Check Mate: The third Posh Hits murder mystery (Posh Hits Murder Mysteries Book 3)

by Caron Allan

  Madison also bought herself a few new bits. I managed to gently thrust her in the direction of the current century and now she has a whole new range of outfits suitable for a woman only ten years older than she actually is instead of the usual thirty. Not only that, but she and I have matching hats! It’s been five years since I had a decent excuse to wear a hat! I feel quite excited about it.

  She revealed over lunch that, after dinner at our place the other evening, Nev walked her to her door, spent ten minutes fumbling with his glasses then tried to kiss her just as she turned away, so that he ended up kissing her ear.

  “But at least we were able to laugh about it,” she said, “He doesn’t seem nearly so nervous with me now. He has asked me to have dinner with him. Then he kissed me properly—it was—nice,” she said, looking down at her fingers playing with her teaspoon, and she blushed like mad. “He apologised afterwards for being too forward, but said he was overcome by his emotions.”

  Aww, Bless! I feel so proud.

  Saturday October 10th—8pm

  I thought it would never stop raining. And it’s definitely turned colder too. No one wanted to hang around outside the church admiring the scenery. Inside it was quite gloomy. I had forgotten how dark it is in there, even with extra candles and some heaters brought in to take the chill off the place, but on a dull and overcast autumn day, the small amount of external light barely seemed to penetrate the stained glass of St Thingamajigs. I’ve been feeling quite nervous—it’s a bit like a mini-wedding.

  Lill had helped a lady in the village with the flowers and the church looked pretty in spite of the gloom. All our loved ones were there—I was thrilled that Jess and Murdo made the trip from Scotland, even though they are going back in the morning due to Murdo’s commitments, and Mother and Whisper have flown over from the States, though they’ve got to go back Monday morning. I think I can put up with my mother for that length of time. Actually it’s been quite nice to see her, she has been wonderful with the children and hasn’t insulted Lill once. Such a change from her last visit. And Whisper has blossomed into quite a poised and confident young woman, for which I take all the credit, seeing as I advised her to drag Mother to America for University and also it was me who got rid of foul Desmond the step-parent slash child-molester for her last year. Not that she knows that, of course.

  My friends the Bryston-Harrisons came, as did the Blairs, and the Mayburys. People from the village came, Jacqueline and her parents and siblings, and of course Leanne (I must find her a nice man once her hormones and her divorce all get sorted), and Steve and Tyrone came. It was quite a squeeze actually, but at least it helped everyone to keep warm.

  The children were so excited. I had to keep reminding them not to run around the church shrieking, it was their first experience of a ‘big’ event. I wondered whether they’ve been christened. Matt wasn’t sure about Billy, but he said Paddy had been.

  Sadly, Tom, normally so placid and well-behaved, decided today was the day to be a ratbag. He grumbled constantly, and fidgeted and even in the middle of the actual service, did a massive belch. I felt myself blushing, but fortunately everyone just guffawed with merry laughter, and the service continued. He wailed when Nev took him in his arms, and when Nev gently sloshed a few drops of lukewarm water on his forehead, Tom screamed as if he had been scalded. Nev, shocked, almost dropped Tom, Matt stepped forward to provide support and off to my right, I heard Lill chuckle and say to Sid, “Just like ‘is father. Matt was just the same at his christening.”

  Which set my mind at ease. It was just another Hopkins thing then, so that was all right. As soon as it was all over, with some relief, Madison and Neville gave Tom back to me, and my son immediately fell asleep on my shoulder. Everyone relaxed.

  As we moved into the congregation to chat with our guests, I half-saw a movement in the shadows at the back of the church. I didn’t really understand what I’d seen, but I felt uneasy. As I turned to Matt, I saw his face taking on an angry look. He pushed past me and a few other people and hurried out of the church. I didn’t know why, I just felt a vague sense of discomfort. Something was not quite…

  I heard shouting from outside, and people started to turn and look, murmuring and commenting to one another. Sid went out to investigate, and Lill turned to look at me but I could only shrug my shoulders and shake my head. I was about to go after him, but Paddy slipped on the step and fell. I bent to help him up, and shushed his cries, rubbing his knee and kissing him. By the time I was able to get through the people and out to the door, Sid and Matt were on their way back. Matt, still clearly angry, went to toss something in the bin.

  Sid was still looking around, as if he was checking for something. I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “What is it? What happened?” I asked. Lill had joined me, but it was my friend Daphne Maybury who answered.

  “Well, I’m not sure, dear, but I think it was Monica, wasn’t it? Your friend?” Daphne looked troubled, and shook her head. “Not very nice to wear black to a christening, I must say. Very poor taste.”

  I struggled to catch my breath. “Monica?” I said. “Here?”

  “Well, yes, dear. She was sitting right there at the back of the church. She came in after everyone else, didn’t she? Didn’t you see her? Did she leave without speaking to you or saying congratulations or anything? How odd. But she has been rather odd lately. Perhaps that’s why she was wearing that dress? Black lace. Black everything actually, hat, shoes, stockings, bag.” Daphne paused again, her forehead wrinkled as she tried to make sense of the puzzle. “I suppose she might have been on her way to a funeral. Perhaps that’s why she had the wreath. But you’d think she’d leave it in the car, wouldn’t you? It doesn’t look very nice, does it, bringing a funeral wreath to a christening.”

  I had started to drift away from her, longing for her to be quiet, longing for everyone to just go, so that I could get to Matt and ask him what had happened. Tom sighed and stirred on my shoulder, and Paddy, still sniffing from his tumble, clutched my hand. I looked around and saw with relief that Madison was cuddling Billy and chatting to Neville.

  Matt entered the church and his eyes met mine. I could tell he was still upset. His mouth was a grim line. He made his way over.

  “Where’s Billy?” he said, looking round.

  “Over there with Madison and Neville.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “What was—was it—her?”

  “Yes,” he said. “She left a little message for us. I tried to catch her, but she ran down the drive to her car. She was pulling away by the time I got there.”

  Sid and Lill joined us. Sid was somewhat red in the face, and as angry as Matt.

  “What—message?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “It was a funeral wreath, with a card attached, ‘In Deepest Sympathy’. If I’d got my hands on her…I threw it in the rubbish bin in the churchyard.”

  Neville came over. “Well, that went off awfully well, I thought,” he said, and jolted us all out of our thoughts. He seemed to realise something was amiss, though, for he paused and looked from Matt to me then back again, questioningly.

  With a huge effort, I turned to him with a smile, and said, “yes, Neville, it was a lovely service, thank you so much. I’m sorry he decided to play up a bit. Um, I hope you’ll come back to the house for a buffet lunch and drinks?”

  Monday October 12th—9.30pm

  Now Mother and Whisper have gone, and the weekend is behind us and I finally have a moment to reflect on what happened.

  The children are all in bed, and Sid and Matt are watching football on the TV with a carton of beers and plate of sausage rolls, and in the family room, Lill is watching her stories, quaffing leftover wine and hors d’oeuvres. So here I am in the dim lamplight of the garden room. I’ve got Darcy one side and Bingley the other, snoring, both of them.

  I’m thinking about the day. All I can remember of my son’s Chris
tening is that he belched, and Monica showed up wearing black. Nothing else seems to have stuck in my brain.

  Why did she come? What did she hope or plan to achieve? Was she going to upset me just by being there? If so, why go without speaking to me? Had she planned some kind of attack? Again, if so, why leave before doing what she came to do? I don’tunderstand. I’m really quite upset about the whole thing. Should I go and see her? I just can’t make up my mind. But of course, the day after tomorrow, I’m off to London with Billy.

  Tuesday October 13th—4.30pm

  We’re going off on our trip tomorrow, after Billy’s opened her cards and presents. All the packing is done and everything is ready. In fact, everything is fine, apart from one thing that is bugging me.

  Should I take it?

  I can’t decide. I think I’ll have to take it, because now that Sid’s put the thought in my head, I can’t leave the gun at home—what if Monica somehow manages to do—something, I don’t know what she might do or even how she might do it, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that if anything, anything, ever happened to my little girl, I could never, ever, ever forgive myself if I failed her just because I didn’t have my gun.

  And that means a huge bag. And lugging around a huge bag the whole time, which means an aching shoulder and feeling grumpy, feeling bogged down as I carry this luggage around with me all day, but dammit, it’s got to go into a zippy pocket—I can’t have it falling out on the counter in Harrods or sliding out and under one of the kiddie tables in McDs, possibly shooting a few Mammas in the cankle as it does so.

  Later: 7pm

  Okay, so I’ve thought of this. What if I take the massive bag with the gun and also very cleverly take a teeny little purse (one of Steve’s!) so that if everything seems okay, and safe, and it feels like the best thing to do, I can ditch the suitcase and trip about with my teeny purse all light and flighty?

  Hooray, a workable solution!

  Wednesday October 14th—4.25pm

  Billy is so excited. She keeps telling everyone she is a big girl now. She was up at the crack of dawn. So we had family breakfast at seven o’clock, and she was allowed to open her cards and presents afterwards, as a very cross and resentful Paddy had to get ready for school.

  Then we left at about eleven o’clock for the drive up to London. Sid took me to one side and told me to be extra careful. I promised him I would. When the others were getting Billy comfy in her kiddie-seat, Sid asked me if I had the gun on me; I told him no, I was hardly going to carry the gun on me when I had Billy in the car. He looked upset.

  “What if that woman comes after you?” he said. There was no time for me to respond as Matt came to kiss me goodbye, and Jacqueline and Lill stood by the car ready to wave as we drove away.

  The hotel staff, the restaurant staff, and everyone are all just cooing over her all the time. She has behaved like the perfect little doll ever since we arrived. Without her, I’d be the youngest one in this place. I thought it was supposed to be so swanky and cool and up-to-the-minute, yet it’s full of geriatric tourists with cameras hung around their necks like survival equipment.

  Plus all these old biddies keep looking at me sideways because when they see Billy’s lovely afro, they think I’ve done it with a black man. LOL.

  She’s having a nap, the little poppet. We had lunch at McDs on the way here, then as soon as we arrived, we went to look at our room, which obtained her approval. We’re sharing, of course, which she seems to think is wonderful. She had a jump on the bed and found it satisfactory. And even by our standards the bathroom is luxurious. So we had a little rest then went down to have a lovely swim in the hotel pool followed by a sauna, which Billy didn’t like too much so we gave that up as a bad idea, and went for a milkshake instead. And then it was time for our mani-pedis.

  It was the funniest thing. Every time the beautician tried to paint Billy’s toe-nails it made her giggle. Which soon had us all giggling. Which meant it took twice as long to get finished, and all the salon staff came in to watch. Then when we were finally done, and were coming back to our room to have our nap before dinner, she wouldn’t wear her shoes or socks, and she showed her fingers and toes to everyone we met. Several elderly American ladies had a little sentimental weep at how cute she is, and a German couple took her photo to show to someone or other when they get home.

  Anyway. So now she’s asleep. I thought it would be a good idea to get her to rest as we’re having dinner at a grown-up time. Then we’re going for a trip in an open-top bus and a ride down the river on one of those gorgeous boats with a little orchestra playing lovely old songs. It should be heaven, and I can’t wait to see it all through Billy’s gleaming eyes.

  Later: 6.45pm

  We got the sweetest little Mother-and-daughter pink shoulder bags. Only £240 for the two. Well, I say only. I suppose that’s quite a lot of money really. As soon as I start thinking to myself, Matt doesn’t need to know about this, I know I’ve spent too much. That’s my gauge.

  But it was worth the price just to see Billy’s grown-up checking to make sure she’d closed her bag properly and trying to position it just right on her shoulder before she tucked her hand in mine and gave me that big smile that says it all. Just in front of us was a girl of about nine or ten with a similar bag in lilac, arm in arm with her mother. Billy looked at me and grinned again as if to say, ‘I’m a big girl now!’ Aww.

  Made a promise to myself to spend some quality time with the boys when I get home—it’s just so easy and pleasurable to do girly things with Billy but it’s made me realise that they often get overlooked in my hurry to spend time with her.

  Anyway, now we’re just having a breather and a coffee—Billy is flinging herself around with gay abandon in the store’s soft-play area whilst I ‘mind’ the bags. I’ve bought her a little purse, shaped like a rabbit, nice and kiddie-friendly, and I’ve popped a few bits of change in there—she is so proud.

  Watching her over the rim of my cappuccino, I realise how tall she is now. She’s just executed a perfect cartwheel—not bad for a four-year-old.

  I wonder what the future holds for her?

  Thinking back to my ‘crisis’ the other week, when I felt so bad about myself and felt I was a curse to all who know me, I marvel at how distraught I was, when today everything seems so wonderful. To think I wasted even a second agonising over killing Billy’s useless father. That drugged-up, abusive waste of humanity. He deserved to die. Without his death, Billy would still be wearing filthy pyjamas, a half-starved, terrified little scrap just as she was when she first came to us about a year and a half ago. It’s too terrible to contemplate.

  No, Matt’s right. I am a good person. And to prove it, I will tackle this Monica situation once and for all and we can all then move on, putting all the misery of the past behind us.

  Billy is waving to me—she wants me to watch her walk along a balance beam. Perfect child.

  Thursday October 15th—5.30pm

  We had huge fun this afternoon at the fashion show. I was worried Billy would get bored or would want to run off and play, or something, but not a bit of it. If anything her attention was even more intense than mine.

  To begin with, I had assumed that, as it was a show of fashion for 0-10-year-olds, that there would be loads of other kiddies there—but no! Billy was the only child under about twelve in the place.

  And of course everyone kept smiling and waving at her, and nudging their friends and whispering and pointing at her. And she was as always the perfect little angel.

  She sat bolt upright on her chair next to me, feet crossed neatly at the ankles, back straight as a board, as she carefully perused the programme.

  I knew she was mainly interested in accessories, and thought she might well become fidgety and bored by the clothes, especially the boys’ range.

  But no, she remained rapt throughout as if she was watching a Disney film at the cinema. There were a couple of items—a blouse and dress—that really caught he
r eye. And at the end she jumped up and clapped ecstatically along with the rest of us.

  Then Donatella Versace came over and introduced herself, asking if she could meet Billy which was a terrific shock, and of course the cameras were flashing all around as Billy stood up and smiled sweetly and holding out her hand, said “how do you do?” in a terrifically posh voice (that sounded a wee bit like me—do I really sound so snooty?), adding “I’m B’linda and I’m four years and one day old.” And people were trying to crowd round to see what was going on, and getting out their phones to Snapchat Billy and Ms Versace. Ms Versace handed me her card, saying she had been watching Billy from the wings during the show and that ‘simply everyone’ was talking about the little angel sitting in the front row.

  Was gobsmacked when D V herself asked whether Billy had any modelling experience and which agent she was with, and when would she be available?

  I know it seems like a fabulous opportunity, but it is such a pressured profession, and Billy is such a sweet, bubbly happy little person with many talents, so it’s not something I could just agree to without some discussion at home. D V wrote her private mobile number on the back of her card and pressed it back into my hand saying, “phone anytime, I’m very keen to discuss this further.” Then they lavished lot of freebies on Billy, which was obv the best bit of all.

  Wow, what a day! Texted Lill and Matt and told them. Matt texted back “who’s Donatella Versace?” But when I was about to have a heart attack he said he was just kidding. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said. Which means no, I should imagine. Not that I mind. It feels a bit too big a step for a child of Billy’s age.