The Coniston Case by Rebecca Tope Page A

gentle, even sensitive at times. He had a few of the classic traits of a police detective in his unwashed hair and rumpled clothes. He gave little sign of understanding human nature in its complex variety, manifesting real surprise on a number of occasions. Simmy suspected he found her confusing, Melanie unpredictable and Ben entirely beyond comprehension. None of them behaved towards him as he had surely expected. But he did try to be flexible. He did his best to avoid platitudes about risk and right behaviour, faintly aware that there were people in theworld who did not see danger behind every bush; people who seldom even considered the matter at all in their daily doings. People like Simmy’s mother, who broke fresh rules every day and never considered the consequences.
    ‘But the flowers,’ said Melanie. ‘Was it something to do with the flowers?’
    Moxon sighed and gave himself a little shake. ‘I suppose it’s best to get that part over with. The fact is, we don’t know.’
    ‘Why didn’t you tell Simmy about Mr Hayter when she phoned you this morning?’
    ‘She didn’t give me a chance. I was telling her I’d be dropping in when I realised she’d hung up on me.’ He gave Simmy a schoolmasterly look from under his brows. ‘Not something I’m used to, actually.’
    ‘So now we have three nasty messages and a suicide,’ Melanie summed up. ‘All in or near Coniston.’
    Moxon ignored her, standing protectively over Simmy, who was doing her best to pull herself together. After all, she thought crossly, nothing that was happening presented any threat to her. She was just the invisible conveyor of sinister floral tributes. ‘Mel’s right,’ she said. ‘The farm delivery didn’t go down well at all.’
    ‘Farm?’ said Moxon.
    Simmy told the whole story, finishing with, ‘But the message was different. I mean, it seemed really genuine. I suppose it’s a two-timing boyfriend, and she’s not yet ready to forgive him. I mean
husband
. She’s Mrs Aston, with a mother-in-law and a small child.’
    ‘A two-timing husband, sending flowers with a message of apology,’ summarised Moxon. ‘Quite possible, of course. And she threw them away.’
    ‘It was quite a throw. They went halfway across the yard, poor things.’
    Moxon wrote something down.
    ‘But it can’t be anything to do with the others,’ Simmy said, with no real conviction. ‘Can it?’
    ‘Three orders for flowers, paid in cash, with no name or address for the sender. All causing upset to the people receiving them. How likely is it that they’re from different people?’
    ‘But it’s not a
crime
, is it? Just mischief.’ She grimaced. ‘Malice, even. But it’s not as if …’ she tailed off, unable to voice the thought.
    ‘Malice of such a degree that one person was driven to kill himself,’ Moxon said severely.
    Simmy went cold. ‘You really think the flowers did it? That something in the message was so horrible he couldn’t live with it? If I thought that, I’d never be able to deliver any flowers again.’
    ‘Steady on, Sim,’ said Melanie. ‘That’s going a bit far. Okay, you’re being used, and that’s sick. But none of it’s your fault. You can’t refuse to take an order just in case it might upset somebody.’
    ‘I can insist on a name and address from the sender,’ Simmy said tightly. ‘I should have known better than to accept any of these three.’
    Before the girl could answer, the doorbell pinged, and a familiar figure came into the shop. ‘Kathy!’ Simmy cried. ‘I forgot about you.’
    ‘Charming,’ said the newcomer with a smile. She was tall, with a lot of frizzy brown hair. She looked from one face to another, eyebrows raised. ‘Customers?’ she asked.
    ‘This is Melanie. She works here. And this is …’ It was strangely difficult to admit to a visitation from a senior police detective. The prospect of Kathy asking endless questions, getting excited, shocked, intrigued, was