7 A Tasteful Crime Read online

  ‘Can I come and watch? Not the librarians, I mean, just to see television people at work.’

  ‘It isn’t pretty,’ he warned her. ‘But you’d be welcome, as far as I’m concerned... No spying though,’ he added hastily.

  ‘As if!’ she said

  They walked slowly back round the building.

  ‘Nice boots,’ she remarked, glancing at his feet. ‘Why did you marry her in the first place?’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘She was younger then,’ he said evasively.

  ‘I see.’

  Chapter 4 Jock and the Giant Apple

  After the food fight in Jemima’s kitchen they dispersed, Amaryllis heading for the Cultural Centre, where she claimed she was going to engage in hostage negotiations with the television crew until they let Christopher go, and Penelope walking round to the bus stop to catch the late afternoon service to Dunfermline. Jock suggested to Jemima and Tricia that they should all go down to the Queen of Scots to make sure Dave and Charlie were coping all right. It was a pleasant walk, the sun having finally broken through the clouds.

  ‘So how is Penelope going to take part if her kitchen’s in Aberdour and they’re filming in Pitkirtly?’ said Jock. In his opinion Penelope shouldn’t be allowed to take part in anything culinary, based on today’s performance, but he was now curious about how the whole thing worked. Maybe he should have entered the competition too: after all he had been cooking for himself for some years and nobody had died in his kitchen yet either.

  ‘She’s borrowing Christopher’s,’ said Jemima. ‘He can’t use it himself because he’s part of the production team. It’s against the rules.’

  ‘They have rules, do they?’ said Jock.

  ‘Pages of them,’ said Jemima. ‘We’ve all had to have our kitchens inspected by food hygiene people.’

  Jock realised his kitchen would never have passed this test. He was surprised Christopher’s had, particularly after Charlie Smith’s dog’s stay in the house a few months before.

  ‘When did all this happen?’ he said. He was still miffed by his failure to know all about it before Christopher did. It was against nature.

  ‘I think it was when you were away. In the Highlands, wasn’t it?’ said Tricia. ‘During that very wet spell in July.’

  ‘Yes, that was it,’ Jock nodded. ‘It was wet all right.’

  They had got through the lunchtime rush at the Queen of Scots, and now Dave sat at a table with his pint of Old Pictish Brew and Charlie Smith stood behind the bar drying glasses as if he had been born to this life instead of coming to it only a short time ago in an unexpected way.

  He wasn’t supposed to have the dog in the bar with him, so the dog lay under Dave’s table in a patch of sunlight, pretending he was just visiting. This worked well as the dog, Jock noted, had no sense of entitlement and would never presume to lie on somebody’s feet or even squeal if somebody stood on his tail. It was a bit sad, so Jock tried to think about something else.

  ‘So how’s it going?’ boomed Dave as they walked over towards him. ‘Did you win, Jemima?’

  ‘It was a draw,’ she said.

  ‘A draw, eh? Never mind, dear. I’ll get you a Dubonnet and lemonade. What are you having, Tricia? The usual, Jock?’ He heaved himself out of the chair and went over to the bar. Jock followed him, leaving Jemima and Tricia to settle themselves down.

  ‘A draw,’ said Charlie, with a reproving glance at Jock. ‘Was that really the best you could do?’

  ‘I didn’t do it!’ said Jock. ‘It was Amaryllis.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what they all say,’ commented Charlie.

  ‘Probably because it’s usually true,’ said Jock. ‘You should know that.’

  ‘What exactly happens in this food thing?’ said Charlie. ‘I haven’t been paying attention. Only there’s a giant apple parked out behind the pub, and I wondered....’

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Jock, panicking in case either his ears or his brain had suddenly ceased to function properly.

  ‘A giant apple,’ said Charlie casually. ‘Have a look out the back window and you can see for yourself.’

  ‘That’ll be for the healthy eating parade,’ said Dave.

  ‘Healthy eating!’ growled Jock. ‘I don’t believe in it. I’ve still got indigestion from that leek thing.’

  ‘Considering it was all flung together at the last minute,’ said Charlie, ‘they were lucky to get the giant apple. And all the costumes.’

  ‘Costumes? People in fancy dress?’ Jock wondered if it was too late to emigrate.

  ‘It’ll be a good laugh, anyway,’ said Dave, the eternal optimist. ‘Apart from the cooking competition. That’ll be deadly serious. Wooden spoons at twenty paces.’

  He chuckled to himself, evidently looking forward to the whole event. It’ll be a different story when Jemima fails the kitchen hygiene test, thought Jock sourly.

  ‘Who’s going to drive the apple?’ he said.

  ‘I wanted to, but they said they already had somebody,’ said Dave.

  Charlie and Jock looked at each other, but didn’t say anything. Dave’s driving was notorious for miles around. Jock found the idea of him thundering down Pitkirtly High Street in charge of a giant apple extremely frightening.

  ‘They’re not expecting everybody else to dress up, are they?’ said Jock suspiciously.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Charlie. ‘They’ll need people to go and watch as well. And take pictures on their mobiles and upload them to Facebook.’

  ‘I don’t believe in Facebook,’ said Jock.

  ‘Do you mean you don’t believe it exists at all, or you don’t believe in using it?’ said Charlie.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Jock, taking his pint and marching off with it.

  Dave picked up the women’s drinks and followed.

  ‘Charlie must be getting desperate. He’s started trying to make conversations about Facebook,’ said Jock, back at the table.

  ‘What’s Facebook?’ said Dave. Jock couldn’t work out whether he was joking or not.

  ‘Do you know anybody who’s going to be in this healthy eating parade?’ he asked Jemima.

  She shook her head. ‘Schoolchildren, I think. Dressed up as fruit and vegetables, poor wee things. The Council have organised it. Christopher knows all about it. He says they’re pretending they always wanted Pitkirtly to be the healthy eating town of West Fife.’

  ‘They’ve never shown any sign of wanting that before,’ said Jock, taking a slurp of Old Pictish Brew.

  ‘I hope they’ve persuaded the chip shop not to sell those deep-fried caramel wafers while the TV crew’s about,’ said Dave with his deep laugh.

  ‘There’s going to be riots in the streets if they have,’ said Jock.

  ‘It could be worse,’ said Tricia. ‘But I must admit I’m getting quite nervous about all this. I never thought I’d be on TV. Specially cooking. I’ve never had any proper lessons.... Do you think there’s time to get our hair done, Jemima?’

  Jemima patted her grey curls. ‘I had a perm two weeks ago. I’ll be fine like this.’ She looked at Tricia with a critical eye. ‘Maybe that new mobile hairdresser could fit you in. What does she call herself? Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow? It’s some silly kind of name like that anyway.’

  ‘I just wish we’d had a bit more notice,’ said Tricia. ‘I can understand about Blair Atholl dropping out like they did – not everybody would want their kitchen to be seen by the viewing millions. But why didn't the TV people have a backup place in mind?’

  ‘They did,’ said Jemima. ‘Only it turned out not to exist. Except in somebody’s imagination. Nobody knows yet whose fault it was, but they’ll be in trouble when some of the high-ups find out.’

  ‘You mean somebody in the TV company invented a place?’ said Tricia, wide-eyed. ‘Didn’t they ever think they’d get found out?’

  ‘The best-laid plans…’ said Jemima, shaking her head. ‘Anyway, I think it’s going to be a great thing for
the town. We’ll be famous.’

  ‘More like notorious, if somebody gets poisoned by Penelope Johnstone,’ said Jock, laughing. He saw Tricia’s disapproving look, and changed tack. ‘Or run over by the big green apple.’

  ‘It isn’t green, it’s red,’ said Dave. ‘Do you want to go round the back and have a look?’

  ‘Not just now,’ said Jock. ‘This is practically our last chance for a quiet pint before the madness descends.’

  ‘There won’t be any madness,’ said Dave confidently. ‘No more than usual anyway.’

  ‘No madness?’ said Jock. ‘This whole thing’s a recipe for madness.’

  He sat back, pleased with his witty play on words.

  Jemima and Tricia groaned in unison.

  ‘What happens tomorrow?’ said Dave. ‘Will I have to get out of the house early in case I contaminate the kitchen?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Jemima. ‘You're my assistant. They’ll want to film you as well. Better wear that nice shirt I gave you for your birthday.’

  Dave blushed – that was a first, thought Jock. What had the silly old fool been up to?

  ‘You haven’t been wearing it to mess about with the car, have you?’ Jemima enquired suspiciously.

  ‘Not the car exactly,’ said Dave. ‘Anybody need another drink?’

  ‘We’ve only just got one,’ said Jemima.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to have a look at the big apple?’ said Dave to Jock urgently.

  Jock sighed and put down his glass. ‘Go on then. Let’s get it over with.’

  They had to stand up against the monstrous regiment of women, after all, even although Jemima and Tricia weren’t anything like as monstrous as some of the women Jock had run up against over the years. Dave led the way round to the car park behind the pub. Sure enough, there was a giant red apple on wheels sitting there just across from Charlie Smith’s new people-carrier. He didn’t use it to carry people – apart from the dog - but to bring things home from the discount store.

  They walked round the apple.

  ‘Is it legal to drive something like this?’ said Jock.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Dave. ‘Maybe best to have an HGV licence though. In case you get stopped by the police... You’d be all right having a spin round the car park.’

  ‘Me? I’ve only driven the dodgems!’ said Jock. ‘They won’t have left the keys in it – will they?’

  He sincerely hoped they wouldn’t have. But Dave peered into the cab and said gleefully, ‘They have, too!’ He opened the door and reached in. ‘It’d be a criminal waste not to have a go, wouldn’t it?’

  Jock took a step away from him. ‘Not really.’

  He thought afterwards that Dave had probably taken that as a challenge. But by that time it was too late.

  ‘You coming?’ said Dave, tossing the keys in the air like a boy racer and catching them.

  ‘What did you do with your good shirt?’ said Jock, trying to distract him.

  ‘Oil change,’ said Dave as he got into the cab and put the keys in the ignition.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ said Jock, but by that time the engine was making such a noise that Dave couldn’t hear him. Or at least, he didn’t admit to hearing anything.

  Jock sidled away and stood at the corner of the building. He hoped it was a safe distance, but he had his doubts.

  There was a hideous grinding as Dave tried to work out how the gears worked. A hideous screeching as he tried to move off without taking the handbrake off. Then a hideous clunking and banging as the giant apple shot right backwards and straight into Charlie Smith’s people-carrier. It was amazing, reflected Jock, what a lot of damage an apple could do.

  He went round the corner and out to the street and just kept on walking. He didn’t want to be around when Jemima and Charlie exploded simultaneously. That would teach people the meaning of the big bang, all right.

  Chapter 5 Much More than Five a Day

  The Cultural Centre would never be the same again, thought Christopher gloomily. Never had so much havoc been wreaked by such a small number of people in such a short time. When he had left the building with Deirdre to find Eric, things had been more or less under control. When he and Amaryllis wandered back in, his office door was wedged open, contrary to fire regulations, and Zak and Ken were wheeling the library trolley, laden with books, down the corridor away from the library.

  Zak stopped in his tracks when he saw Christopher.

  ‘Mr Wilson! It’s all right, we’re just...’

  ‘I see,’ said Christopher. ‘Whatever you’re doing to the library – I’m not sure I want to know what it is – just make sure you can put it back before the librarians come in on Monday. Even if you have to stay up all night to do it.’

  ‘Yes. Fine,’ said Zak.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Amaryllis offered. Zak and Ken both began to look apprehensive. Christopher smiled to himself. Either Amaryllis’s fame as a destroyer had spread further afield than anybody had imagined, or Ken had taken one look at her and summed her up in an instant. Of all his friends and acquaintances, only Dave had a greater propensity for getting into trouble. And he usually got away with it because the police didn’t want the bad publicity that would come from arresting a senior citizen.

  Zak and Ken wheeled the trolley in the direction of the folk museum. Oh well, at least Zak knew enough to be careful of Maisie Sue’s quilt display.

  Oscar’s raised voice came from the office. ‘No, no, no. That won’t do. You’ve got to be in character as Buttons, otherwise nobody will have a clue who you are.’

  ‘They won’t anyway,’ said Eric in a smaller, more defeated voice.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Amaryllis. ‘I think my confidence-boosting powers are needed in there.’

  ‘Don’t...’ Christopher realised just in time how futile it was to tell her not to interfere. Interfering was her life’s blood. She probably wouldn’t have become a spy in the first place if she hadn’t had the colossal ego that told her she could sort out all the world’s problems.

  Maria came out of the office as Amaryllis went in.

  ‘What’s going on in there?’ said Christopher, not really expecting an answer. He didn’t get one. Maria shrugged.

  ‘The usual kind of thing,’ she said. ‘Don’t you have wi-fi?’

  She peered around as if she could detect a wireless signal just by looking for it.

  ‘It isn’t as strong down at this end of the building,’ said Christopher, forcing himself not to sound apologetic.

  She sighed in a long-suffering manner and turned to walk back into the office, hesitating only slightly as Oscar’s voice rose again in a new complaint. ‘Who the hell are you? And what – ow! Watch what you’re doing!’

  Christopher decided to risk a visit to the library to inspect the havoc.

  It wasn’t quite as bad as he had expected. One set of shelves had been completely denuded of books, and turned round at right angles to its neighbour to form a little room within the larger space. As he stood there, he heard the creak of the trolley returning.

  ‘What’s going to happen in here?’ he asked Ken.

  ‘Dressing-room,’ said Ken. He and Zak began to load up the trolley again.

  ‘Dressing-room? What for?’

  ‘Parade of the fruit and vegetables,’ said Ken. He paused in his task and took a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. ‘We’ve got a letter from somebody at the Council – a Mr Hargreaves? – giving us permission to use this place as we see fit. Don’t worry, mate. It’s all cool.’

  ‘Cool,’ repeated Christopher. Keep your cool. Parade of the fruit and vegetables – that’s all cool too. He was no longer surprised Mr Hargreaves had wriggled out of being here to welcome this lot. He wouldn’t show his face in Pitkirtly at all in future if he knew what was good for him.

  ‘Where are the costumes? Do people make their own?’

  He didn’t really want to know. In fact he strongly suspe
cted that the less he knew about it, the happier he would be. But something made him ask the question anyway.

  ‘On their way,’ said Ken. He glanced at his watch. ‘Should be here any minute. Don’t stress, Mr Wilson. Charlotte’s out at the front. She’ll get the vans parked all right.’

  ‘Vans?’

  ‘Why don’t you find a cubby-hole somewhere to sit down out of the way?’ Ken suggested. Christopher could see Zak’s face contorting into a series of more and more horrified expressions, but Ken didn’t seem to have noticed anything.

  If only Amaryllis were here in the library instead of playing peacemaker – or, he suspected, ruthless political agitator – in his office. Maybe he should arrange for her to spend half an hour with Mr Hargreaves at some point in the future...

  Christopher pulled himself together. It was no use being too precious about the books. It wasn’t that all of them were great works of literature or anything. He knew for a fact there were at least some by Dan Brown and Jeffrey Archer.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand here,’ he said, sweeping books off a shelf on to the trolley.

  ‘We weren’t going to move these ones,’ said Zak.

  Just as Christopher was reminded, not for the first time, the utter pointlessness of his existence, Charlotte came in, staggering under the weight of an armful of over-sized cauliflower heads. ‘Could somebody give me a hand with unloading the vans?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘There’s two hundred fruit and vegetable outfits there and they weigh a ton. Then there’s all the cameras and sound recording stuff.’

  For once Christopher exercised his authority. ‘You two can unload the vans,’ he ordered Zak and Ken. ‘Charlotte and I will arrange things in here.’

  Ken gave him an evil look but Zak winked as they went out.

  ‘You might try asking Deirdre to help,’ Christopher called after them. ‘She looks as if she’s got some muscles on her.’

  For a little while he felt almost carefree as they shuffled books around. Maybe this change from the day-to-day routine would be good for him. It might liberate some creativity inside him.