Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery (13 page)

‘So Aubrey didn’t tell on you? He didn’t tell them what you did?’

‘Oh, I’m sure he told them exactly what we did. His dad’s job extended to groundsman, he knew where the mine shafts were and there was plenty of evidence we’d been using that tree as a den. No, I’ve thought about this for years and my best guess is that Aubrey told his dad and his dad told the headmistress everything, and she refused to believe it. Or refused to act upon it, which is more likely. So Aubrey and his dad left. What choice did they have?’

Flora slipped into an alley off Dogpole and headed for the castle, taking a short cut to avoid the late morning shoppers and tourists that crowded Shrewsbury’s main thoroughfares. As a child she’d known these streets so well she could navigate them in her sleep. She’d prided herself on finding the quickest ways from A to B – a skill that turned her into her dad’s favourite navigator when she started helping out at Shakers as a teenager. The town had changed so much since Flora’s childhood; these days she often challenged herself to find her way around with only her nose and her memory to guide her. The narrow side street she entered now had once been lined with metal dustbins and littered with fag ends, but the boom had seen cute boutiques open alongside cupcake shops and a tiny gift emporium. Now it was deserted again, the shop fronts blank-faced and sorry for themselves, the bustle of shoppers a distant echo.

Her sandals clicked on the cobbles. The lane narrowed even more and took a right turn up the hill. She picked up her pace, enjoying the slight burn in her thighs. Why should she worry about learning to drive? Walking was much healthier, not to mention good for stress.

A movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she swung around just in time to see the sleeve of a dark blue jacket disappear into a narrow doorway behind her. She paused for a second, then pressed on, her heart hammering unevenly. Silly to be spooked. Something else to blame Joy for. She focused on the top of the lane, on a red door that got nearer with every step. At the top she would turn right, then skip across another alley and emerge on Castle Gate. From there it was a mere hop down to Shakers.

But when she reached the top she was dismayed to find that her legendary bearings had deserted her. Instead of the expected alley, mapped in her mind so clearly, there was another narrow street running perpendicular to the one she’d just marched up. She couldn’t see any way to cross it directly, and from here couldn’t get a view of the orientating crenellations of the castle to guide her. On impulse, she turned right anyway. This way took her further uphill – she would head up until she reached the top, which had to be near the castle, and from there could easily find her way down again. When you’re lost, head for high ground, was what her dad had told her whenever he took her walking as a teenager.

This street was one she almost certainly hadn’t been up before. Flora observed the various buildings she passed, telling herself how interesting it was to be somewhere new in the town she knew so well. But in truth, the silence was bothering her. Or more specifically, the footsteps she kept imagining she could hear in the silence behind her.

There was no one there. She turned now for the tenth time, but again the cobbled street was empty. Or had she seen a flash of blue again? Just back there, next to that broken wooden gate with the lion’s head knocker. No. She shook her head firmly and pursed her lips, bending her head into the hike up the hill, determined not to look back again.

Something touched her legs. She was wearing her cut-off shorts and a light cotton T-shirt, the fabric starting to stick to her back already. When a warm sensation swept across her calves she let out a cry and jumped to the side, flattening her palms against the rough wall behind her.

A cat. The moggy meowed and stuck its tail high in the air.

‘Well, thanks a lot,’ Flora told it, panting. ‘You scared the shit out of me.’

The cat gave her a haughty stare, then showed her its rear. Flora laughed. She’d been stalked by a cat. Nothing to be so jumpy about.

She reached the top of the lane and saw an archway to her left. Why, she knew exactly where she was – this led around the back of the Regimental Museum and brought her out at the foot of the castle. She emerged into sunlight and the relief of a crowded street, turned right and headed down towards the station. There was a new shop down here she loved, selling vintage quilts and patchwork cushions and beautiful, intricate designs on fabric, from wall hangings to tea cosies. A framed collage of a hare caught her eye, and Flora stopped to admire it. Someone pushed past, jostling her against the plate glass, and as Flora refocused she noticed a figure across the street behind her. His face was hidden by a dark blue hood. It was impossible to tell whether or not he was looking at her, but somehow she knew he was. She whirled around, her line of vision broken every few seconds by the shoppers piling past. The moment she turned the figure hunched and moved away with the crowd. Within seconds he was gone.

‘Excuse me.’ A young woman with an impossibly wide buggy stood to Flora’s left, giving her a hard stare. Her words were polite but her look said, ‘Get out of the way, idiot.’ Flora apologised and walked on, dazed. Was someone following her? Maybe she hadn’t been imagining the footsteps back in the alley. She shivered involuntarily. Whatever she had or hadn’t imagined, that person in the hoodie had been real. And she could swear they had been watching her. But why?

She reached the busy road that led to the railway arches and breathed a sigh of relief. Although she hated to admit it, she was almost looking forward to seeing Marshall. If Flora was to be any help to Joy at all, she needed to get this Mr Felix business into perspective. Marshall would reassure her that it was nothing but the guilty mind of an old lady seeing revenge where there was none, tormenting herself with her memories.

Well, he’d probably just say it was all bullshit, but that amounted to the same thing.

Flora turned into the entrance to the arches, flinching as a train shot over the tracks ahead. She felt a drop of rain on her face and quickened her step. She headed for Shakers, keeping close to the buildings as the rain started to fall more heavily. She heard a noise behind her and turned, still jumpy. Her foot went sideways in a pothole, pain searing up her ankle as she started to fall. But before she hit the ground her forward motion was halted by a pair of strong hands, gripping her arms above the elbows.

Flora screamed. She couldn’t help it, her nerves were frayed to shreds. But almost as soon as the girlish sound had escaped her lips she realised that the hands gripping her upper arms had already let go. She brushed herself down, mumbling an apology. She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks. The man in front of her wore a smart grey suit, tailored to fit perfectly. His green eyes regarded her with obvious concern.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. His voice was like chocolate.

‘It’s cool,’ Flora replied, flicking her fringe off her forehead. ‘No probs.’

Had she just said “no probs”? And “cool”? Oh boy. This guy was going to think she was a total idiot. An idiot trying to imitate a teenager.

‘It was my fault anyway,’ she added, lowering her voice which had suddenly turned unaccountably high-pitched. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

‘No. I noticed.’

Flora stole another look at the stranger. Out of Marshall’s mouth that statement would have been loaded with sarcasm, but out of this guy’s it seemed completely without guile.

‘I thought I was being followed,’ she found herself saying. ‘I was a bit spooked.’

‘That’s terrible. Are you okay?’ Genuine concern clouded his eyes. He looked behind her as if he might see the culprit hovering there. From the way his shoulders strained against the expensive fabric of his suit, Flora had no doubt he’d be able to sort out her hooded stalker in no time.

If only this guy had turned up a bit earlier.

A sticky reminder of her fraught trail through Shrewsbury’s back streets lingered in the shape of sweat marks on the armpits of her T-shirt. She probably stank too, after panicking and practically running up the hill like that. Plus her hair was plastered to her head now, although they were reasonably sheltered from the diminishing rain under the canopy where they stood. Facing each other. Not talking.

Seconds passed, and Flora found herself torn. For some unaccountable reason she wanted to prolong this odd meeting. She wanted to ask him what he was doing here – where exactly had he come from, anyway? And she couldn’t help but like the way his eyes held hers, crinkling at the corners in concern. He smelt fantastic, some kind of musky aftershave or cologne. If only he’d come across her looking normal and unflustered, not sweaty and staring over her own shoulder like a paranoid simpleton.

‘Are you lost?’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘Did you come down here by mistake?’

‘No.’ She smiled. In a minute he’d be offering to escort her home.

And maybe he’ll get down on one knee and propose. Get over yourself, Lively! Flora gave herself an internal scolding. What was she doing, standing around in the car park with a total stranger? And … oh, just great. There was Marshall, leaning against the window, staring down at them. Craning his head to get a good look.

‘I’d better go,’ Flora said reluctantly.

‘Oh. Okay. Do you need a lift anywhere?’

She smiled. ‘No, I work just here.’

‘Just where?’

‘There.’ Flora pointed to the faded sign above the entrance to Shakers. She noticed that the ‘r’ was so faded it was almost invisible. “Shakes” the sign read. He probably thought it was some kind of fast food outlet. Or worse.

‘You work there?’ Was it just her imagination or did the handsome stranger recoil slightly? Flora couldn’t tell if his emphasis had been on the word
work
or
there
, but she was right about him not being impressed.

‘I own it,’ she said, trying to win back some credibility. ‘It’s a removal company. Shakers.’

The guy in the suit was nodding. His eyes had clouded over again, and she could have sworn he looked a little sad. Maybe he was disappointed she didn’t need rescuing after all.

Fat chance. More likely he was yet another guy frightened off by a woman who owned her own business.

Aware of Marshall’s eyes boring down from above, Flora said a hasty goodbye and ran the last few steps. She pulled the metal door shut behind her and stood for a moment, her back pressed against it. Her heart was pounding again.

‘Are you okay?’

When she reached the office Marshall was reclining with an air of entirely fake and unconvincing calm. He threw the question at her without meeting her eyes. He knew she’d seen him spying.

‘I’m fine. Why?’ She threw her tote bag under the desk and flopped into her chair.

‘You look a bit flushed.’

‘And you saw me outside talking to a stranger,’ added Flora. No point beating about the bush.

‘A stranger?’ He looked up and tilted his head. ‘You didn’t recognise him? I mean, you don’t know him?’

Flora shrugged. ‘I just bumped into him.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Literally. I was walking back through town and I … It doesn’t matter now.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ She was too tired to get into it. Marshall had that air of tenseness about him that always set her on edge. There was something eating him, she could tell.

‘Can’t help noticing you’re kinda late, Flora.’

She picked up the message pad and pretended to read it. All the messages were at least three days old. ‘I went to drop Otto off at the Maples. You moan whenever I bring him into work.’

‘Bit risky, isn’t it? Leaving him there.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know my theory about that place. Dogs trying to hang themselves, throwing themselves under mobility scooters, chewing on electrical cabling. All those pooches are plain losing the will.’

She looked around her desk but there was nothing to hand she could throw. Nothing that would do enough damage, anyway. Instead she sent him daggers with her eyes. He had the good sense to let it drop.

‘Well, I’d better go grab a sandwich. You want anything?’

She shook her head. Marshall hauled himself up but stopped in the doorway. He leaned his elbow against the frame and rubbed the back of his neck. Flora switched on her computer. She looked at Marshall and raised her eyebrows.

‘Something bothering you?’

‘No. Just … no. Nothing.’

She watched him struggle for the right words. What was going on with him?

‘So, this guy,’ he said, lifting his other arm and lacing his fingers behind his head. His T-shirt hoisted up, exposing a half inch of tanned skin above the waistline of his jeans. Flora dropped her eyes to the keyboard.

‘What guy?’

‘The one in the car park.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘What did he say to you?’

She shrugged. ‘Nothing.’

‘Didn’t look like nothing.’

‘Well, it was. Like I said, I bumped into him. He made sure I was okay, then he went. Why are you so interested?’

‘I’m not. Just looking out for you.’

Sure you are. She kept her mouth shut tight, not trusting herself to speak. The next time she looked up, Marshall had gone.

Good riddance.

The phone rang and Flora grabbed it, eager for a diversion. It was a customer, but one with bad news.

‘Okay. I understand.’ She replaced the receiver and put her head in her hands. Another cancellation. That was the third this month. The first two had used the excuse that they weren’t moving after all, but at least this customer had the decency to tell her the truth. He’d found a better deal elsewhere, he said. An offer he couldn’t refuse.

And Flora knew exactly where that offer had come from. Bloody Rockfords. How she’d like to get David Rockford in a room and tell him what she thought of him and his empire-expanding, tramp all over the little guy, business enterprise.

She picked up her pen and threw it across the room, where it landed with a clatter against the side of the bin.

‘Bad shot,’ said Richie.

Flora’s head flipped up. ‘Where did you come from?’ He was like a ninja sometimes, this boy.