Death and the Decorator

SIX

While her neighbour was at Fethering Yacht Club, Carole realized that there was some investigation she could do on her own. Though the two women collaborated well, there were times when she felt jealous of Jude’s ease of manner and skill at drawing secrets out of people. Carole liked the feeling of exclusivity she got from doing a bit of private investigation and presenting Jude with the surprise of new information. That was why she enjoyed the element of secrecy inherent in her meetings with Malk Penberthy.

And it was a name he had mentioned that offered her a new line of enquiry. Shona Nuttall. Carole and Jude had first met her when she was landlady of the Cat and Fiddle, a Country & Western-themed pub on the River Fether, north of Fedborough. They had been investigating the death of Tadeusz Jankowski, brother of the Zosia who became Ted Crisp’s bar manager.

Shona, who made her bar staff dress in gingham shirts and dungarees, had then been a tightly corseted, flamboyant figure, favouring shimmery tops, fake tan and too much jewellery. The wall behind the Cat and Fiddle bar was peppered with photographs of her embracing the pub’s embarrassed regulars. She lived up almost too accurately to the stereotype of the big-hearted and big-bosomed landlady.

When Carole and Jude next met her, Shona had been considerably diminished, in personality if not in bulk. By then she’d been forced to sell the pub at far too low a price and lived behind closed curtains in a bungalow in Southwick, on the outskirts of Brighton. She shuffled round in jogging bottoms, appearing to spend her days smoking and drinking vodka.

Given these habits, and the number of years since they last met, Carole wondered whether Shona Nuttall was still in the land of the living. But she still had the woman’s mobile number and it was worth trying.

To her surprise, it was quickly answered. ‘Hallo?’

The voice had neither the brashness of Shona in full landlady mode, nor the whine of self-pity they’d encountered on their second meeting. It sounded certainly older, but alert and purposeful.

Carole identified herself. ‘I don’t know if you remember me.’

‘I certainly do. You came to see me with your friend Jude, in connection with that Polish boy I employed at the Cat and Fiddle.’

Full marks for total recall, thought Carole. ‘It’s actually in connection with another of your employees at the pub that I’m calling.’

‘Oh?’

‘Anita Garner.’

‘Oh, that poor, poor girl,’ said Shona Nuttall. ‘God rest her soul.’

It was still the same bungalow in Southwick, but its interior was totally transformed. Carole’s recollection had been predominantly of velvet. Bottle-green velvet curtains, pink Dralon armchairs, cuddling photographs from the Cat and Fiddle in velvet-covered frames.

No sign of any of that. The curtains were now organic linen, the furniture plain wood, and there wasn’t a photograph in sight. The effect was minimalist, almost Spartan.

Shona herself had become more minimalist too. In her corseted or uncorseted form, there had always been a lot of her, but since they last met, she must have shed at least four stone. Her body was now almost stringy. She wore a plain black dress and no jewellery.

Carole had not taken off her coat. There was no heating on in the bungalow. Shona did not offer her any refreshment. Instead, she sat down opposite and said, ‘Anita Garner.’

‘Yes.’

‘Poor, deluded girl.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because she was born and grew up as a Catholic.’

‘And you regard Catholicism as a delusion?’

‘Yes. Don’t you?’

Carole didn’t have much in the way of religion (except for writing ‘C of E’ on forms that asked the question). But she was of the view that it was a private matter. If people managed to have a faith, good for them. Lucky for them, perhaps. But she wouldn’t get into arguments about the relative merits of individual faiths.

So, she answered Shona’s question with an equivocating, ‘It’s not something I feel strongly about.’

‘Oh, but you should feel strongly about it. Faith is too important not to have strong feelings about it.’

‘Right,’ said Carole cautiously.

‘Have you invited Jesus into your life?’ asked Shona.

‘No. Not specifically.’

‘Then I feel sorry for you, Carole.’

‘Well, thank you for the kind thought. But I really wanted to talk about Anita Garner.’

‘Catholics are not Christians,’ Shona Nuttall announced.

‘That’s a point of view, certainly,’ said Carole. ‘But, again, it’s not something I feel strongly about.’

Shona shook her head sadly. ‘As I say, I feel sorry for you, Carole.’

‘Thanks again. So, when Anita was on your staff at the Cat and Fiddle, I’m sure her Catholicism didn’t affect her work, did it?’

‘I don’t know. Back then, I hadn’t invited Jesus into my life.’

‘Ah. Right.’

‘I was entrapped in the toils of wickedness. I was encouraging evil, telling people to drink. I was a sinner, but now Jesus has cleansed me of my sins.’

‘Oh. Good.’

‘I used to drink myself, until Jesus told me not too. I was a bride of wickedness. Now I am a bride of Jesus.’

Carole couldn’t think of an appropriate response to that, so she asked, ‘Do you mind just thinking back to when Anita Garner worked for you at the Cat and Fiddle?’

‘No. That’s what you want to know about.’

‘Yes.’

‘It was an unhappy time of my life.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘All of my life was unhappy, until I invited Jesus into it.’

‘Obviously a sensible thing to do then.’

‘Yes. The best thing I ever did. That is how I found happiness. More than happiness. That is how I found bliss. When I invited Jesus into my life.’

Carole was beginning to get a little frustrated by the way her enquiries were constantly being deflected by Jesus. Raising her voice, she said, ‘I also understand there was a young Spanish man called Pablo who worked for you at the Cat and Fiddle.’

‘Yes. He was also a Catholic. Also deluded.’

‘Maybe. But I’ve heard that Pablo and Anita … got close to each other.’

‘They were in love,’ said Shona. ‘Though, of course, human love bears no comparison to the love of Jesus.’

‘No. But,’ Carole insisted, ‘do you know how close to each other they were?’

‘Do you mean: were they sleeping together?’

Relieved to get an answer that didn’t involve Jesus, Carole said, ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Did you have staff accommodation at the Cat and Fiddle?’

‘I did.’

‘So, the young couple could have been sleeping together at—’

‘No,’ said Shona firmly. ‘I wouldn’t have allowed that. I did have moral standards, even before I invited Jesus into my life.’

‘Oh, good.’

‘Anyway, Anita never stayed overnight at the pub. Pablo did, but she always went home to her parents’ house.’

‘And then she stopped working for you and went to work at Footscrow House, when it was a care home. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And do you know if she and Pablo stayed in touch?’

‘I’m pretty sure they did. They both seemed to be very keen.’

‘And then he left the Cat and Fiddle?’

‘Yes. Very suddenly. It was extremely inconvenient for me. Losing staff at short notice always is. But Pablo got a message that his mother was seriously ill. The family was from Cádiz and he rushed out there.’

‘And did you ever hear from him again?’

‘No.’

‘And what about Anita? Did you see her after she left the pub?’

‘I did, actually, yes. Bumped into her in Fedborough one day. About a week before she disappeared. I asked if she’d heard from Pablo.’

‘And had she?’

‘Yes. She said he’d rung her lots of times from Cádiz. His mother was still ill, so he was stuck out there. And then Anita told me what she was going to do.’

‘Oh?’

‘She said she was going out to Spain to see Pablo. She’d ordered a passport specially, so that she could make the trip out there.’

‘Did you tell anyone what she’d told you?’

‘Why should I? Who should I tell?’

‘The police?’

‘I’ve always kept clear of the police, thank you very much. They were never much help when I was running the Cat and Fiddle. Getting involved with them is just asking for trouble.’

‘But, surely, knowing the fuss there was in the media about Anita Garner’s disappearance … didn’t you think what you knew was relevant?’

‘Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. As I said, I was a bride of wickedness back then. It was before I had invited Jesus into my life.’

Before the Jesus litany started up again, Carole asked, ‘So, you reckon Anita did go out to Cádiz?’

‘Of course she did. It seems I’m the only person in the world who knows what happened to Anita Garner. She went out to Cádiz to join up with Pablo. She’s probably still out there. He was Catholic too. Chances are they got married and started producing lots more deluded little Catholics. Anyway, I’m sure that’s what happened. That’s the solution to the mystery of the missing Anita Garner.

‘But,’ Shona went on, warming to her theme, ‘Carole, I can tell you’re unhappy. Don’t despair, it’s not too late to find happiness. Jesus will never turn you away. If you were to invite Jesus into your life, happiness would spread through you like …’

It had taken a while for Carole to extricate herself from the proselytizing Shona Nuttall. Clearly finding God had been a major event in the woman’s life, but Carole did wonder whether God was equally pleased at being found.

As she drove the Renault thoughtfully back to Fethering, she considered the great flaw in the former landlady’s theory.

Anita Garner may have intended to go out to Cádiz and be reunited with Pablo, but she never made the trip. Her unused passport remained in her handbag, immured in an alcove at Footscrow House.

‘Is that Jude?’

She admitted it was. The voice at the other end of the phone was female, mature and aggressive.

Saturday evening. Jude had had a little zizz after she got back from Fethering Yacht Club, then cooked her main meal of the day, and was settling down for the evening to read a book that a friend had just published on the subject of chakras.

‘I’m Veronica Lasalle,’ said the woman, ‘and I hear you’ve been stirring things up about Anita Garner.’

‘What do you mean – “stirring things up”?’

‘People around Fethering are talking about her again.’

‘So? Why do you think I have anything to do with that?’

‘You mentioned her to my husband at the yacht club.’

‘Yes, all right, I did, but that was simply—’

‘And that nosy neighbour of yours has been digging it all up again.’

‘Carole is a—’

‘Just stop it – right? There were a lot of lies told about Harry at the time. It was very hurtful to him. Had a bad effect on the business, too, for a while. But he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was a long time ago and everyone had forgotten about it until you and your friend started digging.’

‘All that happened was that Anita Garner’s handbag was found and—’

‘Listen, my husband’s not in a good place at the moment. All this stuff coming up again is not going to help him. So, just lay off Harry – all right!’

And the line went dead. Jude got the impression that Veronica Lasalle was not a woman who was used to being crossed.

She had another unexpected call around eleven thirty on the Sunday morning. From Ted Crisp. Asking, rather shamefacedly, for the mobile number of Brandie Neville.

What the hell was going on there?

Then, early Sunday evening, Pete rang.

No, no problems about him starting work the following morning. But he thought she’d like to know; he’d just heard bad news from a friend at Fethering Yacht Club.

One of the members had noticed that morning that Harry’s Dream was no longer on the hardstanding in front of the clubhouse. The club member had gone out in his own boat to an area where he knew Harry Lasalle had always enjoyed fishing. He’d found Harry’s Dream anchored in the usual place.

But there was no sign of anyone about.

Having boarded the boat and opened the hatch to the cabin, the yachtsman had found Harry lying on the floor.

There was an empty whisky bottle beside him.

He was dead.