Closer to Death in a Garden (Pitkirtly Mysteries Book 10) (5 page)

Chapter 6 An Unnecessary Rescue

Jemima was a bit surprised when she woke up in the morning and found herself in hospital. She only vaguely remembered the events of the previous day, but as they came back to her she thought of Dave, and panicked.

‘Just try and relax, dear,’ said the nurse who had woken her up to take her temperature and blood pressure.

‘David...’

‘Is that the big man you came in with?’

‘Yes. Is he all right?’

‘He looks a sight better than you, that’s for sure,’ said the nurse with a laugh. ‘You went as white as a sheet just now.’

‘It was only because I remembered what had happened,’ said Jemima, leaning back on the pillows.

The nurse tried her blood pressure again.

‘It’s gone right down now,’ she said, sounding almost disappointed. ‘But I’ll have to put it on your chart though.’

‘Can I see him?’

‘Mr Douglas? The consultant’s with him now. But don’t you worry, he’ll just be doing the test for Alzheimer’s.’

‘Alzheimer’s? My Dave doesn’t have anything like that.’

‘He’ll be all right, then. I expect they’ll want you to take it too.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Jemima.

The nurse packed up the blood pressure machine and took it away.

A male nurse came round with some orange pills, but Jemima refused them.

‘But they’re for your diabetes, dear,’ said the nurse. ‘You’ve got to have them.’

‘I don’t take them at home,’ said Jemima firmly. ‘You must have got me mixed up with somebody else.’

After a bit more pointless argument, the nurse finally checked Jemima’s name on the chart and agreed that she wasn’t Doreen Mackenzie and she didn’t have diabetes. After he had moved on, presumably to try and find the unfortunate Doreen, two hospital security officers arrived and there was a short chase after which he was taken away, securely held between the security men.

The first nurse came back, shaking her head.

‘That’s the second time this week... They need to keep a better eye on that one.’

‘Is he really a nurse?’ said Jemima faintly.

‘No more than I’m an astronaut. His medication’s made him a wee bit funny in the head, and they can’t seem to keep him in the right ward.’

‘Oh, dear... Can I go home now?’

‘Not until the doctor’s been round,’ said the nurse firmly.

Jemima wondered how you were meant to tell whether somebody was really a nurse or not, when any random person could put on a uniform and wander around offering people pills. They might not have been pills but sweeties, of course. But even that could have been dangerous to some of the patients. Oh, dear.

After breakfast, Dave appeared at her bedside, looking the picture of health. ‘It was indigestion,’ he said. ‘They think there might be some gallstones, but I’ve to come back for a scan for those.’

‘Can’t they do the scan now and save you a journey?’ said Jemima disapprovingly.

‘No – they said the technician only works on alternate days and nobody else knows how to work the machine.’

‘Hmph!’ said Jemima. ‘How come they’ve let you get out of bed, if there’s still something wrong with you?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Dave, perching on the end of the bed. ‘Nothing wrong with my heart. The doctor said I could live another thirty years. Easy.’

‘We might as well go home, then,’ said Jemima.

She was trying to summon up the nerve to get out of bed – it seemed a long way to the floor – when the nurse re-appeared.

‘And what do you think you’re up to, Mrs Douglas?’

‘I’m going home,’ said Jemima. ‘Now that Dave’s all right.’

‘Not so fast,’ said the nurse. ‘The doctor hasn’t seen you yet.’

‘I’m sure he’s got plenty of other people to see,’ muttered Jemima. She was feeling rebellious, all of a sudden. Knowing that Dave was more or less all right was a big relief, of course, but now she wanted the extra reassurance of their lives returning to normal.

‘You might as well let him give you the once-over,’ said Dave, annoyingly cheerful as he sometimes was. ‘It won’t do any harm.’

‘As long as he knows I’m not Doreen Mackenzie,’ said Jemima, swinging her legs back on to the bed and scowling around indiscriminately in all directions.

‘Who’s Doreen Mackenzie?’ said Dave, baffled.

‘There’s nobody here called Doreen Mackenzie,’ said the nurse. ‘He made her up.’

It took a while to explain to Dave what this all meant, and by the time they had done that, and the consultant, who looked like a teenage boy Jemima had once known who was always getting into trouble for unravelling girls’ pigtails in class and throwing their hair ribbons in the waste-paper-basket, had been round and told her she would have to watch what she ate in case her cholesterol went up, then rounded on the nurse and gave her a telling-off about bed-blocking, half the morning was gone. The doctor didn’t even bother with the Alzheimer’s test, telling her it was patently obvious to anybody that not only did she not have Alzheimer’s but that there were medical students who were less alert than she was. Quite a few medical students, apparently, especially first thing in the morning. After the doctor had gone, Dave told her the test was easy-peasy and he had scored ten out of ten on it and got a gold star.

‘It’s all to do with who the Prime Minister is anyway,’ said Jemima crossly. ‘Everybody knows that.’

It was time for morning coffee, so they waited until that was over with and then began to get ready to go home.

Jemima was just sliding her feet into her good walking shoes, which she had put on for the trip to the garden centre because you never knew how rough the ground would be in those places or how much walking you would have to do, when she thought she heard someone whispering her name. Well, it wasn’t even a real whisper but a sort of hissing sound.

After a moment she heard the sound again. This time it was accompanied by soft footsteps just beyond the curtains the nurse had temporarily drawn round her bed.

Then Amaryllis stuck her head round the end of the curtains and said, still in a low voice, ‘Good. You’re nearly ready. I’ve checked, and all the nurses are on their break. We should be able to get out without them seeing, if we can find Dave, that is.’

‘What do we need to do that for?’

‘Find Dave? Well, I just thought you might want to take him home with you. It’s a bit unfair to leave him stranded, after all.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Jemima, picking up her handbag. ‘Of course he’s getting ready too. I didn’t know you were coming for us though.’

Amaryllis slid right in and stood by the bed. ‘I couldn’t leave you in here – I had to try to get you out.’

‘Get us out?’

The curtains opened in the middle this time, and Dave’s sturdy figure appeared in the gap. ‘We don’t need one of your secret service operations this time, Amaryllis. We’ve both been certified fully fit to leave.’

‘Certified,’ Amaryllis nodded. ‘It was only a matter of time.’

He shook his fist at her, laughing.

‘You should both be certified,’ said Jemima, apportioning blame equally. ‘This isn’t at all funny.’

There was a short struggle in the car park over who should drive, but Amaryllis threatened Dave with making him pay the parking charge, and he gave in, which was probably a sign that he still didn’t feel a hundred per cent fit. Jemima thought he might easily have a real heart attack on the way home. He clutched her hand so tightly that she was sure he had broken one or two fingers, and when Amaryllis sailed past a police car on the coast road, he hunched down in the seat and tried to make himself small, which didn’t really work.

‘I’ll have the keys now,’ he said as they finally got out. Jemima nudged him. He added, fairly reluctantly, ‘Thanks for your help, Amaryllis.’

‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘Any time you want me to drive your car...’

She skipped off down the road with a cheery wave.

‘God, that was awful!’ said Dave. ‘My legs are still shaking. Do you think she ever had proper driving lessons?’

What with all the excitement, and the pleasure of being in her own house again, being able to put the kettle on as often as she liked and to eat more than one biscuit without anybody noticing, Jemima didn’t hear about what had happened at the garden centre until later that day, when Jock McLean dropped in to see how they were.

The three of them were sitting round the kitchen table for a friendly cup of tea, the biscuit tin open in the middle – Jock was one of the few visitors to the house who was allowed open access to the biscuits instead of having a few plain digestives put on a plate for him – when Jock suddenly said, ‘You won’t know about what happened, will you?’

‘What happened when?’ said Dave.

Jemima frowned. She had fondly imagined Dave’s and her own hospital trip would be the most exciting thing to happen in Pitkirtly that week.

‘The murder,’ said Jock, crunching into a bourbon biscuit and scattering the crumbs all down his front. He brushed them off, unconcerned, and looked up at Jemima. ‘Up at the garden centre, it was.’

‘The garden centre? The same one where...’

‘There’s only one, isn’t there?’ said Jock.

‘It wasn’t that wee girl, was it?’ said Jemima, mouth trembling despite herself.

‘No, it was some man,’ said Jock. ‘I found the body. Well, Amaryllis was there too.’

‘Of course she was,’ said Dave. ‘I wonder why she didn’t tell us on the way home.’

‘It wasn’t Mr Anderson, was it?’ said Jemima.

Jock shrugged his shoulders, sending more biscuit crumbs down his front. ‘Nobody said... Who’s the wee girl?’

‘It’s Keith Burnet’s friend. Ashley,’ said Jemima. ‘She was very kind to us. Mr Anderson wasn’t,’ She closed her mouth firmly on that note. She wasn’t going to be caught out speaking ill of the dead, even if it turned out not to be Mr Anderson who had died.

‘It was a man with a jogging outfit and trainers on,’ said Jock. ‘That was all I noticed. You’d have to ask Amaryllis if you wanted a description. She’s trained to notice all that.’

‘Closer to death in a garden,’ murmured Jemima.

‘Isn’t it nearer to God?’ said Jock.

‘Don’t get her started on that again,’ Dave warned him, and put the lid back on the biscuit tin with a grim snap.

Chapter 7 The mystery deepens

Once she had delivered Dave and Jemima safely home and reluctantly given back Dave’s car keys, Amaryllis walked on down to the cafe near the foot of the High Street, where she knew there would be coffee and some sort of scone on offer at almost any time of the day.

She needed the scone to help her think.

At one time, she mused, taking a bite – chocolate chip and banana today, which was nicer than she had imagined – she wouldn’t have looked to scones for inspiration. She had obviously gone native in Pitkirtly to a far greater extent than she had ever expected. In some ways that was a comforting feeling, and in others it felt like being suffocated by having a big fluffy cat or other domestic animal sitting on your face.

She gave a sigh, and a young man who had been working away in the corner at some electrical problem, sent a sympathetic glance in her direction.

Ashley. She needed to find Ashley and interrogate her. Keith Burnet, although he might try and hide the secrets of his job from his girl-friend, must have said something to her on this occasion. She might even know the victim. Perhaps he was a regular customer at the garden centre. Then there was the booming voice. Amaryllis had replayed this several times in her mind, and she was almost sure it was a recording, although of course the more she replayed it, the more it sounded like a recording anyway. Was there audio equipment up at the garden centre, or even something for relaying annoying announcements and little advertising jingles to customers?

‘Have you seen our new range of extortionately priced summer-houses next to the weed and pest killers?... Why not pop in for a cup of tea when you’ve worn yourself out wandering about aimlessly for hours not buying anything?... Customers are reminded not to leave dead bodies unattended in the outdoor display area...’

Only the recording, if it was one, would presumably have to be activated from inside the building, while the attacker with the gun must have been on the outside, at least when he fired the shot.

‘Amaryllis! I didn’t expect to see you in here on your own!’

Of course it had to be Penelope Johnstone, of all people. If Amaryllis had had to have her train of thought derailed, she would rather almost anyone else were responsible. Penelope was standing over her, beaming.

‘You don’t mind if I join you, do you? Or were you waiting for Christopher?’

‘He’s at work, I think,’ said Amaryllis absently. Odd that Penelope should expect her to be waiting for Christopher. She almost checked her ring finger to make sure she hadn’t got engaged to him without meaning to. It could easily happen. Or perhaps not.

Penelope chattered away in a bright monologue while she waited for her cup of tea and scone to be brought over. Amaryllis tuned out after a few minutes. From what she had heard before switching off, Penelope seemed to be talking about a friend of hers whom she had been trying to contact. Since Amaryllis had no interest in the friend, or any knowledge of why Penelope had been trying to contact her, it didn’t seem to be worth paying attention. Then a familiar word brought her back to full awareness.

‘... and then there are the alpacas, of course. She wouldn’t just go off for a weekend or a week without leaving somebody to look after them. She’s really become very devoted to them, in such a short time too. I said to her once, Jane, you’re fonder of those alpacas than you are of your Phil – that’s her husband. I really don’t know how he puts up with it...’

‘Alpacas?’ said Amaryllis. ‘Does your friend live up by the garden centre?’

Penelope frowned. ‘Yes, of course – didn’t I mention that? She hasn’t always had the alpacas, of course, that’s quite a recent fad of hers. I think she found out that her sister kept llamas or ostriches or something – I can never tell these things with long necks apart.’

‘Perhaps it was giraffes,’ suggested Amaryllis.

‘Of course, it wasn’t giraffes, you wicked girl,’ said Penelope. ‘Anyway, once Jane found out about them, whatever they were, I suppose she wouldn’t rest until she acquired some ridiculous hobby too. I really don’t know what she thought she was doing. She pretended they’d just appeared on the doorstep, of course, but anyone could see that was only an excuse. Not a very convincing one either.’

‘So did you say she’d left someone to look after them?’

‘Excuse me a minute, ladies,’ said the young man who had been working on the electrics. ‘Could I just squeeze in there a minute? Won’t take long.’

He pushed between their table and the wall and knelt down beside one of the power points.

‘Well, if she has they’re not answering the phone,’ said Penelope crossly. ‘I’ve been trying to contact her all this week about borrowing her horse-box to transport some ponies we’re hiring for the church fun day, and there’s nobody answering at all. I had thought of popping up there to see for myself, but it’s quite a long way up that hill with my legs, and I’ve been busy, and Zak claims to be too tied up with work to come with me, although of course we could have gone one evening except that he’s always doing something with Harriet...’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Amaryllis. She thought of Christopher’s alpaca adventure. There had definitely been a woman involved in it. Of course, it wouldn’t be all that surprising if Penelope’s friend had been there all along but was ignoring her calls. Penelope could be very wearing, and the woman seemed to have her hands full with the alpacas. ‘What about the husband? Does he ever answer the phone?’

‘No – Phil’s a bit of a recluse. He doesn’t like to be disturbed. He’s a journalist of some kind, I think. Or maybe just a writer.’

‘Is that why they live right on the edge of town?’

‘Oh, they inherited that place from his parents,’ said Penelope. ‘They knocked the old house down, of course – apparently it was riddled with woodworm, and just not fit for purpose in the twentieth, or was it the twenty-first, century. But I think the alpacas live in the old stables... They were furious when the garden centre came along, though – they put in an objection when the plans were made public.’

‘I suppose they liked having the open fields next to them,’ commented Amaryllis.

‘Then there was the house behind theirs too,’ said Penelope. ‘That whole stretch was farmland when they first moved in.’

‘Was the hotel there then?’

Penelope thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure. I have a feeling Phil’s parents sold the land to the people who first built a hotel there, maybe thirty-odd years ago. But it’s been re-developed since then, of course, as you know.’

‘It looks as if it’s about to be re-developed again,’ said Amaryllis. She happened to glance out of the window at that moment, and what she saw caused her to jump to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Penelope, I must go. I’ve seen someone I need to speak to.’

‘Carry on, dear,’ said Penelope with a martyred air. ‘Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here on my own for a while longer.’

Amaryllis dashed outside. Keith and Ashley were disappearing round the corner by the supermarket. She had to run to catch up with them, or at least she ran down to the corner and peered round it to see if she could spot them. It could just be worth following them instead of catching them. They were going in the wrong direction for the garden centre or the police station, so it might be interesting to find out what they were up to.

‘Hello!’ said Christopher, coming out of the supermarket at that moment with a packet of sandwiches in one hand and a bottle of fruit juice in the other. ‘You look a bit furtive. What are you up to?’

‘Nothing!’ she snapped. ‘I just need to find out where Keith and Ashley are going.’

‘They came in here,’ he said, indicating the supermarket entrance. ‘They’re getting themselves something to eat. We’re having a quick get-together over lunch.’

‘A quick get-together?’ she said accusingly. She stopped herself just in time from saying, ‘What about me?’ like a child whose prettier or more accomplished sibling was getting all the attention.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Keith wants to speak to me about something, and he thinks Ashley can help too.’

‘He hasn’t said anything to me.’

‘I expect he’ll get to you when he’s ready.’

‘Or when Sarah tells him to.’ Amaryllis still wasn’t sure how she felt about her old school friend being based, perhaps temporarily, at the police station in Pitkirtly. There could be advantages, of course – after all, she knew Sarah had once cheated in an exam, and liked to binge late at night on rich tea biscuits and Marmite, washed down with cheap cider, or at least she had liked all that when she was sixteen. You never knew when information like that could come in useful. On the other hand, Sarah had already shown signs of liking things to be done by the book, and Amaryllis had to admit that particular book had never been her favourite reading material.

Christopher was looking at her with raised eyebrows. She pulled herself together. There were other avenues to explore, after all. Other leads to follow. For instance, she could easily get round the primitive defences the police had doubtless put up round the garden centre after yesterday’s incident, and examine the area for clues.  She could walk up to the security gates of the house next-door and talk her way in, armed with the information she had obtained from Penelope. Perhaps if she hurried back to the cafe she might find Penelope willing to come with her. Or, failing that, she could investigate the house behind it, talk her way in there, and find out if anyone had seen anything suspicious.

Amaryllis turned on her heel and walked off without another word. Although she had willingly left the security services, and had no desire to become the salaried slave of any other law enforcement organisation, sometimes she got tired of having to do everything herself without any backup.

Her ideal scenario, of course, would be one where she could make the police run around to do her bidding, but sadly that didn’t happen as often as it should, in her opinion.