Jimbo nodded.
Miss Quicke sat back in her chair.‘If I’d turned the television on to watch the late-night news as I often do, it would be me in the mortuary now?’
‘That’s about it,’ said Jimbo. ‘Any more toast, is there?’
Five
Bill Weatherspoon was not only Ellie’s solicitor, but also a family friend. Ellie had often sat with his wife when she’d been dying of cancer and later spent a lot of time with their two teenage girls. Since Frank’s death, Ellie had relied on Bill for advice and sympathy, not only when it came to dealing with the fortune Frank had left her but also for dealing with a daughter who always expected more than she got.
Ellie did realize that asking Bill to look after a plumber with a slightly spotty past was not quite the same as asking him to help her out with her charitable trust, but she couldn’t think who else might be able to help.
She phoned him straight away. He listened, as always, with care. ‘Ellie, you do get mixed up in the most bizarre cases. I’m not your aunt’s solicitor, you know.’
‘I know that, but I’m prepared to pay if you’ll look after Jimbo for me. Suppose I bring him round to you now? You listen to his story and decide whether you can handle it, or need to pass it on to someone more … well, accustomed to dealing with criminal matters.’
Bill said, ‘Ellie, are you daring me to take him on? It’s true that this firm doesn’t do much criminal work. But if all that’s needed is for someone to see he isn’t leaned on too much by the local police, well, perhaps my junior partner might be able to cope. I’ll see what he says.’
‘Dear, dear Bill. Thank you. I’ll be round in half an hour. Jimbo has worked for me for ever and looked after me well. I’d like to help him out now, but he needs to wash and have a shave first.’
‘You mean I have to cancel my appointment in an hour’s time, just to please you?’
‘Well, it would please me, yes. And Bill … I may be asking another favour of you, but I’ll think about that while I’m on my way.’
‘Heaven forbid!’ He rang off, laughing.
Ellie returned to the conservatory, where Miss Quicke and Jimbo were each gazing at a future they didn’t much like.
‘Jimbo, upstairs. Quick. Shave and wash. Make yourself as respectable as you can. And hurry! I have a horrible feeling that we’re going to be descended upon by the police at any minute and it will look much better if you go to them, rather than them hunting you down. Oh, and where did you leave your van? By the church?’
‘I left it out by Heathrow Airport, came back in by tube.’ He made for the stairs at the double.
‘Good. That may buy us some time. Aunt Drusilla, can you cope by yourself this morning? Don’t let anyone in. Unless it’s Rose, of course.’
Aunt Drusilla struggled to her feet. ‘I have some checking up to do. Bring me back a Financial Times, will you? Now, if you go round by my house, see if you can persuade the police to let you have a change of clothing for me and my good shoes – the ones with the inserts. I went out in my house shoes yesterday and my knee is feeling it. Oh, and my jewellery case and medication as well. I’ve written out a list – here it is – of what I need. Your computer is in the study, isn’t it? I imagine you’re on the Internet?’
‘Heavens, I don’t know. Oh, yes. I think Frank did get on the Internet, but I haven’t dared use it and I haven’t a clue what his site – or whatever the name is – was called.’
‘Don’t worry about that. Leave the dishes. Rose can do those when she comes. Give me a front-door key. If I go out, I’ll leave a written message for you. If you want something else to do while you’re out, I’d suggest calling on Stewart. He started off creditably enough, but lately he’s been as much use to me as a wet sponge. Perhaps you can shake some sense into the lad.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Ellie, searching for her handbag, distributing keys, clearing the table. Midge was on the top of the boiler again. She saw his ears twitch towards the front door just before the phone and doorbell rang together.
‘Help!’ said Ellie, under her breath. She darted into the front room to peer out through the curtains. Who was it? If it were Rose, then she’d let her in. If it were Diana … perhaps she wouldn’t.
It was Mrs Dawes, the redoubtable flower-arranging lady from Church, complete with new black beret over freshly dyed black hair, dangling jade earrings, and an enormous caped mackintosh. As usual she was carrying an outsize bag containing all the tools of her trade. And wearing a determined expression. It was a Thursday morning, so she must be calling in on her way to take her flower-arranging class in the church hall.
She caught sight of Ellie through the window and stepped back, obviously waiting for Ellie to let her in. Instead, Ellie called out, ‘Wait a minute!’ and dived for the phone.
It was Joyce again. Aunt Drusilla passed Ellie on her way to the study, and shut the door behind her. Joyce was no longer hysterical, but coldly ferocious. She said she was holding Ellie responsible for the failure of her wedding arrangements, and was going to cancel everything and then sue the pants off everyone in sight as they could very well afford it and she was not going to be pushed around like this and her fiancé had told her she should go to a solicitor, and that was exactly what she was going—
‘Hold on a minute,’ said Ellie. She dropped the phone, unbolted the front door and let Mrs Dawes into the hall.
‘Well, I must say …!’ began Mrs Dawes.
‘Hold on a minute,’ said Ellie to Mrs Dawes. And then to Joyce, ‘My aunt can’t possibly be held responsible for a death in her house, or for the police isolating it as a crime scene. She’s not able to set foot inside it herself at the moment, let alone allow the premises to be used for a wedding reception. Do go to a solicitor, by all means, if you wish to waste your money. But remember, you’ve no contract to use my aunt’s house for your wedding reception. It was supposed to be lent to you as a favour to your mother. What’s more, you have absolutely nothing in writing!’
The phone squawked. Ellie put her hand over the receiver, and turned to Mrs Dawes. ‘Sorry about this.’
The study door opened and Miss Quicke said, ‘Ellie, will you please finish your conversation? I can’t access the Internet with you on the phone.’
Mrs Dawes exploded, ‘Well, Miss Quicke, I didn’t expect to find you here. What do you have to say for yourself, bringing all our arrangements for the wedding to nothing and a hundred pounds worth of flowers that I’ve ordered for Saturday going to waste?’
Miss Quicke shrugged and retreated into the study, closing the door behind her. Jimbo came out on to the landing at the top of the stairs, where he hovered with an anguished expression. Ellie rolled her eyes at him, and obediently he slid into the back bedroom out of sight.
Joyce was still quacking on. Ellie tried to interrupt twice, without success. Finally she shouted into the phone, ‘Will you shut up and listen, you silly girl! I’m not responsible in any way for the failure of your arrangements, but I’m just stupid enough to try to help you, if I can. Are you at work? No? Well, you’d better go in as usual, hadn’t you? I’ll give you a ring at lunch time if I’ve been able to arrange something for you but one more threat from you and I wash my hands of the whole affair. Is that understood? Right. Now, give me a number where you can be reached … no, you are not to ring me back here. I’m going to be out. Understood? And don’t badger your mother. She’s got enough on her mind at the moment without … Yes, of course I understand that she’s your mother and naturally she … Give me your mobile number and shut up!’
Spluttering indignation mixed with fury from Joyce.
Ellie listened for a moment, then put the phone down. It rang again immediately. Ellie picked it up … held it well away from her … and put it down again It rang again. Ellie opened the study door.
‘Aunt Drusilla, I’m going to put the phone down again in a minute. See if you can get on the Internet then.’
Ellie picked up the phone aga
in, listened. Laughed in a shocked fashion. Said, ‘And the same to you!’ And put it down again. There was a clicking sound as Aunt Drusilla accessed the Internet. Then silence.
Mrs Dawes said, ‘Well, I don’t know, I really don’t.’ The heat had gone out of her indignation.
‘I’ll do my best to sort it,’ said Ellie, ‘so long as everyone realizes that this is something that couldn’t have been foreseen. I might have some better news for you at the end of the morning and I might not. Joyce was in too much of a temper to give me her mobile-phone number, but I imagine that you have it since you’re doing the flowers for the church and the reception. Would you like to write it down for me?’
‘Really, Ellie. You were a little sharp with her.’
‘Not half as sharp as I wanted to be. Now, dear Mrs Dawes, I must ask you to excuse me as I have some urgent business to attend to.’
‘Yes, of course, if you can find another venue for the reception … I have my team of flower ladies all ready to decorate both the church and the house where the reception is to be held and what’s more, they want some table arrangements for the party for the new vicar tomorrow night.’
‘Exactly.’ Ellie bowed Mrs Dawes out and bolted the door behind her. Jimbo ran down the stairs, looking slightly more presentable. ‘We’ll go out the back way,’ said Ellie, and they ran for the back door even as Midge’s ears twitched towards the hall and the front door rang again.
‘Leave it,’ said Ellie. ‘My aunt can answer it if she feels like it, and if she doesn’t they’ll have to go away again. I must ring Rose and tell her to be careful approaching the house. We’ll walk to Mr Weatherspoon’s office, because it’s only at the end of the Avenue.’
Bill was an attractive man in his early sixties, who showed no signs of wishing to retire. Ellie knew that he was fond of her, and she felt slightly guilty about asking him for favours. Today, for instance, this busy solicitor didn’t keep them waiting long before ushering them into his office; a reassuringly old-fashioned room with cartoon prints by Spy on the walls. His junior partner was summoned and Ellie prompted Jimbo through his story.
Both solicitors, the younger one and the old, listened with courtesy mixed with scepticism.
When Jimbo had finished, Bill turned to Ellie. ‘Are you happy with his story?’
Ellie shrugged.‘It ties in with everything I know. And Jimbo – Mr Johnson
– had no motive to tamper with the wiring or harm Miss Quicke in any way. On the contrary, he would be losing out on a big contract.’
The younger partner sighed. ‘Very well. Mr Johnson, if you will come with me?’ He wafted Jimbo out of the room and Bill asked his receptionist to rustle up some coffee for them, there’s a good girl.
Bill was about the same height and build as Roy, both being tall, wellmade men. But there the resemblance ended. Bill’s dark hair had long since receded backwards over his head and his monkey-like face was thin and deeply lined. Roy was handsome, Bill was not obviously attractive but he was dependable and gave good advice.
‘Well, my dear,’ he said. ‘Who dunnit this time?’
‘I wish I knew.’
‘You don’t think that …? No. Ridiculous!’
‘Yes, she has the best motive, but I really can’t believe that Diana would do such a thing.’
‘Hm.’ Bill didn’t seem so sure of it.
Neither was Ellie, to be absolutely truthful.
The coffee came and they chatted about the setting up of the trust. Then Ellie looked at her watch and exclaimed that she must go, she had lots to do.
‘You wanted to ask me another favour?’
Ellie got to her feet, embarrassed.‘No, I couldn’t. It would be presuming far too much and really, why should you?’
‘What is it?’ He was resigned, amused.
‘Well, if you must know, really it is out of the question and I wouldn’t dream of asking …’
‘Ellie!’
‘Oh, very well. Dear Rose McNally’s daughter is getting married on Saturday. She was going to have the reception at Aunt Drusilla’s house but of course that’s out of bounds. Now you do have that nice big house by the river, and both your girls are away at university. Dare we ask if we might use your hall and sitting room for the day? Say until four in the afternoon? I could have the rooms professionally cleaned before and after. Flowers brought in. Caterers would need to use the kitchen, of course, but … no, it’s impossible!’
Bill laughed. ‘All right, Ellie. I’ll do it, if you agree to come to the golf club dinner dance with me. Is it a deal?’
‘Done,’ said Ellie, who had already refused two invitations to go to the dance, one of them being from Roy. Well, she’d have to deal with that when she saw him. ‘Oh dear, but I’ve nothing to wear.’
What next? She sighed, looking over Aunt Drusilla’s list. Would the police let her in to the house? If not, clothes could be bought elsewhere, but shoes for an elderly lady with difficult feet were another matter. Ellie knew all about that, having been with Miss Quicke on many a shopping expedition for shoes and escorted her to the podiatrist before now.
The best thing to do would be to phone the police and get their authority to let her into Aunt Drusilla’s house. But what would be the right number to phone? You couldn’t dial 999 for this, wasting police time. Ellie bought a Financial Times and asked the girl behind the counter at the newsagents if they knew the number of the local police station. The girl didn’t, and looked at Ellie as if she’d come from outer space.
She could use her mobile to contact directory enquiries. Well, she could if she hadn’t left it at home. How had that come about? Well, never mind. She could dial directory enquiries from a public telephone box – except that it was occupied by a young girl having a chat with a friend, who refused to acknowledge Ellie’s presence even when she tapped on the window.
Ellie gave up. She hailed a taxi and directed him to the quiet side street where Stewart and Diana lived. She could use their phone to ring the police. She could also ring dear Rose as well, with the good news about the wedding reception.
Diana and Stewart had married, believing her to be the most wonderful girl in the world. She deserved – they both thought – the best of everything. Diana’s father had given them a generous wedding present, enabling them to buy a modest house up North where Stewart worked. Instead, Diana had persuaded Stewart to buy a large executive-style house far beyond his middle-management means. Even though Diana was also working, they had begun to slip into debt.
After baby Frank arrived Diana had gone back to work in a series of jobs which she’d complained were never quite right for her. At the same time, she’d become increasingly impatient with Stewart, who was slow to provide the glamorous lifestyle she considered her due.
Ellie was fond of her honest, stalwart son-in-law, but as Aunt Drusilla had noted, he was not the sort to set the Thames – or any other river – on fire. In the spring Diana had come down to London with little Frank, leaving Stewart to sell up and follow her – if he could.
Diana had thought she had taken a step up the ladder when she had persuaded her great-aunt to let her manage a block of flats, a position which she greatly relished. Diana had energy and ideas and the job might have worked out well enough if it hadn’t been for her tendency to cut corners. Diana had assumed she could fool her great-aunt; Ellie knew better.
When Stewart did manage to sell the house and follow his wife down to London, Ellie had persuaded Miss Quicke to give him a job similar to Diana’s; this time looking after some of the old lady’s housing-to-let empire. No one knew how much money and property Miss Quicke had, and she liked to keep it that way. Accordingly she had stipulated that Stewart was not to know who his employer was, and all arrangements had been made through a holding company.
As Miss Quicke had said, Stewart had appeared to do well – at first. To cover the gap between Diana’s moving down to London and Stewart’s selling their house up North, Ellie had been paying the r
ent of one of Aunt Drusilla’s flats on behalf of her daughter and her husband. The money was now in from the sale of their house up North, Stewart and Diana were both in work and Ellie had assumed that they would soon take out a mortgage on a small house or flat somewhere nearby and settle down.
All that, of course, was before the bombshell that Diana had dropped the previous evening.
Ellie got out of the cab and looked up at the first-floor windows of the house in which Stewart and Diana had their flat. The house was large, solidly built in Edwardian days with black and white wood facings imitating the style of Tudor mansions. There was only a tiny front garden and no garage, but that was only to be expected in this area.
The front porch was spacious, with three bell pushes on the side. Ellie rang the middle one. No reply. Weren’t they up yet?
She rang again. It was quiet in this street. Just the occasional passerby walking a dog. The pavements were dotted with small council-planted trees. An aeroplane droned overhead, taking off from Heathrow Airport. Ellie hoped Jimbo’s van hadn’t been clamped for illegal parking. With his luck it might even have been towed away by now.
A tinny voice; ‘Who is it?’
‘Ellie Quicke.’
The door popped open and Ellie entered, crossed a tiled hallway and went up the wide, uncarpeted wooden stairs. A door at the top was open and she went through a tiny hallway into Stewart and Diana’s sitting room.
Her mouth formed a soundless ‘Oh!’
The place had been wrecked. Chairs were on their sides, books strewn about higgledy-piggledy among videos, ornaments, cushions, china, and Frank’s toys. In the middle lay an empty whisky bottle. Stewart was sunk into a leather armchair – the place had come readyfurnished – and holding his head in his hands. There was no sign of Diana.
Ellie patted him on one big shoulder. He smelt sour. Hadn’t shaved. What was it about these big-framed men, that they fell to pieces so quickly?
‘Dear me,’ she said. ‘Got drunk last night, did you?’
Stewart nodded, groaned, clutched his head.
Murder By Accident Page 7
