False Pretences (26 page)

‘Sandy Corcoran's body was found this morning when the cleaners went into his office. A shotgun had been fired at the back of his head.'

It was all too much for Bea. She shifted her seat belt into a more comfortable position, leaned back and closed her eyes. ‘That does it. Count me out for the rest of the night. Let me know when we get home, will you?'

Bea forced herself to get out of bed and tottered over to the window to draw back the curtains. And blenched. Too much sun, too bright, too early.

It was half an hour after her usual time to get up, and she didn't care if she was late. There were days when it was allowable to sleep on for a while.

She decided that the greenish tint under her eyes needed attention. And wasn't it time for a visit to the beauty salon? Her hair looked lifeless. She discovered a grease spot on the front of the blouse she'd put on and had to discard it. Her tights laddered.

She made it downstairs, holding on to the banister and telling herself that today surely couldn't hold anything worse than yesterday.

The house was unnaturally quiet. No TV, no radio on. No clashing of pans in the kitchen. When Maggie was in the kitchen, she surrounded herself by noise, so she must have gone out already. Bea checked the time by her watch and found a gap on her wrist. She'd forgotten to put it on. The day had indeed started badly.

As she turned into the kitchen her ears caught murmured conversation and the susurrus of frying, which her nose informed her meant spicy sausages and bacon.

Oliver was sitting at the table, spooning cereal into his mouth with an air of great concentration. Opposite him lounged Chris, peeling an orange while chatting to Maggie, who was being polite. What was Chris doing here?

And Zander!

Wearing one of Maggie's aprons, Zander was distributing sausages, bacon and fried bread from a frying pan. Zander here? Zander doing the cooking? And Maggie letting him do it? Wonders would never cease.

Bea slid on to a kitchen stool, reaching for the orange juice.

‘Morning,' said Oliver, keeping his eyes on his plate.

‘Good morning!' Chris, ultra cheerful.

‘How are you?' asked Maggie, without a smile.

Bea said ‘Bewildered.'

Zander hovered. ‘A soft boiled egg? Or perhaps poached? The cupboard was bare so I went out for supplies. Hope you don't mind.'

Bea braced herself. ‘The lot, please, Zander. And may I say how delighted I am to see you?'

He replaced the pan on the stove and picked up one of her hands to kiss it. ‘I am deep in your debt, Mrs Abbot. I shall never forget what you've done for me.'

Maggie looked at her watch. She was still not smiling, and she had dressed all in black today. So unlike her. ‘I'm out early today, connecting with the electrician who swore he'd make it yesterday but didn't. In case you're wondering, Mrs Abbot, Zander was released last night. He spent the night here, but he has been told he can collect his things from his landlady's today. Under supervision, of course.'

Zander said, ‘One of the churchwardens has offered me a room, and I'm moving in there this afternoon. One sausage or two, Mrs Abbot?'

‘Two,' said Bea. This kissing business must be catching. First George the biker last night and now Zander. While the only person she really wanted to be kissed by was long dead and gone. Oh, Hamilton; how I miss you!

Oliver was avoiding her eye. Chris was trying to catch hers.

She considered Chris's far-too-cheerful face. ‘Have you spent the night here, too, Chris?'

‘No, no. Oliver dropped me off at home last night, but Dad was in such a bad mood that I thought it best to make myself scarce this morning. Besides, I'm dying to know what happens next.'

Bea stifled a yawn. Milly was next on the list, she thought, but she decided not to say so. The less Chris was around her at the moment, the better. ‘Back to work for us. I'm afraid you'll find us rather dull, today.'

Did Oliver shoot her a grateful look? What was going on there?

Zander served her up a plateful of cholesterol-inducing sausage, bacon, fried bread, mushrooms, tomatoes and eggs. Absolutely fabulous! She ate with concentration while everyone else stayed respectfully silent.

Putting her knife and fork together on her empty plate, she said, ‘Mmm. Now, tell me, Zander; what happened?'

He switched on their new coffee machine which made a wonderfully strong cuppa if you could get it to work. Even Maggie hadn't always been able to operate it. Needless to say, it performed perfectly for Zander. ‘They went on and on at me for a while, then left me to “consider my position”. I wasn't worried because I knew you were on the case. Prayed a bit. You know. Counted up to a thousand and started again. Then about half past seven they opened the door and said I could go. Just like that.

‘I made a fuss until they explained. Apparently they'd found a neighbour who'd seen someone – a stranger – going into the house about eight thirty. A white person wearing some kind of overalls, the type you use for decorating. Also, the forensic people had found footprints in blood traipsing up the stairs, and those footprints were no match to my shoes. Smaller, in fact. This proved someone else had been in the house after she was killed and that that someone was not me.

‘They'd also found traces of blood on those things of Mrs Perrot's that had been hidden in my belongings. They'd already checked my hands and my shoes and taken my fingerprints and DNA and goodness knows what else, so they knew I'd no blood on me. Conclusion: I hadn't done it, and they'd have to let me go. They didn't like it, of course. It would have been so much more convenient if they could have proved it was me, but they couldn't.'

‘Did you tell them whose computer it was you'd been working on?'

He shook his head. ‘I was going to if they went on at me much longer. I asked God what I should do, and He said not to bother as He'd got it all in hand . . . which wasn't much help because He might have wanted me to stick it out. I really wasn't sure. Anyway, it turned out that He was right. So, no. I didn't say anything. Mind you, I'm not sure that the police ought to be kept in the dark.'

‘Me, neither,' sighed Bea, taking a slice of toast and spreading butter and marmalade on it. ‘You and Oliver promised to keep mum, but I've warned CJ that enough is enough. I'll have another word with him about it today.'

Zander poured out cups of mega-strength coffee and handed them around. ‘I'll shove the stuff in the dishwasher and get out of your hair. Shall I strip the bed?'

Maggie still didn't look at him. ‘Zander, you'll leave us your new address? And what about a job? You know the Trust doesn't want you back.'

‘I could fight them,' said Zander, sweeping dirty dishes into the dishwasher with economical, graceful movements. ‘But I don't think I'd ever be comfortable working for them again.'

Bea murmured, ‘“Leaving the world to darkness and to Thee.” That's a quote from Thomas Gray, I think. I agree that it's the easiest course of action for you to take, Zander, but is it the right one? If all the good people abandon the Trust, what will happen to it? Isn't it worth fighting for?'

Zander grinned. ‘Now, now; Mrs Abbot. You had me go back there once, and look what happened. Do I really need to be arrested three days in a row?'

‘You heard Sandy Corcoran's been found dead?'

No, they hadn't known. None of them. Big eyes all round.

‘How “dead”?' asked Oliver, frowning.

‘Shotgun to the back of the head.'

‘No fire?' asked Chris. Everyone looked at him, and he raised both hands in apology. ‘Just asking.'

‘I don't know,' said Bea, ‘and I'm not sure it's any of our business now. Let CJ sort it out.'

They were restless, not wanting to accept that it was over but unwilling to question her further. Maggie stood up, pushed her stool under the table. ‘Suppose Zander takes over my job here in reception? I'm out most days, anyway. Plus, he can cook.' Now that was a generous offer for Maggie to make, in view of all that passed between them.

Zander, laughing, shook his head.

Bea also shook her head. ‘Maggie, that was a really nice thought, but . . .' She didn't know how to put it, but Zander could earn more than a receptionist, however good.

Zander said, ‘Maggie, you're the best. But I hate working where I can't see the sky out of the window. I know, I'm odd that way. That's why I like . . .' He swallowed. ‘I
liked
working at the Trust. And before, when I worked just off the High Street, my desk was right by the window. I'll have to put an ad in the paper, “Anything considered above street level”.'

He was making a joke of it, but he was serious, none the less. Or perhaps not. One never knew with Zander. He wasn't always transparent.

Maggie shrugged, still not meeting anyone's eye. ‘Well, if that's what you want . . . I'm off out for the day.' She withdrew in good order.

Chris leaned across the table to pour Bea out some more coffee. ‘Now what can you find for me to do today? Anything considered. Vacuuming, for instance. I like to sit and watch a robot vacuum cleaner at work. Shall I polish all the shoes in the household? I'm not terribly good at it, but anything to stop me having to go back home for a lecture.'

Bea laughed, as he'd intended she should. ‘Let me see. How about watering the pots in the garden at the back here? Maggie usually does it, but she's been somewhat distracted of late.' And don't mention Milly, or he'll be haring out to the pub to question her, and goodness knows how the police would view his interference.

Chris beamed and went to wrestle with the back-door keys. Zander had to help him get out. Oliver had his stone face on, so Bea beckoned him to follow her into the sitting room.

‘Oliver, my dear boy. What is it?'

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Is there anything special you'd like me to do today? Groom Winston? Cook a roast dinner?'

Ah. So he
was
jealous of Chris, whose easy charm beguiled everyone, right up to the point when they realized he was a lightweight. Oliver, on the other hand, was no lightweight. He was dependable, resourceful and had his own brand of charm which was not like Chris's at all. She could see that he might envy his friend, who must seem to have everything that he'd lost: a caring parent, a moneyed background, a university place.

Oliver was so uptight he twanged. How to reassure him?

Bea sat down and patted the seat beside her. ‘I've been meaning to talk to you about Chris. I know you two are great friends, and I can see that you'd like me to keep him around, maybe even give him a job, but really Oliver . . . I don't quite know how to put this . . . He's so charming that one has to laugh, but he's not exactly, well, reliable, is he?'

Oliver didn't meet her eyes, but he did relax one notch. ‘I suppose not.'

‘You ought to have warned me about his driving. Oh, Oliver, I'm not sure how we got there without an accident!' She laughed, so that he could laugh with her.

He twitched a smile, but no more.

She said, ‘I had to tell his father that we got stranded because Chris lost my keys at Della's, and I suppose if the police need to interview us about it, then I'll have to tell them, too. But his losing my keys made things very difficult for me. Not,' she put her hand over his, ‘that I blame you for his carelessness, but perhaps in future if he offers to do something for me, well, I don't want to hurt his feelings but you might just drop me a word of advice, shake your head at me when he's not looking, or something? Then I'd know not to trust him to do – whatever it is.'

He twitched another smile. ‘Do you think he'll know how to turn the hosepipe on without soaking himself?'

‘Probably not, but I didn't think it would matter.'

He heaved a great sigh. ‘He's one of my oldest friends, my best friend really. He's terribly clever. All that fun stuff, it's all on top. And yes, he does play the cack-handed idiot on occasion and to a certain extent it's true. He is careless. But he can master anything he puts his mind to, speaks French and German like a native, always been brilliant that way. And he can add up a column of figures faster than I can think.'

‘So what is he going to make of his life? Is he going to be any good at making films?'

‘He might be. He's produced some intriguing footage, but from one moment to the next he loses interest.'

‘Is he going to last the course at university? It didn't sound like it to me. And by the way, he was on at me, practically accusing me of preventing you from going to university.'

He reddened, shuffled his feet. ‘He knows I won't leave you in the lurch.'

So Oliver did want to go, after all? It was right and proper that he should, of course, even if the prospect was so dismaying it almost made her cry. She'd manage, somehow. Her heart thudded, but she told it to behave. Perhaps if she did break down and cry, he'd promise not to leave her? But no, she mustn't do that. However painful it might be, she must let him go.

‘You wouldn't be leaving me in the lurch, Oliver. This gap year of yours has been wonderful from my point of view. I don't know how we'd have managed without you, but now you've got us straight again, we'll be just fine. Miss Brook is a marvel, Maggie's spreading her wings as a project manager, and yes, we'll be looking around for another full time person to join us, of course. And I expect I shall ask you to help us out in the holidays.'