Murder My Neighbour

by Veronica Heley

  ‘This is Mrs Ellie Quicke speaking. I’ve been away and only just opened the letter from you and the enclosure from Mrs Pryce. I shall have to think about whether I can accept the legacy because it has strings attached. May I ask who the other executor is to be, and whether or not he has accepted the job?’

  His voice went from chilly to warm. ‘I am the other executor. Mrs Pryce was one of my father’s clients. He was a good friend of hers till his arthritis made it necessary for him to retire. She was not sure at first if I would be mature enough to work for her – as I’m only in my late forties – but eventually agreed to give me a trial. I am truly sorry to hear of her death.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Ellie, with feeling. ‘May I ask whether you agreed with the way she disposed of her estate?’

  A dry tone. ‘I have been familiar with the family for many years, and so was my father before me.’ Meaning he knew what bloodsuckers they all were and how difficult it was to be even-handed when dealing with them. ‘And of course, your charity is a shining example of what can be done to help people without causing them to lose their independence. I can’t think of anyone more suitable to carry out Mrs Pryce’s wishes.’

  Hm. Flatterer. ‘Well, I’m not going to act hastily. I have to think whether or not I can manage to take on so much extra work. In the meantime, did you know that the police plan to open Mrs Pryce’s safe this afternoon? Would it be appropriate for you to attend?’

  ‘Very much so. Let me know when and I’ll be there, even if it means cancelling an appointment. I look forward to meeting you, Mrs Quicke.’

  Ellie went along to Thomas’s study to tell him about the solicitor’s letter and found him talking on the phone while operating his computer with his free hand. There was no sign of his part-time assistant. The little cat was curled up in Thomas’s in tray, fast asleep.

  ‘All right?’ he mimed at her.

  ‘Fine,’ she mimed back. He was busy, and a couple of hours this way or that wouldn’t hurt, would it? She looked in every room on the ground floor. The door to the dining room was open, but there was no sign of Midge. Ah, yes. He was sitting in the sun in the garden, ignoring them. Long might that last.

  The doorbell rang. Diana. ‘I must say, you don’t look very well, Mother!’

  ‘I had a disturbed night,’ said Ellie, leading the way to the sitting room. She wondered why she wasn’t frightened to be alone with her daughter. Was she overtired, or was this an answer to prayer? Or was it because Thomas was still in the house?

  Diana was looking pleased with herself. ‘Guess what!’

  ‘You’ve been thinking about what you tried to do, are deeply ashamed, and want to talk to me about it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She knew all right, for a tide of red swept up and over her forehead.

  ‘Do you expect me to overlook the fact that you tried to kill me?’

  A quick frown. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. That never happened.’

  ‘I remember it all too well.’

  Diana’s colour was fast returning to normal. ‘You have a vivid imagination, Mother. Let’s get down to business. I have the most wonderful proposition to put to you. It’s going to make you yet another fortune. How does that sound?’

  ‘I’m all ears.’ Ellie wondered if Ears had got her message yet.

  ‘You know the Pryce place? Of course you do. Think how terrible it would be if someone developed the site unsympathetically. They could put up a block of flats that would tower over you and destroy the peace and quiet of your garden.’

  ‘I doubt if a tower block would be allowed in this neighbourhood.’

  ‘Money talks, and such developments have been pushed through occasionally. So, my idea is this: you buy the place, and I’ll redevelop it for you with a block of low-rise flats which will be worth a mint. I’ll be taking all the worry off your shoulders, and you’ll have nothing to do but sit back and rake in the cash.’

  Ellie laughed, and then sighed. ‘Where does Evan Hooper fit into this neat little scenario?’

  ‘Well of course you’ll go through him to buy the place so he gets his cut, too.’

  ‘You get back into Evan Hooper’s good books by arranging the deal? What about your merger with his agency?’

  ‘The merger goes through if I pull off the deal for the Pryce house. This ticks all the boxes, and everyone gets what they want.’

  ‘One small problem, Diana. I haven’t decided yet what I’m going to do about it, but I’ve just heard that Mrs Pryce has left her house to me on the basis that I continue dishing out support to her family and friends.’

  Diana changed colour, from pasty to greenish-white. ‘Oh, come now! That’s ridiculous. Why would she do that?’

  ‘She married into a family of wastrels who can’t make ends meet but still expect her to keep them in style. She knew I’d been through much the same thing with you.’

  Diana flushed, and then paled again. ‘You’re saying I’m a wastrel?’

  ‘You’ve bought and sold, and inherited three properties so far, yet you say you’re on the verge of bankruptcy—’

  ‘Well, yes. Because Denis—’

  ‘Tell him to get lost. Tell him you’ll sue him if he drops out of working for the agency.’

  ‘He’s in jail, for heaven’s sake. He isn’t exactly dropping out of his own accord.’

  ‘It’s his own fault he’s in jail. You have a good case. You may be in debt for other reasons, such as the extravagant purchase of a new car—’

  ‘It’s necessary to keep up appearances.’

  ‘Not to that extent. Downsize, Diana. If you sell either your flat or the house I gave you, that should clear your mortgage and your debts.’

  ‘I don’t see any reason why I should when you’re sitting on a pile of gold.’

  ‘It’s not your pile of gold, Diana. It’s never going to be your pile of gold. All the money I’ve been given is for me to look after and disburse for those in need. It’s called stewardship. The money is not yours, and it’s not mine. I’m merely looking after it as best I can. You’ve had your whack, and what have you done with it? Spent it, frittered it away. Now you want me to entrust you with yet another property? No.’

  ‘But this is my chance to get into the big time.’

  ‘You’ve had umpteen chances to get into the big time and blown them all.’ Ellie raised her hand to stop Diana bursting into speech. ‘How many times in the past have you asked for capital and been given it? And still you ask for more? You say you’re now in debt. Forgive me; but I’m not sure I believe you.’

  ‘How dare you!’

  ‘I dare,’ said Ellie, tired to the point of not caring what Diana did or said, ‘because that’s the pattern of your life and I don’t see you breaking it.’

  ‘But I promised Denis—’

  ‘Who conned you beautifully, didn’t he? Well, he himself has broken more promises than a serial bigamist so I don’t suppose it matters. No, Diana. Not a penny more. I don’t know whether or not I shall accept Mrs Pryce’s legacy; I haven’t decided yet. And no, I don’t know what will happen to it if I decline the honour. I suppose she had a back-up plan; probably to appoint a guardian of some kind to administer the estate on behalf of her family. But as far as you’re concerned, enough’s enough. Downsize to get rid of your debts, go to work for Mr Hooper and earn yourself an honest penny for once.’

  Diana’s voice rose. ‘Are you saying I’m not honest?’

  ‘You’ve always cut corners in the past, but Evan Hooper’s a shark and he’ll be right on to you if you start that with him.’

  ‘You can’t throw me to the wolves just like that.’

  ‘He’s a shark, not a wolf. Though I dare say he’s been called both in the past. And that’s enough for today, Diana. I had a bad night, I’m tired and I’ve got a lot on; not least helping the police with their enquiries, as they say.’

  ‘That snake Thomas has been filling you up with lies about me, hasn’t he? Well, I
’m not going till we’ve thrashed this out.’

  ‘Talking about me?’ Thomas stood in the doorway, not quite smiling, with the little kitten clutched to his shoulder. How long had he been standing there, and how much had he overheard?

  ‘She’s just leaving,’ said Ellie, feeling how hollow a victory it was when you had to cut one of your own family down to size. Depressing, very.

  ‘I’ll see her out.’ Thomas held the door open for Diana, who said, through her teeth, ‘We’ll continue this another time.’ And stalked out.

  The phone rang, and Ellie picked it up.

  ‘Mrs Quicke? You were supposed to come down to the police station this morning to see if you could identify your treasures. What kept you?’ Ears, of course.

  Ellie looked at her watch. ‘I can be there in half an hour. Meanwhile, you got my message about Mrs Pryce’s house? She didn’t leave it to me free of strings and I’m not at all sure I’m going to accept. However, I understand you have an expert ready to open her safe today, and I think her solicitor and I should be there to protect our interests. What time shall we meet you?’

  ‘Three. The safe expert can’t be there till then.’

  Ellie put the phone down, sighing. What she really wanted was time to sit down and think about this and that . . . and Diana. Meanwhile, she supposed she’d better get down to the police station and claim her property. Always supposing it was hers.

  ‘Thomas; some good news, some bad. The kitten belongs to a house up the road and they’re coming to retrieve it. Can we put her somewhere safe for the time being? And have you the time to come down to the station with me? They want us to identify our property . . .’

  He went with her, and indeed the police had found her property. So that was one bright ray of sunshine on an otherwise gloomy day.

  Monday afternoon

  Ellie waited by the gateposts of the Pryce house for someone to let her in. There was no sign of the police as yet, but a dumpy, dark little man was sitting in a van which he’d parked by the garage doors. Was he the safe expert?

  The sun had hidden itself behind clouds. Ellie shivered. Two deaths had taken place here in recent months. The house would need to be spring-cleaned of its dark memories before it could be occupied again . . . or perhaps it would be best to tear it down and build low-rise flats on the site, retaining as much of the garden as possible? Fritz could be given a contract to look after it. She found herself smiling at the thought of Fritz. She wondered whose garden he was working in that afternoon.

  An ancient but well-polished car drew up in the road outside, and a tall, gaunt man bent down to help a woman out. Would this be Edgar, the stepson? Another ginger-top.

  Edwina had got a new black outfit for the occasion. Of course. How was she paying for her clothes now Mrs Pryce was no more? Almost, Ellie pitied the woman, who looked as if she’d shrunk a dress size or two. The black-gloved hand that she laid on her brother’s arm was shaking. Black gloves on a summer’s day? She presented a picture of Grief with a capital G. As well she might. Neither brother nor sister saw Ellie.

  A police car drew up, and Ears got out. Predictably, he turned his bad temper on the two Pryces. ‘What are you two doing here? Don’t you realize this is a crime scene?’

  ‘Haven’t we every right to be here?’ demanded Edwina, touching a lace-edged hankie to her lips. ‘When our solicitor told us what you were going to do today, we decided we had to be present. This was our family home, remember? Sullied for ever by the death of our dear ones.’

  True, of course; if a trifle overdone.

  Ears said, ‘What about young Terry? Is he coming, too?’

  Edwina pressed the hankie to her temples. ‘It seems he’s fallen out with the friend he was living with and is moving to alternative accommodation today. Mr Greenbody will keep him informed of developments.’

  Mr Greenbody had been busy, hadn’t he? Was it good news that Terry and his ‘friend’ had parted company? Probably. How badly was he into drugs and in debt? Ought he to go into a rehabilitation programme; how much would it cost, and would it work? Again, Mr Greenbody would know.

  Ears scowled at Edwina. ‘Well, I suppose it’s all right if you stay in the background and don’t interfere.’

  Edwina spotted Ellie as she approached the house, and her voice rose into a shriek. ‘You, here? Have you come to gloat? How you have the nerve to show your face here, I do not know! Heaven alone knows what lies you told Mummy so that she’d make this place over to you, but—’

  ‘Hush, Edwina!’ Her brother frowned, casting a quick enquiring glance at Ellie . . . to see what she was like?

  Ellie didn’t know what to say, so kept quiet.

  Edwina tossed her head. ‘You may well cringe, Mrs Quicke. I’m not one to be mealy mouthed when faced with sin. Yes, sin! I hope your conscience torments you night and day.’

  Ellie was overtaken by a desire to giggle, but managed to subdue it. Now she knew exactly what to say. ‘It’s only natural for you to be upset. I’m sorry to say I only met your stepmother the once.’

  Edgar seemed to dislike scenes, as indeed most men did. ‘Calm down, Edwina. Remember that our stepmother trusted Mrs Quicke to look after you in future.’

  Two more well-polished, new cars drove up behind the Pryces; one was a size larger than the other. The smaller car disgorged a woman in black, who had ‘personal assistant’ written all over her. She was carrying a laptop and a briefcase.

  From the larger car leaped a sandy-haired, compact little man who bounced over to the brother and sister and shook their hands, uttering the usual condolences. Ah, so this was Mr Greenbody? Mm. He looked competent and clever. An excellent combination.

  The sandy-haired man spotted Ellie and shook her hand. ‘Greenbody, junior. Delighted to meet you. Have heard so much. Just the person to sort out this mess, yes?’ He bounded up the steps at Ellie’s side and produced keys to let them into the house. Had he got the keys from the estate agents? Or had Mrs Pryce let him have a set?

  Ears and the DC followed him into the hall, gathering up the dumpy little safe expert on the way.

  Edgar had to tug on his sister’s arm in order to get her moving, and Ellie brought up the rear with Mr Greenbody’s PA.

  Ellie’s eyes went to the stains on the floor at the foot of the stairs, and she shivered. You could never really get blood out of parquet flooring, could you?

  Edwina was still playing the tragedy queen. Hand to forehead, she pointed to the stain. ‘Was this where my darling daughter . . . ?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Ears, shifting from foot to foot. ‘And we’ve a warrant out at this very moment for the man we believe was responsible.’

  Edwina let out a piercing scream. It echoed through the house. Was she going to have hysterics? ‘Who was it? Who? I demand to know who killed my only child! It was that ghastly Terry, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No, madam,’ said Ears, beginning to look just a trifle frazzled. ‘It was not. You will be informed in due course.’ For once, Ellie sympathized with Ears.

  ‘Shush, now.’ Edgar spoke mechanically, his eyes going around the hall and up the stairs. Was he curious to see where his niece had died? Had he been fond of her, given her presents as a child, watched her grow up and even been proud of her? Or was he remembering his youth in this house?

  On closer inspection Ellie could see that Edgar had not aged well; not even as well as his sister. Had he lost weight recently? He could have done with a haircut, and his clothes hung loosely on him. His skin was pitted with old acne scars.

  ‘This way,’ said Ears, impatient as always, indicating the door to the television room. Ellie and Mr Greenbody followed the others in. The panelling still hung in shattered pieces.

  The safe-cracker said, ‘Ah yes. Our firm installed this safe, and we keep records, naturally. This type is not difficult to . . . but it may take some time . . . does anyone know the birth date of our client?’

  ‘Twenty-fifth of September, nineteen twenty-fiv
e.’ That was Edgar.

  Ellie was surprised, and then remembered Vera saying Mrs Pryce had always remembered his birthday and he’d always remembered hers.

  ‘It’s a long shot but sometimes clients use . . . ah. Got it.’

  There was a click, and the safe door swung open. Everyone leaned forward to look.

  TWENTY

  Monday afternoon

  ‘It’s all there!’ cried Edwina and, turning to her brother, broke into noisy tears. DC Milburn donned plastic gloves. One by one she lifted a number of leather boxes of different shapes and sizes out of the safe. Next came a large, locked metal box and a couple of wrapped bundles which clinked. Finally, she withdrew two paintings in ornate frames encased in bubble wrap.

  Edgar said, ‘We always had the silver candlesticks out at Christmas. The oil paintings used to hang in the dining room; Father bought them from Sotheby’s. The metal box contains financial papers. The square green leather box contains a French carriage clock. The other boxes are for the odd bits and pieces of jewellery and silver from her family and ours which she’d long since stopped using but didn’t want to sell.’

  Edwina reared up, her face blotchy, her hands turning into claws as she advanced on Ellie. ‘They’re our family’s things, and you shan’t have them!’

  Ellie wanted to say that she didn’t want them or anything to do with the Pryce family, but wasn’t given the chance to speak before Edwina leaped at her. Mr Greenbody, ever on the alert, pulled Ellie back out of striking distance.

  Edgar caught his sister by the shoulders and hauled her off. ‘Come on, now; it’s not her fault.’

  ‘Whose fault is it, then? Did my poor Evangeline die in vain?’

  ‘Well,’ said Ellie, goaded beyond endurance, ‘her death certainly saved the country the expense of a trial and prison sentence, didn’t it?’

  Ellie’s words trickled away into silence.

  Ears gaped. So did most of the others. Only Mr Greenbody looked as if he were enjoying the moment.

  ‘How dare you!’ whispered Edwina, hankie to mouth.