Strictly Murder (15 page)

"Come with you? To what, exactly?"

"I'm presenting the prizes at the Crofterton dog show."

"You're what?"

I failed to keep the incredulity out of my voice and KD sounded faintly hurt when she replied.

"It's all part of the job, dear."

"Part of being a writer or a dog lover?"

"Don't be so dense, Verity. It's all part of being a local celebrity."

"Oh! That job!"

KD looked on being a famous face as a necessary evil but it remained the one aspect of her work she liked least.

"Anyway, please say you'll come."

"Well, I am out this evening, I murmured."

"Ooh. A hot date, eh?"

I'd hardly describe dinner with Inspector Farish in that fashion so I ignored the comment.

"Go on. Where is it and what's the dress code?"

"Crofterton racecourse and posh frocks."

"OK. Where and when do you want me to meet you?"

"Thanks, Verity, I really appreciate it. Shall we say two thirty-ish in the VIP lounge at the top of the grandstand?"

"The VIP lounge? Will I be able to get in? I don't want to be thrown out for impersonating somebody important."

KD barked with laughter at the other end of the line.

"Oh yes, you'll be all right. As long as you're dressed decently and not in jeans and a tee-shirt, they'll let anybody in."

"Oh, I can impersonate an anybody," I assured her. "I do it all the time. OK I'll see you there."

I returned to studying my notes. Along with appointments with the dentist, the gym, her beautician and her mum, all of which I'd noted but now dismissed, there were six further entries. Assuming Holly Danvers' suggestion that 'JB' stood for John Brackett was correct, that still left five others unaccounted for. Thrush, Mr Smith, Spaniel, Dawn and Xmas Wreath. I fetched a fresh sheet of paper from the desk, making a separate list of these names and the dates they appeared. Despite having told Inspector Farish that the diary had been written in code, it was clear that this was no cipher. Surely, I thought, scratching my head with the end of my pen, JayJay had made the same connection I had and Thrush referred to Candida Clark. I felt hampered by not knowing the dead woman, not knowing how her mind worked. Without that knowledge, figuring out who she'd meant was well nigh impossible. I reached for my coffee in frustration. I had originally wondered if the entries were the dates JayJay had made with her lovers, but that idea went out the window with the inclusion of her producer. Unless she was bisexual, of course.

"Yes!"

I bounded off the settee, galvanised by a sudden bolt of inspiration. Could Xmas Wreath be Holly Danvers? Now I might be getting somewhere. I picked up the sheet of paper that had leapt to the floor at the same time I did. There was only one date for this entry, January 7th. I grabbed the phone, checked my notebook and dialled.

"Holly? Hello, it's Verity Long."

"Oh, hello, Miss Long. I was just about to go out."

The secretary's small voice, made tinny by the wires, came back at me.

"I shan't keep you, I just wanted to know when you started working for JayJay."

"Umm … it was in January, Sometime in early January. I can't remember when exactly. Is it important?"

"I don't know. I'm just working through the diary you brought me."

"Haven't you given it to the police?"

"Oh, yes, they've got it," I assured her. "But I made a few notes before I handed it over."

"I understand," replied Holly knowingly, before she added, "to help with your enquiries," which proved she didn't.

"Did you have a job interview beforehand?"

"Sorry?"

"Did you go to an interview with Jaynee, before you began to work for her?"

"Yes, that's right. I did."

"And can you remember when that was?"

"Oh, only the week before. She wanted someone who could start immediately, so I saw her on the Wednesday, or the Thursday I think it was, and started the following Monday."

"Would Thursday the seventh sound about right?"

A brief silence while she considered this.

"Yes, I think so."

I thanked her and put the phone down, then wrote 'Holly Danvers' next to 'Xmas Wreath' on my pad. I was making progress. Of a sort. I'd accounted for two names on my list, or three if I pushed the list up to the six I'd had originally and included John Brackett. Pleased with myself, I ticked them off. Only three to go, Mr Smith, Spaniel and Dawn. Spaniel! Hell's teeth! I was due to meet KD for her wretched dog show in under two hours and here I sat, bedraggled, covered in dust and grime, giving a damned good impression of a mongrel myself. I raced for the shower.

As well as the dog show there were several races on the card that afternoon and spectators were pouring into the course. A swirling sea of people ebbed and flowed around the new grandstand, like survivors of a maritime disaster desperately trying to reach the safety of the ship sent to rescue them. Rising concrete tiers with blue painted railings looked for all the world like decks on an ocean-going cruise liner that should be plying the warm waters of the Caribbean, not stuck in dry dock at Crofterton Racecourse. The distorted metallic voice of a Tannoy informed us that judging would shortly take place in the Gun Dog class before going on to announce the runners and riders in the next race. How the hell was I going to find KD in this seething mob? Hemmed in on all sides, I turned quickly narrowly avoiding stepping on a Yorkshire Terrier masquerading as a mobile toupee. Sod this for a game of soldiers, I thought, as I engaged 'elbow mode'. Using these extremities as deadly weapons I forced my way through the crush much as Boadicea's chariot scythed through the Romans, eventually reaching the main doors at the base of the stand. I smiled briefly at the man on the door and stepped into a haven of coolness and calm.

“
You took your time getting here,” snapped KD irritably, when I finally stood, glass in hand, at her side in the VIP lounge on the top floor. The circular room with its floor to ceiling, plate glass, folding doors gave panoramic views over the course and the surrounding countryside.

“
Where on earth have you been? I've had to listen to that dreadful woman droning on for hours.”

“
Which dreadful woman?” I asked looking around.

They all looked pretty awful to me, face-lifted matrons showing far too much flesh, their over applied make-up already beginning to run in the afternoon heat.

“
Lavinia Drew-Steignton. She's a Kennel Club judge who breeds Borzois.”

"Doesn't everybody?" I muttered as KD pointed out a woman in a pale pink dress and jacket leaning against the bar, talking to a dark haired man incongruously dressed amidst all the finery in a Barbour and brogues.

“
And her breath reeks of gin.”

"The same could be said of everybody in here, KD," I pointed out.

She laughed. "Too true."

There was certainly enough booze being swilled to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool. Suddenly I jumped at a loud bang directly behind me. I twirled round in time to see champagne frothing out of a bottle held in the pudgy hand of John Brackett. He was pouring the golden flow into the firmly gripped glass of Candida Clark. I turned back quickly, for some reason unwilling to let her see me.

"Stop being so jumpy, Verity. What's the matter, did you think it was a gunshot?"

I grinned weakly.

"Just nervous, I guess. One corpse a week is enough for anybody."

"Verity." KD drew out the last syllable of my name in admonishment. "Enough. You're here to have fun."

"OK," I said. "So what's your fancy in the next race?"

"Starlight Dancer. The filly's a dead cert. Oh!"

She stared at me in horror while I gazed steadily back over the rim of my glass.

"How unfortunate," she muttered.

"A poor choice of words, certainly" I agreed, thinking, as we both were, of Jaynee Johnson. "But apposite as usual, KD."

She glared at me.

"Stop it."

"So, when do you do your bit?" I sipped at my massively overpriced glass of wine and hoped KD would pay out for the next one.

"From four o'clock. The dog show is out the back, the other side of the grandstand."

We gravitated towards the far side of the bar area just as a surge of people swept past us in the opposite direction. The 3.15 race was under way. The volume of noise swelled as the race progressed. Finding it impossible to talk over the yells, the shouts of encouragement, the screams of excitement as the crowd urged on its favourites, KD and I waited until a final roar signalled the end of the race.

"Starlight Dancer, by half a length." The commentary was piped into the lounge but the place had been so noisy I hadn't noticed it before. The crowd surged back, gathering urgently around the bar, clamouring for attention, eager to celebrate or to drown sorrows and disappointment as the case may be.

"Did you have any money on it?" I asked KD.

"Me? I never bet."

She buried her nose in her glass, sleek, dark head lowered. So she had.

"How much?"

"Fifty quid." She grinned

Fifty pounds? I wished I could afford to risk that much.

"Buns for tea, then?"

"Hardly. The odds weren't
that
good."

I nodded absently, gazing about me at the gaily underdressed women and the loudly overdressed men.

"Another blonde? He does like to collect them, doesn't he?"

"Who?" I asked.

KD nodded towards the door where the head of Silverton Studios, followed by Candy Clark, shouldered his way out.

"John Brackett."

"That's Candy Clark, the producer, he's got with him. I wonder where they're going?"

"The Studios are joint sponsors of the dog show. They've also put the money up for the race so he's probably off to award the prizes."

"Are they sleeping together, do you think?"

Had he also been sleeping with Jaynee Johnson? Did that explain the entries in her diary? For all I knew, the whole book was a list of her conquests. No, I reminded myself, that wouldn't work. Not with both Candida Clark and Holly Danvers in there.