Murder in House

by Veronica Heley

  No way could Ellie cope with a bullying daughter under the same roof. She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. ‘There’s no heating up there.’

  ‘Put in storage heaters. Why not? It’s the perfect solution. I could let the old house out till the market improves, and when I leave you’d have a self-contained flat to rent out yourself. Perhaps with an outside staircase?’

  Ellie got to her feet, trying to suppress her agitation. Help, Thomas! ‘No, Diana. Forget it.’

  ‘But you’ll hand over the old house to me straight away? I need to move at the end of next week, or even earlier. The decorating can be finished as and when.’

  Was this blackmail? Probably. Ellie knew when she was beaten. ‘I’ll see what can be done. Shall we have tea now?’

  Thomas and Frank were busily cooking in the kitchen, both inadequately covered with aprons. There was flour all over the big table and over Frank, as he pounded some greyish pastry into submission. Rose was there as well, sitting in a big chair at the end of the table and laughing at the two men’s antics. ‘Wouldn’t Miss Quicke have enjoyed this?’ Rose’s thinning hair was neatly brushed, the buttons on her dressing gown were all done up, she was wearing her bedroom slippers, and she looked more lively than she had done for many a day.

  Frank waved floury hands in greeting. ‘Hi, Gran! Guess what we’ve been up to . . .? Ooops!’ He put his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide with laughter. ‘I nearly told, didn’t I? But it’s a secret!’

  Thomas opened the oven to take out a baking tray covered with irregularly shaped biscuits, which he proceeded to transfer on to a wire cooling tray. ‘That’s it, my lad. Zip the mouth.’

  Rose was on her feet, almost as spry as usual. ‘Tea for the workers, and juice for Frank. That is, if he’ll let me into his secret.’

  ‘I’m not telling anyone!’ shouted Frank. ‘Not Mummy, not Granny, not Rose, not anyone. I promised Grandpa!’ He turned a flour-spattered face up to Thomas. ‘I can call you Grandpa, can’t I?’

  ‘No, you can’t!’ Diana’s ferocity froze everyone in their places.

  Thomas recovered first. ‘Frank, you can call me Thomas. All my friends call me Thomas.’ He rattled mugs on to the table. ‘Hot biscuits, anyone?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Diana, removing the apron from her son. ‘Look at you! I can’t turn my back for five minutes. Let’s get you cleaned up and returned to your father and stepmother, or you’ll be in dead trouble.’

  Frank’s expression changed to one of endurance. ‘Maria says it’s all right for children to get dirty, so long as it comes off in the wash.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to do her laundry in a tiny flat with no drying facilities,’ said Diana, jerking him away from the table. ‘Oh, come along, do!’

  ‘We made the biscuits specially for you.’

  ‘Look at the time!’ Diana seized a cloth to work on his hands and face.

  Ellie sampled a biscuit, which was surprisingly tasty. ‘Won’t you let him stay for tea?’ said Ellie. ‘These biscuits are delicious, Frank. Well done.’

  ‘Can I take some back for Daddy and Maria?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Diana, scrubbing his face. ‘They’ve got enough biscuits. Come along, now. Where did I leave my coat?’

  Ellie put a couple of biscuits into a paper bag and, while Diana was donning her big coat in the hall, she slipped the bag into Frank’s hand and gave him a kiss.

  It was only after Ellie had waved Diana’s car goodbye that Ellie realized Diana had bested her yet again. In the old days a Yale lock had been sufficient for the big old front door, but after a disturbing incident last year a mortise lock had been added, so you needed two keys to get in and out. Diana had let herself out in the usual way and turned the key in the mortise lock behind her as well. How had she managed to do that? There was only one answer, and Ellie didn’t like the sound of it.

  She darted into the sitting room. Yes, Rose’s keys had disappeared from the table on which she’d left them. Diana must have waited till Ellie had left the room, and pocketed them again. The thought of Diana being able to enter the house at will was unnerving. With hindsight, Ellie told herself she ought to have put them straight into her pocket, or handbag.

  And . . . horror of horrors . . . what had happened to the engagement ring Ursula had given her to return to her boyfriend? She’d had it in her hand when she’d heard Diana arrive. Then Frank had come charging at her, and . . . what had happened to the ring?

  Thomas came out of the kitchen, carrying two mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. ‘I’ve cleaned up the kitchen, the dishwasher’s doing its job, and Rose has gone to have a little nap after all that excitement. Don’t look so frazzled. Whatever Diana wants, it’s not the end of the world.’

  She made herself smile. No, of course it wasn’t. But it was bad enough. She would have to tell him what Diana had threatened to do. But perhaps not tonight. Sunday was his day off and what a day it had been so far!

  Anyway, judging by past behaviour, when she did tell him, he would only smile and say he trusted her to repel boarders. Faced with this latest threat of invasion, Ellie had to admit she cringed.

  And what about the puzzle Ursula had set her?

  ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’ They stored all old newspapers in a green plastic box for recycling, which was collected once a week by the council. Ellie usually remembered to pick up the newspapers from where Thomas had left them, but sometimes they lay unregarded under chairs and in the magazine rack for a couple of weeks until she had a good clear-out.

  Ursula had spoken of an incident at a party in the new year, in which a man had died. If it had been local, it would have been reported in the local Gazette. Sometimes the pages of the Gazette were used to wrap bones and other food waste before they were put in the recycling box. Where to look first? There was a cache of Gazette papers on top of the fridge in the kitchen. She leafed through them. No. No mention of an accidental death in the last few weeks.

  There was one issue missing; the one for the second Friday in the new year. Of course, that particular issue might already have been recycled. Ellie thought she might have seen a single copy somewhere . . . yes, it had drifted into Rose’s sitting room. Rose was dozing again, cosily ensconced in her big, high-backed chair, propped up with cushions and smiling in her sleep. Ellie retrieved the paper and made her way quietly back to the kitchen. She spread the paper out on the table.

  There it was. ‘Tragedy at Top Venue.’ She scanned the paragraph. Not much information. A student called Lloyd had drunk too much at the Grand Opening of the stunning new block of flats on the North Circular called Prior’s Place and fallen from the top floor. Yes, yes . . . terrible accident, parents stricken. Presumably this was the death the girl had been referring to. Why had Ursula thought it was murder? There was no picture of the deceased, but there was one of the building concerned. Something futuristic with penthouse balconies.

  She scissored out the paragraph, thinking she’d come across a mention of the building somewhere else recently. It would come to her in due course. It looked expensive. Flats for those with a fortune to spare, but none for the deserving poor.

  She tucked the cutting between the glass doors of the spice cabinet, along with a card for a dentist’s appointment and a programme for local events they might like to see. She sighed, thinking of everything she’d have to do before she could get her old house handed over to Diana and, hopefully, get her daughter off her back.

  Thomas called out from the sitting room. ‘Hurry up. Your tea’s getting cold.’

  He’d pulled forward the little table that stood in front of their two big chairs, and was working his way through his pile of biscuits. ‘These aren’t half bad. Have one?’

  He really ought to go on a diet. She ought to as well, for her skirts had begun to feel a trifle too snug since Christmas. She’d think about that tomorrow. ‘We won’t need any supper after this. What did you do with little Frank in the attics?
’

  ‘I spotted an old rocking horse up there when I was putting the Christmas decorations away. It lacks a mane and tail, but I thought he might like it, and he did. I’ll get it restored for him, if you think it’s a good idea.’

  She nodded, smiling, wondering which child it had been bought for in the house’s long history. For Frank, her first husband, perhaps? He’d been brought up by his aunt Drusilla in this house, but he’d never mentioned having a rocking horse. Perhaps it had been Drusilla’s? Ellie shook her head. She couldn’t imagine Miss Quicke riding a rocking horse. Not her style. If it had been an abacus? Maybe.

  ‘Blissful Sunday,’ said Thomas, stretching arms and legs. ‘No emails. No visits to make. No phone calls. Time apart.’ He reached across to pat her hand. ‘A nice quiet evening with you. What more could a man ask?’

  This from a man who’d gone out into the cold that morning to take a service for a friend, and to save a soul. Possibly Ursula didn’t think of herself as having a soul, since she didn’t really believe in God. Well, he’d rescued a maiden in distress. At least, Ellie presumed Ursula was a maiden. She was certainly in distress. One didn’t talk about maidenhood any more, did one?

  She relaxed, washing down her third biscuit with her cuppa. She told herself, I Must Not Worry. It May Never Happen.

  Thomas was fidgeting. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she’d noticed that just occasionally he had bouts of fidgeting, even sometimes of pacing around the ground floor as if looking for something. Maybe he needed more exercise? Perhaps that was it. But she wouldn’t encourage him to go out for a long walk in this weather. Now he said, ‘Is there anything on the telly, or do you want to tell me about it?’

  So she told him Ursula’s story as far as she understood it. ‘One accidental death which might be a murder, one broken engagement, one disappearance. The papers didn’t say it was murder; they said it was an accident. It happened at the new block of flats on the North Circular, Prior’s Place. It seems to ring a bell.’

  ‘Isn’t that something your cousin Roy got involved in?’

  Of course. Roy was a talented, hard-working architect with a loving younger wife, a baby girl on whom he doted, and absolutely no sense where money was concerned. His unmarried mother, Miss Quicke, had been unable to keep the boy when he was born, and had given him up for adoption. Roy had only traced her a couple of years ago, since when she’d helped finance him in one or two projects, while steering him away from others which she considered doubtful.

  Once she died, Roy had turned to Ellie for funds to put into the development at Prior’s Place. The project had looked all right on paper, but Miss Quicke hadn’t liked it, so Ellie hadn’t been easy in her mind about it either, and had also ended up refusing to help him.

  She took the last biscuit, and sighed. ‘Roy and money do not make a perfect marriage. And talking of marriage, I seem to have mislaid the ring which Ursula wanted me to return to her boyfriend. At least, I think he was her boyfriend. You haven’t seen it?’

  His mind was on other things. ‘I suppose I could ask the vicar if he knew the lad who died?’

  Ellie felt a sneeze coming on. She tried to remember the name of the boy the ring was to be returned to. Daniel something? She could, she supposed, contact him and confess that she’d lost the ring which Ursula had given her. Or she could do nothing. Presumably he wasn’t expecting it? Or was he? She sneezed. Thomas handed her a box of tissues. She used one, thinking she really preferred cotton hankies which were kinder to her nose.

  A spot of prayer was in order, perhaps. A trivial matter. She really didn’t want to bother Himself with it. On the other hand, remembering the other things the girl had said: a murder, a broken engagement, a disappearance? All very odd. Probably Ursula had been exaggerating as the young tended to do. Ellie told herself that she hadn’t exactly promised the girl that she’d do anything for her.

  But all the same . . . Well, dear Father, how about it? If the girl wasn’t making it all up – which she could have been doing – but . . . well, you do see what I mean, don’t you? I haven’t a clue how to . . . Oh dear, another sneeze was coming on.

  She dived into her pocket for a hankie and felt something round and smooth in one corner. The ring.

  She took it out and looked at it. Thomas was smiling, content. Midge, their marauding ginger tom, had arrived from nowhere and was balanced on Thomas’s ample frontage. Where had Midge been all day? He hadn’t touched the bowl of food she’d left for him in the kitchen, but he looked well pleased with life. As did Thomas.

  ‘All right, dear heart?’

  She smiled and nodded, slipping the ring on to her little finger. She would return it tomorrow.

  ‘Can I speak to Ursula?’ A man’s voice. Youngish. Anxious.

  A woman replied. Middle-aged. Brisk. ‘Is that Daniel? I’m afraid she’s already gone back to uni. Didn’t she tell you she was going back early?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. I’ve tried to get her on her mobile, but can’t get through.’

  ‘She dropped her mobile and broke it, clumsy girl. I told her to reverse the charges when she rings home, till she gets herself another. I expect she’ll let you have her new number when she gets it.’

  Silence. ‘Well, when you speak to her, will you tell her I called?’

  THREE

  Monday morning

  The weather wasn’t any better the next day. A hard frost had whitened pools of slush in the roads. On the bright side, both Ellie and Thomas had had their first good night’s sleep since they went down with the cold.

  Drawing curtains and tidying rooms, Ellie considered the day ahead. Gone were the days when she’d been a housewife with time at her disposal to spend on friends, family and neighbourhood matters. Now she was a woman of property and this meant weekly meetings to oversee the small empire of housing-to-let which her aunt her left her, and monthly meetings to service the trusts into which she’d put most of her inheritance. The house more or less paid for itself, as Thomas’s magazine paid rent for his workspace, as did the Trust for hers.

  First on the list was to check that the dining room radiators were working; one of them produced an air bubble occasionally, which made the room too cold to hold meetings in it. Miss Quicke had used this room as an office and it still seemed to resonate with her dry wit and incisive speech.

  In fact, the sitting room also seemed to hold echoes of the older woman’s presence. Sometimes Ellie thought that if she turned round quickly enough she’d catch sight of her aunt, gnarled hands on top of her stick, sitting by the fire . . . or with two fingers rapidly emailing someone in the financial world in which she’d swum to such good effect for so many years.

  The dining room radiators seemed to be behaving today, but Ellie was happy to recall that this was not a day for meetings. Her sneezes seemed to be abating, and she thought she might be feeling strong enough to tackle the tasks Ursula had set her. Or one of them.

  Don’t think about Diana, and what she might be up to.

  No, on consideration, it was best to face it. If it were just her own peace and quiet that was threatened, she could deal with it, but Diana’s threats – and they were threats, no mistake – also involved Thomas.

  She looked at her watch. In a minute Thomas would be off to deal with emails and post and the problems involved in editing his magazine with only intermittent help from a young geek on a gap year. Rose was up and about today, which was good. Rose was insisting on clearing the kitchen. And if it had to be done all over again later, then so be it.

  Ellie caught up with Thomas as he was about to disappear into what had once been the morning room and was now his study. ‘Thomas, I hate to worry you, but Diana’s got Rose’s front door keys. I asked her to give them back to me, and she did at first but then took them away with her. She’s strapped for cash, wants me to hand over my old house to her straight away so that she can sell her flat. She’s threatening to move in here if she doesn’t get her own way.’

&n
bsp; Thomas stroked his beard, stone-faced. ‘It’s your house.’

  ‘No, it’s ours. I know it sounds hard-hearted, but I really don’t want her moving in here. I think, if you agree, that I should get the locks changed.’

  He went to poke and prod at the heavy bolts on the front door. ‘Suppose we put the bolts across? Hm, they haven’t been used for decades. Suppose I get the oil can out before I start work, eh? It might take a couple of days to get a locksmith round.’

  ‘Bless you, yes.’

  ‘Cheer up. It may never happen.’

  Well, he wasn’t as well acquainted with what Diana could do as Ellie was. Diana had tried to move in on her before, at the old house. Ellie tried to smile, to pretend that she believed him. Not a good effort.

  Thomas wiggled the bolts but neither would move. ‘My tool kit’s in the cupboard in the downstairs cloakroom, isn’t it? You’ll have to come and go via the kitchen if I can get the bolts across, so remember to take the back door key with you if you go out.’

  A hug and a kiss, and he went for the oil can while she made for the telephone in her own study.

  First, she must ring Stewart. Stewart had been a highly satisfactory manager of properties to let for Miss Quicke, and Ellie had reappointed him in that job after her death. The offices for the Trust itself, and for the property management company run by Stewart, were located in a big house not far away. In addition to his other duties, Stewart was overseeing the restoration of Ellie’s fire-damaged house in his usual careful way. He would hate to be hustled into doing a quick fix-it, especially if it would be to Diana’s advantage . . . because Stewart was Diana’s ex-husband and the father of little Frank. He was now happily remarried and had sired another couple of children since the divorce but still, there was need for tact.