Just the same, she felt uneasy. There had been something disturbing about the way Vic had looked at her when she came in, as if he knew perfectly well that her presence in the hotel, and her professed interest in its history, were subterfuge. He could not, of course, be aware that she had paid Stumpy a second visit, but he had almost certainly known about the first. Even if he believed her story, he was not prepared to take any chances.
She had achieved something, but very little, and even that could turn out to be counter-productive. Forewarned that he might be under observation, Vic had caused the one tangible piece of evidence to be removed. He might put the whole operation – whatever it was – on ice, perhaps indefinitely. She had come to a dead end … unless she could find out something else. Something irrefutable. No, forget it, Melissa. You’re pulling out, remember?
She got up, went to the window and drew back the curtains. The sky had cleared and the air was still. The garden lay bathed in moonlight; the stone shepherdess was poised serenely on her plinth, with no lurking phantoms in the shadows or imaginary will-o’-the-wisp lights at her feet. Nothing to worry about. None of her business anyway. Tomorrow night she would be looking out on the familiar scene from her own bedroom. She closed the curtains, went back to bed and fell almost immediately into a heavy sleep.
At breakfast next morning Mrs Clifford, brisk and cheerful as she despatched a hefty helping of eggs and bacon before wading into the toast and marmalade, reminded Melissa of their plans to go for a walk. They agreed to meet at ten o’clock.
Kim was on duty when Melissa went to announce that she would be leaving before lunch. ‘I understand you’ll be sending my bill to Mr Mitchell,’ she said.
‘Yes, that’s right.’ It might have been imagination, but it seemed to her that Kim’s smile was a trifle forced. ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay,’ she said. Her voice had a metallic edge as she uttered the polite formula, in marked contrast to the effusiveness of her welcome.
At ten o’clock, Melissa and Mrs Clifford set off on their walk. A short distance along the road past the hotel, a sign indicated a footpath. They climbed over a stile and began to cross a field of pasture that sloped gently upwards.
‘That’s good – no sheep today,’ said Mrs Clifford. She let Dandie off his lead and he went scampering off, nose to the ground, propelled along by his short legs like a clockwork toy. His mistress sighed happily. ‘He just loves it here,’ she said. ‘If it wasn’t for that silly rule that keeps him out of the dining-room, this place would be ideal for us both.’
At the top of the field they paused to look back. ‘Now you can see the old quarry,’ said Mrs Clifford, pointing with her walking-stick. ‘All overgrown, of course. Hasn’t been touched for centuries, I should imagine. You can see how close it is to the hotel – must have been very convenient for the builders of the original priory.’
‘They didn’t use stone for the crypt, they used brick,’ said Melissa. ‘I wonder why.’
‘Ah, that’s easy.’ As if preparing to deliver a lecture, Mrs Clifford leaned on her stick and planted her feet well apart. ‘They only came across the stone deposits by accident, y’see, when they’d nearly finished excavating for their foundations. So they’d have used up their bricks for the crypt and then built above ground using stone. That’s the theory, anyway.’ She gave Melissa a sudden, sharp look. ‘You’ve been down in the cellar, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lucky old you! You might have encountered Bess and her friends.’ Excitement glowed in Mrs Clifford’s pale eyes, then died away as she added dismissively, ‘But of course, you wouldn’t have been aware of them. You aren’t psychic.’
Melissa was studying the position of the hotel building in relation to the quarry, trying to remember how it appeared on the ground plan that Mitch had shown her. ‘I suppose,’ she said, thinking aloud, ‘the crypt originally extended in this direction. On the other hand, it might have run away from where we’re standing, but it would definitely have been east–west, wouldn’t it?’
‘Of course.’ Mrs Clifford shaded her eyes against the sun and considered, then suddenly let out a hoarse cry of excitement. ‘That’s it! What did I tell you?’ She grabbed Melissa by the arm. ‘It did run this way – below that part of the garden where the man shouted because Dandie ran on to the grass. I knew Bess wasn’t far away, and I was right. There she was, beneath my feet – oh, how absolutely marvellous!’ Wearing an expression of almost religious fervour, she clasped her hands round her stick and held it before her face as if it were a holy relic.
Uncertain how to respond, Melissa said nothing, but if she had spoken it was doubtful whether Mrs Clifford would have heard. She was in a state of euphoria with only one thing on her mind. ‘Do forgive me, but I simply must get back to the hotel,’ she said. ‘I’m going to speak to the manager and ask permission to visit that part of the garden again. I’m sure Bess has a message for me.’
She was already on her way back across the field. She had an awkward, ungainly way of walking, due no doubt to the gammy knees of which she had earlier complained, but she set a pace that Melissa could only just match without breaking into a run. ‘Where’s Dandie got to?’ she puffed, without slowing down. ‘Ah, there he is. Come on, you little scamp!’
Dandie had just emerged from an exploration of the wood. He bounded across the grass towards them, then suddenly changed direction and tore off in pursuit of a rabbit. They saw the white scut vanish on the other side of the perimeter fence; the next minute there was a startled yelp and Dandie also disappeared.
‘Oh, my goodness! He’s gone down the rabbit-hole!’ wailed Mrs Clifford. ‘He’ll get stuck – whatever shall we do?’ She rushed towards the fence, repeatedly calling the dog’s name. From somewhere not far away, they heard a pathetic whine.
‘I think he’s fallen into the quarry,’ said Melissa.
‘Oh, the poor darling!’ Mrs Clifford gripped the top of the fence and shook it. ‘How can we get to him? I can’t climb over, not with my knees. Melissa, do you think you could possibly … would you … please?’
‘I’ll try.’ The fence was too high to vault and too unstable to climb. Eventually, Melissa found a couple of large, flat stones which she placed one on top of the other to form a step. With the aid of Mrs Clifford’s supporting arm and the loan of her stick, she managed to clamber over. Cautiously, she approached the edge of the quarry.
To her relief, the drop was not sheer and at this point the distance to the bottom was not much over ten feet. Dandie was sitting on a ledge about six feet from the top, whimpering and trembling. When he caught sight of her, he jumped up and scrabbled at the face of the rock with his front paws.
‘I can see him. He can’t get back by himself, but he doesn’t seem to be hurt,’ she called.
‘Oh, thank God! Can you reach him?’
‘I think so.’
An elder bush made a handhold as she scrambled down, carefully testing each projecting rock before putting her weight on it. Reaching Dandie, she picked him up and prepared for the return trip, then realised that the branch she had used to steady herself on the way down was now out of reach.
‘I can’t get back the same way,’ she shouted. ‘There’s a track over there – it probably leads to the road. You go on and I’ll meet you.’
‘Righty-ho! You’re sure Dandie’s all right?’
‘He’s fine.’
She was only about four feet above the ground at this point and her main difficulty was not the descent but the tangle of brambles that lay at the bottom. They stretched across to the far wall of the quarry which, owing to the slope of the land, was considerably higher than the one she had just come down.
‘Lucky for you, you didn’t fall over there,’ she informed the small bundle of brown fur tucked under her arm. Dandie wriggled, eagerly licking the air in the direction of her face.
Thankful that she was wearing thick shoes and slacks, she slithered the rest of the way down and began tra
mpling a path through the undergrowth. A clump of hawthorn and elder lay between her and the track; she was seeking a way through them when she heard the sound of an approaching car.
She was not doing anything wrong. Although she was, technically, a trespasser, there was no reason to suppose that the owner of the land was going to berate her for straying on to his property to rescue a dog. So why, she asked herself as she crouched out of sight among the bushes, thankful that they had not yet shed all their leaves, was she hiding? All this spook- and crook-hunting must be making her paranoid.
The car seemed to be coming straight towards her; then it swung to the left and vanished behind an angle of rock. There was a pause; she heard the engine idling, speed up again as if it was being driven slowly forward, and then die. Moments later came the sound of a heavy door closing.
Melissa waited for a minute or two but no one appeared. She straightened up, squeezed through a gap in the bushes and went to investigate. At the far end of what was evidently a well-used track, a metal up-and-over door had been let into the quarry wall. Probably, someone had converted an old tool or dynamite store into a garage. There was nothing unusual or suspicious about that, she told herself as she hurried to rejoin Mrs Clifford. Nothing at all.
Except that, although she had been unable to identify the driver, she had caught a glimpse of the badge on the bonnet of the light blue car. It was a Renault.
Fourteen
On returning to the hotel, Melissa went upstairs to pack, leaving Mrs Clifford putting her case for permission to go ghost-hunting to a less than enthusiastic Kim Bellamy.
When she went downstairs again, the position was evidently not yet resolved. Mrs Clifford was sitting in a chair beside the fire with Dandie on her lap, drumming on the floor with her stick and glowering towards the desk, where Kim, paying no attention to her whatsoever, had spread a selection of brochures for the benefit of another guest.
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Melissa.
‘It’s like trying to get into Buckingham Palace,’ snapped Mrs Clifford, making no attempt to lower her voice. ‘She won’t agree to it – says I have to speak to her husband. Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? Ah, about time!’ She rose to her feet as Vic Bellamy appeared, suave and self-possessed in a dark suit, white shirt and bow tie. ‘Now, look here young man, this is a perfectly simple, reasonable request … !’
Melissa left them to it and headed for the car park with her suitcase, her mind on other things. All the time she was packing, she had been pondering on the significance of the blue Renault. Stumpy had mentioned that the woman who accompanied Vic to the workshop had such a car. She had immediately assumed that woman to be Kim – but Kim was on duty when she and Mrs Clifford went out and was still there when they returned; obviously, she had not been driving on this occasion. It might not have been the same car – after all, it was a fairly popular model and there was more than one shade of blue. The car she had just seen might belong to a total stranger who either owned or rented the garage, its similarity to Kim’s car – if indeed it was hers – nothing but coincidence.
All the same, it was an odd place to have a garage, with no house near by; odd, too, that the driver had closed the doors and remained inside. Unless … Melissa’s heart began thumping as a new possibility mushroomed in her brain. Supposing … no, it was too fantastic … but surely, worth looking into. She would need Chris’s help, of course … Her resolve to have nothing more to do with the affair flew out of her head as she got into the Golf and started the engine.
As she was waiting to turn out of the hotel entrance, she spotted something that made her pulse give yet another blip of excitement. About a hundred yards along to her left, having apparently emerged from the track leading to the quarry garage, was the blue Renault. Because of its position, as the driver sat watching for a gap in the traffic, it was impossible to see who was at the wheel. When it pulled out, heading towards Evesham, Melissa followed without a second thought.
Had she at this point been asked what she was hoping to achieve, she would have been hard put to it to think of a sensible reply. For some reason, it seemed important to know the identity of the driver. If the theory burgeoning in her mind was correct, it was possible for Kim – or possibly Vic – to be at the wheel. If so, it would not by itself prove anything, but it would be another piece of evidence to support the case that was slowly building up against them. Still only circumstantial evidence, she reminded herself as she drove past the telephone kiosk from which she had intended to call Chris. She could talk to him later – this evening, perhaps. She might go to the rehearsal after all.
She chewed over various possibilities while keeping the Renault in sight but not getting too close. It took the Evesham by-pass, heading towards Stratford-upon-Avon. By the time they entered the town, they were separated by several other cars; at a set of traffic lights it was only by putting her foot down and shooting across on the amber that Melissa managed to keep the Renault in sight. A couple of minutes later she found herself fourth in a queue to enter a multi-storey car park.
The Renault had reached the entrance; it stopped briefly as a woman’s hand took a ticket from the automatic dispenser and then swung away to the left towards the first ramp. Still Melissa could not get a glimpse of the driver’s face, although it was possible to see that there was only one person in the car. At least, she had been able to read the registration number, which she repeated over and over while waiting her turn to enter.
The second driver in the queue managed to stall his engine; the next pulled up too far from the machine and Melissa sat fuming while an elderly man took what seemed an eternity to unhook his safety belt, get out to take his ticket and get back in again. By the time she had found a space to park her own car and located the blue Renault another two levels up, it was standing empty and there was no other person in sight.
Faced with the possibility of an unlimited wait, she felt her enthusiasm for the adventure oozing away. A multi-storey car park is not the most congenial of places to while away the passing hour, especially on a chilly autumn day. Still, having come thus far, she was loth to abandon the project altogether. She decided to bring the Golf up to the same level as the Renault, where there were several unoccupied spaces, in order to keep watch in comparative comfort.
She had just made this decision and was heading for the passenger lift when the door opened and a man came out. He hurried towards her, ignition key at the ready, parking ticket clutched in one hand. She glanced idly over her shoulder as he made for the far end of the line of cars, then continued towards the lift, reaching it just as the doors were closing in response to another call. As she stood waiting, one finger on the button, she heard the sound of an engine starting up. Looking back, she saw the blue Renault reverse out of its bay and drive at speed towards the exit. Helplessly, she watched it go, realising that by the time she reached her own car, the Renault would be out of the building and out of sight.
‘That was a complete waste of time,’ she heard herself informing the control panel of the lift as it creaked towards the street level. A second occupant, a tired-looking young mother with a chocolate-coated toddler, looked at her curiously.
‘You what?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just thinking aloud.’
Adjacent to the car park was a shopping precinct. Melissa wandered through it, thinking of possible explanations for what she had just seen. She reached the river, found an unoccupied bench and sat staring at the grey-green water, its slow-moving surface speckled with fallen leaves among which the population of ducks and swans glided and pecked and squabbled.
She calculated that the blue Renault had stood empty for something like ten minutes; an unidentified woman had left it there and a man she had never set eyes on before had driven it away. Perhaps he was borrowing it, or perhaps he was the owner and the woman had been returning it. Perhaps they were husband and wife; he was using the car for some errand while she remained in town shopping. But why, if
the explanation was a simple, straightforward one, had they not arranged to hand over the car in the open? Street parking in the town centre was normally impossible but there were plenty of little side streets within easy walking distance where one could wait for limited periods. Apparently, these people did not wish their manoeuvre to be observed – which could mean the car was being used to hand over something in which the police might be interested. Something, perhaps, that had been stored in the mysterious quarry garage?
Aware that she was beginning to feel hungry, she headed back into town in search of lunch. On the way, she passed the Royal Shakespeare Theatre and called in for a programme. For some inconsequential reason, she thought of Ken Harris and wondered if he would follow up his suggestion of a date. Her thoughts strayed for a moment in a different direction until, as she strolled along the High Street, a new and elegant shop front attracted her attention. The framework was dark blue, with the name ‘Dizzy Heights’ inscribed in gold on the fascia-board.
The door stood open. Inside, workmen were busy installing fixtures and fittings, while at the rear of the shop, supervising the erection of a partition, were two women. One, whose outline was instantly familiar, had her back turned; the other, a petite figure with a bush of ash-blonde hair and round tinted spectacles, caught sight of Melissa and came to the door with a coloured brochure in her hand.
‘I am afraid we shall not be open until Saturday,’ she said, ‘but please take this and peruse it at your leisure. You will, I am sure, find much to interest you.’ Despite her small stature, she had a commanding air, and she handed over the brochure like a headmistress giving out homework.
This, thought Melissa, must be the Honourable Penelope’s formidable partner. Her surmise was confirmed as Penelope herself, having finished instructing the fitters, came forward. Her smile had the brightness of sunshine on snow.
Murder at the Manor Hotel Page 14