False Charity (29 page)

Coral said, ‘Where's Maggie?'

‘Gone on to a club with someone,' said Bea. ‘The man she was dancing with, I suppose.'

‘Hope you don't mind my butting in,' said Tommy.

Coral was bursting with news. ‘Tommy turned up to help us clear the bar, but I said he had to keep out of sight and he did. But what I wanted to say was, that the DJ is not one of the gang. He's well known around here, the other bar staff say he's been around this area for yonks and they know his name and where he lives and all. He played at a function here only last week, not a charity do, and he's doing another at the Town Hall at the end of the month. So if you do want to talk to him at any time, you can.'

Bea stroked her temples. ‘He's not her son, is he?'

‘Who? Oh, no. No way. I think her son's Noel, the photographer. One of the receptionists here has been going out with him, thinks he's gorgeous, which I suppose he is if you like that sort of thing. She made an excuse to come into the function to see if he was making up to the Asian girl because of his working with her behind the camera. Anyway, it seems to be just a business arrangement, because there's a minicab booked to take her – the Asian girl – back home at the end of the evening, and she'll be going back solo. Or so the receptionist says.'

Bea was worried. ‘You didn't let on to her that we suspect Noel of being crooked, did you?'

‘No way! All she wanted was to feast her eyes on him, make sure he wasn't kissing and cuddling the Asian girl. Which he wasn't. From what I could see, he was being very professional, concentrating on the guests. Then Ms McNeice spotted the receptionist where she wasn't supposed to be, and shooed her back to her desk. She went off to text him a love message, hoping to connect up with him when he leaves tonight. So what happens now?'

Bea had been trying to think about this all evening. ‘We have the advantage of surprise, and Ms McNeice is on our side. She says she'll bring them here to her office for a confrontation. I expect they'll bluster and argue but in the end we should be able to make them see the wisdom of paying up. What we don't want is them taking one look at us and running for their lives. We want them to get well into the room before they realize anything's wrong, and then I think we must block the door so they can't get out till we've made them see reason.'

Tommy Banks folded beefy arms across his chest. ‘Count on me for that. I'll lurk behind the door and when they're well in, I'll close it and stand in front of it. They won't get past me in a hurry.'

‘They may be some time,' said Bea. ‘They have to clear up, pay the singer, give out dud cheques to one or two people. I think – if you're all agreed – that we should turn off the light and sit down in the dark to wait for them. That way, they won't realize they're walking into a trap until they're well into the room and find they can't get out.'

‘Good idea,' said Piers, with his hand on the lamp. ‘Everybody take their seats, concentrate on how much money they've raised this evening and how little they intend to pass on. Oliver, any idea how much yet?'

Oliver gave a little cough. ‘Fifty thousand from the auction, then there's the favours on the table, the tickets, the promises. Two hundred and fifty thousand? Multiply by three, to include what they took on the other dates.'

‘Something to think about,' said Piers. ‘Is everyone sitting comfortably? Then I'll switch off the light.'

Noel was pleased with himself. He'd raked in a good amount with the photographs and it amused him to think that it was all honestly earned. Mummy always let him keep what he earned from photography, as well as giving him a cut of the proceeds.

He'd taken the key off Ana and given her a fifty-pound note when it was time for her to go. Money well spent.

Mummy was looking tired. Well, she did bear the brunt of it on these occasions. Richie was helping the DJ take his stuff out to his van. Richie was stupid. Why bother to help the DJ? They'd never see him again. Noel stuffed a wad of notes into his pocket and gave the rest, with his camera, to Richie to take out to the car. Richie grumbled but did it.

Noel put a careless arm around his mother's shoulders. ‘Forgive me if I cut and run. Some unfinished business.'

She was writing a cheque for the singer, who didn't realize it was from Account No. 2. ‘Not the receptionist, I hope? I saw her leering at you earlier.'

He laughed. ‘Not the receptionist. I'll make my own way back. Don't wait up.'

He kissed his mother's cheek and left the function room, loosening his tie. He wouldn't take the lift to the honeymoon suite because he wanted to avoid reception. However, there was an unobtrusive staircase around the corner which would take him up to the first floor unobserved.

Now let the fun commence!

Sunday, two in the morning

A
clock ticked somewhere in the darkened room. Bea rubbed her temples. Her headache was not going away. Was it just nervous tension? She massaged the back of her neck. There were several green points of light on the far side of the room. Standby lights for the computer and printer? As her eyesight became adjusted to the lack of central light, Bea made out the seated figures of her friends, and of the darker shadow where Tommy Banks stood beside the closed door.

She fancied, after a while, that she could distinguish between Oliver's rapid breathing, and Piers' slower tempo.

She tried to relax, to slow her own breathing. Perhaps that would help with her headache. She tried counting to five as she drew in a deep breath, and then counting to five again as she let it out. She'd heard somewhere that this exercise helped one to get to sleep. She was too tense for that, but it did help. This might be a good time to pray a little. She uncurled her hands, closed her eyes and tried to think what words to use. She thought she wasn't much good at this lark because words always eluded her and though she knew in her head that He didn't need her to go into detail when she was in trouble, she suspected He might like her to make an effort. All she could manage was,
Please. Please. Please.

What was the time? She opened her eyes to glance at where her watch would be, but it didn't have a luminous dial. She heard a ruffle of cloth as one of the men turned their wrists to check the time. Piers.

The corridor outside was heavily carpeted, as was the office itself, so it was something of a shock – even though they'd been expecting it – when the door opened, and Ms McNeice said, ‘Go on in, and I'll turn the light on.'

Bea closed her eyes, blinking, as an overhead light came on.

She heard the door close. She'd been expecting to see three people from the gang, but there were only two; the woman known as Mrs Somers-Briggs, and her partner. No gorgeous young man.

Mrs Somers-Briggs looked at Bea and Piers, and didn't know them from Adam. She looked at Oliver, and frowned. What was this?

Coral made a small movement with her hands, and Mrs Somers-Briggs focused on her. It was clear that, out of context, the boss woman didn't recognize Coral. And then, she did. Bea saw her eyes widen slightly, and then the woman's face froze. Her eyes glittered in a porcelain mask. Bea saw her decide to play the ‘bewildered' card. ‘What …? I'm afraid I don't understand …'

The man behind her was looking around him. His eyes seemed to recede into his head as he narrowed the lids. He stood stock still, mentally computing the facts. Then he turned his head and saw Tommy Banks standing with folded arms in front of the door.

Ms McNeice eeled around the woman and seated herself behind her desk. ‘Let me introduce you. Mrs Somers-Briggs; you know Coral, of Coral Catering, of course. And Mr Banks, the manager from the Garden Room. These others are friends of theirs, anxious to see that all debts are paid before you leave.'

The woman firmed her jaw. ‘Ms McNeice, you asked me to accompany you to your office to pay the balance owing to you. Naturally I am more than happy to do so. I don't know what you've heard from these … these others. I have come across them before, and I will admit that quite frankly no, we didn't pay them everything they demanded. The services they rendered were not up to the standard we expect, and naturally we discounted their very overpriced bills. I'm amazed that they have the nerve to complain to you about their sordid little scams. Also, if they'd any real grounds for complaint, they'd have gone to the police, right?'

Coral's face flared red, but Ms McNeice put up her hand to forestall an outburst. Bea couldn't help but admire Mrs Somers-Briggs' nerve, and for the first time she wondered whether Coral's bill really had been inflated. She remembered the man at the Priory Country Club; yes, his bill probably had been inflated. But no, Coral wouldn't do that. And neither would Tommy Banks.

‘The police?' said Ms McNeice, ‘Yes, we'll bring them in if we have to.'

The woman wavered for only a second, and then returned to the attack. ‘If we owe anything – which I dispute, by the way – then the remedy is simple. These people should apply to the small claims court for recompense.'

‘We would have done,' said Coral, through clenched teeth, ‘if we could have tracked you down. You gave us a false address and a discontinued phone number, remember?'

‘You are mistaken. True, I lost my mobile phone recently, but that's no reason to say I've given you false information.'

Oliver lifted a finger. ‘On the adverts, the phone number was for the Bolivian Embassy, right?'

The woman stared at him. ‘Who might you be?'

Oliver stared back. ‘A friend of Coral's.'

‘As are we all,' said Piers, speaking for the first time. ‘I don't suppose you realized you'd left a trail behind you, but you did. We know all about the accommodation address, and the way you've cheated everyone you come across.'

The woman reared her head on her long neck, making her diamond earrings flash in the light. ‘Of course we used an accommodation address. We were moving house, and needed a base for our mail. I've already explained about the mobile phone.'

‘Losing one mobile phone,' said Bea, softly, ‘is a nuisance. Losing two is a tragedy for all those concerned.'

‘Who might you be?'

‘Bea Abbot of the Abbot Agency. Coral is an old friend and I want to see her righted.'

‘A detective agency?' The woman was scornful. ‘I suppose you're charging the earth by way of retainers and hourly rates? I pity Coral, for I don't suppose she'll see a quarter of what she's owed in the end.'

Coral looked confused. Mrs Somers-Briggs was good, wasn't she!

Bea said, ‘No, Mrs Somers-Briggs. We are doing this for love, and for our reputation's sake. Coral gets one hundred per cent of what we collect from you.'

‘Minus a finder's fee,' put in Oliver, being sensible.

‘If that is all …?' The woman shrugged. ‘Very well. I'm prepared to pay the balance of her bill, if that's what you want. It's under protest, mind, because as I said before, she wasn't worth it.' She was still carrying her black velvet bag. From this she drew a chequebook, which she laid on the desk. ‘How much do we owe you?'

‘No cheques,' said Coral. ‘Twice bitten, twice shy. Cash only, please.'

Mrs Somers-Briggs was amazed. ‘You can't be serious!'

‘Never more so,' said Bea. ‘You've raked in enough cash this evening to pay off Coral. So pay her. Then we'll talk about the other people you owe money to.'

‘Don't be ridiculous!' the woman said, staring hard at Bea. ‘This is nothing but blackmail.'

‘If you think we're blackmailing you,' said Bea, ‘then you should call the police and lay information against us.'

‘But …' Her hands opened and shut. She glanced back at her confederate, who seemed very relaxed, listening to all that was going on with a slight smile. He acted as if they'd done nothing wrong.

‘Well,' said Mrs Somers-Briggs, regaining confidence, ‘I have nowhere near enough cash on me to pay you. The proceeds from the auction were mostly by way of cheques which are made out to the charity, and I shall have to pay them into my bank account on Monday.'

‘There's the money from the favours, and from the photographer. He's your son, isn't he?'

‘My son?' For a moment her eyes wavered. ‘My son has nothing to do with this. He takes photographs, yes, and is paid for them. That's his money, not mine.'

‘You mean that he didn't hand it over to you at the end of the evening? Where is he, by the way? We expected him to join you.'

The woman frowned, and then smoothed the frown out. ‘He has a girl in tow, I believe. I suppose he's with her.'

Coral asked, ‘The receptionist?'

‘How should I know?'

Ms McNeice yawned. ‘All this is wasting time. Mrs Somers-Briggs, you have enough cash on you to pay what is due to Coral, I assume. You also owe us here at the hotel for the evening, and I have taken the precaution of getting a bill for the food you ordered tonight. Then there is the small matter of the bills for the functions you ran at the Garden Room and at the Country Club, not to mention the wine bills.'

‘Not to mention,' said Piers, ‘the amounts you've raised for charity on these last three events. So, how do you propose to settle your accounts?'

Oliver was grinning. ‘I know one way. She can make over all those cheques she's taken to us. All she has to do is sign them on the back, and hand them over.'

Piers lifted his hand. ‘Which doesn't recompense the charities from whom she's stolen. I'm rather keen to see they get what's due to them.'

‘You are mad, quite mad!' said Mrs Somers-Briggs, showing the whites of her eyes. ‘What makes you think I can be bullied into—'