Next Door to Murder (26 page)

‘At least they serve lunch on Sundays,' Max commented. ‘A lot of pubs don't.'

In need of comfort food, Rona ordered beer-battered cod and chips, and the others abandoned their more modest selections and joined her. Gradually, her feelings of guilt and anxiety began to recede. The police were on to it, she told herself. They'd find Louise and bring her back. But back to what, exactly? And once more her mind started its treadmill, and again she had no answers.

After lunch, they returned to the Ridgeways' and spent a lazy afternoon chatting and watching a DVD Gavin had taken out. Consequently it was after seven by the time they reached home. There were still tapes across the Franks' gateway, but the sightseers had gone, at least for the moment, and only one police van remained. A message was flashing on the answerphone, and Rona pressed the switch to hear her father-in-law's anxious voice.

‘Did these people found murdered live near you? The road we saw on the news looked familiar. Please give me a call when you receive this message.'

‘I'll speak to him,' Max said, conscious of a familiar sense of guilt. His father, a fiercely independent eighty-year-old, lived in Northumberland, and despite all Max's good intentions, an interval had again lapsed since he'd been up to see him. Unfairly, it was his sister Cynthia, living close by, who had to shoulder most of the responsibility, especially the previous winter, when the old man had been ill.

‘Don't tell him how closely we're involved,' Rona warned. ‘He'd only worry.'

‘He'll find out anyway, once the press get on to it. It'll be in all the papers tomorrow, and reports that “neighbours” found the body will be a dead giveaway. He'll want us to go up and stay with him till it all blows over, like he did last time.'

‘It mightn't be a bad idea,' Rona said.

Rona's phone call the previous evening had thoroughly unsettled Avril. She'd spent a restless night, and been brooding over the matter all day, watching or listening to every news bulletin. Rona had been involved in several traumatic events since she'd devoted her time to journalism, but the fact that murder had been committed actually
next door
to her, and presumably while she was at home, was a step too far.

Nor did the dreary weather help. Avril heartily disliked Sundays at the best of times; it was a day for families, and there was no point in cooking a roast for one. The rest of the week she'd managed to fill satisfactorily, and since Sarah had come to lodge with her, she hadn't been alone at night – a situation she'd been anxious to avoid. But Sarah wasn't here at the moment, and unless she made a conscious effort, at weekends Avril spoke to no one from lunchtime on Saturday till Monday morning.

She'd tried phoning first Lindsey and then Rona, just for a chat, really, but neither of them had been home. It was now eight o'clock, and already darkness, accelerated by the rain, was beginning to fall. Unable to bear the thought of the empty evening stretching ahead of her, she lifted the phone and on impulse tapped in Tom's number.

He answered almost at once. ‘Tom Parish.'

‘Tom, it's – me.'

‘Avril?'

‘Yes; I've been worrying about Rona.'

‘I know; not a happy state of affairs.'

Avril paused. ‘Is Catherine with you?'

‘No, she's been over to see the family.'

‘I suppose . . .' She took her courage in both hands. ‘You couldn't come round for a bit, could you? I feel in need of company.'

There was a slight pause at his end, too. Then, ‘Yes, of course I can, if you'd like me to.'

Kind, considerate Tom. Why had she ever let him go? ‘I'd be very grateful,' she said in a small voice.

It seemed perilously like old times, to see him sitting across the hearth from her, a glass in his hand.

‘I don't know anything about those people next door,' Avril began, reminding herself that, however it might seem, it was
not
old times. ‘Do you?'

‘Well, actually we had lunch at Catherine's last Sunday, and Rona was talking about them.'

‘They were here for lunch yesterday,' Avril cut in, childishly wanting to keep her end up, ‘but the subject never arose. It was when they got home that they – found them. So – what were they saying?'

‘It was all a bit involved. Apparently the daughter Louise, a woman in her thirties, I gathered, is suffering from amnesia after a car crash. She'd begun to have doubts about her identity and whether her parents were in fact her parents at all.'

Avril frowned. ‘Why would she think that?'

‘Oh, they couldn't produce any photos or papers, saying they'd been destroyed in a house fire in Canada, where they've come from. But they used to live in Harrogate, so when Rona went up there last week, she looked at the electoral rolls but could find no trace of Louise. The parents were listed, but their daughter's name was given as something entirely different.'

‘Trust Rona to get involved in some mystery,' Avril said, with a touch of her old irritation. Then, anxiety overruling it, ‘But that won't put her in danger, will it?'

‘No reason why it should; it'll probably turn out the murders were the result of a burglary gone wrong.'

‘But the daughter has disappeared, she said.'

‘Yes; that is worrying.'

‘Perhaps she really
is
someone else, and some relative came to claim her.'

‘If so, he had a brutal way of going about it.'

‘Perhaps the so-called parents wouldn't let her go, and things got out of hand.'

Tom laughed. ‘There's no doubt where Rona gets her imagination!'

Avril smiled. ‘Seriously, though, you really don't think she's in danger?'

‘No, I don't,' Tom said stoutly, as much to convince himself as her. ‘And now we've established that, tell me what you've been doing with yourself.'

He stayed an hour longer, and they discussed more general matters, current affairs and news of mutual friends. Then he finished his drink and got to his feet.

‘I'd better be going. Try not to worry, Avril. Max is staying overnight while all this is going on, so she won't be alone.'

‘I can't think why he doesn't stay every night, like any normal husband.'

Tom smiled; this was an old complaint. At the door, he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Sleep well, now your mind's at rest.'

‘I will. And thank you so much for coming, Tom. I really appreciate it.'

‘Any time,' he said. But as she closed the door behind him, she knew, sadly, that he didn't mean it literally. She'd forfeited her right to that.

Fourteen

M
onday morning, and Max left for Farthings. The vans had returned next door, and there was a group of newsmen with cameras camped on the opposite pavement. From behind a curtain, Rona watched them converge on Max, and though his pace didn't slacken, they trailed him as far as the corner, trying to draw out his monosyllabic replies.

Once in the car, he phoned her. ‘You saw what happened?'

‘Yes.'

‘There was a press conference yesterday. I don't know if our names were given, but the mere fact that we're neighbours makes us newsworthy. Incidentally, the question of Louise's identity wasn't raised, so the police mightn't have released that nugget. I told them it was pointless to approach you, as you didn't know any more than I did, but if they do, keep as detached as you can and don't volunteer anything.'

Rona said anxiously, ‘I don't want my photo in the paper. It would remind the stalker that I saw him.'

‘That's hardly logical, now is it?' Max said impatiently. ‘He already knows your name and where you live. If he'd wanted to silence you, he'd have made a move already. Look, I've arrived at Farthings now, so I'll sign off. Meet me at the police station at twelve, then we can have lunch together. In the meantime, try to keep a low profile.'

As soon as the line was clear, the phone rang again. Rona hesitated, but if she left it, it would mean going down to check the answerphone.

She lifted it cautiously. ‘Hello?'

‘Up to your old tricks, I see,' said a breezy voice.

‘Tess!' Rona wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. Tess Chadwick of the
Stokely Gazette
was a friend, but they'd clashed before over her coverage of Rona's various exploits.

‘I'm outside the house. If you look, you'll see me.'

‘I'll take your word for it,' Rona said. She'd no intention of presenting herself at the front windows.

‘So how about letting an old pal in and spilling the beans?'

‘Max told you as much as I can.'

‘Which was pretty well zilch. Come on, Rona; you can do better, I know.'

‘Really, Tess, I don't want to be involved.'

‘That's what you always say, but if you will make a habit of stumbling over dead bodies, you have to take the consequences. Anyway, if you talk to me, I can hold the rest of them at bay with a bit of judicious bargaining.'

Rona sighed. Tess always got her way.

‘All right, but be ready to come in quickly; I don't want a host of flashlights going off in my face.'

‘Will do.'

Rona went downstairs and, positioning herself behind the front door, opened it cautiously and Tess slipped inside. The barrage of cameras flashed, but would have been captured nothing more rewarding than Tess's rear view and the wooden door.

She gave Rona a quick peck on the cheek, and followed her into the sitting room. The height of the room above street level meant that unless they actually approached the window, they weren't visible from outside.

Tess perched, bird-like, on the edge of a chair and took out her recorder. As always, she was dressed completely in black, which today comprised a long-sleeved T-shirt, short skirt and ankle boots. Her chestnut hair was as unruly as ever, making her look considerably younger than her forty-odd years.

‘So – tell me about the folk next door. How well did you know them?'

‘Hardly at all,' Rona said.

Tess raised a sceptical eyebrow.

‘Honestly. I barely exchanged more than a dozen words with the parents, though I knew Louise slightly better.'

‘The missing daughter. What's she like?'

Rona hesitated. ‘A bit strange, really. But that's hardly surprising, considering what she's been through.'

Tess leaned forward. ‘Such as?'

Belatedly, Rona remembered that the police had withheld the full story. But they'd put no constraints on her; it had been Max who'd advised her to volunteer nothing.

She glanced at Tess's eager face, still hesitant. How would Louise react to her story appearing in print? She'd not asked for privacy, either; furthermore, the publicity might assist in finding her, could even lead to definitive proof of her identity.

‘Go on,' Tess wheedled. ‘Tell Auntie Tess.'

Rona reached a compromise: she'd tell Tess as much as she knew about Louise's background – what harm could it do now? – but she wouldn't mention the prowler. Resignedly, she began.

‘They lived
next door
?'

Avril nodded miserably. They were sorting out books before the library opened.

‘It was Rona and Max who found them,' she added. ‘They went in because the front door had been open all day.'

‘My God!'

Three pairs of horrified but curious eyes were fastened on her, drinking in every word.

‘Were they horribly bashed about?' Rita Jones asked, with ill-disguised relish.

Avril shook her head. ‘They didn't look dead at all, Rona said. The only blood they found was on the stairs and in the daughter's room.'

‘And she's missing?' That was Liz Pennington.

‘It seems so.'

‘He's probably done away with her, too,' Rita said ghoulishly.

Avril gave a little shudder, and Mary Price put a protective arm round her shoulders. ‘What a shock for you, knowing Rona was nearby when it happened.'

‘Why didn't anyone see him?' Liz asked. ‘I mean, he must have dragged her out of the house and into a car or something.'

‘But it was the middle of the night, surely?'

‘I thought Avril said—'

‘Max
noticed
the door at lunchtime; it could have been open for hours.'

‘Come along, ladies!' the chief librarian called. ‘Time to open up.'

Reluctantly they moved apart and took their places, ready to serve the public. For once in their uneventful lives, real life seemed more colourful than the fiction on their shelves.

‘So how was the party?' Carla enquired.

Dominic continued to leaf through his documents. ‘All right, I suppose. It was held outdoors, but fortunately we'd finished eating by the time the rain started.'

She waited, and when he said no more, prompted, ‘And Miss Parish?'

‘Was there, as expected.'

‘Alone?'

He looked up irritably. ‘What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?'

‘Just that you've been remarkably grumpy this morning, which usually means things aren't going your way.'

‘Quite the amateur psychologist, aren't you?'

‘See what I mean?'

Reluctantly, he smiled. ‘All right; if you must know, she had an escort, and left with him.'

‘Oh dear!'

‘I doubt if it's anything heavy, though. I know him, and he has a very nice wife.'

‘Unfortunately, that means not a thing.'

‘Job's comforter now?'

‘I did warn you—'

‘I know, I know.'

She looked at him shrewdly. ‘It seems to me that you mind more than you thought you would.'

He flung himself back in his chair. ‘God, Carla, give me a break!'

‘You do, don't you?'

‘I don't know what the hell I feel.'