Tuesday cont. then Wednesday December 2
Later that day, the death at Pensioner’s Paradise was chewed
over at length over a nightcap coffee, but Toni’s new conquest had to be
welcomed first.
As promised, Toni had turned up with her boyfriend, a young
man from Thailand who had come to perfect his English before going back to his
home country to become a General like his father, he said. The young man
introduced himself in perfect English as Mongkut, which he explained meant man
with a crown.
Mongkut was going back to Bangkok in a day or two. Toni did
not seem unduly regretful aobut that. The Hurleys had not been expecting quite
such an exotic guest, but he was charming and they liked him. He insisted that
he enjoyed British cooking, which astonished everyone since Thailand had very
spicy food and British food was often crying out for seasoning.
“We’ll actually be eating American,” Cleo informed him. “I
hope you like big portions.”
There was a tiny snort as Gary dropped into a nap. Cleo nudged
him and begged him to get some more wine.
“Was I asleep?” said Gary, quite embarrassed. “Sorry,
Mongkut. I’ve had a long day with a corpse thrown in.”
“What is a corpse?” Mongkut asked.
“That’s a dead body,” said Toni, looking daggers at Gary.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t kill it,” said Gary. “Do you drink
red wine, Mongkut?”
“I’m very glad we are having steaks tonight,” said Cleo, hastily
changing the subject. ”Scottish beef is hard to beat, but I can’t answer for
most of the cooking here except for Italian, Chinese and Indian and
occasionally continental cuisine. We don’t have a Thai restaurant nearer than
London.”
“Many Hindus don’t eat red meat, Mrs Hurley.”
“Oh dear,” said Cleo. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Don’t worry! I have to admit that we have moved on in that
respect. We even have fast food places and American steak houses, especially in
Bangkok, and it isn’t just the tourists who eat there. Thai culture now allows us
to eat beef so I don’t feel bad about eating your wonderful steaks.”
The small talk, of which only the bare bones are reported
here, was admittedly rather boring. It did not take long after enjoyment of the
much appreciated red meat for Toni to want to leave, taking her Hindu believer
with her. Their day would end with a disco and she would be quite glad when
Mongkut went back to Thailand, at least, that is what Cleo read into Toni’s
frequent exchange of glances with her. Even the most exotic boyfriend is only
human, after all.
***
Later, Gary rescued his reputation as houseman by stacking
the dishwasher. He put another log on the fire while Cleo made them their
traditional nightcap. Then they sat side by side on the sofa, a plaid over
their knees to protect them from the astonishing heat a log fire in a small
grate can generate and watched the flames rising and the wood spitting.
“Funny, that Thai guy,” said Gary. “I was taking microsleeps
all through that chit-chat. I feel quite refreshed now.”
“I noticed.”
“It was all so tedious, Cleo. Entertaining ongoing Thai general are a social challenge I am not up to-“
“I quite liked him,” said Cleo. “It’s our fault if the conversation
was not scintillating. I thought Toni was very bored, too. She soon made off
with him. I wonder where she found him?”
”At her language school, I should think, though they both
speak better English than some Brits,” said Gary.
“If you were a Hindu, you’d call on the appropriate God and
say a prayer, I suppose,” said Cleo. “They have all sorts of gods.”
“I would stick to ones that keep me awake,” said Gary.
“Did you know that Indians prefer light coloured skins, even
for their gods, and spend a fortune on skin whiteners, like Michael Jackson
must have done?”
“I’m quite glad I’m not a Hindu. I don’t think I could cope
with all those gods and goddesses quite apart from the Thai language having 42
letters.”
“G.B. Shaw tried to improve English spelling and gave up,”
said Cleo. “How on earth do you know how many letters there are in Thai?”
“Trivial pursuit games,” said Gary. “Useless knowledge like
on quiz shows. You never get to the end of what they call general knowledge.”
“You never watch them.”
“Not any more. Thai people say that Hinduism is an offshoot
of Buddhism. They are very enthusiastic about their gods.”
“Can we talk about something more relevant?” Cleo said.
“Some people think the gods and goddesses were aliens who
came to Earth. I expect they believe they have special powers,” said Gary.
“Those crop circles are supposed to be signs for aliens,”
said Cleo. “In 1990 over 700 of them appeared in Britain alone. Cereologists
fight over the origins.”
“What a waste of time,” said Gary. “I think I’d like a blue
bedroom.”
“That’s a cold colour, Gary. Pink is better, but we could
settle for yellow. That’s what the experts recommend for children’s rooms.”
“I thought we were moving so that we could have our bedroom
to ourselves,” said Gary.
“Sure, but I’m having second thoughts about using a room as
my office where someone has been murdered.”
“Quite apart from that idea not being worthy of you, it’s
rxactly why a room should be reinstated. For instance, you have no idea if
anyone was murdered in the cottage, especially in out beroom. ”
“Of course. Silly of me to be superstitious. Rooms are often
places where guys are killed.”
“Exactly, though it was a horror story at the villa. But we
can’t go around suspecting every room everywhere. That would be like
ghost-hunting on a major scale, and rooms don’t actually keep secrets or
harbour something evil after evil has been done in them,” said Gary.
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Cleo.
“I am, and after being at that pensioner establishment, I’m
starting to wonder what it’s like to be 90 and almost certainly to be in a room
where more than one person has died somehow or other.”
“I keep thinking about those old people in that home, too,”
said Cleo. “But we are all at the mercy of something, aren’t we?”
“I expect we are, though the idea is horrific, given the
houseful of progeny we treasure. So now let’s talk about something else, shall
we?”
“Who started this discussion?”
“You, my love.”
“Talking of Pensioner’s Paradise, they really need more
homeliness than what starchy Mrs Peel has to offer,” said Cleo.
“I think part of the problem is that is stilly more like a
hotel. It has no homely feeling whatsoever and you can’t expect the residents
to provide any. No wonder Mr Formby drank. I think I would.”
“Let’s go to bed when this log has died down. I think I need
an early night,” said Cleo.
“Tomorrow I’m meeting the Polish decorators at the villa to
discuss when they can start and how long it’s going to take.”
“We could nearly all go there after Charlie gets home from
school. Then she could choose some of the colours,” said Cleo.
“She’s bound to choose yellow,” said Gary. “You’ll tell her
to.”
“I won’t have to. Yellow is for happiness and sunshine.”
“Blue is for skies and green for trees. You can’t choose
room colours on that sort of basis,” said Gary. “I’ll get some more coffee.”
“Have I told you how brilliant your idea of the villa is?”
“I knew you’d approve,” said Gary.
“I wonder what Robert will say.”
“Are you still thinking about that ex of yours?”
“I want him to know that we are a permanent fixture,
especially now Brass has married Edith. I still think Robert hopes it’s all
been a bad dream,” said Cleo.
“We are married, after all and I could not care a damn what
Robert thinks.”
“Does marriage make it permanent?”
“I hope so, Cleo. You’ve got to stop worrying about Robert. He
could not cope with Edith and now I’m sure he’s relieved that she found someone
else. Do you think he still thinks about you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well you can’t think about all your ex-husbands when
there’s one sitting next to you who is waiting for a little TLC.”
“I never think about Jay except when I think of my lost baby.”
“I do understand, my Love. I can’t forgive Charlie’s mother
for taking her off to Spain to live with that awful guy she took up with.”
“Robert is a mixed-up guy. Someone has to be concerned about
him.”
“It does not have to be you. He left you, after all. So he got
mixed up with Edith and she was far too over-sexed for him.”
“Brass seems to cope,” said Cleo. “He’s a dry old stick when
he’s at work, but Edith would not put up with him if he could not keep up with
her.”
“A wise word,” said Gary. “Let’s get some sleep.”
“I’d like a walk-in shower. Is that possible?”
“I’ll find out.”
Gary propped the fire guard firmly against the grate tiles.
The glow of the embers lit up the room enough for him to see that Cleo was
smiling.
“What’s so funny,” he said.
“Our small talk, Mr Hurley.”
“Drivel. Bunkum. Call it what you will. I feel unable to
comment. My duvet is calling.”
“Our duvet.”
“Is that what we are talking about now?” said Gary.
“You did not ask me why I want a walk-in shower.”
“To re-open the small talk, there’s more room for two,
that’s why,” he said.
“Let’s hope no one wants us during the night,” said Cleo.
“Don’t tempt fate!”
***
The phone on Cleo’s side of the bed rang at about two.
“Don’t answer it,” muttered Gary.
“I have to,” said Cleo, who was one of those people who
slipped from deep sleep to wide awake within seconds. “Just carry on sleeping,
Sweetheart.”
“How can I sleep when you are on the phone wrapped in my
duvet?” said Gary.
“It’s king-size, Gary. There’s room for both of us.”
***
“Hartley Agency speaking,” said Cleo into the phone. “Do you
know what time it is?”
“It’s me,” said the caller. “Mitch.”
“It’s the middle of the night. Has Delilah left home?”
“No, but the kitchen has.”
“The kitchen?”
Cleo’s sudden shout put an end to Gary’s attempt at sleep.
“Someone’s taken it.”
“Calm down, Mitch. You can’t just take a kitchen.”
“Some of it is still here, but bashed to bits. Is your
husband anywhere near?”
“He usually is at this time of night, but he’s asleep,” said
Cleo.
Gary leaned over and grabbed the handset.
“No he isn’t. What’s up, Mitch?”
“We were upstairs in our room at the back ummm listening to
loud rock. We did not hear any hammering.”
“But Mr Morgan should have. Doesn’t he sleep at the front?”
“I don’t know where he he is. That organist has not paid for
his room for two months. Four more weeks and I’m chucking him out,” said Mitch.
“I’ll talk to him,” said Gary. “What was that about the
kitchen?”
“Someone smashed the window and stole the portable
electrics, then took a sledge hammer to the rest.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“It must have been two. The dishwasher has gone.”
“How do you get a dishwasher through a window?” said Gary,
yawning widely and thinking of his microsleeps.
“They opened the kitchen door, Gary, and this is an official
complaint. We can’t feed the guests without the kitchen.”
“You don’t need to feed guests at this time of night, Mitch,”
said Gary, who could sense that the night was slipping away alarmingly fast and
was consequently not in the mood to talk to Mitch.
Cleo snatched the handset and elbowed Gary back into his
side of the bed.
“Sorry about that, Mitch. Gary is not too happy about being
woken out of a deep sleep.”
“I’m not too happy about our kitchen, Cleo. What are we
going to do with the eaters?”
“I’ll be over after breakfast,” called Gary.
“Did you hear that, Mitch?”
“Yes. Sorry to wake him,” said Mitch. “Can Delilah speak to you
now, or will that disturb the sleeping beauty?”
“I think she’d better wait till the morning, Mitch. Gary is
not at his best at this hour.”
“That only applies when I’m not asleep,” Gary shouted.
“You don’t bloody care, do you, Gary?” said Mitch.
“He does care, Mitch. Get somesleep. We’ll sort something
out in the morning.”
***
“Since you are awake, why don’t you get up and make us a
coffee, Gary?”
“This is why,” he replied and covered his head with his
pillow.
***
Cleo called Delilah on her mobile, mainly to commiserate.
“The hard rock drowned everything out,” Delilah sniffed. “It’s
al lthat bass hammering.”
“But surely you must have heard something,” said Cleo.
“Not a dickie-bird,” said Delilah, who was prone to elapse
into rhyming slang when taxed.
“A dickie-bird would not have created chaos.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Dickie-birds are in kiddies’ books,” said Cleo. “Can we
talk sensibly in the morning?”
“What shall we do now, Cleo?”
“Gary can’t deal with it unless there is a corpse.”
“No corpse,” said Delilah.
“Call HQ and see if they’ll come out and look. Alternatively,
be thankful no one’s dead and get some bo-peep. I’m going to,” said Cleo.
“I want to tell you something else,” said Delilah.
“Will it keep for a few hours?”
“I suppose so. Good night.”
***
Cleo snuggled back under the communal duvet.
“Delilah sounded distraught,” she said.
“I’m asleep under my half of the duvet,” Gary replied.
“I thought you’d say that. Can you lend me some? Yours is all
warmed up.”
“You’ve already got half, but if you insist, help yourself. Where
did you learn cockney slang?”
“I didn’t know I had.”
“Bo-peep rhymes with sleep. I could sing you the whole
nursery-song.”
“Please don’t sing. You’ll wake the children.”
“That’s an improvement on waking the dead,” said Gary. “That’s
what you usually say.”
“Fortunately you only do that when the shower radio is on
full blast,” said Cleo. “My feet are cold.”
“Wrap your bit of duvet twice round and they’ll be warm in
no time.”
“Our small talk is worse than Mongkut’s,” said Cleo.
“It woke me up again,” said Gary. “On consideration, your feet
could join mine in my half of the duvet.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Try me.”
***
“If you flutter your eyelids for one minute you will get to
sleep fast,” said Cleo.
“Is that an old wives’ tale or old Chicago custom?”
Silence soon fell on the cottage, but soon after six the
Hurley house-phone rang again.
It was Greg.
Cleo had given up sleeping for a bad job and was in the
kitchen making breakfast for the early birds, so she grabbed a handset before
Gary could growl into one.
“Good morning!” she called.
“Hi Cleo. Is Gary up?”
“Hi Greg! No.”
“There’s been an incident on Thumpton Hill.”
“Why do people have to drive so fast?”
“And why do they have to transport a dishwasher in the
boot?” said Greg.
“Wow!” said Cleo. “Delilah’s kichen was raided last night.”
“It can’t be a coincidence, can it?” said Greg.
“Did you catch the thieves?”
“Not quite.”
“How quite?”
“There must have been two of them to lift that dishwasher.
The back seat was piled with kitchen stuff. One of the kitchen equipment
transporters was killed. The other person must have dragged his mate to behind
the tree they had hit, and run for it. That corpse could not have got there
under its own steam.”
“Unless it was still alive and lay down to die there,” said
Cleo.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Chris will know, Greg. Is it possible to reconstruct the
accident?”
“The traffic cops think the dishwasher, which was not tied
on, lurched forwards, hitting the open boot lid and startling the driver. He
reacted by driving the car into the oak tree at the bottom of the hill. The car
is a write-off.”
“What about the tree everyone was desperate to conserve?”
“Hardly a mark.”
“Mitch told us at about two this morning that there’d been a
break-in and all the portable stuff was stolen. The thieves must have been very
aggrieved about something. They smashed up the rest of the kitchen and left it
in bits, Greg. What time was the car accident reported?”
“At a bit before two, Cleo, but not to me. I’ve just started
work. The traffic cops called an ambulance and cordoned off the area with tape
and red beacons. They called in a second team and a search was started for
anyone else involved who was possibly injured, but they did not find anyone.”
“What about the car registration?”
“The car was stolen. The owner was in bed asleep and had not
missed it.”
“Are you sure that’s the truth?”
“The owner of the car is a Miss Plimsoll and she’s nearly
sixty, according to the report. The patrol cops could not imagine her carrying
a dishwasher around.”
“Charlie will be glad to hear that description. Miss
Plimsoll is an unpopular teacher who takes hockey practice at the
Comprehensive. I’m sure she was telling the truth.”
“Miss Plimsoll was apparently furious that someone had had
the cheek to pinch her car, but when asked, she could not say where the car key
was, so perhaps it was in the ignition. That would mean that the car was not
locked and easy prey. It also explains why Miss Plimsoll made threatening
gestures with a hockey stick.”
Gary had been listening in on the bedroom handset. He now
chipped in.
“Morning, Greg.”
“Hi Gary. Did you hear what I told Cleo?”
“The last bits. I’m going to the bistro after breakfast to look
at the damage and commiserate, but Chris should take a forensic team there
a.s.a.p., Greg. I hope Mitch will have made a list of stolen items. That will
make a comparison with the car load simple. I’ll take a shower now, Greg.”
“Why didn’t Gary deal with it when it happened, Cleo?”
“Hold your horses, Greg. Even Gary can’t do much about a
burglary during the night,” said Cleo. ”Mitch will have made sure no one got
near the wreckage and Gary took the complaint as official, so Nigel can
document that for the insurance. Mitch was going to call and get the damage
assessed sometime today.”
“OK. Cleo. You’d better tell that husband of yours that we
have another drug-linked incident to deal with. Someone shot by the chemist
this time. A grizzly business.”
“I’m on my way,” called Gary. “I’ll snatch a croissant,
drive to the bistro first and phone you from there.”
***
“Greg made me feel like a naughty schoolboy,” said Gary a
few minutes later. “All I wanted was a good night’s sleep.”
“You should not get irate when you don’t get one, Gary.
People don’t know why you are grumpy.”
“Why is Daddy grumpy,” said Charlie, who had been woken by
all the dialogue.
“He’s just tired, Charlie, and a bit worried.”
Charlie flung her arms round Gary to comfort him. He felt
like an imposter.
“I’ll have to go, now,” he said.
“I’ll get the bus to school, Daddy.”
“Yes, do that Sweetheart.”
“I’ll take the red car, Cleo. See you at HQ.”
“No. Take the van. The red car is taken.”
“Where are you going?”
“Here and there. Do I always ask you?
“Will you go to the bistro as well?”
“I’ll have to. Delilah wants to tell me something.”
“No idea what?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Women…”
