by JL Merrow
The whole place had that over-sweet, fake flowery smell you get from air fresheners. It was getting right up my nose. The sofa was predictably hard, and if we’d been hoping for a cup of tea, it looked like we were going to be disappointed. Then again, seeing as she was a suspect in a poisoning case, maybe that should be “relieved”.
I thought I’d better follow Phil’s lead, seeing as this was his area. Since he was apparently going for the intimidating-silence tactic, this meant we all just sat there like a whole bloody crate of lemons for several minutes.
Margaret cracked first. “Well? I thought you had some questions you wanted to ask?”
Phil nodded. “Did you go to the party at the Old Deanery?”
“Naturally. Although the short notice was most inconvenient. I barely had time to get the baking done.”
The baking? “Hang about,” I burst in. “You’re one of Greg’s cathedral ladies?”
She looked at me frostily. “I’m a sidesperson at services, yes.”
“Which means?” Phil looked a bit uncomfortable at confessing his ignorance. He ought to leave that sort of stuff to me.
The ignorance, I mean. Definitely not the church stuff.
“I greet the congregation as it arrives and welcome them to the service,” Margaret explained impatiently.
Bloody hell. No wonder church attendances were declining.
Margaret sniffed. “Why don’t you ask Hannah what she was doing at the party?”
What? I sat forward. “Hang on, Hannah was there?”
“Of course she was. You think she’d miss any opportunity to see Gregory?”
This was doing my head in. “You mean she was sweet on him? Bit masochistic going to his engagement party, then, wasn’t it?” If she’d been there. I wasn’t sure I trusted Margaret as far as I could throw her, and I’d always been pretty crap at javelin.
Course, with a nose that pointy, she’d probably stick in the ground all right… Oops. She was glaring at me. “Sorry, did you say something?”
“I said, she probably hoped to change his mind.” She sniffed again.
Should I offer her a handkerchief? Course, mine wasn’t all that clean. She’d probably faint with shock at the sight of my manky hanky… I just about managed to turn a snigger into a cough. “Sorry. Still, a bit desperate, innit?”
“She’s the sort of person who would read too much into the invitation.”
Phil coughed. Possibly to remind both of us he was still there. “When you say invitation…”
“Gregory telephoned us. At least, he telephoned me and said he would be doing the same to the rest of the circle, although I told him not to bother calling Morgan, as he would be coming with me, of course. I believe he—Gregory, that is—had some romantic notion of letting bygones be bygones, and having Cherry make her peace with us all. Well, we all saw how that turned out.”
Was she saying what I thought she was saying? “You mean, you think one of the Literati poisoned her?”
Margaret’s cheeks flushed livid, and she stood up abruptly. I stood too, automatically, then took a step back before that beaky nose could take an eye out. I heard Phil cursing under his breath as he heaved himself off the sofa to join us.
“How dare you?” Margaret snapped. “I said nothing of the kind. I might have known you’d be cut from the same cloth as your sister. This interview is at an end.”
Shit. “Wait—sorry, all right? I misunderstood. Benefits of a crap education. Look, just tell me what you did mean? Please?”
“I meant, that disgraceful exhibition of hers. Turning to drink, and then to dramatics. Gregory will come to regret tying himself to her, you mark my words.”
Anger shot through me, sharp and hot. “You know what? You were right. This bloody interview is at a sodding end.”
There was an exasperated rumble in my ear. “Tom…”
“You want to stay here while she insults my sister? Fine. You can do it on your own.” I stomped out of the room and was at the front door before I realized I was alone. Bastard. I hadn’t meant him to take me literally.
Slamming the front door behind me would have been childish and petty. Also unsatisfying, as it was ringed all round with foamy draught excluders. I took my frustrations out on Phil’s car door instead, then slouched in the passenger seat with my arms folded.
After five minutes or so, I started feeling like a bit of a prat, so I sat up, unfolded my arms and switched on the radio. I was just getting interested in a discussion of footballers’ salaries fuelling celebrity culture when Phil dropped into the driver’s seat. “Cooled down a bit, have we?”
“Eff off.” I glared at him, then rolled my eyes. “Get anything more out of her?”
“You mean apart from a rant about the disgraceful manners of the younger generation? Not really. Although she confirmed all the Literati were at the party. They were hanging out in the ‘family’ room while we were there, most of them.”
“Talking to Mrs. Tiggywinkle?”
“Something like that. I got the impression most of ’em felt a bit uncomfortable with all the High Church lot. Raz especially, she reckoned, although that might just be her prejudices.”
“So…if they were all together the whole time, they’re each other’s alibis?”
“Nah. There was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, she reckoned. Going for drinks and eats. Making sure no one was treading pastry crumbs into the Old Deanery carpets—that was Margaret.”
I nodded. “And Morgan was in the other room at least some of the time. Talking to me. So any of them could have nipped in and slipped the nicotine into Cherry’s glass while we were distracted by Richard and Agatha?” I tried again to think if I’d seen any of them, but to be honest, it was all a bit of a blur now. All I could really remember clearly was the stuff after Cherry collapsed.
“Yeah. It’s interesting, though.”
I waited, but he didn’t say what was interesting. Just tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and stared out through the windscreen. “Well, come on. Big secret, is it?”
“Greg invited the Literati to the party. He made a point of inviting them.”
Shit. “You think he did it as some sort of smokescreen? You think he’s the one who poisoned Cherry?”
“Not necessarily. But if it was him, he’d have to think it wouldn’t hurt to have a few more suspects in the place.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face. “Oh, bloody hell. Cherry’s going to be gutted if it turns out to be him.”
“Hey, I’m not saying it was him. Could still have been one of the Literati, making the most of the opportunity. And don’t forget, Margaret Pierce had more notice than the rest of them. More time to make plans.”
“Except she probably got straight on the phone to old Morgan, so we can’t rule him out.”
“Not ruling any of ’em out. Then there’s the Morangies.”
I turned to stare at him. “You don’t seriously reckon it could have been Morangie junior, do you?”
“Why not? At least there’s a motive there. If it was you the poison was meant for, that is.”
“Yeah, but it was Cherry’s party, not mine. They wouldn’t even have known for sure I’d be there.”
“Come on, you’re her brother. Course you’d be there. And with an open invitation like that, it was too good a chance to miss.”
“If they knew about it. Don’t you reckon Cherry might have noticed if she was friends with someone called Morangie? It’s not exactly a common name.”
Phil nodded. “And it’s not like anyone ever changes their name or lies about it or anything.”
“Git. Nah, I’m not buying it. It’d have to be taking the premeditated bit a bit far, wouldn’t it? How would they know they’d have to hide who they were all that far in advance?”
“Just because you didn’t know about the will or your auntie being ill doesn’t mean nobody else did.” Phil tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe Morangie’s been playing you and you
r sister all along. Maybe he’s already found the will. It’d fit with him making you that offer, wouldn’t it? And then when you didn’t accept, he knew he’d have to go a bit further.”
“Yeah, but… All this, for a house? Half a house, even. I mean, it’s a nice house, but it’s in Mill Hill, not bloody Mayfair.”
“You don’t know she’s left you half a house. Could be a fortune in bling for all we know.”
“Or it could be tuppence ha’penny. Sod it. Let’s go talk to Greg.”
“Hmm.” The steering wheel got another tapping while Phil’s gaze bored a hole in the windscreen.
I got fed up waiting for him to say something. “Hmm, what? I don’t speak Morse Code.”
Phil turned to look at me, brow furrowed. “What?” Then he shook his head. “I think we’ll leave Greg for now.”
“But we’re right here. He’s only, what, three streets away? Might as well cross him off our list.”
“No, I want to talk to your sister again first. Is she still at your mum and dad’s?”
“Dunno. I’ll give her a bell. We could get her to meet us somewhere, anyhow. She must be feeling all right by now.”
He gave me a look. “Worried about taking me home to meet your parents?”
It wasn’t exactly that I was worried about taking Phil to meet Mum and Dad. Well, not on their end, anyhow. I mean, they’d met Gary, so after that anyone I could think of to take round would probably come as a relief to them. Well, except maybe Darren. But Phil, well…
I wasn’t sure what I was worried about, really. He’d probably get on better with them than I did.
I frowned.
“Penny for them?”
“What?”
“These deep thoughts you’re having instead of phoning your sister.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, I’ll just give her a call.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts before realising I didn’t actually have her number. Shit. I really needed to get myself organised. I dialled Mum’s number instead.
The phone (landline, obviously) rang eleven times before she picked up and told me the number I’d just rung, in case I’d forgotten during the long wait for the answer. I’ve never quite worked out why she doesn’t just say “Hello” like everyone else.
“Mum? It’s me. Tom.”
“Oh? I didn’t recognise the number.” She sounded suspicious.
I wondered if I was about to be asked for the name of my childhood pet. (It was a goldfish called Chips, if you’re wondering, and I won him at the fair. I was thrilled; Mum and Dad less so, seeing as they had to fork out for a tank for him to live in. Given the number of times he somehow managed to leap out of his new home and land, flapping, on the carpet, I suspect he wasn’t too thrilled about it either.) “Yeah, calling on my mobile. You all right?”
“Well, you know. The usual.”
“Dad?”
“He’s been having some trouble with his knees, and I’m not sure the cortisone injections are really doing what they should…” There was another ten minutes or so in this vein, then a bit about the weather before she finally got round to, “Did you want to speak to him?”
“Er, actually I was ringing to talk to Cherry.”
“She’s gone home. I thought you’d have known.”
Triffic. “Thanks. I’ll try her there. Um. Can you give me the number?”
Mum reeled it off painfully slowly, waiting for me to say “yes” after every digit. “Ta. I’ll, um, give you a call when I’ve got more time to chat, all right?”
She ignored me. “I suppose Cherry told you about Laura?”
“Auntie Lol? Yeah. I was gutted. I mean, she was no age to go, was she?”
“No.” There was a pause. “Did you go to the funeral?”
“No—didn’t find out about it until it was all over.” I tried not to sound too bitter.
“Well, you know how busy Cherry is, with her career.” Mum’s tone was a bit vague, so maybe I’d succeeded.
“Yeah. Listen, I’d better go—”
Just as I was about to say good-bye, she sneak attacked. “Cherry told me you’re seeing someone.”
“Er, yeah.”
“She said it’s that awful boy from the council estate who put you in hospital. Although she didn’t quite put it like that.”
She didn’t? There was hope for Cherry yet. “Phil’s changed, Mum. And it wasn’t really his fault, the accident. You know it wasn’t.”
“All I know is that he chased you down the street, and then I got a phone call saying my youngest son had been hit by a car and was in intensive care.” I heard her take a deep breath. “They told us to be prepared for brain damage.”
Ouch. Way to wring the guilt muscles. “Mum… It was a long time ago. Water under the bridge.”
“Is this a serious thing?”
“Um. Sort of.”
“And are we going to meet him?”
“Uh… Look, I really need to give Cherry a call. We’ll sort something out, okay? You take care of yourself, and I’ll speak to you again soon. Love to Dad.”
I hung up and called Cherry quick before Phil could grill me about the conversation with Mum. Cherry answered on the first ring. She seemed keen enough for us to come over, so she must have been well bored. I supposed Greg was busy ministering to the flock. Or maybe shoving it off the cathedral roof and then stuffing it.
Chapter Nineteen
Cherry’s house was in the old part of Pluck’s End, near enough to the church that the bell ringers must give her a right ear-bashing in the summer. It was smaller than I expected and, well, cosier. You could probably get away with calling it a cottage if you were willing to be fairly elastic with the definition. There was no thatched roof and no roses round the door, but there was ivy climbing up the walls, and the front gate had a roof over it like they do in churchyards. I’ve never quite understood the point of that, but it always looks sort of quaint and rustic. Maybe that is the point.
The small front garden was well tended, but there were a trowel and a pair of gardening gloves in a discreet corner of the porch that suggested she did it all herself rather than pay someone to keep it nice. The porch itself was enclosed and had potted plants in it on shelves, including a healthy-looking variegated ivy that hung down and tickled the back of my neck as I rang the doorbell. Presumably she’d be moving out to go and live in the Old Deanery with Greg when they tied the knot. I wondered if she’d miss the place.
Cherry opened the door in a big, hairy man’s sweater—the sweater was hairy, I mean; I couldn’t vouch for the man—and, ye gods, leggings. The outfit took ten years off her, compared to her buttoned-up workwear.
“All right, Sis? You’re looking better.”
She gave a faint smile. “I should hope so. Come in. Phil, it’s lovely to see you again.”
“You didn’t last long at Mum and Dad’s,” I said as we wiped our feet.
Cherry rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t stand it any longer. I swear they have the thermostat turned up to thirty degrees. And the television’s always at full volume, because Dad won’t admit he needs a hearing aid. I’ve got loads of paperwork to catch up on, and it really wasn’t helping.”
The house was a little on the cool side, but when she ushered us into the living room, it was cosy enough. There was a real log fire laid in the hearth, and although it wasn’t lit, it gave the impression it could be, if you know what I mean. The furniture was a bit old-fashioned for my liking, but the fabrics were all in warm reds and golds, and the sofa, when I parked my arse on it, was way more comfortable than Morgan’s had been.
Plus, of course, it had the added advantage of Phil taking up space at the other end. Cherry took one of the armchairs and swung her legs up onto the seat beside her, like she used to do when I was little. I had a sudden flashback to her in a pink leotard and tights, back home from ballet class and with her hair up in a bun. She’d looked impossibly grown-up to my pre-school eyes, but she must only have been in her
early teens.
I blinked the memory away and waved at a gift basket of toiletries sitting on the hearth. It was all cellophane and curly ribbons, and even from a few feet away, the pungent smell of fruity bubble bath and body lotion and God knows what else was threatening to send me into a sneezing fit. “Greg been sending you welcome-home pressies?”
“Actually, it’s from the Literati.” She smiled, looking genuinely touched. “They clubbed together to get it. It was so kind of them, but the trouble is, I can’t use any of it.” She caught my look. “Allergies, remember? That’s why I’ve never been able to wear makeup. I was going to give it to Mum next time I go over there.”
Phil frowned. “I’d hold off on that if I were you. Better make sure none of it’s been tampered with.”
We stared at him in unison. “I don’t think Mum’s planning on drinking any of this stuff,” I said at last. “I mean, she may be getting on a bit, but last I checked she hadn’t gone completely gaga.”
“Doesn’t matter. Nicotine can be absorbed topically as well as by ingestion. How else did you think those nicotine patches smokers wear work? There was even a woman back in the forties who offed her husband by mixing the stuff with his aftershave.”
“Oh.” Cherry and I said it at the same time. It was a bit creepy, to be honest.
“Oh my God,” Cherry went on. “I could have killed Mum!”
“Look, we’re being a bit hasty here, aren’t we?” Voice of reason, me. “We don’t know there’s anything wrong with it.”
Phil frowned. “No, but we don’t know there isn’t, so until we do, no one touches anything in that basket. Who gave it to you?”
“Well, the card said it was from all of them. I found it in the porch when I got home.”
“Still got the card?”
