4 Death at the Happiness Club (5 page)

Chapter 7 Amaryllis to the rescue

Maisie Sue woke up the morning after the speed-dating event with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction. And yet - had she really expected some man to sweep her off her feet on the spot, to offer to marry her after the divorce was final, and to make her a UK citizen? She felt the evening had reinforced the feeling she often had around Pitkirtly, that it was a very small pond and she had seen all the fish in it already.

No, that was an unkind conclusion. There were some fish she wouldn't have minded hooking, if only they hadn't already been tangled in other people's nets. Christopher most definitely came into that category. She saw him as promising husband material, but whether Amaryllis was wife material was another matter, so maybe they were destined forever to be attached loosely to each other but without ever conducting a proper relationship of the kind Maisie Sue and others would consider normal.

Sitting at the kitchen table, eating pancakes with maple syrup and cream - there were some aspects of being American she wouldn't give up for anything - she found herself sighing again. She had been doing a lot of that lately. She considered Jock's question about the quilting club. Somehow it had fallen apart after the village hall burned down. She had carried on quilting, of course, but she hadn't had the enthusiasm to try and recruit anyone else. Maybe it would make more sense to revive that interest instead of wasting all her energy on trying to replace Pearson with some man who would turn out to be just as bad.

The door-bell rang. She hoped it wasn't the postman, but at least she wasn't wearing her pyjamas today.

She got to her feet with an effort of will-power and went to see who it was.

A man in a grey suit stood on the doorstep.

'Mrs MacPherson?'

'That's me,' she said, trying out a smile. He didn't respond to that. He must be an official of some kind. She didn't know whether to hope he was from the CIA or not. Surely the CIA owed her something in return for the long years when she had virtually lived undercover with Pearson, going where he went, making homes for him in various countries, not all as welcoming as Scotland.

'I'm from the UK immigration service,' he said, shattering her hopes of compensation from the CIA for her trouble, although she knew that possibility had only ever existed in her own mind. He held up an identity badge that seemed to be authentic. At least, it was bent out of shape and had a large coffee stain at one end as if it had been in use for a while. 'I believe you've had a letter from us.'

'Yes,' said Maisie Sue, who was almost incapable of lying to the authorities. Except about taxes, of course, but lying about taxes was practically a national obsession where she came from. 'But I wasn't sure if I was meant to - '

'May I come into the house for a few moments?' he said very politely, if over-formally in a very British way.

She caught herself wondering if he was married. Come on, Maisie Sue, she told herself firmly, this is getting to be pathetic!

'Please sit down,' she said to him in the living-room. She could be over-formal too. 'Would you like a cup of tea?'

'No, thank you.'

'Pancakes and maple syrup?'

He shook his head and made a note in the little reporter's notebook he had taken out of a briefcase. He would probably report that she had made an attempt to bribe him.

'Have you read the letter?' he asked.

'I guess so. But -'

'Then you'll understand that we have no choice but to act in cases where a visa is no longer valid.'

Maisie Sue didn't understand any such thing, but she wasn't about to get into an argument with him at this stage.

'How long have I got before you act?'

He blinked. Perhaps he wasn't used to getting such direct questions. Well, he was dealing with an American now. None of this British pussyfooting around. Get straight to the point. Cut through all the layers of subtlety.

'Um - it's hard to put an exact timescale on the process,' he said. 'Most people in your situation arrange to leave voluntarily before we - er - take action.'

'I see,' said Maisie Sue.

'It can take up to six months, depending on the circumstances,' he said.

'Six months?'

'Give or take a couple of months. Are there any special circumstances? Family in the UK? Caring responsibilities?'

Maisie Sue wished she had had the foresight to adopt a child, or indeed a grandmother. Or even a dog might have done.

He left her with a booklet entitled 'Facing Deportation - it might not be as bad as you think'. She sat down heavily on the chair in the hallway, holding the booklet on her lap but not reading it. She had known all this for a while, but having an actual person come round and spell it out to her was still very sobering.

She was just blinking back tears when a voice spoke from the kitchen doorway.

'That was all just bravado on his part. There are lots of ways round it. Don't worry, we'll sort something out.'

'Amaryllis! How in the world did you get in?'

Amaryllis advanced from the kitchen into the hall. She looked as sleek and dangerous as a cheetah.

'I wouldn't mind some pancakes and maple syrup,' she said. 'Let's go and sit in the kitchen.'

An hour later, they were still in the kitchen, and Maisie Sue had made another batch of pancakes.

'So there's absolutely no chance that you can invent a special machine for making quilts, or start a quilting business employing ten or more people?' said Amaryllis, summing up their conversation so far. 'And there isn't actually a threat to your life if you return to the States?''

'Not as far as I know,' said Maisie Sue, offering Amaryllis the cream jug. 'But then, Pearson's mother can kill gophers with a single -'

'I think we've already dismissed Pearson's mother,' said Amaryllis.

Maisie Sue sighed. If only that were as easy to do in real life as in Amaryllis's imagination!

Amaryllis sat back, sipping at her coffee.

'Well, there are only three options left. Maybe four at a stretch.'

'Yes?' said Maisie Sue eagerly.

'One, you go on the run and stay under their radar. Lots of people do that - it might not be very pleasant though. Two, we steal someone else's identity and convert it to yours. But that would mean changing your name and moving somewhere else. Three, we hack into the immigration records and give you a cast-iron reason for having to stay here. Because it's no use just forging documents if they don't have matching records on their system. You'll just get into trouble over the faking of the documents.'

She paused.

'Four?' said Maisie Sue.

'There's your idea of marrying someone British. But that's even more chancy than the first two. For one thing, you'd have to do it quite quickly. Is your divorce through yet?'

'No.'

'Is Pearson likely to hurry it through for any reason?'

'Maybe.' Maisie Sue couldn't stop her voice trembling as she remembered once again Pearson's betrayal and all the uncertainty she had been through in the past year.

'So that cuts your time in half, maybe worse than that,' said Amaryllis. 'Hmm.'

'There's the Happiness Club,' said Maisie Sue, not sure whether to mention it or not.

'Happiness! Ha!' said Amaryllis.

'It might speed things up a bit,' said Maisie Sue.

'Did you really look at the men in there?' said Amaryllis. 'Half of them were the usual suspects - think about it! Jock McLean, Chief Inspector Smith. And Dave and Jemima were there, for God's sake! They aren't even single. Not really. I mean, do you think for a minute Dave's going to abandon Jemima and go off with you? Would you really want that to happen?'

Maisie Sue was a bit shaken by Amaryllis's unusual fervor.

'No,' she whispered.

'Anyway, even if the Happiness Club works, it's not going to work fast enough. You want a quick solution. I'll see if I can work out a way into the immigration people's computer systems. But it could turn out to be impossible. They may be completely secure. Although…'

'I didn't know you were a computer hacker as well,' said Maisie Sue admiringly.

'As well as all my other dodgy skills?' said Amaryllis. 'We learned that in spy school. I did a refresher course just before I retired. I like to keep my hand in.'

'How much will you charge?' said Maisie Sue. 'I know you've done some P.I. work. Is it two hundred dollars a day plus expenses?'

'Not quite as much as that,' said Amaryllis. 'In fact, this fits in rather nicely with something I've been doing for my own amusement.'

She smiled slowly, and added, 'I might just look into the Happiness Club at the same time. See if their systems stand up to investigation.'

She stood up, ready to go.

'You will be careful, won't you?' said Maisie Sue. She had an uneasy feeling about all this. Might it get her into even deeper trouble than she was already in?

Another uneasy thought came to her. How had Amaryllis got into the house?

Chapter 8 New friends

Amaryllis headed for the Happiness Club again after leaving Maisie Sue's. She wondered if anything would be going on there at this time of day. If nothing else, there might be someone cleaning the premises after the speed-dating evening. And perhaps Sean lived there; she thought there had been a flat above the old café. Odd that he would run something like this in a rented place. It might have been more viable to use a room in a public space such as the Cultural Centre. On the other hand, she wasn't sure Christopher would approve of the meeting room being used for speed-dating. Or happiness, for that matter.

But sometimes it was hard to tell with Christopher.

She wondered if he and Caroline had killed each other yet. It was possible that at this very moment the bodies were floating in the Forth, about to wash up on the beach at Burntisland and give some unsuspecting dog-walker the fright of their life.

Amaryllis pushed these unhealthy speculations to one side. She could see Penelope Johnstone approaching, and she thought it might be interesting to focus on the woman, at least until she got a take on the previous night's events.

Penelope crossed the road just before she would have come face to face with Amaryllis.

That was interesting in itself. Amaryllis crossed the road too and accosted her.

'Penelope! I didn't get the chance to speak to you last night,' she said. 'Have you been at Cosy Clicks lately? I missed the last meeting - I was away.'

What was the matter with the woman? She had jumped when Amaryllis spoke, and her face was grey and lined. She looked at least ten years older than usual.

'Jan's on holiday - we’re having a break,' muttered Penelope. 'Sorry, Amaryllis, I can't stop, I'm in a terrible hurry.'

Amaryllis ignored these words, and put a hand on Penelope's arm to detain her. Again the woman jumped as if scalded.

'Are you feeling all right, Penelope? Is Zak all right?'

'It's nothing to do with Zak!' Penelope almost shouted. 'And I'd be obliged if you'd stop interfering in things that are absolutely nothing to do with you!'

Amaryllis took her hand away, and Penelope scuttled off along the street, looking neither to right nor left.

Very interesting indeed. Amaryllis made a mental note to follow it up. Being told to stop interfering was just the reason she needed to interfere that little bit more.

In the meantime, she would check out the Happiness Club. She had a natural aversion to using the front door of a building if she could find another way. Part of that was a need to have an alternative route back out again if anything went wrong. She had learned that quite early in her spying career.

She walked casually round the end of the terrace of which the old café was a part. Another thing she had learned at an early stage was not to look surreptitious but to stride into situations as if you had every right to do so.

As she had expected, there was a service lane for deliveries, and all the properties backed on to a kind of yard which contained various giant wheelie bins, a couple of white vans and, somewhat unexpectedly, a large motor caravan with someone sweeping the steps. This could put a stop to her plans for getting into the building.

'Can I help you at all?' called the woman at the top of the caravan steps. She reminded Amaryllis of someone. Was she - no, surely she hadn't been one of the women serving at the coffee counter the night before? They had looked as if their hair was glued in place, as well as all their clothes, which were just slightly too satiny and sparkly for an evening in Pitkirtly. This woman was scruffy by any standards, hair tousled, wearing a dirty off-white T-shirt with a hole in it, faded jeans and flip-flops.

Amaryllis took in all this as she approached. And yet by the time she got closer she could see it probably was one of the women from the Happiness Club. What were their names again? Milly? Dilly? Eenie? Meenie?

'Do you have anything to do with the Happiness Club?' she asked.

'Sorry - what's this in connection with?' said the woman nervously, glancing over her shoulder back into the caravan. Hmm, thought Amaryllis, this is interesting. Was she expecting debt collectors? Police? Lawyers acting on behalf of disappointed clients?

'I just wondered if anyone had handed in a scarf,' said Amaryllis, trying to appear normal. 'I think I may have left one last night.'

The woman put aside her brush and came down the steps. Amaryllis could sense a sort of mental sigh of relief. The woman held out her hand.

'Dilly Fraser. I'm Sean's sister. I don't think we met last night?'

'Amaryllis Peebles. I was late arriving, I'm afraid. Family problem.'

'Oh, dear, I'm sorry to hear that.' Dilly had an attractive, slightly Irish accent, and a pleasant smile. 'Now I don't think we found any scarves last night. But we can go in and have a look if you like.'

Nothing to hide in the café then, thought Amaryllis. But she might learn more from Dilly about what there was to be nervous of.

'That would be great,' she said. 'If it isn't too much trouble.'

'No trouble at all,' said Dilly.

'So how do you think it went?' said Amaryllis as Dilly opened the back door and they went in. There was a kind of lobby just inside the door. No stairs, so presumably the flat above didn't go with the café after all. Three doors. One must lead into the café at the front. Amaryllis deliberately tried the handles of the other doors, one of which led to a sort of combined broom-cupboard and toilet. It was when she tried the next one that Dilly became nervous.

'Not that way!' said Dilly hastily. She held open the door to the café for Amaryllis.

'What's that - a store room?' said Amaryllis, walking forward.

'Yes, that's all. Just a store room. Sean's been using it to do the accounts, that sort of thing. That's why he usually keeps the door locked. He's got his computer set up there.'

'Oh, yes, the computer matching service,' said Amaryllis, and wondered why Dilly looked as if she were about to jump out of her skin.

'That's right,' she said after a pause. Honestly, thought Amaryllis, she might as well have 'I am guilty' written across her T-shirt. But what was she guilty of? That was the question.

'I was sitting over here some of the time,' said Amaryllis, leading the way over to the area where she had spoken to Zak. Dilly followed her. They stared down at the floor. Not surprisingly, there was no sign of any scarf.

'Maybe you dropped it outside on the way home,' suggested Dilly. 'But we'll keep a look-out for it anyway.  Maybe you could give me your mobile number or something in case we find it?'

'No, that's fine, I'll just call back another day,' said Amaryllis. 'After all, I know where you are.'

She observed with interest the quick flash of panic that crossed Dilly's face. Lots of food for thought here. There were few things Amaryllis enjoyed more than the start of a new project. After saying goodbye to Dilly, she walked off down the street humming a few bars of 'A Policeman's Lot'. It didn't quite fit the circumstances, but it was close enough. Especially the part about the felon being engaged in his employment - or not, as the case might be.