Murder in Style (3 page)

‘I know, I know.' Annoyed. ‘Poppy fell down the stairs of her own accord, right? Let's put it down to suicide or an accident, and tidy it away, shall we?' Sarcasm unlimited. Lesley really was wound up over this, wasn't she?

Ellie tried to keep calm. ‘Was there any reason for her to commit suicide?'

‘No. Added to which, throwing yourself down a flight of stairs is not exactly a sure-fire way to kill yourself, is it? You might get a broken bone or two, but as an efficient way of committing hari-kari it's a no-no.'

‘There was some mention of divorce?'

‘The husband, Ray, is a right whatsit! Scum of the earth, that one. Yes, she might have had to pay him off, but good riddance, if you ask me!'

‘Look, Lesley; I've got people coming for supper and I'm way behind with—'

‘It stinks, Ellie. Believe me. There's something seriously unpleasant going on there. I agree that the fall down the stairs might have been an accident, but there's something wrong. I can smell it. Even my boss got a whiff of it, and you know he couldn't smell rotten fish if it leaped up and smacked him on the nose. But he's stuck, as I am, because there is no evidence to prove she was murdered. Yet I
know
…! Well, all right, I can't
know!
But how else to describe how I feel about it? I
believe
that it would be a miscarriage of justice if nobody looked into it any further. I've been yanked off on to another case, and I'm up to my eyeballs with the wedding and stuff …'

Lesley and her live-in boyfriend were getting married in a fortnight's time, so it was understandable that she felt stressed.

‘… so please, Ellie! Will you please look into it for me?'

‘If I poke around a bit and find nothing, you'll let me off the hook?'

‘Yes. I trust your instinct.'

Ellie looked at her watch. It was running slow. She hoped. She hadn't had time to take it into the clock repair man in the Avenue. She must try again tomorrow. ‘Look, Lesley, I've got to go and start the supper. We have guests tonight, so—'

‘One of your friends who lives locally? Might they have some gossip about the Cordover family?'

‘It's Vera, who used to be our lodger and part-time housekeeper, the one who's now married to her old sweetheart, and Vera's teenage son – you remember him? Mikey? In and out of mischief, bright as a button, bless him. I had planned a big meal, but I'm running late—'

‘Vera's pregnant, isn't she? And married to that teacher … what is he, deputy head at the high school? He might have known the Cordover grandchildren. They're all local. You could ask him.'

‘Lesley! Shut up and let me get off the phone! It'll be bread and cheese for supper if I can't get on with it.' She put the phone down on Lesley, who was still talking, and raced through to the kitchen, glancing distractedly at the grandfather clock, which must surely be running fast. It couldn't possibly be that late, could it?

The phone rang again. Ellie knew, she just knew it would be Diana. Well, let it ring. Diana had married a much older man, a wealthy estate agent, but she was always looking out for a chance to make more money. Diana's schemes usually went awry and there was no way Ellie was going to put money into her daughter's latest crackpot idea, whatever it might be. Yes, she could hear Diana's sharp voice on the answerphone, ordering her mother to ring her … Now! Immediately! Urgent!

Well, tough. Now, how long before her guests arrived?

T
homas arrived home five minutes before their guests were due, to find Ellie in something of a panic. Racing from stove to fridge, she apologized for the shortcomings of the meal and for not having managed to set the table in the dining room. Half laughing and half serious, she said it was all Lesley's fault for trying to embroil her in some local family dispute!

Whereupon Thomas, who had long recognized that his wife had unusual gifts when dealing with people who'd got themselves into difficulties, gave her a hug and a kiss. ‘My dear, if you've been called to arms again, then all I can say is, “What can I do to help?” Shall I dish up? Find some beer for Dan to drink? Take it from me, Vera and Dan won't be wondering why we haven't got the best silver out for them, and Mikey certainly won't notice.'

Upon which Ellie calmed down, and even managed to feed the cat before their guests arrived.

Instead of the steak-and-kidney pudding which Ellie had planned to make, she produced a pie. Even so, she'd had to take a number of short cuts to get the meal on the table on time. She'd pre-cooked the meat in the microwave, and used a packet of flaky pastry to go on top of the pie instead of fiddling with flour and shortening herself. But the top had browned nicely in the oven and the pie had tasted all right, praise be.

She'd made mashed potatoes to go with the pie, plus a small mountain of carrots and cauliflower sprigs. The real, genuine, home-cooked apple crumble afterwards had gone down a treat. All right, the apples had been rescued from the freezer, but nobody cared and everyone had seconds.

Once they'd scraped the last mouthful of apple crumble off their plates, Ellie relaxed and remembered to ask Dan if he recalled the Cordover grandchildren. ‘They wouldn't be called Cordover, of course. Their mothers were twins called Poppy and Juno and I haven't a clue what their married names were, so really I have no business bothering you with this, as they must have left school long before you became a teacher. Their children are the next generation down, and I suppose they'll have left school maybe a year, maybe two years ago? There's … let me think,' Ellie rubbed her forehead. ‘Trixie, who was born to shop and … Clemmie … is that right? They'd be cousins. I'm burbling because, come to think of it, they would probably have gone to private schools.'

Mikey, the teenager, took no notice of the conversation. He was sprawled across the table, teasing Midge, who pretended to be annoyed but was actually enjoying the attention. Those two had always got on well.

Mikey's stepfather passed his plate down the table for Thomas to put in the dishwasher, saying, ‘That's an unusual combination of names. Trixie and Clemmie. No, I don't remember any girls of that name at school, but … Trixie? Trixie?' He turned to his wife, ‘Didn't you mention a Trixie, or Trixibelle recently? Could it be the same one?'

Vera had been working in Reception at the big hotel nearby until the previous weekend when she'd gone on maternity leave. ‘Way back, when I was a wage earner?' Vera patted her bump. ‘That's right. I did tell you about her, didn't I? The thing is, Ellie, that a local photographer has been running a competition in the local paper, and invited the prizewinners to the hotel for the prize-giving ceremony. Bouncing Babies, Beautiful Teens, Glorious Grannies, that sort of thing. The babies squalled, the teens tossed their hair around, and the Grannies tried to talk one another down. Chaos!'

‘You think a girl called Trixie was involved?'

Vera nodded. ‘If it's the same one, she was something else! Her bright red lipstick matched the bandeau round her hair, which matched the red polka-dot dress she was wearing. Very fifties, I thought … Not that I was born then. She wasn't the most beautiful girl there and she was, if I remember rightly, a little older than the rest – perhaps nineteen? – but she had a certain something. I could see why they didn't give her first prize – which went to a stunning Indian girl – but I could also see why they couldn't overlook her. She was the runner-up. I can't remember her second name. I suppose it was in the paper.'

‘Newspapers! Do you still keep them for recycling?' Mikey sprang up from the table and darted across the room to scrabble among the old newspapers which Ellie had put aside for recycling but which hadn't got any further than the ledge by the back door. Mikey riffled through the top ones and brought a selection back to the table. ‘If it was in the local paper, it should be here, right?'

‘Not now, Mikey,' said Vera. He ignored her to deal out papers round the table.

Thomas was amused, rather than annoyed. ‘Let me have the rest of the dirty plates, Ellie, will you?'

Mikey said, ‘Would she be a Page Three girl?'

Vera said, ‘Not in the
Gazette
. Family fare. The girls I saw were fully dressed. Got it! Two weeks ago.' Vera folded the paper over, and held a page up for them to see. Three pictures of babies, three of pretty girls, and three of glamorous grannies. ‘The middle one. Trixie something … Cordover?'

‘Builders. Cordovers, the builders,' said Dan, turning pages on another edition. ‘They built our new sports hall. Did a good job. You see their signs everywhere.'

Ellie peered over Vera's shoulder. ‘Pretty girl. Unusual, as you say. What we used to call “speaking eyes”.'

‘She's a tart,' said Mikey, also looking over Vera's shoulder. ‘Bedroom eyes.'

‘Mikey!'

‘Do you prefer “slag”?' Mikey tried to look innocent.

His mother tapped him with the paper. ‘She's probably a very nice girl.'

Mikey grinned. ‘Doesn't look it.'

Dan held up his hand. ‘Cordover again. In last week's paper. Listen to this. “Tragic accident at The Magpie. Poppy Cordover was found at the foot of the stairs at her upmarket boutique on Tuesday morning …” Blah, blah. “Her family are devastated. Her husband, Ray Cocks …”' He suspended his reading to remark, ‘Cocks. There's a Cocks's Garage in Acton, isn't there? Now, what do I know about them?'

Thomas was about to put the kettle on when the phone rang. He said, ‘I'll take it,' and disappeared into the hall.

Ellie took over making tea. ‘Builders' tea all round?'

‘Let me help,' said Vera, trying to get to her feet and failing.

‘Sit down, woman!' thundered Dan.

Vera said, ‘Yes, sir!' in an unusually meek tone, and everyone laughed.

Thomas returned, looking annoyed. ‘It's Diana. I said you had guests. She said she'd drop in to see you late tomorrow morning. Now, what were we talking about? Cocks's Garage? I know them by repute. Dicey.' Thomas never said anything bad about anyone, so this was tantamount to accusing the garage of committing all seven of the deadly sins.

‘Really?' said Dan. ‘Not that I use them.'

‘I spoke out of turn. I might be wrong. Someone told me a long story about being overcharged. Take no notice. They're probably as pure as snowflakes.'

Dan looked thoughtful but resumed his reading. ‘Well, I suppose you can understand why mother and daughter kept the Cordover name rather than using “Cocks”. In the paper here they say how much the family will miss their lovely, caring wife and mother, who died on the premises of the boutique to which she had devoted her life. They say, “She is always in our thoughts.” There's an announcement of the death and funeral on the opposite page. Mm … they say … crematorium at noon, immediate family and friends only. “No flowers by request.” That's a pretty terse send-off. Nothing about going on somewhere afterwards. I wonder why not? Nice-looking woman, I must say.' He passed the paper over for Ellie to see.

Ellie looked, and saw a heart-shaped face with a high, thin nose and long neck; flaxen hair in a pixie haircut, discreet make-up, diamond stud earrings, a fashionable dress that hadn't come out of Primark.

If she'd met this woman in the street, what would she have thought of her? A successful businesswoman? Someone you'd think you could touch for charitable purposes? She had a generous mouth.

What was it her father had said about her? Poppy, who didn't need a calculator to add up. Poppy, who acted as accountant for The Magpie concern, and was the project manager for their buy-to-let properties. Mm. Yes. This woman would have been formidable in her own way. Sharply beautiful, sure of herself … perhaps the fact that she had her own successful business gave her a poise beyond her years? She must be, what, knocking forty? But looked younger.

Ellie asked, ‘Vera, have you ever shopped at The Magpie?'

‘I've heard of it. I have friends who haunt the place. It's a bit out of the way for me.'

Mikey was still scanning the photos. ‘I don't half fancy the girl who won the teenaged section. And phew! Look at that one! She can't be a granny, can she? Mrs Quicke, you ought to have entered for the Glamorous Grannies competition. I'd have voted for you.'

Everyone laughed at that because if there was one thing Ellie did not do, it was spend time and money on her appearance. Her skin was lovely and her silvery hair curled prettily, but she paid very little attention to what she wore and had been known to leave the house with a button missing from her coat, or wearing the clogs she'd slipped on while working in the garden.

‘Well,' she said, ‘tomorrow I have to go to the funeral, so I'd better smarten myself up for the occasion.' Also, it would be a good excuse to be out when Diana called.

Before she left next morning, Ellie managed to catch Thomas before he went into his study. ‘I don't know if I'll be back for lunch or not. I have to go to the Cordover funeral at noon.'

Thomas gave her a hug. ‘I'll be thinking of you, and praying. God bless.'

She phoned for a cab.

Crematoriums – or should it be crematoria? – seemed a bit other-worldly to Ellie. She imagined she could feel strong emotions lingering in the air from those who had occupied the pews before her. On the other hand, she'd attended one or two funerals which had attracted hardly any mourners. Ellie looked around her and gave a gentle sigh.

At some funerals the very air seemed dark with grief. And at others, people were looking at their watches even as they arrived, anxious to shuffle off the deceased to … wherever … and to get on with life. This one was a nice mix of irritation and sorrow.