Murder by Suicide

by Veronica Heley

  Hating this, Ellie pulled out the drawers under the mirror and found a small pile of trinkets, including what looked like a very dirty string of tiny beads. The pearl necklace which Nora had wished to leave to Ellie, no doubt.

  Some of the other trinkets might fetch a few pounds. Ellie tipped them all into a plastic bag. She found a canvas holdall and a couple of light suitcases at the top of the slender wardrobe, and started packing Nora’s clothes. There weren’t many.

  The holdall took Nora’s nightdress and toiletries for delivery to the hospital, and as for the rest – well, honestly! Even the charity shop would turn up its nose at the cheapness of Nora’s things. Ellie thought of the excellent quality of the clothes hanging in the master bedroom. The contrast with what Nora owned made her angry.

  On Nora’s dressing table was a leather-framed photograph of her father, which Ellie crammed down on top of her clothes, wishing she knew some really bad swearwords to throw at his pompous, self-satisfied, fat face.

  Pillar of the church and OBE for services to charity. Frank had never liked the man, saying that OBE in this case stood for ‘Other Blighters’ Efforts’. Nora’s father had been a clever, sarcastic brute, headmaster of a private school who in his retirement had pontificated on any committee that would put up with him. He hadn’t wanted his only daughter to train for any job other than that of looking after him. And then he had left her without a penny. Some men!

  The first of Aunt Drusilla’s valuers was late. Ellie moved into the sitting room, where the drab curtains shifted in a cold wind because a window had been left open. Ellie pulled back the curtains and tried to close the window, but it had been wedged open so tightly that she failed. She must find some sort of tool, a screwdriver or hammer or something, to get it closed.

  This room was much as she had last seen it, except for a pile of coloured papers on the table, which turned out to be more poison-pen letters. There was also an open shoebox containing a crudely made but recognizable waxen figure of a cat, with a piece of twine round its neck and a wire stuck through its body.

  Ugh. How could anyone do that – and then kill Midge, and leave him to be found by someone as fragile as Nora?

  Something brushed across Ellie’s legs and she screamed, collapsing into the nearest chair. The cat jumped up onto her lap and began to rub his head against her hand. His purr was so loud it was almost like a growl.

  ‘Midge?’

  Long-legged, ginger, handsome, golden-eyed. Wearing a blue collar with a name tag on it. The tag said, ‘This is Midge. Phone number …’

  The front doorbell rang and Ellie jumped. The cat gave her a reproachful look and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Shaken, Ellie hurried to the door to let in the first of the valuers, and also Roy. The valuer was an antique dealer who seemed to be on excellent terms with Roy already, and Ellie was more than happy to let them get on with it. She retired to the kitchen to reassure herself that Midge was no ghost – which he certainly wasn’t, judging by the rate at which he was wolfing down the food left out for him.

  ‘Ellie love, how do you feel about a cuppa?’

  Ellie jumped again – and thought how kind it was of Roy to think of that. She certainly could do with one. Someone, presumably Mrs Bowles, had left half a bottle of milk on the table, and there were a few tea bags left in the tin.

  Ellie washed out some mugs, made tea and took it through to the men, who were happily making lists in the sitting room. They had swept the poison-pen letters and the shoebox off the table, in order to inspect it for woodworm.

  While Roy and the valuer looked at the other rooms, Ellie picked up the letters, put them into the shoebox on top of the wax cat, and stowed them beside Nora’s belongings in the hall.

  Didn’t men together talk loudly! Women conducting business didn’t seem to feel the need to shout like that. Luckily, they were in agreement that only the suite in the master bedroom was worth looking at apart from the stuff in the living room.

  The papers in the briefcase! She remembered that Nora had said the briefcase would be under the bed in the main bedroom. She must hand that over to Aunt Drusilla.

  Had Roy finished in the master bedroom? He had. Good. She retrieved the briefcase and put it with her pile of Nora’s things in the hall.

  Now for the old man’s clothing. She was pretty sure that he would have had some good, solid luggage. She had just located some suitcases at the top of a broom cupboard in the hall when Roy showed the first dealer out.

  ‘Let me do that. You don’t want to strain yourself.’

  Roy said they’d found some papers in the bureau which would need looking through. He’d like to put them in the cardboard box that had been on the table if Ellie knew what she’d done with it. Ellie transferred the wax cat and the bundle of poison-pen letters into a plastic bag and gave Roy the box just as the second valuer arrived, ten minutes early. Roy dealt with him, too, while Ellie made a start on piling the old man’s clothing into his suitcases. He had really had some excellent clothes and they could all go to the charity shop, if Nora failed to make it.

  Another ring at the doorbell. This time it was the next-door neighbour, Mrs Bowles.

  ‘Can you make us another cuppa, Ellie love?’

  Ellie felt a stir of impatience. Couldn’t Roy see that she was busy?

  ‘Do come in, Mrs Bowles. You’ve been feeding Midge, I think.’

  ‘Oh yes, the poor thing!’ Mrs Bowles was a twitterer. She sat down in the kitchen and filed her nails while she gave Ellie the history of her acquaintance with Nora – which was not great because Nora kept herself to herself, didn’t she, and then her father didn’t like her hanging around the stairs and gossiping.

  By easy stages Mrs Bowles passed on to her hysterectomy, what her son had said about her taking a holiday, and how she and her husband

  – unfortunately parted, my dear, by circumstances, not love – had been to Madeira and Tenerife, but this time she had to steel herself for such a long journey, by way of Hong Kong if you please, all the way to Sydney, Australia.

  Ellie nodded, made some more tea and took it in to Roy and the dealer, who had their heads close together over the furniture in the master bedroom.

  ‘Sit down and drink your tea, dear,’ said Mrs Bowles. ‘You look worn out.’

  The dealer went and Roy put his head around the door to say he’d just finish packing up the old man’s clothes, all right? Midge jumped up onto Ellie’s lap, and Mrs Bowles remembered why she’d called in.

  ‘… and what a terrible thing that was, killing that other cat. Poor Nora was distraught when Mr Pedler – ground-floor flat number one – found the poor little pussy strung up with string and tied to the handle of the front door. The cat was exactly the same colour as Midge, though perhaps not quite so large, and of course Mr Pedler thought it was Midge, and he went up and told Nora, and Nora screamed and said it was all her fault, though how it could be I really don’t know. Mr Pedler told me, and we decided it would be best to drop the body in a plastic bag and put it out with the rubbish, which is what we did, dear, for we’ve got no garden here as you’ve probably noticed …’

  ‘But it wasn’t Midge.’

  ‘Well, no, dear. As it turns out, it wasn’t. It was one of the cats belonging to that woman with the fuzzy hair across the road. She has four cats, and her ginger tom looked exactly like Midge, but of course he wasn’t. When Mr Pedler saw her out looking for her Tibbles, he wondered if there’d been some sort of mistake, so he fished out the bag that we’d put the pussy in, and she let out such a scream when Mr Pedler showed her the body. No collar on it, so it was really all her fault, wasn’t it?

  ‘But of course we didn’t find out that it was Tibbles until after Nora had been taken to hospital. Midge came back yesterday afternoon. I had such a fright when I saw him, walking along the window ledge. My flat has a balcony at the back which links up with Nora’s balcony, you see. Not that you can grow anything much on the balcony because of the
wind. But Midge always came in that way. He climbs that big tree at the side, then leaps across to the balcony, ever so clever, just like a squirrel, it’s a treat to watch him.

  ‘Nora gave me a key to her flat when she got Midge. She wanted to make sure someone would be able to get in and feed Midge if she was kept at church with rehearsals and that, because he does stay out at night sometimes and you never know when he’ll turn up, but when he does turn up, he’s that hungry! So I had a key, and when I saw him on the balcony I came in to feed him and bring him some milk – and then I thought, what’s going to happen with Nora in hospital and me about to fly to Australia?

  ‘So I rang the agents and they said the usual man that deals with these flats was away, and I should write in. That wasn’t good enough, as I said to them, considering it was an emergency. Then they mentioned Miss Quicke’s name and there’s only two of that name in the phone book, so I took a chance this morning and rang the first number and luckily it was the right person, and I told her she’d better send someone down to see to the cat, which was rather clever of me, I thought, wasn’t it? And how is Nora, do you know?’

  ‘Not good, apparently. She gave Miss Quicke carte blanche to clear the flat, so I’m just packing up a few things to take to the hospital for her.’

  ‘I did think about visiting her, but I haven’t had a minute. Oh, and the cat’s things are in the airing cupboard. It’s a load off my mind, that you can take him.’

  You assume too much, thought Ellie. I’ve been ordered to have him destroyed. At which Midge looked up at her with his golden eyes, purring, treading money on her skirt. She made a face at him. He nudged her hand, and she rubbed his head behind his ears.

  ‘If I did that to him,’ said Mrs Bowles, ‘he’d bite! Nora always used to say that he liked people to admire him, but only from a distance. She reckoned he was an excellent judge of character, though how she would know, poor dear, I really can’t imagine!’

  Ellie wafted Mrs Bowles out of the flat and went to see what Roy was up to. He was in the old man’s bedroom, hammering down an over-full suitcase.

  ‘This is so good of you, Roy.’

  He sat on the bed, looking tired. ‘It’s hell, clearing out after a death. I had to do it for both my parents. And then for an aunt. It doesn’t get any easier, does it? You told me you had a good charity shop in the Avenue. Would they like this stuff? If so, I’ll drop it in to them. Don’t you try lifting any of those bags. They’re heavy.’

  He took the bags down to his car while Ellie washed out the cups they had used. She didn’t want to think about taking Midge to be destroyed, but what else was she to do with him?

  Midge was yowling somewhere. Ellie found him clawing at a cupboard hidden behind the kitchen door. Inside was a stout wicker cat basket, some tins of cat food, dishes and a box of flea powder. Midge delicately clawed open the door of the cat basket and climbed into it. He turned round and hunkered down, his eyes on Ellie.

  The cat command was easy to interpret. Take me, I’m yours. Or perhaps, Get a move on. I’m all done here.

  Ellie thought, I’ll have to take him with me, because there’s no one left to feed him now Mrs Bowles is off. I’ll drop him off at the vet’s on the way home.

  She closed the lid of the basket and heaved it out into the hall for Roy to take down to the car. Gathering up the things to take to the hospital, she made sure all the windows were shut. Roy had obviously managed to get the sitting room window closed – trust a man for that; he probably had a Swiss army knife with ten blades including one which took stones out of horses’ hooves. She pulled the door to behind her.

  Roy leaned against the car door, panting. ‘Is that the lot? What a day. I could do with a drink, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Mm. I was just thinking, we’d better not get rid of anything till we know whether Nora’s going to make it or not.’

  ‘Well, I’m getting rid of the old man’s clothing. She ought to have done that ages ago. I’ll drop you at your place first, deliver his stuff to the charity shop, and pick you up in an hour for lunch, right?’

  ‘You’re very good to me, Roy.’

  ‘No more than you deserve, my dear. So it’s “Home, James, and don’t spare the horses!” That’s what my father always used to say. Odd how these little sayings persist in a family, isn’t it?’

  As Roy unloaded the baggage into Ellie’s hall and disappeared with a wave, the phone rang. It was Gilbert, who had just returned from a conference and got Ellie’s message.

  ‘Prepare yourself, Ellie. Not good news, I’m afraid. I’ve just been on to the hospital. Nora died this morning.’

  5

  Ellie had expected the news and she had never been that fond of Nora, yet she found herself crying. Perhaps she was just overtired. ‘Are you alright?’ asked Gilbert.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Well, no.’ He sighed. ‘Poor Nora. What a sad life.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellie, her thoughts zigzagging between recent memories of the nasty, cold, smelly flat, of Nora saying that she had made her own arrangements, and of Nora at the organ, playing a complicated piece of music with panache.

  Gilbert sighed again. ‘Well, I suppose it solves a difficult situation for me, but …’ Another heavy sigh. ‘I’ll be in touch, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ellie felt for her hankie. Bother. There were no pockets in this skirt. She seemed to remember tucking a tissue into her waistband, but it wasn’t there now. She went into the kitchen to blow her nose on a piece of paper towel, and screamed as the head of a ginger cat turned to look at her across the table.

  Midge! She had forgotten all about him. She had been going to take him to the vet’s on the way back, but what with this and that, she had forgotten. Roy must have unloaded the cat basket in the hall along with the rest of Nora’s things, and somehow Midge had got out and found the chair nearest the fridge.

  Well, she could take him to the vet’s tomorrow. Meanwhile, he ought to be fed. She opened one of the tins left by Nora and gave him some milk. When she sat down to have a cup of tea, the cat jumped up onto her lap and started to pat her cheek with his paw.

  She wept, partly for Nora and partly for herself. She missed Frank so much. Presently the cat’s warmth on her lap began to take effect and she started to stroke him. He purred in return. She held him tightly, wondering if he had comforted Nora in the same way.

  What a poor, unloved creature Nora had been. What a pitiful way to go. Those awful poison-pen letters! Ellie hoped the person responsible would be ashamed of him-or herself when the news of Nora’s death came out. And whoever had sent that nasty practical joke of a wax cat and killed Tibbles … What a pity you could never really get to the bottom of such situations.

  Or could you? Suppose she gave the matter some thought, asked around among her friends and acquaintances? Presumably it was someone at church who had written those letters, because only they would know so much about Gilbert and Nora. Horrid to think that someone she knew might have written them.

  It might be worth asking around, although – she sighed – punishing the letter-writer wouldn’t bring Nora back and Christians weren’t supposed to be vengeful. However, in this case Ellie wished him or her

  – and she seemed to remember it was usually a her who wrote poisonpen letters – some unquiet nights.

  Yes, she would certainly see what she could do about it. For a start, how about that lilac paint? It was a most unusual colour. Had she seen anything like that recently? No. But if she asked around, she could soon find out who’d had some decorating done recently, and then she could check on the colour.

  Then there was the paper on which those letters had been written. Such bright colours, really rather unsuitable for ordinary letter-writing. She’d seen something like it somewhere, she was sure of it. Give her time, and she might come up with a lead or two.

  When the phone rang she jumped, startling Midge into springing off her lap. It was Roy again. ‘My dear, I’m
so sorry, but something has come up business-wise. Would you be very disappointed if we postponed our lunch date?’

  Trained by her husband to fall in with men’s business arrangements, Ellie said, ‘No, of course not, Roy.’

  ‘But good news! I’ve managed to get tickets for the opera tomorrow night. Carmen, English National Opera. Wear your prettiest dress, and we’ll have supper in Soho afterwards, all right? Pick you up at six.’

  ‘Oh, but …’

  He’d already put the phone down. Ellie was left with mixed feelings. She was relieved she didn’t have to go out and be sociable immediately, but … opera? She hadn’t been to an opera for years. Frank had been dismissive of opera, and she had never felt strongly enough about it to go by herself.

  Well, this was a new world she was entering. Roy’s background was far more cosmopolitan than hers. She should take advantage of it, instead of feeling intimidated. Well, not precisely intimidated, but wary, perhaps. And ought he not to have asked if she would enjoy an evening at the opera before getting tickets? Everything was such a muddle.

  She felt the need to be quiet for a while. The grandmother clock in the hall ticked along, measuring the minutes away. The sun would set and rise as usual. Nora was gone, but everyone else must get on with their lives as best they could.

  She felt depressed. A reaction against all that tragedy, she supposed. Depression was best treated with carbohydrates, hot sugared tea and a cat that purred on your lap. But Midge had vanished, and she could no longer hug him for comfort.

  Ellie was alarmed. He couldn’t have got out of the house and got himself run over, could he? No. He was giving himself a thorough wash, sitting in the middle of her bed.

  While Midge made himself at home, Ellie stood by the window, looking out on the quiet road, wishing … longing … for something, hating herself for her inactivity when so much needed to be done. She felt quite unable to make a start on the spring-cleaning, or turning out her wardrobe, or going to fetch her skirt from the cleaners – anything practical.