Murder in Style (22 page)

‘What, all of those?'

‘All right. I exaggerate. Murder and theft.'

‘Has he any evidence? Do you want a cuppa? Shall I try Lesley again? See if she'll accept some food now?'

‘Leave her be for the moment. Tea? No, I don't think so. Evidence? Pretty slim. For the theft: that can be disproved easily enough. It only requires someone in authority to look at the cancelled cheques with an unbiased mind, and perhaps ask Trixie a couple of questions. As for the murder; Gordon now says he saw Clemmie at the scene of the crime that night. He's kept that information to himself so far, which means either that he made the story up, or that he did see her but has refrained from telling the police in order to blackmail Juno into doing his bidding. On balance I think he'd lose more than he would gain by going to the police, because once they hear what he has to say, they'd have to investigate both the fraud and Clemmie's movements. Lesley did say the family had all got alibis, didn't she? Let's hope Clemmie's is a good one. The police certainly didn't look at hers in particular. But oh, dear. If Gordon goes through with his threat, I don't like to think what the resultant fuss would do to Clemmie, or the rest of the family.'

She thought some more about that. ‘Well, I don't suppose Ray and Trixie would care, but the others would. Including a hunky great junior doctor who looks as if he played rugby and who used to be one of Trixie's boyfriends and is now after Clemmie with intent. Also, a fairy godmother, who has just popped up out of the bushes and is screaming for action.' She tried to laugh. ‘All right, I'm exaggerating again.'

Thomas stowed dirty plates in the dishwasher and switched on the kettle.

She said, ‘And Diana. Can you believe it? Ray Cocks spun her some sort of tale about putting the sale of his wife's property through her. He asked her for a fee to give her first refusal or some such nonsense, and she fell for it!'

Thomas smoothed out a grin. He didn't care for Diana. The feeling was mutual. ‘You'll sort it out. You always do.'

Ellie clutched her head. ‘This time, Thomas, I'm not so sure. I hear one story and accept it, and the next person I talk to gives me a different slant on events. The Cordover family is like an onion. Peel off one layer and you get another. Everyone's hiding something … except Trixie, I suppose. She's quite easy to read. She wants to be a film star and nothing is going to stand in her way. Today she invited a group of people to her house for a script conference. She's not interested in the fact that the house is falling to pieces around her. She'll not cook or clean. Somehow or other she'll get enough money together to make her film. Single-minded, that's Trixie.'

‘Not bothered by her mother's death?'

‘Not that I could see. Totally self-centred, that one.'

‘Psychopathic?'

Ellie stared at him. Psychopaths were totally self-centred, weren't they? Was Trixie that far gone? Um, yes. Possibly. Far enough gone to murder her mother? Um. Not sure. ‘What would she get out of killing her mother?'

‘You said she thought she'd inherit some money?'

Ellie shook her head. ‘She was the indulged daughter of a wealthy woman, and she didn't have to earn her living. When her allowance fell short of what she wanted, she stole – yes, stole – from her mother to make up the difference. But, no one's going to scream at her about it, are they? Maybe Poppy didn't want to believe her daughter could steal from her at first, but after Charles started his investigations, the suspicion that Trixie was involved must have jumped up out of the woodwork and socked her on the jaw. Because Poppy knew her daughter through and through. Poppy was a soft touch; she'd been forgiving Ray all these years, and giving him just one more chance, time and again. So of course she'd do the same for Trixie. Why would Trixie kill such an indulgent mother? She wouldn't. Yes, she wanted money to go into films, but if she doesn't get it one way, she'll get it another. That one will never run short of the readies.'

‘Then who do you think did it?'

‘Take your pick. I've been presented with a series of pretty pictures. First the touching story of two orphaned children being mothered by an aunt. Then comes the equally touching story of two hard-working girls making their fortunes, while bravely shouldering the burden of the no-good men in their lives. After that we have the dashing Trixie, bound for stardom, and the Cinderella Clemmie bound for the boardroom. Plus hangers-on in the form of doting grandparents and friends of the family, who polarize for and against. Now, I know that three people seeing a car accident can each come up with different number plates, makes and colour of car; but, in this case, where are the verifiable facts? Nowhere.'

‘Ask Lesley for them.'

Ellie stared at him. ‘Yes, of course. I need dates and times and the contents of the stomach of the deceased. Was the alarm set or not? Was the inner door locked? Exactly when did Poppy die and where was everybody at the time? All that stuff. Lesley said everyone had an alibi. The senior Cordovers said Ray must have done it, but then they went on to say that he had an alibi.'

‘At the gaming tables?'

‘If so, that can be confirmed with video footage, can't it? Don't these gambling places have cameras to cover the tables?'

‘Clemmie was placed at the scene?'

‘It was Gordon who placed her there, and Gordon hates her.'

‘Which also places Gordon at the scene.'

Ellie said, tiredly, ‘I wish. But he can't climb the stairs and has no motive. Oh dear.'

A stir in the doorway. Lesley, looking limp and holding out a scrap of paper. ‘I'll make up a bed for myself if you'll show me where, but no, before you say it, I couldn't eat anything. Where's Susan? I need her to get some of my things from the flat.'

‘She's out for the evening,' said Thomas. ‘Give me your list, and I'll get them for you while Ellie helps you make up a bed.'

‘No, no,' said Ellie, interpreting Lesley's expression correctly. ‘I'll go for Lesley's things, Thomas. She wouldn't want you looking in her underwear drawer. You can drive me there and bring me back in no time at all. Lesley, would you like to use our old housekeeper's room, up the back stairs here? I'll get out some linen for you and you can make the bed up yourself, can't you? It's a nice bedsitter, en suite, and you can come and go as you please. Remind me to give you a front door key.' She got to her feet, her mind on bedclothes, airing the room, towels and a fresh bar of soap.

‘That's very good of you,' said Lesley, who was clearly past caring whether it was good or not. ‘I've lost my phone, by the way. I don't suppose he'll ring. I switched it to silent mode, so I couldn't hear it. If it does, which it probably won't, and you come across it, well, I don't want to speak to him, anyway.'

Which was probably a lie?

Thomas put his mug of tea down in front of Lesley's phone, which lay in full sight on the table. And which was vibrating.

Lesley might think it was Thomas's? Yes. She ignored it.

Ellie said, ‘Shall I show you where everything is?' And led the way, saying, ‘These rooms haven't been used for a while.' She opened windows, fetched bed linen and made up the bed. Towels, soap. Alarm clock and radio? Yes. Hot-water bottle? Yes, even on this warm night. For comfort.

‘Thank you,' Lesley said, looking around her with unfocused eyes. ‘You're very kind.'

‘You'll feel better in the morning. I'll bring you up a cup of soup in a minute. You need something to settle your tummy before you go to sleep.'

Ellie left Lesley gazing into space and went back downstairs, to find Thomas inspecting the latest message on Lesley's phone. ‘He's calmed down a bit. Only two swear words this time.'

Ellie put some soup into the microwave. ‘Do we give her phone back to her?'

‘It will only upset her further to read these messages. A couple of hours ago he was white hot with rage. Now he's calming down, but so far hasn't texted anything that she might enjoy reading. Let her have a good night's sleep, or as good as she can manage in her present state. We'll “find” the phone in the morning, shall we?'

‘I'll take this soup up to her, and then we'd better fetch her things.'

Thomas picked up Lesley's list. ‘She's not asking us to get much. Overnight stuff, basically. She'll need more than this if she plans to go into work on Monday … I assume she's not working tomorrow? She doesn't really mean to call off the wedding, does she?'

‘I don't think she knows which day of the week it is, never mind what she should wear on Monday.'

‘Do we mend fences, or keep out of it?'

She shrugged. ‘I haven't the slightest idea. What's more, we've only got thirty hours or so to solve the murder before Gordon swings into action. We're going to need all the help we can get.'

‘Then you'd better start praying.'

‘You, too.'

‘Yes; me, too.'

Ellie moved around the kitchen, yawning. It was a bright, sunny morning, but she didn't feel either bright or sunny. Lesley's smartphone lay on the table, beside a plastic bag containing her engagement ring, which Mikey had triumphantly produced as Ellie and Thomas returned home with Lesley's night things.

Mikey had been well over the top with enthusiasm about metal-detecting, vowing to get a machine for himself. His friend – younger, monosyllabic – had nudged Mikey and pointed to his watch, meaning they were on a curfew. Ellie had paid them both off.

Thomas had said the ring would probably have to go back to Lesley's fiancé.

Ellie didn't know what to think about that. Or about what had happened when they'd reached Lesley's flat and rung the front-door bell.

Oh well. Ellie made herself eat some cereal and have a slice of toast. Without enthusiasm. She wondered whether or not Diana had managed to stop the cheque she'd so foolishly given Ray Cocks. But then, would it ever have crossed Diana's mind to tell her mother she'd succeeded? Probably not.

Ellie thought, Coffee cures all. Well, not all. But it does help. She made some.

Thomas had gone out early. He was officiating at a communion service for a friend who'd gone on holiday, and planned to stay on to take a half past ten morning service. Ellie would normally have accompanied him, but she'd stayed at home to look after Lesley, who hadn't surfaced.

Ellie was feeling the effects of a lot of worry on top of a disturbed night. It had taken her ages to get to sleep and, at half past one, Susan had woken her up by crashing the front door open. Ellie had shot awake, though Thomas had continued to snore gently away beside her. She heard Susan apologize in a loud voice to the empty hall, and then had come the creak of stairs as the girl, with exaggerated care, crept up the stairs to her own quarters on the top floor.

It appeared that Susan had had an enjoyable evening as, in the morning, Ellie found the newel post at the bottom of the stairs adorned with a set of fairy wings, very pink, and a headdress of glittering, wobbling, antennae.

Good for Susan.

Ellie took the Sunday papers and a cup of coffee through into the sitting room and opened the French windows on to the garden. Ah, peace and quiet.

The second flush of roses was good this year. The last of the winter-flowering pansies, which had done so well through the spring and early summer, ought now to be taken up. The dahlias were astonishing. One of them needed tying up to its stake. Midge the cat wandered into the room from the garden and curled round her legs. He'd been fed. He was not hungry, but acknowledging that his provider needed some gesture of affection now and then.

Lesley crept in, saying, ‘Nice morning. Will we have rain later?'

Ellie was going to ask how Lesley was feeling, but decided not to do so. The girl had slept heavily – probably with the aid of a pill – and was looking heavy-eyed and languid.

Ellie put her cup of coffee down. ‘Yes, the sky does look a bit too bright, doesn't it? What would you like for breakfast? Scrambled egg on toast?'

‘I'm not bothered. Has that scumbag rung?'

‘Your phone is in the kitchen with your ring.'

Lesley drifted along to the kitchen and sat at the table, waiting to be served. She ignored her ring, looked at the phone, picked it up, fidgeted with it, threw it back down on to the table. Had she actually looked at her messages or not?

Ellie put orange juice and cereal in front of Lesley and busied herself making scrambled egg on toast for both of them. Lesley seemed to be in a dream. Ellie didn't disturb her. ‘Scrambled eggs coming up. And coffee.'

Probably because Ellie expected her to do so, Lesley started to eat. Finally, she pushed her empty plate aside and poured sugar into her cup of coffee. ‘Thank you for getting my bits and pieces last night. Any trouble?'

‘None. The bag was in the hall, waiting for us to pick it up. Angelica had packed it for you, and included everything you'll need when you go back on duty on Monday. Angelica said she intends to move in to look after her brother.'

A slow tide of red rose up Lesley's neck and suffused her face. ‘What!'

Ellie hid a smile as she sipped her coffee. ‘She says that since you had Susan to live with you for a while, she's moving in, instead. She plans to have lots of lovely parties in your flat.'

‘Over my dead body!'

Ellie sipped more coffee, and nodded.

‘How dare she! She's responsible for everything! The slut! The …!'

‘Quite. You need to throw her out.'

Lesley seethed. ‘I'll settle her hash for her!'

Ellie indicated Lesley's phone. ‘You'd better ring him, tell him you're on the warpath. How dare Angelica try to take your place!'

‘Indeed!' Lesley pressed buttons.