Murder at the Altar Read online

  11

  Saturday morning. It was good to have the house to herself again. She wondered if she felt well enough to walk to the shops, but she still felt shaky and the sky was leaden. A nasty wind gusted through the trees, bending the smaller branches sideways. She had heard that Tesco’s would deliver for a small fee. She found the number in the phone book but found to her annoyance that this service was only for Internet shoppers. Now what?

  Ellie had no idea how to cope with the Internet and was too shattered to go out and shop in the usual way. Who could she ask to shop for her? Archie? She shuddered. No. This was ridiculous. She had all that money in the bank and could afford to ask someone to do it for her. She would ask Liz if one of her children would like to earn a fiver. Liz was not at home, but her teenage son said that he did all the family’s food shopping on the Internet and if Ellie would give him a list and a fiver, he would have it delivered. She could pay Liz back later. What a blessing friends were!

  Ellie decided that she would get on the Internet herself as soon as possible. She wouldn’t have to trail around with heavy shopping any more. In future she would be Lady Muck and order everything in.

  She made up a list of what she thought she might like, including a few treats. And why not? As she was phoning her list through, the doorbell rang again. Archie Benjamin. Suppressing irritation, she motioned him to go through into the sitting-room, and finished her call.

  ‘Dear Ellie, are you feeling better? Are you taking things easy? I know how you ladies are, never taking enough care of yourselves when you are ill.’

  She decided not to offer him coffee, but thanked him for the beautiful azalea and the wine. Also for getting the police to move the reporters on. ‘I’ll call again in a couple of days and see if you’re feeling stronger, eh?’

  Ellie looked at her watch. Surely he’d take the hint and go?

  ‘Well, I suppose I must be on my way. A bachelor’s life is one long round of gaiety. I’ve just remembered I’m supposed to be meeting a friend for a drink at noon.’

  She nodded and smiled, pretending to accept his newly remembered engagement. As she showed him out, she felt the first drops of rain. She was glad she wasn’t having to leave the house.

  Besides, there was something on her mind which couldn’t wait.

  She put the chain on the door and made for the study. Business first. The affair of the PCC minutes was weighing on her mind and the sooner she got rid of them, the sooner she could refuse to let Archie Benjamin into the house.

  First to find Frank’s notebook. It was lodged in one of the partitions in the bureau. Frank had always taken the minutes down in longhand, put them on to the computer and then torn out the pages he no longer needed. She had hoped chat the minutes would still be there, waiting to be transcribed. In which case, she could type them out on her old electric typewriter and be done with it.

  Blast. Nothing but the remnants of torn-out pages. So the only record of the minutes was on the computer and she was going to have to find them, somehow or other.

  Switch on here and there. Wait. Point the mouse at File. Existing file, not new file. The screen threw up a number of names which presumably were files. She couldn’t find ‘Church’ or ‘PCC’ Now where would he have filed them?

  Under Gilbert Adams, the vicar? No, there was nothing for that name. It ought to be under ‘Church’. Why wasn’t it under ‘Church’? Frank had had a logical but somewhat punning sense of humour. Think, Ellie! What would it have amused him to call the minutes of a PCC meeting? ‘Boredom Incorporated’? ‘God Talk’?

  She didn’t really expect to find either, and she didn’t. There were files for Personal, Home, Home and Away, Family, one under the name of his firm, Charities …

  Would it be under ‘Charities?’ As in unpaid work for other people? Lots of names that she recognized, but no church minutes. She opened ‘Personal’, but it all seemed to be business: insurance, stockbroker, health records … that was a laugh, considering how he’d ended up …

  She tried ‘Home’. Again, dozens of names. Mostly business again. Builders, correspondence with. Queries on service contracts, quotes, complaints … it should have been labelled ‘House’, not ‘Home’.

  She was getting tired, but tried one more. ‘Home and Away’ looked promising at first, as there were lots of files here containing the names of friends and relations. Two names jumped out at her … ‘Quicke Di’, and ‘Quicke Dr’. Aunt Drusilla was presumably ‘Quicke Dr’?

  Perhaps it would be advisable to find out what basis Frank had for disinheriting his aunt. Ellie still couldn’t quite grasp the notion that Aunt Drusilla was comfortably off. It felt rather sneaky to go into someone else’s files, but she would overcome her qualms in the name of common sense. Or of curiosity. Take your pick.

  She could just press the Delete button. Her finger hovered over Delete. Then she removed it and opened the file. She had an unpleasant feeling that Diana and Aunt Drusilla were planning something together. That late-night visit and long conversation with Diana was disquieting, to say the least. So she had better find out what was going on.

  Carefully Ellie positioned the mouse on ‘Quicke Dr’ and clicked. Nothing much happened. Again. Still nothing. She got cross with it. Then noticed that on the righthand side there were a number of slots, one of which said ‘Open’.

  ‘Open Sesame,’ said Ellie, and clicked on that. A letter shot on to the screen. A letter to some people of whom Ellie had never heard. Only the top part of the letter showed on the screen. Ellie inspected the keyboard and found some arrows which, when pressed, moved the letter up and down. Good. Now she could read what Frank had written to them.

  The date was just after the doctors had diagnosed the fatal liver disease and given Frank a couple of weeks to live. They’d wanted him to go straight into hospital, but he’d stayed out for almost a week, practically living in the study, phoning people, writing letters, having visitors. He’d called it ‘putting his house in order’.

  Ellie felt a flood of tears threaten but refused to give in to them. She wished Frank had told her he’d been making these enquiries. But there … he’d always wanted to protect the ‘little woman’. And possibly he’d also felt a bit of a fool if Aunt Drusilla really had been taking advantage of them all these years.

  The letter had been written to a firm of enquiry agents. Gracious! Ellie hadn’t known such people existed in their neighbourhood. Not so very far away, either. Frank had asked them to check on the ownership of flats in an exclusive block down by the river and to report back to him in an envelope marked ‘Confidential’. Just so. Then there was a short letter enclosing a cheque for services rendered. And that was all.

  There must be a report from these people somewhere here, thought Ellie. She started opening drawers and checking files. Frank was meticulous in keeping papers filed in the right place. She found the file marked ‘Quicke Dr’. There was nothing in it. Not a single piece of paper.

  Ellie sat back in the chair and thought about it. The letter to the enquiry agents must refer to Aunt Drusilla because it was in the ‘Quicke Dr’ file. It looked as if the old bat had somehow managed to buy a flat and rent it out while keeping quiet about it, so that Frank should not suspect. But why had the enquiry agents’ report disappeared?

  Had Frank destroyed it? Ellie considered another scenario. She pictured Aunt Drusilla alone in the study, checking through the filing drawer for any letter which might give her away. And removing it, without realizing that Frank had stored a copy of his letter to the enquiry agent on the word processor.

  Now Aunt Drusilla had had no idea that Frank had discovered her little secret – if that is what it was – until after his death, because she had failed to visit him in hospital. So if any removing had been done, it would have been done by Aunt Drusilla after she had discovered that ‘her’ house had been left to Ellie – or by Diana?

  Ellie looked for the agency in the local phone book, and rang them. She explained that
she was Frank Quicke’s widow, needing a copy of the report they had recently sent him … no, she understood they couldn’t give her any details over the phone, but if they could send her a copy …? Thank you.

  She carefully followed the manual to exit from the letter. The screen now reverted to its blank state. Ellie considered giving up for the day.

  Then she had another mental picture. Of Stewart removing Frank’s pen and cufflinks from the bureau. Or had it been Diana?

  She went back through File, through ‘Home’ to ‘Quicke Di’. She opened it, to find a bland newsy letter, dated some months previously. Nothing about the loan for the house, or about Diana’s request for more money. Of course, Frank had confined himself to e-mail for his weekly communications to her when he went ‘on line’, if that was the right term.

  She explored the cabinet of office files in the drawer below. Nothing for Diana, not even the birth certificates, and certificates for swimming and GCSEs, which Ellie knew had always been kept there. Which meant that Diana had removed them since her father’s death. You didn’t need to read anything sinister in that, did you? But what about all those important and very private phone calls she’d been making that morning?

  Ellie stared at the computer screen which obligingly switched to a pleasant picture of clouds and biplanes. She picked up the mouse and found to her astonishment that the clouds vanished and she was back to Frank’s last letter to Diana again. Close it. It was of no use to her. She would make one more try. Back through Open File to ‘Home’ and scan through the other names. One caught her eye. Bill.

  Bill as in account? Or Bill as in solicitor Weatherspoon?

  Open Sesame.

  Bill as in Weatherspoon. The date was in that short period before Frank finally had to return to hospital for good, asking Bill to call to see him on a Thursday morning when Ellie would be out. Explaining that he wanted to make his will and hadn’t much time. Details attached.

  Using the down arrow, Ellie arrived at the details. In substance the instructions were as she had seen in the will. But Frank had added a comment which helped to clarify his decision to leave nothing to Aunt Drusilla.

  ‘Nothing to Miss Drusilla Quicke, my aunt, as she has already provided well for herself.’

  With regard to Diana, he had written ‘… she already knows why I’m not prepared to let her and Stewart have any more money at this time. Give her £5000 for a new car, my share of this house to go to Ellie for life, and Diana after Ellie’s death.’

  Ellie sighed. That whole affair had been very upsetting. Frank had felt as if his beloved daughter had cheated him. She seemed to think he’d been made of money. Perhaps in her terms he had been made of money, but he’d also believed that young people should pay their way and not rely on handouts from the previous generation.

  Ellie flicked tears from her eyes. How sad that Frank should have been disillusioned about Diana in the last month of his life. Ellie had always feared that Diana would not be a great earth mother type, but she had hoped that once the baby was born Diana would stay at home most, if not all of the time.

  But Diana had gone straight back to work, claiming the need to earn a good salary since her father had refused to increase his gift to them. Although she had assured Ellie that the crèche was first class, still it was not the same thing for the little boy as having his mother on tap, so to speak. Ellie was sure that baby Frank was backward through lack of stimulation. The only thing that could possibly get Ellie to move north would be the idea of looking after little Frank. But then, Diana hated what she called ‘interference’ in her handling of the baby, and on her parents’ visits after the baby was born, had managed to make Ellie feel totally out of date whenever she had tried to do anything for the baby.

  And now, Ellie thought, Diana must be fuming about her father’s will.

  Oh dear.

  Ellie switched everything off as the Tesco van made a delivery. Packing all the food away was an effort, but at least she would not need to go out again that weekend. She ate some pot noodles – she’d never had them before and had always wanted to try them. Quite good. Not very sustaining. Chocolate filled the corners.

  Sipping a cup of coffee, she went to stand at the back window, looking down over the garden and up towards the church. Usually she felt soothed, looking out on the familiar scene, but today she felt … uneasy. It was the weather, of course. The wind was getting up. Frank’s barometer was falling. It looked as if it might snow. She peered through the trees to see if she could see any sign of habitation in the derelict house, but there was none.

  She shifted her shoulders under her sweater and shivered.

  Then she went up to have a nap. And slept through the phone and doorbell ringing.

  The fat man phoned in. ‘No movement, nothing. She must have gone north.’ The errand boy reported. ‘The woman who stayed last night, she went off in a taxi at midday, alone. A local woman came, but didn’t stay long. Then Policeman Plod. Only there for a quickie. Then Tesco’s came, unloaded five bags of goodies. Looks like she intends to stay for a while. I went and rang the doorbell, see if I could do the old gas trick, but she didn’t answer. I could hear the phone ringing. She didn’t answer that, either. Perhaps she’s gone north already … well, I could have missed her when I went for some more fags … bleeding cold out here and I can’t keep the engine running all the time, can I?

  ‘No, I suppose she’s not intending to go north, not if she’s got all that stuff in from Tesco’s. Ha, another visitor. A woman, fiftyish, not seen her before. Ringing and knocking … persistent, I’ll give her that … Ha. She’s going in. So the one we want’s still there …’

  Ellie stumbled downstairs, hearing someone at the door. And the phone ringing. She ignored the phone to open the front door.

  Liz Adams, the vicar’s wife, who’d been such a comfort to her last Sunday … was it only last Sunday? So much had happened since then. Liz was the sort who believed a good hug did more good than a dozen platitudes. She hugged Ellie tightly, rocking to and fro.

  ‘Oh, Liz!’ Ellie sniffed and sought for a handkerchief. For once, she found one in her skirt pocket.

  ‘We’ve been so worried about you. We took turns ringing you …’

  ‘I had to take the phone off the hook last night. Reporters, you know. And then Diana was using the phone all this morning.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Dawes told me.’ She cocked her head, listening for another presence in the house.

  ‘Diana’s gone back home. She wants me to go up for a visit or move to a small flat up there or something, but Liz! I don’t want to go.’

  Liz hugged her again. ‘Come on, my dear. I’m taking you home with me for the weekend. Gilbert has got some kind of function he has to attend tonight, the children will be out and I’ve got a casserole in the oven. You and I can sit by the fire, eat chocolate and drink wine. You won’t need to worry about cooking for yourself, or the phone or answering the door because no one will know where you are.’

  ‘I have to ring Diana. I told her I would. Liz, I have a horrible feeling that Diana is plotting something and as you know, she can be so forceful.’

  ‘All the more reason for coming to stay with us this weekend. Ring her now, while I’m here to back you up.’

  Ellie took a deep breath and squared up to the phone. A blinking light on the answerphone indicated that various messages were waiting for her to listen to. She pressed ‘Play’. Two newspapers, one after the other.

  Aunt Drusilla, very angry. ‘Pick up the phone, Ellie. I know you’re there. Unless, of course, you’ve gone back with Diana … I didn’t think of that. Yes, probably that’s what’s happened—’ The phone was put down abruptly.

  Someone calling from a public phone box. A woman’s voice, speaking low. ‘Ellie, it’s me, Kate. I’m all right. Quite safe. I hope you’re OK, too. I’m taking a few days off in the depths of the country. Horrible weather, but it gives me time to think … I’ll ring you again in a couple of days’ ti
me …’

  The boy Tod. ‘Hi, Mrs Quicke! It’s me, Tod! I’ve borrowed me mum’s mobile phone, so I can’t be long. Are you all right? Shall I come over? Me mum says I mustn’t bother you, but … I’ve got a lot of homework, it’s true. Hey, it looks like snow! Wow! It really is snowing hard! Ring Mum if you want me to come over … Bye!’

  John, from the charity shop. ‘Ellie, are you all right? We’re all desperately worried about you … well, except for Madam, of course. She’s being most mysterious about your not coming into the shop this week. Ring me if you want any shopping done, and I’ll be right round … I’ll ring again later.’

  The answerphone clicked off.

  Liz remarked, ‘Kate …? Kate from next door?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll tell you all about it this evening. Liz, so much has been happening … I’m so worried about everything. It would be a great relief to talk to you, if you’ve got the time.’

  ‘Ring Diana, and let’s get out of here.’

  Ellie pressed the memory button for Diana’s phone number, and waited. And waited. The answerphone clicked on at the other end. It was a relief in a way, not to have to speak to Diana direct.

  ‘Diana, it’s mother here. I’m quite well, and going to spend the weekend with an old friend. I probably won’t be coming up to stay with you next week. There’s too much to do here. I’ll ring you again next Thursday, as usual.’

  The phone rang again as Ellie put the receiver down. Ellie let it ring as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, but she could hear the voice recording a message. It was Archie Benjamin, enquiring if he might ‘take the little lady out to supper …’

  Ellie threw a few things into an overnight bag, remembered to switch off the immersion heater, bolt the back door, draw curtains up and down, leave the lamp in the sitting-room switched on as a security light and turn the central heating down a fraction. There was nothing worse than coming back to a freezing cold house and frozen water pipes.

  ‘Bring your umby. It’s snowing really hard now.’