Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend Read online

  “And what about Crenshaw. Would he be up to shuffling daddy off the mortal coil so you could inherit?”

  The actress chortled convincingly. “Wasting his time if he did. Everything goes to Mummy. All I get is my allowance. A measly thousand a year.”

  “One last thing, Theresa,” Joe pressed. “How did your father make his money?”

  “Haven’t a clue. I only know how to spend it. Haven’t the faintest idea how one goes about making it. You’d have to ask Mummy.”

  Joe gave her a small round of applause. “You’re a very capable actress, young lady.”

  “Thank you, Mr Murray.”

  “And now, tell me, not as an actress, but as Olivia Anderson, did you know Reggie Grimshaw or any of his crowd before this weekend?”

  Olivia appeared thrilled to be asked. “Gosh, no. Do you really suspect one of our people? Because there are those who knew him, you know.”

  Joe’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  “Oh yes. There’s Gerry for one. Well, I don’t know that he knew Mr Grimshaw, but he certainly knows Mrs Grimshaw.” She leaned into Joe and lowered her voice. “Knows her in the biblical sense.”

  Disappointment seeped through Joe. He’d been hoping for something different to the scuttlebutt. “Yeah, right. Thanks, Olivia. You get yourself off with the other young people and enjoy the party.”

  He picked up his glass and surveyed the room. The DJ was already playing background music, most of it easy instrumental, to which Cyril Peck and Mavis Barker were already dancing. The Grimshaw Kitchens crowd had already split up and were circulating around the room, including Wendy Grimshaw, who appeared anything but the grieving widow. Joe noted that she kept her distance from the Kendrews, who were the only couple out of step with the rest of the room. The party mood had already begun to spread, but they sat at a table, deep in discussion, Kendrew moody and anxious, his wife serious and urgent as she spoke to him.

  “Charm not working tonight, Joe?”

  Alec Staines’s question brought Joe back from the meanderings of his mind.

  “I notice the bint you trapped off with last night is chatting up the DJ.” Alec pointed to the podium where Melanie was still talking with the entertainer.

  Joe groaned. “Don’t you start, Alec. I’ve had enough with Sheila and Brenda.”

  “Not like you, Joe. Everyone’s commenting on it. When they’re not talking about old Grimshaw or Haliwell.”

  “Grimshaw and who… Oh. Right. I get you.” In the day’s confusion, Joe had temporarily forgotten that there were three murders to solve, even if two of them were fictitious. “If you’re angling after tips on the murder mystery play, forget it. I promised I wouldn’t.”

  Alec chuckled. “No, mate. Not worried; I think Julia has it cracked anyway.”

  “Brenda and Sheila think the same, but they’re both wrong.”

  “So you say.” Alec took a long drink of beer. “And what about Grimshaw? Any progress?”

  Joe shook his head. “Early days, yet. Favourite is still yon fella.” He pointed at Robbie Kendrew and, at that moment, Kendrew looked up and around, his gaze settling on Joe, who quickly diverted his finger to point at the bar.

  Alec laughed again. “If looks could kill, Joe, you’d be skewered now.” His face settled into something more serious. “Tell you what, though, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was an irate customer who murdered the old git.”

  Toying with his glass, Joe invited, “Go on.”

  “Have you ever seen a Grimshaw kitchen?”

  “Never even heard of them until yesterday,” Joe admitted.

  Alec, a self-employed painter and decorator, snorted derisively. “Utter crap. I was on a job on Leeds Road coupla months back. Old girl wanted the place tarting up afore Christmas. Full monty in the living room; you know. Paper and paintwork, fresh coat of paint on the kitchen ceiling, all the woodwork. She lived on her own and the kitchen was one of Grimshaw’s. I’ve never seen such a mess. Doors hung out of true, hinges coming out of their MDF backing, worktops loose, and a couple of drawer fronts that kept coming off. It was a bloody disgrace. She’d had more grief with the fan oven than you get from Brenda Jump in a year. I guessed it was all years old, but she told me it had only been in two years, too. I told her she should be giving them what for, but she said she’d complained a dozen ways from Sunday, and they just ignored her.”

  “That bad, huh?” Joe asked. “Reggie told me they were the dream of every housewife.”

  Alec laughed. “Dream? Nightmare more like.” He shook his head and drank more beer. “Makes you wonder why the daft old sod turned down the offer from Midland Kitchens.”

  In the act of lifting his glass to his lips, Joe paused. “Midland Kitchens? That’s twice I’ve heard them mentioned.”

  Alec nodded. “Course, you won’t know because you’re not in the game, but it was in all the trade papers. Midland Kitchens are one of the big players in this part of the world. Part of the International Group. They’re from Bromsgrove. We’re talking big boys. They offered Reggie Grimshaw ten million or something for a complete buyout. He told them where they could stick it.”

  “He must have been doing well to say no.”

  “That’s the funny thing,” Alec said. “According to reports, Grimshaw’s was… well, not exactly struggling, but not cutting it the way they once did.” Alec finished his beer. “Have to get a refill before they start charging again.”

  Joe checked his watch. “There’s no rush, Alec. It’s not eight o’clock yet, and the free ale lasts another hour.”

  “Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Joe. Not when you can kick its teeth in.”

  “Hang on. I want to know more about this takeover business.”

  “No more to tell. Home improvements, mate. Played out. Kicked in the bejeebers by the big DIY merchants.” Alec took his glass to the crowded bar, leaving Joe to contemplate the story.

  He scanned the room, seeking a target. Robbie Kendrew? No way. The only thing Kendrew would be willing to discuss would be Joe’s funeral arrangements. Wendy Grimshaw, too, was out. She was not exactly playing the grieving widow, but she would be unlikely to welcome intrusions on her husband’s company.

  Settling for Naomi Barton, he grabbed his empty glass and made for the bar.

  After spending the better part of ten minutes trying to get served, he eventually pulled rank on George Robson and Owen Frickley, and secured fresh drinks for himself and his two lady friends. Delivering them the table, he then moved closer to the DJ, carefully dodging round Mavis and Cyril who were taking up most of the dance floor jiving to the them tune from Chariots of Fire (Joe often called into question the sanity of the pair), he hovered above Naomi, who was deep in discussion with the other saleswoman from the Grimshaw party, a redhead named Nikki Taplow.

  Eventually, Naomi registered his presence and looked up, her eyes filled with blatant loathing. “What do you want?”

  “You. But not you personally, if you see what I mean.”

  “Go to hell?”

  Joe smiled viciously. “Ladies first.” He crouched down on his haunches so that his head was level with hers. “YOU mentioned a bid from Midland Kitchens earlier today. Tell me about Reggie and them.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Naomi snapped. “They offered, he told them where to shove it.”

  “So I understand, but whose advice was he taking when he told them to stick it? Yours? Kendrew’s?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Naomi snapped. “Now why don’t you go away and leave me alone?”

  Joe ignored her demand. “Y’see, I’ve just learned that what Grimshaw claimed was a top notch product was actually as cheap and nasty as all the others. Just twice as expensive. So I get to thinking that when Midland Kitchens offered Reggie a princely sum, maybe he thought he could hold out for more. And maybe you saw that as a threat, and you saw Wendy as being easier to persuade to keep the company going. If I look at it that way, it makes s
ense for you or Kendrew, or the both of you to want Reggie out of the way. With him dead, Midland Kitchens may come back with another offer, but it’ll be no more than a quarter of the previous one, and you can persuade Wendy she’ll make more by keeping the business going… with you in charge, naturally.”

  Naomi leaned closer to him. He could smell the drink on her breath. “For the last time, Murray, bugger off.”

  Joe smiled and stood up. “That’s better. Now you’re showing your true colours. Behind all the expensive clothes and fancy accents, you’re as common as pit muck used to be in Sanford.”

  Satisfied that he had touched a nerve, he moved away, and made for his friends again. Crossing the floor, he bumped into Den Ellerby.

  “Oh, hey, Mr Faction,” Joe said, “I wanted a word with you.”

  “About Normandy?” Ellerby asked.

  “No, not about Normandy,” Joe replied. “About Grimshaw Kitchens.”

  “Don’t know anything about them. I work for them, that’s all, and I’m only doing that until I get through my Open University course.”

  “On Normandy?”

  To Joe’s surprise Ellerby nodded. “Not specifically Normandy, but French history from the time of Richard, Coeur-de-lion.”

  “Must be riveting,” Joe said mustering as much disinterest as he could. “And I’d love to hear about it sometime, but right now, tell me what you know about Midland Kitchens making a bid for Grimshaw’s.”

  Ellerby gave an easy shrug. “What’s to tell? They made an offer, and Reggie turned it down. I can tell you this, though. The reports were wildly exaggerated. Either that or the people at Midland Kitchens are a set of numpties.”

  “How so?”

  “According to the rumour factory, Midland Kitchens bid ten million. I reckon the company was worth no more than about two or three.”

  “And you’d know about these things?” Joe challenged.

  “Of course,” Ellerby replied. “It’s common sense. The only thing the company had of any value was the machinery at the factory and the stock of raw materials. And maybe the designs, but hell, they were twenty years old. Salespeople like us are ten a penny and since we’re dealing in home improvements, there’s not much in the way of repeat business. You see? Homeowners only tend to do up their kitchen every five or ten years, and quite honestly once you’ve had one Grimshaw kitchen, you wouldn’t want another.”

  “Not good?”

  “Rubbish,” Ellerby replied frankly.

  “Reggie said different,” Joe argued.

  “Reggie would. Face it, Mr Murray, most people could go to one of the big DIY stores, buy the kits and either do it themselves or get a local joiner in to do it for them. And the big stores offer a design service free of charge. They’ll cut all the panels and worktops to size, even number them for you. Hell, they’ll even arrange to install it for you if you pay the extra. And they charge a fraction of the price Grimshaw’s are asking.” Ellerby shrugged again. “If you think about it, Grimshaw’s was worth nothing like ten million. I’d go no higher than three, but you don’t have to take my word for it. You know how to use the internet?”

  Joe suppressed an acid response. “They covered it on our pre-retirement course.”

  “They did? Good. It’s great, you know. Anyway, if you go on the Web and Google it, you’ll find it all on there. See ya.”

  The gears of his mind meshing, Joe made his way back to his friends. “Do me a favour will you?” he asked with one eye on the covered food tables. “When they uncover the spread, put me some to one side before the locusts strip it.”

  “Why?” asked Sheila. “Where are you going?”

  Brenda nudged her. “He’s scored again and he’s nipping upstairs for a quickie.”

  “You’re right,” Joe agreed, and turning on his heels marched away, his mind’s eye filled with an image of Brenda gaping after him.

  Waiting for the lift, he was surprised when a breathless Melanie arrived alongside him.

  “I wondered where you were going,” she said as the lift doors opened. “I thought we’d agreed to chat about your casebooks.”

  “We did,” he said, holding the doors open, “but something has just come up and I need to get on the Web to check on it.”

  “Oh. Right.” Melanie stepped into the lift with him. “Would you like to use my laptop and we can kill two birds with one stone?”

  Joe shrugged, his finger hovering over the 4th floor button. He moved it down to the 1st floor and pressed it. “As long as you’re okay with that.”

  “Okay with it?” She smiled at him. “It’s my pleasure… I hope.”

  ***

  With the time on his watch reading 9:15, Joe rolled from Melanie’s bed and padded across the carpet into the bathroom where he washed and dressed. As he came back into the room, Melanie passed him carrying her clothing, and he made for the laptop on the escritoire.

  “I could get used to this,” he said.

  “Used to what?” she called back.

  “Jumping into bed with you.” He switched on the laptop. “But we all have to go home the day after tomorrow and I have a string of murders to solve.”

  “I don’t live far, Joe,” she said. “Only Nottingham.”

  With the private reservation that Nottingham was still too far when he had to be out of bed at 5:30 every morning, Joe rolled a cigarette and concentrated on the computer.

  When it finally booted up, he called up the internet browser and Googled Grimshaw Kitchens Midland Kitchens.

  There were hundreds of results, but the first was the one he was seeking: Grimshaw rejects Midland bid.

  The link took him to the website of Home Improvement Digest Online, and a photograph of Reggie beaming brashly into the camera.

  Reginald Grimshaw, known affectionately as Reggie, the sole proprietor of Sheffield-based multi-million pound firm, Grimshaw Kitchens, has rejected a takeover bid from Midland Kitchens, a subsidiary of the International Group.

  “My business is not for sale,” Mr Grimshaw told our reporter, “and even if it was, they’d have to dig deeper into their pockets than they have already.”

  A spokesperson for Midland Kitchens confirmed that the bid, believed to be in the region for £3-4 million, had been rejected, but insisted the offer was generous. “It seems Mr Grimshaw has a vastly inflated sense of his own importance and the value of his company. Both his product and his methods are outdated and unsuited to a better-informed, 21st century customer base.”

  Mr Grimshaw, however, was unrepentant. “We are Midland Kitchens’ biggest competitors on the east coast from The Wash as far North as Teeside, and our order books are full. Insofar as I can judge, all they’re after is closing the business down to give them a free hand.”

  Midland Kitchens denied this, insisting that they are seeking a better location for their Northern and Eastern regions. “Our main factory is in Bromsgrove, and we’re looking to open another manufacturing plant. Sheffield is ideally situated for the purpose and we would have been more than happy to take on the Grimshaw factory and its employees.”

  Expensive perfume assaulted Joe’s nostrils, and he looked up from the computer to find Melanie seated alongside him.

  “Ah,” she said as she glanced at the screen. “You’re looking into Reggie’s business.”

  Joe turned the laptop to her so she could read. “When you’re investigating a murder, you always look first at the victim. Learn all you can about him, and you should be able to identify a motive.”

  After reading quickly though it, Melanie passed the screen back to him. “And have you?” she asked. “Identified the motive, I mean?”

  “Hmm, no, not really.” Joe shut down the internet browser. “Young Kendrew is our front runner, and Naomi Barton told me that now Reggie is dead, Wendy is likely to sell up. She also reckons that she and Kendrew will be out of work because of it. Or at the very best, demoted. Either way, they’ll take a kick in the pay packet. From that point of view, Reg
gie was worth much more to him alive.”

  “Unless he – or whoever murdered Reggie – had a deal with Midland Kitchens which would cushion him.”

  Joe’s wrinkled brow creased further. “Could a guy like him negotiate a deal like that?”

  “Possibly,” Melanie said. “How much do you know about direct selling?”

  “They’re a pain in the butt.”

  She laughed. “Quite true, but there are negotiating skills involved, Joe, and they’re exactly the same negotiating techniques big companies and large corporations use when they’re putting a deal together. If Kendrew can sell to householders, then I’m sure he can haggle with a company like Midland Kitchens.”

  Joe strummed his fingers on his lips.

  “Look,” Melanie insisted, “you and I are about to get into negotiations for the rights of your casebooks. I’m quite comfortable with that, and so are you. But if I were talking to a movie producer about the rights to my murder mystery scripts, I’d be just as comfortable. All his millions of pounds wouldn’t worry me. Well, Kendrew may be of the same mould.” She mimicked a proposal. “‘Guarantee me a top job and I’ll make sure Reggie signs on the dotted line at the price you want’.” Reverting to her normal voice, Melanie went on, “You heard him arguing with Reggie late last night. Maybe he was trying to persuade Reggie, and the old man finally had enough of the pressure and told him to go to hell.”

  Joe cleared his throat. “Y’see, I’m all right when the big boys are trying to sell me something. I’m quite happy to tell them to take a long walk off a short pier, but I don’t think I could sell them anything.”

  “That’s because you work in a staple industry. Food. You don’t have to actually sell, people come and buy. Kendrew, on the other hand, has to sell. He has to persuade, to negotiate. It’s meat and two veg to him, the same as meat and two veg is meat and two veg to you.”

  Joe shut down her laptop. “Enough about Reggie bloody Grimshaw. Let’s negotiate the Markham Murder Mysteries, stroke, Joe Murray agreement.”

  ***

  It was turned ten when they finally returned to the Scampton Room to find the party in full swing. The dance floor was crowded with couples mimicking the hand and body movements of the DJ to the sound of Black Lace and Agadoo, prompting Joe to complain, “I thought this was a holiday number.”