she’s working on.’

‘If I’ve got it right, there’s plenty of research she can be doing. This Victorian weatherman left a whole archive of notebooks and stuff, which is kept in Carlisle. She can go up there and spend all day in the warm. It’s the only way to
read them, anyway. They won’t let them leave the building, and they haven’t got it online yet.’

‘It sounds more like a PhD than an ordinary Bachelors.’

‘I know. I have a feeling she and the others have got very carried away with it all. And it’s term time, so they can’t stay for long. She’s got other studies to keep up with.’

‘Funny that we’re both focused on Coniston,’ said Simmy. ‘You with your maverick daughter and me with a murdered man.’

‘Well, don’t even
hint
that there might be a connection. I wouldn’t say I’m an anxious sort of mother, but even I prefer not to think of my daughter confronting a killer.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Simmy, instantly realising that she
had
in fact meant something very much like it.

They sat together in the kitchen for fifteen minutes before Simmy went outside to inspect the road. Troutbeck was on high ground, with every route out involving a steep downhill drive. None was easy, but Simmy had come to prefer the most northerly option, past Townend and down to the busy lakeside road which was kept free of snow and ice. She stepped onto the road, testing it for slippiness. It seemed all right and while she stood there a car passed by at normal speed, heading downhill. A second one followed it and paused at the sight of Simmy. The driver opened his window and smiled at her. ‘Doesn’t look too bad,’ he said.

‘I hope not. I’ve got a busy day.’ It was a man she vaguely knew, from the other end of the village. She had heard his name a few times, but could never recall it. ‘I suppose the Townend way is best?’

‘Probably. Not so twisty, at least. It’s supposed to turn milder during the day. I don’t think there’s any need to worry.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘That’s encouraging.’

He looked at her kindly. ‘Relax, okay? You’ll get used to it eventually.’

‘Will I?’ She swung her foot over the road again. ‘I just keep imagining the car sliding into a ditch. It seems all too likely to happen.’

‘It won’t. And even if it does, the ditches aren’t deep enough to do much damage.’

She remembered her broken wing mirror. ‘The walls are hard enough, though. I’d hate to skid into one. I think I’d steer towards another car, rather than hit a wall.’

He laughed. ‘Think positive,’ he advised and closed his window with another smile.

Simmy went back indoors and gathered up her coat and bag. All three of the Troutbeck deliveries were in the Town Head direction – uphill and away from the lake. Wishing Kathy a good day, she got into the van and turned its heater to full. It was so cold inside she worried that the flowers in the back might have become frosted and ruined, but when she checked, they seemed in perfect condition. The gentle upward slope presented no difficulties, and all of the Valentine recipients were present to show suitable joy and delight. Sighing with relief, Simmy felt ready for the day ahead, and the dozen or so further deliveries to be made around the area.

The relief increased when she saw no apologetic police detective lurking outside her house, as she passed it again on the way out of the village. Perhaps she would be allowed to forget all about murder and malice, at least for the rest of the day.

Fridays were generally complicated, because Melanie had lectures and could very seldom assist in the shop. There were a few people who could be called on in a crisis, including Ben Harkness, who welcomed any excuse to duck out of school for a few hours. Simmy’s mother, however, was not on the list. ‘I’m a useless shopkeeper,’ she said and refused to take any responsibility of that sort. Russell had reluctantly lent a hand once or twice, rewarding himself for the service by seizing the chance to recount some of his local anecdotes to the customers, as a variation on the captive audience at breakfast time that the B&B guests comprised.

On this day, though, there was no option but to close for most of the morning. Thanks to Melanie’s logistical skills, a delivery route had been worked out that would probably not take more than two hours. The temperature was rising and traffic appeared to be moving fairly normally, once she was down on the main road.

The necessity of going back to Coniston was regrettable. If she’d known DI Moxon was going to summon her there the previous evening, she might have cheated by delivering the flowers early. As it was, she would have to do very much the same journey as the previous evening’s, down to Newby Bridge and several miles back up the western side of Lake Windermere to a house not far from the one she’d already visited twice. Then turn round and retrace her steps – or else carry on through Hawkshead and Ambleside as she had done with Kathy. That way was undoubtedly shorter, but the prospect of Hawkshead Hill was uninviting if there was any risk of ice.

The first two deliveries, in Bowness, were uneventful, but
the one in Newby Bridge went badly. Nobody answered the door and there was no front porch or handy shed in which to leave the flowers. Kathy’s theories about neighbours made it seem risky to try the next house. There was a phone number provided with the order, so she went back to the van and called it.

It was answered just as she was giving up hope, with a breathy ‘Hello?’

‘Miss Drury? This is Persimmon Petals. I have some flowers for you.’

‘Oh! Gosh! Where are you?’

‘Outside your house, in Newby Bridge.’

‘But I live in Coniston. I sold my house a while ago and I haven’t got anywhere permanent yet. Who are they from?’

‘The message says “From a secret Valentine,” that’s all. They gave your phone number when they placed the order.’

Miss Drury remained silent for half a minute, then stammered, ‘Gosh! I have
no idea
who that might be. Surely you have the name of the person who ordered them?’

It was a question Simmy had begun to grow thoroughly tired of. ‘It’s confidential, I’m afraid.’ Wasn’t that obvious, she thought crossly. And come to think of it, this was yet another order that had been made in person, paid for in cash, and not logged on any computer apart from the daily tally of monies received. She had no recollection at all of the manner in which the order had been made, but she knew it hadn’t been online. ‘And – actually – I don’t have a name anyway.’

‘Why not?’

She explained.

‘So what did he look like?’

‘He had a long brown coat and a black scarf. That’s really all I remember. We might get a bit more from my assistant, but I doubt it. I’m sure she didn’t know him.’

Miss Drury tutted in frustration. ‘Well, can you bring the flowers here, do you think? Why would this man give you the wrong address, anyway? If he knows my mobile number, he must surely know where I live.’ A thought audibly struck her. ‘Um … where
exactly
are you?’

‘It’s a house called Primrose Paddock, just off the main road.’

‘Oh, God! That’s where my boyfriend lives. Someone’s trying to make trouble for me. Listen – don’t bring me the bloody things. Throw them away. And don’t let Solly see them, whatever you do.’

‘But—’ Wasn’t it possible that Solly had sent them, she wanted to ask, using his own address as a kind of proposal that she move in with him? ‘Couldn’t he be the one?’ she stammered.

‘Was your customer black?’

‘Um … no, I don’t think so.’

‘Then it wasn’t my boyfriend. He’s a Somali. Six foot two and
very
black. You would probably notice.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘And he’d be devastated if he thought I was cheating on him. Thank God he’s not at home. Please – just get rid of those flowers, okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Simmy. ‘But I’m coming to Coniston next, so I
could
just let you see them.’

‘No. Don’t. I’m at work out on the fells. It wouldn’t be worth your while.’

This was the second rejected bouquet in two days, and Simmy felt sore about it. She also felt used and exploited, part of some very nasty little game that she had hoped was all over and done with.

She also realised, with a sinking heart, that DI Moxon was going to want a description of the man in the coat and scarf.