Connie Nixon breezed into the Grange like a breath of foetid air. If Maura had been expecting a Thora Hird, what she got was an aged Lily Savage without the humour. There was something distinctly rotten about Connie Nixon and she wore it with apparent pride as if it was her Sunday best coat.
It was Connie who led the way into the morning room, using the stick she carried more as a ceremonial mace than a mobility aid. As Maura followed, she figured there was little wrong with Cheryl’s mother that a good dose of humility and a conscience wouldn’t fix, and that she was the last woman on earth who required granny-sitting. Connie was here because she liked to make her daughter’s life difficult, and because she was a nosy old boot. She had already demanded supper on a tray, a cup of tea, and sole access to the house’s single TV set – she’d also made several searing comments about Cheryl’s date attire. ‘Mutton dressed as lamb, if you ask me – won’t snare a man dressed like that,’ had been her last. Maura desperately wanted to tell her that no one had asked her, but instead told Cheryl (in the kitchen and out of earshot of Connie) that she thought she looked very nice. It was entirely dishonest, though meant kindly, but the truth of the matter was that Cheryl’s outfit bordered on late-eighties transvestite chic and did her no favours at all. Topped with hand-drawn eyebrows and frizzy curls lacquered to within an inch of the Mohs scale, poor Cheryl was a poor feast for the eyes. Maura could only hope her date was the open-minded, open-hearted type.
‘Hope it goes well,’ she said as Cheryl pouted into her hand mirror in the kitchen, seemingly totally oblivious to the fact that her maroon lipstick had migrated to her front teeth.
Cheryl smiled, revealing the stained incisors. ‘Ta, me too. Oh, and I’ve told mother about the Miss Hall thing. She went ballistic when I got home and I’m not in the mood, so don’t mind her mouth, just zone her out. I do.’
With that she was gone, trundling away in her beaten-up old car and ready for romance. Maura couldn’t help but shake her head in bemusement as she locked and bolted the back door.
In the morning room, Connie had taken possession of the TV remote control and made herself comfortable. ‘Got that tea, have you? I like it weak, mind, but you’ll already know that. Did you see the state of her? Not the full ticket that girl. Not surprising when you consider the genetics. You’d think she didn’t own a mirror.’ Connie continued to flick through the channels while talking, her eyes on the TV.
Maura put her tray down, complete with weak tea and the cheese and biscuits Connie was expecting. She looked at the woman who had settled herself as if she owned the place. Connie Nixon didn’t seem to have a maternal bone in her body.
‘So, do you know who she’s out with tonight? Wouldn’t tell me,’ Connie said, inspecting the cheese and biscuits and wrinkling her nose with distaste.
‘She didn’t say much about it, only that you didn’t like staying on your own.’
Connie huffed. ‘Huh! Much does she care, she’s that desperate for a man! Besides, I do fine well on my own and always have. It’s you I came to see.’
Maura raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
Connie turned to her and looked her up and down. ‘Yes, I like to see who’s on my patch.’
‘Is the Grange your “patch”?’ There was a defensive hostility about the woman that was distinctly discomforting.
Connie pursed her lips, as if she didn’t like Maura’s tone and was about to say so. ‘Aye, it is, after a fashion. I’ve links with the family. I like to maintain an interest in what’s going on.’
Maura realised she had a choice. She could either spend an unpleasant evening with an equally unpleasant woman, or she could turn on the charm and let Connie say what was on her mind. ‘Well, there’s definitely a lot going on.’
Connie huffed again. ‘You can say that again! Doesn’t surprise me, though, the shenanigans that went on in this place.’
Maura decided to go along with it. ‘Really? Hard to imagine any shenanigans, to be honest. Mr Henderson doesn’t look like he was ever much of a one for the high life.’
‘Him? Pffffft. Don’t you believe it. He’s had his moments and I should know, calculating old bugger. It’s all an act, you know. There’s no flies on him, he knows exactly what’s going on. She still drugging him up to the nines, is she?’
‘What do you mean?’
Connie gave her a sly, sideways look. ‘You know what I mean. It’s the only way she could ever cope with him or shut him up. Ladled pills down his throat like there was no tomorrow.’
Maura sat back in the chair she had perched herself on. ‘Are you trying to tell me you think Miss Hall has been abusing him?’
‘Abusing the abuser – it’s an interesting thought,’ Connie said with a wink. ‘Complicated people, this posh lot, with complicated lives. You don’t know the half of it, love.’
Maura got to her feet. ‘Excuse me for a moment, would you, Mrs Nixon?’ She needed to get out of the room, to think and check on Gordon. It seemed Connie had come to tell her a tale. What she didn’t know was whether she wanted to hear it.
Gordon was in his usual state, dozing in his chair, fed and sedated. Not that two cream crackers with butter, a sliver of cheese and a pickled onion seemed much like feeding. Maura had seen anorexic girls with bigger appetites. As she looked at him she tried to imagine the man that Connie had hinted at. The scratch on her cheek and the attempted bite said something, but she wasn’t sure what. Probably just a frightened old man who could no longer make sense of the world.
She returned to the morning room to find that Connie had polished off her supper and was seemingly engrossed in some TV drama. It struck Maura that Connie Nixon was more than likely a great drama fan, and when she couldn’t find one, would happily create one. That was fine – Maura was game, and it had to be better than dwelling on her own dramas. ‘I’m curious, Mrs Nixon. You said you had links to the family. I must admit I’d like to know a bit more about them –it might help make sense of the mess we’ve all found ourselves in.’
Connie picked up the remote control and hit the mute button, leaving the actors silently flailing on the screen. ‘Well, you ought to know what you’re getting in to, and call me Connie. I was never a Mrs and never wanted to be.’
Maura sat down and pulled her feet up onto the chair, tucking them beneath her. It seemed it was story time. Buster had wandered in, taken one look at Connie, whimpered and wandered back out. Maura was inclined to agree with him. She would rather have sat in the kitchen on her own too if there had been a choice. ‘So, what is it that I’m getting myself into, Connie?’
Connie shuffled forward in her seat, clasped her hands together and rested them on her knees. ‘Well, let me tell you, there’s more happened in these four walls than you could shake a stick at – they’re not what they seem, this lot. This place isn’t his, you know. Not by rights anyway. It should have been his brother Robert’s. He was the eldest, see, and the one who owned it, only he went off to Rhodesia, or whatever they call it now. It was Rhodesia then anyway. Well, there was a lot of trouble out there when they were wanting their independence and all and he got caught up in it, got killed. Terrible business really, and that’s how Gordon came by the house. He was living here and running things, but that’s how he inherited, only he didn’t – or shouldn’t have. Second son, see. Robert was the heir, he was the spare.’ She paused for effect.
Maura shifted in her seat, tucking one leg underneath her, and leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair before cupping her chin in her hand. ‘Go on…’
‘See, unbeknownst to Gordon and that nutter of a wife of his, Robert had got himself married out there and had a kid. So, it was the wife who should have got the Grange.’
‘So, how come she didn’t?’
Connie was looking quite animated now and warming to her theme. ‘Well, you might ask. All I can tell you is that the wife turned up here with the kid in tow, stayed a few days and disappeared. Just like that.’ She snapped her fingers to demonstrate how rapidly this woman and her child had vanished. It caused the rings on her scrawny fingers to rattle against each other. ‘Never saw or heard of them again and he kept the Grange. Wasn’t long after that his own wife disappeared. Mind you, that could have been because of the girl.’
Maura was still listening with her chin on her hands, allowing the story to settle in her mind. ‘Wow, that all sounds a bit dodgy. What do you think happened to the brother’s wife?’ Equally to the point, what had happened to Gordon’s wife, and who was the girl Connie had mentioned?
Connie threw her hands up, her bracelets chinking together on her thin wrists. ‘Stands to reason, doesn’t it? They’ve just found a body and a woman went missing. I mean, if you owned all this, would you just walk away from it?’ She waved her hand around the room, a room which might have been opulent at one time but was now just faded and overblown like a gaudy, half-dead flower. If she were to be honest, Maura would have walked away from it in a heartbeat. The house was rank with the stink of corruption.
‘I see. So, you’re suggesting that something happened to this woman and it’s she who was buried on the land. You also seem to be suggesting that Mr Henderson had something to do with it, and that it was all down to him wanting to hang on to the Grange? Is that where we’re going with this?’
Connie’s eyes glittered in the lamplight as she nodded. ‘I’m not suggesting anything because I don’t know anything, but I don’t want me and mine accused of anything either, right?’
Maura pulled a bemused face. She had no idea what the old woman was prattling on about. ‘Did you ever see anything that made you think something terrible had happened?’
‘I was here when the woman arrived and it didn’t go down well. Gordon had no idea they existed, see. He was never one for surprises and, as I’d just delivered one of my own, he wasn’t a happy man. Not happy at all. Her coming threatened everything, I suppose. Anyway, I got shoved out the door and next time I came back there was no sign of them, and I never saw them again. Just made me think when they found that body – I mean, it does, doesn’t it? Gordon Henderson was a cruel and selfish bugger and the biggest snob I ever met. Took what he wanted and never paid the piper.’
Maura pondered Connie’s words. She’d sensed that in Gordon herself and it was hard to dispute the older woman’s perceptions. ‘You’re not accusing him of doing them in, are you?’
‘Just telling you what I know, that’s all. God knows me and Cheryl have had to put up with enough from them over the years. I can’t say I have any proof either way, but I know what they’re like. I certainly know what he’s like.’
Maura frowned. ‘He doesn’t have many fans, does he? I don’t know, Connie. I’m just here to take care of him – I don’t know what to make of what you’ve just told me.’
Connie leaned forward and extended a bony finger, pointing it at Maura. ‘You’re here for a reason, girl, and the sooner you realise it the better. This lot don’t let anyone through those doors they don’t want something from. You’d best mark my words, missy – I’m trying to help you.’
Maura was taken aback by Connie’s words. What had appeared to be some salacious gossip had turned into a dire warning of impending doom. She was about to enquire further when Buster started to whine and howl in the hall. ‘I’d better go and see what’s wrong with him,’ she said, rising to her feet and frankly glad of the opportunity to get away from the woman for a few moments. Connie was intense and abrasive, much like her daughter, but with an air of cunning that made Maura distinctly uncomfortable. She had tried to play along, both out of curiosity and politeness, but the chill air of the hall was a welcome relief from the pervasive Connie.
In the hall Buster was at the foot of the stairs, both paws on the bottom step, staring intently upwards, his body stiff with tension. Low and wary whines pulled at Maura’s attention and she followed his gaze up into the gloom. ‘What is it, mate? What’s up?’
He was clearly reluctant to go up, so whatever he’d sensed wasn’t exciting him. Maura knew it couldn’t be another intruder. All the doors and windows were firmly shut and bolted, and Bob had told her Buster would bark like a mad thing if he heard a stranger. His ears were flicking, as if he was straining to hear something. Maura strained her own ears, fishing for unusual sounds, but there was nothing, just the familiar bangs and thuds as the house settled and shifted in the night. ‘Come on, you daft plonker, you’re jumping at shadows and making me do it too! This place is spooky enough without you making it worse.’
She led him through to the kitchen, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard from Connie and why it had been said. On first sight Connie had struck her as a mean-spirited and grasping kind of woman, and anyone who openly insulted their own child in front of a stranger had to have personality problems. It was hard to fathom her motive for telling such a story about Gordon, but there had to be a motive. It was far too specific a story to be just random gossip. Maura felt uncomfortable at having been party to the tale. She felt disloyal to her charge and the insinuation that she might be at risk in some way was disconcerting. Particularly considering the vandalism to the kitchen window. But why would people she didn’t even know want anything from her? And why wasn’t Connie talking to the police if she thought she knew the identity of the body?
In recent times Maura had learned to be cynical and suspicious. She couldn’t look at anyone now without wondering about his or her agenda. The only rational explanation she could come up with was that Connie wanted her to leave the Grange. By insinuating that Gordon had been involved in something nefarious, perhaps she was trying to make her pack her bags and go, cease to involve herself with Gordon and his welfare. The only reason she could think of for Connie wanting her gone was that Cheryl had lied: her mother was fully aware of what Estelle had done and the two of them wanted the house free of witnesses so they could collect what they felt was their due. Maura was no antiques buff, but there had to be a few valuables floating about in a house like the Grange. It was the only explanation that seemed to make sense, because anything else she could conjure was far more sinister.
Good grief, when had she become this hard-nosed? The answer was simple: since she’d been conned by the last person on earth she could have imagined would con anyone. She shook her head; it was becoming a habit and she wondered if she did it to shake up the demons that liked to use her mind as a playground. Chances were, if she thought about it, that Connie was just a bonkers, mean-spirited old woman who wanted to stir the sediment and see what floated to the top. She was beginning to wonder if there was anyone in Essen who wasn’t bonkers, herself included.
Buster was whining at the door, it was dark outside and the incident with the rock was still fresh in her mind, but she figured the dog might put off any intruders, and if he didn’t, Connie would. She checked the clock and saw it was close to ten. Cheryl probably wouldn’t be much longer – even if there was an ill-intentioned lurker in the yard, he’d soon make a run for it if she pulled up in her noisy rust bucket.
All things considered, she opened the door for the dog and stood in the night air while he pottered around peeing on things. It occurred to her that a sane person would call Social Services, make Gordon their problem and get the hell out of Dodge. But she wasn’t sane. She had a whole box of Prozac in her handbag to prove it – not that she’d taken any for weeks. Besides, Gordon deserved better and so did Bob. She thought about Louise again, but it was Sarah’s face she saw in her mind, plump and pretty and full of life. She shook her head. Yes, it was becoming a habit – like kicking the TV set when the picture wasn’t right. A pointless activity that didn’t fix anything.
She sighed and tried to spot Buster in the shadows. What people needed wasn’t drugs, it was a reset button, so they could be returned to their factory settings – wiped clean and made ready to start again. Maura would certainly have done many things differently, including choosing her men more wisely.
The sound of Cheryl’s clanking engine in the distance broke the silence and a few moments later her headlights lit up the yard. Maura frowned; any date that ended bang on time hadn’t gone well. She braced herself for the mood that was going to emerge from the car in Cheryl’s wake. Buster had already sensed it and bolted for the sanctuary of the house, trailing drips of pee as he ran.
I can’t help but suppress a sly laugh as the clown-faced cleaning woman gets out of her car. It isn’t hard to sense her mood. It comes off her in ever-increasing ripples of bitter disappointment, and wafts across the grounds like mustard gas in the wake of battle. Poor Cheryl, always the lap dog, doing as she’s told, too scared not to – too scared to think about what it means. Keeping their secrets for them, not even knowing her own. A few minutes and she comes back out of the house, that hatchet-faced hag in tow. I’ve never liked Connie Nixon, but no one ever has. Everything is quiet in the house; the doors are locked and the one who thinks she’s innocent is making her way to bed. No doubt the other guilty one is sleeping too. It’s a long time since he had a conscience to wake him. I’ve pondered that lack of conscience for a long time, had hoped to prick it – no – stab it – but you can’t harm what isn’t there. No matter, he’s out of time anyway. Not long now and it will all come undone. Sometimes all you have to do is light the blue touch paper and retire. Nothing like a good fireworks display to wake everyone up. Time to find some matches, I think.