Authors: Tanya Landman
But by the time I went down for breakfast, it was nearly lunchtime and Mum’s anxieties seemed to have vanished. Baby Sugarcandy’s son Toby had finally arrived and his presence had wiped everything else from her mind.
He was Indiana Jones, Robin Hood, Dr Who and Superman all rolled into one, and from the amount of frantic hair flicking going on I could tell that Mum had fallen for him Big Time. Even Graham was listening with keen interest to everything he had to say. I could quite understand. When I walked down the staircase and came face-to-face with Toby I felt my knees going strangely weak and I had to quickly sink into the sofa. He was spectacularly handsome, but ruffled around the edges as if life had bumped him about a bit. I could see in one glance that he’d had adventures, done brave things, travelled round the world setting it to rights. He was earthy, rugged and real, and his eyes exuded as much welcoming warmth as a bowl of melted chocolate.
“You must be Poppy. Lieutenant Weinburger told me about you. You’re one smart cookie.”
I flushed scarlet to the roots of my hair. I didn’t confess to the raccoon nightmare, or to the fact that I’d lain awake for hours terrified that Len Radstock was on his way to get me. Instead I smiled and asked, “When did you arrive?”
“I flew in to LA late last night and stayed in the airport hotel. Figured it was best not to disturb you all up here. Of course, I didn’t know then that you’d be awake in any case. I guess you didn’t get much sleep, huh?”
I shook my head.
“I’m sorry you guys have had such a tough time,” he told us. “It’s an ugly thing to have got involved in. I bet you can’t wait to get back to England.”
“Oh, it hasn’t been so bad,” said Mum, tossing her hair across her shoulder. “The police have been very kind. And we can’t leave until the murderer’s caught.” She gave a little cough and then said, “I’m so sorry about your mother.”
“Yeah, me too. She was one great lady. I’m going to miss her.” He spoke the words with a quiet dignity, but there was no doubting the depth of his grief, and my heart pounded in sympathy. He was the first person to be genuinely upset by Baby Sugarcandy’s death. I felt tears pricking my eyes and Graham looked choked too.
“I feel so bad,” he murmured. “I knew she was scared. She told me on the phone that an old flame was bothering her – sending her letters, calling her at night. I thought he was just some harmless guy, you know? If I’d taken it more seriously she and Judy would still be alive.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” said Mum. “The man’s mad. No one could have predicted what he’d do. Or what he might do next,” she added fearfully.
“I guess not,” Toby conceded. “But I feel guilty as hell. If I’d been here, I could have protected her, protected them both. And now Sylvia – some woman I never even met – killed just for working here! It’s terrible.” He rubbed his forehead as if he was developing a headache and there was silence while me, Mum and Graham all looked at each other wondering what to say. In the end it was Toby who spoke first. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to dump that on you. Let’s talk about something else! Lili, you came here to look at the grounds, didn’t you?”
“Yes, your mother wanted an English country garden. I’d started working on some designs. But I suppose you won’t be needing them now…”
“Mind if I see them?”
“Of course not!” Talking about gardens was Mum’s favourite occupation. She fetched her sketchbook and opened it on the table.
Toby began leafing through her drawings and plans.
“I thought the copse at the top could be turned into a bluebell wood,” said Mum. “It would be beautiful in spring. Then maybe a wildflower meadow below it, and something more formal around the house – a pattern of box hedges immediately in front and then a long herbaceous border backed by yew hedging, and perhaps some old-fashioned roses? Climbers would be lovely up against the walls with some honeysuckle too. The smell would be heavenly in the summer.”
“Sounds great!” Toby nodded and looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re one talented lady,” he added. “You know, an English country garden would be a fitting memorial to my mother – a kind of tribute to her. Sentimental of me, I guess, but I’d like her to have what she wanted. Heck, it’s all I can do for her now. Will you carry on and finish the designs for her? For me?”
Mum was utterly thrilled. She flashed him a smile so warm it could have melted the ice caps. “Of course I will. It will be a pleasure,” she said eagerly. Then she frowned. “There’s only one problem.”
“What is it?”
“Well, the climate here’s so hot and dry. We’d need to put in some kind of irrigation system. It would be terribly expensive.”
“Money’s no problem!” Toby replied firmly. His hands closed over Mum’s. “Let’s have a coffee. Then you can show me around the grounds. I’d love to see exactly what you’ve got in mind.”
“I think I’ll go for a swim now,” I said loudly. “Are you coming, Graham?”
Graham hesitated, but I gave him such an intense glare that he took the hint and scurried away to collect his trunks. I was feeling suddenly uncomfortable, and wasn’t entirely sure why. The sight of grown-ups ogling each other was always stomach churning but there was more to it than that. Leaving Mum to talk about planting plans with Toby, I grabbed my things and took Graham with me for a good, long think.
We couldn’t cross the courtyard – it was full of police crawling over the flagstones looking for hairs, bits of fabric, anything that might help in the case against Len Radstock. Instead we edged around the guest wing and along the front of the house. From here we could see the grounds spread out below us. They were lovely, I thought, just right for the dry heat of California. There was something excessively lavish about the idea of transforming it all into a soggy, damp corner of England.
“Why didn’t Baby Sugarcandy just move back to Britain if she wanted an English garden?” I said crossly.
“What?” said Graham.
“All this irrigation and stuff Mum’s planning… It doesn’t seem a very environmentally friendly thing to do. I thought Toby was supposed to be an eco-warrior.”
“He’s upset about his mother,” Graham replied. “I read somewhere that grief can make people behave in all sorts of uncharacteristic ways. I suppose he’s not thinking very logically. Hey! I thought we were going for a swim?”
I was leading him in the opposite direction – away from the pool and down the long drive towards the iron gates.
There were two armed police officers guarding the entrance but they barely noticed us approach. They carried on their conversation, which we caught snatches of as we got nearer.
“Poor Toby!” the policewoman said. Clearly she was as smitten with him as Mum was. “I feel sorry for the guy. It’s tough, coming back to all this.”
Her companion – a stocky, grumpy-looking cop – replied sarcastically, “Yeah, it’s real hard coming back to a mansion that size. I wish I had luck that bad.”
“I don’t think he cares about the house,” the policewoman said. “He told me he was going to sell it right after the funeral.”
My eyebrows shot up. “That’s not what he said to Mum just now,” I muttered to Graham.
“Like I said, his mind must be addled with grief. He’s not thinking straight,” Graham defended him.
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just really good at telling people what they want to hear.”
The policewoman continued. “Yeah. He wants to buy a chunk of rainforest. Protect it from the loggers. Use the money to do something useful, he said.”
“The guy’s a regular saint,” scoffed the grumpy-looking cop.
“Give him a break, will you? He’s nice. One of the good guys.”
“A good guy? In Hollywood? We should have him stuffed and donated to the museum!”
“Excuse me,” I said.
They both looked at us, slightly startled, as if we’d appeared out of thin air. “Hey! You’re the gardener’s kid, aren’t you?” said the man. “What can we do for you?”
“Can we go out please? We want a walk.”
“Sorry kids,” replied the cop. “You’ve got to stay here. Lieutenant Weinburger’s orders. He wants to keep you safe until we have Len Radstock locked up.”
“Oh,” I said. “OK. Well, we’ll just go to the pool then.”
I turned, but before we walked back up the drive I glanced over my shoulder at the road beyond the gates. There was the bend where Sylvia had braked for the raccoon. She’d done it so hard that tyre tracks still marked the surface.
My stomach gave an unexpected lurch. There was something significant: something I’d missed. What was it?
I started to walk, but instead of going along the drive I headed off sideways towards the shade of a copse of trees. Graham followed. When we got there we sat down, and I leant against the rough bark of a pine and closed my eyes. Graham said nothing.
I thought back to when we’d first arrived. I’d been asleep in the car. Fast asleep, not even dreaming. Then when Sylvia braked I’d banged my head. The Sat Nav had kept spouting that address and she’d got really flustered trying to switch the thing off.
Then there was the raccoon. Mum hadn’t seen it, but then she never seemed to see anything. Which was unusual, I thought, because generally speaking she is pretty observant. I hadn’t spotted it either; neither had Graham. And even though Sylvia had told us the grounds were full of them, we’d only seen one last night when Sylvia had been killed.
Last night… In the dark… The bandit-masked creature blinking as if it didn’t like the bright lights…
It hit me with the force of a bomb blast. “They’re nocturnal!” I exclaimed.
“What are?” asked Graham.
“Raccoons!”
He shrugged. “I know.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” I demanded.
“You never asked,” he replied.
I was up on my feet, pacing. “Mum didn’t see that raccoon when Sylvia braked because
there wasn’t one to see
! There couldn’t have been, not in broad daylight, because they only come out at night. Sylvia lied. Why did she do that? Why did she brake so hard? There must have been some reason.”
“I suppose what we have to consider is what it achieved,” said Graham. “What was the end result of her actions?”
“OK. What happened? I woke up. Was that what Sylvia wanted? She was watching me really closely afterwards when we’d driven through the gates. Why?” The answer plopped into my head, clear and cool as a drop of iced water. “
So I’d get a good look at Len Radstock
. Which meant she already knew he was there!”
I thought back carefully over everything Sylvia had said and done since we’d arrived in America. “I was suspicious of her right from the start, but then she was killed. That was what confused me. Let’s pretend for a minute that she didn’t die.”
“You don’t think Sylvia might have been behind everything?”
“It’s just a theory,” I said. “Come on Graham, let’s give it a go. Suppose Sylvia was the one who let Len Radstock in?”
“Why would she have done that?”
“Maybe it was so that he’d get the blame for everything. He looked really scared when I saw him. And upset too – not like he’d just deliberately killed his ex-wife in cold blood. Suppose Baby Sugarcandy was already dead by the time he showed up?”
“It’s theoretically possible,” agreed Graham.
I remembered something else. “There was that address, wasn’t there – the one the Sat Nav kept blurting out? She didn’t want us to hear that – she got really stressed over it. It was the only time I saw her flustered. I wish I could remember what it said.”
“1171 Orangeblossom Boulevard,” Graham answered promptly. “I made sure I remembered it. It’s about a mile from here.”
I was impressed. “How do you know that?”
“I paid close attention to the street names when Lieutenant Weinburger drove us back yesterday,” Graham replied. “It’s a habit, I suppose. But what does that address have to do with anything?”
“Well Sylvia organized our flights and everything, didn’t she? If she was planning on framing Len for the murder maybe she was the one who invited him over here. Suppose she organized his flights too? She could have collected him from the airport and taken him to Orangeblossom Boulevard – that would be why the address was on the Sat Nav and why she was so bothered when it went bonkers like that. Then maybe she gave him a key to get in to the estate? It could have all been a set-up!”
Graham shook his head. “I agree that Sylvia could have killed Baby Sugarcandy and then gone off to collect us from the airport. But then when Judy died Sylvia saw Len. He must have killed Judy.”
“Not necessarily. No one else saw him, did they? We were right near there and we didn’t. Not even my Mum saw him, and she was walking around on the terraces all morning. Suppose it was like the raccoon? Suppose none of us saw Len
because he wasn’t there to see
? Sylvia could have taken the drink to Judy, lured her to the side of the pool and then strangled her. She’d said she was on her way
to
the pool, but she could just as easily have been coming
back
.”
“I can see it could have happened like that.” Graham was nodding like a toy dog on a car shelf. “But if that was the case, what was her motive?”
I chewed my lip. There had to be something! I remembered Sylvia’s face on the night she’d died – that slick of lipstick, the dress, the radiant smile… And then I spoke aloud as an idea came to me. “Not some
thing
… Some
one
.” She’d done it for someone. And her reward was to be killed by the very person she’d tried to please.
“Who benefits?”
I said slowly. “We asked that right at the beginning. There’s only one answer to that. There always has been!” I balled my hands into fists and pressed them to my eyes in sudden fury. “How could I have been so
stupid
?”
Graham tried to catch up. “You mean it’s not the puppeteer?”
“Oh, the murderer’s a puppeteer all right. But it’s not the Punch and Judy man,” I snarled angrily. This killer didn’t work with wooden dolls, but with real life human marionettes. “He’s been treating everybody – including us – as if we’re puppets. He’s put us on a stage and got us dancing just the way he wants. He’s been pulling our strings all along.” I gritted my teeth when I saw how completely I’d been taken in: I’d played my part perfectly; I’d done exactly what he wanted. Well, not any more.