Murder My Neighbour (12 page)

There were no messages from Diana, for which Ellie was thankful.

Just as she was wondering what to do next, Stewart phoned to say he'd arranged for a Mr Abel from Hoopers to meet Ellie at Disneyland tomorrow at ten, if that was all right by her. She could tell Stewart was still annoyed with her, but it was too hot and too complicated to go into explanations.

‘Thank you, Stewart. Do you know Mr Abel personally?'

‘We've met.' Stewart was being very stiff and formal.

‘What's he like?'

‘Fine. He's keen to do business with us, as why wouldn't he be, but when I expressed surprise that the house hadn't already been snapped up by a developer, he hummed and hahed a bit, and then came clean. Mrs Pryce did put her house on the market with Hoopers, only to withdraw it later. They've heard nothing from her since, and it's not been put in any other estate agent's hands, so it's not at all clear what Mrs Pryce is playing at. Perhaps she's keeping all her options open, thinking she might wish to return there some day?

‘Under the circumstances, Hoopers haven't advertised the house, but if you're interested they'll be happy to contact her to see what can be done. Houses which are left to their own devices tend to deteriorate, as you know very well. Mr Abel is enthusiastic, and he'll pull out all the stops for you. You aren't really interested in it, are you?'

‘I need to see round it, that's all. What address do they have for her? They do have one, I assume?'

‘Of course.' Very offhand. ‘Well, if you could manage by yourself, I'm due to sign off the work on the block of flats by the river tomorrow morning.' He had taken umbrage, hadn't he? ‘Are you sure you don't want me to cancel that, so that I can go round with you?'

‘No, no. No need.'

Frost sharpened his tone. ‘You'll let me know, if you decide you do want the house?'

‘Of course.' Some day soon she'd explain and make it up to him, but not at the moment.

Several times she caught herself wondering why she hadn't wanted Pet to join her and Vera on the morrow. Well, Vera had said it was Pet who had tidied the notes on the Pryce family away. Had she put them where Ellie hadn't been able to find them by accident or design? But why would she do that?

Then again, Ellie only had Vera's word for it that it was Pet who had got rid of the notes. Perhaps it had been Vera instead, throwing the blame on Pet? But if so, why?

Thomas came in to say he'd tried Mrs Pryce's phone number at the Disneyland address, only to be informed by an irritating recorded voice that the number was no longer available. There were four other Pryces in the phone book; two were out, and he'd left messages on their answerphones. The other two had disclaimed any connection with the missing lady.

So far, so good.

In the middle of the night Ellie woke up, remembering something she'd seen. Or not seen, rather. Vera had been wearing the earrings Mrs Pryce had given her, but Pet – although she'd said her own gift had been just what she wanted – had not. Was there any significance in this? Perhaps Pet's necklet was too valuable to wear for work?

Mm. No. The earrings might have cost as much as twenty, possibly thirty pounds. If Mrs Pryce had been even-handed in her gifts, then Pet's would not have cost more than Vera's. Probably. Something else to think about.

Another hot day. Ellie rummaged around in her handbag, in the top drawers of her dressing table and in the stir fry on her desk before locating her sunglasses. They wrapped around her face nicely and had only cost a couple of quid from the charity shop. The downside was that the side pieces were straight, so if she looked down, they fell off. Well, never mind. She hadn't got another pair, and today was definitely a day for sunglasses.

She saw Thomas settled in his study – it was getting towards that time of the month when he had to email his copy off to the printers. Mia said she wasn't planning to go out in this heat, so she'd stay in with Rose. Perhaps they'd make some ice cream.

Pat, Ellie's part-time assistant and secretary, arrived to deal with the post and to sigh at her for not having attended to the correspondence which had been left out for her attention. Ellie dutifully spent an hour getting through the pile, and then set out for Disneyland with a clear conscience.

Would it have been sensible to ask Thomas or Stewart to come with her? No, not particularly. So long as Vera made it on time . . . which she had done. Ellie spotted her on the pavement outside the Pryce house, talking to a youngish, balding man in shirtsleeves and tailored trousers who was holding a clipboard of papers.

Although it wasn't yet noon, Mr Abel was perspiring. And oozing words in a stream.

‘Ms Quicke? Are you Ms Quicke? I assumed this dear lady here was Ms Quicke, but she tells me she's not. What a pity, but now that we're all here, let me say what a pleasure it is to be meeting you, as I've heard . . .'

Etcetera.

Ellie and Vera whisked glances at one another and dutifully followed Mr Abel up the drive.

‘Isn't this the most splendid example of Victorian Gothic? It must be the only one of its kind . . .'

‘It reminds me of Disneyland, actually,' said Ellie, thinking that the next hour was going to be extremely trying if Mr Abel didn't dry up. Besides which, he was quite wrong if he thought this monstrosity had anything to do with Victorian Gothic, which had fallen out of favour fifty years before this particular house had been built.

‘Disneyland? Oh, no!' said Mr Abel, and burst into inappropriate laughter.

Ellie refrained from rolling her eyes at Vera. Just.

Mr Abel patted his forehead and cheeks with a clean handkerchief. ‘Well, as I was saying to this other dear lady, you can see what a majestic approach this drive makes to an imposing, original property. An hour with a strimmer and you can imagine how it would look, the bushes cut back, the lawn manicured.'

Vera turned her ankle on a rut in the driveway. ‘Ouch.'

‘Take care,' said Ellie. ‘It's been so dry lately.' Under the overgrown bushes beyond the garage there were ruts which had been made when it last rained – which must be a couple of weeks back. The ruts were perhaps too wide apart for a car, but might have been made by a van. The gardener's?

The gravelled drive was too hard to take an impression, but the long grass on the wreck of a lawn had been crushed under wheels recently. Very recently.

Had the tracks been visible when they'd visited the previous evening? Would she have noticed if they had? Yes, she rather thought she would. Which meant they'd been made either last night after she left or early this morning.

She bent over to inspect the indentations in the grass, and her glasses slid forward on her nose. She caught them just in time and shoved them up again.

‘As you can see,' Mr Abel burbled, ‘the house is in excellent condition, having been beautifully maintained by the previous owner.' Reading from his clipboard: ‘The whole house was rewired and replumbed, and a new kitchen and a wet room installed only two years ago . . .'

Ellie mounted the steps to the front door. ‘You are in touch with her, of course? I heard she'd moved into a retirement home in the country.'

‘Yes, yes.' With a quick glance at his notes. ‘But you'll be going through us, won't you?'

So he thought Mrs Pryce was in the retirement home, too. Hm. Oh well, it would be a feather in Mr Abel's cap if he did manage to sell her this monstrosity . . . Not that she had any intention of buying it.

He unlocked the front door and pushed it open. There was a stack of letters, free papers and junk mail lying to one side on the floor within. But not, Ellie noticed, in a fan shape directly behind the door, which is where mail usually landed when pushed through the letterbox. The front door had been opened and shut recently, which had pushed the mail to one side. So who had done that?

Mr Abel bent to pick the letters up. ‘I suppose she forgot to ask for her mail to be forwarded to her . . . Although junk mail, almost impossible to stop . . . As you can see . . . Phew, phew, a bit hard on the old heart, what? Should go to the gym more often, har, har! As you can see, a magnificent hall with original panelling, stained-glass windows and parquet floor.'

‘Yes, it's like mine, only larger.' Ellie stepped around him, taking off her now redundant sunglasses.

‘Just think what a splendid nursing home this would make,' said Mr Abel, clutching an armful of mail without knowing in the least what to do with it.

‘Let me,' said Vera. She took the bundle from him and placed it on a wide ledge over a central heating radiator.

There was dust, everywhere. Of course.

Except . . . except for a cleared space on the floor between the front door and the imposing oak staircase.

Add it up. Someone had recently opened the front door, pushing the mail to one side. They had then swept a passage free of dust from the front door across the hall to the staircase. Ho, hum. ‘Someone from the agency comes round regularly to check on the place?'

‘Er, no. We have not been instructed to do so.' He was frowning at the dust-free track on the floor. No fool, Mr Abel. He knew as well as they did that someone beside themselves had recently been inside the house.

Had Vera noticed? She was looking at the floor, too.

Ellie decided that Mr Abel could be of no more assistance to her now that he'd got her into the house. How could she get rid of him? ‘Would you like to sort through the mail, see what needs forwarding? Vera can show me around as she used to work here. And then I'll get back to you. Right?'

‘Oh, but—'

Vera was quick to act on Ellie's hint and threw open the first door on the left. ‘This room gets the morning sun. She used it as a study, big roll-top desk in the sticky-out round tower with windows all round. She attended to all her business affairs, paid her bills in here. Her computer and printer were on a side table, there. Velvet curtains to the floor.'

‘Central heating, I see. Efficient?' There was a layer of dust everywhere.

Mr Abel couldn't bear to leave them and was now riffling through his notes to find the relevant page. ‘She had a new boiler installed last year.'

‘The heating cost a bomb to run,' said Vera, ignoring him, ‘but she had money, didn't she? The library is next. As you can see the shelves were built in, so she had to leave them. And finally on this side of the house there's the sitting room that she liked best because it looked on to the garden . . .'

More dust. No footprints on the floor, except the ones they were making themselves. Mr Abel followed them round, struggling to sort the post as he did so. He went into a patter, eulogizing the height of the ceilings and the elaborate cornices.

These were huge rooms, which must have been difficult to furnish. There were marks on the floorboards where squares of carpet had once been, and squares of darker colour on the wallpapers where dozens of pictures had once hung . . . probably all with elaborate gold frames. There were French windows at the back looking on to the garden, overhung with climbing roses.

‘Now, down this short corridor under the stairs is what she called the garden room,' said Vera. ‘It gives on to the patio and lawn beyond.'

More dust. No footprints. An aged Belfast sink with straight sides, a wooden draining-board, lots of empty shelving and glass-fronted cabinets.

Vera was nostalgic. ‘She kept her flower vases in here. She had dozens of them, mostly cut-glass and some of them valuable. She used to cut flowers from the garden and arrange them in here for the drawing room and her bedroom, right up to the end.

‘The cats' baskets were kept here, too. You see the cat flap in the door? She fed them in here, and not in the kitchen. All their foodstuffs were kept in these cupboards so they couldn't get at them when they shouldn't, and of course the sink made it easy to wash out their dishes.'

Ellie spotted something. ‘The tap's dripping. Wasn't the water turned off at the mains when she left?'

Vera was frowning. ‘I believe so.'

‘You weren't responsible?'

‘I think the gardener, Fritz, was supposed to turn everything off.'

Mr Abel made a note, causing him to drop some of his bundle of post on to the floor. ‘Water not turned off. I'd better see if I can stop that tap dripping.'

Ellie wondered if Fritz had turned the water off as instructed, but later turned it back on so that he could have water outside for his vegetables. In which case, how often had Fritz been coming back to visit the house, and what – if anything – did he know about Mrs Pryce's disappearance? If that, indeed, was what it was.

Vera led the way back to the hall and past the imposing stairs, leaving Mr Abel trying to turn off the dripping tap.

‘Next we have the downstairs cloakroom, with a loo off it. She kept her outdoor clothes, wellies and brollies and shopping bags in here.'

All gone, now.

Vera threw open another door. ‘This is the dining room, which Mrs Pryce said could seat twenty. The table had three leaves you could put in to extend it, and there was a set of matching chairs, which she said really belonged in a museum.'

Another huge room. More dust. No footprints. Vera said, ‘She never used the dining room as long as I knew her. She had a tray on a table in her drawing room when she was by herself, though when she got a bit frail to carry trays, she used a trolley or ate in the kitchen.'

Mr Abel could be heard grunting with the effort to turn off the dripping tap as Vera led Ellie on to another room. ‘The music room. It's been shut up for ever. She sold the grand piano way, way back.' Another huge, dusty room.