Murder by Mistake

by Veronica Heley

  ‘A childminder? Denis has four children, but they’re surely a bit old for child-minding?’

  ‘Agreed. I underlined the name and address in the phone book. It’s too late to do it today, but I’ll get on to the bank first thing tomorrow about her cheque and let you know the result. And now, if you don’t mind, I promised to take the family out to Kew for a picnic this afternoon.’

  Ellie said, ‘Go, man, go!’ He laughed and escaped.

  The door to the sitting room opened, and the Party Planner beckoned her in. ‘A word, Mrs Quicke?’ He was shaking his head. ‘I am considered the very best in the business at solving problems, but here we are faced with a veritable mountain of troubles.

  ‘One: Diana’s caterer insists she was asked to provide a sit down meal for fifty, and she either cannot or will not alter the menu at such short notice. So, if you wish to change it, you will be charged the full amount for a set meal with three wines and champagne, plus the amount she must charge per head if you downgrade to a buffet. She requires access at noon on the day of the event, so that her staff can lay the tables with all the appropriate silverware and decorate with balloons, party favours and so on.

  ‘Next: the florist has already designed displays for the hall, the dining room and the drawing room, to complement the bride’s bouquet. These displays are somewhat larger than usual, if I may say so, but the client has agreed the designs and the flowers have already been ordered.

  ‘Third: the wine merchant requires refrigerated space for his stock, plus ice. Two hundred bottles to start with. And a secure bar from which to serve drinks throughout the evening.

  ‘Fourth: the photographer wants a good half hour to take his still pictures, while his assistant will of course be making a video of the event from first to last. This means the caterer must set back the hour of the evening meal by that amount of time, which she refuses to do.

  ‘Fifth: the wedding cake must have a suitably strong table to stand on, and we’ve been told it should be situated in the hall under the biggest of the floral displays. The grandfather clock will have to be moved, of course.

  ‘Lastly, the disco in the evening will require to be set up at least an hour beforehand to account for the lighting effects, the testing of the equipment, the correct placing of the speakers, and so on.

  ‘Mrs Quicke, even if we strip out all the furniture from the whole of the ground floor—’

  Ellie put her hands to her head. ‘We can’t possibly do that. Some of these antiques are fragile, they were in my husband’s family, and the clock repairer said that the grandfather clock in the hall must never be moved.’

  ‘Mrs Quicke, I do most strongly advise you to rethink. The combination of drink and disco in the evening will play havoc with your mahogany and carpets.’

  Ellie gasped. What he said was all too true. ‘I didn’t realize.’

  ‘Sit yourself down,’ he said, handing her to a chair and revealing a consideration for her welfare that she found soothing. He patted her hand. Close to, she could see beads of sweat on his forehead, and she realized the bright yellow hair was a wig. Underneath all that gaiety was a kindly, middle-aged and probably balding man.

  He said, ‘Why have you let out your house for wedding receptions, if you are not prepared for what happens on these occasions? Let me guess; you haven’t even bothered to insure against loss and damage?’

  ‘I never thought of it.’

  ‘Then think of it now. I can arrange it for you, if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, yes. Please do. I am hosting the first reception as a favour to a friend. It is a small, private occasion and I hadn’t anticipated any loss or damage. As to the evening event, this was wished upon me by my daughter whose eyes, if I may say so, are bigger than her stomach. Could we not have a small three piece band and not a rowdy disco? Then people could dance in the hall and sit out in the other two rooms.’

  ‘Mrs Quicke, I sympathize, but you are a lady who has let time slip by without realizing it. A disco it has to be, nowadays. It’s already been booked. If you take my advice, you’ll lock up all the bedrooms except one in which to dump coats, and remove all knick-knackery and valuable china.’

  ‘Oh, dear. What am I to do? This house is not at all suitable for such an event. Could I pay for some hotel rooms somewhere?’

  ‘At this late stage? Everything will have been booked up months ago. I, who am in the business, can put my hand on my heart and tell you to think again.’

  It was too much. Ellie was a much stronger, more decisive person than she had been when her first husband died. She had learned how to cope with tasks which she would have considered beyond her in the old days. She had mastered simple jobs on her computer, she had made a new circle of friends, learned how to manage her finances – with help – and given advice to others which had proved acceptable and sensible. She had managed, through networking in the community, to right certain wrongs and bring a few villains to justice. Now and then she had even been able to counter her daughter’s wilder schemes.

  But this business of Diana’s wedding was all too much. Tears threatened. She sniffed. She told herself she was overtired, that she had been shaken up by everything that had happened these last few days. She told herself to be strong, but it was no good. She began to weep, at the same time apologizing for her weakness.

  ‘Oh, what am I to do? Oh dear, don’t take any notice of me, I’m not usually like this.’ She looked round for her handbag to find a hankie.

  He got to his feet, using his cane to help himself up, and walked over to the open French windows. ‘Mrs Quicke, I am not the Party Planner for nothing. I know how to solve your problem. It will require a great deal of hard work. Time is not on our side, but I have the solution! We must have a marquee on your lawn!

  ‘We will set aside the dining room to receive coats. I will arrange for some racks to be delivered to hang them on in safety. You will lock the door to this drawing room, and lock the French windows as well, so that no one can enter this room. The receiving line will be held in the hall. Bride and groom, parents, best man, bridesmaids. The photographs will be taken there, of course.

  ‘From there the guests will proceed through the conservatory into the marquee, which will be laid out with tables for fifty people. Cables will carry power from the house for lighting, and for the disco. A side entrance will lead direct to your kitchens, which will be where the food comes on to the premises, ready cooked and ready to serve. There is a back entrance, I assume? The wines can also be kept chilled there. The bar? We will set it up at the back, beside the exit to the kitchens. Are you with me?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. But, a disco in my garden at night? Whatever will the neighbours say?’

  ‘You will send round a note asking for their understanding because this will only be for one night. If you finish before midnight, there should be no complaints.’

  Ellie went to stand beside him, taking in the depth and width of the garden. ‘The beauty of your scheme is that the two parties can be kept separate and no damage done to the house. How Ursula’s mother would have loved a big “do” in a marquee, and how Ursula would have hated it. I’m very fond of that girl, and she deserves a quiet family wedding. A marquee here for Diana – splendid. It solves all our problems. However can I thank you?’

  ‘By paying my fee, which will be enormous.’ He smiled and winked to show he was only joking, but she thought he was worth whatever money he chose to ask.

  She said, ‘I’ll gladly pay your fee, and double it if you’d agree to mastermind both weddings. I’ll fetch you the file Ursula has given me and, if you agree, you can act as Master of Ceremonies throughout the day.’

  ‘You do me too much honour. Slaves!’ His assistants rose from chairs in the background. ‘Take notes. We must get on the phone at once. We need a wooden framework to cover the lawn, and on this we need a sufficient number of boards to act as a dance floor. There must be no skimping, no rocking. Then we need a marquee. I will measure u
p; I don’t trust anyone else with such details. Tonight we burn the midnight oil, working out a timetable for everything.’

  His eyebrows worked overtime. ‘Mrs Quicke, you will have a copy of my schedule tomorrow morning, and so will your daughter. If there is any quibbling, remind her that she who pays the piper, calls the tune.’

  Ellie fetched the file for Ursula’s wedding and gave it to him. He glanced through it and said, ‘Is your phone number here? And your mobile number, please.’

  She wrote down the numbers. ‘I rarely have my mobile switched on. I only use it for emergencies.’

  ‘This is an emergency. Please leave it switched on at all times.’

  Properly cowed, Ellie produced her mobile phone from her handbag and switched it on.

  ‘Slaves! To work. Where is the measuring tape? Not that one, you fool! The larger one.’

  Ellie left them to it.

  The house lay quietly around her absorbing their busyness; Mr Balls was giving orders to his slaves in the garden. She could hear Thomas’s deep tones; he must be on the phone in his study. The cleaners were now in the drawing room, removing all the valuable silver and china, rolling it in bubble wrap and storing it in wooden boxes.

  From the kitchen came the sound of Capital Radio, not as loud as Rose usually had it . . . and yes, the chirrup of Rose’s voice and Mia’s sweeter tones. There came the clash of pans as they cooked something for lunch or supper. The grandfather clock ticked away, oblivious of the recent threat to its safety. Ellie put out her hand to touch its silky wooden surface. ‘You shall not be moved.’ She laughed at herself.

  As she relaxed, various parts of her body began to hurt. She’d been tossed around rather too much for comfort these last few days.

  Her mind went into overdrive. Was Mia right in thinking that she’d been the target of that hit and run on Monday? A hit and run which had taken the life of a young woman and left two children motherless? The lilies, the wreath and the sympathy card surely meant that she had been the target?

  Ellie let herself down on to a hard wooden chair, thinking that she ought to take some paracetamol for her aches and pains, aware that she was not thinking too clearly. Had she drunk more than her usual quota of coffee that day?

  If Mia had been the target of Monday’s hit and run, then how to explain the attempt of the white van to run Ellie over today? Well, someone might have thought that Mia would be visiting her mother and had lain in wait for her to emerge from the house. As soon as he saw a female figure, he went for it, not realizing till too late that he’d mistaken his victim. Did that make sense? Sort of.

  The house phone trilled at Ellie’s elbow, and she jumped. The answer phone light was winking, telling her that a couple of messages had already been recorded for her. She lifted the receiver and recited their phone number.

  ‘Who is that? You rang me earlier. Who are you? What’s going on?’ A woman’s voice, neither young nor old.

  ‘I’m afraid I—’

  ‘This is the number that rang me. Look, no messing. What’s this all about?’

  Light dawned. ‘Are you Mrs Summers? I think my business manager may have contacted you earlier. He was trying to trace someone who’s applied to rent a place from our housing trust. Would that be you?’

  ‘It might be.’ Cautiously. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Look, could I drop round to see you for a moment?’

  ‘I’m not really at liberty to . . .’ Her voice faded away as she shouted at someone to shut up for a moment.

  Ellie could hear boys’ voices in the background. Several boys. Unbroken voices, but tough. Top of primary school age? Could it possibly be that Denis’s children had been farmed out to this woman to look after during the school holidays? Having met Denis’s young hooligans, Ellie was of the opinion that, if this were true, the woman deserved a medal for services beyond the call of duty.

  Mrs Summers returned to the phone. ‘I’ll be free this afternoon after two and before half past three. Why don’t you drop round then?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Mr Balls and his slaves passed by, smiling and bowing, miming that he’d phone her later. Ellie smiled back. What a relief to have him take over! They let themselves out of the house as Ellie pressed the play button on the answer phone.

  Two messages. The first was from Diana saying she might not be able to get over till after four. The second was from WDC Milburn, saying she’d tried to reach Mrs Quicke but was off duty till Monday morning, and please to leave a message if it were anything urgent.

  Thomas appeared, smiling and relaxed after a good morning’s work. ‘You’re looking tired, my love. Are the cleaners being a pain? I see the dining room’s been cleared already. Remind me to remove my stereo from the sitting room and store it under my desk. Have you had something to eat yet? Will you treat yourself to a nap after lunch?’

  She cranked herself upright, thinking that at least his sanctum appeared to have been respected. So far. ‘I have to go out again. Oh dear, I wish I hadn’t said I would.’

  ‘Food up!’ Rose, all smiles. ‘Today we’re having one of Mia’s aunt’s favourites: a sausage-meat and onion pie.’

  Wednesday afternoon

  Ellie didn’t mean to fall asleep after lunch. She sat down and closed her eyes for a moment, only to hear the grandfather clock in the hall chime three. She jerked upright. ‘Oh dear!’ She’d been meaning to go somewhere, but where?

  She remembered. Ouch. She was going to be late. Mrs Summers lived the other side of the Avenue, didn’t she? The address; where was it? Stewart had left it for her, but what had she done with it? She found it and tucked it in her purse. Would she have time to walk there? Probably not. She phoned for a cab, and then dashed into the kitchen to see if there was anything the cooks wanted her to buy for supper. The kitchen had been scrubbed clean and tidy, the dishwasher was reaching its final spin, and there was no sign of Rose, who was probably having a nap, or Mia – who might be anywhere. Well, probably not out of the house. Ellie left a note to say she’d be back by four and got to the front door as her cab drew up outside.

  The road in which Mrs Summers lived was not far from Ellie’s old house. She got the cab driver to cruise along, looking at the numbers on the gates till she located the right one. Was this it? It was a small semi-D, three bedrooms, in pristine condition. Oh, except that the gate had recently been torn off its hinges, and various shrubs in the front garden had been trampled into the ground.

  Ellie envisaged a herd of elephants – no, children – rampaging through the garden, shattering everything in their path.

  The cab driver said, ‘You want that I wait for you, Mrs Quicke?’

  Ellie hesitated. How long was she going to be?

  A well-known figure came out of the house, using his remote to unlock a large car parked nearby. He was scowling. A well-built man, a man wearing his forty-odd years with panache, a man from whom you would not buy a used car. He had a smile as false as National Health teeth, but at the moment it was nowhere to be seen. Denis the Menace. The big car swallowed him up and he drove away, still in a temper.

  Ellie shrank back in her seat. She told herself there was no reason to be frightened, but for some reason, she was.

  ‘Summat the matter, missus?’

  ‘Not really. Yes, do wait for me. I won’t be long.’ She’d better have backup. If this Mrs Summers were in league with Denis, then it was only sensible to keep the driver waiting.

  She rang the doorbell. Sweet chimes. She couldn’t place the tune, but thought she might recognize it if she heard it again. The house was quiet. The boys had departed. She was, of course, arriving after the time slot she’d been allocated. Perhaps Mrs Summers had also gone out already?

  A woman opened the door, saying, ‘Forgotten something? Oh.’ She stepped out, looking down the road. ‘Oh dear. Has he gone already? He was going to give you a lift.’ Mrs Summers was a skinny woman in a skimpy dress. She had a mess of taffy-c
oloured hair and was in her early forties, aiming to look thirty. She wore a lot of heavy gold rings and two gold bracelets, plus hoop earrings.

  Ellie said, ‘I know you from somewhere, don’t I?’

  ‘Probably. I used to work part-time at the 2Ds Estate Agency, and you came in once or twice, didn’t you? I’ll give him a ring, tell him you’ve arrived at last. He’ll come back for you, I’m sure.’

  ‘Don’t bother. I’ve got a cab waiting for me outside, and I’ll catch up with Denis later.’

  ‘Well, come on in, then.’ The woman was nervous, perhaps embarrassed, but not showing signs of guilt. ‘Like a cuppa? Sorry about the mess.’ She led the way into a through lounge and dining room, sparkling with new paint and the very latest wallpaper. The furniture was also expensive and up to date, but showed evidence of a recent rough house . . . or of four bully boys tearing the place apart.

  Mrs Summers picked up a cushion and chucked it back on to the sofa. ‘I’m looking after my ex-boss’s kids in the mornings.’

  ‘You have my sympathy. I’ve met them.’

  The woman laughed, reddening. ‘Oh, they’re not so bad, really, and Denis said he’d compensate me for them wrecking my vegetable patch.’ She gestured to the French windows at the back, which were open and gave on to a garden which looked as if a tornado had burst through it. Runner-bean sticks had been torn up, with the plants still clinging to them. Marrows had been trampled into mush. Ripe tomatoes had been thrown against a circle chalked on the fence.

  Ellie said, ‘Oh dear.’

  Mrs Summers pulled a face. ‘Yes, but Denis and I go back a long way, and he’s promised to make good any damage. Since my hubby passed on and the work at the agency dried up, I’ve been at a loose end. Might as well keep busy, don’t you know? In the afternoons I’ve even been doing some cold calling on the phone. Tiring, that. People are so rude, you can’t imagine. I usually pop over to see my sister in Islington on Wednesday afternoons, which was why I asked you to call earlier. Their mother collects the boys at one, takes them for tennis lessons. Then Denis dropped by specially to give you a lift back home.’