Page 96 of Unalive On Air

“So, let’s only cover what’s important, shall we?”

Jeanie puts on a mocking voice. “Let’s just cover what’s important, shall we?”

She’s taking the piss out of me, but for some reason, I like her more for it. I suppress a smile.

“Helga, this beautiful, blonde Amazonian stranger was in floods of tears. I asked her what was wrong because I’m not a monster, and she told me she had a feeling her husband was going to kill her that night.”

“She had a feeling?”

“Darling, I know how much you enjoy talking about cold hard evidence and keeping feelings out of investigations and whatever, but you are truly underestimating a woman’s intuition.”

I stay silent.

Jeanie rolls her eyes. “Helga’s father had recently died and had left her a bit of money. About two million krone, which was perhaps about two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, I can’t quite remember. That was a lot back then. You’re good with numbers, what would that be with today’s inflation?”

I puff out a breath, do some quick mental calculations. “About a million, probably, maybe a little more.”

“Wow,” Jeanie says, as though she has, or has ever had, any concept of money. “Anyway, she’d inherited this fortune, and it was just sitting in a bank account in her name. Not their shared account. The second piece of ‘evidence’ . . .” Jeanie does air quotes, making the word seem like a joke. “Is that she’d found some newspaper clippings in a book that Peter owned. Some man in Portugal or somewhere had accidentally killed his glamourous assistant during a sword‑box illusion. The ‘accident’ being that he used the wrong sword.”

She raises her eyebrows in a “Well, what do you think?” manner.

But before I can get a word in edgeways, she’s chatting again. “I know these things aren’t ‘real evidence’—to you anyway—but back then it was enough to set off a chain of worry with Helga.”

“Actually,” I add, slightly affronted by Jeanie’s lack of faith in me. “I wouldn’t have dismissed this.”

“Oh, well, thank you. She said the carry case that contained the swords felt heavier than usual, and Peter wouldn’t let her set them up at the side of the stage. I told her to run for it, but she said she couldn’t. That he’d know she knew and would find her. Gary, she was nineteen. Nineteen! And he was forty. I know they say love is blind, but come on! Have you seen him?”

“You’re getting sidetracked again,” I say. Though it feels an awful lot like grooming to me.

“Right, yes. Anyway, Helga couldn’t run away, so we made a plan. The show would go ahead, but during the climactic finish, I was going to yell out from the crowd for them to switch roles and have Peter get in the sword box. Apparently, it was always Helga who went inside. Everything went fine with the performance. Helga fumbled a few times, but I think it was nerves, and then at the end of the show, The Remarkable Roskelly did a little speech about loyalty or something. It felt . . . out of place, and then they were preparing for the grand finale. The time was approaching for me to shout for the pair to switch, but I chickened out. I figured since I’m only five foot two, how would they hear me? But my friend Dalton was there on holiday, and I managed to convince him to do it. We attended drama school together. Amongst his many talents, he was also a professional baritone.

“Peter had two choices. Reveal to the world he’d plan to kill his wife. Or climb into the box. If he was innocent, he had nothing to worry about. If not . . .” She shrugs. “I was so certain Peter wouldn’t go through with it, that he’d find a way to get out of everything or force Helga into that box, but I think he knew then . . . risk death or prison. He made his choice.

“At first, it didn’t seem like anything had gone wrong with the trick. Somebody pointed to blood dripping from the bottom of the box, but most people thought it was part of the performance. Until it started gushing towards the crowd. By coincidence—well, not that much of a coincidence, it is a very small town with not many other activities—Dave Davies and the then sergeant, I’ve forgotten his name, sorry, were in the audience. He ran onto the stage, opened the box, and Peter’s body just . . . thumped out.

“After that, it all got a bit chaotic. I don’t recall what happened next. I only remember waking up in Angel’s bed with cuts and bruises on my hands and knees. My therapist said I’d had a nervous episode and reverted to a childlike state. That I’d gone to the beach because it was my comfort place. The place I first met Angel.

“I was told they arrested Helga under suspicion of murder, but she was later released on bail and was ordered not to leave the country. She’d explained that Peter was trying to set her up and had switched out the trick sword for a real one. We, or rather she, decided to keep my name out of it because she didn’t want to harm my career, and the police never found the actual sword used. Nothing ever came of the incident.”

It takes a few moments for all of Jeanie’s information to sink in. “But after all this, why would Helga stay at The Paragon? The order was obviously to remain in the UK. She could have gone anywhere.”

Jeanie nods and wets her lips. “Guilt, mainly. I imagine that could wreck a person, and after all she’d found out, she still loved him. I explained that his spirit was here, though I didn’t tell her Angel had seen him about. That’s why he doesn’t come to the hotel any longer. He can’t risk the ghosts—especially Peter—finding out the truth. But Helga . . . she stayed at The Paragon because, to her, it felt as though she could be near him without being hurt by him. And honestly, I think it’s taken quite a lot of courage for her to call the ExorSquad, because ultimately, she will have to bid him goodbye. I understand now that’s not exactly how these things work, but . . .”

“So . . .” I take a deep inhalation and try to order my thoughts, but still Jeanie has more to say.

“Peter doesn’t know of my involvement. Only Angel and Pixie do, because when I died, she was the only female friend I had. You cannot tell Trystan. I trust him, but the fewer souls who know about this, the better.”

I’m already keeping so many of Jeanie’s secrets, what’s one more? “Okay. I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you.” Relief melts Jeanie into the settee. “It’s just that I’m a little frightened of Peter. He’s the most formidable of all The Youngscares, and I know he doesn’t possess the same level of power as the poltergeists, but honestly, Gary, I’m not sure what he would do to me if he found out it had been my idea all along.”

I scratch my head, then my moustache. Though I believe Jeanie has a penchant for embellishment, I trust her account of the events. It also makes sense why Peter’s death feels so different from the others’, and not least because of the Peggy in the Middle uniting thread.

“Jeanie, quick question,” I say. “What was the hotel like before you bought it in nineteen ninety?”

If Jeanie is in any way perturbed by the slight change of subject, she doesn’t show it. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, it was lovely. Nothing like it is today, though. We didn’t have a spa back then, or a gym, or tennis courts. The rooms were very basic. None of these mod cons Helga’s brought into each room. They didn’t even have tellies until the late nineties. Just a phone and bible.”

“Was there anywhere in the hotel people could watch the TV?” I ask.