Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery (20 page)

‘Well of course, it’s not her physical safety I’m concerned about,’ she said, smiling up at the warden disarmingly. ‘Joy’s incredibly stressed about this sudden move – she was on the phone to me before breakfast this morning, worrying herself sick about it. Whatever the rights or wrongs of her fears, Cynthia, you’ve got to consider her mental health as well. Independence is so important to people like Joy. Take it away and she’ll just get worse.’

Cynthia tutted. ‘Independence is an illusion in a place like this. Besides, we do consider mental health. We have groupwork and counselling sessions – there’s an Adapting to Special Care programme Joy will be put on straight away. They meet once a week in the yoga room. It’s very positive.’

Flora tried to imagine Joy taking part in a groupwork session. Sharing her feelings. Circle time. She pulled a face, then tried to cover it up by biting a nail. Cynthia wasn’t watching, she was staring out of the window towards the medical centre.

‘Reports for you to sign.’ Elizabeth appeared at Flora’s shoulder, holding a sheaf of papers. The warden held out her hands distractedly, then dropped the papers on her desk.

‘You’ve got no idea what it’s like here at the moment,’ she said. It was hard to tell who exactly she was talking to. Elizabeth looked at Flora, who shrugged. ‘We’ve had the police sniffing around, asking questions about the Captain, quizzing us about our COSHH procedures.’

‘Control of substances hazardous to health,’ Elizabeth explained in answer to Flora’s raised eyebrow. ‘Drugs and stuff.’

‘Ah.’ Flora pursed her lips. ‘Joy said something about you searching her unit. She said you’d been tipped off.’

‘And just as well we did. Do you know she actually tried to flush her medication down the toilet? That’s not the behaviour of a well person. Maybe you’re right,’ the warden mused. ‘Maybe we should get Joy assessed by the centre’s psychiatrist.’

Not good. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary. She’s under stress, and she’s worried about … well, lots of things. But there’s nothing wrong with her mind.’ Great, thought Flora. Joy sent me here to improve things, not make them worse.

‘Well, that’s all fine then. She’ll be much happier when she settles into Special Care, you’ll see. She hasn’t got any actual family now, has she?’

Flora shook her head.

‘Well, we’ll look after her. Money doesn’t seem to be a problem, which is good. I’m sure Joy can afford to live up on the third floor for a long time to come.’

About three months, if the rumours were true. Flora blanched at the thought.

‘At least she has you to help keep her spirits up,’ Elizabeth said to Flora.

The warden shook her head. ‘Oh, you won’t be able to see so much of her now I’m afraid.’

Flora looked up, alarmed. ‘Why not?’

‘Visits to the third floor are monitored. Guests have to be signed in, or have a special pass. We have to protect our most vulnerable residents. I’m sure you understand.’

Like you protected the Captain, Flora didn’t say.

‘How do I get a pass?’

‘I issue the passes, and guests who are on the approved list can be signed in with permission.’ The warden’s expression hardened, and the look she gave Flora was loaded with meaning. No passes or permissions for nosey parkers who asked difficult questions and made a nuisance of themselves. Flora swallowed. The problem was, she wasn’t quite done with the questions yet.

‘Speaking of visitors, there was a man who came to see the Captain the day before he died. He’s a solicitor called Mr Vasco. Would he have been issued with a pass?’

A door slammed somewhere down the hall. The warden’s expression was blank, impossible to read, but Flora was sure she saw her fingers curl more tightly around the edge of the desk.

‘I’ll check, hold on a mo.’ Elizabeth headed back out to reception, her skirt swishing against Flora’s arm. ‘What did you say his name was?’

‘Vasco.’

This time Flora watched Cynthia’s face closely. ‘Do you know him?’ she asked. ‘Is he some kind of official Maples legal representative?’

The warden seemed to have turned to stone. Not a single muscle moved, not even a flicker of her eye. The clock on the wall behind her head ticked hopefully. Flora started to feel uncomfortable.

Finally the warden smiled. ‘Vasker? Never heard that name before. I’m afraid legal advice is outside our remit here at the Maples. We have medical staff, as you know, and all sorts of other facilities for our residents. But they have to arrange some things for themselves.’

Flora didn’t bother correcting her. Elizabeth called out from reception.

‘No one by that name in the book for April at all. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?’

‘Pretty sure.’ Flora pushed herself up from the low chair and stood in the doorway. ‘Are there any visitors signed in to see the Captain the day before he died.’

‘Oh, I don’t think I can tell you that, Flora.’ Elizabeth looked pained, but her eyes were trained beyond Flora’s head.

‘No, you can’t.’ The warden’s voice was clipped. When she next spoke she was standing right behind her. ‘Well, if there’s nothing else?’

Her dubious welcome fast running out, Flora scrambled around for an idea.

‘Speaking of the Captain, do you happen to know when his funeral is?’ Her first thought was that if the executors had set a date it would confirm that the postmortem was over and done with. Elizabeth answered immediately.

‘Actually, it’s on Wednesday. I saw it in the paper.’

Flora wasn’t the only one to register surprise.

‘Really?’ the warden said. ‘Which paper?’

‘The Star, I think. It was in the obituaries – I always read them, don’t you?’ Cynthia shook her head from side to side very slowly. ‘Well, his name just caught my eye, it’s so unusual. Did you know it, Flora? Solomon Wares. It’s his funeral on Wednesday afternoon with the reading of the will straight after. Bless his heart, I mean who’ll be going to the funeral, anyway? It’s only a cremation. He had no family, and hardly any friends left.’

‘Joy was his friend,’ Flora said softly.

Elizabeth bit her lip. ‘Well, maybe she should go along. Perhaps he left her something.’

It was certainly a possibility. But finding out the main beneficiary of that will would at least give Flora a name, and the best case scenario was that the person named had nothing to do with Vasco, or Ida, and all Flora’s wild theories were plain wrong. Then she could finally convince Joy there really was nothing suspicious about the Captain’s death and they could put the whole thing to bed once and for all.

‘I think Joy’s too ill to go,’ she said. ‘And I don’t think it would be good for her anyway. Too stressful.’ Flora smiled ruefully at the receptionist. ‘Poor old Captain. I guess he won’t have much of a send-off.’

‘Someone from here should go,’ said Elizabeth. She looked at the warden nervously.

Cynthia returned her gaze with a grave smile. ‘It’ll be an honour to attend the funeral as a representative of the Maples. I’ll be there to say a last farewell.’

Last person to see him alive. The only witness to his death. And the one to say a final goodbye. Flora shuddered. For the warden of a retirement village, Cynthia wasn’t exactly what you’d call warm.

The warden rounded the reception desk and held up the wooden flap for Flora. She gave Elizabeth a little wave, then followed Cynthia out of the main doors.

‘Oh, by the way. There’s something I need to tell you. I’m so sorry to have to break this news but I’m afraid we won’t be needing Shakers’ services for our residents anymore.’

‘Pardon?’ Flora stared at the warden, her mouth hanging open. ‘You don’t need our services?’

‘That’s right. We’ll see the contract out as agreed under its existing terms, which is two weeks’ notice from either party. But we don’t have any new residents moving in – or out – in the next fortnight, so this is it I’m afraid.’

‘But … why?’

The warden smiled, and for the first time in the last hour her smile looked genuine. ‘We got a better price elsewhere. We’re in a recession, you know. We have to get the best deal for our residents.’

By the time Flora could think how to respond the warden had gone. She stood by the glass doors, the wind whipping around her bare legs, her stomach churning at the thought of telling Marshall. Ditched. Their main contract – practically the only thing keeping Shakers afloat – gone.

There was only one explanation.

Rockfords.

***

Flora found Joy in her unit, packing. She was kneeling on the floor, half-heartedly throwing photo albums into a ratty-looking cardboard box.

‘I need to make a start,’ she told Flora. ‘Otherwise I just won’t have the heart for it.’

‘Come on.’ Flora held out her hands and pulled Joy to her feet. ‘Leave it for now. Let’s go for a walk.’

Positioned on the side of the River Severn, the Maples had its own rocky stretch of bank with wooden handrails and a platform to let wheelchairs get up close and personal with the ducks. Flora guided Joy to a silvered wooden bench and pulled out the packet of biscuits she’d grabbed from Joy’s kitchenette. While her friend drowned her sorrows in custard creams, Flora filled her in on what she’d gleaned about the mystery man in black.

‘He’s a solicitor?’ Joy sprayed a few stray crumbs over her lap in surprise. ‘What, and the warden doesn’t know who he is?’

‘So she says.’ Even as Flora said the words she realised it didn’t ring true at all. Joy also looked sceptical.

‘Maybe he’s using a different name?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, there must be a way to find out. Are you absolutely sure it was the same man?’

‘One hundred per cent. There can’t be many people who look like him.’ Flora took a biscuit and munched it thoughtfully. ‘Did you know the Captain’s real name?’

‘Solomon, but everyone called him the Captain. He liked it. He was proud of his military background.’ Joy looked out across the river. A pleasure boat, half-filled with optimistic tourists, cruised past. A child with a bright green sun hat waved a chubby hand from the riverboat but Joy didn’t wave back. ‘He sacrificed a lot for his career. Family. Hobbies. But he was happy, and he didn’t even mind being on the third floor. Although …’

Flora stopped munching and looked up. ‘What?’

‘The last few weeks he had been a bit down. I just assumed it was getting to him after all, even though he said he liked all the routines up there.’

‘He seemed like a man who loved routine.’ Flora thought about his room, the organised rows of belongings, the hospital corners on the bed.

‘He was taking some kind of antidepressant, you know. All the residents on the third floor have them. They dish them out like sweets up there.’

Flora grimaced. ‘The warden was in a tizzy about the police, said they’ve been asking questions about medication. That’s who you’ve got to thank for your dawn raid, I reckon.’

Her friend shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m still rumbled.’

But Flora wasn’t listening. ‘I’ve just had a thought – what if the postmortem showed up something in the Captain’s blood? Like, maybe he’d taken too many tablets or taken the wrong ones or something. Joy, that could explain everything. He got dizzy, disorientated, that’s why he fell. And the warden, she’s all over it because she’s worried about the Maples’ reputation and doesn’t want it to get out.’

Joy had become very still. ‘There’s another explanation, Flora. One I’ve been trying to avoid even thinking about.’

‘What?’

‘That the Captain took his own life. That he just didn’t want to live anymore.’

She pulled a crumpled tissue from her sleeve and blew her nose. Flora gave her a minute to compose herself, then slipped her arm around Joy’s hunched back.

‘I don’t believe he killed himself, Joy. When I was studying psychology I volunteered with the Samaritans for a while. Of course, you can never tell for sure, but the Captain didn’t seem suicidal. Didn’t you say yourself that he was happy here?’

Joy nodded. ‘I guess.’

‘Anyway, this is all conjecture. There’s no way of knowing what it said in the postmortem report. But I do intend to try and find out who might have benefited from his death. I think that’s all we can do now.’

‘It’ll be Aubrey.’ Joy sat back, her eyes alight. ‘I just know it will.’

‘How can it be?’ Flora sighed. ‘Weren’t you listening to what I told you about that day at the library? It’s not him, Joy. Mr Felix and Aubrey are not the same person.’

Joy’s expression was mutinous, but she kept her lips tightly shut. Flora packed up the biscuits and held out her hand.

‘Listen, if I prove to you that Mr Felix definitely didn’t have anything to do with the Captain’s death, and that he absolutely can’t be Aubrey, will you let all this go and be happy again? I miss you. I feel like I haven’t seen the real you since the day we went to Bridgnorth.’

‘It’s our anniversary on Friday,’ Joy said softly. ‘I’d love to go back there again.’

‘Then we will. I promise. But think about what I’ve said, okay? And when this is all over you’ll be able to have Otto back. You must miss him terribly.’

‘Cramping your style, is he?’ Joy shook her head when Flora protested. ‘I’m only joking. I know you’re getting attached to him, you just can’t help yourself. Which is just as well.’

‘What do you mean?’

Joy tipped up her chin, trying – and failing – to stop her lip from trembling. ‘We can’t have pets on the third floor, Flora. If I go up there I’ll never be able to have Otto back.’ And with that she turned and trudged back up the path, refusing to let Flora come along. ‘I need to get used to being on my own,’ she said. ‘Besides, you’ve got work to do.’

Flora watched her go. She hadn’t managed to convince her friend of Mr Felix’s innocence, but she reckoned she’d planted the seed. Which was a start, at least. And if she could find out something concrete in the next few days, and if Joy’s new medication started to work quickly, maybe they’d find a way to stave off the third floor move after all. It was worth a try.

She relaxed in the sunshine for a few more minutes, then made her way back to reception. Something Joy had said was playing on her mind, and aware that her welcome at the Maples was fading fast, Flora knew this might be her last opportunity to ask one final question.