Troubled Deaths by Roderic Jeffries Page A

of which was attractively patterned with cloud reflections, and beyond the old donkey well which had been restored.
    Alvarez stared at the rows of lettuces, cauliflowers, potatoes, beans, artichokes, and cabbages. ‘I’m telling you, that’s the finest showing I’ve seen for many a long day. And look at these cauliflowers - how d’you manage to get ‘em this early?’
    ‘D’you like ‘em?’
    ‘Love ‘em.’
    ‘Then I’ll cut you one.’ Orozco took a penknife from his pocket and, with the slow measured steps of a true countryman, walked along between the two rows of cauliflowers as he searched for the largest one. He finally bent down and cut one half-way along the row.
    When it was handed to him, Alvarez shook his head in admiration. ‘It’s a real beauty.’
    ‘He didn’t like ‘em.’ Orozco jerked his head in the direction of the house. ‘Said they was only fit for pigs.’
    ‘He’ll never know what he missed . . . Seems odd, doesn’t it, that he died from eating a Uargsomi? It’s a long time since the last death like that which I can remember. Being a foreigner, of course, he wouldn’t have known how to watch out. . . But I keep forgetting, you picked ‘em, not him.’
    ‘And what I picked was all esclatasangs.’
    ‘It looks like there must have been a Uargsomi among ‘em.’
    ‘I’m telling you, I picked all esclatasangs. D’you reckon I can’t tell one from t’other?’
    ‘But in that case, where could the Uargsomi have come from?’
    They were silent. A thrush flew past and Alvarez watched it circle a castor bush. He hoped it wouldn’t be killed during the shooting season because he liked to see birds on the wing, not killed in the name of sport - not that he ever refused to eat a thrush if one, or preferably two, were offered to him. They were delicious. He heard a donkey bray and when that stopped there was the unmusical sound of a number of bells which were strung round the necks of either goats or sheep.
    ‘What kind of a bloke was the señor?’ asked Alvarez finally.
    ‘A loud-mouthed ram.’
    ‘Always after the women, was he?’
    ‘If I’ve seen one brought here, I’ve seen a hundred.’
    ‘Lucky man.’
    ‘Silly bitches,’ countered Orozco.
     

 
CHAPTER VII
    Caroline saw that Mabel’s car was parked outside Casa Elba so she paid the taxi-driver and added a small tip. The driver smiled his thanks and left.
    She went along the side of the bungalow towards the front door. Only a narrow path through the maquis scrub had been cleared by the previous owner and Mabel had never bothered to have this enlarged or even kept trimmed so that now shrub branches reached out to worry passers-by. Mabel was as careless about the look of the outside of the bungalow as of the inside.
    She opened the door. Her face was puffy and her eyes were reddened. Caroline did not have to ask if she had heard the news. ‘I’m terribly, terribly sorry, Mabel.’
    Mabel said nothing but stepped to one side and Caroline went in. The small kitchen was to the right, the passage to the bedrooms to the left, and the very large sitting-room straight ahead. It could have been an attractive, warm, friendly house if only Mabel had taken the trouble to make it so. A fire had been burning in the open grate along the north wall, but the logs had rolled apart some time ago and now were smouldering, giving off little or no heat but plenty of smoke which kept billowing into the room. On one of the small occasional tables was an opened bottle of brandy and a glass.
    ‘Fenella told me what happened, Mabel, and she asked me to say how sorry she is. She’d have come to tell you herself, but didn’t want to upset you.’ That was a lie – Fenella had never suggested calling for fear she’d become involved. But Caroline was ready to lie if it would help someone else if she did so.
    Mabel stood by the sideboard which was against the dividing wall of the kitchen and she fiddled with a brass ornament. ‘I. . . I