Everyone laughed, and the man bought a bunch of spring flowers. When he’d gone, Bonnie embellished her explanation. ‘He’s rather a sad character. His wife and his mother both died last year and left him on his own. Corinne treats him like a charity case, making cakes and elderflower wine for him. I keep telling her she ought to be careful not to be too encouraging. I bet those flowers were for her. The last thing she needs is a man moving in.’
Verity snorted. ‘Doesn’t know what’s good for her. He’ll have a nice big house, mortgage all paid up. Any woman would think she was in clover, landing him. Not bad-looking, either.’
‘He’s sixty,’ Bonnie protested. ‘And paralysingly boring. And Corinne’s got a house already, thank you very much.’
‘Huh,’ said Verity, and began bouncing Robin energetically up and down. Simmy felt enough was enough, and firmly retrieved him.
By an unspoken agreement, Simmy and Bonnie refrained from any further discussion of the Keswick murder. Verity was not one of their little gang, and never would be. Bonnie was to be admired in the way she calmly put up with the mundane prattle and the predictable comments on the customers. ‘She’s like your mother, but with about a quarter of the brains,’ Bonnie told Simmy after a few days of the woman’s company. ‘At least Mrs Straw’s funny when she’s offending people. Verity’s just ignorant. And she gets people so wrong. She thinks Ninian Tripp is gay, you know.’
Simmy laughed, remembering her brief liaison with the local potter. ‘Well, I can assure her he’s not. Although I think he’d be quite tickled to know he gives that impression.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s all good experience,’ said Bonnie philosophically. ‘And it won’t be for ever – I hope.’
‘Listen – I think I’ll go down to Helm Road,’ Simmy said. ‘If Helen’s working, I can talk to Ben for a bit.’
‘Okay,’ nodded Bonnie, with a rueful little smile. ‘What’re you doing after that?’
‘I’ll call in at Beck View. I’m making a day of it. The builders are still crashing about at home.’ This was an exaggeration, but it was still nice to get away from them when possible.
‘Chilly for the little one,’ said Verity. ‘That little suit doesn’t look too warm to me.’
‘It’s thirteen degrees out there and there’s no wind. He’ll be fine,’ defended Simmy. ‘And we’ll be indoors anyway.’
Bonnie took a step backwards, so she was at Verity’s shoulder before she permitted herself to roll her eyes and pull a face to indicate her exasperation with her workmate. ‘Hey – don’t forget there’s another delivery before lunch. Troutbeck this time. And it’s still not finished. They want a sheaf of lilies and lots of greenery. Will you do it?’
Verity squared her shoulders. Her skill at constructing floral arrangements was still hardly more than rudimentary, but Bonnie was making some headway in training her. ‘Lilies and greenery,’ she repeated. ‘Anything else?’
‘You could add some of those white carnations, and something blue if you can find it. Keep it simple, okay?’
With a last lingering gaze at the baby, the woman went off into the back room, where they could hear her rustling cellophane and snipping at tough flower stalks. ‘Can she do it?’ whispered Simmy.
‘More or less. I’ll probably have to tweak it a bit. At least she knows which flowers are which. And she’s very willing.’ Bonnie sighed.
‘You’re a saint,’ said Simmy. ‘What time’s she going to Troutbeck?’
‘About twelve.’
‘I’ll pop back then and let you know how I get on with Ben. It’s a shame you can’t be there as well.’
‘Can’t be helped,’ said Bonnie, suddenly seeming much more adult. She might look about twelve, but the new responsibility had obviously matured her dramatically. ‘Ben’s going to be really pleased to see you. And Helen’s dying to see the baby.’
Ben must have seen her as she parked outside the Harkness house in Helm Road and unloaded the cumbersome baby seat yet again. He was standing on the doorstep to greet her when she finally got there. ‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted help,’ he said awkwardly.
‘No problem – it looks worse than it is. Is your mother in?’ she asked.
‘Never mind that – tell me all about this murder in Keswick. I’m assuming you and Christopher have some connection with it?’
She wilted at the onslaught. ‘Yes, Ben,’ she acknowledged. ‘You’re assuming correctly.’
Chapter Six
They were met in the hallway by Helen Harkness, who commandeered the baby without hesitation and carried him off with infinite care, knowing Simmy was watching her. ‘He’s very unpredictable at the moment,’ Simmy warned her. ‘My mother says it’s a growth spurt.’
‘I’ll come and find you if he gets tetchy,’ Ben’s mother promised, and taking the stairs slowly, she disappeared up to her big first-floor studio, where she worked as an architect.
‘How much do you know?’ Simmy asked Ben, before he could voice the same question.
‘Violent death of a woman in Keswick, foul play suspected. Post-mortem probably already performed and neighbours questioned by police. It’s all out there for public consumption. One report said she worked locally, possibly at the auction house.’ He gave her a very straight look. ‘Which is where I guess you and Chris come in. Who was she?’
Simmy answered succinctly. ‘Christopher’s right-hand woman, Josephine. Can we sit down before we get into it any further?’
‘Sorry. Come on into the dining room.’
Simmy followed him into a handsome room with a large table in the centre. There were seven in the Harkness family, frequently eating together. The table was much used, not just for meals, but homework, card games, jigsaws – and the laying-out of spreadsheets, flowcharts and algorithms when Ben had a murder to contemplate. It had not been very many months since just such an activity had been conducted, with reference to a killing in Grasmere. ‘Here we are again,’ said Simmy, with very mixed feelings.
Ben sat down and wasted no more time. ‘What’s her surname?’
‘Oh … Um … I don’t
