Murder on the Menu, page 6
‘Work, how’s that going?’ Shilpa asked, trying to steer the conversation away from Brijesh’s shattered love life. They never talked much about Brijesh’s work. Brijesh was a pharmacist, and he was currently working in a local pharmacy, but last summer he had briefly worked at a phone repair shop. Shilpa and Tanvi had their suspicions that he was doing more than just repairing phones, but they had never really gotten to the bottom of it. Shilpa was certain that Tanvi liked the thrill of her boyfriend hacking into phones or whatever it was he was doing, which was why she never pried too much in case he told her the truth, which turned out not to be as exciting as she had allowed herself to imagine.
Brijesh hadn’t lasted long at the phone store though, and he was back in his lab coat a few months after. ‘Call it a midlife crisis,’ he had said, whenever Shilpa had asked him about it. It was quite handy though, having a phone hacker and a pharmacist as a friend. He had already helped her uncover the real reason for her uncle’s death and helped her solve that dreadful murder last year using his technological skills. So when his standard response came, she didn’t think it was fair to push it.
Brijesh looked up at her from his drink. ‘Work is work. I tell you what though,’ he said with a smile. ‘Even my boss was talking about that Arden fellow’s death.’
Roy Arden. No matter how much Shilpa tried to put his death to the back of her mind, he kept cropping up. The alcohol that was flooding her bloodstream said it was a sign, that it was her duty to find out more about what had happened. Her brain was fighting hard to get her to leave it alone. She had to admit though, talking about Roy Arden’s possible murder would be a welcome distraction for Brijesh. They took their drinks outside and sat on a bench under a heater. The tide was going out, and there was a breeze blowing. It was still light, and the seagulls were scavenging for chips and bread. The water receded, and as it did, Shilpa filled Brijesh in on what Elaine had said.
‘So she was there?’ Brijesh asked.
‘Remembers it as if it was yesterday,’ Shilpa said.
‘Well, you wouldn’t forget seeing your friend fall like that.’
Shilpa conjured up an image of a young Elaine and Roy. It wasn’t difficult. At Roy’s event there had been photos of him in his youth with friends on yachts and at parties. He certainly had been a social creature. She imagined Elaine, like most young girls, would have been in awe of his lifestyle. Shilpa understood why Elaine hadn’t said much about that day in the past. Her mother had warned her not to say too much. She didn’t want her daughter to get dragged into the commotion she knew would follow.
‘Of course, my mother knew something terrible had happened when I came home sobbing that day,’ Elaine had said. ‘She had already warned me about Roy Arden. I told you he had a reputation.’
Shilpa had nodded.
‘But she didn’t see if Cecelia was pushed or if she fell,’ Brijesh said. ‘So she isn’t much of a witness.’
‘She saw Cecelia and Martin talking in hushed tones. She saw Roy watching them with the look of the devil in his eyes. Her words, not mine,’ Shilpa said.
Brijesh slurped his drink through a straw. ‘So Martin finally got his way with Cecelia and so Roy thought, I can’t kill my brother; I’ll push her off instead. It’s a bit far-fetched.’
‘Elaine never told the police any of this, and she says she regrets it to this day,’ Shilpa said.
‘Elaine was drinking as well, wasn’t she?’ Brijesh said.
‘Yes.’
‘So she could have got it wrong. She was in awe of these people. She was more of an interloper than a friend.’
Shilpa frowned at her lodger. ‘She spent the entire summer with them. When you’re that age, you get to know people well in a short space of time because you all live in each other’s pockets. If the Arden boys were so innocent, then why did they cut Elaine out of their lives after that day? She wasn’t even invited to Roy’s birthday.’
‘Because, like I said, she was an interloper. She wasn’t really one of them. And probably because she reminded them of Cecelia. If both boys were in love with this woman, maybe it was too painful for them to be reminded of her friends,’ Brijesh said. ‘What happened to the girl’s family?’
‘I know where you’re going with this,’ Shilpa said. She had had the same thought herself. She would seek them out and get their side of the story, but as soon as she asked Elaine the question, she knew it was pointless.
‘They moved away,’ Elaine had said.
‘They believed Roy was responsible for their daughter’s death,’ Shilpa had said, recalling what Leoni had said to her, trying to jog her neighbour’s memory.
Elaine had nodded. It was clear she thought so too.
‘Where did they go?’ Shilpa had asked.
‘Up north,’ Elaine had said. ‘Somewhere near the Peak District – Bakewell, I think. They had little ones, so it made sense to get away. There was so much press about Cissy’s death at the time. After all, she was a beautiful woman at the start of her life and then tragedy hit. She’ll be forever young, and that’s what the press like, don’t they? Readers imagine it could have been their daughter, how lucky they are that it wasn’t. Youngsters get to read about a life they can only ever imagine. It sells papers.’
‘What was Cecelia’s surname?’ Brijesh asked.
‘James, I think,’ Shilpa said, recalling what Leoni had told her. ‘Why?’
‘If you want to find her family, it can’t be that hard. Although you know what I think about this fifty-year-old death? It’s irrelevant.’
Shilpa heard her phone beep and took it out of her bag. She read the message and slipped it back inside. All of a sudden, she felt like a coffee.
‘You okay?’ Brijesh asked.
‘Yes,’ Shilpa said, despite the unease in the pit of her stomach.
Chapter Twelve
Shilpa drove up the gravel drive to Arden Copse and parked by a pink hydrangea bush. She got out of her red Fiat 500 and went up to the imposing entrance. She rang the doorbell and waited, pulling her cardigan around her as the wind picked up.
The housekeeper, Terry, answered the door and led her to the lounge at the rear of the house.
‘There’s a storm coming,’ Caroline said, with her hand extended as Shilpa approached.
Through the French doors with each gust of wind the surface of the pool rippled and swelled. Shilpa imagined the scene Elaine had set for her all those years ago. A young Roy Arden with his brother and friends drinking cocktails and not giving a damn, like the world belonged to them. What a glamorous existence it must have been. No wonder Elaine had been swept off her feet by sheer association.
Shilpa turned back to her formidable host. ‘You wanted to see me,’ she said. The text she had received from Caroline last night hadn’t said much, just that she was needed at the house today and to arrive by mid-morning.
Caroline stared at her for a moment before speaking. ‘The cake stand,’ she said, as if it was obvious. Caroline motioned at the large silver stand.
‘Oh, that,’ Shilpa said, with a sense of relief. She felt her shoulders drop.
‘What else?’ Caroline said.
Shilpa turned her attention to the cake stand, avoiding her host’s impenetrable gaze. Someone, probably Terry, had given it a good clean. She had wanted her cake stand back, of course, but given the tragedy that had occurred, she thought she would give it a day or two before she contacted Caroline to ask for it. Caroline was busying herself, fussing with some table linen.
It was clear why Caroline had called her. She wanted to keep herself occupied. Sometimes it was the best thing to do, although grief knew no bounds. It would often sneak up on you when you least expected it. Shilpa had experienced this when her uncle passed, especially since she had uncovered the real reason behind his death. Sometimes she would be baking in the kitchen or cleaning the bathroom and she would suddenly think of a conversation she had had with Dipesh and all the fond memories she had of him would come flooding back.
Shilpa picked up the stand and was about to turn back when something on the lawn, beyond the pool, caught her eye. She stood and watched for a moment.
‘They have no shame,’ a voice whispered from behind her.
Shilpa spun around to see Terry standing there just inches away. Caroline had disappeared.
‘Sorry,’ she said, putting the heavy stand back down.
‘Don’t be,’ Terry said. ‘I see everything that goes on here. Mr Arden isn’t long gone and already they’re whispering and doing who knows what in his house.’
Shilpa followed the housekeeper’s gaze out past the pool. Annabel and a tall man dressed in a suit were walking towards the house.
‘Who is that?’ Shilpa asked, forgetting herself. She was at Arden Copse to pick up the cake stand, not to pry into the private life of Roy Arden’s widow, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘Christian Walker,’ Terry said. ‘Once best friend of Mr Arden, then sworn enemy.’
‘What happened?’ Shilpa asked.
‘What do you think happened?’ Terry said. ‘Look, they’re coming this way. I’d best get going. So should you. They like the help to be invisible.’ Terry fished out a hairband from her apron pocket and tied her hair back. ‘Probably because it reminds Her Ladyship of where she came from.’ Terry went back through the open door.
Shilpa bent to pick up the stand again, considering her status of being classed by Terry as the help. She supposed she had been employed by the Ardens to make and deliver a cake, but she had somehow elevated herself. Voices were penetrating her thoughts, and she realised the couple had stopped outside the French doors and were talking. The house was deathly silent, and she could hear what they were saying. From her crouched position, Shilpa inched towards the thick curtains, hoping Annabel and Christian wouldn’t notice her.
‘Why did you come?’ Annabel was saying. ‘You shouldn’t be seen here. What if someone recognises you?’
‘Like who?’
‘The staff. There are so many of them around at the moment.’
‘Students that frankly don’t give two hoots about me. To them I’m an old dinosaur. They wouldn’t think to look twice at my face. When they aren’t serving, they’re glued to their devices. They wouldn’t be able to pick me from a line-up.’
‘There’s Terry,’ Annabel snapped. ‘And Caroline.’
‘They didn’t see me,’ Christian said. ‘There were so many people there, and I was discreet.’
‘If the police start digging like I’m sure they’ll do, then people will talk.’
‘I said I was careful.’
‘You’re sure?’ Annabel asked. The two were silent, and Shilpa’s back was starting to hurt. It was clear that there was something going on between Annabel and Christian. In a movie, she was sure the couple would have been kissing right about now, but this wasn’t a movie. She didn’t think they would risk something like that here, and she couldn’t risk poking her head around the curtain to confirm her suspicions.
‘Soon, you can move on.’
‘What about Gill?’ Annabel asked.
‘I’ll take care of her,’ Christian said.
‘Like you took care of Roy?’ Annabel asked.
Shilpa’s eyes widened at this last comment. Her legs were tiring from her position squatting in the living room of Arden Copse, and she almost fell. She steadied herself by gripping onto the cake stand. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered to the inanimate object.
Christian’s tone changed. ‘You’re not getting cold feet?’ he asked. ‘You’re not changing your mind and using Gill as an excuse, are you? I’ve risked too much for this. You always knew the score with Gill.’ Shilpa imagined Christian grabbing hold of Annabel’s wrists and holding them tighter than he should have. Her imagination was going wild. She had stayed in and watched too many box sets of late.
‘O-of course not,’ Annabel stuttered. ‘It’s just that I’d rather you kept your distance for now until things have settled.’
‘I could’ve given you everything you needed.’
‘Don’t forget what I’ve risked here, and I’m pregnant.’
‘Oh Annabel,’ Christian said, his tone suddenly changing. ‘You must be careful. We don’t want to jeopardise anything.’ Shilpa was sure she heard a sob from Annabel, a fake one, probably. Shilpa had done a little am-dram herself back in college.
‘You must really–’ Christian started. Annabel had silenced him, and Shilpa wondered if it was with another kiss. I need to get out more. What am I doing, eavesdropping like this? She decided to move. She slowly stood up. So what if Annabel and Christian saw her? They were the ones doing something they shouldn’t, not her. She looked back towards the door to plan her escape route, but instead of heading towards it, she froze. Someone was standing there watching her.
Chapter Thirteen
Martin opened the bottle of Scotch and poured a large measure into a tumbler. He sat in his usual seat by the bay window overlooking Burgh Island. Today the island, which accommodated the famous art deco hotel, was barely visible because of the weather. The tractor that took guests to their luxury retreat away from the hubbub of city life when the tide was out wouldn’t be running. The beach, usually packed with tourists and youngsters eating ice cream and playing Frisbee or whatnot, would be desolate, a little like him. The wind rattled the panes, and the rain began to fall as he took a sip and reflected on how apt this change in weather was. It mirrored his mood perfectly.
Julia entered the room, silently as she always did, afraid he was in one of his moods, no doubt; one of those moods for no reason, which would engulf him and take him to a dark place for many days. He pitied his partner. Julia had been so young when he had met her and she had put up with so much. Why? Because of Roy? The man he called a brother, but who never behaved like one. Julia needn’t have feared, but she did. She worried too much, especially of late. She had started to turn away from his touch and was constantly biting her nails and switching the light on and off in the bedroom. She thought he didn’t notice, and he kept up the charade and pretended that he hadn’t. What could he say? He had made her the person she was. Julia needed to relax, if that was possible, because Martin was certainly not in a dark place anymore. He was troubled, yes. That feeling would never go; it had been with him since he was a boy, but now Roy had gone, he felt lighter, lighter than he had done in days.
The fat drops of rain pelted his beautiful bay window and trickled down the glass. He had taken so many calls since Roy’s death. Calls of condolence from well-wishers who had never wished them well when Roy was alive. Most of them were jealous of the wealth that Roy had amassed. He had heard the rumours. People said Roy made money because he was born into money. Martin was almost jubilant when Roy’s tax dealings were exposed. He thought it would bring his brother down a peg or two, but it only served to boost his ego.
Roy, being the eldest by two minutes, had been left Arden Copse – well, a fifty-one per cent share in it. True to form, Roy had cajoled and eventually bullied Martin into selling his share to him. It was one of the many regrets Martin had in life. He let it pass at the time, thinking it was just another one of his failures to add to his list.
Martin hadn’t flourished and conquered the way Roy had done. He ran a successful chartered surveyor firm, did all the work for Roy like the dogsbody that he was and lived a quiet life. His brother, on the other hand, summered in the South of France and got a dose of winter sun in Barbados each year. He had his pick of women, but he was sure none of them had ever matched up to Cecelia.
Martin swallowed down his drink at the very thought of her. He remembered peering over the cliff and seeing her lifeless body splayed on the rocks under the light of the moon. It was so many years ago now; still, he remembered it like it was yesterday.
At the time he didn’t say much about what happened. What could he say? He was old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. He wasn’t a child back then, but a young man like his brother. Yet, even when his parents returned home, appalled by what had happened, although Martin was sure this was only because their vacation had been cut short, they comforted him like he was a child. They expected Roy to just get on with it and he did – oh boy, did he.
To a certain extent, Martin blamed his parents for the flaws in his personality. When the two of them were growing up, Martin was always referred to as the quiet one, the shy one, and he was painfully shy. Looking back, he believed the Pygmalion effect came into play. Grown-ups around him referred to him as shy, and so he lived up to their expectations of him.
When he was just eight, his parents sent him to a drama school to help build his confidence, and despite his protestations, something about leaving his comfort zone for a prolonged period to sing and dance and play the fool helped. He had slowly come out of his shell. But then they had all gone to a beach café near South Sands and he had witnessed something that irrevocably changed his life.
Arguably, when he was eight, he had been too young to know better. His therapist had as good as confirmed this, but at twenty-five he should have known better. He should have. He didn’t have an excuse. He had always stayed in the shadows, in Roy’s shadow, but he had had enough. He knew at the start of the year that it was time he spoke out. By doing so he would relieve the burden he had been carrying for so long. He had to confront his brother. Tell him what he knew and that he wasn’t going to keep quiet any longer. It had been stupid to approach him the night of their eightieth birthday. But what was a birthday at that age really? Just another day, like their mother would have said.
Martin had approached Roy on the clifftop where his brother sat like a king presiding over his estate. His brother stood and held his hand out to him, and when Martin took it Roy pulled him in for a hug.
‘Brother,’ he had said, like he was being filmed for some reality show. Martin checked around just to make sure he wasn’t. It was late, the guests were dispersing. The lantern that had provided some illumination to the top of the cliff was flickering. A problem with the circuit, perhaps. It had provided the perfect opportunity. It was time to make right what he hadn’t all those years ago.
