One to Six, Buckle to Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns Book 11) Read online

  ~~~

  ‘She was fibbing a bit there.’ Kirsty said quietly to McLuskie as they made their way back to the ground floor to see Megan, and he shot her a quick sidelong look.

  ‘Aye, I thought so too, couldn’t put my finger on it but if she knows, or suspects, someone is knocking residents off, I reckon she’d not be so keen to live here, eh?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘What do you reckon her unusual experiences were? She’s a dead ringer for my English teacher at school, couldn’t be more conventional. Bet your aunt isn’t.’

  ‘Oh aye.’ Kirsty grinned reminiscently. ‘Aunt Edge is a corker. Lived all over the world, widowed twice and left comfortably off each time, but also made a packet writing TV dramas until she retired, she’s not one who has to work for house credits, she’s absolutely rolling. And a wicked sense of humour, too. She’s top, my aunt.’

  ‘I was thinking,’ McLuskie glanced across, ‘we don’t know yet if it’s a case. But if it is, mebbe your aunt could give us a bit of background on the place? Or were you planning to play the whole thing down so as not to alarm her?’

  ‘Alarm Aunt Edge!’ Kirsty gave an involuntary hoot of laughter. ‘She’d absolutely love it. She’s in number twelve, we can stop by after we’ve talked to Megan. If she’s home, of course, her social life is ten times more hectic than mine.’

  ~~~

  Megan called the distractible Josie to take her place on the desk and, after a quick glance through the door to check the room was empty, led them into a well-stocked library. Comfortable seats were placed at convenient intervals and she pulled one over towards two others and gestured to them to sit down.

  ‘Poor Betsy,’ she said conventionally. ‘I’ve made Jamie go up to Frail Care to see Matron, he was quite pale. This isn’t like an old-age home, you know, where people die all the time, especially when it’s somebody quite young and active. It will have been a nasty wee shock for him.’

  ‘We’ll mebbe have more questions about Betsy once we get back the results of the autopsy but in fact we wanted to ask a few general questions. You were surprised when we arrived?’

  ‘Well, I was.’ Megan nodded vigorously. ‘The residents don’t normally phone the police direct, because so often they’ve just got muddled about things, or lost something and think it’s been stolen, so they’re supposed to report anything odd to me and then I would call if it seemed necessary. What was it Betsy rang about?’

  ‘She had—concerns.’ McLuskie said guardedly. ‘Missus Blake said you knew the residents probably better than anyone.’

  ‘Me or Matron, yes. I see them every day, and it’s part of my job to chat with them, I also organize the house credits rota—did Harriet mention that? Oh right, so you know that some of the residents like to work part-time. Not only for the credits, either, they just like keeping their hand in, so to speak. Betsy was a wonderful baker. And then Matron makes a point of seeing everyone on a regular basis. Some people she sees every day to give out medication. She runs a daily exercise clinic and it’s a condition of residence that people go along at least once a week, one way or another she sees everyone at least three times a week to check everyone’s chipper, that sort of thing. We had a bit of a tragedy in March, you know, with one of our old guys mismanaging his own medication, so now everything’s delivered to the admin office, and Matron makes sure everyone gets their correct daily doses.’

  ‘That would be Angus Burns, then?’ McLuskie seized the cue. ‘The sleeping pill overdose. So you agree it wasn’t suicide?’

  ‘Well, they ruled it wasn’t, didn’t they? So sad, though. Angus was a regular character, even in a place like this where everyone’s got interesting stories to tell, he had a proper fund of them. And he told them well, you couldn’t help but laugh. Mentally as sharp as a tack, he spent most of his time on his computer and I know for a fact he had a huge Twitter following—well, I followed him myself. He was hilarious. He had Parkinson’s which affected his legs particularly badly, was finding it harder and harder to get about—he’d told me once he’d rather die than leave here, but we’re not set up for full invalid care, he would have had to go to a proper facility once he was bedridden. I assumed at the time that his legs had been particularly bad one night and he’d decided the time had come, but there was no note. There was an inquest, and they ruled he’d got confused and taken too many pills, and ever since then Matron controls all medication. It upset everybody.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you seem more upset about Angus than Betsy?’ Kirsty asked shrewdly and Megan blushed.

  ‘Oh—you know—you have your favourites. Betsy and I had our clashes, to be honest, she wasn’t always the easiest.’ Megan paused for a moment and then went on, picking her words with, both police felt, some care. ‘Betsy hadn’t been long retired and was used to being in charge of things. She did rub people up the wrong way a bit, and then I’d have to make peace. And someone’s sure to tell you she went to Harriet more than once over my head when she felt I wasn’t doing my job right. The thing is, a lot of people take time to settle in and she was settling. She would have been fine. I can’t say we were friendly or even that I liked her but in time she would have made friends and eased up a bit, and I’m sorry she didn’t get the chance.’

  ~~~

  ‘This,’ said Kirsty, with the air of one bestowing a treat, ‘is my aunt Beulah Edgington Cameron, but she hates being called Beulah. And Aunt Edge, this is DI Iain McLuskie, he’s worried that you’ll go all shaky on us when you hear why we’re here. I’m ready to bet that you know already.’

  ‘Of course I do, darling. Jamie rang from Sick Bay to tell me, but Josie had already told Vivian, who had spotted the ambulance, and Vivian told me. Keeping a secret in this place is very nearly impossible. It’s very nice to meet you, Iain, and kind of you to be concerned, but you won’t need your smelling salts with me or anyone else. She was very much disliked, you know.’

  McLuskie blinked at Kirsty’s forthright aunt as she waved them into chairs, still talking. Far from being an elderly stooped version of his colleague, she was slim, mischievous, probably only in her late fifties, and unexpectedly attractive. ‘They’ll never come out and say that, at the house, so I’m telling you. She was very domineering, a great one for organizing and trying to get everyone together to do things. Well, you know, the reason most of us like it here is that nobody does try to force us to be sociable. We’re a fiercely independent bunch of individuals who like our own company, like living alone, and like the fact that although we’ve got all the conveniences of living in an age-friendly environment, we can shut our doors and tell the world to go to hell if we want to. So when you get some hectoring woman on your doorstep three times a week telling you to join a chess club or knit for seafarers or some other pet scheme of hers, and who’s too deaf to hear you telling her to go to blazes, well, she got on people’s nerves. And she pried, oh my. Her idea of conversation was a stream of questions, she was perfectly exhausting. Always poking around in other people’s business. The only nice thing I can say about her was that she was a wonderful baker, her scones were so light you had to hold them down to take a bite out of them, but I’ll never know how she got approved by the Board.’

  ‘Is it so difficult?’ McLuskie was fascinated and shot a glance at Kirsty who was beaming fondly at her aunt. There was a remarkable family resemblance—Kirsty had flaming exuberant red hair scraped sternly back and her aunt’s, no longer as bright or abundant, was expensively streaked and caught up in a casual and flattering topknot, but their features were virtually identical. And their blunt conversational style—

  ‘Oh my dear, not difficult as such, but; well, I know you met Jamie. Jamie was a mercenary, he’s fought in nearly every major or minor war in the last forty years, sometimes he’d fight to put someone in power in a country and two years later he’d be fighting to bring them down again. But he wasn’t just a gun for hire, he saved a lot of children who were in very traumatic circumstances and I happen to know se
veral of them chip in towards his keep here, and they write to him from all over the world. He’s a lovely chap, Jamie. And maybe you saw Josie, I know it’s her day for standby? So demure butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth but she used to be a madam, you know. She’s very proud of it. Not that it was on her application, she’d also been an actress, but someone apparently found out a couple years ago and she made no attempt to hide it, she went public and told everyone. She’s a perfect example of that old saying that a bad reputation lends lustre to old age. My neighbour is a Russian ballerina who defected before you two were even born—everyone here has a story, which is a good thing because when you get older you tend to think yourself fairly remarkable. Being among other remarkable people keeps it in perspective, stops you being boring. We’re all rolling stones in our own way, most of us aren’t even Scottish except by choice, we’re a very mixed bunch and rather proud of it. And then there’s Betsy, and I never did find what was remotely remarkable about her.’

  ‘It isn’t a reason to be murdered, Aunt.’ Kirsty kept her face straight with some difficulty, and Edge shot her a reproving look.

  ‘I was just saying I didn’t know how she got admitted here. Being a prison warder is an unusual job, but not necessarily an interesting one. If I had still been on the admissions board I’d have known at once it was a job that could only attract very bossy, domineering women, which is not at all a Grasshopper trait. She would never talk about it, either, said it would be a violation of their privacy to talk about people she’d known in stir. She didn’t seem to see all that poking and prying she did was a violation of our privacy, and you know, in a place like this with people like us, there are a lot of secrets. It was only a matter of time before she was murdered. If, of course, she was. Now, it’s teatime and Kirsty will tell you there’s no point hoping to get a nice cup of tea from me because I can burn water. I want to get up to the house to get all the gossip, you’re both welcome to come as my guests and have one of the last Betsy scones. They may be some kind of evidence?’

  McLuskie looked at his watch and Kirsty said diffidently, ‘It would be a chance to meet more of the suspects?’

  He laughed aloud. ‘We don’t even know if it’s a case yet! I want to get back, file today’s reports and get a few questions underway, but if you want to stay and—er—interview suspects I can swing by and collect you in an hour?’

  She accepted gratefully and he waved cheerfully as he plunged back along the covered walkway towards the car park. Edge, coming up behind her with her handbag over her arm and the apartment keys in her hand, said inquisitively, ‘He seems a very nice man?’

  ‘He is.’ Kirsty smiled at her aunt. ‘And happily married to a very nice woman. He’s only been here a month, but I like working with him—and I think he’s a good copper. Knows how to ask questions without putting people’s backs up. Tell me, Aunt, if Betsy was murdered, who would benefit? Do you have to be rich to live here?’

  ‘Not really.’ Edge tucked her hand into her niece’s arm as they in turn made their way rather more sedately along the non-slip walkway. ‘Because it’s run by a Trust, money doesn’t really matter. The rents are matched to the state pension. You need either a private pension, or family chipping in, for luxuries, but it isn’t money that gets you in the door. As for Betsy, I know she had a very good pension and had sold her flat at a good price because she insisted on telling me, but I haven’t a clue who inherits. She’d never married, and she had no family that I knew of, she used to tell me how lucky I was to have you right here in the area. And that was an example of her prying, because you may be sure I never told her I had a niece in the first place. You’re my little secret.’

  She squeezed Kirsty’s arm affectionately as they tackled the side stairs and paused for a moment at the top to catch her breath. ‘Right! Teatime!’

  The big reception area was now crowded with people all talking at the same time, and the big table that had previously been strewn with newspapers had been laid for afternoon tea, with a chocolate cake taking pride of place and flanked with buttered currant bread, tiny sandwiches, unevenly shaped shortbread, a two-tier plate of scones and buttered crumpets. A marvellous warm smell of baking drifted through the air and Kirsty could see the chocolate cake was sweating slightly as the butter icing melted glassily. Her aunt shot her a wicked sidelong glance and waved to Megan before pointing to Kirsty and mouthing ‘one guest for tea’. Megan nodded, smiling, and made a note as the two joined the short queue.

  Kirsty looked about her—her first impression, that the place was crowded, was a little misleading, there were only about ten others. While most were chatting with animation, at least one of the men was addressing himself to his wedge of cake with single-minded concentration. Besides the cake his small plate contained two crumpets, a scone and a shaky tower of sandwiches.

  ‘If you eat like this all the time, I wonder you all keep your figures,’ she murmured to her aunt as that masterful relative heaped their plates very nearly as high, but Edge just laughed.

  ‘We don’t eat every meal, every day, usually one, maybe two—oh, nip off and get us that sofa over there, good girl, you’re quicker than me.’ Kirsty nipped obediently, earning a venomous stare from a harsh-featured woman which she pretended not to see.

  The dogs, she noticed, had disappeared—no doubt teatime would be far too tempting for them. She knew that Grasshopper Lawns always had a few rescue animals around, and the main house always had two resident Labradors, although the turnover was quite high as the residents tended to adopt one into their homes. At last count there had also been a donkey, a very elderly sheep, and a flock of ex-battery hens which contributed free-range eggs.

  Edge broke her train of thought as she sank down next to her, with another resident, wielding a large teapot, following closely behind to serve them tea. ‘But there’s no denying the food here is excellent,’ Edge went on as though there’d been no pause in the conversation. ‘Nearly all home baking, you see. There’s a light breakfast in the mornings, followed by a full cooked breakfast, so you can have either or both. Elevenses is coffee and cake, lunch is fairly hearty, then there’s afternoon tea, and supper is much lighter. Savoury, sweet, savoury, sweet, savoury—a dietician might have conniptions but it’s all farm produce and we thrive on it. I personally come in for breakfast every day, and I do rather like a lavish afternoon tea, where I can pick what fits best with my waistline on any particular day.’

  Kirsty, aware that her aunt had been blessed with the constitution of a camel, grinned at her but she had a point. No one in the room was in danger of looking malnourished, but they looked healthy. Even the man working so single-mindedly through his enormous helping looked well-padded rather than obese. Just as she was about to ask her aunt whether this was a standard turn-out, a petite woman with beautifully frosted hair, lavish false eyelashes and talons for nails, darted into her line of vision and beamed at her in such welcome her own lips automatically twitched in response. The beam widened to embrace Edge and the tiny woman came closer.

  ‘Not often we have the police to tea, Edge. Is this bribery and corruption?’ With a tinkling laugh the newcomer perched herself on the sofa and eyed Kirsty with bright interest. ‘Don’t mind me, I know you’re Edge’s niece. Off duty, are you?’

  ‘Unlike you, Sylvia,’ Edge said sweetly, ‘you’re never off duty, are you? Kirsty, my love, this is Sylvia McBain, who was a Cold War spy. Or so she tells us.’

  Sylvia tittered. ‘Edge, you are awfully rude. Now Kirsty, tell me all about this terrible thing. Was poor Betsy shuffled off this mortal coil, and who do we have to thank?’

  ‘It’s far too early to tell.’ Kirsty said formally but added, with a touch of her aunt’s gentle malice, ‘however, just in case, maybe you could tell me where you’ve been all morning?’

  ‘Dear girl.’ Sylvia patted her lips carefully with a paper serviette. ‘I don’t mind at all. I’ve been grilled by the KGB, you know, and you are so much prettier, the image
of your aunt in fact. As it happens, I was working on my memoirs. When we run out of people to tell our stories to, here, we start writing them down. So I was deaf and blind to the world, even though my apartment is two doors away from Betsy’s. And in this cold weather—so like Moscow in winter—my doors and windows were locked shut. Although I did take my poodle Froufrou out for a walk about half an hour after she phoned you.’

  Kirsty shot her a surprised look and Sylvia met it blandly. ‘Dearest, we all know when she phoned. The bush telegraph here is very nearly as good as you find in prison. She was apparently booming away, she was the bane of Matilda’s life. Matilda lives in the apartment between us, and she couldn’t help but hear. The apartments are supposed to be soundproofed and I suppose they aren’t bad, but Betsy had a voice like a foghorn, it cut straight through Matilda’s wall. And she and I walk together every day, and she told me Betsy had been bellowing away about a policeman. Not a peep from her apartment at that point. It did take absolute ages for you to get here, we thought.’

  Edge came to Kirsty’s rescue with a brisk attack on Sylvia’s Froufrou for messing on the path, and the sharp-eyed little woman was successfully diverted. As Edge continued on the attack she eventually hopped back to her feet and took herself away with a last rather forced laugh. Edge slid the last shortbread slices onto her paper napkin and folded it into her bag.

  ‘Darling girl, we’ll finish these in the apartment, shall we? It’s just that I can see Jamie’s come on downstairs, and Major Horace has come in, and there’s absolutely no way we’ll escape both of them unless we make a dash for it right now.’ She herded Kirsty out like an animated border collie through the conservatory and out the side door, but stopped at the top of the steps, gesturing with her free arm. ‘Isn’t that fabulous?’ she demanded, ‘that view—from here you can see right across Grasshopper Lawns and over to the campsite, and just look at that sky!’