4 Death at the Happiness Club (11 page)

'A gun?' The question was so unexpected that she almost laughed. 'I don't think I have a gun.'

'You don't think so? You don't know if you've got a gun or not?'

‘My husband. Pearson. He had a gun. I guess he took it with him when he went off to Gdansk.’

‘Gdansk?’ said Inspector Forrester, giving her an odd look. ‘Do you have any proof of his present whereabouts?’

‘I can’t really say,’ said Maisie Sue, slightly taken aback. How had Pearson sneaked into this conversation?

‘And when are you expecting him back?’ asked the inspector.

‘Not at all,’ said Maisie Sue.

‘Not at all?’

‘He’s not coming back,’ said Maisie Sue. ‘Not to me, anyway. He’s gone for good.’

There was an awkward pause. Sergeant Whitefield scribbled.

‘So – you don’t think he left his gun here?’ said Inspector Forrester.

‘It isn’t very likely,’ said Maisie Sue. ‘He has it for work, you see.’

‘For work?’ The police officers exchanged glances. She could almost hear them speculating about what kind of work Pearson did. She wasn’t inclined to make it easy for them to find out, although she was sure they could get hold of the information quickly enough if they wanted. There must be some sort of a database.

‘Did you come straight back here after leaving the form on the desk?’ said the inspector, switching tack.

‘I sure did,’ said Maisie Sue. ‘There was no other reason to stay around there.’

‘No,’ said the inspector.

He exchanged glances with the sergeant again and added, ‘I think that’s all for the moment, Mrs MacPherson. We may need to speak to you again, so don’t go off to Gdansk without telling us, will you?’

It was probably meant as a joke, but Maisie Sue didn’t think it was very funny.

Chapter 15 Rebuffed

Amaryllis was reading the Happiness Club programme. She didn’t find it all that exciting, but she could see it would appeal to a certain section of the clientele. Not Jock McLean of course – she couldn’t see him going to a tea-dance or Bingo – but perhaps Dave and Jemima would, or Penelope Johnstone at a stretch.

Still, it would be interesting to keep tabs on the club’s activities and see what happened next. She felt that Sean Fraser at least deserved closer attention, not because she fancied him at all, but because he always appeared to her furtive and jumpy, even when he was doing something apparently legitimate, such as ticking people’s names off on a list as he had done on the island. Then there was the fact that Caroline had recognised him, possibly from one of the more problematic times in her life. She hoped the island incident wouldn’t put Sean, Dee and Dilly off operating their club in Pitkirtly. It wasn’t their fault that the boat had exploded: it seemed to have been a combination of poor maintenance on the boat-owner’s part, and the force of nature that was Jock McLean’s pipe.

The door entry system buzzed and she went to see who it was.

Christopher stood at the door. He was in the suit he often wore to work, so he must have come straight from the Cultural Centre. Now that she had retired from spying, she couldn’t imagine having to be somewhere every day and do more or less what someone told her. Not that Christopher was really answerable to anyone except that, he had told her, the head of museums for West Fife came round every so often, had a cup of tea, complained about the Council for an hour and then left. No-one seemed to tell him what to do or interfere in what he did. It seemed like an ideal situation, and Amaryllis envied him in many ways. Her work had always been done in a team, strictly controlled and with everyone knowing the consequences could be fatal if they didn’t play their part. Of course as an occasional private investigator she was subject to the whim of the client, but if she thought anyone was going to be annoying, she just didn’t take on their case. That was one reason why she hadn’t had many cases to date. Another reason was that not many people needed her services around Pitkirtly. But she was fine with that.

‘Had a good day?’ said Amaryllis, feeling like the wife in an old-style sitcom.

‘Fine,’ said Christopher. ‘Have you heard any more about Jock?’

‘He was on the phone yesterday begging me to come and break him out of the hospital,’ she told him. ‘He’s bored out of his mind in there, but his leg isn’t healing quickly enough and they won’t let him go home.’

She led the way up the stairs to her apartment. He sat down heavily on one of the leather and chrome sofas, lolling there like a semi-trained golden retriever, but without the yellow fur. To fit in with the sitcom motif she felt she should be wearing an apron and diving straight into the kitchen to whisk an apple pie out of the oven to go with the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding she had already prepared.

In reality, she could offer him biscuits and cheese followed by a choc-ice, if her house guest hadn't eaten them all. Failing that, they could order in a pizza. Or go out.  She wasn't sure why he had come round here. They hadn't arranged anything, or at least nothing she could recall.

He picked up the Happiness Club programme and started reading it. She waited for him to say something more that might explain his presence. Not that he wasn't welcome - she had realised when he was away with Caroline that she had actually missed him quite a lot, which was partly why she had gone along to the speed-dating event in the first place - but she was a little puzzled.

'Caroline and I have sorted things out,' he said.

'What things?' she said, imagining the two of them working their way through an attic full of family memorabilia.

'We've come to an understanding,' he said, making no more sense than before. Was this what he had come round to tell her?

'Is that the same as bonding?' said Amaryllis. 'Does it involve hugs and tears?'

'That's an over-simplification,' said Christopher. He hesitated. 'We got some things out in the open. I think it helped her work out why she drinks.'

'I thought she didn't,' said Amaryllis.

He blushed. 'She does and she doesn't.'

'What you mean is, a week in your company and she's taken it up again,' said Amaryllis accusingly. She didn't altogether blame Caroline. She knew herself how annoying Christopher could be with his inflexible moral code and his refusal to think the worst of anyone unless he had actually seen them committing at least two of the seven deadly sins.

'That isn't really what I meant,' he said. 'But never mind… By the way, there's a rumour going around that something's happened. Somebody's been shot. Down at that old café where you told me the Happiness Club was based.'

'What? Why didn't you say anything when you came in?' she almost shouted. 'Who's been shot?'

'All right, don't get in a state,' said Christopher. 'It's only a rumour. Jemima was waiting for me outside the Cultural Centre when I came out, and she told me about it. She and Dave saw the police cars with sirens going, so they followed them in the pick-up truck and that was where they ended up. Dave got out and spoke to one of the neighbours, and he said he'd heard a shot.'

'Neighbours. Pfft!' said Amaryllis. 'You can't believe a word they say. He probably made it up to fit in with seeing the police cars.'

'You could always ask your friend Charlie Smith,' he suggested.

'He won't tell me anything useful. I suppose we'll just have to go down round to the Happiness Club and see for ourselves.'

'You make that sound like a chore you can't be bothered with, ' he said suddenly. 'It's actually a serious matter that could get us both arrested if the police find out we're interfering with their investigation.'

As a postscript, Christopher sighed long and heavily.

'Oh, don't be so boring,' she said. 'You know, ever since you saved my life you seem to think you own it.'

'No, I don't!'

'Well, come along, then,' she said.

He gave in, as she had always known he would.

Once they were outside and heading up the road towards the High Street, she added, 'Pity Jock McLean can't be here. It always feels more like an adventure from a children's book with him around.'

'Maybe we'll bump into Jemima and Dave,' said Christopher.

'I hope not. A crime scene's no place for them.'

'It has been a place for them before,' said Christopher grimly.

As they approached the top end of the High Street they could see activity around the old café. That side of the road was coned off, and there was blue and white crime scene tape all across the front windows and door.

'We'd better go round the back,' said Amaryllis.

''They'll have that taped off too, won't they? We won't get anywhere near the place.'

'We can get close by turning off down this lane here,' said Amaryllis, ducking into a narrow opening between a wine shop and an abandoned garage. 'Then we can work our way through the gardens.'

She noticed he hadn't yet quibbled about any of this. He was so like a spaniel, willing to follow her around regardless of his own inclinations or safety. Maybe it would be healthier for him to voice some dissent, but on balance she would prefer him not to.

He helped her to climb over the first fence they came to, but before he could follow, she found herself being confronted by an old man with a trowel.

'I was just - looking for something,' she told him. He wasn't satisfied with this excuse, and to show his dissatisfaction he waved the trowel menacingly and advanced towards her. She fled back over the fence.

'I'd forgotten people might be out in their gardens,' she said.

'Of course they will - first dry day for weeks - a nice light evening,' said Christopher, falling back into step with her as she hurried round to the main road again. 'Maybe I'll go and do a bit of weeding.'

'Not until we've found out what's going on, you won't,' she said. 'Anyway, could you really concentrate on weeding if you were wondering about who'd been shot all the time?'

Christopher thought about it for a moment. 'Yes, I could,' he said at last. 'There's nothing like a bit of gardening to take your mind off things.'

She couldn't tell, even after knowing him for quite a while, whether he was joking or not.

They walked past the Happiness Club once, and then turned and walked past it again the other way. There was no sign of life, just the police tape waving gently in the draught whenever a car went past. They got as close as they could to the tape that was across the yard entrance, and peered over it, but all they could see was a police car parked right across the space.

'We'll just have to read about it in the papers,' said Christopher.

'Of course we won't! When I have to wait to read about things in the papers, I'll know I'm getting too old and you'll have to shoot me,' she said, speaking much too loudly because of seething indignation.

A police officer appeared from behind the car. He wandered towards them.

'Nothing to see here.'

'Are you new in town?' asked Amaryllis.

'Yes,' he said. 'Inspector Forrester. But I've been warned about you, Ms Peebles, and your cronies. We won't be letting you waste police time on this occasion.'

'That's no way to speak to a concerned member of the public,' Amaryllis told him sternly. ‘And I don’t have cronies.’

'Just move along there, please.'

'Don't expect any help from us when your hidebound ideas lead you into a dead end!' she called over her shoulder as Christopher took her elbow and hustled her off down the High Street.

'And you can let go of me too!' she snapped at him.

'OK - once we get to the wool shop I'll let go - if you behave yourself.'

By this time she was too indignant to speak, but she refrained from using martial arts to free herself from Christopher's grip, and when he let her go on the pavement outside the wool shop, she just stood there meekly enough. It wasn't Christopher's fault that the new inspector had insulted her. And she had learned from experience not to batter her head against a brick wall when she could sneak round to the other side of it and find a cat-door. She couldn’t immediately see where the cat-door might be, but maybe once it got dark… She would bide her time.

‘… Golden Peach?’ said Christopher. Amaryllis had evidently missed some vital piece of information. She stared at him blankly.

‘Why don’t we go along to the Golden Peach, now we’ve come this far?’ he said patiently. ‘We haven’t been out for dinner together for a while.’

She blinked. ‘I don’t know if we’ve ever been out to dinner together, as you put it. I can only remember ordering in pizza, or going to get fish and chips. What’s happened to you?’

He was almost turning into a normal person. She wasn’t sure if she liked that idea or not. She had the feeling that their unconventional relationship wouldn’t stand up to too much normality.