Read Online Cradle to Grave by Aline Templeton - Free Book Online
Authors: Aline Templeton
Tags: Scotland
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perhaps, drafted in when the owner was in residence. But Fleming was definitely taken aback when the front door was opened by an exotic-looking young man with dark brown eyes and skin the colour of café au lait . He smiled politely at the officers.
They showed their warrant cards. ‘Is Mr Crozier in?’ Fleming asked. ‘We were hoping for a word with him.’
‘He’s just got back – upstairs changing. It was all pretty messy, as you can imagine. I’ll tell him you’re here. If you’d come with me . . .’
Exchanging puzzled glances, Fleming and MacNee followed him across the hall. Its architectural style was high Victorian, but it had been painted glossy white with one dramatically purple wall. A couple of white chairs with purple upholstery stood against the back wall on either side of a narrow white table, but otherwise it was echoingly empty.
The room Pilapil showed them into was also shiny white and, Fleming supposed, minimalist. It was bare, certainly, with no signs of the casual detritus of normal family life, and the only decoration was two of what were probably called objets in stainless steel on a glass table, and a huge abstract consisting of black and orange stripes. But this looked perfunctory, somehow, as if it had been painted to order to match the sofas and chairs, which were solid blocks of black and orange leather. These were placed at uncomfortable distances from one another, which confirmed the impression of indifference. The only signs of personal taste were a huge plasma-screen TV and speakers in all four corners of the room.
‘Brr!’ MacNee said, sitting down. ‘Makes you feel cold, just coming in here.’
‘Wouldn’t choose it, myself. What was all that about?’
‘Seemed to be expecting us, didn’t he? Sounds as if something’s happened. Maybe that’s what the lads in Kirkcudbright were going off to.’
With some irritation, she could hear him thinking, We should have checked. ‘OK, we should have checked. I was wrong. Satisfied?’ Aware that she had let her annoyance show, she went on, more temperately, ‘Still, sounds as if we’re going to find out now.’
Fleming walked over to the window. The room was towards the back of the side of the house, and beyond a characterless garden, consisting mainly of roughly mown grass, some shrubs and a sort of copse of low trees and bushes, she could see a structure at the top of the rising ground behind.
‘That must be the stage,’ she said. ‘And there are some caravans beside it – for staff, presumably – and then a few small tents lower down. Some of the fans must have started arriving already. Why would anyone choose to spend an extra night camping in weather like this? They must be mad!’
From somewhere in the house, someone began to play an electric guitar. It sounded as if it was directly overhead, and MacNee winced.
‘Someone practising for the gig, I daresay,’ Fleming said, her mouth twitching at her sergeant’s expression. ‘Sounds pretty good, actually.’
‘Hmph. Loud, anyway. Just so long as no one expects me to listen to a performance, that’s all.’
‘You’d probably be expected to pay, from the sound of it,’ Fleming was saying dryly when Gillis Crozier came into the room. They both got to their feet.
He had just a look of Clark Gable’s Rhett Butler, Fleming thought, only an older, sadder, wiser Rhett, and clean-shaven, of course. The seamed lines on his face suggested the same whiff of brimstone, and she guessed that to groupies in the music world he would have been powerfully attractive when he was younger. Now, though, that face suggested that life had not just been a giddy round of glamorous parties with willing young women.
He didn’t greet them formally. ‘Dreadful thing, this,’ he said heavily. ‘Dreadful.’
The officers looked at him blankly. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid this is something we haven’t heard about,’ Fleming said. ‘We came to discuss the problems with
They showed their warrant cards. ‘Is Mr Crozier in?’ Fleming asked. ‘We were hoping for a word with him.’
‘He’s just got back – upstairs changing. It was all pretty messy, as you can imagine. I’ll tell him you’re here. If you’d come with me . . .’
Exchanging puzzled glances, Fleming and MacNee followed him across the hall. Its architectural style was high Victorian, but it had been painted glossy white with one dramatically purple wall. A couple of white chairs with purple upholstery stood against the back wall on either side of a narrow white table, but otherwise it was echoingly empty.
The room Pilapil showed them into was also shiny white and, Fleming supposed, minimalist. It was bare, certainly, with no signs of the casual detritus of normal family life, and the only decoration was two of what were probably called objets in stainless steel on a glass table, and a huge abstract consisting of black and orange stripes. But this looked perfunctory, somehow, as if it had been painted to order to match the sofas and chairs, which were solid blocks of black and orange leather. These were placed at uncomfortable distances from one another, which confirmed the impression of indifference. The only signs of personal taste were a huge plasma-screen TV and speakers in all four corners of the room.
‘Brr!’ MacNee said, sitting down. ‘Makes you feel cold, just coming in here.’
‘Wouldn’t choose it, myself. What was all that about?’
‘Seemed to be expecting us, didn’t he? Sounds as if something’s happened. Maybe that’s what the lads in Kirkcudbright were going off to.’
With some irritation, she could hear him thinking, We should have checked. ‘OK, we should have checked. I was wrong. Satisfied?’ Aware that she had let her annoyance show, she went on, more temperately, ‘Still, sounds as if we’re going to find out now.’
Fleming walked over to the window. The room was towards the back of the side of the house, and beyond a characterless garden, consisting mainly of roughly mown grass, some shrubs and a sort of copse of low trees and bushes, she could see a structure at the top of the rising ground behind.
‘That must be the stage,’ she said. ‘And there are some caravans beside it – for staff, presumably – and then a few small tents lower down. Some of the fans must have started arriving already. Why would anyone choose to spend an extra night camping in weather like this? They must be mad!’
From somewhere in the house, someone began to play an electric guitar. It sounded as if it was directly overhead, and MacNee winced.
‘Someone practising for the gig, I daresay,’ Fleming said, her mouth twitching at her sergeant’s expression. ‘Sounds pretty good, actually.’
‘Hmph. Loud, anyway. Just so long as no one expects me to listen to a performance, that’s all.’
‘You’d probably be expected to pay, from the sound of it,’ Fleming was saying dryly when Gillis Crozier came into the room. They both got to their feet.
He had just a look of Clark Gable’s Rhett Butler, Fleming thought, only an older, sadder, wiser Rhett, and clean-shaven, of course. The seamed lines on his face suggested the same whiff of brimstone, and she guessed that to groupies in the music world he would have been powerfully attractive when he was younger. Now, though, that face suggested that life had not just been a giddy round of glamorous parties with willing young women.
He didn’t greet them formally. ‘Dreadful thing, this,’ he said heavily. ‘Dreadful.’
The officers looked at him blankly. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid this is something we haven’t heard about,’ Fleming said. ‘We came to discuss the problems with
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