Bromington Heights Page 5

  “Not today Bear, be quiet!” Rosie snapped. She had never shouted at her furry friend before and he yelped at the sound of her stern voice. She immediately regretted it and bent down to stroke his back. “Sorry, boy. I have a bit of a problem and I don’t know what to do, shall I tell you about it?”

  Bear barked back and began sniffing the hedgerow indicating he wasn’t really interested at all. “You see, there was once this wicked witch from the West. Well, London actually. She was nasty and only had eyes for her son. Once upon a time, she had a husband and a daughter too, who she never cared for. Not one tiny little bit. She was cruel to them, day in and day out; they were very sad. In the end they sort of, ran away and they lived happily ever after. Do you understand what I’m saying, Bear? But now, the wicked witch is very ill and wants to see her daughter. I don’t know the end, because I haven’t made my mind up yet.” Bear carried on regardless, unimpressed.

  Rosie sighed and checked the printed Google map. She was prepared for a long walk, right to the very outskirts of Bromington-on-sea. By the time they’d walked the three miles it had taken an hour and Bear stopped walking. He sat on the path refusing to move.

  “Here we go, I’ve bought your favourite blankie, Bear.” Rosie lifted the young pup and placed him in the pushchair. Just in time, he was soon snoozing, and she was just about to knock on the first door. The small lane was the very last one at the edge of Bromington-on-sea. The first few doors were uneventful, that was because she knew everyone who answered. She took the opportunity to write names against the door numbers on her list. Just for future reference. They may come in handy one day.

  There was no answer from the last cottage. Just as Rosie was walking away, the downstairs window creaked open. “Yoo-hoo, is that you, Amy?” a woman’s voice called.

  Rosie walked to the window and made herself known. “Oh, hello. It’s Mrs. Winston, isn’t it?”

  “Gladys, please. Sorry, I thought you were my cleaner.”

  Rosie glanced at her watch. “I expect she’ll be here soon, she’s up at the B & B this morning.” Rosie was more than pleased with her newly appointed cleaner.

  “Can I help you with something? You knocked at my door,” Gladys smiled.

  “Oh, sorry. I was just handing out personal invitations to my father’s wedding reception. It’s at the Village Hall on the evening of Saturday the 24th of August. You and your husband are most welcome.”

  “You wouldn’t catch Albie at a function. He doesn’t like music. He has no interests, apart from reading, fishing or working on his allotment. No, he hasn’t taken me out for over thirty years.”

  “I’m sorry; did you ever find his books?”

  “No. He didn’t talk to me for days, been looking in all the shops for them I suppose. Then he acted as if nothing had happened. He’s been bringing me rhubarb every day. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate he cooks for me, but it doesn’t agree with my stomach.”

  “Is he at his allotment this morning?”

  “I would think so, would you like a cup of tea? Put your hand through the letterbox and grab the key, its tied on a piece of string. I’m being cheeky really. What I mean is, I would love a cup of tea. I can manage the downstairs toilet by myself, but I can’t lift that heavy kettle.”

  “I tell you what. I’ll pop in and make one for you, I can’t really stay too long, and I’ve just had half a bottle of water. I would like to use your toilet if that’s alright?”

  “Of course, dear, come on in.”

  Rosie felt for the key hanging on the string. The hallway was dark and smelly. A fishy sort of smelly. Probably a lingering smell from the evening before.

  “Don’t be using my toilet. It has a blockage this morning. Pop the kettle on dear, and then go and use the upstairs toilet.”

  Rosie flicked the switch and asked Gladys how she liked her tea.

  “Milk and two sugars. Would you pass the TV remote for me please, love? I’m sure Albie doesn’t mean to put it out of my reach.”

  Gladys switched on her favourite morning show and Rosie raced upstairs, she really needed the loo. She washed and dried her hands and then noticed an open box sitting on the bed in the bedroom opposite. Creeping along the hallway, Rosie wondered if there was anything to see, any evidence of him being a possible murderer, perhaps? After all, Albert Winston was a miserable so and so. It was a list. The list of books sat at the top of the pile. She took her mobile phone out and took a picture, just as Bear began barking his head off.

  Rosie ran downstairs, two at a time, just in time to see Albert kicking the buggy swiftly from the side.

  “Oi, what do you think you’re doing?” Rosie shouted.

  “Is this your rubbish? Get yourself and that manky animal off of my property, and don’t come back.”

  Bear was snarling and yapping, protecting his mistress.

  “Come on, Bear. Are you all right?” Rosie soothed her dog and made a hasty exit. “I’m sorry, Gladys, I couldn’t make your tea,” she shouted.

  There was no way on earth that horrible man was getting into the Village Hall on the 24th August… even if he had wanted to attend.

  Rosie felt slightly shaken after her ordeal and that of her dog. That poor, poor woman. How did she put up with him? It was a relief to see Amy’s van driving along the unmade road, towards Gladys’s cottage. At least now she’d get some tea and perhaps her husband would leave her alone.

  Amy put her hand up, giving Rosie a wave as she went past. She was probably running a little late this morning. Thirty minutes later, Rosie had been house to house and Bear had fallen back to sleep, no worse off from the ordeal. He wasn’t hurt, it was just the buggy that copped it. To her surprise she found of all the houses she knocked at she had recognised most of the occupants. Just one or two were strangers to her. A dear lady with pure white hair and a gleaming set of false teeth, her name was Audrey Burton. The lady was very excited and grateful for the kind invitation; she was going to buy a new dress and hat just for the occasion!

  Then she spotted a man with a bent over back, slowly shuffling around his front garden. Although Rosie called him twice, his deaf aid wasn’t turned on, she suspected. She gave him a miss. By the time Rosie got to the harbour front her feet were aching and she decided to sit outside the Flag with a cool glass of orange juice, hoping maybe Sue was working today. She was in luck. The pub had just opened, and Sue was putting the umbrellas up at the two tables.

  “Hello, Rosie. Bit early for you isn’t it?” Sue joked.

  “Just resting my feet for a few minutes. I’ve been walking for a couple of hours. I just hope I’ve got everyone.” Rosie didn’t say anything else, for she knew Sue would ask, curiosity always got the better of her.

  “You sit down, I’ll bring your drink out. What would you like?”

  “Just an orange juice, please.” Rosie handed some coins over and got out her ‘list’. She looked up, noticed there were no customers yet and correctly guessed Sue would bring two drinks back and sit down with her.

  Sue sat down. She gave Rosie her drink and change and sipped at her bottle of water.

  “What are you up to then?”

  “I wanted to make sure I invited all the locals to the evening reception, for my father’s wedding!”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Before I forget, here you are.” Rosie handed the evening invitation over. “It’s a plus one of course, if you want to bring someone.”

  Sue was a little put out as she knew the two hairdressers had been invited to the actual wedding!

  “Thank you. Just a private do is it? The wedding I mean.”

  “Dad and Jane are doing that side of it, just a limited number of guests as far as I know.”

  “Yes, I heard. Aren’t Izzy and Sandra going?”

  “Of course. I think Jane needs her hairdressers close by, just in case the sea breeze messes our hair up for the photos.”

  “Ah, I see. So, the real shebang is in the evening then. Who is on your
list? Let me see.” Sue pulled the piece of paper towards her. “Don’t forget Betsie at the Lobster Pot, it’ll be boring without my bestie! Oh, hang on, it’s okay, you have her Nanna, Audrey, such a scream. She lives with her. Well, I can’t see anyone obvious you’ve missed.”

  “Anyone unobvious at all?” Rosie pushed.

  “Only someone who hasn’t really moved here yet, he called in a few days ago. After he boasted about buying some local expensive building, he stayed to sample the freshly caught lobster. James his name was, James Sallow. I haven’t seen him since. Probably changed his mind. Well, the only building like that around here is Bromington Heights. I was telling a few of the locals about him on darts night. Not every day you get a millionaire dropping in. Anyway, aside from him, if he’s around. You’ve covered everyone I know.”

  “Great, that’s great.” A little stirring inside the buggy told Rosie that Bear was wide awake. He gave a big yawn and sat with his pleading doe eyes, the lazy pooch was waiting to be lifted out.

  “You spoil that dog!” Sue laughed, then went inside to serve two customers who’d just stepped off one of the moored boats.

  “A quick drink then boy, and we’ll be off.” Rosie was a bit disturbed to hear the jungle drums had started. Obviously, James must have done this before their little incognito chat. The damage was probably done, news travelled fast in these parts. From the darts team to the newsagents, the allotments, bakers, pet shop. They would all be gossiping by now.

  ~

  Sure enough, one little bird heard all about it. While he was digging up more rhubarb.

  Now he knew who he was after, there was no denying this was the victim. A King among the commoners. He was staying somewhere local by all accounts. But where? It was okay, Albert had eight days left to find him.

  ~

  Rosie took Bear home and he headed straight for the garden, once more full of energy beans.

  She sat at the kitchen table and emptied her pockets. One list of occupants and house numbers, she tied in Betsie with Audrey. Now she knew where most of the jumble stall holders lived too. Most folks around here were elderly and were at home this morning. One letter from her mother. She emailed the photo of Albie’s book list to herself to print off shortly. Rosie got her laptop and prepared herself a sandwich. Plain cheese went very well with a nice cup of tea. She grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl. No more cakes for the next three weeks. At least, in theory.

  Three slight taps on the door indicated Anna was about to enter.

  “Good morning, darling!” Anna was in one of her daft moods. “I heard Bear and guessed you were back.”

  “I’m sorry, hun. He’s disturbed your artistic flow hasn’t he?”

  “I finished it last night. What have you got here? Detective work?”

  Rosie grabbed the letter and then laid it down again. “This goes no further, Anna. Dad gave me this yesterday, it arrived last week. He hadn’t opened it, but we both recognised the writing.”

  “Ros-a-lyn Wode-house. Mother?”

  “She was never that. I don’t know what to do, read it Anna.”

  “The writing inside isn’t hers is it? it’s not the same.”

  “No. It’s been written by a nurse on Mildred’s behalf.”

  “Dear Rosalyn,

  I’m writing to tell you, your mother is not well, she wanted me to get in touch with you at your last known address. The NHS cannot fund any further treatment for her condition due to the high costs involved. A private course of medicine is needed. Further courses of strong oral chemotherapy are required. This would amount to around £20,000 for every 12-week course. There is no estimate of how long this will take. The situation will be assessed every thirty-six weeks. Your mother is too sick to see anyone and requests you ring me directly to arrange an initial payment to cover the first assessment period. £60,000 must be paid in advance.”

  Anna muttered the rest to herself. The phone number, the nurse, no address or other details.

  “Have you rung this number yet?”

  “I was just about to; I can’t ignore it, no matter how much I hate her.”

  “I can understand you would read something like this and not think clearly. I’d be the same if it was my mother,” Anna said.

  “Should I show it to Matt tonight?”

  “That would be a good idea. I’d also ring the local hospitals in the area your mother lives. You might not be able to find out much due to data protection, or then again, you might.”

  Anna had a horrible notion, Mildred Smith was pulling a fast one, or her and an accomplice. If she remembered correctly, Michael Smith, Rosie’s half-brother was sentenced to five years in prison. With good behaviour he could be out in three. Just eighteen months from now. Even if Mildred was terminally ill with a chance of recovery, why the hell should Rosie help her?

  “Let me just ring the number, you don’t want to give your mobile number away, not now you’ve changed it, see what happens.” The number went to voicemail. A male nurse named Daryl. “Hello, this is Rosalyn Wodehouse. I understand you’ve been trying to contact me, please ring me back.” Anna ended the call. “We need to get a sort code, and account number, find out who we are dealing with. If this is genuine it should belong to a private clinic.”

  Playing detective

  James Sallow was delighted. He also had an excuse to go back to London for a couple of days. One night in a single bed was one too many. Besides, his publisher was having a hissy fit. How could he possibly have forgotten about a book signing at an exclusive venue, intermingled with private readings for a few ‘A’ list celebrities? Not only that, the editor wanted a substantial share of the profits. If not for his input, sales would nosedive. Time is money and his PA was expecting him back days ago.

  The sale on his house was complete, plus a private sale on the contents, which were now coming out of storage. A price had been agreed for all of Bromington Heights, a comprehensive survey was booked in for Monday, searches were being carried out, leases looked into and… it was time to celebrate. He had forgotten about his promises to work on the ground in Bromington Town. James was booked in for a manicure, pedicure, full body massage, a session with his hair stylist followed by a photo shoot. He expected to make the Sunday newspaper headlines. An exclusive interview was arranged just before his book signing session and evening of lavish extravaganza.

  His new book was a best-seller before it hit the shelves, based on pre-orders alone. James fully intended to milk this opportunity for all it was worth before settling down in a quaint and picturesque jewel in the English Riviera. Well almost, his new destination was slightly East and far less of a tourist area. He had already considered the possibility of not renewing the leases for the in-situ tenants at Bromington Heights. To his delight, he found three of the six apartments were empty. The Arabian seller had refurbished the left-hand building for his own entourage, again, they had never been occupied. James would go back there and have an inspection.

  His mind flitted back and forth on the possibilities. It turned out he had just three tenants living in the three apartments in the right-hand building. Long-term apparently, and this side of the building was not in such a good state of repair. James really should have looked inside all of it on viewing day. He thought it was probably a ploy from the previous buyer to drive the tenants out at the end of the tenancy and then proceed with an update. After all, why would you furnish to such a high level just for renters to ruin your efforts. It made good business sense.

  James Sallow had every confidence in his team and as soon as the deal completed, he would officially give notice for whatever amount of time each tenant had left on their lease, they would not be renewed. He rather fancied extending his portion of Bromington Heights to two buildings if not all three.

  ~

  Mind-games, Prophecies and Chess Pieces in Play. Rosie did a bit of research on the book at the top of her list and with the help of Anna they went through the other titles:

 
Do Murderers Have a Special Place in Hell

  Notorious Killers and Where to Find Them

  Hauntings and Troubled Spirits

  Untraceable Poisons

  The Prophecies of Nostradamus – From the Millennium unto 2050.

  “This is a little more than Hocus Pocus, Rosie.”

  “Tell me about it; add all of it up and I think we have a pretty clear picture of what makes Albert Winston tick.”

  “Did you get to see what the other papers were all about?”

  “I didn’t have time. There’s only one way we could possibly find out.”

  “We? What do you have in mind?”

  “Just a bit of breaking and entering, well, not technically. I know where the key is, it’s hanging on a bit of string inside the letterbox. Gladys Winston has the TV so loud – I could be in and out without her ever knowing.” Rosie smiled.

  “And I presume I get to follow Norman Bates to make sure he doesn’t walk in unexpectedly?” Anna didn’t look too thrilled at the prospect.

  “It would have to be early, before Amy gets there. What do you say? Everything we need to know could all be scribbled in his notes. I noticed three or four pieces of paper, but then he came back before I had a chance to look at the others.”

  “I don’t know. You do realise you’re very probably breaking a few laws there, and you being engaged to a Sergeant, well…” Anna shrugged.

  “What do you suggest? The police can hardly issue a warrant to search the place based on a list of books and a ‘feeling’. Besides, I was already trespassing, going into the bedroom.”