Murder in Mind

by Veronica Heley

  She rocked him gently to and fro.

  It occurred to her that she’d never yet heard him speak.

  Ah. Perhaps Vera hadn’t given her the full story? Perhaps the boy was not off his food, as Vera had intimated, but had become mute after Edgar’s death? Would Vera have lied about that if she’d thought it would make Mikey more acceptable as a house guest? Had Vera really been thinking that far ahead? Mm. Yes. Perhaps.

  Vera had said the doctors thought the problem – whatever it was – would resolve itself naturally. Ah, well . . . How about some counselling? Possibly not on the National Health? Oh dear, oh dear.

  Was Mikey crying? Possibly. What should she do now?

  She would tell him a story. That’s what you did to calm children who were upset . . . And no, he ought not to have bitten the man, but whacking him for it wasn’t the answer.

  ‘Once upon a time,’ she began, ‘there was a man living in this house who worked hard and made a lot of money. He and his wife had two children, who were given everything in the world that they could wish for.’

  Mikey’s head moved against her neck. He was definitely listening.

  She said, ‘Sometimes, if everything comes too easily, if children are given everything they ask for the moment they ask for it – or even before they’ve asked for it – they don’t value what they’re given. What’s another electronic toy, if you’ve got three already?’

  Mikey nodded. He understood.

  ‘Children like that,’ said Ellie, ‘can get very spoilt. They think it’s their right to have everything they want, without their having to work for it. That happened here. The two Pryce children—’

  Mikey started.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellie, holding him even closer. ‘Edgar, your stepfather, was one of them. I don’t know which of the rooms upstairs was his. Perhaps we can find out one day. Sadly, his mother – who could have given him a more balanced upbringing – went away to make a new life for herself, and there was no one then to stop him or his sister from playing ducks and drakes with their father’s money. Then one day Mr Pryce met a business lady who liked him as much as he liked her, and they got married.

  ‘Mr Pryce was worried about the way his children had grown up and decided to make them stand on their own two feet. He didn’t turn them off without a penny; oh, no. He bought each of them a nice place to live and set them up in business for themselves, but he said there would be No More Handouts, no more paying off their debts. Do you think he was wise?’

  Mikey nodded.

  She said, ‘It was almost too late for the children to change. Edgar made a lot of mistakes and so did his sister before their father died. Instead of leaving his money to the children, as they’d expected, he left it all to his second wife, Mrs Pryce, asking her not to shower money on his children, but to make sure they never suffered want.

  ‘That’s when Edgar finally began to grow up. He found a job he liked, working in a school. He came to appreciate his stepmother, and she him. Then two bad things happened; he got cancer, and his stepmother died. Do you know who she left all the money to?’

  Mike lifted his head from her neck to give her a long stare.

  She nodded. ‘Yes, she left it all to me, including this house . . . which is far too big for a family now. Edgar suggested that it be made into a hotel, a place where people can come and have a rest and go back into the world refreshed. In return for giving me this house and her money, Mrs Pryce wanted me to keep on looking after what’s left of her family.

  ‘At that very point in time Edgar met you and your mother, and fell in love with you. He left me a letter, asking me to look after you both. Maybe not with money. Money can be a blessing, and it can be a curse.

  ‘So now it’s up to me to see what can be done to help you and your mother. I think that you, Mikey, are capable of making your own way in life. If you put your mind to it, you could get scholarships and go to university under your own steam, and not cost your mother a penny. You’re a survivor. Of course, it would help if you could keep your temper under control and not bite people.’

  He hid his face against her neck again.

  She smiled. So he was ashamed of himself already? ‘Now as it happens, over the past year or so I’ve been wondering how to do something for your mother. She’s had some rotten luck. Oh, not you, Mikey. You are the light of her life and her main reason for living. But she missed out on her chance of further education because she had to go out to earn a living for you both. It might be that I could arrange for you and her to have some better living accommodation, and perhaps for her to have some sort of part-time job so that she could continue to provide a home for you, while picking up her studies again. I’m not sure about that. Edgar wasn’t sure about it, either. Some day soon we’ll have to have a meeting – you, me and your mother – to discuss it. Understood?’

  He did seem to.

  She went on sitting on the stairs, listening with half an ear to the clash and crash of scaffolding poles being unloaded and stacked outside . . . thinking of this and that . . . hardly aware when Mikey slipped out of her arms and disappeared.

  She thought of the parallels between Evan Hooper’s methods of bringing up his children and those of the Pryce family. There was the missing wife element in both cases; how much blame should be attached to them? Were the wives more sinned against than sinning? Surely they had contributed to their children’s problems by leaving?

  Ellie shrugged. She couldn’t tell. Perhaps their disappearances had mattered a lot, perhaps not much.

  There’d been too much money thrown around, in both cases. The money had attracted Angelika because it meant . . . what? Security, or help with her career? Both.

  Diana was attracted to money like a bee to honey, and for much the same reason.

  Had anyone ever truly loved Edgar Pryce? Yes, Vera had. Lucky man.

  Did anyone really love Evan? Freya did, but no one else around seemed to care what happened to the living or the dead.

  Did Diana love Evan? Ellie sighed. She hoped very much that Diana did, but couldn’t be sure.

  It was said that having money brings happiness, but it didn’t. Too little money, on the other hand, equals unhappiness. See Mr Micawber on the subject. Income one pound and sixpence, expenditure one pound: equals happiness. Income nineteen shillings, expenditure one pound: misery.

  Compare the two families’ record on discipline. They used to say “spare the rod and spoil the child”. It sounded as if both Fiona and Abigail Hooper had been spoilt brats. No restraints had been applied there.

  In the case of the Pryce children, the rod had been applied too late for the girl, who had still not learned to live within her means and whose selfishness was a byword . . . See the way she’d tried to get Vera to hand over the little Edgar had left her. Edgar, however, had learned from adversity and come through.

  Lastly, Ellie considered the matter of rejection. Freya had been rejected but was still in there, fighting for recognition from her father. Maybe she’d make it. Maybe not. It would be a pity if her craving for her father’s love warped her life.

  Philip, now. First spoilt and then rejected? It sounded like it.

  Ellie shook herself back to the present moment.

  What was next on the agenda?

  The project manager, Hugh, appeared in the doorway. ‘Finished here, Mrs Quicke? I’ve set up my office in the old garage. The boy’s in with the scaffolders, cadging a sandwich and a cuppa from them. Bright as a button, isn’t he? I understand you’re the major shareholder in this project. Would you like to go round with me now, and I’ll show you what’s planned?’

  It wasn’t a question, but a command. Ellie looked at her watch, held back a grimace, and said she’d be delighted. She could see, as well as he, that if the two of them established a good working relationship now, any snags in the future could be ironed out without too much trouble. Conversely, if she got on her high horse and walked out, he wouldn’t be so ready to listen to the wa
y she’d like things to be done.

  She tested her theory. ‘It’s a grand old house this. Do you like it?’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘What do you think should be done with the garden?’

  ‘It’s going to be a very special kind of hotel, making a feature of all the period detail.’

  ‘Mrs Pryce was a period piece herself. She loved her roses. I was thinking we could have roses and climbing plants all around the walls and a smooth lawn to rest the eye. There could be pergolas, and lots of places to sit out, and benches, and a fine herbaceous border and a children’s play area in one corner. But I suppose I’m hopelessly out of date.’

  He inclined his head. ‘I would rather say you are “dateless”. As is the house.’

  So, they were in agreement. ‘Thank you, Hugh. I’d be delighted to go round the house with you.’

  SEVENTEEN

  Tuesday noon

  Finally, Ellie was free to leave Pryce House. She called Mikey down from where he was exploring the attic rooms and asked Hugh to summon a cab for her. It wasn’t raining quite as hard as before, but it was still drizzling in a nasty, insidious way. The wind had developed a horrid habit of dropping away, and then coming round a corner to lift your skirts and lash at your legs.

  ‘Hungry?’ she asked the boy as they got into the cab.

  He shook his head. He’d probably been given more food from the workmen than he’d get at home, though it might not have been as organic or healthy.

  Ellie asked the cab driver to take them to the Hooper Estate Agency on the Broadway. She would pop in, check that Mr Abel was coping, pick up some addresses, and then go on home. Perhaps there might be sardines on toast for lunch?

  She would have liked to raise Thomas on the phone, but oh dear! What had she done with her mobile? Anyway, he was really too busy to bother with their domestic problems at the moment, and he had said he’d ring her twice a day. Did that mean she’d missed one of his calls already?

  There was a police car outside Hoopers.

  Why? Ellie remembered, with a chill going down her back, that Diana had pointed the finger at Mr Abel as a possible arsonist. Surely the police wouldn’t take that seriously, would they? Granted, a case could be made out for Mr Abel being so furious at being forced to resign that he might want to harm the agency, but anyone who knew him would think that highly unlikely. As for wanting to kill a teenager, a toddler, and a slightly potty old woman – forget it!

  On the other hand, Ears would be under considerable pressure to make an arrest in a case involving Evan Hooper, and he might twist the facts to suit himself. He might even want to brush off the deaths as misadventure in order to concentrate on the arson, just because he had a likely suspect to hand. Mr Abel had certainly been at the house at the right time.

  Motive and opportunity. Oh dear.

  Ellie walked into the main office, which was crowded with people suffering from different degrees of excitement and distress. There were rows of desks manned by men and women all looking towards the back office, while their phones rang unregarded.

  Ears, looking pleased with himself, emerged into the main office holding on to Mr Abel’s arm. Behind them came Ms Milburn, boot-faced.

  Ears had got hold of the wrong end of the stick, as usual.

  Mr Abel, whom Ellie knew as a capable, practical person, thoroughly trustworthy though perhaps not quite top management material, was red of face and looked ready to explode with fury.

  He spotted Ellie and tried to hang back in order to speak to her. ‘Mrs Quicke; you won’t believe this, but the police seem to think that I—’

  ‘Come along now,’ said Ears, pleased with himself. ‘We don’t want to bother Mrs Quicke with this, do we?’

  Mr Abel looked wildly around. ‘But the office! I can’t leave! Mrs Quicke, could you contact Diana and—’

  ‘This way!’ Ears propelled Mr Abel out of the door, still talking.

  Ellie called after him, ‘Have you a solicitor?’

  He disappeared into the police car.

  Silence, except for the ringing of the office phones. Uneasy glances. Someone laughed.

  Nerves.

  One of the men cleared his throat. ‘Well, there’s a turn-up for the books. What do we do now?’

  An older women turned to Ellie. ‘You’re Mrs Quicke, Diana’s mother, aren’t you? Do you know where she is? We expected her this morning but she hasn’t appeared. Someone said Mr Hooper had been taken ill and was in hospital, and then they said his house had burned down, and now it seems that Mr Abel did it!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Ellie.

  One of the men said, ‘We should close the office.’

  His neighbour was against it. ‘We can’t do that! He’d have our guts for garters!’

  Ellie thought that this contretemps was no business of hers and she could walk away from it with a clear conscience. Evan Hooper had brought all his troubles on himself. Neither Evan Hooper nor Diana would thank her for interfering.

  But Mr Abel was a good man and hadn’t deserved to be hauled off to the police station for questioning or even – heaven forbid! – arrested for something he hadn’t done.

  So Ellie said, ‘Who is the most senior among you?’

  An older woman, greying hair, business suit. ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘Your name?’

  The woman primped her over-lipsticked mouth. ‘Mrs Lavery.’

  ‘Then, Mrs Lavery, you must take over till Mr Abel or Diana return. Everyone else should get back to work. Now, shall we go into the back office and see what we can do to sort this out? First off we must get Mr Abel a solicitor.’

  ‘Who’d have thought Mr Abel was capable of setting fire to a house?’ The most senior member of the staff might be very good at her job, but she didn’t seem to have any loyalty to Mr Abel. ‘Of course we could all see he wasn’t going to fit in easily with the new regime, Diana running a tight ship as they say, but . . . to go and burn the boss’s house down!’

  Ellie wanted to say, ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Or alternatively, ‘Try not to be so stupid!’ She held her tongue because neither comment would be helpful. Mrs Lavery might not be the brightest blade in the box but she probably suited Diana very well. Diana would not want to be outshone by a sharper business mind nor have a member of the staff question any of her decisions . . . which was one of the reasons why she’d forced out Mr Abel, who might be dogged but was also a man of integrity who didn’t believe in cutting corners.

  Mrs Lavery led the way into the back office and seated herself behind the big desk, trying out the chair and relishing the authority it gave her. ‘Me, acting manager!’ She reached her hand to the landline phone. ‘I must tell my husband.’

  ‘One moment,’ said Ellie, conscious of time marching on, things to do, people to see – and a small boy holding on to a giant umbrella with one hand and clinging to her coat with the other. ‘Do you happen to know who Mr Hooper is insured with?’

  Round eyes. Hand to mouth. ‘Oh my! His house burning down. Yes, of course. Everything here is with the Britannia. I’d better ring them, I suppose. It will be up to me to make the arrangements if he’s kept in hospital.’

  Ellie didn’t think that a good idea. ‘May I suggest that I contact my daughter first? She can confirm your temporary status and tell you what she would like you to do.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. I suppose.’ Reluctantly.

  Ellie smiled sweetly, chucked off her heavy mack and dialled her home phone number. Rose answered.

  ‘Rose, dear; is my daughter downstairs yet?’

  ‘Not she, the little madam.’

  ‘Well, do you think you might take a cup of tea up to her in a minute and ask her to phone me at her office? There’s a problem here that only she can solve. Is Vera back yet?’

  ‘No, but she rang to say she’d be here in a while. Am I supposed to wait on Diana? Pat says there’s been people calling for you. That blondie for one. Most insistent. Thomas rang, wanting t
o know if you were all right, and I said probably but one of the cleaners found your mobile in the sitting room, so that’s why he couldn’t get through to you, which got him worrying, and he wanted to know if he ought to come back tonight, but I said no, he ought to see to his own business. As it is, we’ve got such a houseful I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. How many should I expect for supper, do you think?’

  ‘Think big, and we’ll freeze any leftovers. No news from Stewart or the hospital?’

  ‘No, though the phone was ringing a while ago when I was out in the garden fetching in some roses, which are a bit rain-spotted but still got some colour in them, and I didn’t get to it in time. I expect they’ve left a message.’

  ‘Right. I’ll be back soon.’ She put down the phone but held on to it. The temporary manageress made a couple of passes towards the phone, but Ellie wasn’t about to let go. ‘Now, Mrs Lavery, the most important thing to do is to find Mr Abel a solicitor. I haven’t my own mobile with me, so I’ll have to look a number up in the directory. Mikey, would you be so kind? I can see the phone directories on that shelf over there.’

  Mikey brought over the directory, Ellie picked out her own solicitor’s name and got through to him. ‘Dear Gunnar, another small problem . . .’

  As she talked to Gunnar, she could hear that the phones were ringing in the outer office, but they were now being answered. Good.

  Mrs Lavery kept casting uneasy glances in Ellie’s direction. Under normal circumstances Ellie would have agreed she was being high-handed, but not today. She finished the call to Gunnar and smiled at the woman. ‘Now, Mrs Lavery, as Mr Hooper is still in hospital we need to contact his first wife, Monique, and his son Philip. Diana asked Mr Abel to look up the information for me, but unfortunately he was prevented from passing it on. Do you think you could help me find their details?’

  Mrs Lavery tossed her head. ‘I really don’t think I can give out any personal information. Perhaps you can ask your daughter when she sees fit to oblige us with her presence.’

  Ellie pretended to acquiesce. There must be another way round this woman’s officiousness. Ellie’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was lunchtime. ‘Oh, Mrs Lavery, I’m dying for a cuppa. While we’re waiting for my daughter to ring, do you think you could ask someone to make some tea for me and perhaps find me a couple of biscuits, too?’