Getaway With Murder

by McNeir, Leo

  She sat on the old bench facing the lawn and closed her eyes in the pale morning sunshine. In this peaceful place she could almost believe it had all been imagined. There had been no murder now or in the past. There was only the quiet of the new day, the warmth on her face, the sound of a blackbird singing in an apple tree in a walled vicarage garden. She could hear nearby the humming of bees in the lavender border and for a moment she felt drowsy. She remembered a rock festival she had attended with Simon in her student days. One morning a group of friends had sunbathed on a hillside. Someone had passed round a joint and she had tried it, just for once, just for the experience. With their eyes closed as hers were now, they had tried to hear a butterfly flapping its wings. They focused all their attention on the sound and she had seen the butterfly changing colour again and again before her closed eyes while the rest of the world hovered in the distance. They tried to find what they called the Moment of Peace, listening intently. They managed to convince themselves that the sound was there. It was the first and last time Marnie had tried drugs. Wishing that she could find that peace now, she breathed in deeply, taking in the sounds of the morning. The bird had stopped singing, but there was no silence. Far off was the sound of a small aeroplane, nearby the bees, somewhere in the village a car was going by. If only she could – What was that? Another sound had reached her, a footfall on the gravel. She opened her eyes and turned in the direction of the path. There was no doubt that someone was walking very quietly and carefully beside the house.

  “Randall?” she called out softly. The footsteps paused and began again. A face looked round the corner. George Stubbs.

  “Oh, Marnie! It’s you.”

  “Hallo, er, I was wondering about the garden, what was happening to it.”

  “Were you expecting to find Randall Hughes here?” He sat beside her on the bench, his thick fingers resting on his knees.

  “I don’t know. It was the first person I could think of.”

  “I saw the shopping bag by the door and thought I’d better come and investigate.”

  “You thought perhaps a hit-squad of commandos from the W.I. armed with pink striped carrier bags had moved in to take possession?”

  He smiled at her and reached forward to pat her knee. She controlled her natural inclination to grimace. “You know, I admire you, Marnie. Not just, of course, because you are a very lovely lady. A lot of women would be frightened of living where you live in normal circumstances, let alone after what’s happened here. And you can still joke about things. Why is that, do you think? What is your secret?” Marnie held his gaze before replying and he moved his hand from her knee.

  “I suppose because I feel I can take care of myself … in any situation.” She hoped her meaning was clear.

  “I’m sure you can, my dear,” he said amiably. “But you must be careful nonetheless. Somewhere in our little community there’s a murderer at large. If ever you become anxious about anything down at Glebe Farm, just give me a ring. Please. I’ll be happy to give you any help I can. I hope you look upon me as a friend.” His voice was very quiet and he was leaning towards her. She could see small beads of perspiration on his face and the shirt collar tight against his thick neck.

  “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” She stood up. “Now, I think I ought to get on with my baking. I have visitors for tea.”

  “Marnie, you mentioned the garden, your concern about it.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get Henry to mow the lawn and keep the beds tidy. Keep it in shape, you know. Sad to let a nice garden go to seed.”

  “Yes. That would be nice. Goodbye.” She set off round the house and passed the garage on her way to the front door. It was an old timber structure like a large garden shed, the sort that used to be advertised in the back pages of newspapers when she was a child. It was coated with creosote and had a window in the side. She looked in, wondering what would become of Toni’s ancient Allegro, unaware that the police had taken it away for examination. Presumably she had a family somewhere who would come and sort out her things. A sad business. Strangely, the car she saw looked different than she remembered it, probably a trick of the light in the dim building with its dark walls. She pressed her face close to the dusty pane. The car she saw was different. It was not even the same make. Behind her, she heard footsteps and did not want further conversation with George Stubbs. She hurried to the front door, collected the carrier bag and walked briskly down the drive.

  *

  “Well, I must say, Marnie, I’m relieved to know you’ll have company again.” Just the sound of Mrs Jolly’s voice comforted her with the thought that somewhere life could be normal.

  “It’ll be good to have her back of course, but I had hoped she’d be spared the investigations. There’s no way of avoiding that now.”

  “The young are more resilient than we sometimes think, my dear.” It was the second time that morning she had been called my dear, but what a difference. “We have to let people live their own lives and find things out for themselves. It’s called experience. Anyway, you don’t want to listen to me prattling on. Coming back to your question, I think it all depends on getting the right amount of cinnamon. Too much and you take away all the other flavours. Too little and you might as well not bother. I would tend to use slightly less than your recipe contains. With spices some of these modern cookery writers go a bit overboard, and that would never do on Sally Ann, would it?” She laughed gently at her joke.

  “Not at all,” said Marnie, delighted to hear the old lady’s voice again.

  “Of course, I’m assuming you did just want to ask my advice on your apple cake. Or perhaps there’s something else you had in mind, a chat about things in general?”

  “You know, Mrs Jolly, you’re almost the only person who hasn’t tried to persuade me to get away from here. Nearly everyone else seems to think I’m taking unnecessary risks by staying.”

  “Ah, but you don’t think that, do you?”

  “I’m not absolutely sure what I think, to be honest.”

  “A lot depends on your own nature, Marnie. I’m sorry to hark back to the Dark Ages, but during the war we learnt that sometimes the only way to cope with a situation was just to see it through, unless you’re in a total panic, of course, and I don’t see you in that light.”

  “I have to admit the situation here could be risky. I suppose I’m starting to think like this because of Anne coming back.”

  “That’s understandable. But you know, everything depends on how you look at it. One person will be overwhelmed by a situation, another will see it as a challenge. We none of us know how we’ll react under fire. It’s all a matter of character. I would say you have to trust your own judgment. And that rather goes for the cinnamon in the cake, too.”

  *

  “Hallo, Anne! It’s nice to see you back. Sorry to hear about the holiday.”

  “Hallo, Mrs Appleton. It’s nice to be back, sort of. Yes, the holiday was a wash-out, I’m afraid.” She introduced her parents and her brother.

  “Have you seen Marnie yet?” said Molly. “She was in here this morning.”

  “No. We’re on our way down to Glebe Farm just now. Mum wants to buy a box of chocolates for her as a thank-you. She’s invited us to tea.”

  “I know,” said Molly. “I think you’re in for a treat, but I’ll say no more.” She pointed to a display along the counter. “We’ve got some of those mints in dark chocolate that Marnie likes.”

  “Marnie’s all right, then?” said Jackie Price. “I was worried about imposing on her … in the circumstances.”

  “Life goes on,” said Molly. “What’s done is done. It’s all very tragic, but we have to carry on. We’re all trying not to sit around moping, especially Marnie. You know what she’s like, never stops, what with her designing and the building works and the church porch and all.”

  “So things are settling down?” said Jackie.

  “Well, they’re going to allow the churc
h to be used tomorrow, so normal life is returning, I suppose, apart from the newspaper reporters, the occasional television crew and of course the police in and out the whole time.”

  “The police are here a lot?”

  “Oh yes. They’re usually around.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. I kind of imagined the village somehow empty and quiet.”

  “Oh no, it’s busier than Piccadilly Circus in Knightly at the moment. You can’t move for strangers. They’re all over the place. Mind you, there’s only a group of reporters from the local papers today and a couple of PCs tidying up. The rest are in Buckingham for the Queen’s visit.”

  Outside in the car, Anne’s mother noticed two policemen winding up the tape barrier by the churchyard gate and a group of men sitting at a table in the pub garden on the opposite side of the road.

  “Do you think they’re from the press?” she asked her husband.

  “No doubt about it,” said Geoff. He started the engine and looked up at the village shop. “I’ll tell you something. The police could save a lot of time in their investigation. No need to question everybody about what happened. They just have to ask that Mrs Appleton. She seems to know everything.”

  *

  “This is delicious, Marnie. Do you think I could have your recipe, or is it a family secret?”

  “Sure. It’s one I cut out of a magazine ages ago. You’ve been my excuse to try it.”

  “I can do a photocopy of it,” said Anne to her mother.

  “This is how I imagined our holiday would be,” said her father, looking round at the sunlight reflecting off the surface of the canal. “You’ve got a really peaceful place here, Marnie. It’s like back to nature. And the water stays where it’s meant to be.”

  “Yes,” said Marnie. “The rush hour here is when two boats go by within ten minutes of each other. Actually, we do see quite a few boats in the holidays, but that only adds to the interest.”

  “I imagine it’s very quiet here at night,” said Anne’s mother, moving gently towards a subject they all knew would have to be discussed.

  “It doesn’t disturb me at all, Jackie. I like the peace and quiet.”

  “Even after, you know, what happened?” said Richard, accepting a second slice of cake.

  “I can’t pretend things are the same,” said Marnie. “Everyone’s very subdued. But I don’t feel afraid, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Naturally, we’re thinking about Anne,” said Jackie. “Geoff and I thought it might be better if she came home for a while, until after they’ve found whoever did it.”

  “Yes.” Marnie glanced at Anne, who sat tense and still, observing the conversation. She looked very young and vulnerable, her pale skin washed out after a night with little sleep and a long car journey. “You must do what you think is right.”

  “I must say,” Jackie began and looked at her husband. “The village seems sort of normal. Do you know what I mean?”

  “It doesn’t feel like a serial killer is prowling around and we’re all huddling together at night behind barricaded doors?” said Marnie.

  “That’s right,” said Anne’s father. “I get the impression you really aren’t afraid, are you Marnie?”

  “No. I’m just sad about Toni.”

  “And you don’t feel in danger?” said Richard.

  “There’s no reason why anyone would want to do me any harm. If there was an atmosphere of conflict in the village, it was centred on the church. I’m not involved in that side of things. As far as my life is concerned, Knightly hasn’t changed.”

  “Well,” said Jackie, “it certainly seems peaceful enough.” Just then, Dolly came out of the spinney and came to sit beside Anne, who reached down to stroke her head. Without speaking, she took the saucer from under her cup, poured some milk from the jug and set it down on the ground. In the lull in the conversation they heard the re-assuring sound of the lapping of milk and the cat purring.

  “I’m very sorry about your holiday,” said Marnie. “Look, why don’t you borrow Sally Ann for a break some time? If you were able to take a week in September, I could sleep in the office barn and by then we’ll have all the services laid on.”

  “Oh, we couldn’t do that,” said Jackie. “How would you cook?”

  “No problem. I’ve got a barbecue and a camping gas cooker. It’d be easy.”

  “But you’d have nowhere to wash.”

  “I’ve got a meeting with the builders on Monday and I think they’ll confirm the first cottage will have a bathroom four weeks from now. It’s a serious offer. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Think it over.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Marnie,” said Geoff. “It would be great fun, if it didn’t inconvenience you too much. I’ll talk to the people at work and see if it might be possible. Meantime, what do we do about Anne?” They were all aware that Anne had not spoken for some time. Marnie smiled at her.

  “Perhaps a good night’s sleep is needed before deciding anything,” she said. “There’s no rush. I’d rather not influence you one way or the other.”

  “But you’re really not nervous about being here?” said Jackie. Marnie shook her head.

  “In the car coming down …” They all looked at Anne as she began to speak. “On the way down you said you were wondering about asking Marnie if she’d like to come and stay with us for a while.”

  “Good idea,” said Richard.

  “That was before we’d seen how things were,” said Jackie.

  “So you’re not thinking of suggesting that now?” said Anne.

  “Well, I wasn’t going to, unless you think it would be a good idea, Marnie? You’re very welcome.” But Marnie had understood Anne’s line of thought at once and was following it through in her mind. She smiled and shook her head again.

  “So, now that you’ve seen for yourself what it’s like here, you don’t think it’s dangerous anymore,” said Anne.

  “Well, I’m not sure I’d go as far as that.” Jackie realised where this was leading.

  “You mean you want to stay,” said Geoff.

  Anne shrugged. “I’d be company for Marnie, if she didn’t mind, of course.” Marnie had to admire the way Anne tried to pull her into the conversation as an ally, but she had made up her mind not to become involved. Jackie and Geoff looked at her expectantly.

  “I can only speak for myself and you know how I feel about the situation.”

  “Well, if it isn’t dangerous for Marnie, I don’t see how it can be for me,” said Anne with another shrug. “Nobody would want to do me any harm.” Her parents exchanged glances. She stood up. “I’ll make another pot of tea, shall I?”

  “We’re not really sure what to do for the best,” said Jackie, after Anne had gone aboard Sally Ann.

  “It all seemed different from reality somehow,” added Geoff. “In the car we were convinced this wasn’t a safe place for Anne to be, or for you either. Now …”

  “It just seems ordinary,” said Marnie.

  “Yes.”

  “You couldn’t imagine anywhere nicer,” said Jackie. “I can understand why you fell in love with the place. This is really beautiful.”

  “Brilliant,” said Richard.

  “And the farm’s going to be lovely when you’ve renovated it all,” said Geoff. “This is what the estate agents call idyllic.”

  “What are we going to do about Anne?” said Jackie.

  Geoff looked at Marnie. “Do you really want her here at the moment?” he said. “Nobody’s asked what you want.”

  “At first I was glad that Anne was away, but now …”

  “I expect you’ve got a lot of work on,” said Jackie. “Anne’s been telling us about your projects. It all sounds very interesting.”

  “Yes. There’s plenty to do.”

  “Suppose she stayed for a few days, just to see how it goes,” Jackie began.

  “I could always come up and collect her, both of you, if necessary, if there was any ca
use for worry,” said Geoff. “How does that sound?”

  “Okay by me,” said Marnie.

  “Is that agreed, then?” said Geoff.

  “I think so,” said Jackie hesitantly. “I don’t think there’s any risk, really. Shall we tell her when she comes back? It’ll be a nice surprise for her.” Within moments Anne appeared, stepping carefully down from the aft deck, carrying the teapot and the milk jug. She put the teapot on the table, poured milk into her mother’s cup and looked at their upturned faces.

  “Shall I get my things out of the car and put them in the washing machine?” she said.

  *

  It was quiet in Knightly St John that Saturday afternoon in high summer. Though many of the villagers had gone to Buckingham for the Royal opening of the County Show, the pub had a steady flow of visitors passing through on their way to the big event, secretly coming to stare at the church that had featured prominently all week in their newspapers and on their television screens. With scarcely a breeze to ruffle the treetops, the cottage gardens and vegetable patches dozed in the warm sunshine, abandoned to the flitting of butterflies and the droning of bees.

  Down at Glebe Farm could be heard the droning of the tumble-drier as Anne’s damp clothes, now freshly washed, completed their restoration. Anne herself uncharacteristically dozed for two hours, lying in the half-shade in a deck chair, while Marnie pottered about on Sally Ann, tidying and sorting out the lockers, polishing the brasswork, happy to have her friend back again. Both knew that in the time while Anne was away, they had come to see their friendship in a new light. Anne had first come to Glebe Farm as a schoolgirl in need of experience of work, of life and of personal freedom. She had needed space to grow. Now, she had returned from her break as an indispensable member of the team, a close friend and confidante. At about seven o’clock, Anne stretched her arms to the sky and Marnie came to sit on the grass beside her.