Death of a Prankster (14 page)

Melissa’s stomach felt as if she had just been dropped from a very great height without a parachute. Oh, dear thyme-scented villa on the Mediterranean, dear Costas and Juanita – gone for ever. She and Paul would work and scrimp and save for the rest of their lives. The fact that both of them earned very good salaries did not occur to her. What was a very good salary compared to millions? And what of all those clothes she had been studying in a copy of
Vogue
? In her mind’s eye, a white Rolls-Royce purred along the coast towards that villa carrying, not her, but Jan, selfish, greedy, clutching Jan.

Melissa raised her eyes and looked at Jan, who was sitting next to Paul. One of her bony beringed hands was fondly caressing Paul’s sleeve and Paul was giving her a myopic, doting look. Melissa had not been a virgin when she had gone to bed with Paul that day. She’d had one previous affair and one one-night stand. But now she felt, made unreasonable by fury, that Paul had seduced
her
with promises of money. He had
used
her. She pushed back her chair and got shakily to her feet.

‘You never meant to let me have any money,’ she shouted at Paul. ‘All the time you meant to give it to Mummy dearest. Well, I’m not going to marry anyone with an Oedipus complex. Stuff you and stuff your bloody mother.’

She slammed out and ran to her room and threw herself face down on the bed and cried her eyes out. After a while, she grew calmer. If anyone had ever told her that the very prospect of a lot of money would drive her mad with greed and dreams, thought Melissa, sitting up and wiping her eyes, she would not have believed it.

Down in the dining room, Charles was returning to the topic of Melissa. ‘I thought her a nice little thing,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought money would have meant that much to her.’

‘What about Titchy?’ demanded Betty.

‘I suppose so,’ said Charles ruefully. ‘But Titchy was different. She had an insecure, unstable sort of life. Now Melissa has a brain and a good job. Come to think of it, I rather fancy her myself, if you must know. I think you’ll find, Paul, that she didn’t mean a word of it. Girls don’t like chaps who are too tied to their mother’s apron-strings, not that I would know anything about that personally.’

‘I’m sorry for Paul,’ said Betty. ‘I think he’s well rid of Melissa. She reminds me of Titchy with that tarty hair.’

‘I wish you would all keep your noses out of my business,’ shouted Paul. ‘For Christ’s sake! One of us is a murderer. I thought that would be enough to occupy your minds.’

He walked out, leaving the rest of them looking at each other.

‘Yes, but we can’t think of that every minute of the day,’ said Charles at last. ‘The police are coming again tomorrow and then we should all be free to go our separate ways. I cannot tell you, Betty, Angela and Jeffrey, how deeply moved I am by your generosity.’

‘What’s this?’ demanded Jan, her voice shrill.

‘Oh, Lor’,’ said Charles. ‘Well, you’ll know soon enough. Betty, Angela and Jeffrey are going to make over a big chunk each of their fortunes to me.’

‘Why?’ demanded Jan, aghast.

‘Because, precious one,’ sneered her husband, ‘it’s only fair. He should have got the lot, you know.’

‘You fool,’ hissed Jan. ‘You bloody old fool.’ She stormed out.

‘Dear me,’ said Charles, raising his eyebrows. ‘I hope the ones of us left can pass the rest of the evening in peace and tranquillity. How is Jan getting back to London, by the way? You drove her up, Jeffrey.’

‘I’ll drive her back,’ said Jeffrey. ‘We’re still married.’

‘I’ll never understand you,’ said Charles in amazement. ‘You spit hate at each other and yet you continue to share the same bed, and now you’re driving her back. I owe you a lot, Jeffrey. I’ll escort her if you like.’

‘No, it’s all right,’ said Jeffrey. ‘She can’t frighten me any more. Funny, that. I’ve been married for years to a woman who frightened me.’

Paul was sitting beside Melissa on her bed, holding her hand. ‘You can’t mean you only wanted the money,’ he was saying.

‘Not at first,’ said Melissa drearily, ‘but then the prospect of it all went to my head. So good luck to you and Mother dear. I hope you will be very happy.’

‘I didn’t mean it,’ said Paul quietly. ‘I only wanted to show them you weren’t mercenary. I agree it would be foolish not to enjoy ourselves.’ His hand caressed the soft pink feathers of her hair. She shivered under his touch. Just before he had said that, she had begun to feel like her own woman again. But the dreams were rushing back in, the clothes, the villa, the servants, the old farmhouse … She gave a groan. ‘Go away, Paul, and let me think,’ she said. ‘I can’t think straight living in this house.’

He got up reluctantly. ‘Won’t you let me stay with you?’

‘Not tonight,’ said Melissa. ‘With luck, we’ll be allowed to leave tomorrow. I’ll know what I want as soon as I’m away from here.’

When Paul had left, Melissa washed and undressed and settled down and tried to sleep, tried to banish all those rosy, wealthy dreams, but they came thick and fast.

Paul had been down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He met Betty on the stairs. ‘You are well out of that engagement, young man,’ she said.

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ he said cheerfully. ‘In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s back on again.’

‘Why? Did you tell her you were keeping the money?’

‘Well, yes, some of it. But she’s not mercenary.’

Melissa was just drifting off to sleep when she heard someone entering her room. She had forgotten to lock the door! She sat up in alarm and then relaxed as she saw the dumpy figure of Betty Trent silhouetted against the light from the corridor.

‘You’ve had a horrid evening,’ said Betty, approaching. ‘I’ve brought you a nice glass of hot milk and I want you to drink it all up.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ Melissa’s eyes filled with tears at this unexpected piece of kindness.

‘Think nothing of it,’ said Betty gently, and she went out and closed the door.

One by one the guests at Arrat House shuffled down to the library, too anxious to protest at having been roused from their beds so early. All Enrico had told them was that they had been summoned by Constable Macbeth.

‘What’s it all in aid of?’ asked Charles. ‘And where’s Melissa?’

‘Enrico says she’s asleep and the copper says he doesn’t need her,’ said Jeffrey.

‘I don’t like the sound of that.’ Charles wrapped his dressing-gown more tightly about him. ‘I had a hope, you know, that we were all going to be told to go home.’

‘Fat chance,’ remarked Angela bitterly. ‘Dragging us down here at dawn.’

‘It’s nine in the morning,’ pointed out Jan. ‘Oh, I hear cars arriving. Here come the bloody reinforcements.’

Hamish Macbeth was waiting on the steps of Arrat House as Blair and his detectives arrived.

‘As I told you on the phone, I want you to listen to what I have to say to them,’ said Hamish, ‘and I think I’ll find your murderer for you.’

Blair thanked his stars that Daviot wasn’t going to be present. If Hamish made a fool of himself, then he would have all the pleasure of telling Daviot about it. If Hamish solved the murders, then, with any luck, he could claim the success as his own.

Everyone looked up nervously as Hamish, the detectives and two policemen filed into the library.

‘Quite a crowd,’ said Charles amiably.

‘Constable Macbeth has something tae say tae ye,’ said Blair, unable to keep a jeering note out of his voice as Hamish stood in front of the fireplace and faced them all.

‘The difficulty in solving this murder was always lack o’ motive,’ began Hamish. ‘You all, for various reasons, but mostly mercenary, wanted Andrew Trent dead. But one of you had the most powerful motive of all – mother love.’

With the exception of Betty, who was knitting furiously, they all looked at Jan.

‘No, not Mrs Jeffrey Trent,’ said Hamish. ‘Miss Betty Trent.’

Angela’s mouth fell open. Betty continued to knit.

‘Betty Trent gave birth to Charles in Perth twenty-eight years ago.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Charles.

‘Angela Trent was abroad for a long time. She did not know of the pregnancy. Andrew Trent did. He was appalled. He considered it a terrible scandal. He arranged for a midwife to deliver the baby and Betty was kept indoors before the birth so that no one would guess her condition. When the baby was born, he sold the house in Perth, bought Arrat House and a flat in London for Betty and her sister.’

‘But we had always been asking him if we could live in London,’ protested Angela. ‘Betty wrote and told me she had finally persuaded him. Betty would have told me if she were pregnant!’

All looked at Betty, but she knitted on.

‘I think you will find from Charles Trent’s birth certificate that Betty is his mother, father unknown. He was never adopted. Betty had to suffer seeing her father’s indifferent treatment of the boy, not to mention inflicting some of his terrible jokes on the child. But if she told Charles she was his mother, then not only would she be penniless but her son would inherit nothing. I believe that is what she
was
told.

‘The way she murdered Andrew Trent was like this. I think Andrew may have told her that he was going to leave Charles nothing. She had a great idea. She prepared the knife and then suggested to Andrew – who must have been furious with Titchy for having been accused by her of ruining those dresses – that instead of a dummy in Titchy’s wardrobe, why did he not hide there himself? And that’s the way she did it.

‘Titchy Gold was not going to marry Charles, and Betty poisoned her with an overdose.’

‘Wait a bit,’ interrupted Detective Jimmy Anderson. ‘Thon blow to the auld man’s chest was direct. I mean he must have been struck by someone of the same height if he was killed in the wardrobe.’

‘I’ve considered that,’ said Hamish, beginning to think bleakly that speculation was piling on speculation in his account of how the murder had taken place. ‘She would stand on a chair, once Andrew Trent was up in the wardrobe, and tie the mask on for him. When he turned round, she stabbed him.’

All looked at Betty, except Charles, who had his hands over his face.

Upstairs in her bedroom, Melissa struggled awake, yawned and looked at the clock. She got out of bed, noticing, as she did so, the glass of milk by the bedside. She had only sipped a little bit of it before deciding she had never in the past liked hot milk and nothing had changed. A skin was lying on top of the now cold milk and she shuddered in distaste before taking the glass into the bathroom and pouring the contents down the toilet. Then she washed the glass clean under the hot tap.

She felt much better than she had done for days. It was all very simple. She was not going to marry Paul. To get rid of all those silly dreams of wealth was like coming out of a nightmare. She would leave this terrible place and return briefly to her job while she found another as far away from Paul Sinclair as possible.

Melissa searched through her small stock of clothes for something to wear. There was a long white dress from her university days when it was fashionable to wear long skirts with bare feet. She put it on as if donning an old and comfortable identity. Cheered and feeling defiant, she went back to the bathroom and applied dead-white make-up to her face and purple eye-shadow to her eyes.

She wandered downstairs. No one was about. She opened the front door and looked out. The day was dark and miserable, with low clouds flying over the mountains above the house. She saw the police cars outside and she also saw Hamish Macbeth’s white Land Rover. Her heart lifted. She would tell Hamish all about it. The detectives must be in the library. But was Hamish there? She would go outside and look in at the library window … just to see.

Betty put down her knitting and spoke at last. Her voice was steady and calm. ‘I admit Charles is my son,’ she said. She looked at him, her eyes blazing with love and affection, but he still had his face buried in his hands. ‘But as to the rest, it is pure fantasy, Constable. Where is your proof?’

‘Aye,’ said Blair, rubbing his fat hands. ‘How are ye going to prove it, Macbeth?’

Hamish felt like a fool. He had gone about it the wrong way. Perhaps he should have got Betty on her own and bullied her, as Blair would have done, suggested that he had concrete evidence, lied, anything to break her.

Betty gave him a little smile and picked up her knitting. As she did so, she looked at the window and then turned quite white. Her hands shook and the knitting dropped to the floor and a ball of that bright magenta wool that Priscilla had bought her rolled to Charles’s feet.

Hamish followed her gaze.

Melissa Clarke was framed in the window against the darkness of the day outside. Her white face appeared to float and the wind blew her dress about her.

‘Go away,’ screamed Betty suddenly. ‘Go away. I’m sorry now. I’m sorry. He deserved to die. They all deserved to die.’

In a flat voice, Hamish cautioned her. Then he said to the others, ‘You can all leave.’ But Betty wailed, ‘No, Charles must hear. I did it for him.’ Nobody moved. Melissa had disappeared. The wind howled outside. Betty dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief.

‘It was worse than that. He told me that he had left everything to Charles in his will, but that he had changed his mind. He said he was going to phone the lawyers on the following day and change the will. He said Charles was no good. He enjoyed telling me. He was laughing. I’d long dreamt of killing him. I fixed the knife just like you said. When Titchy accused him of ruining her frocks, I knew he was angry with her. So I went up to him and suggested he frighten her to get even. He liked that. He climbed into the wardrobe, giggling like a schoolboy. “The mask,” I said. “You’ve forgotten the mask.” “No, I haven’t,” he said, and drew one of those plastic monster masks from his pocket. “I’ll put it on for you,” I said, and as he was standing up in the wardrobe, I brought forward a chair and stood on that. I tied the mask. He turned around and grinned at me. “Give me the knife, Betty,” he said. So I gave it to him. “Here you are, you old bastard,” I said, and I plunged the knife into his chest and slammed the door. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I saw myself reflected in the glass of the door. I looked … ordinary.’

‘And Titchy?’ prompted Hamish gently.

‘She was dumping Charles because he hadn’t any money and all because Dad had had the final laugh. He never meant to leave anything to Charles at all. So I took the tablets out of Jeffrey’s cabinet and took them to her.’

‘And Melissa?’ asked Hamish. ‘Why Melissa?’

Jan screamed and Paul started up. ‘Not Melissa!’ he shouted. ‘We saw her at the window.’

‘That was her ghost,’ explained Betty with mad patience. ‘I knew then that I must confess or they would all come back to haunt me. It worked. I confessed and she went away. You see, Charles said he fancied her and she is mercenary, just like Titchy. Angela and Jeffrey and I were giving Charles a share of our money. I did not want Melissa to get it, so she had to die, too. Paul said the engagement was back on but I did not believe him. She was after Charles.’

‘How did you kill her?’ asked Hamish.

‘I had some of those sleeping tablets left. I only used half the bottle to kill Titchy. I had sewn the rest into the hem of my dress. I had crushed the bottle to powder and put the powder into one of those lavender sachets in my underwear drawer. So I took Melissa a glass of milk last night.’ She turned to Charles. ‘She wouldn’t feel a thing, you know. I’m glad it’s all over. Oh, my dear son, come to Mummy.’ She held out her short plump arms.

With a cry of horror, Charles ran from the room.

Blair turned to Hamish as Betty was being ushered into one of the police cars and said, ‘Man, you were lucky. Not a shred of proof.’

‘But I solved your case for you,’ said Hamish, ‘so if you don’t want me to take the credit, I suggest you arrange with Strathbane to get central heating put in the police station at Lochdubh.’

Blair grinned. ‘Oh, no, you don’t, you conniving bastard. Daviot wisnae here. She confessed. That’s all there is tae it. ’Bye, ’bye, Macbeth. See you around.’

In a fury, Hamish watched him go. One photographer, more alert than the rest at the gate, had spotted Betty being taken to the police car through his telescopic lens and had started clicking his camera, which alerted the others. As Blair’s car swept by the press, they all scrambled for their own to pursue him to Strathbane.

Hamish turned and went indoors, nearly colliding with Enrico. ‘May I fetch you some refreshment, Constable?’ asked Enrico.

‘No,’ said Hamish. ‘Where are they all?’

‘Mrs Jeffrey is lying down. Her son has gone up to see how she is. The rest are in the drawing room.’

Hamish went into the drawing room. Charles was huddled in a chair. Angela was sitting on the arm of it with her arm round his shoulders. Jeffrey was leaning forward, looking at Charles with concern, and Melissa was hovering by the window. Melissa looked a mess. Blair had berated her for washing out that glass. She had burst into tears, so that purple eye-shadow had run down in purple rivulets over her white make-up.

‘Oh, Hamish,’ she cried, running to him. ‘Is it really all over? Did she really do it?’

‘Aye,’ said Hamish, removing his peaked cap and sitting down. ‘She really did.’ He looked across at Charles. ‘Don’t take it too hard,’ he said. ‘Andrew Trent’s cruelty turned your mother’s mind. I doubt if she’s fit to stand trial.’

‘Just what Jeffrey and I have been telling him,’ said Angela robustly. ‘I never liked Betty, but we were sort of bound together in a way, both being spinsters, both dependent on Dad for our money. But then a lot of women don’t like their sisters. Have you any idea who Charles’s father is?’

‘She refused to say,’ said Hamish, ‘and to my mind it’s chust as well. Charles has had enough shocks for one day.’

‘Our offer of money to you still stands,’ said Jeffrey to Charles. ‘Betty cannot inherit through crime, so her share will come to the rest of us. Angela and I will see you’re all right, boy.’

Charles raised an anguished face. ‘What bothers me is that I don’t feel a thing,’ he said. ‘I mean, I’m shocked by everything, but I cannot think of Betty Trent as my mother. I don’t feel a thing for her.’

‘Don’t let it worry you,’ said Hamish. ‘You’re in shock.’

‘Oh, Hamish, I must talk to you,’ said Melissa. ‘I’m not going to marry Paul.’

‘Well, that’s a sensible decision.’ Hamish got up to go.

‘I mean, can I have a word with you outside?’ begged Melissa.

‘I’m still on duty,’ said Hamish. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

Melissa sat down mournfully after he had left. She had hoped he would want to talk to her. After all, she herself had nearly been murdered.

‘Is there anything we can do for you?’ Angela was asking Charles.

He gave a bleak smile. ‘Nothing more than you have done. You and Jeffrey have been so kind. Oh, I know. Could you lend me your car, Jeffrey? I would like to drive away from here for a bit and get some fresh air.’

Jeffrey handed him the car keys. ‘Be my guest.’

Charles took the keys and stood up and walked to the door. ‘Come on, Melissa,’ he said. ‘You’d probably like to get out of here as well.’ He walked off and Melissa scrambled after him.

‘It’s odd,’ said Jeffrey to Angela. ‘I feel the nightmare is over. I don’t think Betty will ever stand trial. I don’t even hate Jan any more.’

‘But you’ll leave her?’

‘Oh, yes, I’ll leave her. What about you, Angela? What will you do?’

‘When the money comes through, I’ll travel,’ said Angela. ‘Sunny countries, Jeffrey, white beaches, foreign people.’

‘That’s the ticket,’ he said with a grin.

‘And I’ll be there for Charles if he needs me.’