Closer to Death in a Garden (Pitkirtly Mysteries Book 10) (14 page)

‘Diversionary tactics,’ said Jock, nodding as if he were some sort of a sage. ‘He’ll have been up to something himself. I knew it!’

In the pause before one of them thought of a riposte, Christopher heard footsteps passing the office door. They didn’t sound all that furtive, but then Mr Kilpatrick seemed like the kind of person to walk in a particularly confident manner. It could have been one of the library staff going out to lunch, but...

‘I’d better have a look in the research room,’ he said. ‘Get the maps put away if he’s finished with them.’

Jock and Amaryllis followed him silently back along the corridor. The research room door stood open, and there was no sign of Mr Kilpatrick. Unfortunately there was no sign of any of the maps either.

Christopher glared at Jock. ‘Just don’t say a word!’

‘Maybe I’d better get myself a wee flag that says I Told You So, in that case,’ said Jock with an evil smile.

Chapter 24 On a mission again

Jock McLean wanted to go after Mr Kilpatrick – if that was his real name – straight away. Amaryllis found herself oddly hesitant.

‘Maybe Christopher should just report them to the police as stolen,’ she suggested. ‘After all, it’s just a simple case of theft – isn’t it? And we know who the man is and where he lives. Even they should be able to catch up with him and get the maps back.’

Jock gave her a look. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing! I just don’t think we should waste our energies on a simple little thing like this when there have been two deaths.’

‘But we’re not supposed to have anything to do with the two deaths,’ said Jock. ‘Maybe the police won’t have time to try and recover a bunch of mouldy old maps...’

‘Hey!’ Christopher protested. ‘There’s nothing mouldy in our collections. Unless you count that stuffed weasel that’s been at the back of the fire exit corridor cupboard ever since we opened.’

‘I don’t think we really wanted to know that,’ said Amaryllis.

‘Come on, then,’ said Jock.

‘Come on where?’ she asked.

‘Let’s get after him! We can always go up to his house and wait around for him if there’s no sign of him anywhere in town.’

‘Perhaps he’s left town by now,’ she said. ‘It would be the sensible thing to do. He must know we’re on to him.’

Jock stared at her for longer this time and then said, ‘I bet it wasn’t like this when you were chasing terrorists in the Himalayas.’

‘It wasn’t in the Himalayas.’

‘Well, Tibet, then. Isn’t that in the Himalayas?’

‘I was only ever in the foot-hills on that mission.’

Christopher interrupted, which was fortunate, because Amaryllis could see that this argument would run and run.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d quite like to get on with some work now. Can you go and argue somewhere else?’

Amaryllis was quite surprised at her own reluctance to take direct action. Surely she couldn’t be scared of that silly man. She opened her mouth to protest again and heard herself saying instead, ‘Well, what are we waiting for? He’s getting further and further away while we stand here bickering.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ said Jock McLean. ‘And talking of spirit, are you both coming down to the Queen of Scots tonight? Charlie’s promised not to host a country music evening.’

‘Mm, I don’t know,’ said Christopher. ‘It’s a Monday.’

‘He’s never hosted a country music evening, as far as I know,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Why should that change now?’

Jock laughed in an annoying way. Amaryllis pretended the joke was too subtle for her. She pushed past him and headed for the front door of the Cultural Centre.

‘If we don’t come back,’ she called to Christopher as she left the building, ‘send Keith up to the garden centre. Tell him to start digging near the back fence.’

‘That isn’t very funny,’ said Jock. They walked across the car park, Amaryllis scanning their surroundings for a glimpse of Mr Kilpatrick. A big sleek navy blue car moved out of a parking space near the supermarket, and glided away up the High Street.

‘I bet that was him,’ said Amaryllis. ‘All we need now is a taxi so that we can tell the driver to follow it.’

‘Hmph! Not a chance. You don’t see many taxis around here. They won’t do short runs anyway, not usually. It doesn’t pay them. They’ll only take people into Dunfermline. Or across to the airport. You’d never get one of the drivers to follow another car.’

There was a noise a bit like a factory chimney being demolished. It grew louder and louder until Amaryllis pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket and answered it. Jemima spoke, in her usual telephone voice, which was at least a decibel louder than usual and very prim, as if she were sitting, with a hat on, bold upright in a sensible chair with the kind of upholstery that scratched you, and antimacassars on the arms and the back.

‘I wondered if you might be going to the shops today,’ she said.

‘We’re near the supermarket right now. Do you want us to fetch you something? Is everything all right?’

‘Oh, yes, we’re both fine. I just thought maybe you could bring us a wee packet of custard creams. And maybe some wafer thin ham. I’ll give you the money when I see you.’

Amaryllis frowned. Jemima and Dave liked to go to the shops nearly every day, even if they only bought one or two things. Jemima had always claimed it did them good to go out and get a bit of exercise, and only buy as much as they could carry each time. It wasn’t like her to ask for a favour at all, never mind one like this. It wasn’t even raining, for once. The sun had made a rare appearance and the only clouds in the sky were innocent little white ones.

‘Does the weather forecast say it’s going to rain?’ she enquired.

‘Oh, no,’ said Jemima. ‘Not until Wednesday. Even then they’re not sure if the depression from the Atlantic will turn south and by-pass us or not.’

Jemima and Dave monitored the weather forecast for all parts of the world closely. If their cover story had been that they were meteorologists and she had interrogated them about the long-range forecast for Western Australia or Japan or Belgrade, they would have been utterly convincing.

‘OK,’ she said at last. ‘We’ll be round in ten minutes with the biscuits and – what was the other thing?’

‘Wafer-thin ham... I wouldn’t ask, only....’

The connection cut out.

‘What’s the matter with Jemima?’ said Jock McLean.

‘Did you hear all that?’

He nodded. ‘Most of it. Not like them at all. There must be something wrong.’

‘We’d better run round there and see what’s happened.’

Twelve minutes later – there had been someone annoying in front of them in the supermarket queue who hadn’t enough money in their purse to pay the bill, and Amaryllis had eventually handed over the extra herself to avoid waiting any longer – they were hurrying up Jemima’s front path and ringing the door-bell impatiently. Jemima opened it a crack, with the security chain on.

‘Oh, good, it’s you,’ she said. She undid the chain and let them in.

‘I’m glad to see you’re using that,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Now all you need to do is get someone to fix that skylight window in the attic – the one I usually get in through – and you’ll be quite safe.’

‘The attic?’ Jemima squeaked. ‘I’d forgotten we had an attic.’

‘You certainly do.’

‘Come into the kitchen. Dave’s just put the kettle on.’

‘Now then,’ said Amaryllis sternly, after the shopping was put away and they were all adequately served with tea or coffee, ‘what’s going on? No,’ she continued, holding her hand up to pre-empt protests, ‘I know something’s happened, and I’m not leaving here until I know what it is.’

‘Do you promise not to kill him?’ said Jemima.

‘Kill who? If someone’s upset you, I’m not making any promises except that I’ll hunt him down and...’

‘That’s what Jemima’s afraid of,’ said Dave.

‘All right, the worst I’ll do is tie his shoelaces together - is that all right with you?’

‘You could maybe think of something in between tying his shoelaces together and killing him,’ said Dave.

‘It isn’t Mr Kilpatrick, is it?’ said Amaryllis, hoping the answer was yes, which would mean she could kill two birds with one stone – but only figuratively. Or tie their shoelaces together.

‘Who?’ said Jemima.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Someone else.’

‘It was that Mr Anderson from the garden centre,’ said Jemima. ‘He threatened us. Along by the river.’

A huge wave of rage built up inside Amaryllis. She couldn’t even speak for a moment.

‘He was quite nasty,’ said Dave. ‘Said he wouldn’t want anything to happen to us so we’d better keep out of his way.’

Amaryllis shook off Jock McLean’s hand, which she found on her arm. ‘Who the hell does he think he is?’

She paced across the kitchen, thinking rapidly. She paced back to the table. ‘No, that can’t be right.’ She paced to the door and stared out to the hallway. ‘But he was the most likely to be able to work the sound system... and with a bit of help...’ She spun round to face them. ‘I have to go back to the garden centre.’

They were all silent apart from Jock, who groaned.

‘He won’t like that,’ said Jemima.

Amaryllis could hardly bear the tremulous note in Jemima’s voice. For the first time that she could recall, Jemima sounded like a vulnerable old woman instead of the feisty, wiry, resilient person she had always seemed to be.

‘I don’t care whether he likes it or not,’ she said flatly. ‘Somebody needs to have a good look at that sound system and the access points to the site, and collect the evidence of his guilt, and the police obviously aren’t doing it fast enough.’

‘Keith won’t like this either,’ Jock reminded her. ‘You’re supposed to be keeping out of his hair.’

‘I’d better find a way of doing it without bothering Keith, in that case,’ said Amaryllis.

‘I don’t know how you’re going to do that,’ said Jock.

Amaryllis smiled her most dangerous smile.

‘I’ll think of something,’ she said.

Chapter 25 Damage limitation

Jock scowled at Jemima after Amaryllis had gone. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ he said. ‘You know what she’s like – you’ve set her off and now nobody’s going to be able to stop her.’

‘She’ll wriggle out of trouble, all right,’ Dave told him. ‘She always does.’

‘I’d better go back to the Cultural Centre and let Christopher know,’ said Jock. ‘He’s used to picking up the pieces.’

‘Maybe there won’t be any pieces,’ said Jemima.

Dave laughed. ‘Wouldn’t it be even worse if she vanished without a trace? We’ll come with you. Get your coat, Jemima, it’s not any warmer out there.’

‘But Mr Anderson...’

‘Stuff Mr Anderson!’ Dave roared, making the other two jump. ‘Why should we be cowering in here like – what are those wee cowerin’ tim’rous beasties again?’

‘Mice,’ said Jemima.

‘Yes, why should we be cowering in here like mice when he’s out there swaggering around as if he owns the place?’

Jemima went and got her coat. She was pleased in a way to see Dave back at full strength. For a few days there she had imagined some of his personality had been shocked out of him, what with that funny turn and the hospital and then the aggression of the garden centre manager. She just hoped they weren’t putting themselves in danger by going out. When this kind of thing happened on television – a woman going on her own into a dark old ruin at night, or walking along a deserted path by a canal – she or Dave would quite often shout at them not to be so silly. Not taking their own advice was going against Fate or something. Not that Jemima Douglas believed in Fate, of course. She prided herself on not believing in anything unless she had seen it with her own eyes, which ruled out quite a lot of things.

‘Come on, now,’ said Dave as they left the house. ‘We’ve got to stride out confidently. No sign of nerves. That’s it, hold on to my arm.’

Jock ruined the effect by stumbling over the kerb when they crossed the road to go down the High Street, but apart from that Jemima thought they presented a convincing image of a group of people so confident of their own power that they were immune to anything a jumped-up garden centre manager could throw at them.

They made it down to the Cultural Centre without incident, except when their noses were so high in the air that they failed to notice Jan from the wool-shop at first, despite her waving frantically at them, and when Jemima finally lowered her gaze enough to spot the woman, it was obvious she was already in the huff with them all. This meant they had to stop and apologise, and Jemima felt she had better buy a couple of balls of four-ply in the wool-shop, which in any case would come in useful for when Dave wore out his last pair of socks, something that happened at regular intervals.

Christopher seemed to be expecting them, which was odd, but he said to Jock, ‘Have you got them back yet?’

‘No,’ said Jock. ‘We got distracted and lost him. Sorry.’

‘I suppose I’ll have to let the Council know.’

‘And the police,’ said Jock.

Christopher sighed heavily. He glanced round the little group. ‘Where is she? Don’t tell me you let her go after Mr Kilpatrick on her own?’

‘Not really,’ said Jock uneasily.

‘You did, didn’t you?’

‘No, it’s Mr Anderson she’s gone after,’ said Jemima.

She explained the whole thing all over again for Christopher’s benefit, and he and Jock explained about Mr Kilpatrick and the maps. He put his head in his hands. ‘This just goes from bad to worse.’

‘I wonder why he wanted the maps,’ said Jemima thoughtfully.

‘Who knows?’ said Christopher. ‘It’s probably going to be one of those great unsolved mysteries of life.’

Even his hair looked a bit wild after he had run his hands through it, and his words weren’t the kind of thing he would usually say either.

‘Maybe it’s something to do with family history,’ suggested Jemima. ‘You know – looking to see where his ancestors lived centuries ago.’

‘But those are new houses up there,’ said Christopher. ‘Even the one where the alpacas are – the Blyth-Sheridans’ house – has been torn down and re-built. Except for the old stables, of course.’

‘The old stables?’ said Jemima.

‘That’s where the alpacas are kept,’ said Christopher. ‘The woman who wasn’t Mrs Blyth-Sheridan after all showed me.’

‘I suppose he maybe wanted an old map to see what the layout was before the new houses were built,’ said Jemima. ‘Or how much land they owned around there... He’d have done better to look at rental records in the National Archives, of course.’

Oh, dear, she had better change the subject now. Dave tended to get cross when she started talking about the National Archives. He had been thrown out of there once – well, not thrown out exactly, because he hadn’t been allowed in to start with. The staff had said the photo he had provided for his little identity card wasn’t suitable, although it was quite a tasteful shot of him leaning happily against his latest pick-up truck. Dave couldn’t be bothered going all the way to Waverley station to get a new one taken in the machine, so he had waited for her outside. Jemima hated going through records in a rush with somebody waiting for her. Especially since she knew he wouldn’t dream of going into a coffee shop or something to pass the time, but would sit on a bench nearby for hours, even if it started hailing. Men were funny like that. At least he didn’t ever head off to the nearest pub while he was meant to be waiting, unlike some men she could mention.

‘Or he could have looked at some census records on the computers in the research room here, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘They can tell you quite a lot. There’s more stuff online too, if you know where to look for it. Window tax. Horse tax. Old newspapers.’

‘He didn’t seem to be interested in family history,’ said Christopher.

‘Maybe he didn’t want you to know what he was interested in,’ suggested Jemima.

‘That sounds quite likely,’ said Jock McLean, scuffing his shoes against the skirting-board as if he wasn’t interested in it either.

‘Talking of things going from bad to worse,’ said Dave at this point, picking up the conversation from a long way back, ‘did you know Amaryllis is planning something?’

Christopher took this piece of news quite well. He just shook his head very slowly. ‘I suppose it would be a miracle if she wasn’t, really... Do we have any idea what it is?’

‘She wants to get into the garden centre again – something to do with Mr Anderson, and access points,’ said Jemima, trying to remember exactly what Amaryllis had said just before she went off.

‘She’s going to get into trouble,’ said Jock.

‘What else is new?’ said Christopher.

Jemima frowned at him. She had imagined he might show a bit more concern. After all, they all knew Amaryllis was his dearest friend. At one time she and Dave had hoped it might be more than that, but nothing had developed yet in that direction. Still, there was always time, as she knew only too well herself. Maybe they just weren’t ready to settle down yet or to make the compromises you always had to make when you did so. Even getting used to Dave had been a struggle in some ways. She didn’t think she would ever learn to like watching championship darts on television, or enjoy hoovering up toenail clippings from the kitchen floor.  So she could dimly understand that it might take a while for a man to understand why Amaryllis liked to break into people’s houses, or stalk around at night all dressed in black, and equally that a woman would need to be quite saintly to let Christopher spread out the McCallum letters all over the place and leave them lying around for weeks.

She didn’t even dare to speculate on how much older Christopher and Amaryllis would need to be before they were ready, fearing that the answer might be a hundred or so, at least in Amaryllis’s case.

‘Old newspapers,’ added Christopher thoughtfully. ‘Remember when we went into Dunfermline to have a look at them before?’

‘But we don’t know what we’re looking for,’ said Jemima.

‘Any mention of the Blyth-Sheridans, maybe,’ said Christopher. ‘Or a report on the garden centre opening? That would be covered in the local paper, wouldn’t it?’

‘Ashley would know all about that,’ said Jock McLean. ‘No need to trek all the way into Dunfermline.’

‘We’re not supposed to speak to Ashley, though,’ Jemima objected.

A glimmer of mischief appeared in Christopher’s eyes, maybe for the first time since Jemima had known him.

‘We could look some things up online, though, couldn’t we? There’s no harm in that.’

‘No harm at all,’ said Jemima.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Dave. He glowered at Jemima. ‘Remember where all that family history stuff got you last time.’-

‘This isn’t the same at all,’ said Jemima. She looked at Christopher. ‘Race you to the research room!’