Birthdays Can Be Murder Read online

  Arbie let the ‘hated rival’ pass. ‘Naturally not. I’m a businessman, Inspector. I don’t run my nurseries as a rich man’s hobby but as a business. Alicia paid full whack for every daisy and rosebud, I promise you.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure that’s all perfectly understandable,’ Mollineaux concurred placidly. ‘But you stayed for the party afterwards. Why on earth would you want to do that?’

  ‘Alicia invited me,’ Arbie said with a shrug.

  ‘That’s all? You didn’t, perhaps, want to stay in order to see Miss Walker again?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ Arbie admitted readily. And said nothing more.

  It’s like trying to get blood from a stone, Mollineaux thought wrathfully. He has no pride. He readily admits to chasing a woman who had previously given him the elbow, and he doesn’t care a jot for the opinion of others. And that made him not only unusual, but dangerous as well. Mollineaux did not like him. But was he a killer?

  ‘You keep paraquat at your nurseries, Mr Goulder?’ he asked, deciding a blunt instrument was the only chance he had of battering down the florist’s defences.

  Arbie blinked. ‘I might have some, forgotten about, amongst the old stock, but I doubt it. Why do you ask?’ There was such a wealth of suspicion in his voice that Mollineaux felt his heart sink. His instinct told him that nobody could act that well. He glanced at Mollern and saw a similar dismay deep in his own eyes. Arbie Goulder seemed so right for it. He had motive, and, somehow, opportunity. They didn’t know yet just how Justin had been poisoned, but everyone at the party had opportunity, if only they could figure out how. Moreover, Arbie was psychologically right for it. Tough. Arrogant. Clever. But did he actually do it?

  Mollineaux sighed. ‘That’s all for now, Mr Goulder.’

  ‘He was poisoned with paraquat, wasn’t he?’ Arbie said. ‘That’s why you wanted to know if Babs had gone to the greenhouse. Old Thorne might still have some of the stuff tucked away somewhere. So that’s what killed Greer,’ Arbie deduced thoughtfully. He didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. Nor, alas, did he sound particularly guilty.

  Mollineaux rose to his feet, fighting his anger. He glanced at Mollern, who also rose, and together the two policemen left, well aware that Arbie watched them go with mocking eyes. Outside he gave Mollern a speaking look and sighed deeply. He’d never known a case so complicated and so full of unhelpful witnesses and potential suspects.

  ‘Let’s get onto the Daphne Williams angle,’ he said heavily. ‘There, at least, we should be able to make some sort of headway.’

  *

  Jenny woke up the next morning and dressed. She had slept badly, tossing and turning and trying to pick holes in her own theory. But no matter how she kept rearranging it, it always came out with the same name. But there was still so much that she didn’t understand. Besides, one piece of evidence alone didn’t convict a killer.

  ‘Oh hell,’ she murmured to herself and walked to the window, which was, of course, wide open. Even in the depths of winter Jenny slept with her bedroom window wide open. Fresh air was better than medicine, her mother was always saying. And she should know. She practically lived up doomed trees in makeshift tree houses.

  Out of the window she saw Trevor Watkins wander over in the direction of the herb beds, and was instantly out the door. Jenny very badly wanted to have a word with the cockney crook.

  She followed the vile scent of cigarette smoke across the lawn, past the delightful herb garden to a rock garden on the other side. And there, sitting on a dry-stone wall was Trevor Watkins, glaring rather testily at a noisy robin singing in a nearby plum tree.

  ‘Hangover?’ Jenny asked sweetly, and saw the way the man tensed. His feet were flat on the ground, ready to move. His free hand was palm down on the wall, ready to launch himself at any attacker. Jenny would have bet her fee that he had a weapon, probably a knife, on him somewhere. His eyes passed over her swiftly, and he slowly relaxed.

  ‘Hello,’ he said pleasantly. ‘And yes, as a matter of fact, I did have a bit too much to drink yesterday evening.’

  ‘Our friends the police been giving you a hard time?’ she asked, glibly and totally without sympathy.

  ‘They take it in relays,’ Watkins agreed, neither missing her sarcasm nor acknowledging it. ‘I keep telling them Justin rang me up and invited me to the party, and they keep saying no way. I keep telling them I came down only to have a nice time at a fancy do, and they keep telling me that I killed Greer. I keep saying why on earth would I, and they say that perhaps it was Alicia I was after. They keep asking about the argument I had with her, and I keep saying what argument? As an hour’s diversion it’s bearable. As an all-day sporting event, it lacks a little something.’

  Jenny nodded and took her place a little along the wall from him. ‘So why not just tell them that Alicia owed you money and have done with it?’ she asked, and saw him pause in the act of lifting the cigarette to his mouth.

  Trevor Watkins turned and glanced at her. His face was totally blank. ‘Come again?’

  Jenny shrugged. ‘I heard Justin tease his sister about her gambling debts. Just over there, in fact.’ She nodded her head to her left. ‘By the lake. Then I hear around and about that you own a gambling place. I imagine Justin could be just as mischievous as his sister, and invite you to the party. Ergo …’

  ‘Alicia owes me money,’ Trevor finished. ‘How very clever you are. And how right. Alicia does owe me money,’ Watkins admitted, for the first time his voice revealing a ruthlessness that must always have been in his character. ‘But I doubt that you’re as clever as you think,’ he added, standing up and grinding the cigarette out under his heel. He stared at her levelly, to see if she’d got the not-so-subtle hint, and Jenny stared unflinchingly back. Trevor grinned. ‘You’re a game bitch, I’ll give you that,’ he said, almost cheerfully. ‘But don’t cross me, there’s a love.’

  And with that, he was gone.

  Jenny watched him go, her heart thumping. She was sure that she had come off the worst in that little exchange, and she wasn’t thinking of the threats either. Those she totally disregarded. They were second nature to someone of Trevor’s mentality. ‘I doubt that you’re as clever as you think you are,’ he’d said. And Jenny had the dismaying feeling that he was right. She was missing something. Oh, she was on the right track, she was sure of that. And no doubt Trevor Watkins was going to prove to have played a very big part in it all. But what that part was, she had failed to find out.

  No doubt she was not as clever as she thought she was.

  When she finally left the wall, about an hour later, she was just in time to see a car pull into the drive. For the first time she saw Sherri Greer, standing by her husband’s side, waiting at the door. She looked pale and hollow-eyed, but a smile trembled on her lips as a figure climbed out of the car and stood looking vaguely around in the bright morning sunlight.

  Jenny’s eyes roamed straight past Keith Harding and alighted on Alicia Greer, who moved into her mother’s outstretched arms with a small sob. Her father completed the circle, closing his arms around his daughter’s shaking shoulders as Keith Harding, still the outsider, looked on unnoticed.

  Jenny slowly approached, aware that Chase, Daphne Williams and Martha were all clustered in the doorway, not wanting to miss the triumphant return of the young mistress of the house. Jenny stopped silently when she reached Keith Harding’s side, and watched. Standing as tall as he, she did not have to look up to notice that his jaw was clenched tight, and that a little muscle ticked away furiously by the side of his mouth. His fists, too, hung at his sides, clenched so tight that his knuckles were white. He looked deeply unhappy.

  As if sensing that someone was missing, Alicia turned and smiled at Keith, her eyes glancing across the few inches of space to Jenny.

  Her expression changed abruptly. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her voice pinched and tight, her already pale and ill-looking face going even paler. ‘One of the nurses told me ab
out you,’ Alicia said accusingly, her voice, weak and exhausted though it was, still clearly echoing across the suddenly thick and motionless air.

  Obviously she was still unwell. It was not surprising that she swayed weakly against her father’s supporting arms. The poison may have been pumped out of her system, but its effects would obviously make her feel ill for some time to come, Jenny guessed. Not that Alicia seemed to be taking much notice of its effects now. Her eyes were large, bright with burning emotion, and fixed on Jenny.

  Behind her, the cook saw Mollineaux’s silver head appear.

  ‘What are you talking about, dear?’ Sherri Greer asked anxiously. Having her daughter return home had rallied her spirits considerably. It had been the only thing that had managed to drag her from her bed. But she wondered now if the hospital hadn’t released her too soon.

  ‘That woman,’ Alicia said, pointing imperiously at Jenny, ‘was arrested for murder once before. I know. A nurse told me. She’d been reading the papers about Justin’ – The young voice faltered as tears threatened – ‘and she remembered Miss Starling’s name before. One of her other employers was murdered too!’

  This dramatic announcement made Martha gasp in delight. Chase gave a very happy sniff of displeasure. Jenny met Mollineaux’s eyes and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. Well, it had been bound to happen. Her thoughts stopped abruptly as by her side Keith Harding swung around to face her, his eyes murderous. Jenny took a very hasty and utterly instinctive step back.

  ‘You lay a hand on her,’ Keith hissed, his face wild, ‘and I’ll kill you. Do you hear?’ And since he was shouting fit to be heard in Alaska, Jenny had no trouble at all in hearing him.

  She sighed in relief as, out of nowhere, Mollern – good, squat, very solid Mollern – appeared at her right shoulder and laid a restraining arm on Keith Harding, who didn’t even seem to feel it. He was too busy staring at the cook in animalistic rage. And in that moment, Jenny had no doubt at all that Keith was capable of murder. Hers.

  ‘I can assure you, sir, that Miss Greer is in no danger,’ Mollern began soothingly. ‘Both myself and Inspector Mollineaux are staying on at the house. And Miss Starling, I can assure you, has never murdered anyone.’

  Keith Harding continued to stare at Jenny, hate and loathing and fear emanating him from him like a noxious cloud.

  ‘That’s as may be,’ Keith gritted, his voice cold and hard. ‘But I’m staying too. I’m moving into the room next to Alicia’s and anyone, anyone,’ he reiterated, leaning closer to Jenny menacingly, ‘who comes near her is going to answer to me.’

  As he turned and headed towards Alicia, Jenny couldn’t help but notice that for once, and at last, Mark and Sherri Greer were openly approving of him. Alicia, however, wasn’t quite through yet. ‘And there’s another thing,’ she said spitefully. ‘Where did she get that watch she wears?’

  Jenny, taken by surprise, instinctively raised her watch and looked at the obviously expensive gold and diamond timepiece. Everyone else looked at it too. Mollineaux raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Jenny shrugged. ‘It was a gift,’ she said flatly, definitely in no mood to explain herself, or her father’s extravagance.

  Alicia snorted. ‘More likely you stole it,’ she accused.

  Mollineaux coughed warningly. Taking the hint, and together as one family, the Greers and Keith Harding turned and walked into the house, Alicia between them, the most precious object in all their lives. Keith shot her a final, hate-filled warning look over his shoulder.

  Mollineaux joined Jenny out on the gravel, looking relieved that the nasty scene was over. ‘You can’t blame him,’ he said softly, glancing at the now closed door. ‘He almost lost her.’

  ‘No,’ Jenny said, robustly beginning to rally. The whole episode had shaken her more than she’d care to admit. ‘I don’t blame him at all,’ she assured him stoutly.

  The two policemen exchanged relieved glances. They both felt a renewal of respect for the impressive cook as, in unspoken accord, they also began to head for the house. ‘And I meant what I said,’ Mollern added reassuringly. ‘Alicia Greer will be well protected.’

  But Jenny was hardly listening. Somehow, she needed solid proof before she could voice her theories out loud.

  ‘By the way,’ Mollineaux said, as neutrally as possible, ‘that tip you gave us about the housekeeper turned out to be right on the button. We finally got confirmation this morning. Daphne Carter, as she was then, gave her son up for adoption seventeen years ago, almost to the day.’

  ‘Oh? Good,’ Jenny said, and then wondered. What was so good about it? It meant poor Daphne was now in for a grilling, and just when she was at her lowest ebb.

  Mollineaux coughed. ‘We will, of course, have to question her again,’ he remarked, and glanced across at Mollern, who was studiously inspecting his shoes. ‘We thought it might be best if she had someone with her. Another woman, I mean.’

  Jenny glanced quickly at him, just managing to keep the horrified look from her face. ‘Me, you mean?’ she asked bluntly.

  ‘Well, it either has to be you, or Mrs Greer. And considering the delicate nature of our enquiries …’ He trailed off, having no need to go any further.

  ‘No,’ Jenny sighed. ‘And if it turns out to be irrelevant, there’ll be no reason at all to tell the Greers about Jimmy Speight’s true parentage. Right?’ she asked, her chin rising in challenge, and was satisfied when Mollineaux agreed with her.

  If she was going to have to fight Daphne’s corner, she’d make sure she did it properly.

  Sixteen

  THEY FOUND DAPHNE Williams in the library, catching up on the household expenses. Mollern carefully closed the door behind him and checked that the windows were closed. The housekeeper glanced apprehensively at the policemen, curiously at Jenny, and then, quite suddenly, as if aware of what was to come, became very calm.

  ‘Inspector Mollineaux,’ she acknowledged quietly.

  He coughed. ‘Mrs Williams, I’m afraid we have a few questions that we have to put to you. I’ve asked Miss Starling to be present to … er …’

  ‘For moral support, Daphne,’ Jenny said firmly and went to sit beside the housekeeper. ‘In a few days I shall be gone and I expect you’ll never see me again. Often we can turn to strangers for help when our friends are the last people we’d want to see.’

  Daphne smiled, but her calm blue gaze went quickly back to Mollineaux. ‘Ask away, Inspector. I shall be quite truthful and as concise as I can be, I assure you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Williams. I’ll try to be as brief as possible.’ Mollineaux walked to the empty fireplace and turned. ‘You were the natural mother of Jimmy Speight, were you not?’

  If he expected consternation, he was disappointed.

  ‘Yes I was,’ Daphne agreed quietly and without any sign of surprise that they should know this.

  ‘And you followed the Speights down here to be near your son?’

  ‘Yes I did. I learned, quite by accident, who had adopted my son, and, well, I became curious. And once I’d seen him, I had to keep on seeing him. Not to tell him who I really was, of course,’ she added quickly. ‘No. I made my decision seventeen years ago and I could see that he was very happy with his adopted family. I had no intention of causing either Bernie or Jean or Jimmy any trouble.’

  ‘That’s why you made friends with Jean Speight,’ Jenny said softly. ‘Just so you’d have the excuse to be around Jimmy from time to time?’

  Daphne glanced at her, and gave a wry sort of smile. ‘Exactly. And then I was able to get him a job here. It was me who recommended him to Thorne and Mr Greer. So I could see a bit more of him. It was enough,’ she added quietly.

  Mollineaux sighed. ‘And on the morning that your son died, did you see him arrive?’

  ‘No. He came early that morning, because of the football. I was going to go into the village and watch him play. I’d already arranged to have the afternoon off.’ Her voice began to crack, just sli
ghtly. Jenny took her hand and squeezed it. After a startled pause, Daphne squeezed back.

  ‘So you don’t know what his movements were likely to have been?’

  ‘I expect the first thing he did was make himself a cup of tea, Inspector. As all the staff do.’

  ‘So everyone has access to the kitchens when Martha Vaughan is not around?’ Mollineaux asked.

  ‘No, Inspector.’ Daphne smiled. ‘They keep a little gas stove and kettle in the little shed, by the greenhouse. Teabags and some sugar too, but not milk. It goes off too quickly in the summertime. They prefer to have their own hidey-hole.’

  ‘I see,’ Mollineaux said, and glanced at Mollern. The police had found no evidence of tea-making facilities in the shed, but that was not surprising. That wily old gardener had probably cleared it out as soon as the police had arrived. ‘I see. Mrs Williams …’

  ‘It’s not really Mrs Williams,’ Daphne said, with another wry smile. ‘It’s always been Carter. I never married, but when I started seeking housekeeping jobs it was easier to play the widow. You understand?’

  Mollineaux did, but was not about to be sidetracked. ‘I’ll stick with Mrs Williams then. Mrs Williams, had you heard about the argument Justin Greer had with your son just prior to his death?’

  ‘Yes,’ Daphne said quietly. ‘Jean had told me that Jimmy wanted to be a reporter. He wrote a lot of pieces for various magazines and papers. Quite a few were accepted,’ she added proudly. ‘I knew that he was insatiably curious about life and people, but also that he could get into trouble because of it. Not everyone understood him as I did.’

  ‘And what did you think of Justin giving him a dressing down?’ Mollineaux asked neutrally.

  Jenny felt herself tense, but Daphne seemed unaware that she was heading for dangerous ground. ‘Well, I didn’t like it, of course, but I understood it. And Justin was quite within his rights to resent Jimmy poking around in his private things.’