Murder My Neighbour (6 page)

She looked round for Thomas, only to find that he hadn't followed her into the garden. Well, of course not. He was looking for an estate agent's board at the front, wasn't he? He was within shouting distance, though.

She'd seen what there was to be seen, and now she'd better get back to find out how Rose was doing. And Frank.

A trailing rose caught at her skirt and held her back, as if the garden were reluctant to let her go. A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees overhead. If she'd been a fanciful woman, she might have imagined they were discussing her intrusion into their territory. Ridiculous; of course they weren't.

Nevertheless, she had to fight down a desire to panic. The sooner she was out of this place the better. The light would be going soon.

She hastened back along the covered way, her footsteps sounding loud on the paving stones, and found the door to the front drive solidly shut. She pushed and kicked, but it wouldn't open. She told herself not to panic. This was ridiculous!

‘Thomas!'

No reply. She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, breathed deeply. Was she still being watched? It felt like it, though of course she wasn't.

Ah. The door opened towards her, not outwards.

She pulled it open. It grated on the stone flag and let her out into the front drive. Thomas was standing over an estate agent's board which he'd found in the bushes, taking a note of the name.

‘Hoopers Estate Agency,' he said. ‘Have you done snooping?'

She nodded. ‘There's no one living here but someone's still looking after the vegetable garden. It's a big place, spooky. Must have cost something to keep up. Are we trespassing, do you think?'

He shut up his notebook. ‘It's a moot point.'

She said, ‘There's some wonderful roses in the back garden. If I'd brought my secateurs, I might have been tempted . . . but that would have been theft, wouldn't it?'

‘The police can contact Hoopers tomorrow. They'll know where she's gone and have keys to the place.'

They turned back into the road. Walking along, she matched her pace to his, her arm within his elbow. ‘Do you really think we'll get our things back?'

He patted her hand. ‘Does it matter?'

Yes, it mattered. But she could tell he didn't want to make a song and dance of it.

FOUR

A
s Ellie and Thomas strolled back home, he said, ‘I'm worried about Rose, aren't you? If she gets too . . . If you need help to look after her . . . ?'

Ellie was very definite. ‘We are not going to put her into a home.'

He half smiled. ‘I would have taken a bet that you'd say that, if I were a betting man, which I'm not. No, what I meant was . . . Didn't you say that your aunt left her some money? Well, would Rose want to be responsible for someone to come in and look after her, if she gets too frail to cope?'

Ellie had to think about this. Her instinct was to say that she'd look after Rose herself. Of course she would. The two of them went back a long way. Only, common sense reminded Ellie that she was no longer just a housewife, but had duties to fulfil.

She had to confer with Stewart and his team about what houses should have work done on them, and which could be let out straight away – and to whom. She had to make decisions about buying or selling certain properties. She had to sit on the committee of her charity and rule on what good causes should be helped and by how much. She had a number of people to help her make these decisions, but hers was the casting vote.

Besides which, she had friends to see and the house to run. She had to look after Thomas and Mia and Rose, and to babysit Frank at least once a week.

Suppose Rose needed help to get to the bathroom in the middle of a board meeting, or when she'd taken Frank on an outing? Suppose Rose needed assistance when Ellie had gone to church on Sunday, or had left the house with Thomas to visit friends?

Thomas shook her arm gently. ‘I know you. You'd like to divide yourself into a hundred pieces and look after everyone. But you can't. Well; you could try, I suppose, and make yourself ill. Then what good would you be to man or beast?'

‘Or to you.' She put her head against his shoulder for a moment. ‘You hadn't forgotten I might like to spend time with you every now and then?'

He put his arm about her shoulder. ‘It's a tough one, isn't it? While Mia is with us I don't think we need to worry too much about it, but she'll move on soon and then we'll have to think again.'

Ellie woke with a feeling of impending doom. Ah yes, Rose had fallen off the ladder after seeing a face floating in mid-air . . . as if! Rose must be watched with care . . . Little Frank was in his room down the corridor . . . and might have wet the bed and – Ouch! Diana!

No, don't think about Diana.

Then that dreadful young man had stolen Thomas's Kindle and her ring and oh dear! She was going to have to talk to the police about it. Talking to the police did not score highly on Ellie's pleasure chart. She knew she wasn't
Brain of Britain
material, but she felt that in some of her previous contacts with them she'd come across as next door to an idiot.

‘Stupid housewife, sticking her nose in where she wasn't wanted' sort of thing. ‘Too much imagination, and no common sense. Wouldn't know fact from fiction if you shoved it in her face.'

In this case, she had to admit that she'd been about as stupid as you could get. Fancy inviting a strange young man into the house and letting him walk off with their belongings!

It made her go hot and cold all over.

A thought. Perhaps Thomas could spare the time to be with her when the police came? They would never dare to treat him with the disdain – amounting to contempt – that they showed her. Particularly the policeman Ellie had most unfortunately referred to as ‘Ears' after their first meeting, because he did have a pair of large, red ones. Well, that had gone down like a lead balloon. If only someone hadn't seen fit to report her gaffe to him . . . but they had. And she knew that they had. And he knew that . . .

Oh well. On with the day. It promised to be another fine, bright day, if perhaps a trifle on the warm side. A light summer dress would be in order.

Thomas's side of the bed was empty since he was an early riser. He had usually showered, dressed and made his way along the corridor to his Quiet Room before Ellie managed to open her eyes. He would spend time with his bible and God, and appear downstairs ready to cook breakfast for all of them if Rose were not up yet – and of late she hadn't been.

Mia was another slowcoach in the mornings. Ellie understood that completely. Sometimes, if Thomas were away on one of his lecture trips, Ellie and Mia would prepare and eat breakfast in complete silence.

Mia would soon be gone. Ellie was delighted that the girl felt able to move on, of course, but they would miss her.

Ellie sat on the edge of the bed, considered getting down on her knees to pray and decided against it.

There was a wail from Frank's room. He'd probably woken in alarm, wondering where he was . . . and then remembered.

There was a snuffling at her bedroom door, and Frank shot in. He dived into bed with her, and clung. There, there! He was far too thin and anxious for his age. She held him tight. There, there. She checked, but he didn't seem to have wet the bed. Praise be.

If she kept the thought of Diana locked away at the back of her head, she might get through the day all right. One thing at a time. Soothe Frank off to school and give Stewart a progress report on how his son was doing . . .

Ellie tidied the sitting room. She cut and arranged some more flowers to replace the peonies, which were past their best. She darted into the kitchen to check on Rose and Mia, who said they were perfectly all right, thank you, and what was all the fuss about? Rose was developing some spectacular bruises, but said she'd had a good night.

The gardener came and complained about the mutilation of his flower bed. Ellie gave him a Look and said that if he'd tied the rambler rose back when it had first come loose, Rose wouldn't have had to put her life in danger by going up a ladder, so would he please see to it before he mowed the lawn that day. He said that that was all very well, but he wasn't Mr Whip-it-Quick, was he? And what did she expect when she was only paying him for four hours a week?

‘I expect value for money, that's what,' said Ellie, folding her arms at him. He stumped off, muttering to himself. The cat Midge stalked past her to leap on to the staging in the conservatory, which the sun was heating up nicely.

The moment her hands were idle, Ellie found herself replaying yesterday's dramas in her head – which did her no good at all. Worrying didn't get you anywhere. She knew that. Of course she did. Which didn't stop her doing it.

She still hadn't told Thomas about Diana's visit, and she had to do so, didn't she? He had his own worries, something about a contributor to the magazine? She didn't want to disturb him.

The front doorbell rang. Ellie went to look through the peephole in the door and recognized the policeman who was standing outside, fidgeting from one foot to the other. Of course, it would be ‘Ears'.

Ellie told herself he couldn't kill her.

With him was a female detective constable, by the name of Milburn. Ellie recognized her, too. She'd proved quite human in the past.

Thomas had said he'd stop work to be with her if she really needed him, but he was expecting a difficult visitor that morning, so if she could manage . . . ? Ellie braced herself and opened the door to let the police in.

Ears looked round about him, much as the Pryce boy – if that was his name – had done the day before. ‘A big place for a woman on her own.'

‘There's four of us living here at present, five if you count my grandson who often stays overnight.'

Ellie led the way to the sitting room and offered tea or coffee. Both declined.

DC Milburn took out her notebook, but Ears strolled about, hands in pockets to emphasize his superior status. ‘So you had a visit from a con artist? Weren't you aware that they're on the lookout for elderly women living alone in big houses?'

Ellie didn't like being called ‘elderly' when she was only in her early sixties. ‘I wasn't alone. Our housekeeper was in as well, but unfortunately she'd had a fall so wasn't feeling quite the thing.'

Ears had his usual chip on his shoulder. He probably thought anyone who employed live-in staff was a bloated capitalist and ought to be strung up from the nearest lamp-post. He wouldn't have believed Ellie if she'd told him Rose had not been asked to take on the job of housekeeper, but had insisted on staying on to do it after Ellie's ancient aunt had died.

Ears had a sneer on his face and in his voice. ‘So what was this chap's spiel, then? He found out the name of some old dear in the neighbourhood and tried to pass himself off as a relative? He asked for money, of course.'

‘Well, yes. But he did seem worried about his great-aunt. He'd called on the retirement home where she was supposed to be living, and they denied all knowledge of her.'

‘Or so he said.' An unpleasant tone.

Ears thought she'd been taken in by a sob story, and perhaps she had. Ellie felt her colour rise. ‘So he said. Yes.'

‘Well, it's clear enough. I doubt if you'll see your valuables again. Been hocked before nightfall, I expect. To pay for drugs, of course.'

‘I did wonder if he were into drugs. He certainly danced around a lot, but he also smoked. Do drug addicts smoke cigarettes as well as take drugs? I didn't think they did.'

‘As you say, what do you know about it?' He really was a rude young man.

Ellie tried to keep calm. ‘Of course, you know more about it than I do, and it's true that I wouldn't really know what a drug addict looks like. I thought at first he was on edge because he was worried about his great-aunt. Then I thought he was in a state because he was desperate for money. I'm pretty sure that's why he's after his great-aunt. I mean, she does seem to be missing, but . . . The only thing is, if he is on drugs he can't be very far gone because he's taken great care of his appearance.'