The Troutbeck Testimony Page 10

‘What for? To live?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about the dog?’

  ‘What dog?’

  ‘She’s got her own dog. A fluffy thing that goes everywhere with her. They had to let her have it with her in hospital. Surely you heard about that? The paper did a story about it, because she says it saved her life.’

  ‘She hasn’t mentioned a dog,’ said Simmy faintly. ‘She didn’t bring it to work with her.’

  ‘She will,’ said Ben. A voice could be heard in the background as one of his relatives shouted for him. ‘Look – I’ve got to go. See you Friday or Saturday, maybe. I’ll call in and chat, if you’ve stopped being busy by then.’

  ‘Bye, then. And thanks.’

  Because it was definitely the case that she now had a whole new set of things to think about, and for that she ought probably to be grateful.

  Chapter Ten

  Cynthia Mossop was dressed when Simmy delivered the second lot of flowers in two days marking her birthday. ‘Oh, you poor thing!’ she cried. ‘Coming all this way twice, just because my friends can’t get their act together.’

  ‘All part of the job,’ said Simmy. ‘Although the weather could be better.’

  The weather was in fact atrocious. Rain sheeted down, rendering the outlines of the fells and lakes fuzzy. The roads were splashy and the sky almost low enough to touch. Above Staveley the slopes of Hugill Fell were running with rivulets intent on joining the River Kent, which was the main feature of the valley. At least Ninian wouldn’t be waiting for her again this morning, she thought. While in no way unhappy to see him as a general rule, she was much too busy for him today.

  The car had no allotted space behind the shop, which meant finding somewhere on the street that permitted unrestricted parking. As a general habit, she left it in Lake Road, close to her parents’ house, but sometimes she was forced to use one that turned off the larger road. It was less than five minutes’ walk to the shop, whatever happened. This morning, the rain meant more people had travelled by car than usual, whatever their reason for coming to Windermere. She parked in a handy space in a side road, grabbing an umbrella from the back seat and trotting quickly into the town centre.

  Once in the shop, she judged she had fifteen minutes to herself before Bonnie arrived, and she made good use of the time by checking and noting every order for the next day’s funeral. In total, there were fifteen tributes, eight of which had yet to be constructed. Everything had to be meticulously controlled on this momentous occasion. While weddings might require a larger quantity of flowers than this, the urgency associated with a funeral and the horrors that could result from a mistake made this her most demanding experience since opening the business. Nothing could be forgotten because there were no second chances with a funeral.

  When Bonnie did arrive, she was soaking wet. Her skimpy hair was plastered to her head, making her look even smaller and younger than before. ‘Haven’t you got a hood?’ Simmy demanded, sounding like her own mother. ‘Look at you! Your legs.’ The girl was wearing a short jacket that had obviously not been designed for real weather. It had to be peeled off like a banana skin. Bonnie held it out at arm’s length.

  ‘You’re completely drenched,’ said Simmy, still not quite able to believe the extent of the wetness. ‘I’ve never seen such a wet person.’

  ‘I’m okay. It’s warm rain. I rather like it,’ came the careless reply. ‘I did have a nice big mac, but I couldn’t find it this morning.’

  ‘Well you’ll have to handle the customers for me today, if you think you’re up to it. Melanie did say she’d try and come in for a bit, later on, although she’s a bit unreliable these days. She knows I’m going to be awfully busy, so I guess she will turn up at some point.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Bonnie, squaring her wet shoulders. ‘I can shout for you if I need help.’

  ‘Let me go and find a towel.’ She came back with an inadequate offering from the toilet at the back and briskly rubbed the girl’s hair. ‘My mum says she knows your aunt. Corinne – is that her name? She went to look at some puppies you were selling.’

  ‘They’re all gone now.’ Bonnie pushed away the towel. Her voice echoed with melancholy. ‘We were closed down just after Easter.’

  ‘Closed down? Who by?’

  ‘Local authority. The RSPCA had a complaint about us, and said we were overcrowded. There’s an injunction. They only let us keep Spike and Millie, because they’re both neutered. We’re not allowed to breed again.’

  ‘You’ve got a dog of your own, I hear. Ben said something about it.’

  ‘That’s Spike. They wouldn’t dare take him away from me, after all the publicity.’

  ‘What sort is he?’ asked Simmy, not really interested in the reply.

  ‘He’s a funny mixture. His mother was a shih-tzu, and his father was a cross between a poodle and a golden retriever. He’s mostly white and fluffy, but quite big. We had his mum, Delilah. She died last year.’

  ‘Well, you couldn’t possibly have a dog with you in the rooms upstairs. It makes it even more impossible.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well – it’d bark. And those metal stairs would be hopelessly tricky for a dog.’

  ‘He’d be fine with them. He’s very agile.’

  ‘I’m not going to argue with you about it now. There’s too much to do. You’ll have to go home and get more clothes. I can’t have you dripping all day. Look at the puddles you’ve made already. How long would it take you?’

  ‘Probably about forty minutes, there and back. But I can’t do that. It’ll confuse Spike if I show up and then go again. He hates us being separated. I’ll be all right. I’m not cold.’

  ‘You will be.’

  Bonnie simply stood where she was, fluffing out her hair and making soft squelching sounds with her sodden trainers. ‘Oh, there’s something I forgot to tell you. I’ll be going to the funeral tomorrow. Miss Hodge was really nice to Corinne and me last year. I ought to go and pay my respects, because Corinne says she can’t make it. I won’t stay for the thing afterwards, though.’

  Simmy digested this carefully. ‘Am I missing something?’ she wondered. ‘You seem to know a lot of people. And they all know you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m nobody special. In fact, that’s my motto. Little Bonnie Lawson from a big untidy family, that’s me. Nobody pays her any attention.’

  Simmy felt a growing impatience. ‘I’m not sure I believe that. It’s not the impression I’ve been getting so far. Now, for heaven’s sake, what are we going to do about your clothes? There’s absolutely nothing here.’ She entertained wild thoughts of going across the street to the large lingerie shop and trying to buy a warm vest as being better than nothing.

  ‘I could try phoning Mel and see if she could bring me something when she comes in.’

  ‘She’s twice as big as you. Nothing would fit.’ Three times as big, more like it, she thought.

  ‘I mean, something of Chloe’s. Mel’s sister. She’s my friend. We were best friends from Year Eight on. That’s how Melanie knows me. Didn’t she say that on Tuesday?’

  ‘Possibly. Phone her, then, and see if she can help. And tell her to bring a brolly so you can get home again.’

  ‘It’ll have stopped raining by then. Sorry to be such a nuisance, Simmy. I didn’t think, did I? I just set out, and sloshed through the puddles, thinking how lovely it all was. I never dreamt anybody would mind.’

  ‘Your aunt won’t be too happy if you get pneumonia.’ Simmy vaguely suspected that someone so malnourished might well be unusually vulnerable to all sorts of infections and problems.

  ‘She’s not actually my aunt. She’s just Corinne, okay. I’ll explain it all to you sometime.’

  Simmy refrained from admitting that she knew this already, and more besides. She almost ran through to the back room, acutely aware of having lost a precious half-hour and throwing her schedule as a result. There’d be no time to stop for lunch, at this rate. And th
at brought to mind the other problem surrounding Bonnie. The girl was supposed to eat. Simmy had made that assumption the day before, and now felt obliged to ensure that she did so. Irritation blossomed as the numerous responsibilities associated with her new assistant weighed her down. It felt like a real imposition, that she had not invited. It was all Melanie’s fault, she decided. If and when she showed up, Simmy would have a word with her. If she had time.

  The two main floral tributes for the funeral were going to require considerable care. A wire frame had to be constructed for a cushion of blooms intended to sit on the middle of the coffin’s lid. It would be the focal point of the procession from Barbara Hodge’s house to the church, and then out to the graveyard. Every flower had to be precisely positioned and anchored, and a place found for the little ceramic addition that Valerie had supplied. It would take well over an hour to make.

  There were voices out in the shop, as far as Simmy could tell discussing something quite calmly. She resisted the temptation to have a look, and pushed away a mental picture of Bonnie as a dripping object of surprised concern to any customer. There was every chance that the girl would overcome any awkwardness with her blithe manner, but it was still potentially embarrassing. For the first time, Simmy saw personal implications in the fact that Bonnie seemed well known throughout the town. Word would already be spreading that she had found a position in Persimmon Petals and now there would be additional spice to the story. That Bonnie Lawson was soaking wet in the flower shop this morning. Like a drowned rat she was. And her such a fragile little thing – you’d think she would be better looked after, wouldn’t you? And Simmy would look bad, as a neglectful mother figure.

  She quashed these thoughts down and carried on with the floral cushion. The problem was that while it presented a technical challenge, it did not occupy her whole mind. After the first dozen flower heads had been put into position, the rest fell into place almost automatically. Nimble fingers pressed them into the mesh and checked they were properly anchored. Every few minutes she stood back to examine the effect. It was destined to be an impressive piece of work. A shame, she thought, that the dead woman wouldn’t see it. Funeral flowers served many purposes, their quantity and quality dictated mostly by the preferences of the deceased. Ironic, Simmy always thought. And really rather wasteful. There was still a slight awkwardness as to the subsequent fate of tributes, when the cremation or burial was over. Relatives took them home reluctantly, and old people’s residences would often plead for respite as yet another batch of flowers was deposited on them. In a busy season they could find themselves inundated. Undertakers factored in post-funeral flower deliveries as part of the overall service.

  And still, waiting sneakily behind these trains of thought, was the fact of a murder in Troutbeck. Ben would probably be industriously seeking out further information from his network of contacts. His brother’s friend worked in the mortuary where post-mortems were carried out. Melanie maintained a lopsided relationship with a police constable and passed any snippets directly to Ben. The boy was adept at tracking online news reports and gossip. Before long he would be apprised of a great many details. And there would be no chance of preventing him from sharing them with her. She had, after all, rashly invited him to do exactly that.

  Her own shaky analysis of what had happened was along the lines of a dognapping episode gone wrong, in spite of Moxon’s doubts about that. Either that or a burglary. She visualised a scenario where the criminals had been discovered and chased by an irate householder into the empty farmyard. But there her imagination failed. Surely nobody could be so irate as to slash a man’s throat with a sharp implement? And where had the second felon been throughout the chase? He, then, had taken against his companion for some reason, and attacked him in a murderous frenzy.

  She tried to force her thoughts on to another track. Whatever had happened, the police would surely have little difficulty in resolving the matter. Issues of forensic evidence; finding witnesses to who was where when; examining decomposing canine bodies and an investigation into the wider world of animal theft would all eventually receive their due attention, and order would be restored. None of it would require any further assistance from Simmy or her father, or so she hoped. There was every prospect of an arrest and charge that very day, she told herself, with outrageous optimism.

  It was quiet again in the shop, and Simmy was thirsty. Breakfast had been several hours ago, after all. Again she felt burdened by the apparent requirements of her new assistant. She ought to force Bonnie to eat a biscuit or something. She ought to have done much more than that, at the outset – such as contacting the girl’s legal guardian and checking that it was all right with them for her to be working in the shop. The casual arrangement had seemed entirely unremarkable at first, but by this, the third day, a whole lot of complications were starting to dawn. Bonnie’s imperviousness to heavy rain was alarming, for one thing. And Simmy had been lax in failing to get her dry. Now the cushion was finished, she could breathe more easily. None of the other orders was for anything so demanding. She filled the kettle and set it boiling, and went out to the shop.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh – neither, thanks. I mainly just drink water, or juice.’

  ‘You had tea yesterday.’

  ‘I mean, in the mornings. Sorry – you’ll get used to my silly ways. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Did you get Melanie? Is she bringing clothes?’ The girl looked no less wet after an hour or more. ‘Who was that in the shop just now?’

  ‘Oh, just somebody buying a mixed bunch. It was easy so I didn’t bother you. She paid with cash.’

  ‘Was she surprised at how wet you are?’

  ‘I made a joke about it. She said she remembered walking through a downpour in London years ago, and what fun it had been.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Simmy felt middle-aged and dour. She had never willingly walked through a downpour in London or anywhere else. Getting wet had always struck her as a highly undesirable experience, especially when wearing normal clothes. Even swimming wasn’t her favourite activity.

  ‘Melanie said she’d be here about eleven for a couple of hours. She sounded a bit stressed out, actually. Something to do with the car, I think.’

  ‘She’s always stressed about that car. I’ll leave all the computer stuff for her, then. She can check for new orders and sort out tomorrow’s deliveries for me. I need to get back to making the next funeral wreath.’

  ‘Can I see what you’ve done so far?’

  ‘If you want.’

  Simmy stood back diffidently as Bonnie admired the cushion. ‘It’s fabulous!’ she squealed. ‘I could never manage anything like that. Where did you learn to do it?’

  ‘I took a course, before moving up here, but mainly it’s trial and error, and practice. I had to look through my notes to see exactly how to get started, I must admit. This is only the third one of this style I’ve ever done.’

  Bonnie leant close to the massed white chrysanthemums with a tasteful spray of rosebuds and freesias in one corner. ‘It smells gorgeous, as well. What a lovely thing. How much did the person have to pay for this?’

  It was a fair question, for someone intending to work for her, but Simmy winced at the directness. ‘A hundred pounds,’ she said. ‘You have to factor in the time it takes.’

  ‘Oh, yes! That’s obvious. Valerie’s going to love it – and how clever you’ve been with her little blue flower!’

  Simmy was rather proud of the way she’d added the porcelain fragment to the rosebuds and freesias. ‘It looks okay, doesn’t it?’

  ‘More than okay. Absolutely brilliant.’

  Too late, Simmy remembered that Bonnie had known Barbara Hodge, as had probably her closest friends and relations. ‘You know Valerie, do you?’

  ‘Not really. I’ve heard a bit of the gossip about her, same as everybody else. Corinne says—’ she was interrupted by the telephone, and cocked an eyebrow at Simmy to check whet
her she should answer it.

  ‘No, let me,’ said Simmy.

  It was the woman who was getting married that weekend, efficiently running through everything she was expecting the florist to provide, and when. Simmy rummaged for the checklist she had already made, and compared it with the bride’s requirements. All was in order, none of it unduly demanding.

  ‘Wow!’ Bonnie said, when she’d finished. ‘You really see life in this job, don’t you. I never dreamt you got so much of the emotional stuff, right in your face.’

  ‘It came as rather a surprise to me, at first,’ Simmy admitted. ‘What were we talking about?’

  ‘Valerie Rossiter. She’ll be lonely without Miss Hodge. Corinne says they were joined at the hip. It’s sad that one of them had to die so young.’

  Simmy’s eyebrows lifted. It was unusual for a teenager to regard a person in her sixties as ‘young’. ‘She was sixty-four,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Oh, yes, but she always seemed much less than that. And most people live to be ninety now, don’t they. So really it is young. And Valerie’s barely fifty. What’s she going to do now?’

  Simmy shook her head. She wasn’t sure what she made of Valerie Rossiter. She had seemed pleasant enough, and was obviously suffering. But the death had after all come as no great surprise, with ample time for preparations and farewells. ‘She’s young enough to start again in a new life,’ she said. ‘Which I gather is what she did ten years ago. She seems a pretty capable person to me.’

  ‘Capable doesn’t come into it,’ said Bonnie, making Simmy feel oddly heartless and insensitive. But she was proud of the floral cushion.

  ‘We’ll need to keep this cool in here until tomorrow. Don’t touch it, will you?’

  Bonnie moved back. Her trainers squelched at every step. ‘Okay,’ she snapped defensively. ‘I wasn’t going to hurt it.’

  ‘I didn’t mean …’ Irritation rose to the surface again. ‘Have a drink, will you, and go and wait for Melanie. She won’t be long now.’

  The small room was always crowded if two people occupied it at once. With the mass of funeral flowers taking up every surface, and overhanging in places, it was almost impossible to move without knocking into something. Even with Bonnie’s small stature, it felt dangerous. ‘Sorry,’ Simmy said. ‘I’m just so scared we’ll send it all crashing to the floor. I’ve got everything precisely organised, you see.’ She edged over to the tiny kitchen corner. ‘Let me get you some water and a biscuit, okay?’