Murder for Good

by Veronica Heley

  The phone rang. She considered letting it go to voicemail but did eventually pick it up.

  ‘Mrs Quicke?’ A harsh voice. A man’s. ‘I’ve been waiting all weekend for you to call. What you up to, eh? Promising us you’d help, leading us on, and then letting us down. It’s people like you that stand in the way of people like us getting their rights and as for—’

  Ellie broke in. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘As if you didn’t know! You said, you promised us faithfully, and it’s not as if you didn’t do it before witnesses, because my sister was stood right beside me, and she’ll back me up if it comes to a tribunal—’

  ‘What are you talking about? Are you sure you have the right number?’ And yet, there was something knocking at the back of her mind. The caller’s heavy breathing reminded her of someone.

  ‘As if you didn’t know! I get your sort! You make promises and then pretend you never did anything of the—’

  Ellie got it. ‘Mr Pullin? Is that Bob Pullin?’ She’d gone to see the daughter … no, it was the stepdaughter, what had her first name been? … Of someone who’d left Thomas money.

  The memory trickled back in pieces. A neglected house, filled with old-fashioned furniture and littered with the rubbish left by a younger family member who’d been living there rent free. There’d been a downtrodden daughter, Dawn, who’d been trying to clean the Aegean stables – a task far too big for her to undertake – and yes, a bullying brother.

  Ellie remembered that she’d made an offer to help. She’d promised to give them a contract to sign in which she’d lend them some money to get professional cleaners in.

  Immediately after that, Ellie’s personal life had gone haywire: her daughter had tried blackmail; Monique’s funeral had been held; Thomas had been admitted to hospital; and she herself had been imprisoned at the top of the house.

  Bob Pullin was still talking, so Ellie overrode his complaint. ‘I’m so sorry. Yes, I should have got back to you. We had a death in the family and my husband was taken to hospital, but I ought to have let you know what was happening.’

  ‘Indeed you should! Here we’ve been all weekend, worrying ourselves sick, with my wife developing nervous spasms which meant she couldn’t go in to work and I had to take time off to look after her, and I tell you, I’m adding that on to the bill for you to pay.’

  ‘I’m truly sorry, Mr Pullin, but I am not responsible for your wife’s nerves. Now, this is my first day back at work. I’ll get on to my solicitor without delay and ask him to draw up a contract on the terms we agreed.’

  For the moment she couldn’t remember what terms they had agreed, but she was sure it would come back to her in a minute. ‘So, are you at work today? Give me a phone number where I can reach you when I’ve got the contract in my hand—’

  ‘You can’t expect me to work today, with my wife having panic attacks and our Bryony moving back in with her boyfriend. I’m telling you for nothing, my wife’s going to kill that boyfriend if he doesn’t keep his feet off our sofa that she’s just had recovered—’

  ‘I understand,’ said Ellie. As indeed, she did. How awful it would have been if Susan and Rafael had been such slobs!

  She remembered that she’d had some vague ideas about what the trust might do with the Pullin house when it came on to the market. Though it was not looking its best at present, it might be something the trust might buy, renovate and let out for student digs? Yes, that was it. The house was not far from the university and such accommodation was always in demand. Or yes, it could be turned into three flats if an extension were built on to the back to provide a kitchen and bathroom on each floor. She would have their surveyor visit and he could recommend which option they might take.

  Monique had left all that money to the trust, and surely this was the sort of proposition which she would have liked?

  ‘Mr Pullin, it is just possible I might know of a possible buyer for the property as it stands but—’

  ‘You think I’m such a fool as to fall for that? You’d buy it cheap at the poor price they put on it for probate, do it up and sell it for double the amount.’

  ‘No, no. The trust would give you a fair price. The benefit from your point of view is that you’d get your money more quickly than if you have to put the house in order before placing it on the open market. Also, you wouldn’t have to pay commission to an estate agent. Now, have you had a valuer round yet to look at the furniture? There are some decent bits which might fetch a bob or two for you in an auction.’

  ‘You think I’m made of money that I can spend money on a valuer? As for the probate value, everyone knows they undervalue, and we can get more than that on the open market.’

  Ellie tried not to grind her teeth. Was the man really so ignorant of what happened in such situations? ‘On the open market you would have to wait for a buyer to surface, preferably one without a chain. Now, I’m prepared to advance you the thousand pounds which your mother left to my husband, in order to clean up the house. If you don’t want to keep any of the furniture, you should get the house clearance people to take everything away. After that I suggest we get at least two valuations from local estate agents; one of your choice, one of mine, and we see if we can agree on a price. I suspect the place needs rewiring and replumbing, which will have to be taken into consideration. Now, you will want to consult your sister about this before—’

  ‘No need for that. I make all the decisions about whether or not to sell.’

  Ellie suspected that if Bully Bob were given half a chance, Dawn would see very little of the money from the house. ‘I have her phone number somewhere. I’ll ring her in a minute and put my proposition to her. If she says we should go ahead, we will have everything put in writing so that there will be no misunderstandings. Do you agree?’

  Well, of course he did. He had to, didn’t he?

  Ellie ended the call and crossed her fingers in the hope that the trust would in fact agree to buy. They’d never objected to any of her suggestions before, but there was always a first time.

  Someone loomed in the doorway. Rafael. He said, ‘Can you spare a minute? Thomas and I were going to see what it would look like if we moved his two desks from the library into the dining room, but we can’t see how to fit them in round the big dining table there.’

  Off the top of her head, Ellie said, ‘Take two of the leaves out of the table. That would make it small enough for you and Susan to use in the library.’

  ‘Of course!’ Rafael vanished, and soon Ellie heard laughter and humping sounds as the two men set about swapping furniture around.

  Ellie clutched her desk. Did she really want to lose her dining room? Fond memories surfaced of the early meetings of the trust, when they’d all been rather overwhelmed by the task of dealing with so much money. There’d been some heated discussions at times, much laughter, some triumphs and a few failures.

  If the big table went, then Ellie would have to find another space in which to hold the meetings of the trust. Perhaps not at home any more, but at the trust’s offices? In which case, someone would have to ferry her around. Or she could take a taxi.

  Everything was happening too quickly. She told herself that she had only to raise an objection and there would be no changes. Things would go on as before.

  At the same time, she knew very well that however much you might like to hold the clock back, you couldn’t really do so. She looked around at her study and realized that Rafael would need a study in the future and that this would be the best place for it.

  Another thing: theirs was a growing family and they were going to need three bedrooms in the future, whereas Ellie and Thomas would only need two. Which meant that the nice guest room must be included in their side of the house.

  Ah, but Ellie and Thomas could always use the one on the other side of the landing, which was en suite and had once been occupied by their old housekeeper, years ago.

  For a moment she felt quite dizzy.

  Then she tol
d herself that she could easily move her bits and pieces from her present study into the room off the kitchen, which had once been used as a sitting room by their old housekeeper. That room was slightly bigger than her existing study, which would be a plus factor.

  Oh, but the window looked on to the drive, and not the garden!

  Well, yes. But she would be nearer the kitchen and it would be easier to make herself a cuppa and dip into the biscuit tin.

  Ellie looked out on to the garden – it was raining again and the grass was growing shaggy – and accepted the necessity for change.

  She listened to the sounds of people going about their business in the house. Thomas and Rafael, laughing as they humped furniture, Susan singing to Fifi in the sitting room, Midge giving himself a good wash on top of her filing cabinet.

  And it was good.

  Over the next few days, the old library was transformed into a pleasant living room for the young family with the addition of: a three-piece suite, the reduced version of the dining table plus chairs, a coffee table, pictures and a gilt-framed mirror. Oh, and a huge television set. Some of the existing shelves received Rafael’s somewhat eclectic collection of books, and Susan placed family photographs in frames around, plus some odd bits and pieces of porcelain, a couple of not-too-modern landscapes and a large porcelain pot holding a fern … which Ellie warned them would die in the centrally heated room.

  The fern took no notice of what she’d said and thrived.

  Meanwhile the old dining room adjusted to becoming Thomas’s study and Quiet Room with some of the old library’s bookcases re-erected there. The room immediately resumed the air of slight disorder which characterized Thomas’s habitat wherever he went.

  Monday to Friday morning

  Ellie gradually worked through a long list of phone calls to make. First she contacted her solicitor about the Pullin house, which took some time. Then she phoned a locksmith to replace all the locks to which Hetty had retained the keys.

  She organized cleaners and a plumber to start on the Pullin house when the contract was signed, and made an appointment to visit Monique’s solicitor the following week. She spent time on the phone to the other members of the trust, updating them on what was going on.

  She put off phoning Lesley for some time, but eventually did so. ‘Is there any news on Hetty?’

  Lesley said she’d checked the wills of the people who had left Thomas money, and found that in four of those cases, Hetty had also been left some money. As far as the police were concerned, this meant that Thomas could rest easy and accept the monies he’d been given.

  Lesley added that they’d located the employment agency Hetty had been using, only to discover she’d left them without giving any notice. The police had tried the other local agencies, but there’d been no trace of the woman. No one seemed to know where she’d gone. It looked as if she’d left the area.

  Lesley said that, in view of the cuts to public services, et cetera, the file on Hetty would not be closed, but the police would not actively seek to find her.

  Ellie told herself that everything had worked out for the best, and that she should stop worrying. As a born worrier, she also knew that telling yourself not to worry never worked.

  She worried about Thomas, who managed to get the magazine off to the printers but wasn’t picking up as quickly as she felt he ought to have done. He hadn’t had a proper holiday for a couple of years and, although he talked about taking things more easily in future, he hadn’t done anything about it.

  Ellie also worried about Diana, who was being very quiet. Suspiciously so. There were no last-minute demands for Ellie to look after the children or to come up with money to support some new plan or other.

  She worried about how long Rafael and Susan would put up with the present makeshift situation. They had fitted into the household remarkably well. Thomas taught Rafael how to change nappies! Rafael himself was out and about most days, Susan helped Ellie run the house and did most of the cooking while little Fifi thrived. She was happy whoever she was with, provided she could see what was going on. Put her in a room by herself, and she wailed till rescued.

  Surely this state of affairs couldn’t last? Surely Susan needed a kitchen of her own? And Rafael and Thomas needed their own separate telephone lines? And at some point the boiler needed to be changed, which meant more upset and anyway, they would need two boilers in future, wouldn’t they?

  Worse was the fact that every now and then Ellie had flashbacks to the time she found herself locked in a room at the top of the house, when no one knew where she might be.

  She busied herself with work. Bob Pullin did actually bestir himself enough to get a valuer to look at the furniture in the house. This firm removed the few bits and pieces which were saleable and the house clearance people went in to deal with the rest.

  On Wednesday night Ellie, Susan and their two husbands had a long discussion about dividing the house into two separate residences. They sketched this proposal and debated that. Gradually, the beginnings of a plan emerged as to what needed to be done. The next thing was to take their tentative ideas to an architect.

  On Thursday the directors of the trust met in Ellie’s sitting room, trying to make room for papers and people around the gateleg table. It was agreed that in future meetings would be held at the trust’s offices, which might well need to expand to accommodate the extra work required in managing Monique’s money.

  It was also agreed that Rafael should be invited to join the board of trustees. Various other interesting matters were discussed, such as taking on the Pullin house and what the future might hold for Ellie’s big house in the years to come.

  Diana’s demand that she be a director of the trust was mentioned and dismissed without discussion.

  On Friday morning Ellie took her general manager and the trust’s surveyor to meet Bob and Dawn Pullin at their stepmother’s old house. First they needed to get the loan contract signed, and then Ellie and her staff had to consider whether or not the house might be a suitable project for the trust to take on. Agreement was quickly reached that the house appeared to be structurally sound, though in dire need of replumbing and rewiring.

  It was agreed that the trust would now commission an architect to produce plans for the place to be turned into three self-contained flats. Tentatively, agreement was reached with the Pullins on a possible price.

  Ellie left them to argue about details. She’d had enough of being businesslike and having to watch her words so that she didn’t offend Bob Pullin.

  She stepped out into the road. What next? Paperwork was piling up at home, and there was Diana’s problem still to be addressed, but it was a fine day for once, and she wanted to be out in the sunshine.

  She remembered Dawn Pullin saying that her stepmother had been at odds with an elderly neighbour. It would be only polite for Ellie to warn Her Next Door of the building work which was going to be necessary soon.

  A sprightly little lady of some eighty years or so answered the door. Ellie said, ‘I represent a trust fund which is proposing to buy the house next door and turn it into three flats. I’d like to apologize. I’m afraid there’s bound to be more disruption and noise before the house can be occupied again.’

  ‘Come in, come in. My name’s Jermyn, by the way. Not that you need to know, but that’s what it is. I find builders are always very helpful when I need a curtain rail put up that has come down, though my lodgers are good for changing light bulbs. I’m all alone today as they’re off on holiday; Ibiza is it, or Lanzarote? One or the other. I was just about to have a cuppa. You’ll join me, won’t you?’

  Mrs Jermyn’s house was a twin of the one next door, but better maintained and furnished. Ellie was taken down a cream-painted hall to a kitchen full of sunlight and modern equipment. Mrs Jermyn made Ellie a cup of instant coffee and switched off a radio which had been burbling away on a shelf on the wall.

  Ellie said, ‘I believe you used to get a lot of noise through that
wall. I hope the new people will be quieter, for your sake.’

  ‘These old houses. Well-built, but with odd spots where you can hear everything. Same as the bathroom upstairs. I sit there in the mornings thinking about things and everything’s quiet as a mouse and then, just as I reach for the toilet roll, I hear her next door unrolling hers. The front rooms are all right. We’ve got the two halls between. It’s just the kitchen and the bathroom upstairs. Mrs Pullin knew about it. Put her radio on that wall just to rile me. Turned the sound up. I used to go round and tell her at first but she didn’t take no notice, so I put my own radio on the shelf this side of the wall, and found a cassette I could start with the volume turned up high, and there was a battle between us sometimes, I can tell you.’

  Ellie had to laugh. ‘You came off best, I assume?’

  Mrs Jermyn beamed. ‘Some rock and roll used to do it nicely. Took me back to me dancing days.’

  ‘Her cats were a problem, too, I gather.’

  ‘I quite like cats, but they used to do their business wherever I planted anything out, and they killed a whole nest full of baby robins last year. Broke my heart, that did.’ Mrs Jermyn proffered a tin full of biscuits, most of them chocolate covered. Ellie accepted one with pleasure.

  Mrs Jermyn said, ‘I was sorry for her at the end, though. All that shouting. I thought she was having a row with someone in the family but apparently they all had alibis that night. The police thought I’d heard a soap opera on her radio instead. I said I knew the difference but they thought I was daft. It happens, when you get older. They think you’ve lost your hearing or your wits and shouldn’t be sitting in a big house like this but be tucked away in a home for the elderly and incontinent.’

  Ellie nodded. Yes, she knew that some people did think like that. She also recognized that Mrs Jermyn was nowhere near that state. ‘Tell me about it.’

  Mrs Jermyn sipped her coffee, which she took black without sugar or milk. Her eyes were on the wall behind her radio. ‘When you’re renovating next door, you might like to put some soundproofing material on that wall, upstairs and down.’