Just Murdered Read online

  Terence took a menacing step forward, shoulders bunched, fists clenched.

  ‘Father, customers,’ Colin said quietly.

  Immediately, Terence Blair deflated and his mouth, which had been in the process of curling into a snarl, reshaped itself into a stiff smile.

  ‘You’re right, Colin,’ said Blair senior. ‘We have customers. You remember what those look like, don’t you, White?’ Terence Blair smoothed down his tie and strolled away, hands behind his back, his son by his side.

  Harvey White laughed and cupped a hand to the side of his mouth, ready to call after the retreating figures.

  ‘Mr White!’ Steed used his cut-it-out voice, honed during several years as a uniformed officer. ‘This way.’ He ushered Mr White through a staff-only door and along to an employee’s tearoom that had been temporarily made over for police business. The detective only realised someone had followed them in when he heard the door close.

  ‘Tea, gentlemen?’ Peregrine asked, walking behind Harvey White to where a large urn steamed.

  Steed frowned. It took him a moment to link Peregrine Fisher’s voice with the glasses, pigtails and black-and-white Blair’s pinafore of the woman in front of him—then his eyes widened in shock.

  ‘Yeah, with plenty of sugar, love.’ Harvey White leered at her.

  ‘Detective?’ She smiled sweetly at Steed.

  ‘No. Thank you.’ He turned to White, looked back at Peregrine, then forced himself to focus on the man in front of him. ‘Barbie Jones. I understand she left your employ about six months ago. Is that correct?’ Steed flipped open his notebook and waited.

  ‘Left is putting it nicely. I gave her the boot.’

  ‘You fired her?’ Steed’s eyes flicked involuntarily to Peregrine, but her back was turned as she fussed with cups and saucers. ‘I was given to understand that she was the face of White’s.’ He looked past White again.

  Peregrine half turned, glancing over her shoulder at him, eyebrows raised.

  ‘What happened?’ Steed persisted doggedly. ‘Were you unhappy with Miss Jones’s work for some reason?’

  ‘She wasn’t the right image for White’s anymore. We’re a family store and I found out she no longer shared the same values. Barbie Jones was having a bit too much fun.’

  Behind Harvey White’s back, Peregrine had stopped making tea and turned around to give Detective Steed a meaningful look.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ Steed’s confusion took in Peregrine and White, but it was White who answered.

  ‘Come on, Detective! There are the good girls—the sort you take home to mother—and there are good-time girls: the sort your mother warned you about. I found out Barbie was trying to get that new pill: the one for single girls who like to … you know. That told me straight away exactly what kind of girl she was. I’m a Catholic—church every Sunday—and I have a lot of customers who were raised the same way. If it got out that the face of White’s had the morals of an alley cat …’

  Peregrine slammed a cupboard closed. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So you fired Miss Jones for wanting the contraceptive pill?’ The detective tried not to look at Peregrine, focusing on his notes.

  ‘I’m not a heartless bastard! I offered to make an honest woman of her.’

  ‘You … proposed?’ Steed asked, incredulous. ‘We have a police report claiming you tried to force yourself on her.’

  Harvey White shrugged expansively. ‘Women! You try to do the right thing and they take it the wrong way. Never know what’s good for them.’

  Peregrine had stepped forward to deliver a cup of tea and was leaning over when White patted her backside. She yelped and splashed the liquid into his lap.

  ‘Jeez, watch it!’ he yelled.

  ‘So sorry, sir.’ Peregrine dropped a dishcloth in front of him.

  ‘Like I was saying …’ White jerked his head in Peregrine’s direction. ‘Anyway, it was a pity about Barbie Jones: she brought in customers. Good little earner, that redhead.’ He looked down at his lap. ‘Are we done? I’ve got to get cleaned up.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mr White. I’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.’ Steed stood and shook hands, then escorted Harvey White out.

  When he returned Peregrine was sitting in the chair he’d just vacated, legs stretched out in front of her, drinking a cup of tea.

  ‘Please tell me you think that old lech is guilty,’ she said without bothering to look at Steed.

  ‘It doesn’t look as though Mr White is particularly upset about losing his model to Blair’s.’

  ‘Yes, but Barbie turned him down, then tried to have him charged with assault. What would that do for his good Catholic image?’ She pushed a teacup across the table to him.

  ‘Except the charges went away.’ He picked up the cup, sipped and winced.

  ‘Right.’ Peregrine nodded then noticed Steed’s expression. ‘Too sweet? Anyway, even if it wasn’t Mr White, we’ve got another suspect now.’

  ‘We do? Who?’ Steed forced himself to take another mouthful of tea.

  ‘The boyfriend.’

  ‘Miss Astor said Barbie didn’t have a boyfriend.’

  ‘Detective, if Barbie Jones was planning on taking the pill, she had a boyfriend.’

  Steed looked at her and Peregrine saw realisation dawn in his eyes.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I need to get back to work. You can fill me in on anything you find out later.’

  James Steed opened his mouth, ready with a sharp retort, but Peregrine had already gone.

  Peregrine checked her watch as she hurried through the ladieswear department, her sensible shoes soundless on the black-and-white floor. She needed to find Barbie’s boyfriend and, from everything Florence had told her, the person most likely to know about that was Pansy Wing. The two models may not have been close, but in Peregrine’s experience rivals knew just as many intimate details about each other as friends, sometimes more. The difference lay in how they got their information and what they did with it.

  At this time of day the house models would be in the corner of ladieswear devoted to couture. Here, the wealthiest customers—whose size and measurements were kept discreetly on file—could watch the models parade in the designs of their choice, observing the quality, fit and movement of the clothing from every angle, without having to remove so much as a glove.

  Peregrine rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt. Pansy was walking towards her in a sapphire-blue silk cocktail dress. As she watched, the model stopped, turned, put a hand on her hip and turned again.

  ‘Too fast! Turn again and this time pause. Give me a chance to see the back! I shouldn’t have to tell you how to do your job. Barbie knew how to model properly.’

  Until she’d started complaining, Peregrine hadn’t noticed the woman sitting immediately to her right: Florence had described Maggie Blair to a T.

  ‘Again, slowly,’ Mrs Blair said, then sighed. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do without Barbie. I suppose you think you’ll be the star of the show from now on, but …’ She sighed again as she looked Pansy up and down. ‘I’m not sure how our customers will relate to a woman with your … exotic look.’

  Pansy spun back, all her poise gone. ‘This particular dress also comes in cherry red, Mrs Blair,’ she said in a tight voice.

  ‘Red is for harlots! I’ll take it in the blue. Terence has always loved me in blue. Next!’ She waved a dismissive hand.

  Peregrine followed as Pansy stalked off to change into another outfit, catching up with her in the dressing room. The model’s hands were contorted behind her back as she struggled with a zipper, and Peregrine dashed forward to help.

  ‘Old cow!’ fumed Pansy, stepping out of the dress and kicking it into a corner. ‘I’ve worked here for ten years and she’s never once called me by my name. Probably doesn’t even know what it is!’ She wrenched another dress from its hanger.

  ‘I know who you are.’ Peregrine picked up the crumpled blue dress and shook it out. ‘
You’re Pansy Wing and you’re one of the most famous models in this country.’

  Pansy, wriggling into a new dress, paused with the fabric bunched around her hips. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘No, I’ve only just started working here. I’m Penny Foster, and I’m a huge fan of yours! Your photographs and modelling work are always so beautiful. I just love your elegant style!’

  Pansy tilted her chin and stared at the wall, her face freezing into a mask. ‘Elegance is all about pretending you’re somewhere else. Focus on the distance, think pleasant thoughts and pretend you’re made of plastic.’ She broke her pose and yanked the dress the rest of the way up.

  ‘Your work is so much more than that! It’s almost art! And I suppose you’re going to be Blair’s top model now that Barbie Jones has … gone?’ Peregrine widened her eyes behind the round-rimmed glasses.

  ‘It was going to happen anyway. I hate to badmouth someone who’s dead, but everyone knows Barbie’s work had been slipping badly.’

  ‘Slipping? How? Was she caught up with a new boyfriend or something?’ Peregrine asked breathlessly, hoping gossip would get her what interrogation would not.

  Pansy didn’t disappoint. ‘I don’t think Barbie was seeing anyone; she would have been crowing about it if she was! No, she was just being even more of a pain than usual. Wouldn’t come out drinking and partying with everyone, she was late in the mornings, so moody, wasn’t eating properly … I mean, we all take care of our figures, but she was living on dry crackers and soda water!’

  ‘Was she?’ Peregrine realised she might have sounded too interested and softened her response. ‘I mean, that sounds really difficult for you to have to deal with.’

  She pulled up the zipper on Pansy’s new dress and gave the hem a tug. Pansy turned to face her, hands on hips. The dress, a cream and gold brocade sheath, hugged her in all the right places.

  ‘Will Maggie Blair be able to cope or does it emphasise my exotic looks?’ Pansy asked, pulling a face.

  ‘The only thing old Mrs Blair needs to cope with is the fact that no matter what she thinks of your appearance, every dress she wears will always look better on you.’ Peregrine smiled and was rewarded when the corner of Pansy’s mouth curled up in a matching grin. Hopefully, Peregrine thought, she’d made an ally, or at least opened up a source of information. She gestured towards the shop floor. ‘I should get back.’

  ‘Yeah, and I should get this over with. Nice to meet you, Penny Foster.’ Pansy plastered a beatific smile on her face and sailed out of the dressing room.

  As she made her way back to the tearoom-cum-interview room, Peregrine saw Constable Connor walking swiftly through the lingerie department. The policewoman did a double take when she recognised Peregrine, then nodded in approval.

  ‘Constable Connor,’ said Peregrine. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just delivering the post-mortem report to Detective Steed.’

  ‘Do they let you drive a patrol car?’ Peregrine asked enthusiastically.

  ‘Hardly. I’m lucky if they reimburse me for the tram fare.’ Fleur Connor grimaced. ‘Speaking of which …’ She raised a hand in farewell and Peregrine continued on to the tearoom, where Detective Steed was standing, holding an open manila folder and leafing through its contents.

  ‘Nice to see you let Constable Connor deliver other things besides cups of tea!’

  Steed snapped the folder shut and moved to the other side of the table, causing Peregrine to smile.

  ‘Relax! I’m not going to steal your post-mortem report,’ she said. Steed raised his eyebrows, sat down and put the file on the table in front of him, folding his hands over the top. ‘Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.’

  Peregrine shrugged and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. ‘So Barbie Jones was pregnant?’

  ‘How did you …’ Steed’s jaw dropped and he glanced involuntarily at the folder clamped beneath his hands.

  ‘I just spoke to Pansy Wing and she told me how Barbie had been acting recently. The soda and crackers diet was the clincher. Pity Pansy hadn’t heard anything about a boyfriend. Have you had any luck there?’

  Despite himself, Steed shook his head.

  ‘Well, you know what that means!’ Peregrine pushed herself off the doorframe and began pacing back and forth.

  Steed watched her for a few seconds, a frown creasing his brow. ‘Her boyfriend was shy?’

  Peregrine stopped and gave him a pitying look. ‘Not shy. It means he was taken.’

  Steed still looked blank.

  ‘Taken! Married, engaged, off the market, already had a girlfriend!’ She stopped pacing and put both hands on the table, leaning towards Steed. ‘The sort of boyfriend who might be even more unhappy than usual to find out Barbie Jones was pregnant.’

  Steed’s eyes widened.

  Peregrine tapped her fingers on the table. ‘I’ll see you later, Detective Steed. I’ve only got a few hours to go before my shift ends, and there are quite a few people I need to see.’

  ‘You have to stop interfering in police business, Miss Fisher!’

  But he was speaking to an empty room.

  James Steed sat there in silence for a quarter of an hour or so. Outwardly, he didn’t seem to be doing anything, but on the inside his mind was racing, occupied with the details of Barbie Jones’s murder. Unfortunately, it didn’t lead him anywhere.

  ‘Good, you’re still here.’ Peregrine was in the doorway again. ‘Detecting.’

  ‘Miss Fisher.’ Steed sighed. ‘What do you want now? Because whatever it is, the answer is no.’

  Peregrine made a show of lowering her glasses and peering at him over the top of the frames. ‘Well, I was sent by Mr Blair’s secretary to tell you there was a phone call for you and to escort you to an extension, but I can just as easily relay your message to Inspector Sparrow and tell him the answer is no.’ She turned and disappeared.

  ‘No! I mean wait!’ Steed jumped to his feet and hurried around the table. Hurtling through the door he almost crashed into Peregrine, who was waiting just one step away.

  ‘This way, Detective.’ She grinned.

  Peregrine took him out onto the shop floor and across to a deserted cashier’s desk. ‘Press that button for the switchboard operator and tell her who you are,’ she instructed.

  Steed picked up the receiver then stared at her pointedly. ‘Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, sorry,’ Peregrine said and started to walk away.

  Detective Steed pressed the button she’d indicated and Peregrine immediately reversed direction and came to stand next to him.

  He turned his back and hunched his shoulders. Peregrine leaned in.

  ‘Inspector Sparrow?’ Steed said, and immediately pulled the receiver away from his ear. There was no need for Peregrine to get close: she could hear every word clearly.

  ‘Steed! I’ve got the chief commissioner breathing down my neck, damn it! I’ve just assured him everything is under control, but then I go looking for your report and there doesn’t appear to be one. Where is it?’

  ‘Sir—’

  ‘It’s bloody non-existent, isn’t it? Because instead of locking up the crazy cow who had the dress show, you’re still down there wasting time on … What are you wasting time on?’

  ‘The details—’

  ‘Do. Not. Matter. Arrest that woman!’ Sparrow spluttered, his voice made tinny by the phone line.

  ‘Florence Astor? I don’t believe we have enough evidence against her yet, sir.’ Steed tried to sound firm but reasonable.

  Peregrine leaned into the detective’s line of sight and gave him a thumbs-up. He turned his back again.

  ‘What more evidence do you bloody well need? She was there, she and Barbie doll had an all-in catfight the day before—’

  ‘It wasn’t quite—’

  ‘And,’ Sparrow went on, ‘Astor’s one of those mad witches who—’

  Peregrine gasped and there was silence.


  ‘Is someone there with you, Steed?’ Sparrow’s voice was suddenly quiet; it was far more intimidating than the full-volume tirade.

  Steed widened his eyes at Peregrine and made a cutting motion across his throat. She nodded and pretended to button her lips. ‘No, sir,’ said Steed. ‘There must be some static on the line.’

  ‘I don’t need any more bloody static from you or the phone company.’ Sparrow was back at normal volume. ‘So stop pissing around, show a bit of guts, and lock that woman up!’ There was a loud click—actually more of a crash—and the connection was broken.

  ‘You know Florence had nothing to do with it, right?’ Peregrine said softly.

  Steed sighed. ‘Miss Fisher, I …’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘You can’t arrest her just because he says so.’

  ‘And I can’t not arrest her because you say so,’ he replied, settling his hat firmly on his head. ‘Besides, Inspector Sparrow has Miss Astor in his sights. Trust me. It will be much better if I find her first.’

  Peregrine rummaged in the pocket of her pinafore, pulling out a folded piece of paper which she passed to Detective Steed. ‘You might need this then.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, unfolding it and reading Peregrine’s loopy writing.

  ‘I was going to go there after work. It’s the address of Florence’s dress salon.’

  He refolded the paper and tapped it in the palm of his hand. ‘Thank you, Miss Fisher.’

  ‘Will you come to my place later? Tell me what you find?’

  Steed hesitated, but Peregrine’s concern was obvious.

  ‘No promises,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Thank you, Detective Steed.’ She smiled.

  Steed nodded in return, then Peregrine watched as he made his way across Blair’s polished floor towards the elevators and was lost to sight behind a display of gleaming whitegoods.

  It didn’t take long for James Steed to walk from Blair’s Emporium to the enclave of chic boutiques that was home to Florence Astor’s salon, but on arrival he was frustrated to find the door firmly shut. There was no calligraphed sign to indicate the establishment was Closed for lunch 1–2, or the designer would be Back in five minutes, and knocking failed to produce a response. Steed cupped his hands against the glass and peered in, trying to see beyond the mannequins and the four-panel French room divider that made up the window display. He changed position, moving his head from side to side until he found the right angle.