False Step Read online

  ‘No, it isn’t. Tell me, when did you meet up with Damaris again? I know you used to play together when you were children, but …’

  ‘Damaris?’ Scorn in her voice. ‘What a waste of space. Never could see beyond the end of her nose. Bert told me about it as soon as she started making regular visits to Uncle Matthew, and she only visited him because he’d got cancer. Bert could see what she was working for, and so could I. He thought it was amusing that she was going to get Matthew’s house and money, and that I was going to be left with nothing. That’s the kind of person Bert was.’

  ‘So you decided to look Damaris up?’

  ‘I went into the shop where she worked and asked her to have lunch with me for old times’ sake.’ She lifted her upper lip in a gesture of contempt. ‘She talked of nothing but how life was coming right for her at long last.’

  ‘She arranged for Matthew to make his will, and asked you to be executor. Why was that?’

  Lily reared back her head. ‘Why not? We went back a long way. She trusted me. She wouldn’t have asked that useless husband of hers, would she?’

  ‘Point taken. So she was looking at a bright future, and you were looking into the abyss. How did you get her to play your game?’

  ‘What game? There was no game.’

  ‘If there was no game, if you didn’t have any hold on her, then why did she leave Matthew’s house to you?’

  ‘She felt sorry for me, that’s why. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lot to do.’ She looked at the door into the other room. ‘Has Gail got lost?’

  Bea was soothing. ‘She’s had a gippy tummy for days. So, where am I to send the keys on to – after probate has been granted, I mean?’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’ Lily was getting suspicious. She kept looking at the door to the inner room. ‘The loo is upstairs.’

  ‘And which home is Bert in?’

  ‘No business of yours. Anyway, it wouldn’t do you any good to see him now. I told you, he can’t remember how many fingers he has on each hand. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m asking you to leave, both of you.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ Bea called out, ‘Gail, are you all right?’

  Gail appeared in the doorway, looking flushed. ‘Sorry about that. Can’t seem to keep anything down nowadays.’

  Lily practically shoved them out of the door.

  Lily slammed the door behind them. Interfering old women! Had they come to gloat? One thing; they’d never learn the truth about what happened to Matthew from her. And they couldn’t prove anything.

  She seethed with frustration. All that scheming and she still hadn’t a penny to bless herself with.

  Back to work. Some of the furniture had already gone to the saleroom. Some the new owners were going to buy. It would be enough to keep her going until probate was through and she could lay her hands on Matthew’s house.

  Bea and Gail walked in silence to the car and got in. Gail produced a wad of paper from her handbag.

  ‘These were in the shredder. It had jammed because she’d put in too much at once. I used the reverse switch to get them out. They’re some flyers showing Matthew in costume, with Bert at the piano beside him. They’re way out of date. So why is she shredding such old stuff?’

  ‘It’s a puzzle, to be sure,’ said Bea, who had a pretty good idea why. She looked at the flyers. They showed Matthew caressing a microphone and smiling into the camera. A slightly built man with a heart-shaped face sat hunched over a keyboard at his side. He didn’t look anything like Lily. Bea said, ‘It’s definitely Bert at the piano?’

  ‘Sure. Poor Bert.’ Her sympathy was perfunctory.

  Bea nodded. This was the last piece in the jigsaw puzzle. She had a pretty good idea now as to what had happened. She stowed the flyers in her bag. ‘Did you find an address for the retirement home?’

  ‘I looked through her address book by the telephone. Nothing. Just as you called to me, I spotted her handbag on the floor and there was a brochure sticking out of it. I could only see the first few words. Green something, and a picture of a big house. Do we really need to question Bert? If he’s really lost it …’

  ‘Bert sold the house and bought an annuity to cover his bills at the home, which meant Lily will never get anything, even if he dies tomorrow. I feel sorry for her, almost, because she’s lived there all her life and she’s not only going to lose her home but also her place of work.’

  Gail looked at her watch. ‘I see what you mean. Even if he wasn’t her real father, she deserved something, didn’t she? Time’s getting on and I’m chairing a committee meeting this afternoon.’

  ‘There’s a post office across the road. I’ll pop in there and ask if they know of a retirement home around here called Green something.’

  Without waiting for Gail’s reply, Bea got out of the car and darted across the road. She was out in under five minutes but went into an adjoining shop before returning to the car with a bunch of flowers. ‘It’s not far away. Green Gates Retirement Home.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can cope with Bert today, especially if he’s lost it. Too sad.’

  Bea rounded the corner and parked the car outside a large house. ‘I need a witness. Please, Gail. It won’t take long.’ The front door was locked. Bea rang the bell. It was a large, imposing Edwardian villa in its own grounds, but it didn’t seem that the inmates were allowed to roam at will outside the house. There was a three-storey modern extension at the side, well maintained.

  Bea looked through a window into a large sitting room. An arrangement of dried flowers in a vase. High-backed chairs ranged around the room. Various elderly people sitting in the chairs staring at a huge television. No Bert.

  Gail followed Bea to the door. ‘Not exactly lively, is it?’

  A pleasant-looking woman opened the door. ‘Sorry, short-handed today. I didn’t hear the bell.’

  ‘We’re old friends of Mr Cunningham’s, just been told by his daughter Lily that he’s moved here but is not very well. We’d like to see him for a few minutes if we may. We promise not to tire him.’ Bea held up the flowers she’d just bought.

  ‘Well, that’s nice of you. His daughter hasn’t been to see him since he was brought in. Such a shame. Er, you do realize that he’s pretty confused at the moment? We’ve had to sedate him a couple of times, for his own safety. Follow me. I think he’s in the sun lounge at the back.’

  They followed the woman across a brightly polished hallway and down a corridor. Sounds of tables being laid came from a dining room and savoury smells made Bea think longingly about food. She hadn’t had any breakfast.

  The sun lounge had been built on to the back of the house and was bright with pot plants and bamboo furniture. Four people were playing dominoes at a table. Two more were reading newspapers. A woman was knitting in one corner, hooked up to an iPod.

  A tall, slim man dressed all in grey, was sitting in a chair looking out over the garden. He was leaning forward, both hands resting on a stick. There was a half-healed cut on his left temple, with a yellowing bruise around it.

  His hairline was receding, but he was a good-looking man for all that. He had a strong face which wore an expression of patience. Even, of suffering.

  He didn’t move or even see his visitors until Gail exclaimed, ‘Oh!’

  He turned his head. His eyes focused on Bea. He had cornflower-blue eyes. He didn’t recognize her and his remote expression didn’t change. His eyes moved past Bea to Gail. He recognized her.

  His face came alive. He stumbled to his feet, dropping his stick. His silver-knobbed stick.

  Gail bent to pick it up.

  ‘Oh, Matthew,’ she said.

  Twenty

  A clock chimed twelve somewhere in the depths of the house and a slow surge of residents headed from various places towards the dining room. In the sun lounge everyone watched with varying degrees of curiosity and interest as Gail flung her arms open and Matthew stepped into them. They held one another fast, eyes closed, tears on thei
r cheeks.

  Matthew said, ‘I prayed you’d come.’

  Gail could only repeat his name, over and over. ‘Matthew, Matthew, Matthew!’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Ice in her voice, authority reasserted itself.

  Bea grinned. ‘Nice to see lovers reunited, isn’t it?’ She understood now why these two people from such disparate backgrounds had ever got married. Sex, that’s what. Matthew and Gail had taken one look at one another when they first met, and that was that. As it was now.

  Authority was not pleased. ‘I think you owe me an explanation. Why is that woman kissing Mr Cunningham?’ Recollecting that they had an audience, she turned on the other residents of the room, frozen into various attitudes of surprise. Authority produced a professional smile. ‘Now, then. Off you go. Lunch will get cold otherwise, and we don’t want that, do we?’

  Force of personality swept them – if reluctantly – out of the room. By which time Matthew had collapsed back into his chair, laughing, still holding on to Gail … who wasn’t about to let go of his arm, either.

  ‘Now!’ Authority meant it, too.

  Bea produced a card. ‘My name is Bea Abbot of the Abbot Agency, domestic only. My friend here is Mrs Gail Kent, who is—’

  ‘Matthew’s ex-wife,’ said Gail.

  ‘My fiancée,’ said Matthew, laughing. When animated, his face was that of an actor, mobile, expressive. ‘In fact, in the eyes of the church—’

  ‘We’re still married, hurray!’ Gail touched the bruise on his temple with a forefinger, and then kissed it. Lightly. ‘How soon do you think we can make it legal again?’

  Authority closed the door into the corridor and folded her arms at them. ‘I would like an explanation, please. Mr Cunningham here is my responsibility and—’

  ‘He’s not Mr Cunningham,’ said Gail. ‘He’s Matthew Kent. Oh, Matthew, I’m so glad you’re not dead!’

  Bea produced a card from her bag. ‘He’s Mr Matthew Kent and this is one of his cards. You see the website at the bottom? If you access the site, you’ll see his picture. And here,’ she produced one of the leaflets which Lily had been trying to shred, ‘is a picture of Mr Kent in costume, with his accompanist, Bert Cunningham.’

  ‘I told them,’ said Matthew, ‘but they didn’t believe me. They said I was confused. And indeed, I was confused. It’s been a nightmare.’

  ‘I think,’ said Authority, ‘that you two ladies had better leave. You are upsetting my charge, and we can’t have that or he’ll be ill again. Meanwhile, I’ll ring his daughter and ask her to visit, to calm her father down.’

  ‘His daughter’s dead,’ said Bea. ‘Sorry, Matthew; but she is.’

  ‘Damaris dead?’ He registered shock, and then something else … a slow realization that there was worse to come. ‘I don’t understand …’

  Authority snapped out, ‘See how you are confusing him. His daughter’s name is not Damaris. It’s … it’s on the tip of my tongue …’

  ‘Try Lily,’ said Bea.

  ‘That’s it! Lily Cunningham. She brought him in just over a week ago, a little earlier than we’d expected, but he’d had a fall and needed rest. He had a slight concussion and we kept him in bed for a while, just till he recognized his own name. It’s not unusual for people of his age to become confused after a fall.’

  ‘Nobody’s blaming you,’ said Bea, realizing the woman was afraid for her position. ‘I’m sure you acted with the best of motives and looked after him as well as possible. Tell me, how did Lily bring him in? She doesn’t drive.’

  ‘In a taxi, of course. He was not a well man; anyone could see that. So we put him to bed and had our doctor see to him next day.’

  ‘We understand that Bert Cunningham had made arrangements for himself to come here some time ago, suffering from arthritis. He must have visited this place before deciding that it suited him. Granted that the two men are much of a height, did nobody recognize that this was not the same man?’

  ‘I …’ The woman reddened, clasping and unclasping her hands. ‘I’ve only been here three weeks. The lady in charge before me … she’s moved on somewhere else. I’m afraid there’s been a lot of personnel changes recently.’

  ‘If you consult your records, you’ll find a description of Bert’s physical problems. Do they match those of our friend here? What of the scar from his recent operation? What of his need to take antibiotics still?’

  Authority wasn’t happy. Her eyes switched to Matthew, to her watch, and back to Bea. ‘I think I’d better ring Mrs Meadows, the owner. In the meantime—’

  ‘Yes, in the meantime, perhaps we could all transfer to your office? I myself would like to make a phone call to someone who might help sort this little muddle out …’ But not Sylvester. Never more Sylvester. ‘… And then we can look up your records and do some checking, right?’

  ‘I really think it would be best if you left. I cannot have Mr Cunningham upset like this. I am a qualified nurse and I can see he’s running a temperature.’

  ‘Probably needs his lunch,’ said Bea, without sympathy. Matthew was somewhat flushed, it’s true, but that was more likely due to excitement and happiness than to a fever. ‘Which reminds me; you couldn’t find us a sandwich or two, could you? I’m famished.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Matthew, with a slow smile at his beloved. ‘In more senses than one.’

  ‘Well, really!’ Authority was not pleased.

  However, she did lead the way to an office off the main hall. There she telephoned her boss, while Bea found the business card Oliver had given her and got out her mobile.

  Once through to a gentle-sounding voice, Bea said, ‘You won’t know me, but Oliver gave me your name. I’m Bea Abbot, and you are—’

  ‘Mr Cambridge. Are you ringing about the red shoes? Oliver has been amusing me with the details. You have some evidence to show the suicide verdict was wrong? You need some advice?’

  ‘How does one extract a person wrongly incarcerated in a retirement home? Do I need a writ for habeas corpus and how do I obtain one? And how do I arrange for someone to be arrested for murder?’

  ‘I think I’d better come out to you. Give me directions.’ His voice sounded a lot less gentle than before.

  Meanwhile, Authority had rung the number she’d been given for Mr Cunningham’s daughter. ‘Ms Cunningham …?’ The phone quacked indignantly, and Authority frowned. ‘Yes, I’ve been given this number for Ms Cunningham. Her father is … that’s not the number for Ms Cunningham? Yes, I have dialled correctly. Who did you say you were? Derek … Fraser? Frasier? Well, isn’t Ms Cunningham to be found at this number? She isn’t. Oh. Well, do you know where I can find her? Yes, I’ll hold on.’ She held on, while Bea smiled down into her hands. So Lily had given Damaris’s number as a contact?

  ‘Yes, I’ve got that,’ said Authority, writing down a number. She put the phone down, and punched more numbers. The phone rang and rang. An answerphone clicked in. Authority put the phone down. More frowns.

  Bea and Gail exchanged looks. Lily had gone out. Or … fled? ‘Coffee and a sandwich?’ asked Bea.

  ‘I hardly think … well, perhaps. I’ll see what I can do.’ Authority produced both. Good for Authority.

  Lily stared at the phone. She had a bad feeling about this call. If it was important, they could leave a message. But suppose …?

  No, ridiculous! Nothing could go wrong now. Could it?

  Only, why had Gail taken the leaflets out of the shredder?

  Oh, as a memento. Of course. There was nothing to worry about.

  The phone stopped ringing. They hadn’t left a message. The call hadn’t been important.

  But, just in case, she would take her black scarf out into the garden and burn it. No need to take chances.

  Oliver’s contact, Mr Cambridge, arrived at the same time as the home’s owner, Mrs Meadows. She was alarmingly loud, fiftyish and strongly-built. He was as quiet as smoke, a tall streak of a man with the face of a patrician, who introduced
himself in a murmur and drifted across the room into a chair, bestowing a faint smile on all and sundry. Bea trusted him on sight.

  ‘Well? What’s the problem?’ Mrs Meadows tried to be affable but didn’t succeed.

  Bea put down her empty cup. ‘I’ll start, shall I?’

  Matthew pointed at Bea. ‘Apart from being an angel in disguise, who exactly are you?’

  ‘My name is Bea Abbot and I run a domestic agency. Ten days ago your cleaner discovered a corpse on your bed, dressed and made up to look like you in costume. She yelled for help and when I arrived—’

  Matthew looked from Bea to Gail and back again. ‘What? But who …? You don’t mean … Bert?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I sat with the corpse till the police arrived. The next day I was asked by your stepdaughter Damaris to prepare a detailed inventory of the contents of your house. Circumstances made me think all was not well, I met Gail, and over the following days a strange story began to emerge.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but early this year I believe that you and your old friend Bert both received bad news about your health. Bert was afflicted by arthritis, and a heavy smoker. The prognosis was not good. About the same time you, Matthew, were informed that a growth was affecting one of your kidneys and that it looked like cancer. You shared the news with one another, but responded in different ways to the situation.

  ‘You, Matthew, had no close family except for your adopted stepdaughter Damaris. Damaris suggested you make a will in her favour and you agreed to do so. Why not? You thought you only had months to live.

  ‘Bert, on the other hand, decided to purchase an annuity to cover the cost of his moving into a retirement home, using his house as collateral. Living with him and looking after him was the woman known as his daughter, Lily. What he’d done to ensure a comfortable future for himself automatically left Lily without anywhere to live or any place to give piano lessons, but he didn’t seem to care about that.’