‘Many moons ago. I was rather good but I got bored with it. Theatre folk can be very tiresome to deal with. All ego and tantrums. I prefer the dolls – they wear what I make for them and don’t argue or create any dramas – though Lois Delaney was rather sweet, actually, and quite lovely.’
‘Did you know she was living here?’
‘As it happens, I did. Mrs Barnes told me.’
‘Did you go to her flat?’
‘No, I didn’t. I very much doubt if Lois would have remembered me. As I said, it was a long time ago. A great deal of water has flowed under the bridge since then.’
‘She was old as the hills, wasn’t she?’
‘To you, yes. Not to me. You’re looking jealous again, Craig. No need to be. You’re rather nice-looking, too. And you know quite well that much as I admire beautiful women, that’s as far as it goes with me.’
‘I didn’t like that policeman. He’d got a cheek, asking all those stupid questions.’
‘It’s his job, dear boy. Don’t take it so personally.’
‘Well, I didn’t like the way he looked at us.’
‘You should be used to it by now.’
Craig knew that he should, but it always pissed him off when people gave him and Neville looks. Sometimes they were sort of knowing leers; sometimes they were cold and disapproving; other times they were downright disgusted. Well, gays had rights like anybody else. There was a law that said you couldn’t be against them. And about time, too. They’d had to fight for it – demos and marches and bracelets and all the rest – but they’d done it. Funny how you could nearly always spot another gay and some of them – like Neville – didn’t really look it at all. But you knew.
He said, ‘Do you think she topped herself?’
‘Presumably. One doesn’t normally use a hairdryer in the bath. Not if one has any sense. Mind you, the acting profession isn’t exactly the most sensible on the planet. I expect she was depressed about something – they’re either on cloud nine or down in the dumps. And it’s true her star was waning. Well, waned actually, to be brutally frank. Always a hard thing to accept, especially when you’re on your own with nobody to hold your hand.’
‘Didn’t she have a bloke? A husband?’
‘She’d had three. The latest was a very rich property tycoon but they were separated, I believe. It was his company that converted this place into flats. Or one of his companies, I should say. He seems to have fingers in several different pies.’
‘How do you know all that?’
‘It’s in the newspapers, dear boy – even the broadsheets. They muck-rake along with the rest these days. You really should read more.’
Craig hardly ever read anything, except for cooking recipes and even then he mostly made them up himself. He thought people who followed every word of a recipe and measured and weighed everything were pathetic. Real cooking wasn’t like that. Real cooking was trying things out, chucking things in, tasting till you got it right and knowing when you had.
He went to the window and looked out. It was still odd that Neville hadn’t ever mentioned knowing that actress. She was pretty famous, after all, even though she was old hat, and Neville was always dropping names. Casual, like. Mind-blowing the number of celebs he seemed to know.
He drummed his fingers on the window pane. Neville hadn’t given a toss but that cop had really got up his nose with all his questions. Had they seen any strangers in or around the house? Had they heard anything? Had they been in all the evening? He’d kept quiet then because Neville had left the flat for a while. His work lamp had been playing up, going on and off, and he’d taken it to see Mr B and ask if he could fix it. Matter of fact, he’d been gone quite a long time. Not that Craig was going to tell that bastard Squibb. He hated cops. They used to come round and worry the life out of Mum about what his two brothers and he had been up to. And he’d lost count of the number of times he’d been picked-on in the street. Victimization, that’s what it’d been. Harassment. Catch him helping them with their sodding inquiries now!
That colonel bloke was coming up the drive again – no donkey tin this time, though. What the hell did he want now?
‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mrs Barnes. I’m afraid I left my gloves behind. I think they’re probably on the table by the hall fireplace.’
‘Come in, sir. I’ll go and look straight away.’
He waited on the mat by front door while she hurried off, snow melting off his boots in the warmth of very efficient central heating. She still looked upset, he thought. Still in shock, probably. He hoped Detective Inspector Squibb had been considerate to her, though it seemed unlikely. She came back with his leather gloves and he thanked her.
‘Stupid of me to go off without them.’
‘I’m always losing mine,’ she said. ‘It’s easy to do.’
He smiled at her. ‘I hope you’re feeling a bit better today.’ She shook her head. ‘Not really, sir. It’s been such a shock. I was ever so fond of Miss Delaney. She was such a nice lady. Always please and thank you, ever so grateful for anything you did. Not like some. My husband thought the world of her, too. We used to worry about her – being on her own. Of course, she went to London quite often to the hairdresser and to do some shopping and to stay with friends, but it must have been lonely for her down here.’
He said gently, ‘I’m sure you were a great help to her.’
‘We did what we could. I kept things tidy – she wasn’t very good at that – and I gave the place a good clean every so often. And Stanley did odd jobs and any heavy stuff – moving furniture around, changing bulbs, mending things and suchlike. She was always moving furniture. Women are like that, aren’t they?’
Laura had been, he remembered. Sometimes he’d come home to find a room completely rearranged. Men generally preferred everything to stay the same for ever. Something to do with habit and routine.
He said, ‘Had Miss Delaney seemed at all depressed lately?’
‘The inspector asked me that too, sir. The fact is that you never knew what sort of mood she’d be in. Sometimes when I’d go in, she was all smiles, then the next I could tell she was all unhappy. She was up and down, you see.’ Mrs Barnes twisted her hands. ‘I shouldn’t say this about her now she’s passed away, but she used to drink a bit – well, more than a bit, to tell the truth. It was always vodka. Vodka and tomato juice with some Worcestershire sauce. That’s what she liked. She kept a big jug of it mixed up in the fridge so it was nice and cold.’
‘Bloody Mary.’
‘Beg pardon, sir?’
‘That’s what that particular drink is called. A Bloody Mary.’
‘Well, I used to think that at least the tomato juice would be doing her some good because she didn’t eat much else. Just snacks, really. No wonder she was so slim.’
‘Was she here over Christmas?’
‘Oh yes, sir. Her son, Mr Farrell, came to stay. He seemed a very nice gentleman but, of course, we only had a few words. Ever so good-looking. A lot like her. He’s an actor, too. I’ve seen him once or twice on television – only in small parts, but you notice him, if you know what I mean.’
‘Did he stay long?’
‘Till New Year’s Eve. Well, not the evening exactly. He left before lunchtime, I believe. Around midday. I didn’t see him go myself, but Stanley did. He was outside getting in the logs when Mr Farrell drove away. He had one of those old sports cars.’
‘So Miss Delaney was on her own after that?’
‘No, sir. Her husband came to see her. Well, he’s not really her husband any more. They were separated about three months ago. That’s what Miss Delaney told me. She said the divorce settlement hadn’t been finalized yet and so she’d come here for the time being. It was her husband’s company that had converted the Hall into flats, you see. Flat Two hadn’t been sold yet so it came in handy while she was waiting for things to be worked out. It can take months and months with a divorce, she told me, especially if there’s a lot o
f money involved. She said the lawyers argue over every penny and they make a fortune themselves.’
He smiled. ‘I dare say she was right. Did you tell the inspector all this?’
‘Yes, sir. He asked lots of questions and I answered them. He wanted to know what time Miss Delaney’s husband had arrived and when he left. Well, I could tell him that all right because Mr King couldn’t get any answer when he pressed the outside bell to Miss Delaney’s flat. All the flats have a numbered bell by the front door you see, sir. You have to speak into a sort of grille and say who you are, then the person in the flat presses a button to open the front door to let you in. Only she didn’t. So, in the end he rang our bell – like you just now, sir – and I opened the front door for him.’
‘You knew who he was?’
‘Oh, yes. He’d interviewed us personally for the caretakers’ job. He was very particular about the people he employed on his properties. Very particular about everything, come to that. He used to come here when the house was being converted and give the workmen a real telling-off if he found out things weren’t being done properly.’
‘I don’t expect he was too pleased that the doorbell wasn’t working.’
‘He certainly wasn’t, sir!’
‘What sort of time was that?’
‘As I told the inspector, it must have been about a quarter past five. It was dark, of course, and it was snowing quite hard. I remember that.’
‘Did Mr King stay long?’
‘No. And I know exactly when he left because he came and rang at our door when he was going. Stanley had just sat down to watch the BBC six o’clock news on the television and he had to get up again. Mr King ticked him off about the bell not working properly. He told Stanley he was to get it fixed immediately. We both saw him out of the front door and he drove off in that big car of his.’
‘So he must have been the last person to see Mrs Delaney alive?’
She shook her head. ‘No, sir. That was me. Well, I didn’t actually see her, but I heard her. After Miss Delaney’s husband had gone I rang her flat doorbell – just to make sure she was all right. I thought she might have been a bit upset, what with the divorce proceedings and Mr King visiting. She didn’t open the door – just called through it, but she sounded quite all right. Everything was fine, she said, and she was just running her bath. She generally took a bath about that time in the evening if she was at home. Had a nice long soak with lots of Wiberg’s pine essence in it. She always laughed and said it was very old-fashioned these days but it helped her relax. So, I didn’t worry any more. Not till the next day when she didn’t answer.’
He said sympathetically, ‘This must have been very distressing for you, Mrs Barnes.’
‘It has, sir. And the inspector says I’ll have to give evidence at the inquest. He says I’ll be asked the same sort of questions all over again. I’m dreading that, sir.’
He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Mrs Barnes. Just tell them the truth.’
‘The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth . . . isn’t that what I’ll have to swear to tell, sir? I’ve seen it on the TV.’
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘And it’s all you have to do.’
‘I saw you. You didn’t know someone was watching, did you?’
The malevolent hiss came from behind her as she reached the landing from the attic stairs. Jeanette looked over her shoulder. That sour old biddy, Miss Quinn, was standing a few feet away. When she had first moved in to the Hall she had wondered what someone like Miss Quinn did all day; then she had found out. The woman spent her days spying on everybody else. A door had only to open or shut, a visitor arrive or leave, and she was out of her lair like a jack-in-the-box and peering over banisters, down, or up, to see what was going on.
‘Is there something the matter, Miss Quinn?’
‘I saw you.’
‘And you can see me now.’
‘I saw you standing outside her door last evening.’
‘Whose door?’
‘That actress. The one who’s just died. What were you doing there, I’d like to know?’
‘I really think, Miss Quinn, that your New Year’s resolution should be to keep your long nose out of everybody else’s business.’
She went on down the next flight of stairs to the hall and let herself out of the front door. It was bitterly cold after the warmth of the house and she wound her woollen scarf closer round her neck and hunched into her coat collar. What a damned nuisance that the old girl had spotted her! She was bound to have told the police. Of course, they may or may not have believed her – they must come across sad people like Miss Quinn all the time – but the probability was that they would ask if it was true. They would also ask her why she hadn’t mentioned it to them before. Damn, damn, damn.
She walked on down the drive, heading for nowhere – just walking to get out of the flat and do some thinking. In a better mood she would have appreciated the wintry scene the deep and crisp snow, the crimson sun sinking behind the woods, the stark black tracery of the leafless trees. But not right now.
She trod in the tyre tracks on the driveway – the police car’s, presumably. There were footprints, too, alongside the tyre marks – large booted ones which would belong to that nice colonel who had come to collect money for the donkeys and who had found Lois. Poor man, it must have been horrible, though he had probably seen a good many dead bodies in his army days.
She reached the gates – hideous new shiny green ones, topped with lacquered brass balls. On the outside of one of the pillars an equally hideous square of slate had been let into the brickwork with The Hall engraved in fake Gothic script. She wondered what the former owners made of it all. Not that the conversion had been shoddily done. Far from it. The driveway and the grounds were immaculate, and no expense had been spared on the interior. Everything was top quality and everything worked. She couldn’t complain about any of it. And the village itself, of course, was lovely. She’d come here to get some peace and Dorset had seemed a very good place to get it. It was just rotten luck that Lois should have moved in and then, of course, Rex had turned up again like a bad penny, blast him! And just when she was beginning to get over the bastard.
She walked on along the empty road. The rooks were wheeling and cawing above the dark woods, settling down for the night. Not much of an inspiration for the painted plates with their sweet song-birds and delicate flowers. Sometimes she got so sick of the plates she wanted to hurl them across the room – smash them into tiny pieces. Only she couldn’t do that. They made money. Income. Her inheritance had paid for the flat and she knew it had been a sound investment: easy to keep up, easy to sell when she wanted to move on, ideal to work in. Far better and more sensible than buying some dank, dark, poky, dry-rot-ridden cottage. But she still had to eat. She had to keep doing the plates, whether she liked them or not.
After half a mile or so she turned back. It was getting darker and starting to snow again.
‘You’re not thinking of going out, I hope, Roger?’
The major started guiltily – caught in the act of putting on his coat and scarf. Marjorie was standing behind him in the hallway, hands on her hips.
‘Just thought I’d take a turn. Get some fresh air into the old lungs.’
‘Get pneumonia, you mean. If you’ve got flu, you should stay indoors.’
‘Matter of fact, I’m feeling much more the thing now. All tickety-boo again.’
‘Is that so? You’re still not going out, though. It’s snowing again and it’s getting dark.’
‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Yes, you had, Roger. I can read you like a book, you know. You were planning to walk over to the Hall and see if you could somehow get to meet that actress.’
‘What actress?’
‘Don’t put on that innocent look. Lois Delaney. The one you were always so keen on.’
‘Nothing was further from my mind, I assure you
.’
‘That’s just as well, then, because she’s not there any more.’
‘What do you mean? Not there any more?’
‘She’s not there any more because she was found dead this morning and they’ve taken her away.’
He gaped at his wife. ‘Dead? Lois Delaney?’
‘That’s what I said. You must be going deaf, Roger. You ought to go and see Dr Harvey about it. Perhaps you need a hearing aid.’
A hearing aid! What did she think he was? An old man? He clutched at the coat stand, feeling damned shaky all of a sudden. It was the shock, of course. Hearing bad news like that, and from Marjorie who didn’t care how she delivered it. Tact wasn’t exactly her middle name.
He said, ‘Are you quite sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. It’s all round the village. The police have been at the Hall and they went to the colonel’s cottage to question him.’
‘The colonel!’
‘I wish you wouldn’t keep repeating what I say, like a parrot. The colonel was the one who found her body – when he was collecting for the donkey fund.’
‘You mean he went into her flat?’
‘Well, he must have done because she died in the bath. They think it was suicide.’
Major Cuthbertson’s mind was reeling as he tried to make sense of it. The colonel had got into the flat – just as he’d feared – in which case Lois Delaney must have let him in. So why had she then got into a bath and killed herself? What the hell had gone on? He wiped his brow.
Steady the guns! Rally the troops! Don’t let the old girl see how fussed you are.
‘You said the colonel found her?’
‘Yes, Roger, I did. The caretaker’s wife was worried because she couldn’t get any answer at the flat and she asked the colonel to go in and see if anything was wrong. So he did. And he found Lois Delaney dead in the bath.’
‘That’s shocking!’
‘It was for her – she’d been electrocuted.’
‘Good God!’
‘Lucky it wasn’t you who found her, Roger. You’d probably have had a heart attack and fallen in the bath as well.’
THREE SILENT THINGS a cozy murder mystery (Village Mysteries Book 2) Page 6