The Celibate Mouse (26 page)

CHAPTER 38

A Right Good Send-off

Susan

Saturday: afternoon.

T
he cold wind bites through my light suit coat. I struggle into my warm fleece-lined jacket. There is no immediate sign of Briony and Lily, so I trot around the side of the building, trying not to let my shoes crunch on the gravel. The shrubbery near the vestry door impedes my progress and I stop to find a way through. The voices of Euon Jellicott and Sir Arthur come through the foliage.

‘You need to get to Lily, pretty damn quick,’ Sir Arthur says, coldly. ‘We can’t afford to have her blabbing at the wake. Of all the things to happen, that flag was the last straw. See to it.’

‘Right. I’ll find out what’s happened to her,’ replies Euon. They’re silent for a moment, and then Sir Arthur says, ‘You know what to do.’

Sir Arthur and Euon Jellicott?
And what is Euon going to do? What is between them? Perhaps I will find out tonight, but now I have to get to Lily. Tiptoeing silently back along the pathway to the forecourt is not easy. The congregation is letting off steam, gathering their strength for the next service. A hip flask or two flashes as the sun peeps through.

The CWA ladies depart, presumably to Sir Arthur’s property to put the finishing touches on the afternoon tea, as the agricultural mourners arrive en masse for Jack Harlow’s service. The guard of honour, tied under a nearby truck, bark expectantly as the hearse bringing Harlow to the church backs up to the side door.

I dodge Daniella, to catch up with Briony and Lily, who are perched on the edge of a concrete seat between the rectory wall and the church. Lily snuffles into a handful of tissues; Briony is coaxing her to explain why she ran out of the service.

As I arrive in front of them, Lily snatches at her handbag, preparatory to escape. Her large blue eyes are the one remaining natural feature in her perfect face, below which is a raddled old-woman’s neck. She passes an age-mottled, shaking claw over her cheeks to wipe her tears away, as Briony speaks soothingly. ‘Lily, there’s no need to be afraid. Just tell us what happened. Did you see something? Was it the flag lifting? Because it was only a draught from outside that picked it up. It wasn’t Edna’s ghost.’

‘I don’t know anything, I tell you!’ she quavers.
You old liar, you know it all. And I’m going to shake it out of you, believe me.
‘Lily, I’m Susan Prescott, a friend of Briony’s. How about we take you for a cup of coffee in town, unless you want to go to
Jack’s
funeral?’

I couldn’t have received a more outraged reaction if I’d poked a crocodile with a stick. ‘Jack’s funeral? I’d no more go to his funeral than I’d fly to the moon! That rotten bugger! I’d have shot him myself if I had a rifle!’ she screeches.

Briony glances around nervously, but the mourners are out of earshot. I sit and take one of Lily’s hands. ‘Lily, what are you so frightened of? We’ll protect you, there’s nothing to fear. No one can get near you, so you can talk to us quite safely.’

She looks undecided. I feel we could be getting somewhere when she focuses on someone over Briony’s shoulder. I stare hard at the group of people talking in the forecourt. Euon Jellicott, the twins, their girls and George Murphy all stand with members of the family, but their backs are turned to us. Sir Arthur’s head is bobbing around on the other side of the group, next to Ferna. Mark Gordon is standing on the steps of the church watching the undertakers open the doors of the hearse. I can’t imagine who’s struck such terror into Lily.

She snatches her hand away and stands, shaking visibly. ‘I can’t. You don’t know what he’s capable of. I need a drink! Besides, I don’t know anything!’ she finishes triumphantly. The crafty glint in her eyes reminds me of Marli’s pet rats when they’re stashing food. Before we can ask who “he” is, Lily pushes past and scuttles back toward the crowd. I’d like to wring the old bag’s neck.

‘Shit, what do we do now?’ Briony frowns in exasperation.

‘We go to town and have coffee. Then we go to the wake and see what we can find out there. Sooner or later someone’s going to let something slip.’
And I can watch Euon Jellicott.
Right now, he is talking to someone in the crowd.

Briony fossicks in her bag and hands over the three exercise books. ‘You’d better take these now, so I don’t forget to give them to you later.’

‘There’s no way I’d forget them! I just hope the old dear wrote something useful.’

‘Well, there’s nothing in the first one which she started when she was ten. Altogether there are about twenty books. I can’t think why Daniella didn’t read them before she gave them to me.’

‘I don’t think reading is one of her strong points. One thing’s for sure, if she is involved in the murders, she’ll have kept the relevant ones back. Are they sequential?’ This will make my investigation easier.

‘Yes, as far as I can tell, but the actual entries are all over the place. These were all written in 1947.’

Excitement spurts through me. ‘Okay, good. Still want to do Arthur’s biography?’

Briony grimaces. ‘I honestly haven’t got any yen to write it. I liked him when I first met him, but now ... and I’m sorry Lady Ferna wasn’t the first murder victim. Of them all, I’m beginning to think Genevieve’s the only one worth knowing!’

‘The family isn’t much chop if that cat has all the integrity,’ I reply dryly, as we ease our way through the remaining crowd.

Two minds with a single thought, Briony asks, ‘Do you think Lily’ll turn up at the wake?’

‘Yes. I don’t think she would dare stay away.’ I tell Briony about the encounter between Arthur and Euon. ‘So it could be anything from murdering Lily to keeping an eye on her drinking.’

A movement attracts our attention. Lily is weaving between the parked cars, obviously intent on leaving. With a complicit glance, we dart in the direction of Lily’s car and see her fumbling under the dashboard. When she tips her head back and takes a swig from a bottle, Briony pounces and rips open the door. ‘Lily! Give me that!’

Before the woman can protest, Briony grabs the bottle and tips it upside down. Lily screeches in protest, as the rich amber liquid gurgles into the gravel at our feet. I must say I’m with Lily; what a waste of good liquor.

‘You don’t need this! And you can’t drink and drive anyway!’ Briony trumpets.

‘Leave me alone! I don’t know anything and if I did I wouldn’t tell you anyway! It’s none of your business!’ Lily screams.

‘We just wanted to make sure you’re all right. Are you going to the wake?’

The old woman wipes a raddled hand across her mouth, nodding miserably. ‘I can’t tell you anything. Please, you don’t know. Leave me alone. Please.’

My mind twirls through available options. As a serving police officer–albeit on leave–I can legally take Lily in for an interview with David, but this could be counter-productive. Instinct tells me to bide my time; I’ll get more information by backing off. Briony picks up my thoughts with ease and seeks to reassure her.

‘Lily, we don’t want to harass you, just make sure you’re okay. We’re willing to listen if you want to talk. We’ll see you at the wake, okay?’

Lily jerks her head in sketchy agreement and then starts the motor. We watch her drive away, sitting bolt upright, peering through the steering wheel.

‘Do you think she’ll go to the wake or take off?’ asks Briony.

I shrug. ‘God only knows. We’ve nothing to hold her on, but I’ll keep an eye on her.’ I glance at the bottle which Briony’s still holding and grin.

‘I should book you for public littering or something over that!’

‘Waste of good whisky.’ A litter bin is discreetly hidden tucked into the corner of the small parking lot. Briony walks briskly across and pitches the empty bottle in.

As she returns, a thought occurs to me. ‘Are you going to make writing biographies your life’s work?’

‘I hope not. I went to university and did a degree in English Lit with a view to becoming a teacher. Then I went on to try a Graduate Dip Ed, but I hated teaching. I sort of fell into this by accident when I was asked to write a politician’s biography. My God, what a shit-stirring, arsehole ferret he was! But I suppose it’s a living.’

‘Why don’t you apply for the police force?’

‘I’m twenty-eight. Aren’t I too old?’

‘You’re exactly the right age, you already have a degree and you’re very astute. Briony, you’re an ideal candidate.’

‘I’m too fat!’ she says, anxiously, but I can see interest dawning. She’s got a large frame which could lose a few kilos, but physical training would soon fix that.

‘You’ll trim down with some jogging and sensible eating,’ I assure her, as we walk toward our cars. ‘Let’s talk about it over coffee and then we’ll take ourselves off to this shindig. Mustn’t let the CWA ladies’ baking go to waste! Besides, diets always start on Monday morning and it’s only Saturday!’

***

Sir Arthur and Lady Ferna’s homestead roars with well-dressed, over-excited mourners. This is a monumental ‘send-off’ for the departed. We hang our coats over the verandah railing, drinks are thrust into our hands as we are swept into the scrum surrounding the white-clothed, trestle tables. Every delicacy known to woman is laid out in colourful splendour. Lamingtons and scones, jam and cream are displayed alongside dainty sandwiches, savouries and cream cakes. Briony takes a plate and gleefully helps herself. ‘As you said, dieting begins on Monday,’ she grins.

‘Too damn right. Let’s split up and start circulating. Keep an eye out for Lily if you can and I will too.’ I scavenge a few sandwiches and a slice of caramel tart, for which I have a weakness.

Traditionally, mourners shift around, screaming happily into each other’s ears until the main event, the Family Brawl, erupts. There seems to be a strange pattern to the distribution of this crowd. People keep disappearing and re-appearing from the depths of the house, as though summoned. Of Sir Arthur there is no sign. Is he holding court in a back room?

I spend time with Daniella and Carissa then ease my way around, pursued by a sense of unease. Each time I try to head toward the elderly twins, Grace and Constance, a Robinson relative diverts me with conversation. The cricketing twins waylay me with questions about buying a few of Eloise and James’s cattle. As the owners of a Brahmin stud, their interest in Scottish Highlands is unconvincing.

When I finally escape them, Peter Robinson pops up beside me. ‘Susan, have a drink.’ He whips my empty glass away and thrusts a full one into my hand as he steers me toward the corner, where he plies me with questions about my “government” work. I manage to evade the truth about my job and his conversation shifts imperceptibly to Edna’s belongings. I realise he’s trying, not very subtly, to discover if Edna has left a diary.

‘I wouldn’t know
what
Edna left,’ I reply, a little tartly, thinking of the three exercise books nestling in the boot of my car. I can’t wait to get to them, but I need to stick it out here for a little longer. ‘You must talk to Daniella. She’s the executor of Edna’s Will. Excuse me a moment, I’ve seen someone I’d like to talk to.’

I back away, throwing him a flirtatious glance, so as not to alienate a prospective source of information. Penelope Harlow’s blonde plait peekaboos between the members of the agricultural community swarming around the verandah.

I ease my way between them, almost tripping over a dog. Nearby, Mark Gordon is enchanting a couple of elderly ladies. He catches my eye and winks conspiratorially, reminding me of our lustful moment in the car after dinner. Perhaps he’s hoping for seconds. The CWA ladies spring through the double doors into the hallway, carrying trays laden with more food, obscuring him from my view. Lily is sitting at the end of the verandah, scoffing cream cakes and boozing to her heart’s content, with Euon Jellicott whispering in her ear.
As per Arthur’s instructions?
I catch Briony’s eye and jerk my head toward the pair. She nods and starts to move in Lily’s direction.

I sidle through the crowd and arrive beside Penelope. ‘Mrs Harlow?’ She turns, with a smiling enquiry. I introduce myself and we fall into conversation about nothing in particular. I’m about to ask some leading questions about Jack, when she administers a shock. ‘Has Daniella found Edna’s diaries?’

A jolt of excitement hits me. ‘What do you know about them, Mrs Harlow?’ I ask, forgetting my role as the innocuous sister-in-law of Eloise.

She blinks and stares at me, astonished. ‘Er ... I know she kept one. Has done for years. But why do you ask me? You’re friends with Daniella, so if she hasn’t told you anything then perhaps I shouldn’t either.’

I slip my hand inside her elbow to whisk her into a quiet corner, but suddenly we’re surrounded by the clan males. Euon Jellicott is by my side, teeth flashing like a timber wolf. Sir Arthur stands beside Penelope and the cricketing twins magically appear. I feel Penelope’s pulse rate quicken; we need a diversion. ‘Mrs Harlow was just about to show me to the ladies toilet,’ I announce firmly, snatching Penelope’s hand. The men blink in unison. This is thinking outside of their square. I steer Penelope briskly between the cricketers and propel her through the crowd. It’s like wading through treacle.

We are within sight of the loo when George “Slimeball” Murphy lands in our path, accompanied by his trophy-wife, who is obviously much given to the wearing of bangles. ‘Mrs Prescott–and Penelope! I didn’t realise you knew each other,’ he trumpets.

‘We don’t!’ snaps Penelope. Slimeball glances at our entwined hands and smirks. His wife is admiring her reflection in a nearby mirror. Her bangles clink like horse harness as she plucks at her hair.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Penelope snatches her hand out of mine, but I am nothing if not persistent. I grab her wrist, propel her to the door of the loo and drag her behind a screen, artistically placed to hide the entrance to the toilet.

‘I need to speak to you!’ I whisper. Seeing she’s about to raise the alarm, I whip my ID card out of my bag. Her eyes widen.

‘What are you–oh my God, you’re a cop!’