Steamed Alive – Chapter 1

 Hello readers!  Here’s the first draft of the first chapter.  What do you think?

We were arguing about shoes.

“You’ve got to get rid of those red Kickers,” Wendy said as I was tying the laces.

” There’s nothing wrong with them,” I said. “Are you ready for work?”

“You’ve had them for years and they’re so seventies,” she said.

“Vintage, you mean?”

“Don’t you want to look smart?”

“Get you, with your policewoman’s pumps.”

“That’s different.”

 

I left for work feeling grumpy.  I didn’t like being told what to wear or not wear, and no lover, however hot, was going to make me part with my red Kickers.  The day got worse.  I’d hardly got my jacket off before Geri said we needed to talk.  We sat down in her little office, which we’d brightened up with a coat of primrose coloured emulsion earlier in the year.  You could still smell the paint.  I’d been expecting it, but my stomach still twisted and sank when she told me the news.

“I’m sorry, Nik, I ‘m so sorry.”  She twisted a wiry curl around her index finger.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’ve seen the figures.  We’ve got to make savings.”  For the first time since I’d known her, Geri struggled to look me in the eye.

“You’ve done your best.”

“We’re going to have to get volunteers to cover reception and some of the admin.”

“Trouble is, there’s not much work around at the moment and there’s still the rent to pay.”

“Will Wendy help?”

“I like to pay my way, Geri, you know that.”

“Yes.  I do know.”

 

So, here I was again.  Jobless and in a hole.  I’d have to look for something else, and I’d have to move on from Action in Caring, the community centre I’d worked in for the past six years.  Geri and I had made a great team, and I knew that this was as bad for her as it was for me.  But the global bankers’ cock-up meant that ordinary people were losing their jobs, small businesses were going to the wall, and some big ones were going bust too.  Who’d have thought that Woolworths would be one of the first? No more pick n mix.  And community groups like ours were struggling more than ever to make ends meet.  The council wasn’t paying us to run youth clubs and people had less money to pay for yoga classes, life drawing, and the sorts of things that bring people together around an interest.  The English classes we’d set up for refugee women had been brilliant and we’d watched broken women heal and find their place in this strange and quirky city.  But then the powers that be had decided that any course that wasn’t about getting a job wasn’t worth funding.  We were looking at starting them up again with volunteer teachers, but that wouldn’t happen for a month or two.  It was costing us more to keep the centre open some days than we were making. We made the hard decision to close for two days each week.  And now there just wasn’t enough money coming in to pay me.

“I think I’ll go home,” I said.

“Ok.  See you tomorrow, Nik,” she said.  “I’m so sorry…”

“Yeah, I know.  Just stop telling me.”

“Sorry.”

 

We were having a glorious September and I stepped out into warm sunshine.  Even seedy Tanners Lane looked inviting in this light.  I unlocked my bike and headed for home.  I’d moved in with my lover, Wendy Baggott, three years ago.  I’d resisted for as long as I reasonably could: there was something terrifyingly final about giving up my independence, my own space, even though I was still crazy about her.  But Wendy had a cosy little house in Balham and I needed to move from my flat in Streatham Hill.  It was hard – the place had sheltered me for nearly ten years, and I loved the big windows; but my friend and neighbour Benjamin had joined the property owning classes and moved to Penge and the tenant who took on his flat played death thrash metal at deafening volume most nights.  I almost became a murderess, but Wendy said that moving in with her was a more constructive way of resolving the situation.  She’s so sensible, is my policewoman partner.  And it was nice at first, having someone to come home to, someone who noticed my ups and downs, who shared the day to day chores, cooked food that was edible, and kept me warm at night.  I’m not sure what she gets out of our relationship.  I’m a lousy cook and my cleaning rarely meets her exacting standards.  At first there was the convenience of knowing that we could make love whenever we wanted in our own space.  No ringing first to check that the other was in.  We could stay in bed all day if we chose to, and on Wendy’s days off we often did.  But lately she’d been working longer hours, coming home too tired to do anything but watch something mindless on TV and order in a takeaway.  The gaps between our lovemaking were longer, and I was spending more evenings out with Carla, my best friend, and Benjamin.  I’m not one to sit watching TV and waiting for my other half to appear, so I signed up for a pottery class a couple of weeks ago.  And of course there was the gym.

 

I didn’t know how Wendy would react to hearing I’d lost my job.  The post on the mat was all for me: a credit card bill and letter from the bank.  I shoved them both under the phone, just as I’d always done.  No point in getting more depressed.  I propped my bike up against the hall wall, and went into the kitchen.  If I cooked dinner it’d take her mind off the bad news.  There was a pepper in the fridge, some mushrooms and an onion that was only slightly shrivelled.  It was going to be Wendy’s lucky night: there was a jar of tomato and basil sauce, endorsed by some famous chef, in the pantry.  Wendy made sure we never ran out of olive oil and garlic, so I started chopping, stirring and cooking.  Pasta was something I could manage, just about.  I’d try extra hard this evening.

I heard Wendy’s key in the door at 7.30.  She walked in and sighed heavily as she threw her bag down on a kitchen chair.

“Bad day?”

“Yeah.  All this paperwork’s doing my head in.  And we’ve hit a dead end on the Kennington post office raid.”

“I’ve cooked,” I said.  Her face said that my news didn’t do much to improve her day.  “It’s penne,” I added.  “Should be ready now.”

“When did you put the pasta on?”

“A few minutes ago.”

She went over to the stove, stirred at the sauce and then at the pasta bubbling away in its pot.

“Not edible,” she pronounced.

“What do you mean?”

“The pasta.  It’s over cooked.  How hard is it, Nikki?  How hard to just cook up a pot of penne?”

“Look, I tried!”

“Yeah, you’re really good at trying.  When are you going to get it right?”

“You know what, Wendy?  You’re not the only one who’s had a crap day.  In fact, I’ll bet mine was worse than yours.  Geri told me she’s laying me off.  I’m to be made redundant.”

“Oh, great.  How are we going to pay the rent?  Let alone the bills?”

“I’ll get something else.  You managed ok before I moved in.”

“But  everything’s gone up, fuel’s soared, and there are the payments on the new furniture to cover.  Christ, Nik, and that’s not taking into account your credit card bills.”

“I’ll get another job.”  I’d hoped for more sympathy.  “Let’s eat.”

“You eat.  I had supper at the station.  I’m not hungry.”

“But I cooked!”

“How was I to know you’d be doing dinner?”

“We used to eat together.”

“Sorry Nikki, you should have told me you were cooking.”

I’d felt bad enough before Wendy came home.  Now I felt wretched.  There was only one thing for it: a good workout followed by a long, hot sauna.  I turned off the cooker, chucked the penne in the bin, grabbed my gym bag and slammed the front door behind me.

 

My health club had re-branded and was now called Body ‘n’ Soul instead of plain old Gunns.  Not much had changed, other than the colour of the paintwork and the wording on the notices and welcome signs.  Jumoke was vacuuming the reception area as I breezed through the door.  She was humming to herself and I noticed she’d got a new weave.  The sleek new manager, Naomi, swiped my membership card to let me in, favouring me with a hard little smile as I passed through the turnstile.

“Enjoy your evening,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said as I headed for the changing rooms.  I glanced at the members’ notice board on the way and stopped.  A neat notice on Body ‘n’ Soul corporate stationery announced a vacancy for a membership officer.  If you’re a people person and can juggle a busy admin workload, we want to hear from you it read.  Well, that just about described me, and as of eight hours ago, I was looking for a job.  I turned back to Naomi.

“I’d like to apply for the job,” I said.  She looked up from whatever she was doing underneath the counter and blinked several times.

“I can give you an application pack,” she said. “We’re looking for someone with the right experience.”  Did I look like someone who had the wrong experience, then?

“I think practically running   Action in Caring gives me bucket loads of the right experience,” I said.  “And I know how this place runs, I’ve been a member for long enough.”

“There’ve been some changes.  Body ‘n’ Soul is a completely different concept from Gunns,” said Naomi with a little sniff.  I couldn’t see it myself.  True some of the tattier equipment had been replaced and the paint was pink instead of green, and there was a smart new carpet in reception; but there was the gym and there were classes and you could book in for massages and manicures.  It had always been thus.  You were no less likely to pick up a verucca from the pool side, we just paid more each month for the privilege.

“I’d like to apply,” I said.

“I’ll get you a pack.”

Thirty seconds later and I was back on track for the changing room, clutching a bulky envelope.

“You’d be good,” said Jumoke.  “Hope you get it.”

 

I was just in time for a body pump class.  Just what I needed to burn off some of the day’s grief.   Clem Jordan was at the front, preening in front of the mirror as usual.  She must have come from the gym because she’d already worked up a sweat and her taut muscles were gleaming.  I said hi to my gym buddy Sara who was limbering up in the middle row.  A man with a salon tan and hair slicked into place with products chatted to Barrington, who was arranging the sound system and getting ready to teach the class.  I liked Barrington: he’d worked at the gym for years and he had a friendly, easygoing way about him.  He switched the music on, and we started to work out in time to the pounding beat.  An hour later, Sara and I headed for the changing room.

“I needed that,” I said as she held the door for me.

“Tough day?”

“Yeah.”  I told her about losing my job and the dinner that had gone so wrong.

“Steam?”

“Yeah.”

When we got to the steam room, Clem was wrapped in her black vinyl sauna sweatsuit and stretched out on the top shelf.  I didn’t know how she could stand it, the heat would be unbearable after a few minutes.  But she did this most days.  Maybe it was good for detoxing.  I thought she’d just end up dehydrated.  It wasn’t something the gym staff recommended, that was for sure.

Two of the regular guys sat on the lower shelf talking loudly about football.  Sara and I sat up high, opposite Clem.

“You looking for another job then?”

“Yeah.  I’ve got a month’s notice to work out, so I need to find something by then.”

“You’re not going to fight it?”

“No point.  There’s no money.”

“Why you, though?  Why not someone else?”

“The place can keep going without me.  At least with Geri still there, there’s a chance that something will survive.”

“Fucking Tories.”

“Yeah.”  We let the steam do its work and felt our worked-out muscles loosen.  “There’s a job going here.  I thought I’d apply.”

“What, work with Miss high and mighty Naomi?”

“Yeah, well, it’d be a job”

“And you’d get to use this place for free.”

 

Clem was still on the top shelf when we decided we were cooked enough.  The guys had moved from football to cars.

“Hey, Clem, don’t go to sleep,” said Sara as we rose to leave.

“I won’t,” she said.

 

 

Sequel to “Charity Begins with Murder”

Hello,

For everyone who enjoyed “Charity Begins with Murder”, here’s the beginning of the sequel.  “Steamed Alive” is set in a health club, and as anyone knows who uses a health club or gym, they can be hotbeds of intrigue!  Five years after the end of CBWM, Nikki finds herself once again facing some big changes.  Here’s the prologue – and the mystery voice isn’t Nikki’s:

Steamed Alive

 

Prologue

 

I didn’t really want to do it.  I’d hoped to have left all that behind.  Too risky. And I’d moved on, built a new life for myself.  South London had been good to me and I had no wish to move on. But she was threatening to blow all that.  I’d have been ok if I hadn’t joined that particular gym.  She and I would never have met.  But I’d joined, and she’d spotted me.  After that, it was her or me.  That one’s a no-brainer, as they say.  Simple as.

I watched her for a week.  She did a couple of classes a day and usually worked out in the gym for an hour between eight and nine.  She was in fine shape, no doubt about it.  In other circumstances, I might even have asked her out.  Mind you, she looked like she didn’t make much space for relationships.  She had a job because she always arrived in a business suit.  I’d watched her leave and she drove a neat little Audi cabriolet.  She liked to steam, but not for pleasure or the relaxation but because it helped her lose an extra pound or two.  She wore one of those sweat suits that make you look like you’re wrapped up in bin bags.  I never saw her say much to anyone and people seemed to keep a distance – some people wear their keep off signs like jewellery.  She’d stay in the steam room for over an hour.  It’s a wonder she didn’t die without my help.  Twenty minutes is the norm for most people, maybe half an hour.  Most people cool off half way through.  Not her, though.  She’d go in all wrapped up in her plastic, stretch out on the top shelf, and stay there silent, not moving, while people came and went and the gossip bubbled around her.  She must have felt like hell, wearing that suit, getting hotter and hotter.  But whatever, once I’d seen her in that steam room, the way to get rid of her seemed obvious.  I’m a bit squeamish these days about violence.  The sight of blood always made me heave.  I thought about cutting the brakes on her car but the chances of getting caught were higher: they’ve got more security conscious since a few cars got broken into in the car park.  No, the steam room would be quick and clean and I could make it look like an accident.  The gym gave all members a water bottle advertising Body and Soul health clubs.  They all looked the same.  She would leave hers on the trainers’ desk in the gym when she did her stretches at the end of her workout.  She’d take a long drink after her stretch routine and before heading for the showers and steam room.  It was the easiest thing in the world to slip a dose of rohypnol into my own bottle and then swap the two when I went to study the new class timetable at the desk.  You couldn’t tell the difference between the bottles.  She didn’t, that’s for sure.  By the time she got into the steam room, she’d be feeling a bit sleepy.  After half an hour, she’d be out of it.  By the time the health club closed at eleven, she’d be dead.  Simple as.  And they might do tests and figure out that someone had spiked her water; but no-one would ever pin it on me.

 

Sequel to “Charity Begins with Murder”

Hello,

For everyone who enjoyed “Charity Begins with Murder”, here’s the beginning of the sequel.  “Steamed Alive” is set in a health club, and as anyone knows who uses a health club or gym, they can be hotbeds of intrigue!  Five years after the end of CBWM, Nikki finds herself once again facing some big changes.  Here’s the prologue – and the mystery voice isn’t Nikki’s:

Steamed Alive

 

Prologue

 

I didn’t really want to do it.  I’d hoped to have left all that behind.  Too risky. And I’d moved on, built a new life for myself.  South London had been good to me and I had no wish to move on. But she was threatening to blow all that.  I’d have been ok if I hadn’t joined that particular gym.  She and I would never have met.  But I’d joined, and she’d spotted me.  After that, it was her or me.  That one’s a no-brainer, as they say.  Simple as.

I watched her for a week.  She did a couple of classes a day and usually worked out in the gym for an hour between eight and nine.  She was in fine shape, no doubt about it.  In other circumstances, I might even have asked her out.  Mind you, she looked like she didn’t make much space for relationships.  She had a job because she always arrived in a business suit.  I’d watched her leave and she drove a neat little Audi cabriolet.  She liked to steam, but not for pleasure or the relaxation but because it helped her lose an extra pound or two.  She wore one of those sweat suits that make you look like you’re wrapped up in bin bags.  I never saw her say much to anyone and people seemed to keep a distance – some people wear their keep off signs like jewellery.  She’d stay in the steam room for over an hour.  It’s a wonder she didn’t die without my help.  Twenty minutes is the norm for most people, maybe half an hour.  Most people cool off half way through.  Not her, though.  She’d go in all wrapped up in her plastic, stretch out on the top shelf, and stay there silent, not moving, while people came and went and the gossip bubbled around her.  She must have felt like hell, wearing that suit, getting hotter and hotter.  But whatever, once I’d seen her in that steam room, the way to get rid of her seemed obvious.  I’m a bit squeamish these days about violence.  The sight of blood always made me heave.  I thought about cutting the brakes on her car but the chances of getting caught were higher: they’ve got more security conscious since a few cars got broken into in the car park.  No, the steam room would be quick and clean and I could make it look like an accident.  The gym gave all members a water bottle advertising Body and Soul health clubs.  They all looked the same.  She would leave hers on the trainers’ desk in the gym when she did her stretches at the end of her workout.  She’d take a long drink after her stretch routine and before heading for the showers and steam room.  It was the easiest thing in the world to slip a dose of rohypnol into my own bottle and then swap the two when I went to study the new class timetable at the desk.  You couldn’t tell the difference between the bottles.  She didn’t, that’s for sure.  By the time she got into the steam room, she’d be feeling a bit sleepy.  After half an hour, she’d be out of it.  By the time the health club closed at eleven, she’d be dead.  Simple as.  And they might do tests and figure out that someone had spiked her water; but no-one would ever pin it on me.

 

Poisoned Pens 30 (complete)

This is the revised first draft ending for chapter 30 – loyal readers will have already seen most of it, but the ending is different.  Do let me know what you thought, and anything you especially liked or didn’t like for when I edit the book…also reactions: did it make you laugh? cry? did you recognise anyone/anything?

 

Chapter 30

Angus was not a reckless driver.  He was law abiding, and that meant observing the speed limits unquestioningly.

“Could we not go a little faster?” Leila asked on a particularly empty stretch of road.

“Speed limit’s forty for a reason, Miss,” Angus had replied.

 

Anna was pulled out of the queue for the train at Fort William.

“We’ve been looking for you,” said the taller of the two policemen.  “Time to go home.  You can tell us what mischief you’ve been up to on the way.”

Anna slung her bag over her shoulder and allowed herself to be bundled into the waiting car.

“He deserved it,” was all she said.

 

Max sat on the grass next to Tessa.  He brushed his hair back from his face, leaving a sooty streak.  Tessa’s light linen trousers were now ruined and clung wetly to her body.

“Things started to wrong from the start, I’d say,” said Max.

“Only after you arrived,” said Tessa.

“I was here before you,” said Max.  “Reckon you’re the jinx, old girl.”

“We’re lucky no-one died.”

“Ros looked as if she wished she had died,” said Max.  “Did you see how that firefighter had to drag her out?”

“I couldn’t believe Dee,” said Tessa.  “Did you see how she shut the rooms off and stopped it from spreading as fast as it might have done?”

“She’s got balls, all right.”

“Don’t let her hear you saying that.”

“Think I’ll go and see how Leila’s doing.  Good of her to come back and see if we were ok.  Too late, of course.”

“Why couldn’t the silly bitch have phoned?”

 

 

Jack and Beryl were sitting in Jack’s room.  Being an annex, it hadn’t been touched by the fire.

“All those books,” said Jack.  “Crying shame.”

“Do you think someone set the fire on purpose?”

“A thwarted postman?  A new widow?”

“Or the girl that we all thought had gone away?”

“Probably not the postman.”

 

Pamela had gone to the hospital with Ros.  She was showing signs of being in shock and hadn’t spoken since getting back from identifying Alastair.  Ros wished it would all end.  She was relieved when they tucked her in between crisp clean linen and knocked her out with some kind of sedative.

“You might as well go home,” said the nurse to Pamela.

“Yes,” said Pamela, not at all sure about where she was going or how she was going to get there.

 

Leon was writing his next adventure.  The fire had been amazing, just like Jack’s descriptions of the Blitz.  He knew exactly what Major Gonzales would have done, so he began to write it.

 

Marcus and Megan were in the office.  Thanks to Dee’s foresight, it hadn’t been too badly damaged and the phone was still working.  They set about organising places for the group to sleep that night.

“There’s Malcolm’s mother’s bungalow,” said Megan.  A couple of people can stay there, there’s room enough for two, or four if they double up.  I’ll just warn Malcolm to lock his collection away.  Not that these folk will be interested enough to damage it.”

“I’ve booked the Hotel rooms,” said Marcus.  “They’ve enough room for the others.  Robbie said he’d be glad of the business.”

“So I guess that’s the end of this place for a wee while.”

“It’ll take a lot of work to repair it,” said Marcus.  “You still planning on leaving?  There’ll be cleaning and decorating to do.”

“I don’t know,” said Megan.  “Maybe I’ll stay.  Malcolm wants me to.”

“He’s a good lad.”

“How about you, Marcus?”

“I’ll stay a while.  Look on the bright side: we’ll not have a worse group than this one.”

“Except the poets.  The poets are the worst.”

 

Jack helped Beryl onto the train at Fort William.

“It’s been lovely,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, taking his hand.  “It has been lovely.  Thank you.”

“Shall we…?”

“Let’s just see,” said Beryl.  She settled into her seat in the quiet first class compartment.  She blew him a kiss as the train pulled away.  Jack waved from the platform.  He waved until he could no longer see the train.  Beryl waved until Jack was a tiny dot.  She gazed out of the window for a few minutes, mulling over the strangeness of this short, eventful trip.  Thinking about how wonderful it was that one could still be taken by surprise, spun off balance, delighted by the unexpected.  But she had a job to do, and it was as well to start it whilst the events of the past few days were still fresh in her mind.  Neither Tessa, nor Max would come out of it well.  She had a few good things to say about Marcus and Megan, though.  Sighing, she took her laptop out of its case and set it up on her table.  She opened up a new document and began to type her mystery shopper report for the Arts and Literature Foundation.

 

The end……

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poisoned Pens 28 – 30

That’s it folks!  Finished the challenge – 50k plus in a month.  Great fun creating a new world, very focusing, lots of online camaraderie, and first draft of a book to boot.  Thank you so much for reading!  Please let me have your comments and feedback.

 

Chapter 28

Had Dee known about the preparations for her birthday, she wouldn’t have thought about cutting.  Had she not assumed the worst, she would not have made such a mess in the bathroom.  Back in Bristol, Nat and Nuala were deep in conversation:

“D’you think she suspects?”

“Not sure.  She sounded surprised that I was here.”

“She wouldn’t think…”

“No!  No offence, Nat, but she knows I don’t fancy you.”

“But she might…”

“She knows I’m nuts about her.  Why would she think anything?”

“It’s a bit early for me to have called round.”

“Oh well, I’ll make up something, sure I will.  Now won’t she just love her party?”

“I hope so.  She’s never been one for big parties.”

“Yeah, but it’s her fortieth.  You have to have a party when you’re forty.  She’d be mad as hell if we didn’t do anything!”

“You’re right.  What did you do with the list?”

 

But Dee, of course, knew nothing of this and so she slashed at her thigh with the razor blade, slashed until the pain of the cuts succeeded in pushing back the pain in her soul.  When she’d finished, she wiped up the blood and stuck some plasters on the cuts.  Then she was ready to face the rest of the day.

 

“Everyone wondered where you were,” said Leila.

“Yeah, I bet they looked really hard for me,” said Anna, a hard edge to her voice.

“They did, as a matter of fact,” said Leila.  They even called the police.”

Anna blanched at this news.  “What did they do?” she asked.

“Started to look for you, I s’pose,” said Leila.  “How come you’re still here?  What have you been doing?  Where did you go?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Anna.  “You leaving, then?”

“Yeah, I’ve had enough.  All sorts of weird things happening, a lot of them to Max Logan, whom I loathe, by the way. And then we wasted a day looking for Tessa Birnie, only it turns out she’d been charged with assaulting a postman…”

Anna gave a guarded smile.  “Fun and games, then?”

“Waste of time and money.  But where did you go?”

“Not far.  I was never far away.”

Leila looked at the girl who’d been her fellow student.  There was something odd about her, a coldness of the eyes, a voice that was eerily toneless.  Could she have been making mischief if she had never been far away?  But why?  Leila didn’t feel like asking her.  It felt too risky.

 

At last they arrived at the mortuary.  Lindsay Lennox helped Ros out of the car and they entered the low, brick building.  Ros felt numb.  She followed Lindsay as if in a trance.

“We can’t show you the body,” said the attendant,” but I wonder if you’d mind identifying some pieces?”

Ros gasped as the young man produced Alastair’s wedding ring and what was left of his watch.  And then there was the leather wallet, mangled but still clearly his, the one that she’d given him two Christmases ago, that he placed on his bedside table every night, the one that contained his driving licence and some coins from their last visit to Switzerland.

“Those belong to my husband,” whispered Ros.  And it hit her suddenly with a punch that carried the force of the universe that Alastair would not be coming back.  There’d be no divorce, no reconciliation, no more arguments, no more anniversary dinners at the Oxo Tower, Alastair was gone.

“I think I need to go now,” she said to Lindsay.

Chapter 29

Tessa poured another cup of coffee.  Max came in from the garden and joined her at the table.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much,” said Tessa.  “I’ve been thinking about the outline for today.”

“You’re not thinking of teaching?”

“Of course I am.  That’s what I’m here for, and I’ve only got a sprained ankle.  I think we’ll focus on dialogue.  They could do with the practice.”

“I was thinking that point of view would lead on well from yesterday,” said Max.

“Dialogue,” said Tessa.  “That’s what I have planned for today.”

Back to her old self, then, thought Max.  Just when it looked as if things were going to go rather better.

Megan came in from the kitchen.

“Are you not finished yet?” she said.  “I need to clear this table.”  She snatched the mug of coffee from in front of Tessa and strode back out to the kitchen.  She had to step neatly to the side to avoid Marcus.

“We’ve lost Leila Morrison,” he said to Max and Tessa.

“How do you mean, lost her?” asked Tessa.

“She’s gone.  Taken the ferry back to the mainland.  Taken her things, said she’s going back to London.”

Max’s spirits sank even lower.  With no Leila to brighten up the landscape, it would be a dull and dreary few days.  What could have made her leave so suddenly?

“I take it you’ve heard about Ros Lambert?” continued Marcus.

“Heard what?” said Max.

“Her husband’s been killed in a road accident.”

“Jesus,” said Tessa.  “That’s awful.  Where’s Ros?”

“She went to identify what was left,” said Marcus.  “I don’t think she’ll be in any shape to continue the course.”

“And then there were five…” said Max.

 

Pamela, Leon, Jack and Beryl assembled for the morning tutorial.  Dee joined them after ten minutes.  Ros had come back with Marcus but had gone straight to her room.  Tessa had gone to see if she needed anything and to offer condolences.

“I’m so sorry, Ros,” she’d said.  “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, I’ll be quite all right,” said Ros.  After Tessa left, she sat on her bed and rocked in silence.

Only Beryl and Jack seemed upbeat and ready to enjoy the day.  Dee looked pale and withdrawn, more sullen than usual.  Leon was chewing at a fingernail and frowning, his mind clearly elsewhere.  Even Pamela, normally so ebullient, sat quietly, her colours this morning a rather more muted khaki and gold.

“I’m afraid we had some bad news earlier on,” said Tessa.

Max was glad that she’d taken the lead.  He hadn’t known what to say.

“Oh?” said Beryl, “Not more disappearances?  Where are Ros and Leila?”

“Leila’s left,” said Tessa, “and I’m sorry about that, but the bad news concerns Ros.  Her husband’s been killed in an accident.”

“Oh God!” cried Pamela, “She was going to divorce him!  That’s if she didn’t kill him first! Maybe thoughts really do have wings!”

“Just where do you get off, Pamela?” said Dee, lunging from her chair to stand in front of Pamela.  “You’re the most fucking insensitive person I’ve ever met.  You make me sick.”

“That’s enough,” said Tessa

“No, it isn’t,” said Dee.  “She hasn’t an ounce of feeling for anyone else.  And I don’t much like Ros, but I’m really fucking sorry she’s lost her husband like that.”

“I’m not staying here to be abused,” said Pamela, and walked out.  She’d try to get her breath back in the garden, and then she’d ask Megan about the ferry times.  This retreat had been disastrous, and she’d never been so insulted.  It was cool in the rose garden.  Poor Ros, thought Pamela.  I’d better go and see if she needs anything.

Back in the seminar room, Beryl broke the silence.

“I think that was rather strong, Dee,” she said

“What’s that? What did she say?” said Jack

“I said that Dee’s contribution was rather strong,” said Beryl.

“I missed what she said,” said Jack.

“It wasn’t very nice,” said Beryl.

“Oh, I see,” said Jack.

 

Dee had retreated to her seat and was avoiding eye contact with anyone.  She’d have left the room but she didn’t want to run into Pamela.

“We’re all tense,” said Tessa.  “Let’s take a few minutes to chill.”

“Good idea,” said Max, who was dying for a smoke.  God!  All this tension!  Why did women always have to make such a drama out of everything?

 

Leon didn’t know what to say or do.  All this emotion, and people leaving, and spouses dying violent deaths.  Major Gonzales didn’t have to deal with all this human mess as he carried out his missions.  He rescued people and put worlds to rights and flew between galaxies.  Sometimes he stopped to have sex with someone or to re-energise with some Tai Chi. There weren’t many tears in Major Gonzales’s world, just like there hadn’t been in Leon’s since that nasty time in the third year.  Leon decided that if he’d got trapped in this particular situation, the Major would go and find Marcus and see if the minibus needed its engine tuning or if there was something useful to do like replacing tiles on the roof.

“I’m not in the mood for writing,” he said.  “Think I’ll go and help Marcus.”

“Does he need help?” asked Max as he fumbled in his pocket for his Zippo.

“I expect so,” said Leon.

“Back in ten,” said Tessa.

Jack and Beryl took advantage of some late autumn sunshine and sat near the French windows.

“All very odd,” said Jack.

“What is?”

“Girls leaving, people emoting all over the place.  Of course it’s all too much for the young fellow.”

“Leon?”

“Is that his name?  Yes, Leon.  Of course, he’s fallen in love with Marcus, so he probably finds everything else a distraction.”

“How can you tell?”

“I’ve observed, Beryl.  When you can’t hear most of what’s going on, you spend much of your time watching and observing.”

“That’s why your characters are always so real.”

“Are they?  Thank you.”  And he squeezed her hand.

 

Marcus was frowning in front of the fuse box in the hall cupboard when Leon found him.

“Problem?” said Major Gonzales

“Aye,” said Marcus.  “One of the switches keeps tripping.  It’s the ring main for the ground floor.  Have you noticed the lights keep going off?”

“Yes.  Problem with the consumer unit?”

“D’you know anything about them?”

“Some”

“Well take a look, see what you think.”

Major Gonzales took flight and Leon was left wondering what the consumer unit looked like (he’d read the phrase somewhere) and how he’d be able to tell if anything was wrong.

“Sure,” he said.  Marcus seemed to be looking at the box with all the fuses, so he stuck his head in the cupboard, frowned, touched some of the switches, flicked a red one on and off, and then came back out to share his findings.

“Doesn’t look like the consumer unit,” he said.  Oh, but Marcus was beautiful!  No wonder Major Gonzales…No!  Enough of that.

 

Pamela had left the room before the others, and she headed upstairs to see how Ros was doing.  She found Ros still sitting on her bed, rocking back and forth.  She didn’t say anything as Pamela entered.  Pamela felt for Ros.  She knew what it was to lose someone.  She never talked about it these days, but seeing Ros, brought the old feelings back with a shiver.  She sat on the bed next to Ros and put her arm around her.  Ros leant into the big woman’s shoulder.

“Oh, hun,” said Pamela.

 

The boat docked and the passengers disembarked.

“Where are you going now?” Leila asked Anna.

“Home,” said Anna.

“Where’s that?”

“Oh, that would be telling.  Somewhere south of here.  Bye, Leila.  Oh, by the way, think of me, if you hear anything about fires on Skye.”  She gave a smile that was devoid of humour and full of cunning.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll figure it out,” said Anna, “bright, attractive woman like you.  Of course he wouldn’t look twice at me with you in the room.  He did once, though.” And she was gone.  Leila didn’t understand how someone could disappear so effectively when the crowd was relatively small; but Anna had managed it.  Leila wondered what she’d been talking about.  Fire?  Could she have done something to the Creative Hub?  She’d done some pretty weird things to date, and Leila had had a strong sense of there being something very wrong with Anna Meredith: she seemed cold, detached.  Leila had read about people with varying degrees of psychopathy.  She’d been researching for a short story she’d written that had done rather well.  It seemed to her that Anna ticked all the boxes.  Shit.  She’d have to warn them at the house.

“What time’s the next ferry back?” she asked the Caledonian MacBrayne officer.

“Not until this afternoon,” said the portly man.  “You’re wanting to go back right now?”

“It’s urgent,” said Leila, “I’ve…forgotten something.  I need to get back.”

“Quickest way is over the bridge,” said the man.

“But I don’t have a car.”

“Angus!” called the man, “Got room for another one?”

 

Marcus knew that the boy didn’t have a clue, but he humoured him nonetheless.  He was pretty enough, and seemed to want to help.

“Is there a problem with the lecky?” said Megan.  “I’m trying to bake some bread but the oven keeps going out.”

“I’m onto it,” said Marcus.

It was Jack who first smelled the burning.

 

Angus drove an old Corolla.  “You’re wanting the Creative place, then?” he said, as Leila swung into the passenger seat.  She hoped the thing didn’t break down.

“Yes please,” she said.  “It’s urgent.  I think something’s going to happen.”

“We’ll get there in good time,” said Angus.  “So are you a writer?”

“Sort of,” said Leila.

“D’you like steam trains?”

“Haven’t really thought about it, to be honest.”

“Aye well, I’ll tell you about the Strathspey Steam Railway.  It’s been going since…”

Leila tuned out.  Trust her to hitch a lift with a steam train bore.  She just wanted to be back at the Creative Hub.

 

“Megan, there’s a problem with the lights,” said Tessa.

“Aye, and what do you want me to do about it?” said Megan.  Her Malcolm was still bruised and off work, and she was still mad at the woman who’d caused his injuries.

“Well, is Marcus around?”

“Somewhere.”

“Could you ask him to check the fuse?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“I would if…oh, forget it.”

 

Megan went to get some herbs from the garden.  She stopped outside the backdoor: something shiny was glinting on the path.  She stooped to pick it up.  It was a sharp knife, a workman’s knife that looked as if it would double as a dagger.  Who’d have dropped it there?  She picked it up and laid it on the counter inside the kitchen.  Then she resumed her search for herbs.

 

“Can you smell burning?” said Jack.

Beryl sniffed at the air.  “Yes, I think I can.  It’s probably Max’s smoke drifting in.”

“Smells of plastic,” said Jack.  “I’ll see if Marcus is around.”

 

Marcus had put in a call to the village electrician, and now he was in the studio.  After Megan’s report the previous day, he thought he’d better check that nothing else was untoward.  Someone had tidied up the room.  He wondered if it had been Megan.  The dusty floor had been swept, and there was no more trace of the room having been lived in.  The surfaces all looked clean and the rubbish had been emptied.  He couldn’t think when she’d have had the time, but at least it was ready for the next group.

 

Back in the house, he found Megan squaring up to Tessa.

“What’s going on?” said Marcus.

“Nothing,” said Megan, casting an icy glare towards Tessa, and turning back to the kitchen.  “Lecky’s still playing up. Madam here’s greetin’ about it.”

“I’ve called in Jock from the village,” said Marcus.  “Should have it sorted before lunchtime.”

“Thanks,” said Tessa.

 

“It’s getting stronger,” said Jack.  “I’m sure something’s burning.  Let’s take a look.”

 

Had Jock the electrician got to the house a little quicker, he’d have found the source of the fire; but by the time he came, the library was in flames.  And had he got there soon enough to investigate the shorting circuits, he’d have found the shaved wires, copper on copper, their plastic sheaths peeled away neatly as one might peel an orange.

 

Chapter 30

Angus was not a reckless driver.  He was law abiding, and that meant observing the speed limits unquestioningly.

“Could we not go a little faster?” Leila asked on a particularly empty stretch of road.

“Speed limit’s forty for a reason, Miss,” Angus had replied.

 

Anna was pulled out of the queue for the train at Fort William.

“We’ve been looking for you,” said the taller of the two policemen.  “Time to go home.  You can tell us what mischief you’ve been up to on the way.”

Anna slung her bag over her shoulder and allowed herself to be bundled into the waiting car.

“He deserved it,” was all she said.

 

Max sat on the grass next to Tessa.  He brushed his hair back from his face, leaving a sooty streak.  Tessa’s light linen trousers were now ruined and clung wetly to her body.

“Things started to wrong from the start, I’d say,” said Max.

“Only after you arrived,” said Tessa.

“I was here before you,” said Max.  “Reckon you’re the jinx, old girl.”

“We’re lucky no-one died.”

“Ros looked as if she wished she had died,” said Max.  “Did you see how that firefighter had to drag her out?”

“I couldn’t believe Dee,” said Tessa.  “Did you see how she shut the rooms off and stopped it from spreading as fast as it might have done?”

“She’s got balls, all right.”

“Don’t let her hear you saying that.”

“Think I’ll go and see how Leila’s doing.  Good of her to come back and see if we were ok.  Too late, of course.”

“Why couldn’t the silly bitch have phoned?”

 

 

Jack and Beryl were sitting in Jack’s room.  Being an annex, it hadn’t been touched by the fire.

“All those books,” said Jack.  “Crying shame.”

“Do you think someone set the fire on purpose?”

“A thwarted postman?  A new widow?”

“Or the girl that we all thought had gone away?”

“Probably not the postman.”

 

Pamela had gone to the hospital with Ros.  She was showing signs of being in shock and hadn’t spoken since getting back from identifying Alastair.  Ros wished it would all end.  She was relieved when they tucked her in between crisp clean linen and knocked her out with some kind of sedative.

“You might as well go home,” said the nurse to Pamela.

“Yes,” said Pamela, not at all sure about where she was going or how she was going to get there.

 

Leon was writing his next adventure.  The fire had been amazing, just like Jack’s descriptions of the Blitz.  He knew exactly what Major Gonzales would have done, so he began to write it.

 

Marcus and Megan were in the office.  Thanks to Dee’s foresight, it hadn’t been too badly damaged and the phone was still working.  They set about organising places for the group to sleep that night.

“There’s Malcolm’s mother’s bungalow,” said Megan.  A couple of people can stay there, there’s room enough for two, or four if they double up.  I’ll just warn Malcolm to lock his collection away.  Not that these folk will be interested enough to damage it.”

“I’ve booked the Hotel rooms,” said Marcus.  “They’ve enough room for the others.  Robbie said he’d be glad of the business.”

“So I guess that’s the end of this place for a wee while.”

“It’ll take a lot of work to repair it,” said Marcus.  “You still planning on leaving?  There’ll be cleaning and decorating to do.”

“I don’t know,” said Megan.  “Maybe I’ll stay.  Malcolm wants me to.”

“He’s a good lad.”

“How about you, Marcus?”

“I’ll stay a while.  Look on the bright side: we’ll not have a worse group than this one.”

“Except the poets.  The poets are the worst.”

 

 

The end……..for now

Poisoned Pens 27

Chapter 27

Dee made sure she’d got a purse full of change.  Then she went into the Ardvassar Hotel to use the phone.  She rang her home telephone number.  She was surprised when her best buddy, Nat answered.  What was Nat doing in her house?  Maybe there was something wrong with Nuala?

“Hi Nat,” she said.  “Is Nuala there?”

“Oh, hi Dee,” said Nat.  She sounded odd.  Almost nervous, Dee thought.  “I’ll go and get her.”

Dee could hear whispering in the background, and then she heard the familiar soft Irish accent of the woman she loved most in the world.  It was time, she thought, that they celebrated their commitment by having a civil partnership.

“Hello Dee,” said Nuala.  “You’re phoning early!  Is anything wrong?”

“No,” said Dee.  “I just wanted to hear your voice, tell you I love you, find out what’s going on, you know…”

“Nothing’s going on,” said Nuala, and Dee knew that it was.

 

Zak Summers was a canny businessman.  He knew how to keep his clients happy.  After the call from Dinah Tannenbaum, he tried ringing Tessa’s phone.  It went straight to voicemail.  Dinah had mentioned something about poor mobile coverage, maybe that was it.  Dinah had rung him a second time to say that Tessa had been found and was safe, but he didn’t know anything else.  It was a fair bet that she’d welcome his reassuring, empowering presence, though.  She’d mentioned the job at the Skye Creative Hub in one of their life coaching sessions.  She’d been pleased, because these residential courses paid well and meant that she didn’t have to teach dreary, underpaid evening classes in London.  Zak had been delighted, because if his clients were doing well, then so was he, especially if they thought his intervention had a lot to do with their success.  They kept coming back for more, and they told their friends about him.  He’d googled the Creative Hub, and now he rang the number.  The line was busy for a good few minutes, but eventually a woman answered.

“Skye Creative Hub, Megan here,” she said.

“Hi,” said Zak, “I wondered if I could talk to Tessa Birnie.”

“Are you the polis?”

“No, I’m her…I’m a…friend,” said Zak, wondering why she might assume he was the police.  It sounded ominous.

“I’ll see if she’s around,” said Megan, and laid the receiver on the office desk.  She didn’t want anything to do with Tessa Birnie, much less to help her out by telling her that someone was phoning her.  Still, Marcus was right, it was her job, and she needed her wages.

Tessa was eating breakfast in the dining room.

“Phone for you,” said Megan, before turning on her heel.

“Who is it?” asked Tessa.

“I’m not your bloody secretary,” Megan called back, “go and find out for yourself.”

Tessa was not used to being treated with such hostility.  Megan must be unaware of the ordeal to which she was subjected by the girl’s boyfriend.  She feared that Megan would find out what he was really like in good time.  No doubt he’d be wanting to show her his collection too.  She limped into the office and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Darling!” said Zak, “are you all right?  I’ve been hearing worrying tales about you disappearing.”

“Zak!” cried Tessa, overjoyed to hear a friendly voice, the voice of someone who was just there for her, at least for ninety minutes once a fortnight.  “How did you find me?”

“Synergetic vibes,” said Zak.  “There’s such a strong empathy between us.”

“How did you know?”

“I sensed something was awry, and so I spoke with Dinah Tannenbaum, who’d been speaking with one of your students, I believe.”

“Leila Morris,” said Tessa, who realised she’d yet to encounter Leila that morning.  “Yes, it’s all been rather awful.”  She started to tell him about her misadventures, but he interrupted.

“I’m on my way,” he said.  “Tell all when you see me.”

“But you can’t,” said Tessa, “it’s too far…”

“Nowhere’s too far for my favourite client,” said Zak.  “And I sense that you’re in urgent need of a session.”

“I can come to see you when I’m back in London,” said Tessa, worrying about her bank account and those nasty letters about her overdraft.  “I’m only here for a few more days.” But the truth was that she’d love to see Zak.  He’d make everything all l right.  He’d help her to reframe things, to visualise moving on.  She couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather see.  And she’d completely failed to immerse herself in her own writing, as she’d planned.  Zak would help her to get back on track.

“You need to invest in yourself,” said Zak.  “I’ll be with you this evening. You’re worth it, Tessa, don’t forget that.”

 

Beryl and Jack decided to skip breakfast.  Jack had a packet of chocolate digestives secreted in his wardrobe, and he’d brought a cafetiere and some decent coffee.  They had breakfast in bed.

“Remember Julie Felix?” said Beryl.

“Wonder what happened to her.”

“Did you ever go to Le Macabre? In Soho?”

“Read poetry there,” said Jack, “awful stuff.  Pretentious.”

“Weren’t we all?”

“At least Foyles is still there.”

“And Gaby’s.  I think she’s still touring.”

“Who?”

“Julie Felix.”

 

Pamela took her time in getting herself ready.  She felt embarrassed about the events of the previous night, and above all, she felt misunderstood.  After all, it had been Max who’d come to her room on that first evening.  She’d been trying to give him the love and care that he deserved.  But now that she knew the house to be haunted, she was having serious doubts about staying.  She could take the afternoon ferry back to the mainland, find a nice hotel for a few nights, get on with her book.  Maybe she could persuade Max to go with her: he must be under terrible strain, what with all the goings on, and he really shouldn’t have to stay in a house that seemed to have something against him.

 

Marcus thought that Dee looked dejected when he collected her from outside the Ardvassar Hotel.  She got back into the minibus without saying anything and huddled in against the door.

“You ok, Dee?”

“Yeah.”

“Only you’re not looking too bright.”

“I’m fine.”

Marcus decided not to push it any further.  He’d just get her back to the Creative Hub.  Whatever was wrong was none of his business.  He hoped to have a quiet few minutes in order to write his letter of resignation to the Hub’s owners.  If Megan left too they’d be pretty stuffed, but that wasn’t his problem.  Who bothered about their employers’ problems these days anyway?

Dee felt thoroughly miserable.  Nat had always said she fancied Nuala.  Nuala had always claimed that Nat was too tomboy for her tastes.  But  no sooner was Dee safely out of the way on a Scottish island, than the two of them got together: her lover and her so-called best buddy.  Well, she had always known she was worthless.  The universe or God or whatever was paying her back for that little deception about the literary prize.  And looking at things objectively, it wasn’t any wonder, really that they’d dumped her in order to enjoy each other.  How stupid she was to have thought about asking Nuala to be her civil partner.  And how naïve to have believed that Nuala thought she had talent, that that was why she was sending her on the course.  No, Dee realised.  Nuala had just wanted to get her out of the way.  It was almost funny: she, Dee Brannigan, and that toffee-nosed Ros were in the same boat.  Nuala’s timing was shitty: it was only a week before her birthday.  Big four-o.  Nuala knew she was freaking out about it.  So much for love.  Now she just wanted to be at the house.  She wanted to go up to her room and search out that razor blade that she remembered packing.

 

Tessa sat at the dining table and cut up an apple.  She had missed her morning run, and she couldn’t contemplate practising pilates with Max in the room, and she still couldn’t put much weight on that foot.  By the time Max had gone back to his own room, it had been too late anyway.  And then there had been the call from Zak.  So now she had to think about how to get the programme back on track.  Max was smoking in the garden.  She’d have to liaise with him when he came in.  No she wouldn’t, she’d tell him what they were going to do.  She thought he’d be pretty amenable after the nocturnal dramas and her generosity in sharing her bed.  She wanted to focus on dialogue.  Some of the group wrote reasonable dialogue – Jack’s wasn’t at all bad – but some of them had a lot to learn.  Today would be dialogue day.

She wondered when Zak would turn up.  She didn’t really want him to meet her here – she felt that a separation between the personal and the professional was in order, and she certainly didn’t want Zak and Max to coincide.  That could be very nasty indeed.  But she was far from mobile.  She’d ask Marcus if he knew of anywhere more private.  Maybe that studio further down the garden.  She didn’t think anyone used it.

 

Ros continued to write her new book in the computer room.  She was revelling in writing from experience and subjective feeling, rather than crafting a story around historical facts.  Yes, this was utterly liberating.  She had just got to the part where the heroine – for so she perceived the jilted wife – was creating a bomb with kitchen and household fluids when Megan came to find her.

“Ros, it’s the polis – sorry, the police, to see you,” she said.

“Me?”

“Aye, they’re asking for you.”

Ros was baffled: why would the police want to see her, unless it was to do with yesterday’s happenings, and she didn’t have anything to say about either Anna’s disappearance or Tessa’s, which in any case now seemed resolved.

“Should I come down?”

“I’ve put them in the office, you can talk to them there.”

Ros followed Megan downstairs.  She recognised the two officers from their visit the day before, but they introduced themselves again for good measure.

“You are Mrs Rosalind Lambert?” said Lindsay Lennox.

“Yes, I am,” said Ros.  “What’s going on?”

“Does your husband own a BMW?”

“Yes, he does.”  Surely they wouldn’t be interrogating her for some traffic light violation or speeding offence he’d committed?

“Is the registration number GU10AJV?”

“I think so.  I’m not sure.  What’s all this about?”

“Mrs Lambert,” said Lindsay, “I’m sorry to tell you that there’s been a terrible accident.”

“What kind of accident?”

“Mr Lambert’s car was involved in an accident just over the Skye Bridge in the early hours,” said Andy MacLeod.  “I’m afraid he was killed outright.”

“But he can’t have been!” cried Ros, suddenly filled with a terrible coldness.  “I was going to divorce him!  He’s been having an affair with his secretary, you know.”

“Aye, well, it’s too late for all that now,” said Andy.  “I’m afraid your husband, if it was he who was driving the car, didn’t stand a chance.”

“So it might not have been him?” said Ros.

“I’m afraid we’ll need you to help us identify him,” said Lindsay.

“Oh no,” said Ros, “no, I don’t think…”

“We’ll make it as easy as we can,” said Lindsay.  “We’ll need to go by dental records, but if you can identify some jewellery he was wearing, that’ll be a good start.  I’m really sorry, Mrs Lambert.”

“You mean, you think he’s…”

“It’s almost certainly your husband’s body,” said Andy.

“Oh,” said Ros, ashen faced.  “Oh.  I see.”

“Is there anyone we can call?” asked Lindsay.  “Your son or daughter perhaps?”

“No,” said Ros.  “No, there isn’t.”

Ros got up and left the room.  She went back to the computer room and sat down at the computer where she’d been writing her new novel.  She’d written ninety-four pages.  She pressed the edit button, selected all the text, and then pressed delete.  Then she shut down the computer and went back down to the office, where Andy MacLeod and Lindsay Lennox were explaining what had happened to Marcus.

“I’m ready now,” said Ros.  “You can take me to see him.”

“Wouldn’t you like a cup of tea first?” said Lindsay.

“No.  I’d like to go now, please,” said Ros.

“Is there someone you’d like to come with you?”

“No.  Let’s just go.  Please.”

Poisoned Pens 26

Chapter 26

Alastair didn’t see the lorry coming.  His eyes must have closed for a second, maybe two, and suddenly there was the deep blare of truck horns, rapid and dazzling flashes of light, and the headlights were coming for him.  He tried to swerve but it was too late.  It seemed as if he and the car stopped still for a moment, then he felt himself propelled backwards and the last thing he knew was the feeling of life being crushed out of him and the explosion of metal on metal.

 

“Aren’t we due a day off?” said Lindsay Lennox when she answered Andy’s call.

“Aye, but we’ve got to see to this one first.”

“Nasty?”

“Not much left of the BMW driver by all accounts.”

“And the lorry driver?”

“Broken ribs.  He was lucky.  Pays to be in the cab, you’re higher up.  Mind you, if it turns out it’s his fault, he’ll have to face up to having killed someone.”

“See you there?”

“Aye.”

 

The first thing Tessa wanted to do was to have a shower.  Her sleep had revitalised her, and she wanted to scrub the fear and filth of yesterday away.  Max was still asleep, snoring softly.  She was surprised at how normal it seemed to have him in her bed.  She had to remind herself of his philandering ways and unpleasant habits as she hobbled to the shower.  She was still very stiff but the ankle was less painful.  She unwound the bandage and turned on the shower.

 

Max awoke to the sound of running water.  He stretched out and wondered for a moment how he’d come to be in this luxuriously large bed.  Then he remembered.  He got up and shuffled to the bathroom where Tessa was soaping herself in the shower.  He lifted the toilet seat.

“Hey!” shouted Tessa.  “Wait until I’m out!”

But he was already peeing.  That was another thing she’d hated about living with him.  Still it could have been worse, he might have needed a dump, and her being in the shower wouldn’t have stopped him.  She scrubbed herself harder as she remembered showers overshadowed by the sound and smell of Max shitting.

Bloody woman! He thought.  Everyone pees, why does she have to be so precious about it? And what about her nasty dental floss habit?  He’d go back to the room next door to shower and dress, and just hope that nothing else had happened during his absence.

 

Ros woke still feeling rough, but having made a decision.  She would tell Alastair that he could have the house in France as long as she could stay in their Walton on Thames home.  That seemed fair enough.  And she wanted to start proceedings straight away.  She’d ask Marcus to use the office phone – after all, it was something of an emergency.

 

When Leon went down for breakfast, the first person he saw was Marcus, who was laying out the cereals and jams.  Leon noticed Marcus’s tight bottom, slim legs, and long-fingered, delicate hands.

“Morning Leon,” said Marcus.  “Sleep well?”

“Morning,” said Leon, and noticed for perhaps the first time how beautiful were Marcus’s eyes.  So blue they were almost violet.  Oh, and that suggestion of fine chest hair peeping out of the open neck of his shirt.  Leon was aware of his pulse racing faster.  Oh my God! He thought, this can’t be happening!

“Toast?” said Marcus, wondering why the boy was staring at him.

“Oh…yes… please,” said Leon.

“Everything all right?” said Marcus.  “You look at bit…” he wasn’t sure how exactly Leon looked, but something was going on with him.

“Yes,” said Leon, aiming to sound more like Major Gonzales than like a tongue-tied fourth former.  “Why wouldn’t it be?  I’m straight…  I mean, I’m fine.  Just fine.  Let me help you with that,” and he grabbed the bowl of muesli and placed it manfully on the table.

 

Leila had packed her case.  She brought it downstairs and parked it in the office.  “Marcus?” she called.

“Seeing to breakfast,” Marcus called back.  “I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”  He finished setting out the plates and cutlery.  When he went into the office, Leila Morris was tapping her foot with impatience.  She’d tied her long wavy hair back, which made her look more adult.  The frown on her face detracted from her prettiness.

“I need you to book me a cab,” she said.  “I want to catch the morning ferry.”

“I’ll run you down,” said Marcus.  “Going to the mainland for the day?”

“No, I’m leaving,” said Leila.  “Isn’t it obvious, with my case down here?”

“The course isn’t finished yet,” said Marcus.  “Why do you want to go now?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“No need to be rude.”

“It’s been a disaster from the beginning.  Neither of those two inept tutors can teach – God knows how they got picked to run programmes here.  Seems to me that all anyone’s interested in is getting into someone else’s bed, and frankly that’s not what I paid for.”

“I’m sorry you feel like that,” said Marcus.  “Isn’t there anything I can do to change your mind?”

“No, just let me catch that boat so that I’m on my way home in good time,” she said.

Marcus heard the back door opening and Megan’s voice calling.

“Hey Marcus, I’m here,” she said.

“Ok, that’s good,” he said.  Then, turning to Leila, “So you want me to take you now?  You wouldn’t rather say goodbye to Ms Birnie and Mr Logan?”

“No, I don’t think there’s any need for that.”

“Suit yourself,” said Marcus, thinking that one disgruntled resident fewer would be no bad thing.  “I’ll just go and tell Megan.”

He went into the kitchen, where Megan was taking off her outdoor clothes.  “You missed quite a night,” he said.  “But we’ve got Tessa Birnie back.”

“That woman!  I’ll kill her!” said Megan.  “D’you know what she did to my Malcolm?”

“I heard,” said Marcus.

“I told him, I said, you should press charges; but not Malcolm, no: she’s probably got problems, he said.  I’ll not press charges, he said.  We’ll just let the matter rest, that’s what he said.  Well, wait until I see her: she’ll have a piece of my mind, right enough!”

“She’s a guest, Megan, and it’s between the polis and Malcolm and her now.  Stay out of it, that’s my advice.”

“Well, I don’t know how you expect me to stay civil, serve up her food, do stuff for her.  Not after this, Marcus.  I’m human too, you know.”

“I know that Megan.”

“And I want to quit,” she added.  “This place creeps me out.  I’ll give you a week’s notice, Marcus,” she said, “but I’ll no be sleeping here.  I’ll stay with Malcolm and be here for breakfast, but there’s too much weirdness going on.  And what if that girl Anna’s dead and buried somewhere in the grounds?  How do we know she’s not?  That Tessa Birnie’s capable of anything, it seems to me.”

“Are you finished?”

“Aye.  That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Good.  Well, first of all, you’re on two weeks’ notice, not one week.  Second, there’s no dead body here at the Hub.  The girl must have left the island by the bridge.”

“And you know that how?” she said, hands on hips, exasperated beyond belief by his stupid assumptions.

“Trust me, she’s not dead,” said Marcus.  What he didn’t say was that he was ninety percent certain that he saw Anna Meredith last night when he was locking up.  And he thought he knew who’d been using the studio.

 

“Do you mind if I use your phone?” asked Ros when she came downstairs.  Marcus was putting on his coat, ready to take Leila to the ferry station.  He was beyond caring about the Hub’s rules about phone use.

“Go ahead,” he said.  “Try to keep it short.”

Ros dialled the number for their house.  He wouldn’t have left for work yet.  It was their Ukranian help, Bella, who answered.

“Yes?  This is Lambert household,” said Bella.

“Bella, it’s me, Mrs Lambert.  Is Mr Lambert there?”

“No, Mrs Lambert.  Yesterday he leave.  He say he take trip to Scotland.  You are in Scotland, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I am,” said Ros.  Surely he wouldn’t be coming to see her.  He must be thumbing his nose at her by taking that harlot Lana north of the border.

“His secretary is in office if you need talk with her,” added Bella.

“Is she indeed?” muttered Ros.  “Did he say when he’d be returning?”

“No, he leave in hurry.  Packed small bag.”

“Thank you Bella.  Please make sure you clean the tops of the picture frames.  See you soon.”  Ros put the phone down.  Then she dialled Alastair’s office number.  Lana picked up on second ring.

“Is he there?” asked Ros, abruptly.

“No, Mrs Lambert.  He’s taken a couple of days off to sort out some family business in Scotland.  At least, that’s what he said.”

“Yes of course, I should have remembered,” said Ros and hung up.  Next she dialled his mobile.  Maybe she should have started with that, but he so often had it switched to silent mode.  A message told her that the number was not available.  She guessed she’d have to wait until either he showed up – which she hoped he wouldn’t – or she got home.  But in the meantime, she could book an appointment with the hottest divorce lawyer in Walton on Thames.

 

Leila climbed into the Skye Creative Hub minibus, and Marcus put her case into the luggage space at the back.

“Can I grab a lift?” asked Dee, who’d come running after them.  “I need to go into the village.”

“Sure,” said Marcus, wondering what was more important than breakfast for all these people.

He dropped Dee at the post office, and promised to pick her up on the way back.  Then he took Leila to the ferry port.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a better time,” he said.

“You can tell Tessa Birnie and Max Logan that I’ll be putting in an official complaint,” said Leila.  “And I’ll be writing to Mslexia and Writing Magazine.  People need to know what a sham this place is.”

“We do our best,” said Marcus.  “I’m sorry it didn’t live up to your expectations.”  He handed Leila her case and went to shake her hand.  She offered hers reluctantly, and then turned to board the ferry, which was already in.

Leila liked to sit outside on boats and she was looking forward to the short but spectacular crossing with its misty mountain views.  She sat herself near the front and looked out across the water.  As the boat moved off, she was startled by a voice she had not expected to hear again.

“Hello Leila,” said Anna.

Poisoned Pens 25

Chapter 25

It had been a long hard drive, and he was relieved to see the lights of the Skye Bridge looming ahead.  He’d thought about taking the car ferry from Mallaig, but the ferry times were few and far between and he decided he’d arrive quicker if he went across the bridge.  None of this over the seas to Skye romantic tosh that his wife had been so excited about.

His wife.  He had to sort things out with her, persuade her that she’d leapt to the wrong conclusion, and that nothing was endangering their marriage.  Lana had been annoyed when he’d told her he was heading up to Scotland, and needed to make the journey alone.  He’d said it was something to do with a distant member of the family and helping them to settle a legal problem, but he didn’t think he’d fooled Lana.

“I’m starting to feel like the other woman,” she’d said to him.  He hadn’t liked to tell her that she was, in fact, the other woman.  And that was how he planned to keep it.  No reason to upset the status quo.  It suited him to be living with Ros in their nice mock Tudor detached house in Walton on Thames.  The golf course was within easy reach, and he enjoyed passing the time with the other chaps at the local pub and sometimes on the river itself.  He and Ros rubbed along all right.  She understood his needs, and he was generous to her.  This trip to Scotland was a case in point: he’d paid for several for her this year.  Why not?  It was good for her to have a creative outlet, especially as they hadn’t managed to have children.  Shame that.  He’d have liked to have had a kid or two, a boy to carry on the family name, a girl who’d look up to him and tell him he was the best daddy in the world.  But it hadn’t happened.  He thought Ros would have been a different person if she’d had children: fulfilled, and not always feeling the odd one out when all her women friends were producing babies like they’d gone out of fashion, and her sisters too.  He’d seen the auntie act start to wear thin.  She’d spent years trying to persuade anyone who questioned her childlessness that it was infinitely preferable to be an auntie, to let others ruin their pelvic floors in giving birth and grow haggard through sleepless nights.  As an auntie, she could have all of the pleasure and none – or very little – of the pain.  But as the nieces and nephews grew into their teens and drifted away, the mantra began to lose its power.  I think we need some pain to make the pleasure feel more special, she’d once said to him, after her youngest sister’s second child had swanned off to university.

That had been several years ago.  Now they lived companionably enough together, but when Lana had arrived at work as the new secretary, he had recognised in a dazzling flash what he was missing in his life.  She was gorgeous, but didn’t quite know it.  And she willingly accepted his invitations to discuss their cases over a glass of wine in the local wine bar.  He’d listened to her tales about the unfaithful boyfriend, and if she’d seen his attention as being somewhat avuncular at the beginning, things had changed when they’d gone to Nottingham to represent a particularly complex case that had required two overnight stays in a Holiday Inn.

Ros’s writing courses had provided him with opportunities to further his relationship with Lana, and he’d seen it as a win-win situation: Ros always came home happy and energised, and she found him to be most attentive and loving, glad to see a glimpse of the cheerful, sexy man she’d married.

But now the proverbial shit had hit the manically whirring fan, and it was up to him to get it all sorted out, limiting the damage as far as he possibly could.  He’d started out early that morning, driven into the night, fuelling his journey with black coffee and motorway service station junk food.  His only hope was that she’d be so pleased to see him, and so convinced of his sincerity, that she’d drop these silly notions of divorce.

 

Pamela slipped along the corridor, trying to avoid the creaky floor boards.  She failed, and her footsteps told out loud the story of her mission to minister to Max.  She felt a chill draft as she approached his door, and was struck by the arctic feel of the room as she crept in.  Silly man must have left his windows open!  She’d soon sort that out.  The moon was bright, the curtains blowing into the room revealing a starry night.  She could discern his huddled shape in the bed.  She tiptoed across to the window to close it.  And then Pamela screamed.  She screamed with her whole, huge, petrified being.  She unleashed an unearthly, off-scale, eardrum-shattering scream that caused Max to wake with a terrified start, and the rest of the house to wonder who on earth had been killed.  And as Max’s sleep-heavy eyes adjusted to the moonlit gloom, he watched a ghostly figure brandishing a glinting dagger flit across the room and vanish out of the door.  Pamela clutched at her chest and sank to the floor, her translucent nightdress splayed around her, giving an impression of a beached jellyfish.  What the fuck? Thought Max.  Suddenly someone flung open his door and switched on the light.  Tessa stood there, looking grey, leaning on her crutches.

“Oh Jesus, Max,” she said, as she took in the chaotic scene, windows flung wide open, curtains blowing like angry sprites, Pamela large and senseless on the floor.

“It’s not what it seems,” said Max.  “I don’t know how she got here.”

“You must be desperate,” said Tessa, leaning her crutches against the chair so as to crouch down and check whether Pamela was breathing.

“What’s she doing here?” asked Max.

“You don’t know?”

“I didn’t ask her, that’s for sure.”

“Was she waiting for you when you got to bed?”

“I don’t know.  Don’t think so.  I just crashed.”

Pamela was stirring and started to moan.  “Oh Maxi,” she said, “why didn’t you warn me about the ghost?” and then she seemed to lose consciousness again.

“I’ll get a cold towel to put on her head,” said Tessa, hobbling to the bathroom.  “Why don’t you put some clothes on?” She pulled on the light cord and then screamed.

“Fuck Max!  Fuck! Oh Jesus, that’s so gross…”

“What now?”  Max felt increasingly that he was immersed in some surreal nightmare from which he’d soon awaken.  A bit like Leon and his daft character, Major whatever.  This couldn’t be real.  Still naked, he followed Tessa to the bathroom.  She was pointing at the basin, and he saw, with disgust, what it was that had shocked her.  He was a seasoned thriller writer, his research took him into all sorts of gruesome forensic reports; but he was appalled at the sight of the dead bird, the slit cavity of its breast alive with maggots, in his sink. “How the fuck did that get there?”

“You didn’t put it there?”

“Of course I bloody didn’t.”

“Christ, Max, look at the size of that spider!” There, crouched on the tiled wall of the shower cubicle, was the largest spider that Max had ever seen.  It was Amazonian in its size and menace.  And he knew that there would be nothing he could do about it.  For it was a little known fact that Max Logan suffered from acute arachnophobia.

 

Pamela came out of her swoon to find Tessa Birnie patting her hand.

“Come on Pamela, time to wake up,” she said, as if Pamela was some infant who’d dozed off.

“Did you see it?” said Pamela.

“See what?”

“The ghost.  It was here.”

“You saw a ghost?” Pamela could tell by Tessa’s tone that she didn’t believe her; but she knew what she’d seen.

“It was behind the curtains,” she said.  “Lunged out as I went to shut the window.”

“What were you doing here in the first place?”

“There’s no need to talk to me like that,” said Pamela.  “I wanted to check that Max was all right after his long drive.  I thought it was simply wonderful of him to go to your rescue after you’d been arrested.”

“You didn’t think to knock?  Or maybe to wait until the morning?”

“It’s ok Tessa,” said Max, “leave her to come round.  I think there was someone else.  I saw them flash by as I woke up.”

“I told you there was a ghost,” said Pamela.

“I don’t think it was a ghost,” said Max, pulling on his trousers.

“But it came from behind the curtains,” said Pamela, who had struggled into a sitting position, “and it was so thin.  Ethereal.  What else could it have been?”

Max was sure that another person had been in his room.  He wondered if it had been Leila Morris, whether Leila had come to him as he’d been sure she would, only Pamela had frightened her off.  He’d have to have a quiet word tomorrow.  Encourage her to come back, let her know that he hadn’t invited Pamela in.  But would Leila have been wielding a dagger?

 

Dee had been woken by Pamela’s sharp cry.  She pulled a sweatshirt over her purple and green pyjamas, the lovely satin pair that Nuala had bought her last Christmas.  Suffragette jimjams! She’d said, as Dee had unwrapped the plump parcel.  She put on her slippers – for Dee never felt quite dressed enough without something on her feet – and padded down the corridor towards the light and a buzz of voices.  To her surprise, and embarrassment, the commotion was coming from Max’s room, and lying on the floor in a puddle of silky negligee was Pamela.  Dee was no prude, but she felt shocked to find her fellow student in such a compromised position; and her opinion of Max Logan sank further than it had been before. There were things that shouldn’t happen between tutors and students.  She believed in maintaining appropriate boundaries.  And besides, how could he be so obvious over his lust for Leila (which Dee quite understood: if it wasn’t for Nuala, she’d be pursuing Leila herself) and then invite Pamela into his room at night.  It was disgusting.  And he’d obviously hurt her, she didn’t look at all well.  Bastard!  Just like all men.  It didn’t occur to her that Pamela might have invited herself.  Tessa Birnie was there too, patting at Pamela’s hand.  “Can’t you keep the noise down?” Dee asked.

“Bit of a crisis,” said Tessa, “but would you mind making a cup of tea for Pamela and Max?”

“I don’t need fucking tea,” growled Max.  “Get me that bottle of Talisker that Marcus has for emergencies.”

Dee headed for the stairs.  She couldn’t very well say no, but she was well pissed off.  She liked her sleep and didn’t take kindly to being disturbed.  She was surprised to find the kitchen light on and the back door open.  Who’d be so careless as to leave it wide open on such a cold night?  She called outside, in case someone had gone for a cigarette or to gaze at the stars.  No-one answered, so she pulled the door shut and turned the key to lock it.  She didn’t notice the blade that glinted in the moonlight on the path that led to the studio.  Then she set about making tea, banging the mugs down on the working surface with a fair amount of feeling.  She’d have to tell Nuala about this.  She’d go into the village to use the call box tomorrow, that was for sure.  She was already missing her partner with her quick smile, haywire curls, and sharp mind.  Nothing like a little time apart to appreciate what was waiting at home.  And being with this strange group certainly made Dee appreciate her life back in Bristol.

 

Leon sat up in bed.  He’d been jolted out of his sleep by Pamela’s scream.  Marcus Dean had been fiercely fucking Major Gonzales.  He was almost grateful for the rude awakening.  Gonzales would never allow that to happen, he’d have killed Marcus rather than have him do those things to him.  But Leon was more turned on than he could remember being.  No way could he get up and investigate what was happening outside.

 

Ros heard the racket and sighed.  This course was proving to be far from restful and conducive to creativity.  She hadn’t been asleep.  Her mind had been hyperactive with thoughts about Alastair and what she’d do about his treachery.  Was she really cut out to be a murderess?  Even if she was able to get away with it?  Probably not, let’s face it.  So she’d need to find a shit hot lawyer to screw him for every penny she could.  She thought she knew just the person – had met him at the golf club a couple of months ago.  Probably more sensible than risking prison.  She’d never been overly fond of the close company of other women.  The noise outside died down.  Probably Pamela trying to seduce Max again, she thought.  She wouldn’t bother to go out to find out.

 

Marcus heard a piercing scream followed by the muffled sounds of activity in the house from his bedsit in the attic.  He’d been watching late night porn on a cable channel. He pressed the pause button.  God, this group was the worst to date.  Worse even than the poets that had come last summer, and he hadn’t thought that was possible.  No, the sooner he could pack up his things and move back to Edinburgh, the better.  Or maybe he’d try Glasgow for a change of scene.  Not too many people knew him there.  He waited to see if the noise would die down.  The scream was a one-off, but he could tell that there was still activity.  He supposed he’d better go down and investigate.  But on second thoughts, they knew where to find him, they were all adults.  He went back to his movie.  Firefighters getting it on.  Big, butch firefighters, muscles rippling, faces streaked with grime from the fire they’d just subdued.  You could almost smell the sweat.

 

Pamela’s scream had woken Leila, too.  God!  She was hating this retreat.  It was a real nightmare, and certainly wasn’t helping her to finish her novel.  She’d tell Dinah Tannenbaum what to do with her ideas when she got back to London.  It wasn’t even as if there was anything happening that would give her inspiration for her next novel.  It was all way too banal, and her fellow students were amateurish bores.  Still she’d better see what was happening.  She wrapped a striped dressing gown around her baby doll pyjamas and stood outside her bedroom door to ascertain where the sound was coming from.  It sounded as if something was happening in Anna’s old room, the one that Max had taken over.  She went to investigate.  Seeing Pamela, that dreadful, coarse woman from Croydon with her clichéd book and plastic jewellery, sprawled out on Max Logan’s floor initially filled her with disgust; but then she saw the funny side and burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” said Max.

“You and Pamela!” shrieked Leila.  “God!  You must have given her a really good time for her to make all that noise,” and Leila doubled up with laughter.

“Grow up,” said Tessa.  “If you can’t do anything useful then fuck off back to bed.”

“And that’s how you talk to your students?” said Leila, suddenly looking serious.  “Well, that’ll be something to tell Dinah when I get back.”

“Judging by the standard of the work you’ve brought here, I’d say your days of being in favour with Dinah Tannenbaum are limited,” said Tessa.

“Bitch,” said Leila, “just because you’re a has-been and no-one ever reads your books any more.  And you can’t even teach!”  She turned away before Tessa could muster a response and went back into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.  That was it.  She’d head back to Muswell Hill tomorrow morning, and insist that Dinah reimburse her for the money she’d wasted in coming to this sub-standard travesty of a writing programme.

 

Tessa limped over to the windows to close them, for the room felt freezing.  As she drew shut the window and pulled the curtains together, she noticed something on the floor.  It was a purple plastic bag that had once contained a comforting measure of chocolate buttons.  Max had never liked chocolate, but clearly someone had been here who did.

“I’d like you to go back to your room now,” Max said to Pamela.  There was something he needed to say, and he could only say it to Tessa.

“I’m not sure I’m well enough…”

“I think you are,” said Max.  “You’ll feel much better back in your nice warm room.  Won’t she Tessa?”

“Oh yes,” said Tessa.  “I’ll help you back if you like.”

“No, that’s all right,” said Pamela, rising from the floor.  “Are you sure you don’t need me to stay, Maxi?”

“No Pamela.  I didn’t need you to come, and I certainly don’t need you to stay.”

“Well you don’t have to be like that,” pouted Pamela.  “I was just trying to help.”

“You can help by going now,” said Max.

“Well, as long as you’re sure,” said Pamela.  “You know where I am if…”

“Yes, thank you,” said Max, his anxiety about the monster in the bathroom growing by the second.  At last she was gone, and he was alone in his still cold room with his ex-wife.

“Who’s doing all this?” he asked.  He was sure now that it couldn’t be Tessa.

“Well, Pamela seemed to have invited herself in,” said Tessa.

“I don’t mean Pamela.  I mean the bird, the trashed room, the other person in here tonight.”

“Leila?”

“I’m beginning to wonder.”

“Not likely to be any of the others.  The oldies are busy having it off with each other; Ros is plotting to kill her husband; Leon’s struggling with his alter-ego, and Pamela’s got the hots for you.”

“What about the girl who works with Marcus?”

“Megan? No, she’s tending to that homicidal postman, God help her,” said Tessa.

“Only it seems he wasn’t homicidal…”

“So they say.”

“Tess, I can’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“Go into the bathroom.  With that spider.  Could you…”

“You want me to go into that bathroom with the dead bird and look for a genetically enhanced spider?”

“I did help you out, old girl.”

Tessa remembered similar scenes throughout their marriage.  He came across all suave alpha-male until faced with a creature that had eight legs.  And then he was transformed into something altogether opposite.  Catapulted back to scared little boy.  She’d used it against him before now.  Called him stupid and sissy.  Right now she didn’t have the heart to.  And much as she loathed spiders, she was capable of catching them and relocating them to their natural habitat if she needed to.

“You’ll have to deal with the bird,” she said, “and the maggots.”

“And you’ll relocate Frankenstein?”

“It was the monster was the problem, not Dr F.”

“You’ll get rid of the spider?”

“If you help me up.”

“Look Tess, this whole thing’s got me a bit rattled, and this room’s freezing.  I don’t suppose…”

“What?”

“You’ve got that big bed…”

“You’re asking to share my room?”

“Just for tonight.  It won’t kill you.”

Tessa sighed.  She looked around the shambles of this room, his second in two days, and almost as wrecked as the first,  “No, I don’t suppose it will,” she said.

 

Finally the house settled back into slumber.  Even Ros drifted off, and Max and Tessa lay as far apart from each other as was possible in the king-sized bed, the dead bird and its maggots having been bundled into a plastic bag and relocated to the bin outside, and the oversized arachnid having been tossed vigorously out of the window so that it could return to the depths of the woodland.  Marcus remained ignorant of the details of the evening’s drama, and his film having ended, went to sleep fantasising about naked firefighters finding ingenious things to do with hoses.

 

She’d escaped out of the back door without being seen.  That dreadful woman in her frightful nightwear wouldn’t have recognised her and she didn’t think Max Logan had seen her either.  He’d seen enough to know that someone had been in his room, and he’d find the second little tableau she’d set up soon enough.  Good, they’d be nicely spooked, which is how she wanted it, even though things were far from perfect: the woman coming in had ruined her plan.  She’d had to abandon the best part, and she cursed the fat woman from Croydon.  She’d have to complete her revenge another time. It wasn’t safe for her to stay in the studio any more.  That girl Megan had been snooping around, and she’d probably be back in the morning.  She’d need to go first thing in the morning, take the morning ferry.  She wondered if her CPN had noticed that she’d missed a couple of appointments.  They’d look for her before long, she wasn’t supposed to go away without telling them.  She just had one final thing to do before her work here was finished and she could return.  She’d turn up for Wednesday’s appointment as if nothing had happened.

Poisoned Pens 24

Here you are, because you’ve all been so good…

 

Chapter 24

“You say you didn’t assault Mr Craig, Ms Birnie?”  Andy MacLeod was interviewing Tessa, and Lindsay Lennox was taking notes.

“I acted in self-defence,” said Tessa.  “He’d abducted me, taken me to this dank, dilapidated cottage.  The way he was talking about his collection, I felt sure he was going to harm me.”

“But he didn’t physically attack you?”

“No, no he didn’t touch me.  Only to help me up, and get me in and out of his car, that sort of thing.”

“So he was being helpful?”

“Well, I thought he was, but then this dreadful house…and his collection…”

“Did you actually see his collection?”

“No, I escaped before he was able to do anything.”

“And you don’t think your assault on him was unprovoked?”

“No!  He was threatening me.”

“How exactly?”

“Well, with his collection.  And that house.  It was his mother’s.  His dead mother’s.  You have seen Psycho, haven’t you?”

 

 

Max and Marcus didn’t talk much as they drove up the island.  Max was wondering what kind of state Tessa would be in, and Marcus was hoping that no-one who knew him had been posted to Skye from Edinburgh.  It wasn’t hard to find the police station once they reached Portree.  Somerled Square wasn’t far off the main road.

“Will I wait here for you while you fetch her?” asked Marcus.  He was relieved when Max agreed.

Max walked into the police station.  “I’ve come for Tessa Birnie,” he said to the sergeant on duty behind the desk.

“There she is,” said the sergeant, nodding towards the area behind Max.  He had to look twice.  There was only one woman in the waiting area, and it was Tessa; but he’d never, even in the worst days of their marriage, seen her look so desperate and dirty.  A pair of crutches lolled behind her, and the sprained ankle, despite its strapping, looked even more swollen than it had that morning.  He felt a pang of something in his belly.  It was a strange feeling, not one he was used to experiencing, or certainly not in relation to Tessa.  He thought it might be pity.

“Prince Charming to the rescue,” he said.

Tessa looked up at her ex-husband with something close to affection.  “I didn’t think anyone would come,” she said.

“Couldn’t leave you here,” Max said.  “I’d have had to run the rest of the course by myself, and you’re bloody well not getting away with dumping that on me.”

“Prince Charming indeed,” said Tessa with a sniff.  “Just get me out of here.  Get me home.”

“Are you free to go?”

“Tell you about it in the car.”  She rose with difficulty and reached for her crutches.

“Has anyone looked at that ankle?”

“Just Dr Mackintosh earlier on.  He didn’t do much, just strapped it and gave me pills.  I lost them at the mad postie’s house.  It hurts like hell.”

“There was a sign to a hospital.  We’d better stop by.  Tell you what, you’ve a great plot for a story.”

 

The Portree Community Hospital was a couple of minutes away, and the accident and emergency department was still open.  Max helped Tessa out of the minibus and into the harsh glare of the hospital strip lights.

“You’re lucky it’s a Monday,” said the triage nurse.  “Not many people drink on a Monday.  Not to excess, anyway.  We’ll soon get you seen.”

Tessa sat in the waiting area, her injured ankle resting on a chair in front of her.

“So tell me, one time light of my life,” said Max, “just how did you manage to pull off your little vanishing act?  You know they’ve been whispering about my having done away with you.”

Tessa told him about Malcolm the postie and his bike, and getting a lift into the village and seeing the doctor.

“It was all going fine until he took me to his mother’s house,” she said.  “It was like the house in Psycho, you know, where the dead mother’s still sitting in her chair, and Norman Bates kills the girl in the shower.”

“He kills her in the motel,” said Max.  “The shower’s in the motel room.”

“I know, but he was going on about showing me his collection, and we were miles from anywhere, and I thought he was going to rape me and then kill me.”

Max bit back an uncharitable comment about needing to be desperate, and Tessa’s current unattractive state.  “So you finally put all that kung fu to some good use?” he said.

“Tae Kwondo,” she said.  “Yes.  Rather well, it seems.”

“Rather too well if they’re charging you with assault.”

“He’s not pressing charges,” said Tessa.  “For some reason, part way through their grilling of me, they stopped, while someone brought in a message.  Apparently it said that he wasn’t going to press charges.”

“You know he’s that girl Megan’s boyfriend?”

“Megan from the Creative Hub?”

“The same.”

“Oh,” said Tessa.  “So maybe she talked him out of it.  I think she likes my books.”

“Or maybe he’s just a decent man who doesn’t want the hassle,” said Max.

“Well he needs to learn not to take vulnerable women to his own personal house of horrors!” said Tessa.  “I mean, what does he expect?”

“The doctor will see you now,” said the nurse.  Tessa hopped along behind her into a cubicle.

 

Tessa’s x-ray showed there was no fracture.  The doctor re-strapped her ankle, gave her strict instructions to keep it elevated, chastised her for not putting ice on it straight away, and sent her off with a pocket full of painkillers.

Marcus started up the engine of the minibus, and the three of them drove back in silence.  Tessa fell asleep, stretched out on the back seat.  Max covered her with a rug.  He was wondering how to run the rest of the week, because he couldn’t see Tessa functioning at her usual level.  Actually, it would be a lot easier if he could just get on and finish the course, despite what he’d said to her earlier.  No more arguments or having to negotiate with the wretched woman.  Yes, he could see advantages.  Marcus was thinking he’d had a lucky break, having such close encounters with the polis, but still managing to maintain his conveniently low profile.

They arrived back at the house some time after two, but well ahead of the time they’d thought it might take.  Tessa was groggy from her deep sleep, and cold, in the way that you always are after a long journey through the night.  She fumbled with the crutches.

“I’ll help you up,” said Max.

“Thank you,” said Tessa, for once glad that he’d been there.

“I’ve got the room next to you,” said Max.  “If you need anything, just yell.  Right, I’m off for a fag.”

 

Tessa shut the door behind her and sank onto her bed.  She desperately needed a shower, but she was too exhausted: it would have to wait until the morning.  She stripped off her clothes, slipped a nightshirt over her head, and headed for the bathroom.  A pee, a cursory wash, a clean of her teeth, and she limped back towards the big bed and fell back onto it, pulling the covers over herself and falling asleep almost instantly.

 

She’d waited for an hour.  And then for another.  There were no more chocolate buttons.  She felt her legs grow heavy and her eyes start to close.  Where was he?  She looked out of the window.  There’d been no movement out there for an hour or so, after that elderly couple had gone into the annex.  The house was quiet.  There’d been footsteps on the stairs earlier, the flushing of distant toilets, the opening and closing of doors; but there’d been no sound other than the soughing of trees for an hour, or maybe two.  She would hear him come in, that was for sure.  She could afford to curl herself up on the floor behind the curtains.  She’d wake as he approached the room, and then she’d spring into action.

 

Max savoured his cigarette.  What a day.  What a night, come to think of it.  But no further harm had come to him, and Tessa was back safe.  He still wondered what had happened to the girl with the teeth – Anna, they called her.  She must have gone home.  And anyway, the police had her details: if anything had happened to her they’d have found out by now.  And he hadn’t needed to answer any awkward questions.  But Max didn’t believe his own reassurance.  He knew all too well, from his research for his books, that people did disappear, and often it was years before they were found, and sometimes they remained lost forever.  Look at Fred and Rosemary West: they killed scores of women, and weren’t caught for years.  Some of the women they’re thought to have killed have never been found.  So anything could have happened to Anna.  He hoped she had simply gone home, and that there wouldn’t be any further complications.  Now, how was he going to move things on with luscious Leila?  Maybe Tessa’s indisposition could work in his favour.  He stubbed out the cigarette and went back into the house.  He locked the French windows behind him – Marcus had asked him to do so if he went for a late smoke.  The house was quiet, almost peaceful.  Max went into the kitchen and switched on the light.  He’d have another drop of Marcus’s whisky.  He swigged from the bottle, then turned out the light and headed for his room.  The stairs creaked as he ascended, but otherwise there was no sound.  He entered his bedroom and shivered.  He didn’t remember leaving all the windows open, but the curtains were blowing and the room was icy. He needed a shower, but he decided to go straight to bed: the dramas of the day, and being nice to Tessa had exhausted him.  He undressed and threw his clothes in a pile on the chair.  He thought about cleaning his teeth and decided not to bother.  He couldn’t even be arsed to close the windows – some fresh air would do him good, and the bedding was almost too warm.  Naked, he slipped between the sheets.  He’d forgotten to lock the door, couldn’t remember where he’d put the key, but it was too bad.  In seconds he was asleep and snoring loudly.

 

Beryl and Jack were sound asleep in a companionable spoon arrangement.  Earlier, Beryl had been reading a novel by her second favourite Indian writer, Rohinton Mistry.

“Who’s your favourite then?” asked Jack.

“Vikram Seth.  A Suitable Boy has to be one of the most perfect novels ever written.  Not that Tessa Birnie would recognise fine literature if it leapt off the page and smacked her.”

Jack was enjoying the new Ian Rankin.

“Is there life after Rebus?” asked Beryl.

“Looks like it,” said Jack.

“Jack,” said Beryl.

“Mm?”

“What will you say to your wife?”

“What about?”

“About this.  Us.”

“Don’t think I’ll say anything,” he said.  “Why? D’you think I should?”

 

Pamela had heard the minibus return.  Thank heavens, she’d thought to herself.  Max was back, safe and sound.  Peeping around her curtains, she’d watched Max help Tessa into the house.  She’d heard the creak of the stairs as they made their way to their bedrooms, and she’d heard one door open and close, and then footsteps head downstairs.  He’d be going for his cigarette.  It wasn’t long before she heard him come up again, his door opening and closing softly.  She’d give him time to undress and wash, to get himself comfortably into bed, and then she’d go and give him the comfort she was sure that he would need after such an arduous day.

 

Leon woke in a cold sweat.  Jesus Christ!  What the fuck was going on?  He could just about accept Major Gonzales cross-dressing, especially if he was going undercover and it was all in the best interests of the overall mission; but in his dream tonight, what Major Gonzales had been doing to Marcus Dean was utterly out of character, and Leon was mightily disturbed.  Having gone to a public school, not much surprised Leon about what boys and men did to and with each other; but Mother had always warned him about bullies and big boys, and on the whole, apart from a rather nasty phase in the third year, he’d managed to keep himself to himself.  Yes, that was a pretty apt way of describing it.  He’d found there was a knack to making oneself invisible, and he’d perfected it.  He’d spent his teen years waiting to escape the school and evolve into the strong and fearless man that he knew was the real Leon Waterson.  He saw his boyhood self as a chrysalis, a feeble persona that masked his true, fierce self.  In reality, Major Gonzales and he were one and the same, which is why this latest twist in his rather active dreamlife was so bizarre and disturbing.

 

This was not how it was meant to be.  She cursed herself for having fallen asleep and having to hide herself in a hurry.  Then she cursed him for his slovenly ways and lack of personal hygiene.  Things were not going to plan, and that made her feel very angry indeed.

Poisoned Pens 23

Chapter 23

 She thought about turning his new room over, but it felt too unoriginal.  She didn’t want him getting used to a particular form of disruption.  What if he became blasé about it?  Oh, hi guys, someone’s trashed my room again.  Anyone got a light?  No, she needed to turn up the heat.  She could leave the dead bird she saw in the shrubbery in his bed.  He’d get a nasty shock when he went to settle down for the night.  Or something with more blood and wetness: but she’d have to find something to kill, and there wasn’t any obvious prey.  She’d noticed a black and white cat skulking around, but it never went near the house and she guessed it was either feral or lived elsewhere.  And she’d never killed a cat.  And then she thought about a more subtle approach which might achieve her aims rather more dramatically.  She’d need to be stealthy, and she’d need to be prepared to exit as soon as she’d done it, and there was a chance she’d be caught: yes, it was risky, but worth it.  And she’d use the dead bird too.

 

Andy MacLeod and Lindsay Lennox were sitting in Malcolm’s cosy sitting room.  He was sporting a nasty bruise on his head and there was still a trace of blood around his chin.

“Is this where it happened?” asked Lindsay.

“No, I’d taken her to my mother’s bungalow,” said Malcolm.  “It’s away up the road.”

“We’ll need to take a look,” said Andy.

“I can take you,” said Megan.  “You’ll be all right on your own while I go, won’t you?” she said to Malcolm.

“If you’re sure,” said Malcolm.

Andy and Lindsay indicated that they were happy for Megan to show them the site of the assault.  They left Malcolm nursing a cup of tea.

“Where’s Tessa Birnie now?” asked Lindsay as they all got into the police car.

“I left her at the pub with Rob,” said Megan.  “He’s the barman at the Ardvassar Hotel,” she explained.

“We’ll go there after we’ve seen the house,” said Andy.

 

Tessa wondered how much longer she’d have to wait.  The barman was wholly absorbed in the football game that was being played out by the Old Firm.  She’d long finished her whisky, and he’d made it clear that there was no more unless she had the means to pay for it.  She thought about trying to escape as customers entered and left the bar, but she couldn’t move quickly enough, and she definitely couldn’t walk all the way to the Creative Hub.  She’d just have to wait for the police to come, and then she’d be able to explain about being abducted and held against her will.  And then they’d take her home.  Zak would say something upbeat: Well think of it this way, Tessa: if you’d twisted your ankle in London, you’d have spent the day in A and E at an NHS hospital  in meltdown.  At least this way you’ve had fresh air and met some new people. Zak encouraged her to take the glass half full approach.  There are two types of Scrabble players in the world, he’d once said, those who see Z, Q, J, and X as opportunities, and those who see them as the worst letters you can pick out.  Tessa liked to see herself as a Scrabble optimist, but as far as her current situation went, she was struggling to find anything positive in it at all.  Except, perhaps, the fact that she had escaped Malcolm’s collection, and had evaded a potentially untimely end.

 

Marcus had served dinner, and the group had sat together, eating quietly.  Everyone was worried now about what could have happened to Tessa, and no-one was in the mood for casual chat.  Dee helped Marcus to clear the empty dishes away.

“Has this happened before?” she asked, wiping dry a plate.

“Och no,” said Marcus.  “Sure we have our share of dramatics, but we’ve not had people going missing.  Never had the polis up at the house.”

“And it’s really not part of the programme?”

“No, it’s for real.”

“Tessa couldn’t have slipped back down the bank into the stream, could she?”

“We looked.  She’d just gone.”

Leila brought a half full salad bowl into the kitchen.  “No-one’s got much appetite,” she said.  “I think I should call our agent, Tessa’s and mine, that is.  Can I use the phone?”

“Sure,” said Marcus.

 

Leila rang Dinah Tannenbaum’s number.  The agent picked up after the fourth ring.

“Leila, darling! How wonderful to hear from you!”

Leila told her about Tessa’s disappearance.

“That’s very strange,” said Dinah.  “She just vanished?”

“Yes,” said Leila.  “No-one’s heard from her all day, and we’re getting really worried.  I think you should let her next of kin know.  Do you know who they are?”

“I don’t, I’m afraid,” said Dinah. “Of course, she was married to Max Logan.  Toxic relationship Have you read any of his books?  They say that the corpse in Death in the Mall was the image – literally speaking – of Tessa.”

“He’s here too,” said Leila.  “He’s the other tutor.”

Leila heard a sharp intake of breath, and then there was a long silence.  “Dinah?  Are you still there?”

“Yes, yes, I’m here.  Look, Leila, where was Max Logan at the time of Tessa’s disappearance?”

“He was one of the ones who found her, when she was sitting injured in the woods, but he didn’t go back to help her back to the house.  Said he didn’t want to risk putting his back out – he’d had an accident the night before.”

“So could he have slipped back without anyone knowing?”

“He was teaching for most of the morning,” said Leila.  “He wouldn’t have had much time.”

“Well, if you ask me, Max Logan has the answer,” said Dinah.  “Their marriage was famously brutal.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d found a way of getting rid of her.”

“He’s foul, it’s true, but…” said Leila, shuddering as she thought of how Max had started to pursue her, of his lecherous leer.  But was he capable of hurting, or killing, his ex-wife?”

“Are the police involved?” asked Dinah

“They’re looking for her,” said Leila.  “We haven’t heard anything, though, so I guess they haven’t found her yet.”

“Make sure they know about Max,” said Dinah.  “I do know someone who may know how to contact her family, if she has one. I’ll make a call.  And stay away from Max Logan until all this is sorted out.”

After they’d ended the call, Dinah Tannenbaum searched out the number she was looking for.  Then she phoned Zak Summers to tell him that he should be very concerned for his most lucrative client.

 

Beryl went to Jack’s annex with him.  He poured them each a generous measure of the single malt.

“I’ll have to go shopping soon!” he said, pointing to the bottle, which was almost empty.

“We’ll take some time out tomorrow,” said Beryl.  “Go to the village.  That’s if all this mess is sorted out.”

“Eh?”

“Have to wait for this mess to unravel,” said Beryl, raising her voice.

“D’you think there’s been foul play?”

“I’m not sure, Jack.  It’s very odd that she just disappeared like that.  And Anna too.  We all seem to be forgetting about her in our panic about Tessa.  But I’m not convinced that she ever left.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling.”

They sipped at their whisky, and took stock of the strange and disturbing day.

“Max’s session was good, I’ll give him that,” said Beryl, after a while.

“He knows his stuff.  Did you read Blood in the Mall?”

“I did.  It wasn’t up there with Rendell and James, but he kept you guessing until the end.  Nice use of forensic science.  Application of DNA was ingenious.”

“So if he wanted to commit a crime and get away with it, he’d know how to do it.”

“He would.  But I’m not convinced he’s the type.”

Night had fallen and the clear sky was twinkling with stars.  The moon was big and bright.  The air was cool and fragrant.

“You staying?” asked Jack.

“Yes,” said Beryl.  “Mind you don’t snore.”

Jack laughed.  “I’m too deaf to notice whether you snore or not!”

“Perfect,” said Beryl.  “And I’ve brought my own toothbrush.”

 

Leila, Dee , and Leon decided to stay up to critically appraise each others’ work.  They huddled in the library, a bottle of red wine in the centre of the table.

“I still think they might be testing us,” said Leon.  “You know, making strange things happen and seeing how we react, as writers.

“I don’t think so,” said Leila.  “Tessa was really hurt: she couldn’t have faked that ankle.”

“Marcus insisted that this wasn’t some kind of game to get us all plotting.  I’m still wondering what happened to Anna,” said Dee.

“What if Max has done something to Tessa?” said Leila, thinking back to her conversation with Dinah.

“They hate each other,” said Dee.

“That doesn’t mean he’d hurt her,” said Leon.  “Not all men are violent.”

“They all have the potential to be,” said Dee.

“And women don’t?” said Leon.

“I think we should stay away from him,” said Leila.  “Until we know.”

“But he couldn’t,” said Leon.  “He was here, with us.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but what if he ran back down during one of his smoking breaks, did her in, raced back in time for our next session?”

“Max Logan?  Racing?  Get real!” said Leon.  And although she didn’t say anything, Leila was inclined to agree.

 

Max was weary.  It had been a long, tough day.  Not knowing what had happened to Tessa was almost worse than having to put up with her nasty presence.  And then there was the wretched, omnipresent Pamela, and trying to shake her off was no joke.  He didn’t want to give up on Leila – once Tessa was back and things had got back to normal, he’d offer her some one to one help with her book.  She’d soon come round and fall for his charms, they always did.  Well, almost always.  Not so often these days, if he was honest.  He went to the kitchen to see if there was any drink lying around.  He needed something sweet and strong, and if he couldn’t have Leila, whisky would have to do instead.  Marcus was writing out a menu.

“Heard anything?” asked Max.

“Not a thing,” said Marcus.

“Worth putting in a call to the police, don’t you think?”

“They would have called us, I’m sure; but I’ll try them just in case.  Never had much faith in the polis, and they usually post the dead losses of the force on the islands.”

“Any chance of a drink?”

Marcus reached into the cupboard for the Talisker.  “One of those days,” he said, pouring Max a generous measure, and then doing the same for himself.  “I’ll go and call the polis,” he said and went to the office.  Lindsay Lennox had left a card with their number on it.  He dialled.  Max hovered by the door.

“It’s Marcus Dean, Skye Creative Hub,” said Marcus.  “I just wondered…you have?  Where?  She what?  You’re going to what?  Is that necessary?  I see.  Aye, I know….aye, I’ll tell them.  Goodnight.”

“What was that about?” asked Max.

Marcus stroked his chin and shook his head in disbelief.  “You’ll not credit it,” he said.

“What?”

“They’ve arrested her.  They’re taking her to the cells.”

“Tessa?”

“Aye, Tessa Birnie.”

“What do you mean?  What’s that stupid woman done?”  He was so relieved to hear she was alive, he began to be angry with her all over again.  Things could go back to normal.  Almost.

“She’s charged with assaulting our postie,” said Malcolm.

Max burst out laughing.  “Assaulting a postie!  Whatever next!”

“It’s no funny,” said Marcus, indignantly.  “He’s a fine young man, is Malcolm.  Wouldnae harm a fly, let alone a woman.”

“We’ll have to tell people,” said Max.  “Let them know she’s ok.”

“Aye, but she isnae all right,” said Marcus.  “She’s heading for the cells with that nasty ankle.”

“You think we should go…”

“Well, I think I should.  I’m paid to take care of folk while they’re here.”

“Now?”

“After we’ve told everyone.”

“I suppose I’d better come with you.  Nearest thing to next of kin.”

 

Marcus found the little trio in the library and shared his news.

“Assaulting a postman?” cried Leon.  Maybe the woman did have balls after all.  And he’d been right about women being potentially violent too.  Sort those bloody feminists out!

 

Max was surprised to find Beryl in Jack’s room, for it was she who answered the door, and she had toothpaste around her mouth.  Well, at least someone was getting lucky.  Or maybe not, he thought, wondering what Jack could see in the old woman – or what she’d see in him.  Mind you, he’d choose Beryl over Pamela any day, despite the tweedy skirts and sensible shoes.  Although of course, he’d choose neither if Leila stopped playing hard to get.

“She’s not been hurt, then?” Beryl was saying.

“No more than she was when we last saw her,” said Max, “as far as we know.  I’ll go with Marcus to try to bail her.”

“Good.  Now we’ll all sleep,” said Beryl.

 

Ros and Pamela were in the computer room, working on their books.  Ros had started a new one.  For the first time, she was writing a contemporary story, and a crime story at that.  Pamela was testing some plot ideas that had to do with a new shopping centre – yet another – being built in Croydon, and the unearthing of bones which may be human.

“Oh thank God,” said Pamela on hearing the news.  “You must be relieved, hun, what with her being your ex and all that.”

“You’re going to get her now?” said Ros.

“With Marcus,” said Max.

“You drive carefully,” said Pamela.  “Make sure you take your phone and put a couple of blankets in the car.”

Insufferable, thought Max.

 

Marcus and Max climbed into the Skye Creative Hub minibus.  It would be a long drive to Portree, which was where the police had taken Tessa.  They’d be lucky to be back by dawn.  Yet both set off with lighter hearts than they’d had earlier that day.

 

She had prepared everything, put her bag where she could easily collect it and make her swift departure.  She wished she’d been brave enough to go to the village shop to buy some more chocolate buttons.  She’d only got a few left.  She’d eke them out. The dead bird was in his washbasin.  As a bonus, she’d found an outsized spider, and she’d placed that in the shower tray.  The windows were open, and the room was already chilly.  Now she just had to wait.  Had Max not moved rooms, she would have heard the minibus engine start up and she would have turned to see the two men leave the Hub.  But she was in the quiet room facing the garden, and she heard nothing.    She waited.