Murder by Suicide Page 21

  Everyone wanted to hear when the wedding was to be, and there was much speculation as to who would play the organ when the organist was getting married himself. Then Archie came in to hand out typed notices about the Spring Craft Fair, reminding everyone that they needed to make even more money this year towards the building fund for the new church hall.

  ‘Ellie, could you manage some posters for us to put up in the parish?’ He thrust one of the typed notices at her and, still holding her hand, asked in a conspiratorial whisper if she’d have time for a little drinkies with him afterwards. She shook her head, suppressing an impulse to tear the piece of paper into tiny pieces and throw them back into his face. She would very much enjoy a good scream. She sat down in her pew to quieten her pulse.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’ Mrs Dawes, looking anxious. Someone said, from behind Ellie, ‘She can’t bear to have the attention off her for once!’

  Someone else giggled.

  Ellie mumbled, ‘Sorry.’ She stood up and tried to thrust all her worries out of her mind as the choir started rehearsing an anthem. I’ll faint, or burst, or something, she thought. But she knew she wouldn’t, because people like her didn’t make a fuss in public, no matter what that sourfaced would-be solo soprano Gwyneth might think.

  She was still hoping for a quiet word with Mrs Dawes after the practice: she really must confide in someone or explode. But Mrs Dawes wanted to buttonhole various people about manning her Country Gardens stall at the Fair. So Ellie walked quickly back across the Green by herself, hoping to avoid Archie.

  ‘Hsst!’

  As she reached her garden gate, Tod erupted from the garden shed, closing the door firmly behind him.

  ‘I was watching for you. Neil couldn’t wait. He’s got a gig on tonight. Or an audition for one, anyway. Did you know he played in a band? Anyway, he said to tell you that he’s kept all your gardening magazines, he thought you wouldn’t mind, and we got Midge in the shed here with all his food and he’s happy as anything, mousing or ratting or something.’

  ‘You clever boy! You didn’t rescue an envelope which I left all ready to post, did you?’

  ‘Nah. I stopped on my way home from school when I saw Neil carrying Midge down the garden and I thought that was odd, and then I remembered seeing Diana arrive and I thought maybe the baby would frighten Midge and when Neil put him in the shed, I said I’d stay till I could see you and tell you where Midge was. Only then I had to go back home for tea, and forgot for a bit. Just now I remembered again, and came out to see if Midge is all right and he is, and then I saw you.’

  ‘Bless you, my dear.’

  ‘I asked my mum if we could have Midge if you didn’t want him any more, but she said no. You know how she is.’

  Ellie did indeed know how his frantically busy mum was. ‘I’ll sort something out with Diana.’

  ‘I thought there might be another surprise present left in the shed for you, so I searched, but there wasn’t. I said to Mum, our house is dead boring. People never leave us surprise presents and it’s only the postman who puts letters through our front door, and they’re mostly bills and not what I call proper letters at all.’

  ‘You mean, you’ve seen someone apart from the postman put letters through my front door?’ Tod’s bedroom overlooked the road and he did make use of binoculars to scrutinize passers-by. His favourite fantasy was of catching a burglar at work, and in his mind even the most respectable of citizens might suddenly produce a jemmy from their briefcase or shopping bag.

  ‘Only the woman in the poo-coloured mac. I’ve seen her a coupla times. Drives a brand-new red Fiesta.’

  Ellie felt a shock right down to her heels. The only person she could think of who answered to that description was … no. Impossible.

  She tried a laugh on for size. Failed. Recapped her reasoning and found holes in it. Suppose …? Would that account for the inside knowledge of the typed letters? Thinking fast, she said, ‘That’s very interesting, Tod. You don’t have the registration number of her car, by any chance?’

  ‘Of course I do. In my notebook back home. Shall I fetch it? Is she a terrorist?’

  You might well say so, thought Ellie. But she shook her head. ‘No, but that’s another little mystery on its way to being solved. Thank you, Tod. Extra chocolate biscuits for tea next time you come round.’

  He kicked at the ground. ‘I thought you might let me play on your computer for a while, but I suppose you can’t if Diana’s staying. Is she going to stay for long?’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Ellie, thinking to herself: she’d better not. Something had to be done about Diana.

  Short of murder, that is.

  15

  Tuesday morning, and little Frank was already wailing. Ellie had gone to bed worrying about Diana and the missing packet of evidence, the woman who had delivered the word-processed letters, the quarrel with Bill, Roy, etc., etc., ad infinitum. And Midge. Poor Midge was presumably still shut in the shed. What on earth was she going to do about him? Give him up? Never!

  She had slept badly, waking to tend to Frank at two o’clock. So she didn’t exactly spring out of bed in the morning with a cry of ‘All’s right with the world!’ No. More a groan, and a ‘Please, Lord, show me the right thing to do, because I haven’t a clue.’

  As she disentangled a wet and dirty Frank from his bedclothes, she heard Diana brushing her hair behind her. Diana’s hair was wiry, full of electricity.

  ‘That woman, the day nanny, she asked if she should take him back home with her and I said certainly not, that she was to stay here with him where you could keep an eye on her.’

  Ellie sighed. ‘No, dear. I have things to do as well, and Betty is perfectly capable of looking after him.’

  ‘Well, I expect you can rearrange, can’t you? Oh, and I still don’t have a key, remember. Do you still keep them on a hook in the kitchen? If so I’ll help myself. And Stewart likes fish for supper if you can find some. He seems to be developing a weak stomach.’ This was said with the callousness of one who had never suffered indigestion in her life.

  ‘Hold it!’ said Ellie. ‘There’s a label dangling from the back of your jacket. Let me take it off for you.’

  Diana did a twirl. ‘Do you like it? I got it yesterday at Harvey Nick’s.’

  Ellie liked the price tag, too. Ouch. The suit had cost more than Ellie had ever paid for a piece of clothing in her life. Diana had bought it yesterday, had she? When she had turned her mobile off, and Ellie had been unable to find her to look after Frank?

  Ellie was slow. Diana had pounded down the stairs before she had thought of a reply which wasn’t composed of words beginning with the letter ‘f’. And she had always prided herself on never swearing!

  ‘Bye, mother! I’ve taken a front-door key, so I can let myself in this afternoon. Bye, Frankie! Kiss, kiss!’

  The front door banged shut as Ellie carried Frank down the stairs. Blessed silence descended as the little boy had Weetabix and milk inserted into his mouth. Fingers of toast and a bottle of milk followed. After dealing with the bottle and eating the first few toast fingers, he began to throw the rest around. Ellie didn’t notice as she stared out of the window, nursing a cup of coffee. She had so many things to do, she didn’t know where to start.

  First she must rescue Midge. Only, Midge seemed to have rescued himself, for he wasn’t in the shed any more, but sitting on top of the roof ridge. He turned his head aside and refused to come down when she called him, so she had to leave food out for him and rush back to deal with Frank. By the time she got back to the kitchen, Frank was screaming to get out of his chair.

  Having cleaned him up and changed him yet again, Ellie created a cage out of chairs in the sitting room, and coaxed him into it with his box of toys. How on earth did Diana manage to keep him occupied all the time? Answer: she dumped him in the day nursery on her way to work. Diana was a very part-time mother. But was she, Ellie, any better as a granny? She had thought she would love to have the
time to look after her grandson, but here she was, planning to get rid of him as quickly as possible. She felt guilty about that. But not too much.

  Ellie managed to get up speed. She cleaned up in the kitchen, sorted out what to have for supper, picked up Diana’s and Frank’s dirty clothing and shoved it in the washing machine. Dusted. Put the television on for Frank, to keep him company. Then, thank the Lord, Betty arrived.

  As a day nanny, Betty was everything the younger generation of mothers liked: plump and hippy, no make-up, jeans and boots, heavy sweater, fair hair pulled back in a ponytail with a long fringe that drifted around her face. An open, almost childlike expression, but with the firm chin of one who would stand no nonsense.

  Frank took to her immediately. Yes, Betty could take the little boy from nine o’clock after she’d dropped her own two children off at school. She would bring him back at five every day, after she had given him and her own children their tea. She certainly did not want to spend the time in Ellie’s house, and said she had everything set up to look after children in her own place, if Ellie agreed. A front-door key was handed over, Frank was bundled into his outer clothing, and off they both went.

  As they went out of the front door, Midge plopped in through the cat flap at the back. He inspected the sitting room for alien scents, then settled down for a good wash and a sleep.

  Peace, perfect peace. Ellie righted the room, forming a list in her head of the phone calls she needed to make. The phone rang as she reached it.

  It was a voice unknown to her. Heavy, cracked. A man’s voice?

  ‘You’re dead, Ellie Quicke.’

  The connection was broken at the other end.

  Ellie sat down, breathing fast. Sue had said her friends would come after Ellie, and they had.

  It must be a joke. No. No joke. She must act fast.

  First she rang Gilbert. He was concerned for her, and though he tried to make light of her fears, it was clear that he shared them.

  ‘… but what about the police?’

  ‘Would it be right to set them onto poor Sue?’

  ‘John might confirm …’

  ‘… and again, he might not. He’s very protective of her.’

  ‘You say the boy Tod gave you a lead to the second woman? I don’t know her. What’s she like?’

  ‘I’m not really sure. I mean, I know what she looks like and I’ve spoken to her in passing for years, but I don’t know where she lives or what she does outside work hours. I don’t know why she started writing those letters to me, and I don’t know how she connects with Sue. I assume it was she who threatened me on the phone this morning, but I can’t swear to it.’

  ‘Do you think it’s wise to confront her by yourself? If I hadn’t got this meeting this morning, I’d …’

  ‘No, I’ll be quite all right. I mean, what can she do to me in broad daylight in the Avenue?’

  Gilbert was worried and asked her to ring him later. She promised to do so.

  There was a ring at the front door. It was foxy-faced Armand, Kate’s husband, from next door. Ellie took a deep breath. She’d always been slightly wary of him.

  He was equally wary, but willing to be friendly. ‘Hope it’s not inconvenient. I’ve got a couple of free periods, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to have a chat with you. Kate’s been talking me into having the back garden redone and said you’d lots of ideas. Do you want to come round and show me? I mean, I’m not against the idea in principle, but I can’t see myself having one of those television makeover gardens with bright blue concrete and black flowers and decking and such.’

  Ellie was more than ready for distraction. She abandoned all the nasty jobs she had been intending to do, fetched her notepad, locked up and went next door. An hour went by very pleasantly in discussion of how the garden might be transformed.

  Basically, Armand and Kate knew they wanted a low-maintenance garden with shrubs and tubs around a stream which would trickle this way and that down the garden, but hadn’t a clue how to achieve it. Now they had thought about having a conservatory, they were dead keen on building as big a one as the garden and their incomes would permit. Ellie sketched a possible layout and borrowed Armand’s tape to measure the site.

  Eventually Armand sighed, looking at his watch. ‘I’ll have to go. Form U2 awaits. Ugh! You’ll let us have some sort of plan and an idea of costs?’

  ‘As soon as possible. Best of luck,’ she said, waving him off.

  She went back to the phone. Squaring her shoulders, she rang Bill’s office and asked his secretary if he were able to see her.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid he’s out for the rest of the day.’

  Fine. Ellie pulled on her old coat, sighed over its tatty state and wondered if she had time to pop into the charity shop to buy another one on her way. She’d feel more in control if she were wearing something smarter. Besides, she needed to pay Rose her cab fare back, and give her something for looking after Frank yesterday. She’d probably need to apologize for Diana’s behaviour as well.

  What was she going to do about Diana?

  She waved at Chloe as she walked past the café. Chloe waved back. Chloe had discarded her usual black and was wearing string-coloured everything today. Nice.

  The charity shop was almost empty for once. John was not there and neither was Madam, but dear Rose came out from the back and twittered about her daughter’s engagement and plans for the wedding. Ellie tried on three coats and eventually settled for a rather pretty offwhite camel-hair coat, with an enormous collar. Light, warm, and becoming. It certainly made Ellie feel better able to cope with the forthcoming interview.

  Rose twinkled, ‘That was a coat one of our most fashionable customers brought in. Madam was dying to buy it herself, but the sleeves were far too short for her. It looks lovely on you!’

  ‘Dear Rose, you always say the right thing. And by the way, about yesterday …’ Ellie pressed some money into Rose’s hand.

  It disappeared with, ‘Oh, you don’t have to, you know. I enjoyed looking after the dear little fellow and really, he did seem perfectly happy in the funny little house that I made for him until Diana came back and he started to cry. Besides, I have a confession to make.’ Rose turned an unbecoming pink. ‘I forgot to post your letter, and I’ve still got it in my bag.’

  ‘What letter?’

  ‘The one you left in the hall to post. I saw it there and realized you had forgotten to take it with you, so I popped it in my pocket to post on the way home, but then I forgot, you know the way it is, and I’m so sorry, dear. I do hope it wasn’t anything important. I’ll fetch it for you now, shall I?’

  She returned with that all-important envelope. Ellie felt like a criminal reprieved on the scaffold. ‘Bless you, dear Rose. I was worrying about it. See you for lunch later this week, perhaps?’

  The next stop she visited was the Printing Press, where they were only too happy to show Mrs Quicke the various types of paper she might like to use when ordering printed or embossed letterheads for herself. Then on to the offices of Bill Weatherspoon and his junior partner, whose name Ellie was always forgetting.

  She hesitated on the doorstep. This was going to be a difficult interview. The red Fiesta was parked three doors up the street. ‘Ring and enter,’ said a note on the door. She rang and entered.

  The mud-coloured mackintosh hung on the hat stand just inside the door. The reception room was large and square, painted magnolia, with two bland desks with computers and phones on them, and plenty of seating for clients. Doors led off to Bill’s office on the right and to his partner’s room at the back. It was the kind of office where you were surprised not to see hunting scenes or Spy cartoons on the walls.

  ‘Good morning, Harriet,’ said Ellie. ‘Is there anywhere we can talk in private?’

  Bill’s secretary was a well-turned-out Margaret Thatcher lookalike. Discreetly suited, spit and polished, the very model of what a personal assistant should be. She had been with Bil
l for as long as Ellie could remember, and Bill had always said he didn’t know what he’d do without her.

  Harriet’s eyebrows went up. ‘He’s out, I’m afraid.’

  A woman with reddened nose and eyes was snuffling into a handkerchief on one of the visitors’ chairs in reception. Hay fever, or going through a divorce? A wide-awake-looking office junior had followed Ellie in from the street, carrying a bag of doughnuts and a takeaway coffee. Lunch hour.

  Ellie seated herself, unasked. ‘I hope you’re telling the truth for once, as it’s really you I came to see. I don’t think Bill has always been out when I’ve rung these last few weeks, has he?’

  The office junior looked startled, but the tearful visitor merely sought for another tissue in her pockets.

  Harriet bridled. ‘Why would I say he was out, if he wasn’t? Unless, of course, he’d asked me to do so. Which he did.’

  Ellie fished out the typed anonymous notes and held them up for Harriet to see. Harriet stared at them, drumming her fingers on her desk. Her face was mask-like beneath the carefully applied make-up. The office junior thoughtfully chewed her way through a doughnut, taking everything in.

  The inner door opened and Bill’s junior partner – a youngish, darkish, competent-looking man – ushered out a man in a blue suit while beckoning the tearful woman into his office. Harriet spoke to the junior. ‘Melanie, perhaps you’d like to eat your lunch outside in the fresh air today?’

  It was clear that Melanie would have preferred to stay, but she dutifully gathered her things together and made a slow exit.

  ‘Perhaps you told me Bill was out when I phoned,’ said Ellie, ‘because you were afraid he’d find out about these anonymous letters. As you can see, they have been sent to me, to my aunt – Miss Drusilla Quicke – and to my daughter Diana. They refer to matters which are not common knowledge but which you would certainly know about. Also, how many other people would know their addresses?’