Illusions (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 2) Page 3

  The woman was suddenly bawling down the line at her.

  ‘Whoever you are, stop pestering me. I told you, we’ve had enough cranks lately. I never heard of any such person as you mention, and the man at the hall was a toady fellow playing on silly girls’ emotions. Now don’t call me again, or I’ll have the police on you.’

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Alex mumbled, but the woman had already gone. And she was putting down the phone with shaking hands and calling herself all kinds of a fool for even thinking there could have been any connection between poor Rose Harding and Leanora Wolstenholme, clairvoyant.

  Chapter 2

  Within a few days, Alex had managed to put it all into perspective. She had sent Rose’s Auntie Ruth a letter of apology and condolence, and a large sheaf of flowers via Interflora for her to deal with as she chose.

  She couldn’t mention a funeral. It just seemed so awful to connect it with a girl of her own age. Twenty-six, and never been kissed — or anything else, Alex guessed.

  Rose had never been attractive to men, and Alex always found it hypocritical to be charitable about anyone in that respect now that Rose was dead. But such circumstances only made you more aware of your own mortality, and of making the most of life while you had it.

  Which was why she welcomed DI Nick Frobisher more eagerly than usual when he turned up at her office two weeks later. He was always so healthily alive and ready for a harmless flirtation which always did the old ego good. But he wasn’t alone. Accompanying him was the most gorgeous hunk of male that Alex had seen in a long time. And all her senses told her the attraction was mutual.

  ‘If you two would put your eyes back in your heads, I’ll introduce you,’ Nick said shortly. ‘Alex, this is Scott Nelson, and if I had the bloody nerve to say so, I’d tell you to keep your hands off, Scott. But I know the response I’d get from our spiky Alex.’

  ‘Ignore him,’ Alex said. She put her hand in the stranger’s, and felt instant electricity between them.

  He was tall and lean, with vivid blue eyes, and although she had never particularly thought blond men attractive, this one was Robert Redford and Sean Bean all rolled into one. And she was hooked.

  ‘Scott’s shadowing me for the next few weeks until I leave for Plymouth,’ she heard Nick say.

  Lucky you, she thought, hoping she hadn’t said it aloud.

  ‘I’ve heard plenty about you from Nick, Alex,’ he said, relaxed and easy. ‘I know something of your work, and I’m looking forward to joining forces any time you need any help.’

  Alex saw Nick grinning at her, expecting fireworks. If he had said it, she would have riled at once. Effing nerve, offering to help her, when it was just as likely that she could help the police force. Her investigations were frequently less obvious, and a damn sight more subtle that a flat-footed copper’s... But that was then and this was now.

  ‘I’ll keep it in mind, Scott,’ she murmured. ‘Are you both rushing off, or can I offer you some coffee?’

  She was slipping into domestic mode and she knew it. She had a million things to do, and she mentally swept them aside as easily as swatting a fly. But Nick wasn’t prepared to let her get away with flirting with his oppo right under his nose.

  ‘We’re busy, and we don’t have time for idle chit-chat,’ he snapped, reducing her offer to that of a girlie coffee-morning. ‘I just thought you’d like to know I sussed out your clairvoyant, and she seems OK. She operates in Worthing in one of those backstreet seaside places, and there’s no record of any shady dealings, so you can stop worrying about her.’

  ‘I wasn’t worrying,’ Alex said quickly. ‘But thanks, Nick. I appreciate it.’

  And the last thing she wanted was for Scott to think she was scared of anything spooky. She had to keep her end up. At the thought, she went off at a tangent. Was he married, or attached, or seeing somebody, or available…? God, she hoped he wasn’t gay. He was far too gorgeous to be wasted.

  She resolved to do a little more digging about him when she saw Nick again. But once they had gone, professionalism took over. She got out the telephone book for the Worthing area, and scanned the listings of both the residential and business areas. Though why she should be bothering about Leanora at all, she couldn’t think.

  But there it was. Wolstenholme, Mrs E. in an ordinary-sounding street address. And with a different business address listed under Clairvoyants and Psychics. Well, well. It was curiouser and curiouser, as Alice said, because Alex certainly wouldn’t have put the woman down as being that professional.

  Thanks, Nick, for stirring it up again, she thought mildly, just when thoughts about her had eased off. But she was calmer now, and she pushed Leanora’s dreary image out of her mind and got down to checking out the runaway husband case that had come her way. But it was one that definitely needed to be referred to the police and Interpol, she thought regretfully. Some things were just too complicated for her to handle, and she knew her limitations.

  And it would give her a good reason to suggest to the client in question that she contacted DI Scott Nelson now that Nick had departed — and that Alex could probably prepare the way for her. She cheered up at once.

  But she didn’t know Scott well enough yet, and without Nick around, she was restless. The cruise had done that for her. Instead of leaving her feeling fresh and eager to return to work, it seemed to have done just the opposite.

  Then there was Rose’s death. Rose had called for help, and she hadn’t been there for her. That had unsettled her too, and there was no interesting case to catch her imagination, just routine stuff, and sending out reports to clients.

  She had finally finished her last roll of film and sent the whole batch of them to be developed, and she gave up thinking about work and went to collect them instead.

  ‘My God,’ she said, a while later. ‘How the hell did you manage to get into so many of them?’

  She had used six rolls of film during the cruise, with plenty of views, candid shots of life on board, and some of the cabaret. In far too many of them, the major was strutting about, and there were some of the small groups she had joined up with for lunch or quizzes, and there was always Leanora.

  Alex hadn’t been aware that the woman had been anywhere near her when she took her photos, and although she was usually just a background figure, it was creepy, spooky... as if she intended to be remembered... and if she didn’t stop using those bloody words, she was going to get herself in a right old stew, Alex thought angrily.

  She jumped when the telephone rang, and grabbed the receiver, glad of a diversion for her obsessive thoughts.

  ‘Alexandra Best.’

  The voice that answered was female and unfamiliar.

  ‘Miss Best, you don’t know me, but I wonder if I could come and see you. I don’t come to London very often, but today would be convenient for me. Otherwise, if you could give me an early appointment—’

  It was better than doing nothing. Alex mentally flipped through a non-existent list of dates, and spoke briskly.

  ‘Actually, I do have some free time this afternoon, so if you could give me your name, and tell me what it’s about?’

  It helped to have some idea, in case she was able to get a fix on some facts and figures beforehand. A missing husband? A fraud? An inland revenue problem? A house break-in? There was no end to the problems people were prepared to ask a private eye about, rather than go to the police, and she had heard them all by now.

  ‘It’s about a murder,’ the voice said. ‘Well, sort of.’

  Alex sat up straighter. Sort of? What kind of talk was that about a murder? In any case, there were procedures here.

  ‘Have you contacted the police, Miss—’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s all in hand. But it’s you I want to speak to. Your name has cropped up, you see.’

  By now, Alex could feel the slow trickle of sweat running down her back. Her nerves tingled and her voice was brittle. ‘What do you mean, my name has cropped up?’

 
‘Please don’t think I’m prevaricating, but I really would prefer to explain later, Miss Best. What time can we say? About two o’clock at your office?’

  Ruffled, Alex began to feel that the caller was dictating the terms, and it wasn’t the way she liked to do business.

  ‘I don’t have a slot at two o’clock,’ she said coolly. ‘I can see you at 3.15, otherwise it will have to be—’

  ‘3.15 is fine. And the name is Wolstenholme. Miss Moira Wolstenholme.’

  The line went dead while Alex was still in the process of writing down the name on her jotter.

  Her hand jerked and her pencil broke, and she swore loudly, knowing that if this was a scene in a movie, it would be the corniest of moments…

  All the same... Wolstenholme... it was hardly the commonest of names. She dialled 1471 quickly, but the irritating recorded voice told her the caller had withheld their number.

  She tried to slow down her spinning thoughts, and collated what she knew as briefly as possible. There had been a murder. Somehow, in whatever circumstances she couldn’t think, her own name had been mentioned. The woman who rang — presumably a relative of Leanora Wolstenholme — lived somewhere out of town. Worthing? Where Leanora lived?

  Her flesh began to crawl again. She began recalling the silly snatches of conversation from Leanora herself, but she knew that she hadn’t really forgotten any of it. It had simply been pushed to the back of her mind. Until now.

  …Be on your guard. I see a death…

  …I’m quite sure it’s not your death, my dear. But it will touch you in some way….

  She had never had any time for all that guff, but she made herself be open-minded for a moment, wondering just what it was that Leanora had seen — if anything. At the time she had scathingly thought it no more than the stock-in-trade of the clairvoyant to be mysterious, and to send a delicious little shiver to the client. She still thought it.

  But now there was this Wolstenholme relative coming to see her, and her own name had been mentioned. Alex didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

  The phone rang again and she snatched it up, thankful to take her mind off this new development for a few minutes. It was Scott Nelson. She had only seen him a few times with Nick since that first meeting, and he certainly hadn’t rushed to make her acquaintance, after that initial frisson of awareness between them. Unless she had imagined it.

  ‘I don’t want to tread on any toes,’ he said now, ‘but would you care to come out to dinner with me one evening?’

  Her heart leapt. If anything was guaranteed to bring her back to the land of the living, and to forget cranks and spooks, this was it.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she said, forgetting all about cool.

  ‘Is tonight any good?’

  ‘Tonight would be fine.’ Forget the hair-washing and the launderette as well. Forget everything but the fact that he was the sexiest thing on two legs...

  ‘I don’t have your home address—’

  She gave it quickly, deciding that for the first time since she’d heard about Nick’s transfer to Plymouth, she didn’t regret his leaving. And she was damned if she was going to feel guilty about seeing someone else either. It was none of Nick’s business who she went out with, but he had always been proprietorial towards her, and it wouldn’t have done his ego any good to know she was going out with his replacement.

  She was already mentally going through her wardrobe and discarding most of it. If she had time to shop, she’d go up west and find something spectacular... but two things stopped her. She didn’t know what kind of place Scott would take her to — and she had a client due that afternoon at 3.15.

  ***

  She saw the shadowy figure outside the glass section of her Office door, and minutes later, the woman was inside. Alex greeted her, forcing a professional smile to her lips, and trying to hide her shock at her appearance.

  She hadn’t known what to expect. There had been no indication of age in the woman’s voice. She could have been anything from sixteen to sixty. As it was, she looked like a well-preserved forty, loudly dressed, and bedecked in gold chains and silver rings. But the face, for all its mask of make-up, was a facsimile of Leanora’s. The same narrow eyes, the same thin mouth, the same dull skin tone behind the heavy foundation, Alex guessed.

  ‘Please sit down, Miss Wolstenholme,’ she said. ‘Would you like some coffee? And then perhaps you would tell me what this is all about.’

  And she’d be damned if she was going to offer her any of her favourite chocolate biscuits, even though her own stomach was starting to rumble by now, due to a noble non-lunch for the sake of her thighs and tonight’s promised dinner.

  But trusting her instincts as always, she disliked this woman at first sight, and she waited for her to speak after she had accepted the proffered cup of coffee.

  ‘You met my mother, I understand. Leanora Wolstenholme.’

  ‘So I did,’ Alex said, hiding her surprise that such a nondescript woman could ever have had a child at all. An unwelcome vision of the dreary female coupled up with some brute of a man flashed into her mind and thankfully out again.

  ‘But you didn’t say on the phone that she was your mother,’ Alex went on hastily.

  It would be ghastly if this clownish clone of Leanora was clairvoyant as well, and could see into her thoughts. ‘And I’m not sure how you could have known anything about me. We spoke very little on the cruise.’

  ‘My mother was in the habit of jotting down names and thoughts in a notebook. It was part of her life’s work to be interested in people, of course—’

  You could have fooled me, thought Alex.

  ‘Your name was in it, as well as a lot of others. I found you in the Yellow Pages,’ she said, almost accusingly.

  ‘Really?’ Alex said, feeling that this was getting more and more bizarre. ‘Look, Miss Wolstenholme—’

  ‘Oh, do call me Moira. It’s such a cumbersome name, isn’t it?’ she said, with an attempt at a winsome smile.

  ‘Very well. Moira. I trust your mother is well?’

  ‘Oh no. I thought I had mentioned that.’

  Alex stared at her. ‘Mentioned what?’

  Her heart was starting to thud, and she could almost have been clairvoyant herself, anticipating the next words, while trying to shut her mind to the possibility of them.

  ‘Mother’s dead. Murdered. A client found her in her office, slumped over the table on top of her tarot cards a week after her holiday. It was an awful shock for the poor man, of course. He thought she was in some kind of trance until his eyes got used to the dim lighting, And then he saw the knife stuck in her back.’

  It wasn’t so much the horror of what she was hearing, as the matter-of-fact way this woman was saying it. Her mother had been murdered, for God’s sake, and here she was, telling it all as calmly as if she was reciting a shopping-list.

  And all Alex could think of to say was the most appalling piece of insensitivity in the world.

  ‘She couldn’t have seen that coming, then, could she?’

  Aghast, she bit her lips, desperately wishing she could take back the words, but Moira smiled gently, treacly with under-standing.

  ‘It’s all right. We all say odd things at times, don’t we? But that’s just it. She did see it coming. She’s known for ages that it would happen. That’s why I’m not upset, because she had made all her plans for the funeral and everything, including the arrangements for when we would meet on the other side. I can see that you’re a doubter, Miss Best, but death isn’t an ending. It’s a beginning, and we should all welcome it and embrace it—’

  ‘Look here, I’m sorry,’ Alex broke in, her voice cracking. ‘But I think you’ve come to the wrong person. Maybe you need a priest or an exorcist. I can’t do anything to help you — and I still don’t know what you want, anyway.’

  ‘I want you to find out who’s stalking me, and to stop it before I’m next. It’s not my time, you see, and there’s still work to
be done on this side before I join mother.’

  Alex took a deep breath. She might doubt all this afterlife non-sense, (mentally crossing her fingers at the thought, just in case there was somebody up there listening) but she never doubted that Moira was a complete crackpot. But she obviously wasn’t being asked to investigate a murder.

  ‘Let me get this straight. I presume the police have got your mother’s murder in hand, so that’s not why you’re here.’

  ‘Oh no. They know who did it, and they’ve already got him in custody. The case is closed as far as they’re concerned.’

  ‘And you say you’re being stalked?’

  Bizarrely, into Alex’s mind came the thought that if mother was still around, she could have been looking into her crystal ball by now and told Moira who was stalking her.

  ‘I know it sounds strange,’ Moira went on. ‘I mean, who would stalk a woman like me? Unless it’s for the money. Mother wasn’t hard up, and it all came to me, of course. But then, you’d think a man might have enough finesse to do a little courting, even with someone like me, instead of trying to frighten me to death for some twisted reason of his own.’

  The aggrieved note in her voice almost got to Alex then. It was somehow reminiscent of poor Rose Harding, who’d never had a man look twice at her either. But there the similarity ended. Rose had been a mouse of a farm girl, while the blowsy sight of this one was enough to scare off any man.

  ‘I think you’d better tell me whatever you know about the person who’s stalking you, Moira,’ she said, more kindly. ‘And if you could leave off the clairvoyant bits, I’d be obliged.’

  ‘It’s obvious that you’re not a believer, Miss Best. Mother mentioned that in her notebook.’

  Alex was indignant at once. ‘Just what did she put in this notebook?’

  ‘I’ve brought it with me. You can borrow it, of course, since I suspect my stalker is mentioned in here too. It’s a weird thing —and I promise I won’t go on about it — but the closer you are to something, the less you can see it. Mother always said that too. She couldn’t predict the time and manner of her own death, only that it would be violent, and soon.’