Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery (17 page)

She craned her neck to try and see which shelf he was standing in front of. As far as she could tell it was all medical titles. He cut a surprising figure as a rule-breaker. Why not just take the book to the photocopier instead of writing in it? With his head lowered, Flora could see his pink scalp clearly. She remembered his attitude of mild boredom the morning of the Captain’s death, and pictured again his face the day he’d almost run Otto over. Annoyed, rather than mortified. Was there something shifty about him? Something other than merely worn around the edges and perhaps a little bitter? Flora stared, trying to see what Joy saw, trying to imagine how much he might have changed in sixty-odd years. It was impossible to tell.

Flora turned her attention to the book Mr Felix was scribbling in. It had to be something really fascinating to be keeping him so absorbed. Maybe he was sick, trying to research information on a cure. What had Elizabeth said about all the parcels he received? Ordering vitamins over the internet. Sounded like he had a real interest in medical stuff. To get a better view, she dropped to her knees and crept forward, feigning an interest in the parenting section. If the Maples’ resident noticed she was even there, he gave no sign. Flora peered across the top of the trolley. On the front of the book was a picture of a plant. She still couldn’t see what it was called. She shuffled along a little more, keeping her face averted in case he looked up suddenly.
How to Tame Your Testing Toddler
, she read.
Tantrums From Hell and How to Avoid Them
. Flora shuddered. It wasn’t exactly a great advert for motherhood.

Figuring she was close enough now, Flora grabbed a book blindly off the nearest shelf for cover, then shifted her body around, hoping for a quick look at the title of Mr Felix’s medical text before he noticed her. But she’d misjudged the distance completely and was now far closer than she’d realised. As she turned, her shoulder smashed right into the trolley, knocking it – and the old man – flying.

Chapter 11

‘Oh, my goodness!’ Flora cried, jumping to her feet. ‘I’m so sorry!’

Mr Felix was lying on the thin carpet, staring up at her balefully. The lower half of his body was entirely covered in books, while the trolley itself had mercifully fallen on its side between them. His single crutch had also been flung to the side; Flora retrieved it for him and laid it next to his hand. The old man looked so frail, she was sure he must have broken something. If the heavy wooden trolley had hit him … Well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Let me move this lot so I can help you up. I can’t believe it, I’m so sorry.’ She scooped a pile of romances to one side and offered Mr Felix her hand. He didn’t take it. While Flora scrambled to release him, he continued to glare at her. But then his expression cleared.

‘Aren’t you the girl who works for that removal firm? Shaky’s or something?’

Flora didn’t bother correcting him, on the name or her position within it. She just nodded and smiled disarmingly, offering him her hand again. This time he allowed her to help him up.

‘What happened?’ he said. Flora frowned.

‘They really shouldn’t leave these overloaded trolleys cluttering up the aisles, should they?’ She shook her head and pursed her lips. ‘It was an accident waiting to happen.’

The old man nodded warily. Perhaps he was wondering if she’d seen what he was doing to that book. Flora cast her eyes about, hoping for a glimpse of it. But there was no way to distinguish one single book from the mess of paperbacks and hardbacks cluttering the floor by their feet.

Mr Felix was watching her carefully. His eyes dropped to the book Flora still held in her hand. It was the one she’d grabbed when she’d snuck up on him, and as she followed his gaze she was horrified to find herself gripping a thin paperback called
Herbal Cures for STDs
.

‘Take it from me, there aren’t any effective ones,’ Mr Felix said, grinning.

Flora opened her eyes wide. ‘And how, may I ask, would you know?’ She smiled. Thank goodness he was having a joke with her. If he realised she’d been spying on him it would be mortifying. Not to mention difficult to explain without getting Joy into trouble.

‘I know all about herbal medicine. Herbs generally. I brew up a mean cup of herbal tea. You should try it sometime.’

Flora shoved the offending item back on a shelf. The wrong shelf, of course. Heston had told her about the Dewey decimal system, but right now Flora couldn’t give a stuff. Thank goodness Heston hadn’t seen her holding that book.

‘I’d better tidy this lot up,’ she said. Mr Felix helped her right the trolley and together they began to re-stack the books. Flora flung them back haphazardly, while her companion took his time. She pretended not to notice when he carefully slipped a particular title back onto its shelf, but she did make a note of its location: 635. She filed it away for future reference, then turned her attention back to Mr Felix.

Now was her opportunity to ask about Joy. She just had to find the right way to get into it.

‘How are you settling in at the Maples?’ she said, making her voice nonchalant.

‘Fine,’ he replied.

Hmm. Might need a more direct approach. So much for Marshall’s idea of her as some kind of investigator. So far she’d alerted the subject to her presence by showering him in Mills & Boon novels and was now struggling to think of a single clever question.

Flora Lively investigates indeed!

‘What made you choose to move there?’ she said, inspiration striking.

He replaced another book then stood back to consider. In the fall his comb-over had come loose and now it hung comically down the wrong side of his head. Flora tried not to look at it.

‘It seemed like an okay place to retire to,’ he said, leaning heavily on the crutch. ‘Although the food isn’t as good as they promised. They don’t cook
everything
on site, you know. Some of the meals are brought in.’

Flora tutted. ‘Shocking. And did you know anyone else who lives there? Before you came, I mean?’

He shook his head. ‘No. But that doesn’t bother me. Always liked my own company.’

‘But did you recognise anyone once you moved into your unit? Anyone from your past?’

The silence made her look up from the trolley. Mr Felix was staring at her, and his expression was no longer friendly. ‘Why are you asking me all these questions? Oh, I get it.’

Whatever he got made him pretty mad. Flora shrank away as his eyes darkened.

‘You and that woman with the dog – you and her are thick as thieves, aren’t you? And don’t think I haven’t noticed she’s been spreading rumours about me. It’s always the same with people like her, people with money. They think they can look down on me, just because I’m renting my unit with my pension, which I’ve worked damn hard for, mind. Well, you can tell her that I don’t care what she says about me behind my back. I didn’t try and knock her stupid dog over on purpose, it ran out in front of me, and I’ve never done anything to upset anyone in that place. I just keep myself to myself.’

Flora was backing even further away, still on her knees, holding out her hands in a calming gesture. But he was winding himself up, creating his own momentum, and she was horrified to see tears forming in the corners of his pale eyes. He waved a book at her menacingly, his hand shaking.
The Billionaire’s Secret Cove
it was called, with a cover depicting an impossibly beautiful woman gazing up adoringly at a remote-looking man. Mr Felix advanced, almost tripping over the couple of books that still lay on the floor, berating her and waving his unlikely weapon.

‘Were you spying on me?’ he cried, raising his voice to a high-pitched wobble on “spying”.

‘No, not at all. I was just–’

‘Trying to spoil the little bit of peace I get, making out I’m some kind of criminal. I love dogs, you know, I’d never hurt one. I don’t know why they’ve all turned against me, I don’t know why.’

He was openly weeping now, and Flora was beside herself with guilt. How could she have gone against her own instincts like that and let Joy convince her this poor old man was anything other than harmless?

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, nearly crying herself. She tried to reach out and pat his arm but he squealed and shrank away from her touch.

‘Flora?’

Oh no. A bad situation just about to get so much worse. There was no mistaking the cultured tones of Heston’s voice. Slightly too high-pitched for a man, but smooth and assured. Flora closed her eyes briefly, still holding out a conciliatory hand to Mr Felix, before turning to face Heston’s shocked countenance.

‘What on earth is going on?’ Heston looked like he might keel over himself as he took in the scattered books, the haphazardly filled trolley, and the old man crying amidst it all.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ Flora said briskly, forcing a bright smile. ‘Just a bit of a mishap. We’ll get it straightened out in no time at all.’ What a nightmare. The last time her so-called boyfriend had seen her he’d gotten covered in dog pee; now he’d found her at the centre of a rumpus in his precious library with a crippled old man crying and accusing her of spying on him. Flora began to shove the rest of the books onto shelves, more to avoid meeting Heston’s eyes than out of any real desire to help.

‘Leave it, Flora,’ Heston said. His voice was cool. ‘You’re messing up the Dewey decimal system.’

Sod the bloody Dewey decimal system. What about your girlfriend – don’t you care that she might be hurt? Or embarrassed? Or both? Her shoulder was in fact throbbing quite badly from where she’d shoved into the heavy trolley, and her pride was in serious need of attention too. Worse, an old man was genuinely upset and her stupid meddling had been the cause of it. Flora stared hard at the floor and wished she could simply disappear.

‘Flora?’

When she finally stood up she was gratified to see a small amount of concern in Heston’s eyes.

‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’

Flora opened her mouth, but she could already see she wasn’t going to get a chance to speak. Mr Felix, finally realising Heston was a member of staff, started filling him in in graphic detail. Flora had no choice but to stand by and listen while the old man embellished her role in the trolley fiasco, accusing her of everything bar stamping on his hands while he lay prone on the ground. She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling – he might be harmless but he was a tell-tale alright. She decided to keep her silence regarding his own particular crime of writing in library stock. It would only sound churlish if she brought it up now, and she didn’t think Heston could cope with any more shocks.

With a final, despairing glance over his shoulder, Heston led the Maples’ resident away, promising a cup of tea and a complimentary DVD rental to compensate for his troubles. Flora slid down the nearest shelf and parked her rear on the floor, trying to steady her breathing. Mortifying. Absolutely one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.

After a few shaky breaths she pushed herself back to her feet and headed for the library’s exit. At the main counter she borrowed some paper and wrote Heston a note, saying she was sorry and asking him to call so she could explain. Then she raced outside, desperate to put some distance between her and the scene of her crime.

All that “Did you recognise anyone at the Maples?” nonsense. Her cheeks burned just thinking about it. Well, at least she had gotten an answer to that question: there was no way Mr Felix was Aubrey. Either he was an amazing actor or he’d had no idea what Flora was talking about.

What he did seem aware of, painfully so, was that Joy had it in for him. Flora stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine and vowed that she was not going to get involved in Joy’s crazy theories anymore. It would all right itself in the end. The Captain’s death would no doubt be explained by the postmortem, and this man in black would turn out to be someone’s son or long-lost cousin. Eventually life at the Maples Retirement Village would return to normal and go on as before. Peacefully. Where the only thing to fear was being moved to the third floor and losing your independence.

Leaning against the foot of the Charles Darwin statue, Flora took a moment to drink in a bit of peace of her own. What a day. Otto was waiting for her at home, and Flora needed to stop off at the supermarket and pick up more dog food and treats for the weekend. Plus a bottle of wine and a ready meal for herself. A nice quiet weekend, with nothing more onerous than a bit of light housework and perhaps some time spent thinking about the Rockfords situation. At least Joy’s capers had kept Flora’s mind off that particular problem for a while, but she wondered whether it was wilful procrastination. Rockfords weren’t going away, and Flora needed to come up with a strategy to deal with it fast. Otherwise she’d be at Marshall’s mercy – not a prospect she relished.

Preoccupied, Flora didn’t see the man walk past her, crossing the square and heading in the direction of the offices in School Gardens. What she noticed was the smell he left behind. She wrinkled her nose. It was familiar, but not in a good way. Cheap cologne. Musk, mixed with the cloying scent of over-ripe fruit. Yuk! But then a flash of black caught her eye, and she turned in time to see a distinctive form stop, glance around briefly, then slip under an arch and out of sight.

Those hollow cheeks were noticeable even from this distance. And there was no mistaking that bright red beard and bald pate – he looked like a man who had his head on upside down. Tall, wearing black …

Don’t do it, Flora, said a voice in her head. Just let it be. If you really think there was something odd about the Captain’s death go to the police and tell them. Let them deal with it. What can you do, anyway? You couldn’t even make a proper job of questioning a harmless old man.

But what if there was a link, innocent though it might be? The visits to the Captain and Ida … If Flora could discover what the link was, surely that would be enough to satisfy Joy? And if Joy would give up on this caretaker’s son business, finally see that there were no mysterious happenings at the Maples whatsoever, she would get back her peace of mind and be well again. Her asthma would improve, her skin would clear up, and she’d stop terrorising the other residents. Really, thought Flora as she pushed away from the statue and started across the square, she had no choice. She had to finish what she’d started. It was time to clear up this nonsense once and for all.