The Measby Murder Enquiry (39 page)

Deirdre turned off the engine and looked at her watch. “You know what I’d like to do now?” she said, and Gus’s spirits rose.

They were soon dashed. “I’d like to go down and see Ivy and Roy. It’s early yet, and a bit of Ivy’s sharp commonsense would be welcome just now.”

“Supposing Alwen is with them?”

“Well, we could risk it. If she was there, we could say we were just passing and decided to look in and say hello.”

“Sounds a bit lame to me,” Gus said.

Deirdre started the engine again, and began to back out of the drive. “Oh, come on, let’s just go. Please, Gus.”

“Personally,” he answered, “I would rather go to the pub and have a large, strong drink. But each to his own. I’ll come, if you promise to take me back to Tawny Wings and give me a generous tot of whisky to help me sleep.”

“Done,” said Deirdre, and she pulled up outside Springfields. They got out and looked up at Ivy’s window.

“Light’s on,” Gus said, “so chances are that it’s just Ivy and Roy. In we go, my lovely.”

 

 

MAX AND MARGARET had been sitting at the casino bar for some time, perched on high stools, drinking coffee as instructed. “So they weren’t here long,” Margaret said. She was talking about Deirdre and Gus, but both kept their eyes on Bronwen. Her face had lit up as the wheel spun and she was in luck again.

“But it wasn’t Theo Roussel, was it. It was our friend Halfhide. Can it be that Doris is slipping? Or have her many informants finally turned, like us.”

“Well, we tried. And I haven’t given up yet,” Margaret said. “Just give me a little more time.”

“Oh, God,” said Max. “Look, she’s risking all, the little fool.” They watched as the wheel spun. Bronwen’s luck had run out, and she went swiftly over to the desk, her face expressionless.

“You watch,” Margaret said. “Another loan. Special privileges, being part of the family? Or perhaps not,” she added as she heard a raised voice. It was Bronwen, and she could see Mandy’s red face as she tried to calm her down.

“Get on to my aunt!” Bronwen shouted. “Is she in her office? I’m going straight up to see her, and you’ll be out of a job by the time I come down!” With that, she marched off and disappeared.

“Ooops!” said Margaret, smiling. “I’m right, you know, Max. Things are changing, and with any luck not for the good for our Doris.”

“So what do we do next?”

“Report back to Doris that Deirdre Bloxham came in, but not with the squire. A very uncomfortable-looking Gus Halfhide was her escort, and they left as soon as they clapped eyes on Bronwen. That should put the wind up her knickers.”

“And then?”

“Trust me, Max. There’s more than one way of killing a cat.”

 

 

IVY AND ROY were watching television on the small set Ivy had installed opposite her bed. From vowing never to watch the horrible thing, she had become something of a fan of one or two programmes. Once more, Roy marvelled at her ability to switch off if the programme did not suit. She would address it in a stern voice, warning that if it did not pull up its socks it would be banished to the dustbin. Soap operas were her favourites, and even among these she was very picky. No violence, no overt sex, and drunkenness was treated to a lecture on temperance.

The result was that Ivy and Roy watched very little television, and even in the lounge, where it was on constantly, they turned their backs with great deliberation. Roy sometimes wished he could see something Ivy had rejected, but he managed to catch up when she was upstairs resting.

“We’ve not seen Alwen again,” Ivy remarked, using the remote to switch off as two youngsters collapsed in ecstasy on an unmade bed.

“True. Something’s up, I reckon,” said Roy. “I’ll have a word with Pinkers tomorrow. She’s more approachable than Mrs. Spurling. Maybe we could help in some way.”

There was a gentle tap on Ivy’s door, and she and Roy looked at each other questioningly.

“Is that her, do you think?” Ivy got up and opened the door. “Oh,” she said, “it’s you two. What on earth is it that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“It’s important, Ivy,” Deirdre said. “Can we come in for a bit? It’s about Ozzy’s and Bronwen. It’s not that late, you know. Fortunately Miss Pinkney was on duty, so we managed to break through the blockade.”

ALWEN HAD ONCE more had breakfast in her room, and now sat gazing blankly out of the window. She had had an early call from Bethan, who said she was very sorry but she would not be able to visit this afternoon, as they had no water. The men were coming to investigate but could not give her a time. She would ring later, and fix to come over tomorrow instead. There was good news, she said. Alwen’s house was finally sold, and all looked simple and swift. The buyers were not in a chain, and had ready cash.

At first, Alwen had thought it was Bronwen. The two girls’ voices were much the same, although they were in all other ways so different. Bronwen was on her mind all her waking hours. She was so tired of trying to think up new ways to help her but always came back to the most drastic option. It would be worth it, wouldn’t it, especially now the house was sold?

She heard footsteps coming along the corridor, and wondered whether it would be Ivy. She knew that sooner or later Ivy Beasley would not be able to curb her curiosity. Probably Roy, too. Nice man, that. And old Ivy was not so bad, once you got to know her. Pity they had got mixed up in that ridiculous enquiry agency! She knew, of course, that it had been Augustus Halfhide’s idea. The man should have known better. If he knew what was good for him, he would lie low. Strange that he should turn up in Barrington, when her sister’s contacts had remembered him as a young fool at the gaming tables. Then she had heard more of him when Max and Margaret had traced him working alongside Martin Reeves, who had been one of the gambling gang all those years ago. Those two idiots had used Martin’s name but made a real mess of that kidnap, and she had had to bail them out, paying the ransom money much reduced by skilful bargaining on her part.

The footsteps stopped outside her door. A sharp rap caused her to look round in alarm. “Who is it?” she said quickly.

There was no reply, but the door opened wide.

“Doris! What on earth are you doing here?”

“I can visit my big sister, can’t I?” Doris said, shutting the door firmly behind her. “I haven’t heard from you lately, and I was worried. Can’t have one of my important sources of information drying up! Besides which, there are urgent things we need to talk about.” Her voice was dry and chilly, and Alwen shivered.

“What things?”

“Well, your precious daughter for one. In fact, for one, two and three. It is time you rode to the rescue, Alwen. I’ve given her a long rein, but it has to end. It was sensible of you to pay the so-called ransom money, no doubt in the hope that all would be hushed up. No telling what those two idiots were planning to do after the mess they made of my kidnap idea. All designed to make Halfhide talk, and he said not a word!”

Alwen looked at her sister’s smirking face and felt chilled. “I don’t think you can blame me for their failure, Doris,” she said. “I played my part. You had all the information I could gather.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you,” Doris said carelessly. “No, that’s all in the past.
But,
I’m afraid Bronwen’s gambling debts are very much in the present, and I need to have them settled. Immediately, Alwen. So what do you intend to do?”

 

 

“ROY! WHO IS that woman? Look, over there, talking to Mrs. Spurling.”

“No idea, beloved. Should I know her? She’s a very smart lady, whoever she is.”

Ivy gently put Tiddles down to the floor and reached for her second pair of glasses. “You’re right, Roy. Very smart indeed. Money oozing from every pore.”

“Oh dear, I hope not,” said Roy, feeling queasy. “I expect she’s been visiting.”

“We know all the regular visitors by now. I’ve not seen her before. But she reminds me of somebody. Have another look, Roy. Isn’t she familiar?”

He peered across into the hall, where Doris was giving a stern lecture to Mrs. Spurling. “Yes, you’re right. Now who is it, Ivy?”

They were both quiet for a moment, staring unabashed. Then Ivy said suddenly, “Got it! If she were twenty years younger, she’d be the image of Alwen’s daughter Bethan.”

Roy nodded. “I don’t know about the exact image, but there’s definitely a look of Bethan about her. So who is she?”

“Doris,” said Ivy. “It’s Doris May Osborne, nee Wilson, younger sister of Alwen Jones and owner of Ozzy’s Casino in Thornwell. I’d put money on it.”

“How apt,” said Roy. “Well I never. Fancy her coming here. She’s not bothered before, has she? Why now, Ivy?”

“Think, Roy,” said Ivy as they both watched Doris strut out of the entrance hall on her expensive high heels. “Remember what Deirdre and Gus told us last evening? He said he could see by the look on Bronwen’s face that things were bad with her at the casino, and that could mean Doris needing to take action.” She shuddered. “Someone walked over my grave,” she said.

Roy frowned. “Don’t say things like that, Ivy. I don’t like it, my dear, not at our age.”

“Just a saying. No, what I mean is, I’ve got a horrible feeling that it’s all coming to a head. We need to move fast, Roy.”

“If only we knew which direction to take,” he said.

 

 

IVY SAT ALL afternoon in her room, thinking. She had told Roy she hadn’t slept well the previous night and would be having a good sleep. This was not true, but she wanted time to be by herself and think without interruptions.

At last, just before the summons for tea, she stroked the little cat curled up asleep on her bed and went out of the door. She walked along the corridor until she came to Alwen’s door. She put her ear to it but could hear nothing, so she tapped. No reply, so she knocked more firmly. Still nothing, so she tested the door and opened it gently.

“Alwen? It’s Ivy. Are you coming down for tea?” She pushed the door wide open and walked in.

Alwen was stretched out on the bed, her hands clasped on her chest. Sleeping peacefully, thought Ivy, and she prepared to leave. But then something made her turn back. The room was deathly quiet, and Alwen’s mouth hung open.

“Oh, dear God,” said Ivy. She went across to the bed and stroked the cold, rigid hand. “Poor soul,” she muttered and sat down quietly by the bed. “I’ll just sit here for a bit, my dear, to keep you company on your journey.”

After half an hour, she got up and walked slowly out of the room, shutting the door carefully. With a slow tread, she made her way downstairs and along to the office. Miss Pinkney sat at the computer and looked up at Ivy with a smile. “Can I help you?” she said.

“No, not me. Nor Mrs. Jones, I’m afraid. But you’d better go and take a look. I shall be in the lounge with Roy when I’m wanted.”

THE WAILING SOUND of the ambulance spread alarm throughout Springfields. When it pulled up outside the gates and paramedics rushed in and up the stairs, hearts were beating dangerously faster, and Katya and daily carers were busily occupied reassuring residents that it was not really an emergency, but something that had to be dealt with straightaway.

In a sense, they were telling the truth. It was not an emergency, because Alwen was already dead, and all efforts to revive her had failed. It had to be dealt with at once, because there were rules to be followed when a death occurred in the home. Mrs. Spurling supervised the whole thing with efficiency and long experience of such happenings. It went with the job, as she had told her husband before he ran off with the cook.

Other residents were manoeuvred into the dining room for their tea, so that they should not see Alwen being carried out with her face covered, and by the time they had had their cake and as many cups of tea as they liked, all was quiet and the television switched to a cheerful quiz programme.