Mr Wilmott Gets Old School Page 10

  “For goodness’ sake!” Emily turned back over, facing out into the room. The male ghost was an inch away from her face, staring, and she screamed.

  “Honestly, Scarface. You make enough noise to wake the dead.” Cynthia strolled into the lounge, not bothering to use the door—just straight through the wall.

  “Not you, too.” Emily covered her face and swallowed hard to try to keep from crying. Another scream would be a welcome relief if it wasn’t for her neighbours. “Can’t you both just go away and let me rest?”

  “Come on, big boy. That’s our marching orders.” Cynthia hooked her arm through the crouching man and dragged him toward the wall. “There’s a love seat out here in the back garden that I’m willing to share with you, so long as you don’t get handsy.”

  For a moment, Emily could scarcely believe her luck. Then she scrambled back to bed to fall asleep before the situation could devolve.

  To lie in her bed without anyone else in the room? Heaven.

  Before she knew it, the sun shining through the window woke Emily and she cracked an eye open to check if she was still alone.

  No such luck. Her silent companion sat with his back propped against the wall, staring blankly at his hands.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve regained your voice while I was asleep?” Emily asked, pulling down her nighty before flipping back the covers. “You’ve made me curious what you’ll sound like if you ever get around to speaking.”

  While she fixed breakfast, Emily thought of the day ahead. Last night, Sergeant Winchester had insisted she should accompany him along to Stoneybrook Acres so she could make a formal recognition of the nurse’s voice.

  “Can’t you do that for yourself?” she’d asked to no avail.

  “We’ll need you as a backup. If neither one of us can hear the similarities you can, then a witness to both will come in handy.”

  “At this rate, I’ll have moved into Stoneybrook by stealth,” she complained to Peanut who was padding her lap with his paws. “Good luck trying to make me comfortable, little fella. I’ve got far too many hard angles to be your pillow.”

  At least the sergeant was prompt. He stood beside his vehicle when Emily pulled up outside the home. She’d insisted on driving herself so she could take off to work when they’d finished. Friday was always a bonanza of donation boxes at the charity shop and she didn’t want to leave Pete to have to deal with that alone.

  Gregory’s there, remember? He can handle the drop-offs much better than you!

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Emily muttered under her breath as they walked through the reception area.

  “Not where I hope I end up,” the sergeant agreed, and Emily coloured. She hadn’t thought she’d spoken loudly enough to be heard.

  “What does this report matter?”

  The sergeant glanced down at Emily in surprise. “Well…”

  “It’s not as though Mr Wilmott did wander off. Or, if he did, he made it back again okay.”

  The policeman sighed. “It’s a lead. Someone called the police in obvious distress around the same time a body was buried in the garden. Even if the person wasn’t who they thought it was—”

  “Nurse Rebecca isn’t the sort to make a mistake in identification.”

  “Nevertheless, a call was made. Someone was missing.” In a smaller voice, he added, “We don’t have a lot of leads to go on, right now. The pathologist hasn’t been able to identify the body from existing records. If we can’t get somebody around here to admit who it is, we’re looking at a man remaining unidentified and unclaimed by his family for months, if not years.”

  The ghost appeared beside Emily, who managed not to jump. He reached out, as though to take her hand, and looked on in despair when it travelled straight through her.

  “Do you want to wait in the lounge area while I talk with the nurse?” The sergeant waved his hand at the common room. “I’ll come and get you if we need anything.”

  Emily shuffled into the room, keeping her back against the wall. Even the ghost beside her looked terrified. After a few minutes with no one accosting her, she relaxed enough to cross the room and claim a chair.

  “Hey,” a familiar voice said from behind her. “Can’t stay away, I see.”

  She turned and a jolt of pleasure ran through her as she saw the smiling face of Mr Wilmott. Emily couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. “I figure, if I hang around here long enough, they’ll let me have a room for free.”

  “You can just take over when the next one carks it,” he agreed, tipping her a wink. “Like our old mate Gladys-of-the-window. She looks about on her last legs.”

  “Nah.” Emily clenched her hands together in her lap, worried about the appropriateness of the banter but not enough to stop. “Ladies live longer than men. I’d rather put my money on you.”

  “You’d have a job and a half ahead of you in that case.” He held his nose. “You’ll be airing out that tiny box for the next three years.”

  “Why?” Emily stared at him, horrified. “What do you do in there?”

  He pressed a hand to his chest. “I would never burden a lady with the truth of that. How about old Wilbur over there?” He jerked his head at an old man playing a game of solitaire. “Hey, Wilbur!” The man turned around. “Didn’t you say the other day, you were feeling chest pains?”

  The old man nodded and squeezed his left arm before turning back to his cards.

  “Shouldn’t he tell that to the nurse?”

  “Nah. Rebecca’s a good sort unless she’s in a mood, but if he told her she’d have to do something.” Mr Wilmott lowered his voice and leaned closer—his breath smelling of cool mints. “We try very hard to keep a policy of DNR around here.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Unofficially, since our families have the medical powers of attorney, for the most part.”

  Emily sat back, unable to tell if he was joking. Before she could say anything, Sergeant Winchester beckoned her from the doorway.

  “What’s he doing here?” Mr Wilmott asked, a sharp edge to his voice.

  “We think Rebecca called the police around the time the body was buried under the patio.” Emily stood up, easing out her back until her spine popped. “He thinks it might be a lead.”

  A pallor stole over Mr Wilmott’s face, then he stood up and moved away. Emily shrugged and joined the sergeant by the door.

  “Don’t worry,” he said by way of greeting. “It’s not rocket science. Just listen to Rebecca as she reads out the script I’ve given her, then make the ID.”

  Emily folded her arms across her body, giving herself a small hug. “Didn’t you recognise her voice, then?”

  “No. And you’ll hear why in a minute.”

  His lips were set in a grim line as he walked ahead of her into the nurse’s office. The smell of antiseptic and menthol greeted her, the chemicals setting Emily’s teeth on edge.

  “Good morning,” Nurse Rebecca said in a voice heavy with a cold. “I really think this is ridiculous.”

  “We’ll be out of your hair in a second. I’ll just get you to speak the words I’ve written down there.”

  Rebecca stared at Emily for a long minute, then dropped her eyes and coughed. “Sorry,” she said as the burst came to a halt. “I’ve developed a cold. One of the disadvantages of working here.”

  “Shouldn’t you take the day off?” Emily asked, sure the nurse was faking but willing to play along. “If you pass that infection on to the residents, it could turn out a lot worse for them.”

  The nurse’s lip curled. “I was just clearing up a few things and was about to do that when you showed up.”

  “Why don’t we stick to the point of our visit?” Sergeant Winchester rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Could you recite the lines, please?”

  “I’m getting to it.” Rebecca raised a hand to her neck. “My throat is very dry and sore.”

  The sergeant sighed, rubbing his fingers over his eyebrows until the hairs stuck out at odd angl
es. “Okay. We don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Why don’t you have a glass of water and then we’ll start?”

  Emily crossed her eyes but only while she was staring down at her lap, so no one saw. The boxes would be piling up outside the back door of the shop right now. Poor Pete would be frantic, running between the arriving stock and guarding the till. He’d shift three boxes to every one that Gregory managed.

  “Maybe we should leave it—”

  Emily broke off as a scream sounded from next door. She scrambled to her feet, heart pounding, and ran into the room.

  Gladys was pounding her fists on the window, but the noise didn’t come from her. The ghost stood back, an unearthly sound still emerging from his throat, pointing outside.

  “What is it?” Emily yelled at him, already knowing he wouldn’t answer. She ran to Gladys’s side instead, standing on tiptoes to get a better view over the woman’s shoulder.

  Frederick Wilmott sat on a large branch in the oak tree.

  A noose circled his neck.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emily forgot the pain in her hips and the creeping numbness in her legs. She sprinted down the corridor. On instinct, she ignored the exit door closest, running through the retirement home corridors instead.

  Her lungs burned as she reached the reception desk. A startled Margaret glanced her way and Emily pointed outside, unable to pause and speak.

  PC Perry was still standing guard next to the burial sites. His head jerked up at the noise of her running, and when she pointed in frantic gestures to the tree, he saw and ran ahead.

  “Don’t jump,” the officer yelled out as he reached the base of the tree. His palms slapped against the trunk. “Stay there. Just hold on to the branch so you don’t fall.”

  Frederick Wilmott stared down at them, his face a study in misery. Emily struggled to fit together this new image with the jovial man she’d joked with just a few minutes before.

  “Fred!” Her breath caught and Emily coughed, the pain in her lungs triggering a fit. As soon as she could, she added, “Don’t jump. We can talk about it, can’t we?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” he called down. A tear slipped from his eye and fell to the ground. He was leaning too far forward.

  In terror, Emily found strength. She climbed up the trunk of the tree, yelling out when her hands lost purchase and gravity dumped her back on the ground. “What’s happened? Why are you doing this?”

  She stared at him, watching the pain fill his eyes. He leaned out, leaned out.

  “No! Don’t you do it. Not while we’re standing here. It’s not fair!”

  “Go away if you don’t want to see. I’m not about to stick around just to save you a bit of bother.”

  “Mr Wilmott.” Sergeant Winchester arrived, holding his hands up in a steadying gesture at the man. “Please don’t move. Let’s talk about whatever’s troubling you. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. We can sort this out.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorted. I’m sick of this place. Now move away!” Mr Wilmott flapped his arm at them, as though they were flies that could be swatted away.

  “We can have a counsellor here in ten minutes,” the sergeant called back. “If you need to talk out your problems, they’ll be able to help.”

  “Forget the shrink,” Emily said, exasperated. “We need a ladder. How did you even get up there? Are you Superman?”

  Frederick chuckled, then bit the sound off. “Go back inside. I don’t want to kick any of you while I’m struggling.”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” Emily thumped her hand against the trunk of the tree. “If you want to top yourself, why not take a handful of pills and drift off to sleep? This is no way to do it.”

  “Pills take time, love. I don’t have time.”

  “Why? What do you think is happening to the afterlife that you’re in such a hurry?” Emily turned, searching for the ghost, but he was nowhere in sight. “I’ve heard of FOMO before but that’s ridiculous.”

  He chuckled again. “Listen to you. The old lady’s down with the lingo, eh?”

  “This isn’t a joke. I’ve probably strained my hips coming out here at a sprint. Now get down!”

  Instead, Frederick leaned back, lining his body up with the thick branch so Emily could barely see his face. “No,” he said and sighed. “It’s not a joke, love. I’ve been living on borrowed time for too long as it is.” Another tear fell, his moods swinging wildly. “Rebecca didn’t have anything to do with this. I hope you remember that.”

  “You murdered that man.” Emily spoke the words in a monotone statement. Her mind was whirling with the possibilities, tying together the strings of evidence. “Who was he?”

  Frederick shook his head. “It’s too late. I’ve acted too badly.” He was crying openly now. “Even if I didn’t do it myself, I should never have let Allain and Margaret talk me into this.”

  “Talk you into what?” Emily took a step back to see him better. “What are you going on about?”

  “I’ve been pretending to be someone I’m not.” The man sighed. “And all the while I was acting, the real Frederick Wilmott was out dying. If only I’d spoken up sooner, I might have saved the man’s life.”

  A cold chill worked its way from the soles of Emily’s feet all the way up to the nape of her neck. The ghost stood beside her, his eyes pleading.

  “If you’re not Frederick Wilmott, who are you?”

  “I’m Michael Tosh. Originally of Saint Manning, then Christchurch, and now Pinetar. For the past six months, I’ve been living a lie.” He shook his head, eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I can’t do it anymore.”

  Sergeant Winchester moved until he was positioned directly underneath Michael. “Can you confirm the body of the adult male found in these grounds was that of Frederick Wilmott?”

  The ghost turned toward the officer, nodding his head. He gave a single hoot, then returned his attention to the man in the tree.

  “I don’t know,” Michael said. “By the time I arrived, he was either long gone or long dead.”

  “But why have you been impersonating him?” Emily called out. “I don’t understand.”

  “For my part, it was to get food in my belly and a roof over my head. The few months before I moved in here, I was living out of my car.”

  The sergeant glanced around the small group. There were two people notably absent. “And you’re saying that Allain Homeaway and Margaret Tillerson asked you to pretend to be Mr Wilmott?”

  “Yeah.” Michael sobbed. “It’s such a dreadful thing, I can’t ever take it back. If he was here right now…”

  “What would you say?” Emily glanced at the ghost by her side, then turned back to Michael. “If you’re correct, then he was dead by the time you turned up on the doorstep.”

  “But I stopped anyone finding that out, didn’t I? I took the hot food and the warm room, and I justified it to myself by saying that a winter living out of my car would have killed me.”

  “You should never apologise for saving your own life.” Emily shielded her face with one hand as the sun crept higher in the sky. “And haven’t you already tried to make amends? You’ve befriended the men and women who live beside you when many couldn’t be bothered. Who’s going to talk to them or listen to their health complaints if you jump and end it all?”

  “I stopped the police being able to find the killer!” Michael gripped hold of the branch with both hands, his knuckles straining to white. “If it weren’t for me—”

  “I don’t think you need worry on that account,” Sergeant Winchester said in a low rumble. “I’ve got a fair idea where we need to look.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather make up for things here and now?” Emily swallowed hard, trying to think of something more to add. “Surely, it’s better to do some good while you’re on this earth than jump and leave everything just the same?”

  Michael didn’t answer. His eyes stared fixedly into the middle distance, ignoring everyon
e standing below.

  “Poor Gladys is glued to the window,” Emily said, pointing back to the home. “Is this a sight you really want her to see?”

  The man jerked upright, his eyes now travelling to the far-off room where a familiar silhouette stood, palms still banging on the glass. “What? No. You need to get back there and move her away.”

  “You want her to move, ask her yourself!” Emily looked at the ghost to her side, drawing strength from his silent presence. “She’s already distraught. It was her screaming that let us all know you were out here.”

  “But I didn’t…”

  “Come down now, hey?” the sergeant said. “We’ll sort things out as best we can and assign as much blame as you can bear.”

  Emily thought those words would tip the man over the edge, but Michael nodded in relief. He shuffled back to the main trunk of the tree and swung himself down, showing the dexterity of a man half his age.

  Only when his feet were touching solid ground did her chest loosen enough to inhale a large gulp of air.

  “PC Mitchell?” Sergeant Winchester turned to the younger officer. “How about you put a call through for backup? When another patrol car is on its way, I’d like you to arrest Allain and Margaret for perverting the course of justice.”

  The officer’s chest puffed out as he nodded, then jogged back to the building.

  “I’ll take you down to the station,” the sergeant said, putting a hand on Michael’s upper arm. “Once you and Nurse Rebecca have answered some questions, we might even be able to bail you back here for the night.”

  Once the sergeant had deposited the still sobbing man in the back seat of his car, he walked through to the nurse’s station. Rebecca sat at the desk, head in her hands. To Emily, she looked fully aware of what was coming.

  But Sergeant Winchester held back for a second. “Could you please tell me who Frederick Wilmott was?”