Grave Concerns (31 page)

‘Just hold the line,’ came the unsuspecting voice. After a pause in which he could hear a computer keyboard being tapped, he was told, ‘Yes, I can confirm that. A double room, for a Mr and Mrs W. Slater on twelfth of August of last year. Is that all you need?’

‘Have you any way of knowing whether they did actually take up the booking? I mean – they didn’t just reserve it and then not show up?’

‘Definitely not. We have details of their payment, meals taken, room service – they were definitely here. Though I can’t say exactly what time they arrived.’

‘That’s very helpful. I’m much obliged to you.’ He put the phone down, just before Maggs let out a shriek of admiring laughter.

‘I’m obliged to you,’ she mimicked. ‘You sounded like somebody’s butler.’

‘They told me, though,’ he smirked. ‘They were definitely there that night.’

She squinted at him sceptically. ‘All you know, Mr Clever Detective, is that two people calling themselves Slater stayed there. Oldest trick in the book – using someone else’s name.’

Drew paused, and then shook his head. ‘If they did, then that means there were at least four people in the conspiracy to kill Gwen – and I don’t believe that.’

‘Why not? Doctor Jarvis, Trevor and the
Slaters – it would all fit quite nicely, if they were in it together as a team.’

‘You might as well throw in Henrietta Fielding and Karl Habergas while you’re at it. You’ve got a full half-dozen then. And we wouldn’t have a hope in hell of ever discovering what happened, because they’d all be lying their heads off. But I don’t think it’s as complicated as that.’

‘Maybe Dr Jarvis was right all along – she committed suicide, and they all agreed to bury her, according to some sort of last request.’

‘No.’ Drew shook his head. ‘There’s some connection between all these different strands. If we put together every single thing we know about Gwen Absolon, we might work out what it is. But just now, what I should really be doing is driving over to Plant’s and confronting Daphne with this story of Jeffrey’s. The trouble is, I’d much rather face a suspected murderer with a wild set of accusations than do that.’

‘You have to be more subtle,’ Maggs advised him. ‘Let her think you’re scared of tackling her – and then drop on her when she’s least expecting it. Preferably in front of a whole crowd of influential people like doctors and nursing home matrons.’

Drew chuckled. ‘If only,’ he said, feeling more cheerful.

Maggs nodded towards the window. ‘Looks as
if we’ve got visitors. They seem familiar.’

‘It’s the labrador people – the Graingers,’ Drew said. ‘How sweet. They’ve come to see the grave.’

‘It’s a wonder they haven’t brought a bunch of flowers,’ said Maggs sourly. ‘Some people don’t have anything better to do than dwell on the past. Imagine getting that morbid about an animal!’

‘Don’t be so heartless. Just for that, you can take them up to the field. Do a bit of work for a change.’

Any chance of a sharp riposte was interrupted by the knock on the office door. Sticking her tongue out at Drew, Maggs pulled open the door, and adopted a saccharine smile. ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Mr and Mrs Grainger, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ Hubert Grainger confirmed, his voice gruffly surprised at being so swiftly identified. ‘We were wondering if it was convenient to visit Seti’s grave?’

‘Our dog,’ came the milder voice of his wife, as Maggs blinked at the odd name.

‘Yes, of course,’ gushed Maggs. ‘Just follow me round this path, and I’ll take you up there. You might not remember exactly where it is, otherwise.’

‘Oh, I think we will,’ said Hubert. ‘But you’re welcome to escort us.’

‘
What
did you say your dog’s name was?’ Maggs asked, for something to say, as she strode
ahead of them along the diagonal path towards the pet’s area.

‘Seti,’ supplied Mildred.

‘Ah,’ Maggs murmured. ‘Right.’

‘You seem to have had some new burials since we were last here,’ the woman continued, pausing to cast a comprehensive glance across the field.

‘Um – only one, I think,’ Maggs replied. ‘It’s been a bit quiet for weeks now.’

‘Really? Why’s that, then?’

‘It just happens like that. People seem to die in clusters. It was the same when Drew worked at Plant’s – you know – the undertaker in Bradbourne? But we’re starting to pick up a lot more business. Soon we’ll be rushed off our feet. Of course, it’s going to take time for people to make the change to our sort of service. Death rituals are very entrenched, and people are incredibly conservative – we knew that when we started. We think it’ll turn round, though.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, dear. And meanwhile, you can do a nice sideline in pets, perhaps?’

‘Well,’ Maggs laughed, ‘So far, you’re our only customer. Here we are, look.’ She stopped at the modest mound that was their dog’s grave. Grass was beginning to grow over it and the absence of a marker made it difficult to identify.

‘Hubert – we must put something here to show
where he is,’ the woman said. ‘We can do that, can’t we?’ She turned to Maggs.

‘Within reason. We prefer something wooden, or a living plant. Drew did say initially that he wouldn’t allow stone memorials, but now he’s decided a piece of natural rock would be acceptable.’

‘That sounds nice – doesn’t it, Hubert?’ Mildred looked up at her husband, her expression a mixture of beseeching and a sudden acute grief. Maggs was bewildered.

‘There, there, old girl,’ he soothed. ‘Keep a grip.’

Mildred Grainger sniffed, and then squeezed her nose tightly between her thumb and forefinger. Maggs began to withdraw, wondering how anybody could be so attached to a dog. As if reading her mind, Mildred spoke to her.

‘It’s not just Seti, you see,’ she apologised. ‘We had another loss last year, and now anything to do with graves or dying can start me off.’

‘Mildred!’ her husband remonstrated. ‘The young lady doesn’t want to hear about that.’

‘That’s OK,’ Maggs assured him. ‘People often like to talk when they come here. It’s understandable, really.’

‘No, no – Hubert’s right,’ Mildred insisted. ‘We should keep our grief to ourselves. I’m all right now.’

‘I’ll leave you, then,’ said Maggs, and strode away before they could embarrass themselves further.

In the office, she and Drew watched the couple potter around the graves. ‘They had another loss last year, she said,’ Maggs told him. ‘And this is bringing it all back.’

‘They said something about that when they first came here,’ Drew remembered. ‘Something about it being one tragedy after another. Sometimes trouble does come in spades.’

Maggs tried to busy herself with some paperwork. Drew continued to gaze out of the window. ‘They’re a long time up there,’ he remarked, fifteen minutes after the Graingers had been left at the graveside. ‘What on earth can they be doing?’

Maggs glanced out of the window. ‘At least they’re not kneeling in the wet grass,’ she said. ‘They must have some sense.’

Drew sighed heavily.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘Need you ask? Jeffrey. Daphne. Karen. Genevieve—’

‘They’re going,’ she interrupted. Together they watched the elderly couple make their way slowly down the field. Drew went to the back door of the office, and stood conspicuously, in case the Graingers wanted to speak to him.

‘All right?’ he asked politely, as they reached him.

‘Yes, yes – thank you,’ Hubert Grainger responded. ‘We’ve put our minds at rest.’ He looked back over his shoulder, oddly, not at the dog’s grave, but much further to the east.

‘Good,’ said Drew, a little mystified. ‘That’s good. Any time you want to come, feel free.’ They disappeared around the side path, and he heard car doors slam a few moments later.

‘What did he mean?’ wondered Maggs. ‘Putting their minds at rest?’

‘Probably heard rumours of witchcraft, like everybody else,’ said Drew glumly. ‘Came to make sure the dog hadn’t been dug up.’

‘Funny name it’s got,’ she said. ‘Setty. What sort of a name is that? You’d think it would be a red setter, not a labrador.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Drew protested. ‘We’ve got better things to do than worry about a labrador’s name. I’ve got this cremation next week. Desmond’s going to make more snide remarks. And what the hell am I going to do about Daphne? How
could
she be so underhand? Bribing Jeffrey like that. It wasn’t fair to him, apart from anything else. She must have known it could lose him his job.’

Maggs huffed a sarcastic breath. ‘Don’t get your knickers twisted about Jeffrey,’ she
admonished. ‘He knew what he was doing. If it’d been up to me, I’d have wiped the floor with him. He
betrayed
you. He’s not worth bothering about.’

‘And then there’s Karen. I should spend lots of time with her this weekend. If you’re right about her being depressed, she’s going to need a lot of TLC.’

‘I’ll be doing some of that myself. I said I’d spend all day Sunday with Auntie Sharon. You wouldn’t believe the stuff they’ve sent home with her. Her bedroom’s like something out of
ER
.’

‘Sounds grim,’ he sympathised. ‘Are you sure you can face it?’

‘I’m going to have to. Though I’d rather deal with a dead body any day.’ She heard herself and gave a horrified laugh. ‘Listen to me!. I really do love Auntie Sharon, you know. She’s always good to talk to – I just have to try and forget she’s ill. Don’t you think?’

‘Sounds the right sort of atttitude to me. Nobody wants to be labelled as a cancer patient. It makes people forget who they really are.’

One of their companionable silences ensued, though neither of them made even a pretence of being busy. Drew flipped through a trade magazine, reading with detachment an article on the escalating takeovers of British undertakers by the American-owned SCI. He found himself
taking a degree of satisfaction in the inexorable march of sanitised, synthetic, over-priced funerals. Sooner or later, the population would rise up in protest, and that could only be to his direct benefit.

Maggs didn’t appear to be doing anything at all. She sat in the wooden chair near the window, humming tunelessly to herself, apparently lost in thought. Suddenly, she stiffened. ‘Sarah!’ she said. ‘Does that name mean anything to you?’

‘Hmmm?’ he mumbled. ‘What d’you say?’

‘Sarah. Somebody connected with Gwen Oojamaflip was called Sarah.’

‘That’s right. Sarah Gliddon. The girl who was killed in Egypt.’

‘How old was she?’

Drew sighed, and accorded her his full attention. ‘Twenty-seven, I think. I tried to speak to her husband, remember? He slammed the phone down on me.’

‘Well, Gwen’s handicapped son – Nathan – had a girlfriend called Sarah. She’d be just that sort of age now. Stuart told me a bit about her. Said she was terribly fond of Nathan, and must have been devastated when he died.’

‘It’s a very common name. So what?’

‘Well – how about this? What if it was the same girl? She kept in touch with Gwen after Nathan died, and decided to go on one of her trips. When
she was killed, Genevieve somehow figured out who she was, and was so furious and jealous about her Ma still hanging on to memories of Nathan, she flipped and did her in. Makes sense, doesn’t it? She’s crazy enough for that, isn’t she?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Drew disagreed vehemently. ‘You’ve got to stop thinking about Genevieve like that. You’re getting obsessive about it. Unless you can stay open to the whole range of possibilities, you’re just wasting time.’

She looked downcast. ‘Maybe I was getting carried away. Right – you’re right. It was a daft idea.’

‘Well then,’ he said more calmly, ‘let’s stick to facts, eh?’

‘Yes, boss,’ she said meekly. ‘But I bet you there are connections somewhere. You said you were looking for connections.’

‘That’s true, I did. Now who can I ask about women called Sarah, I wonder?’

They both knew there was only one possible person.

The weekend started reasonably well. Karen was noticeably more cheerful, and Stephanie marked her eleven-month birthday by standing unsupported for several seconds, crowing triumphantly. ‘She’ll be walking before she’s a year,’ said Drew excitedly.

‘I was two days under ten months,’ said Karen. ‘But I didn’t talk until I was one and a half. They thought I was mentally defective.’

‘I’ve no idea how old I was,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t expect I was much of a prodigy.’

‘You were thirteen months walking, and at fifteen month you knew a hundred words,’ she said with authority. ‘I asked your mother.’

‘Amazing,’ he laughed. ‘First, that she can remember, and second that I was so articulate.’

‘It’s good that Steph won’t be an only child,’ Karen ventured, alerting Drew to the fact that she was in the mood to talk. ‘I was always wishing I had brothers and sisters.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Drew said, with feeling. ‘Never much good at sharing, me. I didn’t see how my Mum would ever fit everything in, if she had more kids. She seemed impossibly busy, just with me.’

‘Did you have an imaginary friend? Or kids to play with next door?’

‘Nope. I had a cousin Nanette, who cried if I so much as touched her, and wore clothes she couldn’t bear to get dirty. She was horrible – like a stupid doll. She came with her mother sometimes, and I was supposed to play with her. I had no idea what I was meant to do.’

‘You’ve turned out quite well, then, considering,’ she said with a grin.

‘It wasn’t so bad. Later on, I felt quite grown up, coming home on my own and getting the supper started. It was nice having all that space.’

‘A child of your time,’ she remarked. ‘Latchkey kid.’

‘Doesn’t happen now. They go to after-school clubs, or someone’s paid to meet them from school. Never get a minute to themselves, as far as I can see.’

‘Yeah,’ she mumbled, clearly following another train of thought. ‘Drew—’

‘What?’

‘I told the Head I was definitely not going back after this baby. I’m going to stay at home with them, whatever happens. That’s all right, isn’t it?’

He felt cold, a stiff breeze of responsibility chilling him to the bone. He turned his head away from his wife and daughter, struggling to give an acceptable reply. ‘It – well – it changes things,’ he said. ‘It puts more pressure on the business. We’ll have to do some sums, to see whether it’ll work.’

‘We won’t need to buy much,’ she persisted. ‘We can get by without new clothes, and I can grow veg in the garden. I’ll get some Maternity Benefit for a bit. And maybe by the winter, you’ll be bringing in a lot more business.’

‘I haven’t had that two thousand quid from Genevieve yet,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not sure she’ll ever actually give it me. I’m not sure I can rely on her promises.’ The reference to Genevieve was rash. It brought a renewed flood of physical reaction that took his breath away. He was full of a terrible ache, guilt and sadness finding expression in his bloodstream and nervous system. He felt inflated, blown up with emotion, unable to speak.

‘You’ll get it,’ said Karen fiercely, ‘if I have to go and demand it myself. She’s caused enough
trouble, without withholding payment. You’ve earned that money – every penny of it.’

He laughed weakly. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘And when we get it, we’ll buy a lot of sensible things, and save the rest for the electricity bill.’

At weekends, the office phone was redirected into the house, so that Peaceful Repose calls and personal ones all rang through on the instrument in the Slocombes’ kitchen. When Drew answered it at twelve forty-five on Saturday, just as Karen was ladling out some thick tomato soup into bowls for them both, he had no way of knowing just how important a call it would turn out to be.

‘Is that Peaceful Repose Funerals?’ came a female voice. On Drew’s confirmation, it continued, ‘Thank goodness! It’s taken us ages to find your number. This is St Joseph’s Hospice – in West Whittleham. We have a Mrs Hilda Jones for you. We don’t have a mortuary, so we’d be grateful if you could come today.’

‘West Whittleham?’ Drew spluttered. ‘That’s thirty miles away! Are you sure it’s me you want?’

‘There’s no mistake. I expect the relatives will contact you shortly. Mrs Jones has only been with us for five days. A very sad case. She had pancreatic cancer and it wasn’t diagnosed until the very final stages. It’s all been very sudden.’

‘Could you give me the name of the next of kin?’ Drew asked.

‘Hang on a minute.’ He could hear papers rustling, and some whispering, before the woman came back. ‘Mrs Caroline Kennett, from Cullompton. She’s the niece. I’ll give you her number—’ She recited a string of digits. Drew hurriedly wrote them down

‘I’ll try and be there before five,’ he told her. ‘I’ll have to contact my partner first.’

Karen made him finish his soup before trying to locate Maggs. His stunned surprise took some time to wear off.

‘She came here a couple of weeks ago,’ he said. ‘Maggs showed her round. She’s the woman who witnessed the burial of that body last summer. Or thinks she did. The police didn’t seem too sure. She must have decided we’d do for her aunt. What an extraordinary way to get business.’

It was three-thirty before they heard Maggs’s bike revving outside. She’d been out when Drew called, and her mother had no idea where she’d gone. All she could do was promise to pass on the message the moment she returned. ‘Phew!’ sighed Drew. ‘We’ll just about make it. Where’ve you been?’

‘Shopping,’ she said. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

He’d got the van ready, and looked up the
route they’d have to take to the hospice. Caroline Kennett still hadn’t made contact, and he’d been hesitant to bother her. Protocol decreed that the first contact should come from the family, but in this instance, he was very unsure. ‘What if she changes her mind?’ he said. ‘We’ll be accused of abducting the aunt’s body.’

‘Nonsense,’ Karen had scoffed. ‘You’ve had your instructions from the hospice. If she changes her mind now, you can bill her for your wasted time and petrol.’

Maggs was excited by the whole episode. ‘This is more like it,’ she crowed. ‘A real live call-out. Just like Plant’s.’

‘Sixty miles, round trip,’ Drew reminded her. ‘We won’t be back till six or later. And then you’ll have to stay on a bit, laying her out. The good news is, it doesn’t sound as if she had time for any chemotherapy. You know what that does to them.’

‘Too right,’ she laughed. Bodies arriving from a hospice were notoriously unpleasant; the combination of terminal cancer and massive doses of chemicals generally leading to almost immediate putrifaction. For an undertaker abjuring embalming, this could cause unsavoury problems.

‘Off we go then,’ he sang, waving a careless farewell to Karen and Stephanie.

The route he’d picked out lay through a number of small villages for the first ten miles. One of them happened to be Fenniton where Genevieve lived. ‘What a coincidence,’ said Maggs, ingenuously.

When they arrived, the hospice receptionist directed them to a small room at the back of the building, where the body lay on a bench, wrapped in a thin white sheet. ‘No need for cremation papers, thank goodness,’ said the nurse who’d shown them the way. ‘That’s always a relief, especially with someone from a distance.’

‘Where did she live?’ asked Drew curiously. ‘Not Cullompton, surely?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said the woman vaguely. ‘Some little village, over your way. Don’t you know the family, then? The niece seemed to have a very high regard for you.’

Maggs preened. ‘Looks as if we’ve made a good impression.’

In the van again, she remembered something. ‘Mrs Kennett said she had an aunt,’ she recalled. ‘She was going to visit her, but got a taxi to us, before going there for lunch. Didn’t say where her auntie lived, though.’

Heading west, into the setting sun, Drew was forced to drive slowly. The dappled shadow of trees lining the country lanes alternated with sudden bursts of blinding sunlight. They followed
the same route as before, and as they approached Fenniton Maggs gave a sudden yell. ‘There’s Stuart!’ she shouted. ‘Why isn’t he at work?’

Drew slowed down. ‘Presumably he gets a day off sometimes. Do you want me to stop?’

‘Oh, well—’ she hesitated. ‘OK.’

The boy looked up in surprise as the vehicle drew up beside him. Maggs leant out of the window. ‘Hiya!’ she said.

‘Oh – hi!’ he managed, as he recognised her. ‘What are you up to?’

‘We’ve been on a removal,’ she said, importantly. ‘We’ve got a body in the back.’

‘Maggs!’ Drew reproached her. ‘Mind what you say.’

‘Oh, Stuart won’t be upset – will you?’ she breezed. ‘He lives on a farm – he’s used to death.’

‘I need to be, round here,’ he said irritably. ‘I’ve just been listening to the woman next door moaning on about her friend dying all of a sudden. You’d think it had never happened to anybody before.
Only seventy-three, and never a day’s illness. Then she has to go and die of cancer before we know what’s happening
.’ He mimicked a tremulous old woman’s voice. ‘
Poor Hilda – she had so much to live for
.’ He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t, I know, but you ought to have heard her.’

‘
Hilda?
’ repeated Drew and Maggs on a
single note. ‘Not Hilda Jones?’ added Drew, incredulously.

‘No idea,’ Stuart said, staring. ‘She was in a hospice miles away. Died last night, of cancer of the pancreas, apparently.’

‘Well, fancy that,’ said Maggs cheerfully. ‘Small world, eh?’

Drew didn’t say anything. He was congratulating himself on successfully biting back the question:
How’s Genevieve?

Drew phoned Caroline Kennett as soon as he got back. The residual influence of Plant’s made him impatient with families who were dilatory in contacting the undertaker, even though he knew quite well that they had innumerable other things to do, as well as coping with grief, shock, denial and bewilderment. A man’s voice answered.

‘Is that Mr Kennett?’

‘Speaking,’ came the voice. ‘Who’s this?’

‘My name’s Drew Slocombe – from Peaceful Repose Funerals. I’m phoning to tell you that your wife’s aunt is now here in our cool room. We’ve just collected her from the hospice, as requested. Um – under the circumstances, it would be very helpful if you or your wife could call in here on Monday to make all the necessary arrangements. We’d hope to have the burial by Wednesday at the latest.’ He grimaced to himself,
knowing that by Wednesday the body would have probably begun to deteriorate quite noticeably.

‘
Wednesday!
’ the man repeated. ‘Good grief. That’s a bit quick, isn’t it?’

Drew stifled a sigh. This was going to be a recurrent problem, he realised. People who chose him for their funerals without a full awareness of the implications would have to be told some unpalatable facts, particularly in warm weather. Not for the first time, he wondered why it was that Britain went in for such delayed funerals. Even in America, where embalming was the norm, they left a scant two or three days between the death and the disposal, in most cases. The majority of countries across the world managed it in twenty-four hours.

‘Not really,’ he said patiently. ‘Considering she died last night. If it helps, I can take your instructions over the phone.’

‘I’ll fetch Caroline,’ the man said heavily.

‘Hello?’ came a woman’s hesitant voice, a minute later.

‘Mrs Kennett,’ said Drew. ‘Has your husband explained that we have Mrs Jones here now, in North Staverton? I’ll need to ask you a few questions about the sort of funeral you’d like. And I assume you’ve been told about registering the death? That has to be done before we can go ahead with the burial. I was just saying to
Mr Kennett that we really do need to do it by Wednesday at the latest.’

‘We never thought she’d die so quickly,’ blurted the woman. ‘I can’t believe it yet. Poor Uncle George is never going to come to terms with it.’

‘She has a husband?’

‘Yes, but he’s not capable of making any arrangements. I’m having to do everything for him. He’s practically senile now, poor old chap. It’s got much worse over the past few months.’

‘Sad,’ Drew sympathised.

‘Yes. But poor Aunt Hilda!’ she returned to the main subject. ‘I was chatting to her yesterday afternoon. Telling her about your field, and how nice it all was. And she suddenly said she wanted to be buried there. She knew about it already, of course, from the papers. She’d been taking an interest, as it happens. Funny how things come together, isn’t it? I told her how I’d seen something from the train, and she said she’d been wondering about that woman, ever since she first read about it.’

Drew politely let her prattle on, not really listening, running through in his head all the things he and Maggs would have to do on Monday. Wondering who’d dig the grave, now Jeffrey had gone.

At last there was a pause. ‘So you can come and see us on Monday?’ he interposed. ‘I can show
you where she’ll be buried – and you can decide on a coffin. The best thing would be for you to go and register the death first – I’m afraid that’ll have to be at the Registrar in West Whittleham. I checked at the hospice for you, and they open at ten. The office is in South Street. You need a doctor’s certificate, if they haven’t provided it already, and then get the death certificate—’ Although this had never been part of his work at Plant’s, Drew knew the procedure off by heart. The bureaucracy of it offended him at times, forcing confused relatives to drive around the county chasing doctors and registrars, but he also knew that he could help by breaking it down into easy stages.

‘Oh, goodness,’ the woman bleated. ‘It all sounds very time-consuming. Especially as I don’t drive.’

‘Can’t your husband take you?’

‘No – he’ll have to be at work. But my son might.’ Drew left it at that; there was a limit to how much he could do to assist.

‘Let me give you my phone number, and we can talk again tomorrow,’ he offered. ‘This is really just to let you know that everything’s in hand. I don’t want to push you into making any decisions tonight.’