And Pigs Might Fly

‘There’s not a lot here.’ Maggie frowned as she scanned the sheet of blue vellum Sheena Struthers had pulled from her handbag.

Sheena laid a hand on her arm. ‘I know it doesn’t look much on paper, but if you’ll just let me explain.’

They were back in Valerie’s. This is getting to be a habit, Maggie thought. A bad habit.

You’ll be on your own, Wilma’s words rang in her ears. She pushed them to the back of her mind. Her instincts were sound. Wilma was wrong.

Maggie ran a finger down the list. ‘Let’s go through these one by one, shall we?’ Her brow crinkled. ‘Mower? Can you elaborate on that?’

Sheena looked Maggie in the eye. ‘Last summer my husband almost ran me down with the lawnmower.’

How could you run someone down with a lawnmower? Maggie’s mind jumped to the rickety old thing George kept stored in their shed. Bloody head-banger! The words ricocheted around her head. She could just picture Wilma’s face.

‘It’s four times the size of me,’ Sheena persisted. ‘A ride-on. We have several acres, you see.’

‘Oh,’ Maggie said, without enthusiasm. ‘Right. But what makes you think…’

‘I was sitting there on a garden chair reading a book. Gordon was going up and down. He likes the stripes to be even.’

‘Yes?’ Maggie wondered where this was going.

‘He must have turned. It was the noise of the motor that alerted me. I looked up. And there was the mower, charging towards me full tilt.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘Dropped the book. Ran for my life.’

‘And afterwards?’

‘Gordon must have cut the engine, jumped off, because he came running after me. Full of apologies, he was. Said it must have been a malfunction.’

‘Mmm,’ Maggie offered. ‘Seems a reasonable explanation to me.’

Sheena’s lip curled. ‘Plausible, more like.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘The look in his eyes when he was coming at me. Wild. Like a mad thing. I was terrified, I can tell you. I’ve never seen my husband look like that.’

‘And the mower?’

‘He had the service people uplift it for an overhaul that very same day.’

So, Maggie thought, another flight of fancy.

‘Let’s move on.’ Her eyes darted back to Sheena’s list.

‘Then there was my car.’

‘Right. Brakes failed, you say.’

‘Another malfunction. Wasted clevis pins, according to Gordon. Fancies himself as a car buff. Except…’

‘Yes?’ Maggie waited for the next bon mot.

‘The garage said they’d never seen pins so badly worn. Asked if someone had been tinkering with the car?’

‘Let me be clear…’ Incredulous voice. ‘You’re implying your husband may have tampered with the brakes?’

‘I didn’t know what to think, not at the time. But that was before,’ Sheena’s eyes flashed, ‘he tried to poison me.’

Under the table, Maggie’s fingers drummed on her thigh. She’d had her misgivings where Sheena Struthers was concerned, but been persuaded by the woman’s sincerity. Now, she could feel the situation developing from the questionable to the farcical.

‘Gordon had been away on a business trip to London,’ Sheena explained. ‘He always brings me back a little gift, wherever he goes.’ She smiled. ‘He’s romantic that way.’

‘And?’ Maggie was fast losing patience.

‘This time it was a china hare. My husband bought it in Fortnum & Mason. Never been there, but I’m told it’s wonderful. Anyway,’ catching Maggie’s irritated look, she moved swiftly on, ‘I thought it was an ornament. Pretty thing.’ Her eyes took on a dreamy quality. ‘But turned out it had game pâté inside.’

Maggie’s stomach growled. She’d skipped breakfast. Greedily, she eyed the counter display.

‘Except I wasn’t to know that,’ Sheena rabbited on. ‘Gave me acute food poisoning. Laid me low for a week.’

‘Wasn’t your husband affected?’ Maggie enquired.

‘No.’ Wry face. ‘Gordon doesn’t like pâté. But it was his fault,’ she added stubbornly.

‘How so?’

‘He’d removed the label before he gave it to me.’

‘Perhaps he didn’t want you to see the price.’

‘Possibly. But he could have told me about the pâté.’

‘Maybe he didn’t know.’

‘Oh, he knew alright. Then by the time I discovered…’ She broke off. ‘It should have been refrigerated.’

‘That’s not entirely your husband’s fault.’ Maggie resisted the urge to laugh. Compared to some of the sad cases she’d dealt with over the past year, this was bordering on the absurd.

Sheena jutted her chin. ‘It was mainly his fault. And another thing…’

Maggie raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘He destroyed my hydrangeas. You’ll think me a silly woman, but they produced such a lovely show last year. Then Gordon…’

Maggie’s heart sank to her stomach. She held up a hand. ‘Let me stop you there.’ Wilma was right. The woman was deluded. And Maggie had been well warned. What to do? Her head buzzed. Loth as she was to lose face with her business partner, she’d heard little to substantiate Sheena Struthers’ claims. Mentally, she totted up the time she’d spent with the client, cursing her own credibility. Although her pride would be dented by withdrawing from the case, she’d have to call it a day. She’d pass the buck, she decided. Suggest counselling, whatever. That would be the least awkward solution.

‘Has it occurred to you,’ Maggie moved to bring the conversation to an end, ‘that you may be unwell?’

‘If, Mrs Laird, you’re implying I’m unhinged,’ Sheena’s face was a mask, ‘let me disabuse you of the notion.’

‘I didn’t mean…’ Maggie stuttered, embarrassed, now. ‘Perhaps your marriage is just going through a bad patch,’ she improvised. As she uttered the words, Maggie couldn’t help but recall some of the ups and downs of her own marriage: her insistence on getting on the mortgage ladder when George would have been happy to carry on renting, arguing the case for their children’s private schooling, his reluctance to see her go back to work. And that was without re-visiting the question of George’s so-called ‘retirement’, a topic that had caused Maggie such soul-searching ever since.

‘It’s not that.’ Sheena’s voice brought Maggie back to the present.

‘You’re quite sure? Most long relationships have their fair share of these.’

‘Yes.’ Firm voice. ‘I’m sure. That’s why I need you to check up on him.’

Sod it! Maggie swept her scruples aside. She’d invested precious time on this client. Why not string the woman along, for a little while at least? The agency needed the money and Sheena Struthers, from what Maggie had heard, could well afford to pay.

She resolved to check out the husband as instructed. No harm in that. It would keep her hand in. Maggie hadn’t done surveillance for a while, and it would make a change from the endless round of meetings and precognitions that formed the basis of her workload. Maybe she’d even get lucky, and Gordon Struthers would turn out to be up to something after all.

And pigs might fly, a small voice echoed inside her head.