Murder by Suicide Read online

  ‘I am not sure I understand you,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘I was prepared to clear out that one flat because I felt I owed Nora something.’

  ‘Do you think you can exorcise ghosts so easily?’ Ellie remembered the prayer she had said in the empty flat, and shook her head at herself. ‘Perhaps that is what I was doing.’

  ‘You think I was too hard on the woman? You know nothing about it.’

  The sun came out and pierced the darkness of the big room, throwing colours onto the wall as it glanced off a cut-glass vase. Dust motes hung in the air. The shaft of light hit Aunt Drusilla, who put up a blueveined hand to shield her eyes.

  For the first time it occurred to Ellie that Aunt Drusilla might not be immortal. How old was she? Seventy?

  Without being asked, Ellie stood up and drew one of the heavy velvet curtains across the big bay window. The old lady did not thank her, but then, she never thanked anybody.

  Ellie returned to her chair and finished her coffee. ‘You would like me to supervise the cleaning and redecoration of another of your flats? I understood that someone from the estate agency did that.’

  ‘I am displeased with the young man who has been acting for me. My bills have of late been far higher than they ought to be, and the work inadequately done. I discovered recently that he is a director of the cleaning firm of which you have been complaining. At least you will not cheat me.’

  ‘I have my own life to lead, now.’

  ‘Nonsense. You need something to occupy yourself with. You know how to talk to people, you are conscientious and punctual. You were wasting your time working in the charity shop, as I frequently told my nephew. Of course, he never listened because he liked you to wait on him hand and foot …’

  Ellie grew indignant. As if the old bat herself didn’t require to be waited on hand and foot!

  ‘… and it is time that you set about learning how to look after your inheritance.’

  ‘Inheritance?’ Ellie repeated.

  ‘Don’t gape, girl. Who else should I leave my estate to? Answer me that!’

  The sun went behind a cloud, and the room lapsed into its usual semi-darkness.

  The old woman smiled the nutcracker grin of the elderly. ‘Don’t think I am going to die yet, because I have no intention of doing so. I have a good many more years ahead of me. But Frank’s death was a shock, and although I can make more money, having a flair for such things, it does not compensate for the fact that I now feel as if I am on, well, uncertain ground.’

  Ellie groped around in her mind to make sense of this extraordinary turn of events. Aunt Drusilla was actually talking to her as if she were almost an equal. She said, ‘You mean, because Frank left this house to me, and not to you?’

  ‘Your mind is not quick, Ellie, but you do usually get there in the end. Yes. At first I considered making you an offer for this house, but then I had second thoughts. I have studied your character and though you are occasionally frivolous, you have a proper sense of family values. You would never disposses me of the house in which I have lived all my life.’

  Ellie bowed her head. She had thought of doing so, of course, particularly when she was in a rage with Aunt Drusilla. At the same time, she had always known she could never do it.

  ‘As you have already discovered, I have been buying and managing property all my adult life. I started in a small way, leasing, clearing and redecorating a flat in which an old man had died. No one else would touch it because of the state it was in. I did all the work myself. I found a tenant and then looked around for a second flat.

  ‘When my father died, he left the family firm to my unbusinesslike brother, but he left me the bulk of his money, guessing that I would look after it better. That was when I began to buy flats in the riverside building, and other houses around here. Of course, after a while I employed a firm to manage my properties for me.

  ‘Now that you are at a loose end and I have discovered that the agents have been cheating me, I propose that you start to learn the business yourself.’

  Ellie blinked. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

  ‘It will be a valuable apprenticeship for you. You don’t need to earn any more money, and it will give you something to do.’

  ‘I have other interests to follow, though. I’ve just been asked to landscape a neighbour’s garden, and she will certainly pay me for my expertise and time.’

  Aunt Drusilla gave a soundless laugh. ‘I can’t see you heaving rocks and paving stones around.’

  ‘I shall employ a strong young man to do all that.’ In fact, she had not realized the necessity until that moment.

  ‘I see. Very well, then,’ said Aunt Drusilla grudgingly, ‘I agree. You will take over the management of the riverside flats for me, on the same terms as I paid the agency.’

  Ellie put down her coffee cup with care not to shatter the delicate china. In some ways it was a tempting proposition, but she’d had years of running around after Aunt Drusilla because Frank had expected it of her. Now she was, more or less, free. As Aunt Drusilla’s heir, she would be at the old woman’s beck and call once more. She already had enough money to live very comfortably. She didn’t need any more.

  With a distinct feeling of relief, she came to the conclusion that this was one challenge which she could refuse. ‘I think you should find someone better qualified than me to do the job.’

  ‘Qualifications, fiddlesticks! Loyalty is what I need.’ Aunt Drusilla coughed her neat, dry laugh. ‘If you refuse to do what is obviously your duty, then I shall ask Diana to take over … and naturally, if she looks after my estate now, she will inherit it in due course.’

  ‘You must do as you think best,’ said Ellie, feeling rather dizzy. Did Diana know about this? Was she proposing to move down to London to take over the job? What about Stewart, and their house up north? Another nasty thought: had Diana asked Aunt Drusilla for a loan? And if so …

  Before she could recover herself, Aunt Drusilla plucked an envelope from the side of her chair, and held it out. ‘Now, Ellie, will you kindly explain this?’

  Ellie took the envelope in a limp hand. It was an ordinary business envelope, containing one sheet of A4 paper. On that one sheet of paper someone had typed a damning message.

  8

  Ellie walked home, hardly noticing the traffic. She stepped onto the pedestrian crossing outside the library without looking in both directions, and had to draw back hastily, while enduring abuse from a white-van man.

  ‘That will teach me,’ she said to herself, waiting for a bus to decant its passengers. It was a school bus, full of chattering children returning from a swimming lesson, to judge by their damp hair and plastic bags. One of the boys called out and waved to her.

  Ellie made an effort to smile and wave back. She liked Tod very much, but rather hoped he wasn’t going to descend on her for tea that day. But no, of course he wouldn’t if he was busy on his computer. Ellie was sure he had grown since she last saw him.

  She hoped he would never get to hear what people were saying about her. It was a shock to realize that there was not one, but two letterwriters, both using the word ‘slut’ about her. The typist had used a topquality printer for her message to Aunt Drusilla.

  DID YOU KNOW YOUR SLUT OF A NIECE WAS SLEEPING AROUND? Ellie felt herself flush, and then go pale. She wondered what would happen if she fainted right there in the middle of the zebra crossing opposite the church. No, she would not faint. She would continue to put one foot in front of the other until she got home, and then she would close the door behind her and SCREAM!

  It was amazing that Aunt Drusilla had taken it so well. ‘To whom does this anonymous letter-writer refer? I considered putting it in the wastepaper basket. A despicable habit, sending anonymous letters.’

  ‘Someone seems to think that I’m having an affair with a newcomer to the parish, just because he’s invited me out to lunch and supper a couple of times.’

  ‘I would like to hear the details
.’ Ellie sighed. ‘I am not sleeping around. A newly retired architect called Roy Bartrick is staying in the area while looking around for a suitable property to develop. He met me at church and yes, he has been paying me a lot of attention. He’s asked me out to lunch a couple of times, once to the theatre. He’s lonely, divorced or about to be divorced. Big house down in Surrey somewhere. Pleasant company.’

  ‘I despise these modern terms, but are you “in love” with him?’ ‘He is charming and attentive. That’s all there is to it.’

  ‘And what does he feel about you?’

  Ellie shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. He likes me, I suppose.’ ‘Widows are often quick to seek consolation.’

  ‘True.’

  Ellie thought to herself: I resent her questioning me like this! Why

  don’t I tell her to mind her own business? The truth is that I don’t know how I feel. I miss Frank dreadfully, every day, every hour. Roy can’t replace him. If I ever marry again, I suppose it might be to someone like Roy, who is very like Frank in some ways, but … not yet.

  ‘Is there anyone else, apart from this architect?’

  ‘Aunt Drusilla, you shock me!’

  What if I told her that Archie the church warden has also been pressing me to go out with him? she wondered. Would the old lady throw a fit?

  Aunt Drusilla surprised Ellie yet again. ‘Well, girl, I am not responsible for your morals, but I do not care to have my family’s affairs tittle-tattled all over the place. I advise you to take this letter to the police.’

  She held it out and Ellie took it. ‘I’ve had two such letters myself already, and I have taken them to the police. They don’t seem able to do anything.’

  ‘Ignore the matter, then. Take the coffee tray out with you when you go, will you? I am going to give you a few days to think over the question of managing the flats. Let me know after the weekend. After that, I shall talk to Diana about it. Shut the door behind you. There is a nasty draught coming from somewhere.’

  Ellie wanted to slam the door, but managed not to do so. Just. If Diana knew how to blackmail, she had learnt her trade in the family. Aunt Drusilla was the tops at it. Or the pits. Whichever. Ellie was so angry, she could have kicked something. Perhaps a small dog would run across her path, and give her an excuse to … no, no. How could she even think of it?

  Whichever way you looked at it, Aunt Drusilla’s plans opened another can of worms, and at some point would have to be dealt with.

  Did Ellie want the old woman’s money? No!

  Did she want Diana to have it? Hm. Possibly not.

  How mean could you get, begrudging your only child a chance of inheriting a fortune! Yes, but would it mean the end of Diana’s marriage? Stewart had a good enough job up north, they had their house and circle of friends. Wasn’t that worth more than a possible inheritance?

  Ellie thought it was, but she had a horrid feeling that Diana might not agree.

  As she plodded across the Green beside the church, Ellie noticed that there were lights on inside the building. What was the day? Friday. Was Timothy likely to be there now? If so, Ellie made up her mind to tell him to stuff his work. She had far too much to think about, without doing odd jobs for him, too. The side door into the church was open, and Ellie stepped inside.

  Timothy was not there, but the flower ladies were, creating an enormous arrangement up by the altar, and hanging individual posies on the end of alternate pews. Of course, there was a wedding taking place tomorrow.

  Mrs Dawes caught sight of Ellie, and called out, ‘Come and hold this for me, will you, dear?’ Well, at least she was still being friendly. ‘Catch hold there, while I just cut this ribbon … there! What do you think of that?’

  The profusion of yellow daffodils and tulips, mixed with lilac ribbon, was somewhat startling. ‘Fantastic!’ said Ellie. ‘Are the bridesmaids wearing lilac, then?’ There was a stifled giggle from one of the flower ladies, and Mrs Dawes directed a quelling look in that direction.

  ‘Lilac trims on pale yellow dresses. The bride will be wearing white with gold trims, and her flowers will be purple orchids and yellow mimosa.’ A shadow of anxiety crossed her face. ‘You think the lilac ribbon too strong? It is the bride’s favourite colour.’

  And yours, too, thought Ellie, remembering many a violet and purple cardigan sported by Mrs Dawes in the past. ‘I suppose white ribbon would be a little insipid.’

  Mrs Dawes was relieved. ‘My thinking exactly. Now girls, can I leave you to tidy up? I need a word with my friend here.’

  Here it comes, thought Ellie, but she smiled and waited for Mrs Dawes to give a tweak here and a push there to each posy as they retraced their steps back down the aisle and up the path to Ellie’s house. ‘Coffee? Tea? Something a little stronger?’

  It was a ritual, this. Mrs Dawes responded as usual. ‘Perhaps a small glass, then.’

  Seated in Ellie’s living room, Mrs Dawes touched the petals of the newly opened iris, and for once forbore to criticize. Sherry poured out, Ellie waited for word of the letters, feeling it was a good omen that Mrs Dawes was still prepared to drink sherry with her.

  ‘I hear you’re planning to build a small conservatory out back.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Ellie, surprised. ‘I’ve had a couple of quotes, but either they’re hideously expensive or they want to put a version of the Crystal Palace on the back of my house.’

  Mrs Dawes scrabbled in her carryall, discarding secateurs, twine, tissues, notepad, two pens, a pencil and a rubber, hairbrush and makeup bag, before triumphantly producing a bundle of crudely lettered advertisements for an odd-job man with the grandiose claim: ‘NEIL CAN FIX IT.’

  ‘My grandson Neil. He does all sorts of odd jobs – painting, decorating, gardening. You tell him what you want and he can put it up for you, half the price of the big firms.’

  Ellie blinked. ‘Is this the brother of Chloe, who works at the Sunflower Café?’

  ‘Cousin. Chloe’s my daughter’s youngest. Neil’s my son’s eldest. Neil moved down here to live with me just before Christmas when my son got divorced and took up with a much younger girl who has two children of her own. Neil’s done no end of jobs around the place for me, so I said I’d ask around among my friends, help get him started down here.’

  ‘Building a conservatory is proper builder’s work. Has he ever done anything like that before?’

  Mrs Dawes waved a pudgy hand in dismissal. ‘He’s worked on building sites, done window-cleaning. You name it, he’s done it.’

  ‘Somehow I don’t think building a conservatory is a job for a one-man operation, but it’s possible I might have some work for a gardener.’

  Mrs Dawes shifted in her seat. ‘I don’t say he really knows plants, not like we do. But you could trust him to cut hedges and mow lawns.’

  Ellie leaned back in her chair. She was beginning to wonder about this handy young man. ‘He’s done some work for you, you say?’

  ‘He decorated my back bedroom for me, put burglar locks on my downstairs windows, repainted the front door … My neighbour said I was daft to have the front door painted in this weather, but it was looking shabby and the weather was mild enough at the time.’

  Suspicion hardened to near certainty in Ellie’s mind. ‘What colour did you have your door painted? Your favourite lilac?’

  ‘I don’t care what anyone says: it looks very nice.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it does. I’d like to see it sometime.’

  ‘Come back with me now and have a look. Neil might be there, too. He said he might pop back at lunchtime, because he’s doing out the kitchen of a friend of mine round the corner.’

  Mrs Dawes drained her glass, and set about buttoning herself into her layers of clothing. ‘You did say you thought that lilac ribbon on the big display at church was all right, didn’t you? Not too much of a good thing?’

  Oops, thought Ellie. How do I get out of this one? ‘If that’s what the bride wants …’

&nbs
p; Mrs Dawes concentrated on her buttons. ‘Well, I’ve had my doubts, myself. Perhaps it is a little too strong. Perhaps I could pop back this afternoon and replace the big bows with some white ribbon, adding a couple of touches of lilac here and there, to give contrast.’

  ‘What a lovely idea,’ said Ellie truthfully.

  The wind was getting up, blowing the branches of the trees around as they walked, heads bent, round to Mrs Dawes’s house. There was no sign of young Neil, but the front door was indeed painted a most resplendent lilac. It looked to be the exact colour of the paint that had been thrown at Nora’s door.

  The tiny, overfurnished house was empty, but a snapshot on the mantelpiece showed a grinning young man with shaven head and earrings.

  ‘Yes, that’s Neil,’ said Mrs Dawes. ‘He must have been and gone again. I’ll get him to call round and see you when he finishes, shall I? And if you happen to hear of anyone else who wants some work done, you’ll be sure to recommend him, won’t you?’

  Ellie smiled, but did not reply.

  Bingo! she thought. I’ve found the person who was persecuting Nora. He must be stopped from doing any more harm. What sort of twisted mind was capable of splashing paint on a defenceless woman’s door? Presumably he had also written those awful letters. From the sound of it, young Neil was not highly educated, which would explain his choice of lurid paper, and the shaky capitals.

  Poor Mrs Dawes! She had no idea what her grandson had been up to. How distressed she would be, to find that the lad she had taken under her wing was a bully and a sadist. It wasn’t nice to think of her kindness being repaid in that way.

  Yet the lad must be stopped. Perhaps Ellie should go to the police and tell them what she suspected? If the police were to haul Neil in for questioning and he admitted it, then the matter need never, perhaps, be taken to court. He could be cautioned or put under the supervision of a probation officer.