Read Andrea Frazer - Holmes and Garden 01 - The Curious Case of the Black Swan Song Online

Authors: Andrea Frazer

Tags: #Mystery: Cozy - P.I. Agency - Sherlock Holmes - British

Andrea Frazer - Holmes and Garden 01 - The Curious Case of the Black Swan Song (13 page)

BOOK: Andrea Frazer - Holmes and Garden 01 - The Curious Case of the Black Swan Song
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‘I did sit with these people the other night, you know,’ declared Holmes, yet again. ‘And I did gather a bit about what was going on but, at the time, I was too taken up with the members of the Ladies’ Guild to think about them seriously as suspects. A portion of a hotel does beat jealousy, hands down though, don’t you think?’

‘Not to mention the desire to actually acquire the ownership of the place. Let’s hope we really get lucky tonight, and manage to engage the right people in conversation.’ Garden was not the optimist that Holmes was, and thought it just as likely that none of those they wished to question would show their faces.

But he was wrong, and the first new suspect to approach the bar was Josephine Hughes, clearly on her own. This was a signal for Holmes to go back to the bar, offer to buy her drink, and ask her if she would like to join them for a little pre-prandial conversation.

Completely unsuspecting, and noting the respectability with which the man who had issued the invitation was dressed, she accepted with alacrity, and immediately joined Garden at the table, Holmes on her heels with two glasses in his hands. She did give Garden a slightly strange glance, but he was, for him, dressed fairly conservatively in lemon shirt, lime tie, and bottle-green trousers, and his tidiness and cleanliness – if not his godliness – could not be doubted.

‘Allow me to introduce you to my new business partner, Mr Garden,’ said Holmes. ‘We are currently setting up a new branch of our business in this town, and will be here for a few more days.’

‘How exciting for you,’ replied Josephine. As if the subject closest to her heart had been triggered, which it had, she immediately began to talk about her own reasons for being here.

‘I’m a businesswoman of some standing, and I’d heard about this place long before I came here. Some business colleagues of mine have stayed here and remarked on its unique character, so I came down for myself to assess it, and immediately fell in love. I’d dearly love to acquire it for my business portfolio, but no luck so far.’

‘Never give up,’ Holmes said in encouragement.

‘Oh, I don’t intend to. I can be very determined when I want something, and I want this hotel so badly now, it’s beginning to hurt. Think how I could market something like this to parties of touring Americans. They’d just lap it up. All those ancient beams and rambling corridors would have them delirious with delight.’

At that moment, Niles Carrington and Jane Harrison entered the bar, engrossed in conversation, and Holmes excused himself to approach them and remind them that he had had a drink with them recently, ending up inviting them to join his table. He knew that those who have a grievance, and an inevitable gospel to preach on the subject, love spreading the word and pulling in support from others.

Soon there were five of them round a middle-sized table, and Garden was cleverly drawing the two newcomers out, about why they were staying there. That inevitably brought Josephine Hughes into the conversation, as she saw an opportunity here. If she could oversee the splitting up of the ownership, it would be easier to pick up two part-owners than one owner of the complete business, and maybe buy them off – she could certainly afford it and, what, after all, would they do with a tiny bit of the whole venture? The very idea defied the imagination.

Holmes was discreetly efficient at keeping the drinks coming, to loosen tongues, and it worked. Within just over half an hour, their stories were on the table for scrutiny, all three of the other guests supporting each other’s bid for justice and ownership.

At this point, Garden slipped away, saying he had some business to attend to, and returned, much to Holmes’ consternation, twenty minutes later, as his female persona of the night before. Greeting his astonished partner with a husky, ‘Good evening, Sherman. Haven’t you got a drink waiting for me? You know how I like a white-wine spritzer.’

Holmes rose like a marionette, the strings of which had all just been jerked taut, and tottered towards the bar, at a total loss as to what Garden was up to, pulling a stunt like this without warning.

Garden knew what he was doing, however, and said he’d noticed them all in the bar when he was in there the previous evening. As two of them had noticed him sitting across the room, it was an automatic in, especially when he said he’d been done wrong by the previous owner, and the knives really came out.

Josephine Hughes was first to bare her personal grudge. ‘He called me a money-grubbing swindler who would stoop to any depths to get my own way, and that what I needed was servicing by a decent man, then offered himself up to do the job.’

‘How incredibly insulting,’ commiserated Garden.

‘He accused my family of being so twisted and crooked that we resembled corkscrews, and said my forefathers would cheat a widow out of her last farthing. I’ll have you know that my great-grandfather died in the workhouse, having lost everything he had in his transaction with the Bellamy family with the workshop he used to have on a small piece of land out at the back of the hotel.’ This was Jane Harrison’s tale of woe, quickly followed by Niles Carrington’s, as he would not be outdone by two women.

‘My great-grandfather and his father owned a small business on the eastern corner of the hotel, and they thought they were renting it out to the hotel, but neither of them could read or write, and it was one of the Bellamys that misread the document of transfer to them.

‘He persuaded them it was for rental only, and to put their mark with confidence, when the document was actually for the sale of the premises, and they lost their livelihood, and my great-grandfather threw himself in the river at the disgrace that his lack of education had brought on him and his family. What about you, Ms … I’m afraid we don’t know your name.’

‘Miss Watts,’ replied Garden, not going the whole hog. ‘Joanne. It was nothing really disastrous for me: just a little business deal that looked like I was going to be the loser. When it seemed to be on track, he was all over me. When I realised he was trying to swindle me, it was a different story, and I’m afraid he was very insulting about my personal attractions.’

At this, he sniffed, extracted a minuscule lace handkerchief from his tiny evening bag, and held it delicately to the corner of each eye, as if absorbing tears. ‘Don’t upset yourself, Joanne,’ purred Niles Carrington, putting his hand on Garden’s knee.

‘Thank you so much for listening to me, but I’m afraid I must be off.’ That hand on the knee had certainly made Garden jump. He hadn’t expected to be found attractive, and have someone make a move on him. ‘I only called in tonight to see that Sherman was alright. Ah, there you are, Sherman, dearest,’ he called out, seeing the familiar face entering the bar, once more. ‘I’m off now, but I’ll give you a ring in a few days to see how things are going.’

‘Lovely to see you again so soon,’ improvised Holmes, to receive a radiant smile from Garden, that the older man had not given away his identity in his initial surprise and confusion. ‘Goodbye.’

‘TTFN, Sherman,’ Garden’s husky voice rasped out, and he sashayed out of the bar, and out of the other three people’s lives, for ever. But, if nothing else, the presence of his alter ego seemed to have got the conversation on a more flowing footing, especially as he claimed to have had a bad experience with Berkeley Bellamy. So much for their solicitor’s discretion and professional confidentiality! They probably wouldn’t have minded if Holmes had got out their individual case files and gone through every sheet of paper in them.

Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday

An unusually brave choice of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and maple syrup was efficiently being demolished – Holmes having gone uncharacteristically American in his choice of breakfast – as Garden questioned his partner on what he’d thought of the three people they’d talked to the night before, but Holmes would not be distracted from his main beef.

‘Don’t you ever do that to me again, young Garden. I nearly had a heart attack when you came back to the bar in your girl’s gear.’

‘But that’s exactly how I should use it. Those three were sitting with a couple of regular guys, and suddenly a sympathetic woman joined you when your insignificant other – i.e. me – had to go to attend to something else. Once I said that Bellamy hadn’t treated me very well, they were off and unloading. Joanne Watts draws people out. She’s our secret weapon, as we said before. Where people might not talk to a man, they’ll happily spill everything to a woman.’

Holmes speared a morsel of bacon with his fork, dipped it in the yolk of his egg, and added a piece of syrupy pancake to the mouthful. For about twenty seconds he sat thoughtfully chewing, then said, ‘Do you know, I think you’re right. And I assume that Joanne Watts is the name you gave them for your alter ego.’

‘It is, but it’s a moveable feast. I have several wigs in different styles and colours, and I can really be whoever I like. I could make you look like a right lothario.’

‘Steady on, old man. Can’t have that. But what you say is very interesting. It means that “Holmes and Garden” actually has at least three detectives, one or more of them which could be women if we wanted them to.’

‘Exactly.’ Garden sat in silence after this, allowing the situation to gel in Holmes’ mind. ‘I think it could be our undercover USP,’ he added.

‘Dear boy, I do believe you’re right. Now, what were you asking me about last night?’

‘What did you think of the three people we got to spill their personal beans? Let’s start with Josephine Hughes.’

‘Guilty,’ declared Holmes. Garden sighed. This was sounding familiar, but he’d have to see the thing through.

‘Motive?’

‘Commercial greed.’

‘Niles Carrington?’

‘Guilty.’

‘Jane Harrison?

‘Guilty.’

‘But you can’t just say guilty to everyone.’ Garden was getting frustrated with his friend. He seemed incapable of making decisions in eliminating anyone who had been on their hitherto unwritten list of suspects. What was wrong with the man?

‘What motives?’

‘Business ruthlessness, revenge, and revenge, in that order.’

‘Holmes, we’re supposed to be solving these murders, not just accusing all and sundry of committing them.’

‘We’ll get there. I just need to cogitate a while.’

‘And how do you intend to do that?’

‘We’re off to an auction of office furniture about twenty miles away today – viewing this morning and sale this afternoon. That’ll give my subconscious plenty of time to play with what we know, and come up with a single culprit.’

There the man went again, skipping off gaily down a tangent without a thought of what they probably ought to be doing. ‘You’re not investigating today?’


We’re
not investigating today. By the way, when I was coming along the corridor, I heard the dulcet tones of Chef bawling out one of his sous chefs, so he must have been released from police custody.’

‘Hang on a minute. Let me get this straight. I’m going with you to this auction?’

‘Got to choose your own desk, my boy. Got to choose your own desk.’

Garden was simply dumbfounded by Holmes’ laid-back attitude, and couldn’t understand why he was taking their first case so lightly, and flounced off to his room to change into something more colourful, if they were going out.

Joining Holmes outside where he was having a puff on his pipe, the older man looked up, dropped his head, then looked up again in a double-take of surprise. ‘Are you auditioning for something on children’s television?’ he asked, letting his gaze run up and down Garden’s colourful form.

‘No, I just wanted to wear something that made me feel happy,’ replied the younger man, not adding that Holmes’ attitude to detection had so depressed him that he needed something to lift his spirits. He had on royal blue trousers, a turquoise shirt, and a green tie, bottomed off with blood red lace-up shoes. ‘I’ll walk ten paces behind you, if you like,’ he added, grumpily.

‘Don’t be silly. You’re a very cheering sight. You just took me by surprise, that’s all.’

‘Well, at least you won’t have to cope with Joanne today.’

‘That would have thrown me, but I’ve taken on board what you said, and I truly believe she could be a real, er, asset to our business.’ Garden fought the thought that if Holmes didn’t buck up his ideas, there wouldn’t be a business.

‘Come on,’ urged Holmes, ‘Let’s go and “desk-up”, and we’ll have some lunch at a country pub after the viewing.’

The auction was to be held in an old church, many years past its use as a place of worship, the congregation having evaporated over time like a puddle on a hot day. There was an eclectic collection of “office” furniture on view, and the two men walked around peering at each item to evaluate its usefulness to them in their new offices.

Holmes had posted his resignation from work on the way, but Garden still had his in his room. He was getting unnerved about taking the final step by Holmes’ peculiar attitude of thinking every suspect guilty, and even considered that he might be able to mend a bridge sufficiently to be able to move back in with his mother, such was his consternation.

It was Holmes who had bought a catalogue, and was busy marking items in it for bidding on in the afternoon. Garden was more fascinated with the lots that seemed to have nothing to do with office life, such as a hugely fringed standard lamp, and an over-sized walnut wardrobe. Whoever would have those in their place of work? How had they managed to insinuate themselves into a sale of office furniture?

‘See any desks you fancy?’ asked Holmes, suddenly stopping in mid-stride.

‘Don’t really mind, so long as there’s room for a laptop and a set of filing trays,’ replied Garden, ‘and I can get my legs under it.’

‘What about a chair?’

‘One that doesn’t wobble or suddenly collapse downwards would be fine. I mean, I’m only going to sit on it, and I rather hoped that most of our time would be spent out on cases.’

‘Of course, of course,’ replied Holmes, whose mind this thought had not had the decency to cross. At the moment he couldn’t see further than sitting at a rather grand oak affair in a captain’s chair, and looking important.

‘And don’t forget filing cabinets,’ Garden prompted him.

‘I thought we might go for what I’ve heard referred go as a paperless office,’ was Holmes’ response.

‘No such thing. What about evidence? What about correspondence? What about reports and invoicing? What about contracts with clients?’

‘Bum!’

‘That’s not very helpful,’ commented Garden.

‘No, but it made me feel better. Do you want to see what I’ve marked?’

‘Do I have to?’

‘Where’s your enthusiasm? This is a new life we’re furnishing this afternoon.’

‘I suppose so.’

Garden barely concentrated as Holmes excitedly pointed to lumps of wood, lumps of wood and leather, and even glass and steel, but was revived by a superb lunch in a pub only a few hundred yards away from the old building. Although he had eaten a good breakfast, it had not dispelled any of his fears about his partner. Lunch, for some reason, made him feel more confident.

Maybe it was just the thought that the office would soon be a reality, and he could always put off resigning for a while by taking all of his remaining annual leave in a block. That way he could hedge his bets and see how the business progressed, once it had opened properly.

Perhaps it was just the thought that if Holmes and Garden didn’t get off to a flying start, his new partner was sufficiently wealthy to carry the business until such times as it started to show a profit. If it ever did. And did it matter, so long as Holmes was willing to carry on? Probably not, and he could jump ship anytime if an opportunity of a more conventional position reared its head.

Back in the old church once more, Garden couldn’t help noticing that, no matter how long an ecclesiastical establishment had not been used as such, it always retained its unique smell. He let his thoughts wander, as Holmes began to flick his catalogue in bidding, and he didn’t surface again until he heard the auctioneer’s gavel go down, and a lugubrious voice intone, ‘Sold for five hundred and fifty pounds.’ God, someone had paid a lot for something from what he thought was mostly a collection of junk.

At this point, Holmes poked him in the ribs with his catalogue and said, ‘I had to go high, but I got it in the end.’

‘What? Was that you paying all that money for something? Whatever did you buy?’

‘A desk.’

‘A solid gold one?’

‘No, a rather nice oak kneehole with a leather-tooled top.’

‘What was the estimate, for heaven’s sake?’ asked the younger man, making a grab for the catalogue and searching for the item his partner had just bought. ‘Two hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds, it says here. You paid more than twice that.’

‘I wanted it.’

‘That badly?’

‘It’s taken me a while to realise, although I don’t want you to spread this around, that whatever I want I can have now, and if that means paying twice as much for an attractive desk that I shall get a lot of pleasure from sitting behind, then so be it. I didn’t want any new furniture. It smacks of new business, and I want us to look long-established.’

‘Mad as a hatter.’ Garden was dumbfounded, then wondered if he’d have done the same in Holmes’ position. Probably, he would. The cavalier attitude to price with which Holmes purchased a further attractive desk and two swivelling captain’s chairs raised his spirits considerably, as he realised that there needed to be no financial success whatsoever to their business venture. Holmes was playing, and that might give him, Garden, the opportunity to develop into a real detective. What a God-given chance for him to train on the job, while being paid at the same time.

The next forty minutes saw the purchase of a secretary’s desk and chair, and a selection of old filing cabinets made from a beautifully aged oak. They were definitely class, and looked as if they actually dated from Conan Doyle’s lifetime. How things could change, once a situation was fully and properly evaluated. He’d post his letter of resignation as soon as he got back to the hotel.

His attitude to his new friend, rather cold this morning, warmed considerably, as he contemplated a very enjoyable future. He didn’t mind at all being the brainy one.

At the end of the sale some miscellaneous items came under the hammer, and Holmes remained to bid for, and win, some beautiful old Persian rugs that were far too big for most people’s living rooms, given today’s housing, and would not have appealed to a younger set.

The auction had finished by four o’clock, and Holmes left the building rubbing his hands together with glee. ‘Well, that’s that sorted, then,’ said Garden, by way of opening a conversation.

‘Not quite, John H. We’ve got another port of call before we’re finished for the day.’

‘Where?’

‘A computer superstore, so that we can get what we need to usher us into the twenty-first century. Only the best for our business. Oh, and I don’t suppose you brought your laptop with you when you booked into the hotel, did you?’

‘Absolutely not, but we could go home via my old home, and you could use it there. Or we could swing by your place.’

‘It wouldn’t do any good. I don’t own such a thing. No, we’ll call round and see if your delightful mother is at home. Maybe she can offer us a cup of tea.

‘No!’

‘Yes! You must start facing up to your fears, which I know you realise were basically unfounded or, if they were founded, were founded in guilt and hysteria.’

‘I suppose so.’ John H. was slightly hurt by this comment, and had no desire whatsoever to see his mother again so soon after their last visit. She’d acted in such a normal way that he thought she must have been possessed by a mischievous spirit, and not been herself at all.

After what seemed like huge expenditure in a high-tech store, Holmes drove to Garden’s old address, and they were lucky enough to find Mrs Garden just home from her temping job.

‘Hello, Johnny, darling. How lovely to see you,’ she said, and kissed her son on the cheek. He put his hand to this face as if he’d just been stung, and pulled his features into a grimace of distaste, but she didn’t notice. ‘And Mr Holmes, how lovely to see you again so soon. Shall I put on the kettle?’

‘That would be divine, dearest lady,’ replied Holmes, his cheeks flushing just a slight shade of pink.

Garden fetched his laptop from his locked and padlocked bedroom and put it on the dining table for Holmes’ use. He hadn’t wanted to take it to the hotel, for there was always a chance of someone either stealing it, or taking a look at his private files. His make-up tips were top secret, and he wouldn’t share them with anyone, not even his mother. Especially not his mother.

‘If you haven’t got a laptop, do you actually know how to use a computer?’ asked Garden, who had been pondering this point since Holmes admitted that he didn’t own such a machine.

‘Of course I do. I just couldn’t see a place for it in my apartment. I had as much access as I wanted to the cyber world at work, but as I’ve now resigned, I need to get myself kitted out.’ Holmes removed a tiny notebook from an inner pocket and consulted some notes he had made, which proved to be websites of the sort that sold security equipment and listening devices – tiny cameras, bugs, and suchlike.

‘Are you really doing what I think you’re doing?’ asked Garden, scandalised.

‘Of course I am. We can’t trade without surveillance equipment. Even you should know that. I know Holmes managed with just the Baker Street Irregulars, but times have changed, and these little beauties will be our eyes and ears on the job.’

BOOK: Andrea Frazer - Holmes and Garden 01 - The Curious Case of the Black Swan Song
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