Episode 5 - Pickled

Wednesday cont. then Thursday  December 3

Cleo had taken the precaution of ordering steaks for the evening meal, expecting Dorothy and a few other family members to pop in and stay to eat.

Robert had promised to deliver the meat cuts Cleo had taught him to do to perfection. He came quite early, to Cleo’s surprise. He was also in a good mood, which surprised her even more. Cleo's ex-husband had been morose ever since Brass, the village sergeant, had married Edith, with whom he had a turbulent affair not to his liking since she had turned out to be the village vamp, anything but fixed on Robert, and had treated the rather timid family butcher to her enthusiastic sexual abandonment.

Cleo knew that Robert had a massive inferiority complex rather than being flattered by Edith’s attentions. After all, there he was, a tall guy who carried a large amount of weight (but did not throw it around), and there was Brass, an non-descript  person who invariably looked worried, but was latterly so much more to Edith’s taste than Robert that she cast him off in favour of Brass’s infatuation.

Even Dorothy did not know what made Robert tick, though she had given hum much thought. She had once supported his possessive devotion to Cleo, even when Cleo’s passionate devotion had long since become dedicated to Gary, who had eventually convinced her that they belonged together on a permanent basis. Robert had fallen into Edith’s arms after she had overcome his reticence. Robert did not like Edith’s aggressive love-making, though he went along with it. He was bewitched and flattered, Dorothy was heard to say later. A vicar’s widow does not normally take up with a timid family butcher, was her view.

These days, with all that back history firmly in place, it was slowly getting easier for Robert to face Cleo.

“You are in a good mood,” said Cleo now, relieved that she was not going to hear the tale of woe he usually dished out.

Robert was still regretting walking out on Cleo whilst Cleo had not stopped being glad to be rid of Robert without walking out on him. One reason why their estrangement was delayed was that Cleo owned her cottage and Robert had leased his flat and so had nowhere to go. That is the explanation she gave to Gary, who would gladly have shown Robert the way out of the cottage if Cleo had allowed it, and showed no sympathy for him on that topic, though he had tried to advise him man to man on how to deal with a nymphomaniac like Edith.

“Yes,” said Robert, “I’ve reached a decision at last.”

“You have? Are you going to tell me about it?”

“I’m leaving Upper Grumpsfield,” he told her.

“Wow! For ever?”

“Yes, for ever. Does that bother you, Cleo?”

“I suppose it does,” said Cleo.

“I expect my successor will provide you with good steaks, Cleo, if that’s the reason.”

“What an awful thing to say, Robert. We are friends, remember?”

Cleo sensed that another heated discussion was brewing. Robert had still not really reconciled himself to the permanent entry of Gary into Cleo’s life only hours after he had quit it. If he had thought that Cleo would cry out for him to return to her, he had been sadly disappointed. He had played into her hands by walking out, and they both knew it. Edith had needed someone to bolster her self-confidence, but Robert was only a stepping stone, and that made it all the more difficult because Robert was one again a single and Cleo had at no time given him any indication that she regretted their separation.

“How is PeggySue?” he asked now, hoping to calm the waves. Robert did not need children in his life and could not understand why Gary did. The new man in Cleo’s life was playing up to her. Robert could not accept that Cleo and Gary had found one another.

Asking after PeggySue, the little girl Robert had mendaciously decided to say was his, was the wrong approach, as Cleo pointed out. After all, unbeknownst to Cleo he had pretended to be the child’s father although he knew he could not be. He had been prepared to rear another man’s child on the basis of his own duplicity.

“She’s fine, Robert. Grit is fetching her from the nursery. The boys are being picked up by Toni today – that’s our au pair girl.”

“I know who that is, but I thought mothers looked after their children themselves,” said Robert nastily.

“They do, Robert, and I have my two little ones to care for here while the others are away learning and playing with other kids of their age. It socialisation, you see. Children should not be isolated.”

Cleo would have liked to point out that Robert was in danger of isolation, but refrained.

“That’s a lot of children,” said Robert, who would not have liked to have small ones around him even if he had been able to procreate them.

“Are you criticizing them, Robert?”

“No.”

“It sounded like it. They were not accidents, you know. We want them all.”

“So be it,” was all Robert could find to say.

Reconciling himself to PeggySue was in those days the price he had thought he was paying for keeping Cleo at his side. He should have known better. Cleo was pregnant with PeggySue when he married her. Their intimacy had been rare and in retrospect he knew that the one night of desire that Cleo had devoted to him was a cover for her affair with Gary. Cleo’s marriage to the family butcher had been an act of loyalty to the person who had treated her well though she was coloured in a pristine white village society. If she had ever loved him it was on a friendship level.

He had been in denial of te home truths until Edith showed him that she was attracted to him. He was to learn how attracted she was at the cost of his dignity, which was very important to him.

“And two more in here,” she said, patting her baby bump.

Robert tried not to look.

“Aren’t you too old?” he said, not able to resist churning out the pseudo-argument against having even one child, let alone seven, that was intended to cover up his own impotence!

“Apparently not,” she replied coolly. “But that really depends on how much you enjoy making them,” she added wickedly, and Robert squirmed.

Cleo knew she was provoking her ex-husband, who was a cold fish if ever there was one. She sometoimed wondered how Edith had gone bout seducing him.

“You can return the tray any time,” he said now as he placed it on the worktop in the kitchen.

“How much, Robert?”

“It’s on the house. A sort of farewell present.”

“Gary will want to pay. When are you leaving?

“I’ll take in the Christmas trade and stay to help the newcomer get used to things, but I’ll be gone by mid-January.”

“We’ll genuinely miss you, Robert,” said Cleo.

“I doubt it,” said Robert. “Can you get your Christmas order in soon, Cleo?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll have fresh trout and salmon for new year.”

“Wow! Verdi’s emporium will be envious,” said Cleo, since that supermarket usually had a fish monopoly.

“I can’t help that,” said Robert. “Trade is trade.”

With those words, Robert made for the front door, turned and informed Cleo that she could send her lover to pay the bill, but it wasn’t really necessary. Gary always insisted on paying Robert’s bills. Charity was the last thing he wanted from that ghoul of a guy.

***

As always, Cleo had hated Robert being in the cottage, seeing his presence as an unwelcome intrusion. She hated Robert’s refusal to see Gary as anything more than a marriage-breaker. And now he was presumably going back to his roots in Wales. To be truthful, Cleo was glad he was leaving and thought that Gary would feel the same.

***

By one o’clock, all the children were home. Toni would stay all afternoon to baby-sit, and Grit would take her siesta, a tradition she had cultivated since Roger needed a snooze and snoozing on his own was not to his liking.

Cleo phoned Dorothy and secured her consent to come to a steak supper. There was time to bake an apple tart for afters, Dorothy said. She could always be guaranteed to provide some of her excellent baking, but of course that was not the reason she was being invited.

***

Once supper had been eaten and appreciated by everyone, Joe and Barbara took the girls back to sleep in their bungalow next door while Toni chose to go to her room at Grit’s since she wanted to Skype with her family; Grit and Roger were going to their jazz cellar in Oxford that evening and were only staying for a coffee. Gary and Cleo delighted Dorothy with a discussion of plans for Pensioner’s Paradise. Dorothy was gratified to hear that the respite was going ahead despite the corpse in the lounge. She phoned Vera immediately and subsequently told everyone present that her sister would travel on Friday morning by train and was excited about doing some sleuthing of her own.

“I just hope she won’t be in any danger,” said Roger. “If monkey business is going on at the home, those involved won’t want anyone poking around.”

“She’ll be briefed, Roger,” said Cleo. “This is not a police mission; just a respite at which Vera might hear something useful, but we will at least get an inside idea of the atmosphere there. The Hartley Agency will take full responsibility until such a time as we have to raise the alarm.”

Gary looked rather alarmed at that.

“Are you expecting something crass?” he asked.

“You know we are, Gary. Formby was poisoned, wasn’t he? And we don’t know who did it, do we? And whoever did it is not going to confide in the police, are they?” said Cleo.

“Vera is going to stay there because I have too much to do for Xmas,” said Dorothy. “She likes peace and quiet, so I hope things aren’t too lively there.”

“As lively as a cemetery,” Gary commented.

“I can’t see her finding it very enjoyable there,” said Cleo. “But that’s not really what she’s going for, is it?”

“It sounds authentic,” said Grit. “I just hope Vera has a clean run. I’ll go and visit her. She can tell me anything she needs to relay to you sleuths.”

“But you won’t hide your identity, will you, Dorothy?”

“How can I. Mrs Peel has seen me direct the Finch Nightingales. Sje even wanted to join, but could not hear any pitches.”

“Like Gary,” said Cleo, much to Gary’s disgust.

“I protest,” said Gary.

“We all protest, Sweetheart.”

 “I met your sister. “In Frint on Sea. She was very hospitable, but she did not strike me as being someone you would send out sleuthing!”

“There’s always a first time, Gary,” said Cleo.

“It was the beginning of the end, if I remember rightly,” said Gary.

“The end of what?” Grit asked.

Gary looked meaningfully at Cleo who rolled her eyes meaningfully. Their time in Frint-on-Sea was memorable for their reunion rather than the crime they were trying to solve.”

“That was really the end of Robert Jones, Mother,” he said.

“Oh, so that’s where it all happened.”

“Not all of it, Grit,” said Cleo. “PeggySue had happened long before.”

“I knew something was going on,” said Roger. “Can we leave now, Grit?”

***

Grit seemed more interested in continuing the conversation than in deserting it.

“To change the subject back to where we were,  Are you the older sister, Dorothy?” she asked.

“No. A year younger actually, but I always felt older because Vera was the pretty one and I only played the piano. But brains and beauty con go together. Vera has got all her wits about her.”

“I’m sure she has, but you are too modest,” said Grit.

“Dorothy, you are a good-looking woman,” said Gary. “Don’t knock yourself!”

“I’m looking forward to the next instalment of the crime story,” said Grit.

“The next instalment is that jazz club in Oxford, my dear,” said Roger. “And the instalment after that is home and bed.”

The couple got up, went around hugging everyone and left.

“I should get a move on, too,” said Dorothy. “I’m sure you want an early night.”

Gary and Cleo did not protest.

***

“We’ll have to decide what to tell Vera to look for,” said Gary later, as they drank their nightcap coffee in front of the log fire in the grate. “I don’t want her going around asking leading questions.”

“She is just to behave normally and listen in unobtrusively to the chit-chat. If someone wants to talk she can encourage them. That’s all.”

“So what do you hope will come out of all this?” Gary asked. “And we didn’t even mention Delilah’s kitchen, did we?”

“It isn’r Dorothy’s style, Gary. She should not meddle in burglaries and she would if she had a chance.”

“You said meddle,” said Gary. “So what are you hoping for at the home?”

“The truth. We won’t get beyond Mrs Peel’s buttoned-up personality if we don’t make an effort,” said Cleo. “I’m sure she’s harbouring a dark secret, Gary.”

“I’ll go there early tomorrow,” said Gary. “I could meet Chris there and we could collect anything vaguely portable from Formby’s room and take a look in the cellar. I’d be interested to know what wine is still stored down there.”

“Undrinkable, I should think,” said Cleo.

“But a reason for looking,” said Gary. “We don’t know how gullible Mrs Peel is, but she’s already nervous and also realizes that she can’t stop the cops looking around. She may not have thought of everything from the suspect point of view.”

“Do you also think that Mr Barclay could be somewhere in the house?” said Cleo, “Ihe’s alive, why is he hiding, and if he’s dead, someone must have found him by now.”

“Or dug a hole and buried him, Cleo. Nigel went through the missing persons database and he has not been registered, so either he isn’t missing, in which case Mrs Peel was lying when she said she did not know where he is, or she’s lying because she does know!”

Cleo shivered.

“I think something just walked over my grave, Gary.”

“We’ll take a communal shower and get to bed, Cleo. That should warm you up.”

“It will,” said Cleo.

***

Chris and Ned met up with Gary at the home shortly after nine next morning. Mrs Peel was surprised that they appeared without warning her first.

“Warning?” said Gary. “Why do you need a warning, Mrs Peel?”

“Silly choice of words, Inspector. I meant informed.”

“We won’t keep you long. This is Dr Winter, head of forensics. He and his colleague I only know as Ned need to examine Formby’s room again before you make it over, and I’d just like to have a look round, if I may,” said Gary. “We’ll take Mr Formby’s personal belongings with us. A second container was under the bed if I remember rightly. Did you know about it? Did he say what is in it?”

“He said it contained the family papers. Funny what some people think is precious,” said the housekeeper.

“I would have taken everything immediately but I knew it would be safe here,” flattered Gary.

***

Cleo would have winced at the kow-towing. Gary would have labelled it stringing a suspect along. Mrs Peel would have purred if she had been that sort of cat.

***

“We don’t touch residents’ belongings,” said Mrs Peel. “Only Mr Barclay is allowed to do that and he is not here. Anyway, I’m too busy with the living to bother about the dead.”

With those words, Mrs Peel led the way up the two flights of stairs to Formby’s room.

“We could have taken the lift,” the housekeeper said. “But I’m sure we can all use the exercise.”

Gary wondered if that was a crack at the extra kilo or two he had put on since his promotion to devoted husband and father. Chris was quite chubby and smirking. Ned was as thin as a rake. Mrs Peel was … everyone’s Mrs Denver.

***

As far as Ned could see, the second metal box had not been touched. He taped tabs extensively in case someone had tried to break the lock. There would be a key somewhere, possibly on Formby’s person and he was in the mortuary.

Then Ned carried the container that was heavier than it looked to the forensic van, joking that Formby must have been storing gold ingots under the bed. Gary remarked to Chris that Ned had picked up the box as if it were made of cardboard. Chris said he would lend him out to anyone who needed the furniture shifted. Gary told Chris that he was moving house soon and would be glad of any help he could get.

Since that was the first Chris had heard about the villa, he congratulated Gary on an astute move considering how large his brood was getting. Chris knew the house well from the murder of a previous owerand reflected that he knew quite a lot of locations in Upper Grumpsfield, thanks to a plethora of murders down the years.

Once Formby’s gaudy, effeminately appointed room had been examined, Chris removed the pills and potions that Formby had kept in the drawer of his bedside table. They would be a help in identifying the substances in Formby’s body. The obligatory bottle of water for night-time thirst proved to be diluted vodka and was added to the haul.

“Heart pills and sedatives mainly,” Chris had said looking at the labels. “And strong. If he was drinking heavily and swallowing these, possibly with a few draughts of his alcoholic water, it’s no wonder he collapsed. His digestion wasn’t too good, either judging from the dyspepsia remedies.”

“No doubt the blood tests will tell us more,” said Gary.

“Of course, if he took the pills himself, it wasn’t murder,” said Ned.  “But that’s hard to prove.”

A discussion on the effects of drugs mixed with alcohol followed. Ned was a chemist and had worked for a pharmaceutical firm before joining HQ, so he was well-qualified to talk about the topic. Chris had started life as a doctor, but was a qualified and experienced forensic scientist. Together they were a formidable duo.

***

“We’ll take a look in the cellar now,” said Gary.

“I don’t suppose it’s used much anymore,” said Chris.

“They apparently sold spirits and wine as an off-licence as well as serving it in their restaurant when the place was a hotel. I doubt if everything was legal, but it did ensure a large stock,” said Chris. “I looked it all up on the internet last night. There was no information as to why the hotel went into liquidation.”

“Lack of overnight guests, I should think,” said Gary. “If that was the only off-licence in Upper Grumpsfield I expect the locals went in and out. If there’s one thing about could be said about country folk it’s that they can hold their booze! I think the previous owner died under mysterious circumstances, by the way, but that was before my time here.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t get a repeat performance,” said Chris.

***

What had started out as a dead guy who had met his maker mysteriously was turning into a first class drama. Cleo had theorized that Formby was probably a thief and definitely gay, judginb by his twee furnishings. He might have had a grudge against the older women who pestered him for attention at the home. And they might have had a grudge against him for not awarding them the devotion they desired.

Gary had already decided to consult relatives of the robbed pensioners about the jewelry and watches in Formby’s collection rather than making a fuss at the home, but kept in mind the fact that jewelry thefts from shops were reported from time to time and the booty was often not recovered. Nigel would make a catalogue of the objects found in Formby’s room. They could even get Bertie Browne to publish it in his freebie. Gary thought that jewellers would be less likely to point a finger at an elderly gentleman just looking, but thiefs are ageless, he knew from experience.

The second locked container had indeed contained all kinds of trinkets, some valuable, but not the kind of trinkets a gay man would want to wear unless he was a travesty artist or always dressed as a woman, and Formby did not do that, but Nigel would have to be consulted about that since he organized a hobby cross-dressing group.

The second container was heavier than the first because it was bullet-proof and had a locked inner compartment also made of metal, which might contain a will or some other relevant papers. The box also contained a gun. The sevret compartment nt that was secured by a five digit code. Ned had carried the container easily, though it was cumbersome and wide enough to take the gun holster with belt and an extraordinarily large number of bullets. Was that allowed at an OAP home? What on earth did Formby need it all for or what had he needed it for before he retired?”

Did Mr Barcley, the manager of the OAP home, or even Mrs Peel know about the gun? Did Mr Barclay know about Formby’s kleptomania – or was Formby just a long-finger or worse still, was it a profit making arrangement between the two of them? The women who had been relieved of their possessions would be convinced eventually that they had lost them and would certainly not accuse Formby, who would have put on an act of deep devotion to the ladies, whatever he thought of them.

Cleo phoned Dorothy to keep her up to date. Dorothy had a hunch. She was sure that Formby was a bad lot. Cleo pointed out that it was going to be difficult get anyone to say anything nasty about Formby. Dorothy said Vera would kknow how to get people to talk.

In the meantime, where was Mr Barclay? Speculation would not find him. That was certain. Did Mrs Peel know where he was and was not telling, or did she have enough criminal energy to get rid of the manager so that she could take over permanently?

Gary had hesitated to say that nearly all the theories put forward were bordering on the ridiculous because he had put his foot in it far too often. Going to the OAP home in an official capacity and asking a few relevant questions was more sensible. If he could not get satisfactory answers, he was not sure what would be the best way forward, but he was not planning to ask Dorothy for her advice. He was adamant about that.

“I hope you’re right,” Cleo said. “When Dorothy has a hunch, we need to follow it up.

Of course he really knew that sound advice would be forthcoming whether he asked for it or not. Dorothy had advised him to search the building, which he intended to anyway. Dorothy was sure the cellar would just be full of wine. Maybe they would find a corpse there too.

She rang Gary to tell him that.”

“We don’t need another corpse,” Gary had retorted.

Dorothy said that she wanted to know if the place was clean before she sent Vera there. Gary was actually having second thoughts about letting another amateur sleuth in on the act. The moment had come when he was hopeful that his graduation to the manager position would save him a lot of anguish with Dorothy.

***

The cellar was dimly lit; one of those places that gave Gary the creeps. He wished Cleo was back, at which, bless her, that good lady appeared. She had rushed. The kids had priority, of course, but now everything was organized and she was glad to get a look in the cellar.

“Where is Formby’s property?” Cleo asked.

“Safely locked in the van,” said Ned. “I don’t think anything had been tampered with. We’ll open the second container at HQ.”

“In Chris’s office, please,” said Gary. “It might be full of stolen goods and you forensic guys have the best photographic equipment.”

“The problem is that people take rings, watches and other jewelry off and put them on a table next to them,” said Cleo. “Then they forget to pick them up when they leave, and Formby, who had a magpie reputation, just helped himself.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” said Gary. “Cleo is merciful, but I call it theft.”

***

The four were amazed at just how much old wine was still on the racks.

“I don’t suppose it would still be here if it was hard liquor,” said Gary. “Wine does not do the trick for alcoholics and the bottles are rather conspicuous.”

“I’ll photograph them all,” said Ned, producing a digital camera from his pocket. “Some might be valuable. They sell them in half-dozens at auctions. I’ve seen them going for as much as five hundred per bottle.”

“Hardly likely in this joint,” said Chris. “But don’t let me stop you! “We can confiscate them if you think it’s worth the trouble. The proceeds can go into the Xmas fund for next year”

Cleo walked ahead and gasped as she set eyes on two large brass tanks labelled ‘white’ and ‘red’.

“Table wine,” said Gary, catching up with her. “Wine for people who don’t want a whole bottle. Served in carafes and listed on the menu under various names and descriptions.”

“That’s fraud,” said Cleo.

“Or economics. People just ordered white or red and since they only ordered one sort, if they ordered twice it would be the same again. There was no way of comparing them.”

“So it didn’t matter which wine they ordered, they just got white or red,” said Ned. “Fraud in its most refined way. Rosé wine was a mixture of white and red. I remember my father asking to see the bottle.”

“There would not have been one,” said Cleo.

“People into fraud usually know how to do it. They bottled some of their mixed plonk and even labelled it. They also said it was their last bottle in case someone wanted to buy one.”

“That is so far-fetched it has to be true,” said Gary.

“Or stand-up. My father was an entertainer,” saud Ned.

“I went to a wine-tasting only once,” said Gary. “At a wine specialist store in Oxford, with Grit,” said Gary. “They masked the bottle labels and the one that I liked best was some cheap stuff from the East Block where I didn’t know they even had enough sun. I think it cost three quid and the one my mother chose cost at least ten times that and tasted of vinegar – but very old vinegar.”

There were permanent taps on the tanks for fast delivery and even metal rungs for climbing up to look in at the top if you were agile. Ned had spotted glasses in one corner of the cellar. He fetched one and tried the tap on the white wine tank. Sure enough, wine came gushing out.

“I wouldn’t drink it,” he said, smelling the brew. “It has definitely seen better days.”

“And you need a lighter hand for the tap,” Gary said. “I expect the sommelier, if they had one, knew how to handle the tanks.”

“How did they get the wine in?” Cleo wondered.

“I expect it came in a tanker and was pumped through a pipe like heating oil. There’s a connection at the side, I see,” said Gary.

“But there would have to be a proper opening,” said Chris. “Wine leaves a deposit. It would have to be cleaned from time to time.”

“There’ll be a cover at the top. Shall I look?” said Ned.

“Be so good,” said Gary. “I’ll fetch the step-ladder I sa w near the cellar steps.”

I can use the rungs,” said Ned.

“Better not. If they are as rusty as the evil-smelling wine you might fall off.”

***

Ned obediently propped the ladder against the tank of white wine and climbed up. Sure enough, there was a cover. It was on a mechanism that allowed you to swing it open and shut without actually having to remove it. It was partly glass so that you could see how much was left of the wine without opening the top completely. The tank was on legs and about eight feet high. Quite imposing.

“I don’t suppose they kept it full,” said Cleo.

“I think these tanks are really for beer. You’d be surprised to hear how many people drink wine because it’s posh and the wine in this tank was probably cheaper than the beer they sold,” said Ned, who seemed to be quitze an expert.

The other investigators watched while Ned first tried to make something out through the glass, but it was not clean enough so he pulled the mechanism to open the cover and looked inside the tank.

The smell from within the container was unpleasant.

“I wish I had a mask,” Ned called. “The stink is really offensive.” Ned gasped. “There isn’t just wine in there.”

He climbed down the ladder gingerly, looking queasy.

“Let me look,” said Gary, tying his cravat around nose and mouth. ”Get some fresh air, Ned! You look as if you need it.”

“I’m recovering now,” said Ned.

“Wait a minute, Gary,” said Cleo. “Didn’t Mrs Peel say she didn’t know where the manager is?

“Are you suggesting…?”

“Ned has seen something that should not be in there and I’ve a good idea what it is, or rather who…”

“Oh no….”

“What a way to go,” said Ned.

“If life could always be this simple,” said Gary. “It’s a corpse, isn’t it, Ned?”

“I expect it is,” said Chris. “We’re always finding corpses in Upper Grumpsfield.”

“We’ll have to get it out,” said Gary. “I’ll call the fire brigade. They’ll know what to do.”

“We should look in the other tank,” said Ned.

“Let’s leave that to the fire brigade,” said Gary. “To be honest, one corpse is enough for one day.”

“One is too many,” said Chris.

“I should think this is a one-off anyway,” said Cleo.

“The witch rides again,” said Gary.

“What a good job I did not forget my broomstick,” Cleo replied. “It has a hook on the end for fishing things out of cauldrons and wine-tanks.”