A Village Murder Page 13

  ‘Don’t you just love the smell of cider apples?’ Kate asked.

  A louder voice interrupted. One of the attendants was talking to the desultory collection of visitors on this quiet morning. ‘Legend has it, cider makers throw a dead rat in the mix. It’s not true, of course. At least, not here. I can’t vouch for other companies.’

  ‘Who were you with, anyway, behind the sheds?’ Imogen asked, lazily eyeing her friend. ‘I don’t think you ever confessed.’

  Kate’s face crumpled into a fit of mirth. ‘Why, it was David.’

  Imogen’s happy mood turned. She shivered, as though a dark cloud had crossed the sun. ‘Julian’s friend?’

  ‘It was nothing. He wanted an invitation to our adventure.’

  ‘Did he? He tagged along with Julian, didn’t he?’ Maybe Kate was right. ‘I wondered why they came.’

  Kate wriggled. ‘I didn’t exactly suggest it, but you know how it was. He said Julian was dying to get off with you.’

  ‘He asked me out,’ Imogen confessed. ‘I wasn’t exactly kind to him.’

  ‘That’s how we were in those days.’ Kate put a comforting hand through Imogen’s arm. ‘So wrapped up in our own feelings, we couldn’t think about anyone else.’

  ‘Did the police talk to you about that night?’

  Kate nodded. ‘They already knew most of the story by the time they came to our house. My mother insisted on staying in the room. Boy, was I in trouble? I told her I didn’t take any drugs deliberately and someone had doctored the drinks, but you know what she was like…’

  Imogen remembered a big boned, deep voiced Amazon of a woman.

  Kate confessed, ‘I was grounded for the rest of the term.’

  ‘Me too.’ Imogen’s father been furious. Imogen had let him down, ruined his reputation. She shied away from the memory of his words – ‘Your mother would be ashamed.’ Imogen thrust the ugly memory to the back of her mind. ‘Did you know who spiked the drinks?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Kate looked at her friend, eyes wide. ‘I thought you knew. It was Daniel.’

  A tremor swept through Imogen’s body. Daniel? Was he really to blame? And, if he spiked the drinks, did he also… She could hardly bear to finish the thought.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Kate asked. ‘You’re looking a bit sick.’

  ‘I’m fine. How do you know it was Daniel?’

  ‘Don’t you remember? We took the food. I brought sausage rolls, you pinched smoked salmon from your dad’s hotel, I remember, very posh for those days. The boys brought the alcohol. Daniel poured the cider.’

  Imogen remembered. ‘I couldn’t get my hands on the hotel champagne.’

  The little procession had sneaked into school after dark through the window in the common room, in search of the legendary ghosts. They’d wedged the window handle so carefully with plasticine that it looked secure, but only a single shove pushed the window open. One of the boys hitched Steph, the smallest of the party, on their shoulders and she’d slipped inside to open the door. Stifling giggles, the party had ventured downstairs to the forbidden basement and tugged open the door that led to the underground passageway.

  Imogen had stumbled against one of the boxes stored there, scraping her calf, letting out a yelp of pain.

  ‘Shh!’ the others had hissed.

  ‘Sorry,’ she’d whispered.

  Waving torches, they’d walked on, the tunnel leading steadily upwards. Daniel was leading the way, flanked by Greg and Steph. ‘You know, I think it’s a dead end.’ He’d stopped, focusing his torch along the wall in front.

  The friends had run their fingers over the wall.

  ‘It’s bricked up,’ Steph had grumbled.

  Disappointed, the teenagers had thumped the bricks, trying to budge them, until they’d tested every inch.

  ‘It’s no good,’ Greg had said, startling Imogen. He’d walked so quietly she’d had no idea he was nearby.

  The light from her torch had swept over his grinning, excited face. Imogen had returned the smile, surprised at the little catch in her throat. Greg seemed very handsome that night.

  ‘It looks like the route to the hill is blocked,’ he’d said. ‘Good job we have supplies. Let’s have a drink.’

  They’d settled, muttering that they’d always known there was no way through.

  That was when the drinking had begun. They’d lit candles that hardly flickered in the still air, switched off the torches, and sat companionably on rugs. Imogen’s head was soon swimming. Greg and Daniel had moved between them, topping up plastic cups. Kate, always organised, had vetoed glasses as too dangerous for a picnic in the dark.

  Suddenly, Julian had appeared at Imogen’s side. ‘Imogen,’ he’d begun, a trace of a stammer in his voice. ‘Fatal Attraction’s on at the pictures. D’you fancy coming?’

  Imogen had laughed in his face.

  Thinking about it now, she closed her eyes in pain, but she couldn’t banish his face from her mind. He’d looked so earnest, so resigned.

  ‘Nah. Not my sort of thing,’ she’d said, not caring that he’d turned away. From the corner of her eye, she’d watched Daniel approaching with a bottle in each hand.

  To her chagrin, he’d handed one to Greg and moved on. He hadn’t seemed to notice her at all.

  Soon, Imogen was leaning back against the wall, her eyes half closed. Everything after that was a blur. They must have repacked the boxes and carried everything back to the common room, but she had no memory of it.

  Greg had walked home with her, both staggering and giggling, and grabbing each other to keep from falling over. ‘See you tomorrow?’ he’d said, and she’d nodded, in a dream.

  It was not until the next morning that anyone had noticed Julian was missing.

  26

  Phone call

  Adam called at the hotel. ‘I saw your friend, Daniel, at his new place. You were right about that plant scam.’

  She’d hoped she was wrong.

  Butterflies fluttered nervously in her stomach.

  ‘Is it far?’ Trying to sound disinterested.

  ‘Near Ford.’

  Did you know your father fired Daniel?’

  ‘No. Dad just said he left.’ She took a moment to digest the news. ‘Why? Why would he get rid of Daniel?’ Had Dad noticed the growing friendship between his daughter and the painter? Was he trying to split them up? He’d wanted Imogen to marry Greg. The two of them were like peas in a pod, when it came to running businesses – or entrepreneurship, as Greg called it.

  ‘Daniel added the stolen plants to the painting because he liked them. Nothing more sinister than that, but I guess the councillor saw the danger. I’m afraid you have to face the fact that your father was breaking the law.’

  But not Daniel. At least that was something. ‘Will you go to the police?’ She crossed her fingers. If he did, Dad’s name would be dragged through the mud. She couldn’t bear it. She’d only just heard about her father’s kinder, more generous side.

  ‘Not about the plants. Daniel lent me some sketches to check, but the plant business doesn’t seem to lead anywhere. Unless it supplied a motive I haven’t recognised.’

  ‘A falling-out between thieves?’

  ‘Probably not. It seems the rare plant scheme fizzled out years ago.’

  ‘There are no million pound orchids here. I’ve looked. It’s a pity; the hotel could do with a financial boost.’

  Adam’s face clouded. ‘I’d like to go through the hotel accounts with you. Tomorrow, maybe?’

  ‘Of course. Oh, your friend, Maria, will be coming over later to make arrangements for the concert. You know, the concert that magically moved from your garden to mine? Can you come to the meeting?’

  ‘Um.’ He hesitated, making a show of looking at his watch.

  Imogen was intrigued. Any mention of the Romanian woman threw Adam off balance.

  ‘I’ll have to leave it to you, I’m afraid. Josh needs to talk menus.’

  Imogen relaxe
d as he left, some of the weight of anxiety lifted from her shoulders. ‘Even though the plant scam could be just the beginning,’ she muttered. ‘How many other things was Dad up to? And whatever would Mum have thought?’

  Imogen’s mother had died just after Imogen began at secondary school, soon after her father bought the hotel on profits from the building trade. He became a politician at around the same time.

  An annual holiday at Butlin’s in Minehead, the highlight of their year, had turned to disaster when her mother had caught a cold that became bronchitis, then pneumonia, and finally took her from the family. Imogen had hated holidays ever since.

  If her mother had survived, would Imogen’s relationship with her father have improved? She’d never know. Less than a year after his wife died, he stood for election. Once he became a town councillor, he changed.

  The first in a string of girlfriends arrived. Imogen had to call her ‘Aunt Anna’. Aunt Anna stayed less than a year, replaced by another, younger model. The age of the girlfriends fell, and Imogen became a cross, disobedient teenager, smoking and drinking and hitching her skirts too high, staying out late and answering back when her father objected.

  Those ‘could do better’ reports from school hadn’t helped.

  A new romance with Susan, a girl only a year or so older than Imogen, proved the final straw. Imogen left home with a sigh of relief, to start her new life at university.

  With the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight, Imogen knew her father had been lonely, but his taste for younger women made her skin crawl.

  No wonder she’d disliked Emily, the young hotel manager, on sight. Had she been more than an employee to the councillor? With all her heart, Imogen hoped not.

  She put her head round the door of the office as she passed, determined to be polite. ‘Emily, could you meet with me and Mrs Rostropova at three? I’ve agreed to help with the charity concert, and it’s only a few days away.’

  She half hoped Emily would panic or complain, but she just raised an eyebrow and made a note in her online calendar. ‘No problem, Mrs Bishop.’

  Imogen, oddly disappointed, turned away.

  Emily coughed. ‘Mrs Bishop, there’s something…’ She licked her lips.

  Imogen had never seen her so uncertain. ‘Go on,’ she encouraged.

  ‘It’s about your father.’ The young woman’s cheeks were pink. ‘The day he had his accident…’ A chill travelled up Imogen’s spine. ‘He had a phone call,’ Emily said. ‘It came here, through the switchboard. I answered, because Victoria was away from the desk for a moment. A comfort break.’

  More likely fixing her make-up. ‘What sort of a call?’

  ‘Well, it was a woman. She just asked for… for your father, and I put the call through.

  ‘Did you recognise the voice?’ Maria Rostropova, for instance?

  Emily shook her head. ‘It wasn’t anyone I knew.’

  ‘Did my father mention it to you, later?’

  ‘He came down and told me he was going out. He seemed excited. I thought,’ she gulped, ‘I thought it might be someone he, er, liked.’

  ‘A girlfriend, you mean?’

  Emily’s blush faded and she smiled the first genuinely warm smile Imogen had seen. ‘I didn’t want to tell you…’

  Imogen would pass the news to Adam tomorrow and maybe, just maybe, rethink her opinion of Emily.

  27

  Accounts

  ‘Here.’ Next morning, Imogen dumped a pile of paperwork on a desk in front of Adam. ‘These are the accounts for the hotel, for the last five years. Emily’s on her day off, so she can’t help us with questions, but at least no one will be popping in and out of the office. Apart from Harley, of course.’ She leaned down and tweaked the dog’s ear.

  Adam whistled. ‘He’s a changed dog since he moved over here. I don’t know how you manage it. I thought he’d have chewed half the furniture in the hotel by now.’

  She threw her head back and laughed. ‘He only chews when he’s bored. He wrecked your place because you went out and left him, and he was lonely. Didn’t you realise that?’

  ‘I’ve never had a dog. Cats I can handle.’

  ‘That’s because they look after themselves. You only have to feed them and let them out from time to time.’

  The look of shocked horror on Adam’s face sent Imogen into a peal of laughter.

  ‘Cats are the wisest of all animals,’ Adam said. ‘Far cleverer than humans. They say people own dogs, but cats own people. The Egyptians revered them for their beauty and wisdom.’

  Imogen bent down to Harley and, in a stage whisper, murmured, ‘Don’t you listen. We’ll have to teach him about dogs.’

  The ex-policeman had a faraway look on his face.

  ‘Adam, why don’t you have a cat?’

  ‘I had one, but it was killed. Well, butch— I mean, very violently. I was on the trail of a Cypriot gang, getting too close. They decided to teach me a lesson.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That must have been dreadful.’ Was that one of the reasons Adam had left his successful career and buried himself here, in the countryside? Imogen recognised the parallel with her own life – both were searching for healing, in the beauty of this rural setting.

  Saying no more, she picked up the first sheet of paper on her pile and frowned, determined to understand the mysteries of company accounts.

  Adam followed suit. ‘I presume these are the most recent versions?’

  Imogen nodded. ‘I asked Emily to print them off for us. I hate reading on a computer screen. It makes my eyes itch.’

  ‘I know what you mean. We can delve back further if we need to, but in the meantime, we have plenty to get our teeth into, I see. Now, I’m no expert, but I know what to look out for. I can recognise most of the common red flags for fraud.’

  Imogen’s teeth were clamped together. ‘I’m prepared, don’t worry. I know my father was no angel. I’m sure we’re going to find plenty of anomalies, and I’m ready for them.’

  ‘Don’t panic until you have to. Isn’t it the Bible that says, “sufficient to the day is the evil thereof”? Helen Pickles would know. Anyway, let’s see what we find and worry about it when we find it. And, by the way, let’s keep the coffee flowing. This could take a very long time.’

  ‘I’ve told the rest of the staff to bring trays. In fact, here’s the first,’ as a discreet knock sounded at the door. Imogen fielded a tray piled high with croissants and pastries. ‘Thank you,’ she smiled at the serious faced young man.

  Adam had glanced up. ‘Being the boss has its advantages,’ he remarked.

  ‘To be honest, I don’t really feel in charge here. It’s all very new to me.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve let Emily intimidate you. Which is very unlike you, from what I’ve seen.’

  ‘She knows everything about running a hotel, and I know nothing.’

  They sat in silence then, running their fingers down rows of figures.

  Adam said, ‘I’m looking at what seem to be loans to individuals outside Streamside Ltd. That’s something to follow up, but first, I’m getting stuck into that pain au raisin.’

  Imogen brushed crumbs aside as she peered over his shoulder. ‘There’s a loan to your friend, Maria,’ she pointed out. She caught sight of his face. ‘Why, Adam, I do believe you’re blushing.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better come clean,’ he said. ‘I knew about it. She told me your father loaned her money to help pay a huge debt she’d run up for roof repairs. It didn’t cover the full cost, and he’d promised more. Unfortunately, he died before he could fulfil the promise, and she’s being hassled by one of the other councillors. He owns the roofing company and he’s threatening to sue her. She’s scared she’ll have to sell the house and have nowhere to live.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’ Imogen could hardly believe the dramatic, extravagant Maria Rostropova had a care in the world, now she’d manoeuvred Imogen and the hotel into taking on the concert and its arrangements. ‘Wh
y didn’t you tell me before?’

  Adam stroked the top of his head, looking uncomfortable. A spot of red coloured his cheeks. He gave an awkward shrug. ‘I assumed the two of them were in a relationship. When we thought your father’s death was an accident, it seemed unnecessary to tell you. I thought you’d be upset.’

  ‘Adam,’ Imogen laughed, ‘one of the reasons I left home and never went back was because of my father’s interest in women. He was insatiable. He sometimes had two girlfriends at the same time. You can’t tell me anything that would shock me.’ She channelled her attention back to the budget statements. A thought struck. ‘Is Maria still likely to be sued and have to sell up?’

  She had a vision of the Romanian ensconced in The Plough. No, he wouldn’t be able to stand it for long. Imogen recognised in Adam a love for independence and time to think. Gardeners and painters, like many who find fulfilment in creative pursuits, needed solitude.

  ‘Adam, admit it. You have a thing for Maria. And,’ she developed the thought, ‘you’ve lent her money as well, haven’t you?’

  ‘It was either that or watch her try to skim money from the charity concert. Mrs Rostropova has an unusual moral compass, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well, if you’re not rescuing stray dogs, you’re taking on life’s losers,’ Imogen remarked. ‘I just hope you don’t get your hands burned. Do you seriously think she’s going to pay you back?’

  ‘Talking of stray dogs,’ Adam changed the subject, but Imogen let it go. ‘How’s Harley enjoying life at a country house hotel? Is it grand enough for him?’

  ‘He’s fabulous,’ Imogen grinned. ‘He sleeps behind the reception desk most of the time and spends the rest of the day chasing around in the garden, or playing with the staff. I’ve had to set up a system of fines for anyone who leaves a room without clearing away Harley’s soft toys. I’m terrified one of the visitors will trip over one and sue me.’

  They worked on, Imogen’s eyes blurring as she struggled to follow columns of figures. Sandwiches arrived for lunch, and they munched as they worked. Harley, tiring of their lack of enthusiasm for play, whined at the door until Imogen let him out to help the receptionist greet new arrivals.