“Did you know,” said Jude suddenly, “that Ray admitted to me that he’d changed round the tray of scallops in the fridge on that Monday?”
The chef looked really amazed by the news. “But why?”
“Someone told him the ones in the fridge were poisoned. The exact opposite of the truth. Ray thought he was saving the Crown and Anchor from an attack of food poisoning.”
“But who the hell told him that?”
Jude chewed her lip with frustration. “That’s the one thing that I don’t know. We were interrupted when Ray was about to tell me.”
“And,” said Carole tartly, “to stop him telling anyone is quite possibly the reason why he was murdered.”
The door from the bar clattered open and Zosia entered with a small pad from which she tore off a couple of sheets. “Food orders, Ed. We have actually got a few customers out there.”
“Oh, right, I’d better get on,” he said, taking the orders. Zosia returned to the bar. “By the way,” Ed asked Carole and Jude, “what are you two having?”
“What do you recommend?”
“Actually,” he replied hesitantly, “I do have some very nice scallops. Doing them with crispy bacon and leeks today.”
Jude, on the principle that lightning never struck twice, did go for the scallops. Carole, for whom the very idea revived her terror of being sick, opted for the shepherd’s pie. The chef started to busy himself at the stove.
“Ed,” said Jude, “just going back to the Monday morning when the scallops were switched…”
“Right,” he murmured, preoccupied with pouring olive oil into a pan.
“As I recall, you said you and Ted and Zosia were all out of here shifting some beer barrels in the cellar…”
“Yes, they’d got jammed down the chute when they were taken off the delivery van.”
“And did the delivery man help you down in the cellar?”
Ed Pollack let out a sardonic laugh. “No way. The day he does anything helpful, pigs’ll fly.”
“Oh, so he’s a regular delivery man, is he?”
“Yes. What’s more, you two have probably met him.”
Both women looked bemused. “Have we? Who is he?”
“His name’s Matt. He’s the one who’s knocking around with Ted’s ex-wife.”
Carole made eye contact with Jude. “Is he now?” she said.
Eighteen
Carole and Jude wanted to talk to Ted Crisp, but he wasn’t back from his visit to the bank by the time they’d finished their food. A few other customers had arrived in the pub, but they were mostly French or Dutch tourists, who presumably did not know the Crown and Anchor’s sensational recent history.
Because business was slack, Carole and Jude managed to talk again to Zosia, but she couldn’t add much to their stock of information. Yes, she knew Matt sometimes drove the van that made deliveries from the brewery, but she didn’t know much else about him. And she hadn’t noticed him doing anything unusual the morning of the food-poisoning debacle.
So the two women left the Crown and Anchor in a state of some frustration. The discovery about Matt might be a breakthrough, but they couldn’t quite see how. And they really needed to find out more about Ray, who his contacts had been, how he used to spend his time. Jude wondered whether another visit to Nell Witchett might glean some more information, but she wasn’t over-optimistic.
Almost every other potential line of enquiry involved talking to Ted Crisp, and even when they finally found him they weren’t sure how cooperative with them he would be.
Mind you, Jude’s scallops had been delicious.
When she got back to Woodside Cottage, the light on her answering machine was flashing. There was a brief message from Sally Monks.
That morning Nell Witchett had been found dead in her bed.
Nineteen
Carole also had a phone message when she returned to High Tor. It was from Sylvia. She just said ‘Sylvia’ on the phone. Carole hadn’t really considered before what the woman’s surname might be, but she supposed it was probably still ‘Crisp’. Sylvia Crisp. What on earth could she want? Dutifully Carole returned the call.
“Hello,” said the distinctive nasal voice.
“How did you get my phone number?” asked Carole.
“I am capable of using a phone book.”
“Oh.”
“Look, is Ted with you?”
“Is Ted with me? Why on earth should he be?”
“I can’t raise him at the pub, he’s not answering his mobile. I thought he might be hiding out with you.”
“Why would he want to hide out with me?”
“Well, you two are an item, aren’t you?”
Carole’s instinct was to deny the allegation hotly, but then she stopped to think. Sylvia might be more forthcoming if she believed she was talking to her ex-husband’s girlfriend. No harm in letting the deception run for a little while, to see if it did lead to any revelations. So all she said was, “He’s not here.”
“Where do you live?” asked Sylvia brusquely.
“If you’re so capable with phone books,” Carole responded frostily, “I’d have thought you would notice that they contain addresses as well as numbers.”
“Yes, all right, I know your address, but I don’t know where it is. I’m not a Fethering resident. Are you near the Crown and Anchor?”
“About a five-minute walk. The High Street leads away from the sea, you know, it’s where the parade of shops is.”
“I know it. I think it would save time, Carole, if you and I had a little talk.”
“By all means.”
“I’m in Worthing. I’ll be with you in as long as it takes.” And the phone was put down.
Carole Seddon was affronted by the woman’s rudeness, but also intrigued. Just when most avenues of investigation seemed to be closing, here was a potential new one opening up. She dialled 1471 and took a note of Sylvia’s mobile number. Then she committed it to her memory – she had a photographic memory for phone numbers. You never knew when something like that would come in handy.
They sat in the garden. Even there the air moved very little. Gulliver panted pathetically in the inadequate shade of the green table, and tried unsuccessfully to chew off the bandaging round his leg.
Sylvia was wearing clothes which, though perfectly acceptable for the beach, looked out of place in the austere environment of High Tor. Another pair of microshorts – pale blue this time – and plastic flip-flops. Above the waist nothing but a red bikini top, which did nothing to disguise the ampleness of her charms. Carole was already disposed against Ted Crisp’s ex-wife, and the way the woman dressed for her visit did nothing to dilute the strength of that disapproval. Yes, the weather was hot, but standards still had to be maintained. A scarf over the bare shoulders might seem to be a minimum requirement. Carole thought her own ensemble of grey linen trousers and a short-sleeved white blouse went quite as far as casual needed to go.
But clearly, not upsetting her hostess was low among Sylvia Crisp’s priorities. As soon as, having turned down offers of tea and coffee, she had been furnished with a glass of mineral water, she launched straight into the purpose of her visit. “Come on, I want to know where Ted is.”
“So far as I know, he’s at the pub. It has reopened. I was there at lunchtime.”
“Did Ted mention I’d been trying to contact him?”
“He wasn’t there. He had a meeting at the bank.”
“But you’ll be seeing him soon?”
“Possibly.” Then Carole remembered she was trying to maintain the illusion that she and Ted were ‘an item’. “Certainly.”