The Reckoning

  Case Files: pocket-sized murder mysteries

  Rachel Amphlett

  The Reckoning © 2021 Rachel Amphlett

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. While the locations in this book are a mixture of real and imagined, the characters are totally fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The morning before the murder, a late autumn sky laden with rain clung to the rolling hills surrounding the town, the outlook oppressive and grey.

  Oak and ash leaves turned from burnt orange to shades of ochre and yellow, littering the pitted asphalt surface of the driveway. They fluttered on the ground in the wind, struggled to become airborne one final time and then sank, defeated by the effort, before being crushed under the wheels of a sleek black car as it braked to a standstill outside the Georgian house.

  Sadie Thorp hovered at the portico of the converted manor house with one hand on the open door, the other smoothing down her shirt, the collar stiff from newness and the nursing facility’s embroidered blue logo bright above her left breast.

  She finished adjusting her short ponytail, peered at the rear smoked-glass windows of the car, and wondered if its passenger was staring back at her.

  A moment passed, the tick tick of the engine cooling the only sound until a song thrush burst from the ivy that wound its way up and over the portico, shattering the peace.

  The driver’s door opened and a uniformed man in his early fifties climbed out.

  He had all the bearing of an ex-military man, straightening his navy jacket before moving to the rear and opening the door, his close-cropped hair unaffected by the stiff breeze.

  He paused and peered over his shoulder as Sadie called out.

  “Mrs Price, it’s lovely to see you,” she said, biting back confusion, “but I didn’t think we were expecting you until four o’clock?”

  A gloved hand emerged from the gloom of the vehicle, accepting the chauffeur’s grip.

  “Then you are mistaken.”

  Sadie swallowed, then fixed the smile on her face.

  The smile that Helen, her manager, used when faced with one of their more difficult residents.

  And Evelyn Price promised to be one of those, she was in no doubt.

  The ex-Forces’ sweetheart glared at her over a pair of pink-framed glasses perching on the end of her veined nose, then raised a painted eyebrow.

  The effect did nothing to hide the deep wrinkles or rheumy eyes.

  “Welcome to Orchard Skilled Nursing Facility,” said Sadie. “I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable here.”

  “I should hope so, given the fees.” Evelyn peeled the gloves from her hands and smacked them against her palm as she watched the driver remove her suitcases from the back of the car. “Don’t put those on the ground, they’ll get dirty. Straight into the house with them, Duncan.”

  “Certainly, Mrs Price.”

  Evelyn watched him for a moment, then turned to Sadie. “Are you going to stand there all day gaping, or are you going to show me to my room?”

  “I – of course. Come this way, please.”

  She stood to one side to let the woman cross the threshold, noting how Evelyn paused in the middle of the reception area and turned full circle, her gaze lingering on the oil paintings that adorned one oak-panelled wall before she pointed at the blinking red light above a camera fixed above the front door.

  “Do you get much trouble here?” she said.

  “What? Sorry, no – those are just for our security while we’re working on reception.” Sadie gave a small shrug. “It’s a health and safety requirement, that’s all. We’re quite a distance from the main road, and we’re often working in here on our own.”

  Evelyn huffed under her breath in response, and Sadie hurried to the reception desk.

  “There’s just some paperwork to be signed before I show you to your room,” she explained, hearing the note of apology in her voice.

  Evelyn shot her a horrified look and took a step back. “Give that to Duncan. He deals with that sort of thing, not me.”

  “Here, let me.” The chauffeur held out his hand and ran his gaze over the forms. “Everything will be billed to the company as requested?”

  Sadie handed him the black biro from her shirt pocket. “That’s right. We only have a post office box number in London for the address…”

  “That’ll do.” He scrawled his signature beside the two crosses Helen had pencilled in the correct places on the waiver and billing agreements.

  “Thank you.” Sadie crossed to the reception desk, opened the bottom drawer and dropped the folder inside before locking it. She gestured to the hallway leading off to the left. “If you’d like to follow me, the lift to the first floor is this way.”

  “I beg your pardon, young lady, but there happens to be a perfectly good staircase over here,” said Evelyn, jutting out her chin. “I didn’t get to my age through lack of exercise.”

  “Of course… I didn’t mean…” Sadie looked to the chauffeur for help.

  “Mrs Price is exceptionally fit for a lady of her age,” he said.

  “Even so, will you be all right with the suitcases?”

  “Not a bother. I’ll take these up now and then I’ll be off.”

  “Thanks. It’s room number four – up the stairs, last one on the right.”

  “I hope it’s got a garden view,” said Evelyn, beady eyes watching as Duncan lifted her luggage and made his way up the stairs without a backwards glance. “We did request a garden view.”

  “Your room has a beautiful outlook,” said Sadie, wishing she sounded less flustered and glad that Helen wasn’t around to observe her embarrassment. “I’m told it’s the best room in the house.”

  “I should think so. Not the cheapest place to stay, is it?”

  Sadie took a deep breath as the chauffeur returned empty-handed at the top of the stairs, his gait nonchalant as he descended.

  “Shall we go up, Mrs Price?”

  “If I must.”

  The ninety-six-year-old adjusted her handbag strap across her forearm, then replaced her gloves and reached out for the smooth wooden bannister, determination in her eyes.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon as arranged, Mrs Price,” said Duncan. He turned to Sadie and lowered his voice. “Don’t worry. She’ll be all right once she’s settled.”

  Sadie exhaled and forced a smile. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

  Chapter Two

  A wizened hand dropped the net curtain into place, a bronchial cough hacking its way from the man’s lungs as he shuffled across to an overstuffed armchair and sank into it with a groan.

  Reassuring warmth from the radiator under the window saturated the room, soaking the available air and capturing a whiff of body odour, cheap soap and aftershave that was fast receding under the notes of furniture polish and lemon-scented bathroom cleaner.

  A single bed with metal side rails took up the length of one wall, beige blankets and allergy-free pillows plumped and ready to cushion the old man’s form.

  Sadie finished vacuuming, made sure the cable was well away from Alan Hendrick’s feet in case he tripped, then pulled the laundry bag from its wicker bin and placed it next to the door.

  A familiar rattle of tablets being tipped from a plastic pot filled the sudden silence.

  This had become their routine: she would vacuum, he would watch and wait until she was done to take his heart pills, and then he would offer advice – whether required or otherwise – while she dusted and tidied.

  “I have a theory.”

  She stamped on the button at the back of the vacuum cleaner and watched as the cable coiled away, the plug bumping across the stain-proof grey carpet before clattering into its burrow.

  “A theory about what?”

  “Not what, who. Her. The new gal. Evelyn.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “Never seen her before in my life.”

  “How do you know her name, then?”

  It was like this with Mr Hendrick. Information had to be gleaned from him piece by tiny piece, teased out of him. He loved to taunt, loved to hold on to facts and snippets of gossip like morsels of food to be shared.

  “I overheard you talking earlier,” he said.

  “Did you now? She smiled. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “Certainly not. You were talking loudly.”

  “All right, I believe you,’ she said. ‘So, what’s this theory about?”

  “How long is she here for?”

  “Until tomorrow afternoon. Her usual carer is away and there’s nobody around to look after her tonight.”

  “I don’t think she’s sick.”

  “What makes you say that?”

&n bsp; “I can tell. A person has a certain way of standing or talking when they’re hurt. You can spot the weak ones. She isn’t one of them.”

  “Well, maybe she needs to rest for other reasons.” She moved to the bed and tucked a stray corner of the soft wool blanket under the mattress. “Convalescing can be for anything, can’t it?”

  “You don’t know why she’s here?”

  “Now, Mr Hendrick – you know I can’t tell you.”

  “Well, what do you know about her? There must be something you can tell me to alleviate the inordinate boredom around here.”

  “She sang for the troops during the war.’

  “The British, you mean.” Hendrick wrinkled his nose as he placed the bottle of pills on a small wooden table beside his armchair. “I didn’t hear her.”

  “Too busy blowing up Russian tanks?”

  “Did I tell you about that?”

  “You did, along with the story about the man who helped you steal the German Kommandant’s goat.”

  “It was a horrible goat. Worst I’ve ever tasted. Mind you, my friends in the Hungarian Resistance didn’t go hungry that week, at least. Did I tell you about the time…”

  Sadie tuned out his words as she sprayed a liberal amount of furniture polish onto a duster and began cleaning the mahogany-framed mirror next to the door. She had only worked at the convalescent home for four weeks but knew all of Hendrick’s stories by heart.

  Alan Hendrick, once known as Bertalan Hendrich. Hungarian by birth, English by circumstances these past seventy-five years. Sharp as a pin, with a twinkle in his eye.

  She ran her gaze over the faded photographs in the silver frames on the windowsill of the wife who had died eight years ago and the two sons who never visited, her heart heavy with pity for the animated man she cared for.

  He extracted a pocket watch and glared at the clock on the wall. “It’s two minutes slow.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “This never lies. Quality workmanship, you see. Made in the 1920s, wound daily, dropped once – and still manages to tell the right time.” He jabbed a shrivelled finger at the offending digital counterpart. “That, on the other hand, is cheap, poor quality, and—”

  “Okay, I’ll change it.”

  Sadie tugged the clock from its picture hook and toggled the switch that marked the seconds before replacing it. That done, she moved around the room, dusting the arrangement of mementoes the old man had collected on a shelf beside the bathroom door as she hummed under her breath.

  “Mind the crystal.”

  “I will.” She picked up the nearest piece, green and blue stemmed glass catching the light from the table lamp next to his armchair. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s Überfang. No two are the same.” His voice held a sense of wonder as she turned the glass in her hand.

  “Was it a gift?”

  “Of sorts.” Hendrick shuffled against the cushions, his eyes shifting to the window.

  Sadie replaced the glass, wiped a smudge of dust away from the corner of the shelf, and turned back to him. “Was it from when you were in the Resistance?”

  “Yes.” He waved his hand in front of his face as if to chase away the memories. “A long time ago now.”

  He was tiring.

  She could hear it in his voice, see it in the way his eyelids fluttered.

  It was often the case after he took his medication.

  She pulled the vacuum cleaner towards the door and shoved the furniture polish and dusting cloth into the front pocket of her protective apron.

  “Are you warm enough? Do you want me to turn up the heating in here?”

  “No. I’m fine, dear. Are you working tonight?”

  “I’m on call, yes.”

  “That’s a shame. You should try the Palinka sometime,” he said. He pointed to a dusty bottle on the shelf next to the glassware, then winked. “It will, as you youngsters say, knock your socks off.”

  Sadie laughed, stooping to pick up the laundry bag.

  “I’ll pass, thank you, Mr Hendrick. I have another room to clean yet.”

  Chapter Three

  A subdued quietness filled the old house as Sadie closed the door to room number three and paused on the landing.

  An eighty-year-old by the name of Roger Sanders occupied number two, and as Sadie raised her hand to knock, she heard soft snores emanating through the woodwork.

  She checked her watch, the dial glinting under the soft hues of the spotlights in the ceiling.

  Mr Sanders was known for his afternoon siestas, which had a habit of playing havoc with the cleaning schedule from time to time.

  No matter – she would try to return later if time allowed.

  Opening a covered hatch beside a fire exit, she swung the laundry bag down the metal chute, then glanced over her shoulder at the faint sound of music.

  The distant notes of a swing band filtered from further along the carpeted corridor, the song a reminder of dancing around in her grandmother’s kitchen while she listened to stories about rations and air raids.

  Sure that the music came from Evelyn Price’s room, she peered at the roster of tasks on her clipboard and noted it was almost time to change the woman’s dressings.

  She rolled her shoulders, heard a satisfied crick as a muscle relaxed, and pulled the vacuum cleaner along to the store cupboard, humming under her breath as she collected disposable gloves and a fresh crepe bandage.

  Knocking once before turning her key in the lock for number four, she smiled as the music ended and the familiar crack and hiss of a well-worn vinyl record filled the silence.

  “Excuse me, Mrs Price. It’s time for me to change the dressing on your ankle.”

  The nonagenarian stood next to the smaller of the two suitcases the chauffeur had brought in from the car, the open lid exposing a miniature record player with built-in speakers. She held a dull green paper record sleeve in her hand.

  “I thought you were coming in here to tell me to keep the noise down,’ she said, lifting the needle from the vinyl.

  Sadie put down her clipboard beside a half-full water jug. “Not at all – I like it actually. It reminds me of my grandmother. She used to play that sort of music all the time. I think it reminded her of dancing with my grandfather when they first met.”

  “Are they both gone now?”

  “My grandfather died before I was born, and I lost my grandmother about ten years ago.”

  “It catches up with us all eventually.” Evelyn tucked the record into its sleeve, slipped it into a pocket next to the deck and then wandered over to the solitary armchair beside the window. “Did your grandmother play my songs to you?”

  Sadie shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mrs Price. I haven’t heard any of your songs.”

  “Well, I suppose you are a bit on the young side.” The old woman sighed. “And you can call me Evelyn. Mrs Price makes me feel even older.”

  “Thank you.” Snapping on the protective gloves, she crouched next to the woman and gently lifted her foot into her lap, setting the new bandage to one side. “What sort of songs did you used to sing?”

  “I never had any of my own – I was too young. The songwriters were busy with the likes of Doris and Vera. I sang some of theirs and the other popular ones.” Her eyes gleamed. “Occasionally I sang some of the bawdier songs that were around. It depended on the audience. Anything to take the soldiers’ minds off what was going on around them for a little while.”

  Sadie smiled. “You must have had such a time of it. Do you still sing?”

  “Oh, just for the usual anniversaries. I seem to get rolled out for all of them – the Diamond Jubilee, D-Day, VE Day. Any excuse, and off we go again.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “It’s such a bother these days.” Evelyn scowled. “All the security arrangements and waiting around while they check this, check that. It’s different now.”

  “I suppose it has to be. It’s all for the right reasons, isn’t it?”

  The woman wrinkled her nose. “So they tell me, although if they saw what we got up to back then… I used to get sent over to Belgium, France, wherever else they needed me back in the day. Flak in the skies, anti-aircraft guns on the ground…”

 

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