4 Death at the Happiness Club Page 14

  Chapter 20 Some of my favourite things

  'So, your favourite dog is a Labrador, is it?' said Detective Chief Inspector Smith.

  'I had to write something,' said Maisie Sue nervously, staring at him over the interview room table. She wasn't entirely sure how the police operated here, but she didn't think she had actually been arrested. There certainly hadn't been any hand-cuffs involved, the way there might have been where she came from. Two nice police officers, including that little Sergeant Whitefield who looked much too young to have anything to do with crime, had come over to her house and asked her to go round to the police station and make a statement.

  'Favourite colour,' he mused. 'I don't see the point of that.'

  'I guess it's to make sure you and your future partner see eye to eye over décor,' said Maisie Sue.

  Chief Inspector Smith leaned across the table and lowered his voice.

  'I hadn't even started filling the form in. Didn't have time. And I must admit I was having second thoughts. Not sure about pursuing happiness any more, I suppose.'

  'It's in our Declaration of Independence,' said Maisie Sue.

  The form hadn't been well-treated since she last saw it. Somewhere along the line, a great big stain had been allowed to spread across the middle of it, almost obliterating the part where Maisie Sue had written a 300-word explanation of what she wanted from the Happiness Club. She was quite glad Chief Inspector Smith couldn't read it - or perhaps the forensic people had some way of seeing through the stain. What was the stain, anyway? It looked almost like -

  'Eugh!' she exclaimed, jumping back from the table and almost causing the chair to topple over. 'Is that blood on my Happiness Club form?'

  'Yes,' said Chief Inspector Smith without looking up. 'But this isn't the actual form. It's a copy.'

  'So you xeroxed the bloodstain?' said Maisie Sue incredulously.

  'Not exactly,' said Chief Inspector Smith with a heavy sigh. 'I believe it's printed from a digital photograph.'

  'But whose is it?' she asked. 'The blood, I mean?'

  'I'm afraid I can't divulge that information at present,' he said.

  'Is this the person who was shot?' she persisted.

  'I can't comment on that either.'

  'Is there anything you can comment on?' she snapped, and then felt guilty. It wasn't his fault; he was hemmed in by rules and regulations on all sides. She was just an unfortunate American who happened to have gotten into the middle of it all. 'Excuse me. I shouldn't have said that. It isn't up to you to decide when to comment, is it?'

  'Believe me, if I thought it would help in any way, I'd tell you the whole story,' he said. 'We're stumbling around in the dark with our eyes closed at the moment.'

  'Could I have a glass of water?' said Maisie Sue. She didn't really want any water; she was testing their good-will.

  'Yes, of course!' he said, jumping to his feet. 'I meant to offer you a cup of tea and a biscuit. Would you like some tea?'

  'I guess I haven't lived in the UK long enough to appreciate tea,' said Maisie Sue. 'I'm more of a coffee drinker.'

  'Fair enough,' he said. 'We can do coffee too… Sergeant Whitefield: one coffee, one tea, plate of biscuits, no custard creams, please.'

  'I quite like your custard cream cookies,' said Maisie Sue after Sergeant Whitefield had gone.

  'You do? Oh, well, we might still get something even better.'

  There was definitely good-will.

  But Sergeant Whitefield was back in two minutes without the refreshments. She whispered something to Mr Smith, and he leaped to his feet again and left the room with her. Maisie Sue stared at the frosted glass window which, she suspected, led only to a corridor inside the police station, and wondered if she would be out of here by lunch-time. She had decided to go down to the wool-shop later to see if Jan was back from her holidays. If, as she suspected, the Happiness Club no longer existed, she would have to try and re-invigorate her meager social life some other way. She knew there were no men at Cosy Clicks who could solve all her visa problems by marrying her, but at least she would have the moral support and warmth of the women she knew there. Penelope… Amaryllis…. Giulia Petrelli, once she showed her face again. Maybe she could persuade them all to take up quilting too. She had once had an idea for an Old Pitkirtly quilt which could be hung up in the entrance hall of the Cultural Centre. Christopher had shown signs of being supportive, or at least hadn't said he would never hang it there, which she took to mean he would actively encourage its creation. The quilting group could assemble it in the Folk Museum. That would only be fitting.

  Maisie Sue had got as far as wishing she had thought to bring a pencil and paper with her so that she could start sketching out designs, when the interview room door opened again.

  Inspector Forrester started to show someone in, realised the room was occupied and hastily retreated, leading the man out again quickly before Maisie Sue could get a proper look at him.

  She didn't think she recognised him, and yet there was a certain fleeting familiarity about him. He was about her own age, dark hair graying at the temples. He seemed like the sort of man who didn't really accept the idea of getting older. She knew all about that kind.

  A few minutes later Chief Inspector Smith came in again. He looked a little stressed and anxious.

  'I think that's about all for now, Mrs MacPherson. If we need to speak to you again, I think we know where to find you. Thank you very much indeed for your help.'

  On the way out, Maisie Sue thought she heard Amaryllis's voice, raised in anger, but there was no sign of her, and Sergeant Whitefield, who was showing her out, didn't say anything.

  But just outside the police station she bumped into Christopher, and he had plenty to say.

  'Have you seen Amaryllis?' he demanded as she came down the steps. It had started to rain since she had gone into the building, and she wanted to get on down to the wool-shop as quickly as she could, so she was a little impatient with him.

  'No, I haven't seen Amaryllis, and isn't it time your life stopped revolving around her?' she snapped.

  He stood on the pavement with his mouth open - not a good look - and stared at her as if she had hit him.

  'You might try asking how I am, and what I was doing in there,' she suggested. Then she worried he might think she was pushing American values at him: be nice to everyone and extra polite to people you don't like. 'I'm sorry - I've been questioned by the police, and there was blood on my Happiness Club membership form, and I have no idea what is going on... But I did hear Amaryllis’s voice,’ she added, relenting.

  'Let's go for a drink,' he said.

  She thought it was a little early for a proper drink, but once they were in the Queen of Scots, not sitting at Christopher's usual table but at a much nicer spot at the other side of the bar, she found she could manage a glass of wine.

  'It isn't too bad over at this side of the bar,' he said, sipping his Old Pictish Brew and glancing around. 'You get more light from the window, and whatshisname, the landlord, can't watch you.'

  'Why do you always sit at the other side?' said Maisie Sue, curious about ancient British drinking customs.

  He shrugged. 'That's just what we do…. I suppose that's why we're still here in Pitkirtly and your family went to the States. We're set in our ways and afraid to try anything new. We'll probably be the last people left on the earth when the sun explodes.'

  She shivered. 'I guess I don't want to think about that too much.'

  'So - are you all right after being interrogated by Chief Inspector Smith and his sidekicks?'

  'I'm fine. He isn't exactly a ruthless interrogator. There wasn't any medieval torture involved. What were you doing outside?'

  'Looking for Amaryllis. She went off somewhere last night and I haven't seen her since.'

  'Does that bother you?'

  He frowned. 'It isn't unusual for her to do things without telling me - it's just that I have a bad feeling about her being out all night. St
ewie and I waited up for her and Zak.'

  'Stewie? Zak?'

  'I don't suppose you know them. They're just a couple of local kids. Stewie's staying with Amaryllis for some reason that she hasn't finished explaining to me yet, and Zak - well, he was worried about his mother, and that's why the two of them went off together.'

  'His mother?'

  'Penelope Johnstone.'

  'Ah. Yes, I guess I do know Zak. He came along to the Happiness Club a couple times. He was on the trip to Inchcolm when the boat exploded. He's a good-looking boy….Oh, my!'

  She paused, trying to work it out.

  A good-looking boy… A good-looking older man with a trace of grey in his hair and an air of entitlement. But why should he be at the police station? Had something happened to Zak? Or to Amaryllis? Had that really been her voice raised in protest?

  She told Christopher all she knew, which only took a few sentences.

  'Ah,' he said. 'The absent father. The reason Penelope went to the Happiness Club in the first place. Zak told us she threw him out.'

  'Threw Zak out? Why in the world -?'

  'Not Zak. His father. She threw him out because he got into trouble shooting at gulls near the headland in Aberdour. I was there at the time. With my sister.'

  'She threw Mr Johnstone out but she still worried about him,' said Maisie Sue slowly, piecing it together. 'So when she rushed past me, going towards the Happiness Club, it was because she thought he was there and -'

  'And about to do something bad,' he finished. 'And he had his gun with him!'

  'He shot someone?' said Maisie Sue.

  'He shot someone in the office at the Happiness Club, and the blood got all over your membership form,' said Christopher.

  She winced. It wasn't a nice thought.

  'And now they've arrested him,' she said.

  'I wonder where Amaryllis fits in,' said Christopher thoughtfully. She didn't take him to task this time for thinking the world revolved around Amaryllis; it was clear that his friend had something to do with Mr Johnstone's appearance at the police station. 'I don't suppose you saw Zak and Penelope at the station too?' he added.

  'I don't think so,' said Maisie Sue.

  'I wonder where they've got to.'

  They sipped at their drinks in silence for a little while. It was kind of restful.

  Or at least, it was until Jemima Stevenson and Dave burst in.

  'There you are!' said Jemima to Christopher breathlessly.

  'Told you,' said Dave.

  'We've got Jock McLean back!' said Jemima.

  'Oh, woohoo,' said Christopher sarcastically. He really wasn't quite as nice and polite as he used to be, thought Maisie Sue.

  Jemima and Dave took no notice. They brought two more chairs over and crowded round the table.

  'You get a different perspective on things from here,' said Jemima, gazing round the room. 'More light from the window, too.'

  Dave went to get the drinks in.

  'So Jock McLean's tunneled his way out of hospital, then,' said Christopher. 'Where is he? Did you dump him on his own door-step just like the NHS would have done?'

  'No, of course not,' said Jemima crossly. 'We took him round to my house. He can sleep in the front room. Then he won't have to go upstairs.'

  'If you can stand him, that sounds fine,' said Christopher. 'Just don't let him smoke his pipe in the house. You don't want to go home and find a pile of smouldering ruins.'

  'It's funny,' mused Jemima. 'He doesn't seem all that bothered about smoking his pipe now. I suppose blowing up the boat gave him a bit of a fright… What's been going on? Have we missed anything? Where is everybody?'

  Dave brought over the drinks, including another glass of wine for Maisie Sue. She reflected gloomily on the amount of alcohol she'd been drinking just lately. Maybe she'd be able to claim Scottish citizenship on the grounds of having fifty per cent alcohol in her blood.

  'Amaryllis seems to be round at the police station,' said Christopher. 'Maisie Sue's just been there.'

  'What did they want with you?' said Jemima.

  So Maisie Sue had to go through the whole explanation again, this time adding a coda about perhaps seeing Zak's father there.

  'Has anybody seen Mr Fraser and his sisters?' asked Jemima suddenly.

  'I wouldn't know them if I saw them,' said Christopher. 'Maisie Sue?'

  'I guess not. They weren't around yesterday when I went up with the form, and I didn't see any of them at the police station. Oh, my! Do you think they're OK?'

  'They'll be in it up to their necks,' said Dave with satisfaction, taking a huge gulp of Old Pictish Brew. Maisie Sue made a mental note to try it some time. She didn't generally like British beer, but she should really try out some new things and not just settle into a groove.

  Dave sounded quite fierce. Didn't he like Sean Fraser, Dilly and Dee?

  'Why should they be?' said Christopher.

  'Why shouldn't they be?' countered Dave. 'It's their operation - up to them to prove they had nothing to do with it.'

  'It doesn't usually work like that,' said Christopher. 'But I see what you mean, though.'

  After they finished the next round of drinks, Christopher agreed to go back to Jemima Stevenson's and say hello to Jock McLean, while Maisie Sue still planned to go round to the wool shop and see if Jan was there.

  'Say hi to Mr McLean for me,' she said as she left them.

  'We will,' Dave promised, laughing for no reason she could understand.

  'Just a minute, dear,' said Jemima to her unexpectedly. She drew Maisie Sue aside. 'I've been meaning to ask you - do you know anything about your family history? Before your family moved to the States, that is?'

  What was this about? Maisie Sue couldn't imagine, but she went along with it anyway.

  'I guess I'm like a lot of Americans - some of my family were from Ireland and some from Scotland. I'm not sure how far back that goes. And I did have a German grandma. Oma. I'd have to look at my Mom's old albums. I have three of them in the closet.'

  'I would have a good look if I were you,' said Jemima. ‘People with Scottish ancestry sometimes count as Scottish, you know.’

  A few moments later, Maisie Sue found the wool-shop open. She hurried in to speak to Jan, who was bronzed and relaxed after her holiday on the Isle of Wight. Maisie Sue wished she could become bronzed and relaxed: even one of the two would be good.

  Jan was interested in the Happiness Club story, but ambivalent about the Pitkirtly quilt idea. Maisie Sue could see how it might take some business away from the wool-shop, but if Jan showed some entrepreneurial spirit she could branch out into quilting materials and equipment. But then, Maisie Sue knew that if Pitkirtly people had any entrepreneurial flair they would have left Pitkirtly several generations before.

  As she walked home afterwards, the cream Porsche swept past. She was slightly surprised that Zak's father had gotten out of the police station already: the grim look on Chief Inspector Smith's face had suggested he was there for a long spell. Maybe he had produced an unbreakable alibi or they had caught somebody else.

  In any case, she didn't suppose the police would bother her again.

  Chapter 21 Maisie Sue says Hi

  ‘Maisie Sue says Hi!’ said Dave, chuckling again, as they trooped into Jemima’s sitting-room. Jock McLean, lying a little awkwardly on the settee, frowned.

  ‘What’s all that about?’ he muttered.

  ‘Just a friendly greeting, that’s all,’ said Dave.

  ‘Yes, but why?’ he said suspiciously.

  ‘Because that’s the kind of person she is,’ said Christopher. ‘She can’t help being pleasant and friendly to people – it’s been programmed into her from a young age.’

  Jock groaned. ‘Oh, God, you don’t fancy her, do you? What would Amaryllis say?’

  ‘No, I don’t, and it’s got nothing to do with Amaryllis,’ said Christopher firmly.

  ‘Ha! That’s a matter of opinion,’ said Jock. ‘And do
n’t forget the woman’s got a black belt in karate. It wouldn’t do to cross her.’

  ‘Amaryllis is a civilised adult,’ said Christopher, trying for a calm but fair tone, but conscious that he might come over as someone desperately attempting to hide his fear. ‘She only uses martial arts when she has to.’

  ‘What’s all this nonsense?’ said Jemima, bustling in from the kitchen, where knowing her she had almost certainly had time to put the kettle on, make a batch of scones and do all the ironing. ‘Would anybody like a sandwich?’

  The usual round of discussions about what people fancied to eat followed. Christopher, having put in an early order for cheese sandwiches, no mayonnaise, no pickle, no salad, and a cup of coffee, sat on one of Jemima’s grandmother’s Victorian spoon chairs near the window, and considered the events of the last twenty-four hours, including the fact that Amaryllis had apparently got into trouble with the law yet again. It was only a matter of time before they recruited a whole new branch of West Fife police to deal with her activities.

  'So,' said Jock McLean, leaning back and looking slightly more relaxed after asking Jemima for some impossible combination of sandwich fillings, sulking because she didn't have any dill pickle, and perking up again when she offered sliced venison. Jemima and Dave had both retired to the kitchen to sort out the wish list. 'What's been going on up at the Happiness Club, then?'

  'Hmph, you may well ask,' said Christopher. He felt slightly left out, since so many people he knew were round at the police station helping the police with their enquiries. Or did they only use that wording if you were the chief suspect and they didn't want to say you'd been arrested? And Maisie Sue, who didn't even belong in Pitkirtly, had been questioned by the police twice about the incident, whatever it was.

  'A mystery, eh? Well, what do we know so far?'

  Jock must be bored to distraction, Christopher realised. It wasn't like him to show this kind of unprompted interest in local events. Usually he just went along for the ride, following Amaryllis on her night-time excursions, or annoying Christopher in some way. He summarized the known facts for Jock.