Walking with Ghosts - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) (22 page)

Chapter Fifty-nine

‘Honey Driver, you’re taking leave of your senses. Now either bloody well sort yourself out, or get out of my kitchen!’

OK, Smudger Smith was a great chum of a chef, but he was volatile.  Nevertheless he worked for her and she could justifiably have told him to sod off. But no way. It was a chance she couldn’t take, for great chefs weren’t ten a penny. Anyway, she was making a mess of things this morning having just filled a jug with mayonnaise instead of cream.

She was preoccupied. Where were the film reels? That was all she wanted to know. Still, that was no excuse for mistaking mayonnaise for cream.

‘Sorry, Chef. Iron hard,’ she muttered, rubbing her neck. ‘Too much tension.’

‘Then get out of my kitchen and find someone to rub it for you.’

‘You offering?’

‘Out!’ He pointed at the door.

She scurried out, thinking that she needed more than a neck massage to sort things out.

What she needed was to lash out at somebody – at least with her tongue. Her whole body was stiff as a fence post. Unfortunately it would have to stay that way. She was filling in for an absent waitress tonight and needed to be courteous and of service. However, that didn’t mean she had to be servile. All it would take was an awkward customer who wished to wipe his feet on somebody.

A certain Mr Edgar Seymour happened to be it, though he didn’t yet know it.

‘Didn’t you hear me? I said there’s a greenfly on my salad.’

Honey turned to the man with the speckled skin and ginger hair. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.’

‘Look,’ he said, pointing a square-ended finger at the tiny intruder. ‘I didn’t order protein with my salad.’

‘I’ll get you a fresh one.’

‘No need. You can deduct the cost from the bill. That’s four salads  …’

‘You’ve been served four salads with greenfly?’

‘No, just mine, but my friends have all had salad  …’

Honey eyed the three empty plates. ‘And ate them.’

‘That’s beside the point  … And that coffee looks stewed.’

Honey glanced to where the coffee jug was gurgling away on its stand. Besides ordinary coffee they offered lattes, cappuccinos, and decaffeinated – a large choice for a small hotel.

She made a last effort to be polite. ‘I can assure you the coffee is fresh. It empties every few minutes so we
have
to make fresh.’

‘OK, but what about these salads?’

‘Leave it with me.’

Two of her regular waitresses had phoned in sick. Lindsey was doing her bit to help out and so was Dumpy Doris. Dumpy Doris was built like a bulldozer with black hair and piercing black eyes. And she knew everybody. Honey could never figure out how come she knew so many people. She was hardly the Ivana Trump of Bath. Sometimes, though, such information came in useful – like now.

Doris’s doughy face was twitching as though she’d just stuck her finger into an electric plug. She resembled a wonky, overweight automaton.

Commanded as such to attend, Honey did as ordered.

Doris’s eyes narrowed, and were focused on the greenfly grumbler.

Honey explained. ‘They’re complaining that they had a greenfly on their salad.’

‘And he wants you to discount for all four, I suppose. Bleeding typical. They’ll find something wrong with the main course as well; and the dessert; and the char and coffee. They do it in every restaurant they go in. I knows ’em. Common as muck. ’E thinks ’e’s Lord Bleeding Muck, and she’s all fur coat and no knickers!’

‘And the greenfly?’

‘Old Harry there grows roses. Say no more.’

‘So what about that greenfly?’

A speckled ginger man appeared at her elbow, brimming with over confidence.

Honey folded her arms over her chest. ‘Well, you know what they say if you want to find a greenfly in your salad, don’t you? Bring one with you!’

The man frowned. ‘How dare you!’

The day’s events had left Honey in no mood for composure. ‘Get out of my hotel, you downmarket upstart!’ She controlled the urge to shout. Controlled the urge to clench her fist and fetch him a good one on the nose.

The rest of his party looked horrified.

A woman wearing black polyester trousers and a black and red flowered top got to her feet. Tossing her head high she sniffed like a dowager duchess. ‘We’ve never been treated like this before!’

‘Well, that isn’t what I’ve heard!’

She felt Doris’s heavy presence behind her, and then heard her voice. ‘All right, Maureen? Still buying yer old man’s underpants from jumble sales?’

The colour drained from Maureen’s face. She was standing half out of her chair, as though not sure whether to sit back down or run for the exit.

‘Ed,’ she said softly, tugging at his sleeve.

Ed was obviously short-sighted or overly adventurous. He stood swaying slightly.

‘And another thing  …’ He was pointing a sausage-like finger.

Doris elbowed forward. ‘Sod off, Edgar.’

He looked at her, his jaw and slack lips moving in slow motion.

Doris braced her fists on her hips and edged closer. ‘You heard me. Sod off.’

The couple accompanying them, cowed up until now, suddenly jerked to their feet.

‘I’m sorry about this.’ He sounded downright embarrassed. ‘Here’s what we owe. Or as near as, dammit.’

Honey took the money. She kept a straight face. Inside she was bubbling with laughter.

Doris showed the foursome to the door and flung their coats out after them. ‘And don’t come back.’

The rest of the clientele seemed to have appreciated the floor show. Most clapped.

Honey concentrated on clearing the table. It occurred to her that Doris was taking her time. She craned her neck and sidestepped so she could see better. She saw Doris standing very still, watching something on the other side of the door.

‘Your mother’s here,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘And she’s not alone.’

Doris stood aside as Gloria Cross’s head poked through the door. ‘I’ve got Mary Jane out here. She’s getting rid of any bad spirits that might be hanging around my shop. Margaret gets the willies about the place.’

Honey thought on her feet.

‘I’d like to come as well.’

This had nothing to do with Mary Jane and this Native American mumbo-jumbo. It was all about blackmail, murder, and the sinking of the
Titanic
.

She cast an experienced gaze over the restaurant. It was gone ten o’clock. Things were winding down.

‘OK. Give me a minute. I need to speak to Chef.’

She peered cagily around the door. ‘Smudger, I need to go out. You OK till I get back?’

‘I’m not a total idiot, you know!’ A meat cleaver came down at the same time, dividing a lamb chop from the main carcase.

Lindsey was waiting with her coat on. ‘I’m coming with you. Grandma said I could.’

She looked defiant. Honey was in no mood to argue: in fact she was feeling quite excited.

‘I’ll get my coat. That place is bound to be chilly at this time of night – unless Mary Jane sets it alight.’

Dumpy Doris and Anna in reception were happy to clear up if she and Lindsey weren’t back at the end of the shift.

Mary Jane, an ephemeral vision in pink chiffon, floated towards the door. ‘I’ve got the car outside.’

The right foot that Honey had so firmly put forward now hovered above the rough sisal of the welcome mat. Her mother’s hand swiftly cupped her elbow.

‘Did I tell you about this interesting guy I met? He’s a widower and owns a number of businesses nationwide. Now, don’t get uppity if I tell you that he’s looking for a wife of about your age  …’

Her foot went into instant reflexive action. A death-defying adventure in Mary Jane’s car was preferable to hearing her mother wax lyrical about a suitable man.

Pedestrians parted as she scuttled to the pale pink coupe, opened the door to the front passenger seat, and shot in.

Mary Jane was already seated. She looked at Honey with some surprise. ‘My, but aren’t you the keen one? You don’t usually like to travel at the front.’

‘Can’t wait,’ she said, clipping on her seat belt.

If she thought she was getting with it that easily, she was very much mistaken. Gloria leaned forward from the back seat next to Lindsey. ‘He’s got a chain of retirement homes all over England.’

‘Great.’ The word came out. Her desire to puke stayed in. A retirement home! Was her mother thinking of her own long-term future here?

As they pulled away Honey wondered whether her will was up to date. A motorcycle swerved, barely avoiding the front wing. A taxi squealed to a stop. Cruising the rest of Pulteney Street was fine. In a build-up of traffic at the end, Mary Jane squeezed the Caddy coupe between a hot dog trailer and a bus.

Honey took a deep breath in an effort to make herself a very small target as they squeezed through with only a layer of paint to spare.

Mary Jane looked over her shoulder. ‘Is someone shouting at me?’

‘Eyes front, Mary Jane.’

‘That man’s smeared in mustard and onions,’ Gloria observed.

A few more death-defying manoeuvres and they pulled in.

Honey pointed out the fact that they were parked on double yellows.

‘It’ll be OK,’ said Mary Jane. ‘Just think positive and nothing negative will happen.’

‘Like a fifty-pound fine,’ muttered Lindsey.

Mary Jane swooped on her bag of tricks and sprang from the car. ‘Let’s move.’

They followed her like a clutch of baby ducks.

‘Does she know where she’s going?’ Lindsey sounded as though all this was one big joke.

Gloria shrugged.

‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Honey asked her.

‘Instinct,’ said Mary Jane. ‘I can find it purely by instinct.’

Chapter Sixty

Mary Jane stopped by the right one. ‘Looks real good,’ she said, eyeing the shop window. ‘More colour would be good. Pink especially.’

‘It’s not in vogue,’ said Gloria.

Mary Jane stated the obvious. ‘It is with me.’

Mary Jane began untying her bag. It was made of canvas, had wooden handles and a large drawstring holding it shut. It was pink of course – with psychedelic swirls in pistachio green.

Gloria’s gold bracelet, earrings, and necklace jangled and flashed with brilliance as she wrestled with the ancient lock.

‘Let me.’ Lindsey took over. Placing her ear against the door, she fingered the key with a surgeon’s light, dextrous skill.

The door opened.

Not for the first time, Honey Driver wondered about her daughter’s hidden talents. Where had they come from?

Mary Jane swooped in first and stood twirling in the centre of the shop.

‘Strong smell,’ she said, sniffing the air like a true blue bloodhound.

‘Paint,’ said Gloria. ‘I had to freshen up a bit – or rather I had a guy freshen it up for me. He came cheap.’

Honey smelled more than paint. It was faint, but definite. ‘I smell perfume.’

‘Mine. Chanel No.5. Marilyn Monroe wore it to bed, you know. No nightwear. Just the perfume.’

‘The only perfume we want in here is from this little beauty,’ said Mary Jane. She took a bunch of sagebrush from her bag and waved it. ‘Anyone got a light?’

Grandma Cross, Honey and daughter looked at each other. Nobody smoked.

‘I know!’ Gloria’s clicking heels made for the back of the shop. ‘We have a gas cooker. It ain’t exactly space age technology, but it fires up OK.’

She turned a knob and a circle of blue flame sprang into life.

‘Great!’                                                                                                        

Mary Jane’s eyes sparkled by gaslight as she dipped the sagebrush into the flame. The dry sagebrush sparkled red. The red embers changed swiftly to smoke.

Mary Jane began pacing up and down.

Gloria frowned, caught the door between kitchen and shop, and slammed it shut.

‘I prefer you didn’t go wafting that stuff around in the shop. The clothes will take up the smell. And smoked salmon is very nice, but nobody wants to go around smelling like it.’

It was agreed that the top landing was the best place to start. Mary Jane led the way, sagebrush held aloft.

The stair lighting was dim; candle bulbs in wrought-iron sconces. The top landing was the most ill-lit of all. The ceiling receded into the rafters of an enormous mansard roof. Sloping walls and oak trusses created shadows where none should exist.

Being scared is for screaming teens in silly movies, Honey told herself. She carefully avoided looking at the more suspect shadows.

Mary Jane began doing her thing, waving the sagebrush around. At the same time she chanted something in a language no one could understand. Trance-like, she wandered around, barely missing falling down the stairs.

‘Steady, Mary Jane.’

Lindsey grabbed a trailing sleeve and hooked her back.

Mary Jane insisted on ‘cleansing’ each landing.

Honey reconnoitred behind her. There was little to see. The stars were out; easy to see through the overhead skylight. A sheet of tarpaulin had obliterated the view on the night of the murder. Had Lady Templeton-Jones looked up and, expecting to see stars, been concerned?

Honey felt an immediate sadness and also a sense of foreboding. She wasn’t prone to premonitions; she left that sort of stuff to Mary Jane. Still, she had to mention it.

‘I’ve got butterflies.’

‘Of course you do,’ said Mary Jane in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘This is an old building full of old ghosts.’ To her such stuff was as normal as breathing.

‘And old doors,’ Honey added. She noticed there was either a door or a blank wall inside a door architrave. ‘I think this place used to be two places.’

‘I need to use the bathroom,’ said Honey’s mother. ‘It’s downstairs.’

‘This way.’ Lindsey sprinted on ahead. They were coming down the last few stairs when she poked her head around the door to the minuscule kitchen.

‘Guess what? We have a problem.’

‘Don’t tell me there’s no bathroom!’ Gloria Cross looked distraught.

‘The bathroom’s there.’ Lindsey indicated the direction. Gloria scuttled off. ‘But the door’s locked. We can’t get out.’

Mary Jane suggested they smash a window.

The voice of Honey’s mother shouted through the lavatory door.

‘Don’t you dare!’

Honey echoed her point of view. Damage this early in her tenure could end up in non-renewal – a prospect she would prefer to avoid if possible.

The sound of the flush preceded Gloria’s re-emergence. Honey suggested they try one of the doors. ‘Shop doors always have bolts and catches. Back doors with bars have deadlocks. If we can approach it from inside, we can get out.’

It seemed feasible enough. The search was on. The door on the very top landing was exactly what they were looking for.

Lindsey did the honours. The good tug she gave it threw her backwards when the door opened so easily.

‘It wasn’t locked.’

‘Someone’s been here!’ Honey was convinced of it.

Lindsey was a mine of historical information covering a wide spectrum of interest. Old buildings were no exception. ‘When one building got separated into two, they didn’t necessarily bother with the attic rooms.’

‘That’s it,’ said Honey. ‘That’s it!’

Everyone shushed her.

‘Sorry.’

Her mind continued to tick. She remembered the candle burning in a shop window. Marine Heritage or the shop next door? This one! The empty one. The candle had acted like a lighthouse on a dark night. The killer had lured Her Ladyship in like a ship on to the rocks. Looking at the shops from the outside it was difficult to know where one began and the other ended. But this one was next door to Marine Heritage! Wanda, Lady Templeton-Jones, had been instructed to look for the candle and enter the door. The marine façade of the shop next door would have placated any doubts she might have had about her contact being a bona fide dealer.

They stepped over the threshold. Honey fingered the wall and found a light switch. There was a clunk then darkness.

‘Drat. Fuse blown.’

‘Keep your voice down.’

‘I am keeping my voice down, Mother.’

‘Shouldn’t we all keep our voices down?’ Lindsey added in a warning whisper.

‘Seeing as we’re burgling the shop next door, yes is the answer to that,’ Honey whispered back.

The one thing Honey could count on with all her family was their capacity for declaring the obvious and going ahead with breaking the law. She vaguely remembered some ancestor her mother insisted had sailed with Blackbeard the Pirate and had stocked up a huge treasure. He’d like gold. Lots of gold. She could well believe it if her mother was anything to go by.

The darkness smelled musty.

Honey thought about a flashlight. She was thinking this as she felt her way along a makeshift workbench. Her hand knocked against something metallic that wobbled. A flashlight!

‘Stop!’

Mary Jane had been leading the descent. She stopped so quickly it was like hitting the proverbial brick wall. Everyone collided.

‘Flash that light, Honey.’

Honey flashed.

Lindsey called the police.