Death of a Delegate

By Cecilia Peartree

This is the 3rd novel in the Max Falconer mysteries. A museum conference in Inverness turns out to be more exciting - and more dangerous - than many of the participants expect. While Max prepares to give a paper, Philippa plays at being a tourist and almost witnesses a murder. The presence of investigative reporter Samantha should have given them a clue that things would not go according to plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cecilia Peartree
• Release date: Feb 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005091491

Cecilia Peartree

Cecilia Peartree is the pen name of a writer from Edinburgh. She has dabbled in various genres so far, including science fiction and humour, but she keeps returning to a series of 'cosy' mysteries set in a small town in Fife.The first full length novel in the series, 'Crime in the Community', and the fifth 'Frozen in Crime are 'perma-free' on all outlets.The Quest series is set in the different Britain of the 1950s. The sixth novel in this series, 'Quest for a Father' was published in March 2017..As befits a cosy mystery writer, Cecilia Peartree lives in the leafy suburbs with her cats.

Book preview

Death of a Delegate

Max Falconer Mysteries 3

Cecilia Peartree

Smashwords edition

Copyright Cecilia Peartree 2022

All rights reserved

Cover image: Canva

This is a work of fiction and any resemblances to real police officers, hotels in Inverness or people who work in museums are purely coincidental.

CONTENTS

Characters

Chapter 1 Conflicting Priorities

Chapter 2 Reptilian Encounter

Chapter 3 Seconded

Chapter 4 Awkward Conversations

Chapter 5 A Surprise at Reception

Chapter 6 Tuning In

Chapter 7 Audience Participation

Chapter 8 Midnight Incident

Chapter 9 Out of the Loop

Chapter 10 An Interruption

Chapter 11 Lizards and Hill-forts

Chapter 12 Islands of Confusion

Chapter 13 Surprises and Clues

Chapter 14 Bagels and Cake

Chapter 15 Biscuits with Ivy

Chapter 16 Searching

Chapter 17 Trapped

Chapter 18 Out to Lunch

Chapter 19 Fetching the Bagpipes

Chapter 20 Afterwards

Chapter 21 A Reel to Remember

Chapter 22 Out of Action

Chapter 23 Dropping Like Flies

Chapter 24 More Boring than Voles

Chapter 25 In the Car Park

Chapter 26 Meeting the Monster

Chapter 27 Follow That Boat

Chapter 28 Returning Home

Chapter 29 Back to Normal, Whatever That Is

Author’s note

CHARACTERS

Max Falconer, curator at a small museum of natural history

(Max’s colleagues William, Howard, Colin and Amanda also feature as minor characters)

Philippa Campbell, former consultant, currently looking for a new direction

Torquil MacNab, a police constable from Kingussie

Samantha Beresford, investigative journalist.

Charles Fortune and Anthea Ainsworth, from a small textile museum near Manchester

Brian Kincaid, an expert on hill-forts

Peter Mulheron, a curator of reptiles and amphibians

David Meadows, director of the Brexit museum

Katherine McLellan, a conservator

Charlotte Kerr, marine archaeologist

Dan Lawson, a former soldier who now runs a small regimental museum

Ivy Walker, from the National Botanic Trust

Sergeant Wishart and Constable Montgomery, police officers from Inverness

Chapter 1 Conflicting Priorities

Colin was at the door, as he almost always was, when Max got to work that day, but he asked Max for identification before he would let him in, which was new.

‘New rules,’ he said. ‘Extra security. Professor Baines-Fullerton says we’ve had a credible threat in the post.’

‘What kind of threat?’

‘Animal rights people. Complaining about us having stuffed animals on display. They say it’s degrading.’

Max chose not to argue the point with Colin, who had probably got the wrong end of the stick about the threat in any case. Fortunately he had his id card with him that day. If he hadn’t, he was confident that the caretaker would have refused to let him in. Rules were rules, after all. There couldn’t be one rule for him just because he knew the caretaker knew him, and one for everyone else.

He had settled down at his desk and was working through his second cup of coffee when he glanced up and noticed Howard hovering in the office doorway.

‘Did Colin tell you about the threat?’

‘He mentioned something. Animal rights, is it?’

Howard nodded gloomily. ‘We might end up having to replace the taxidermy with plastic models. Unless that’s disrespectful too. Still, I doubt if they’ll actually do anything. These people just enjoy protesting about this, that and the next thing. If it isn’t climate change, it’s vaccine passports or Brexit or human rights. You can see the same people in all the marches, if you look closely.’

‘You’ve made a study of it, have you?’ said Max.

‘Not me personally,’ said Howard. ‘I read it somewhere. On Twitter, possibly.’

Max’s office window, such as it was, faced out on to the courtyard somewhere above the museum entrance. Before he could challenge Howard on forming opinions based on things he read on Twitter, there was a loud bang from outside. A few pigeons flew up, and there was a small cloud of smoke. Howard rushed to the window and peered out through the layers of city grime.

‘I wouldn’t stand at the window if I were you,’ said Max, safely behind his desk. ‘If there’s another explosion it might break the glass.’

‘Colin’s gone out to have a look,’ Howard told him. ‘Perhaps it was a firework. It’s that time of year.’

‘Shouldn’t someone more senior than Colin go and see what’s going on?’ suggested Max.

He was hoping Howard would agree to go out himself, which at least would have the advantage of getting rid of him – although he would almost certainly be back to bother Max again later – but as usual Howard decided to delegate the task.

‘Great idea, Max! Off you go then.’

This was the kind of thing Philippa would take in her stride, thought Max once he was standing out in the courtyard, watching while Colin approached the site of the small explosion.

‘Just a firework,’ Colin reported. ‘I’ll put it in the bin.’

‘Isn’t it still hot?’ said Max.

Colin had picked the thing up and quickly dropped it by the time he had finished speaking.

‘I’d better run my hand under the tap,’ he said, and darted back into the museum entrance, no doubt heading for his little lair by the front door.

Max studied the spent firework. He couldn’t tell anything by looking at it. Perhaps they should save it to show the police, although he doubted if they would be all that interested. They must have to deal with hundreds of firework incidents at this time of year.

It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the animal rights threat – could it?

He was still staring at the remains of the firework when he heard running footsteps behind him. He spun round, his mind putting the animal rights threat together with the footsteps to conjure up a mysterious assailant. But it was only Howard. What on earth could have happened to make him run? He was gasping for breath by the time he got close enough to speak to Max.

‘An email – it was them again. They’re saying it’ll be a bigger bang next time.’

‘We’d better call the police in that case,’ said Max. ‘With luck they’ll arrive in time to pick up the firework before it gets rained on.’

He wasn’t entirely convinced that the animal rights people had the ability to create a bigger bang, but they couldn’t afford to take any chances. It took him a while to talk Howard into calling the police, though. It turned out that one of his kids had a school concert on that afternoon and he didn’t want to miss it if he were delayed by a police investigation. In the end Max had to agree to deal with the whole thing himself.

He had forgotten how trying the life he laughingly thought of as normal could be.

Howard interrupted him again the following morning just as he was trying to get his presentation slides in the right order. The man had a completely pointless talent for interrupting at the wrong moment. Not that there was a right moment for Howard to come into the office. His visits always meant trouble, one way or the other.

‘Morning, Max! Lovely weather for ducks!’

This was worrying. There was always a strong correlation between the amount of fake matiness Howard displayed and the difficulty of the task he was about to delegate. He had been almost as loud just before seconding Max to the ill-fated Museum of Trees project. What could he possibly have in mind this time?

‘Morning, Howard,’ said Max briskly. ‘No – don’t move those!’ he added as Howard showed signs of lifting the stack of old copies of Vole Monthly from the chair opposite his desk, presumably hoping to sit down.

It was precisely to discourage people from sitting in the chair that he had placed the stack of magazines there in the first place, of course. But Howard was almost impervious to discouragement, especially when he wanted something.

The museum director tried to perch on the edge of Max’s desk instead, except that there was a collection of small mammal skulls in the way. This was another of Max’s lines of defence against visitors.

In the end Howard stayed on his feet and paced about the room instead. This was potentially more dangerous, since he could pretend to wander casually to a position from where he could see exactly what Max was doing, but at the same time less of a worry because pacing would distract him from his purpose in coming here, and he might even forget about it altogether.

‘I just wanted a word about this event at Holyrood next week,’ Howard said at last, having picked up and put down several items from the bookshelves, including a plastic dinosaur one of Max’s kids had left there a few weeks before and a framed photo of Tricia and the children which she had given him last Christmas and which he didn’t want to have to look at every day at home.

‘At Holyrood?’

‘Yes – you know, that place where they make decisions about our funding from time to time.’

Max knew it wasn’t entirely up to the Scottish Parliament to make decisions on the funding of the museum, since it was part of the university, but he understood that Howard liked to keep in with those in positions of power.

‘An event?’ he said. ‘Next week?’

Howard sighed. ‘If you’re going to repeat everything I say, we’ll be here all day. Let’s take the timing of the event as read.’

‘All right, if you like,’ said Max. ‘What kind of event is this?’

‘It’s an opportunity for us to interact with a group of delegates to the climate conference, just ahead of the kick-.off. They’ve asked to meet people for whom all that kind of thing is relevant.’

‘Almost everyone, I should think,’ said Max. ‘If the future of humanity is at stake, that is.’

‘We know it is!’ snapped Howard. ‘We of all people should be at the forefront of – whatever it is that needs to be done about it. Not sniping from the sidelines. Now this is a golden opportunity for you to raise your profile and make an impact on the wider world…’

‘Me? But…’

‘I might have known you’d turn down the chance,’ said Howard. ‘But I’m not going to let you miss out on this. You were unlucky over that Museum of Trees thing. It wasn’t your fault it all went pear-shaped. Well, not entirely. There were mitigating circumstances. And then you managed to pull the capybara out of the bag…’

‘So to speak,’ Max murmured.

Howard ignored him.

‘So when they asked me to send one of our top men along, I didn’t hesitate to nominate you.’

He concluded by moving the pile of magazines off the chair on to the floor and sitting there, annoyingly triumphant.

Like a big round balloon just waiting to be pricked, Max thought. And fortunately he happened to be in possession of a suitable pin. He wondered whether to let Howard bask in the warmth of a false dawn for a bit longer, and then decided there had to be some limits to his cruelty.

‘I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Howard. Not next week.’

‘But – what? What could possibly be more important than this? You aren’t going away on holiday, are you?’

Max drew things out for as long as he reasonably could. He picked up a brochure he had been sent the previous week, turned to the appropriate page and passed it silently across to his line manager.

‘What’s this? I thought I told you we didn’t have enough in the travel budget…’

‘Just read down the page – it’s about halfway down,’ said Max.

He had already marked it with yellow highlighter, so even Howard could hardly fail to see it.

‘Where Biology meets Archaeology: why museums should facilitate a crossing over of cultures, by Dr Max Falconer,’ Howard read aloud. He threw the brochure back on to the desk. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

‘It’s been on the radar for some time,’ said Max. ‘As a speaker I get my expenses paid so there’s no need to bother about the travel budget.’

He didn’t spell out to Howard that they had discussed the topic of the conference in some detail several months earlier when Max had made a token request for permission to send in his proposal for the paper. He had guessed at the time that Howard wouldn’t remember anything about it.

‘But what am I supposed to do about the thing at Holyrood?’ said Howard plaintively. ‘There’s no-one else to send.’

‘Why don’t you do it yourself?’ said Max, now bored with this conversation and disinclined to think of a gentler way of putting it.

‘You know my diary’s planned months in advance,’ said Howard. ‘I’ve got to pop down to London to that exhibition at South Kensington, and then my wife and I are going on to stay with friends in Hampshire for a few days.’

‘I’m expected at the conference,’ said Max. ‘As you can see, it’s all there in black and white in the brochure. I’ve nearly finished getting my paper ready.’

He didn’t know why he was even bothering to justify himself to Howard. Aggression would have been a better tactic. He could have accused Howard of not showing any interest in the activities of his staff, and even threatened him with the union. He could have brought all his colleagues out on strike…

Instead he added, ‘Why don’t you send Amanda to this thing at Holyrood? She knows just as much as I do about the effects of climate change on animal populations. More, if anything. Didn’t she give a paper about that very thing last year to the Americans?’

‘That was last year,’ said Howard gloomily. ‘But she’s a woman with – um – responsibilities. Her parents, you know. She’s already had time off to deal with them and their needs. What if that happens again?’

‘But it’s all under control now,’ said Max, trying to stop himself from raising his voice, which instead came out as a kind of low growl. ‘In any case, you can’t discriminate against her. It’s illegal anyway, and if the unions ever found out…’

‘Not all the climate change conference delegates will be keen to hear from a woman,’ said Howard.

‘Well, it’s about time they did, in that case,’ countered Max.

They glared at each other.

‘I don’t know what to do for the best,’ said Howard.

Max supposed the man was balancing his options and trying to work out who would be angriest if their plans were changed at the last minute. He was afraid he might come right at the end of the list, so he said in a more persuasive tone, ‘You’d be setting them all a good example if you sent Amanda along. And I expect she’d be happy to do it. I know she’s been miffed a few times about missing out on things like this.’

He was overstating the case a little, but the situation was desperate. He knew his name would be mud with his museum colleagues across the country if he pulled out of the conference now, leaving a gap in the programme. And it was sort of true that Amanda had missed out on representing the museum on a few occasions, partly because Howard often forgot her existence and partly because of her problematic parents.

‘Where will you be next week, in case I need to get in touch?’ said Howard at last. ‘It isn’t at the back of beyond, is it?’

‘It was supposed to be in Glasgow, but it had to be moved up to Inverness,’ said Max. ‘Because of the clash with the climate change conference. All the hotels were fully booked.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Howard, ‘you can fly back from there in no time, then. If there’s a dire emergency, I mean.’

‘Or get the train,’ said Max.

Howard gave a reluctant smile. ‘We’ll all have to take the train everywhere at this rate,’ he said. ‘Assuming there aren’t any leaves on the line.’

‘So you’ll send Amanda to Holyrood then?’

‘I suppose I’ll have to… If she can’t manage it, we might as well send Colin. Or William.’

Colin was the bane of Max’s professional life. In some ways he wished Howard would send the man somewhere – preferably somewhere very far away, such as Australia, or Kathmandu. On the other hand, it was probably better that Colin’s scope for wreaking havoc should be very limited. It was a bad sign for William that he had come after the caretaker on Howard’s list, although it probably only meant that the museum director had almost completely forgotten about him, which might even be a blessing in disguise.

‘Are you going to ask Amanda today, then?’ said Max.

‘I suppose so. Is she around?’

‘She’s probably in her office.’

Howard heaved himself reluctantly out of the chair, didn’t replace the magazines and left the room.

A bit later, over coffee in the café across the road, Amanda shared her news and Max tried to look surprised and pleased. He was genuinely pleased, of course, although he wondered if a poisoned chalice awaited her at Holyrood. There must have been some reason for Howard to give the event a miss, for he had no doubt that the man had timed his trip south deliberately to avoid having to attend it.

‘I suppose I’ll be on my own next week, then,’ said William.

‘Don’t worry, Colin will be at hand,’ said Amanda. ‘And really, Holyrood isn’t far away. You can always give me a call if anything goes wrong.’

‘You can call me too if you want,’ said Max, although he hoped neither of them would do so. ‘I can always fly down in no time.’

‘Fly down?’ said Amanda at her most Lady Bracknellish. ‘I can’t imagine you’ll be needed as urgently as all that.’

Max wasn’t sure how to take this. He hadn’t expected them to beg him to stay, but all the same, some pretence at not being able to do without him would have been nice.

Chapter 2 Reptilian Encounter

Philippa nudged Max in the ribs. ‘Do you think they’re all going to your conference?’

‘Who do you mean?’ he said absently, only lifting his gaze from Small Mammals in Museums Quarterly for an instant.

‘The other people on the train. That man at the far end of the coach looks nerdy enough.’

‘Nerdy? What makes you think he’s nerdy?’

‘Tweed jacket. Horn-rimmed glasses. Sensible shoes.’

Max shrugged. ‘Could be. There are people coming to it from all over the place. I’ve never heard of half of them.’

‘There must be some people you know.’

‘Well, perhaps from other museums around Edinburgh and Glasgow,’ he conceded.

‘Will I be able to come along to the conference dinner and things?’

Philippa knew she was on the brink of driving him mad