A Fatal Flaw

by Faith Martin

  He wondered briefly what they’d made of him. Had they liked him so well, or had they merely made him feel at home out of an innate sense of hospitality?

  He’d never really much cared what anybody had thought of him – with a few notable exceptions – and he didn’t intend to start worrying about such things now! He snorted as he took a sip from his drink. And yet with the Lovedays… it mattered somehow.

  Perhaps it was because he could see how close-knit a unit they all were, it highlighted how his own family seemed to have drifted apart. He rarely saw his children nowadays. But then, they had flown the nest and had their own lives to consider. Which was how it should be.

  With another snort, Clement Ryder took another sip of his nightcap. Good grief, he was in danger of getting maudlin! Soon he’d be sounding like a lonely old man…

  Two days of frantically practising on her old school recorder in her spare time (much to her parent’s bemusement) had left Trudy hoping like mad that on her next scheduled visit to the theatre, they wouldn’t be rehearsing the talent spot!

  And as luck would have it, they weren’t. It was something almost worse!

  The first intimation she had of it was when she walked into the dressing-room area backstage and saw two girls in swimsuits. Tonight, clearly, they were doing a full dress rehearsal of the swimwear part of the contest. Of all the segments of the pageant, this one had caused her the most anxiety.

  Like most girls in her street, Trudy had rarely been to the seaside. Aside from a few day trips, the Lovedays had never been able to afford proper holidays by the sea. And at school, her main sports had been hockey and cross-country running, not swimming. So wearing a swimsuit had never been something she’d had to do often.

  She wasn’t even sure she had a swimsuit that fit her. The one she had lurking in the back of a drawer somewhere at home was probably fit only for a 12-year-old – not a grown woman.

  Alas, the fact that she hadn’t brought a swimming costume with her didn’t allow her to wriggle out of anything though. Before she’d even had a chance to find ‘her’ spot in the changing area, Grace was bearing down on her with a white one-piece draped over one arm.

  ‘Ah, Miss Dobbs,’ Grace said loudly. ‘There you are.’

  For the briefest of moments, Trudy forgot that her name, for pageant purposes, was now Trudy Dobbs. She, Grace and the Dunbars had come up with the name the other night.

  Catching Grace’s grim smile, she suddenly forced herself into action, and said enthusiastically, ‘Oh hello, Miss Farley. Am I late?’

  ‘Not really,’ Grace said, ‘it’s just that most of the girls get here early.’ She glanced around, and said, ‘Here, this is yours, you can change behind the screen in dressing room three. I think Miss Tomworthy and Betty Darville will be sharing it with you tonight.’

  She handed over the swimsuit to the unhappy Trudy, and nodded in through the open door.

  Trudy’s role as a beauty contestant was about to begin in earnest.

  She could only hope that she didn’t look as nervous as she felt as she walked into the room and met the interested eyes of its two inhabitants.

  ‘Hello – you must be the latest masochist to join up for the parade!’ the girl with lots of red-brown hair said. She was sitting in front of a stage mirror, wearing a long white towelling robe. She looked, even sitting down, to be a tall and lean-looking girl, with very pretty and distinctive sherry-coloured eyes, almost the exact shade as her hair.

  ‘I’m Betty Darville,’ she said with a grin, holding out her hand.

  ‘Trudy Dobbs,’ Trudy said, shaking hands vigorously, then cocking her head to one side. ‘You look familiar,’ she lied smoothly. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen you before?’

  ‘Are you a bit of a bookworm?’ Betty asked.

  ‘Oh, I love reading murder mysteries,’ Trudy said, truthfully enough. She had always loved reading the classic whodunits of the Twenties and Thirties. But she was also thinking that, if she were to go around asking questions, she might as well play up the fact that she was a bit of a mystery fan. That way she could always say that having a ‘real life’ mystery to solve was proving too much for her! ‘I adore trying to work out who the murderer is,’ she gushed.

  ‘Ah, then you’ve probably seen me in that big bookshop near Carfax? I work there, for my sins,’ Betty said. ‘It’s one of the things that sometimes becomes of girls who have been blue stockings at school, I’m afraid! I may be only 22, but I sometimes feel ancient!’

  ‘Oh, that’ll be it then, I love that shop,’ Trudy again lied. She always got her books from the local library, never having been able to afford the extravagance of buying her own.

  ‘And this is Caroline,’ Betty said, turning and nodding at the other inhabitant of the room.

  Caroline was also dressed in a robe, but hers was a silk kimono, heavily embroidered, with a curling Chinese dragon surrounded by peony flowers. Jade green in colour, its exotic design amplified the older girl’s dark eyes and black hair.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, casting a quick, assessing eye over Trudy.

  Trudy immediately sensed that, although Betty Darville might not take the competition all that seriously – hence her amusing opening remark, this woman most definitely did.

  Which made Trudy wonder what this rather elegant creature must be making of the new competition – probably not much! She hadn’t bothered to put on any make-up after leaving work at the police station, thinking that she’d only have to put more on at the theatre, and she’d simply pulled her hair back in a basic ponytail to keep it out of her eyes. She was wearing a simple skirt and blouse outfit in plain black and white. And she felt, suddenly, very stupid to think she could pass herself off as a beauty contestant.

  Betty must have sensed her discomfort at being the object of the other girl’s open scrutiny, because she suddenly patted the seat next to her own. ‘Here, sit next to me before you change into your costume, and I can give you the run-down on this madhouse.’

  Grace, taking that as her cue to stop hovering in the doorway, muttered a general goodbye and an admonition not to be late for the rehearsal, and moved off.

  ‘So how did you hear about us?’ Betty asked. As she did so, she leaned forward in her seat, and turned her head this way and that as she studied her image in the mirror. ‘Do you think I should leave my hair loose or put it up?’

  ‘Oh, leave it loose,’ Trudy said at once. ‘It’s too pretty not to!’

  Betty beamed, genuinely pleased by the compliment. ‘Thanks!’ She paused as Caroline Tomworthy rose and left the dressing room without another word.

  In the mirror, and meeting Trudy’s surprised gaze, Betty grimaced. ‘Oh don’t mind her. She’s an unfriendly cat! She slinks about on silent paws, and watches you with that aloof, amused look that all cats have. You know, like they know something you don’t? Most of us here are a good lot, you know, we’ll help you out if you put a run in your stockings or run out of face powder or whatever. But don’t expect anything like that from Caroline. She’s strictly in this thing to win it. And boy, does she expect to!’

  ‘All right, thanks for the warning,’ Trudy said, then eyed the white costume Grace had given her with disfavour. ‘I suppose there’s no use putting it off. I’d better change into this thing.’

  Betty laughed. ‘Feeling shy? Don’t worry, we all felt a bit odd about it at first. I mean, we’re all amateurs here, right? Not a professional model among us, so we felt rather self-conscious at first, parading around. But you get used to it after a while. You can change behind that screen.’ She nodded towards a folding wooden screen. ‘I can lend you a spare dressing gown if you like. Or Maudie can probably find you one from the theatre.’

  ‘Maudie?’ Trudy repeated, retreating behind the screen and beginning to undress quickly, before she could really stop and contemplate what she was doing.

  ‘Maud Greenslade – she’s the wardrobe mistress here at the theatre. A bit of a grumpy old stick, but underneath
it she’s all right really. She just doesn’t see us as “proper” actresses. Which we aren’t, of course!’ Betty laughed.

  Trudy, relieved to find that the white one-piece fit her perfectly, stepped a little nervously from behind the screen and scooted back to her seat. There she released her own hair from the ponytail and began to brush it vigorously. She was used to wearing it up in a tight bun underneath her uniform’s cap, of course, so it wasn’t often it was left loose.

  Her long dark hair had always been naturally wavy, and she was rather glad of that now. She’d also washed and dried it before leaving home and now she was pleased to see it shine. At least that was one thing about her that looked ‘glamorous’.

  ‘You should leave your hair down too,’ Betty said at once, and Trudy grinned back at her.

  ‘We can be a pair of long-haired moppets together,’ she agreed.

  Just then, another girl popped her head around the corner. She looked around the same age as Trudy herself, (although for some reason she had an almost child-like air) and had similar dark curly hair and large brown eyes with a gentle expression, reminding Trudy of a doe or a young calf. She was also very pretty, in a sort of cutie-pie, Shirley Temple way.

  ‘Betty, you don’t have a spare pair of shoes, do you? Only the heel’s just broken off mine,’ she wailed tragically.

  ‘Aren’t we doing it barefoot?’ Trudy asked, surprised.

  ‘Oh no,’ Betty said, with a knowing grin. ‘Mrs Dunbar thinks that would be too common. Of course, swimmers don’t normally wear shoes on a beach, but she prefers us in high heels. And sorry, Candace, I don’t. This is Trudy Dobbs, by the way, the latest recruit. Trudy, Candace Usherwood.’

  ‘Hello.’ Candace, now looking distinctly woebegone, came a bit further into the room to shake hands. ‘I don’t suppose you have a spare pair of shoes, do you?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t even have a pair to wear myself. I came in my usual pair of lace-ups!’ Trudy lamented, getting into the swing of things.

  ‘She’s still new to all this.’ Betty came to her rescue as the other girl sighed heavily.

  Trudy reached into her bag for her make-up kit. It was interesting, getting to know the ins and outs of life backstage, and she was at least beginning to get a feel for some of the girls involved. Betty was obviously a good sort, even if Caroline was a bit of a cold fish. Candace looked like she was about to sulk.

  She was wearing a yellow and blue bikini, and her figure was rather plumper than that of either Trudy or Betty. ‘Puppy fat’ her mother would have called it. But for all that, she certainly looked appealing, and Trudy could understand why she’d had the nerve to enter the contest.

  ‘I’m a bit worried about my skit,’ she said now to Betty, who snorted rather inelegantly.

  ‘You’ve nothing to worry about and you know it,’ Betty said, then looked across at Trudy. ‘Candace does a little comedy monologue for her talent spot and she’s brilliant! Has us all in stitches – even though we’ve heard it three or four times now. She’s almost as good as Joyce Grenfell!’

  Trudy gulped, hoping nobody was going to ask her what her non-existent ‘talent’ was.

  Candace suddenly giggled. ‘That reminds me! I’ve just thought up another little idea. What do you think of this?’ She struck a pose, standing up with her hands on her hips and adopting a confiding attitude. ‘“I call my house Lautrec.” Now you say, “Oh why do you call your house Lautrec?” And I say, “because it has two loos.”. Get it? Toulouse…’

  The girl certainly had a sort of impudent charm, and Trudy could see it going down well with a live studio audience.

  Slowly, Trudy had begun to relax – and feel less exposed in her swimming costume – as the two girls began to compose more jokes, whilst Trudy industriously applied her make-up.

  Grace came back ten minutes later. ‘All right, five minutes and then it’s rehearsal time,’ she chivvied them. ‘Betty, this is for you – someone left it at the ticket office counter.’ She handed over an envelope and withdrew. ‘And, Miss Dobbs, next time you need to bring in high-heeled shoes and a robe of some kind.’ She tossed one over her shoulder.

  ‘Yes, Miss Farley,’ Trudy said, mock-meekly at Grace’s departing back, making Candace grin.

  If the other contestants were all like this pair, Trudy mused, she would pretty soon be able to rule them all out as being a potential killer. She simply couldn’t see the slightly dotty Candace or the straightforward Betty wanting to kill anyone. In fact, Trudy warned herself sternly, nothing might come of all this ‘undercover’ work at all. Abigail Trent’s death might have no connection with the prankster at the theatre anyway.

  And come to that, she mustn’t let herself be disappointed if nothing more happened on that front either, she told herself firmly. It was always possible that, having scared off all the girls who were likely to frighten easily, the person responsible for the trouble had simply stopped. Or it might be days and days before anything more happened…

  It was at this point that Betty Darville suddenly gave a little shriek and began to cry.

  ‘What on earth’s the matter, Betty?’ It was Candace who reacted first, standing up and going to her friend, her arms going around Betty’s shaking shoulders.

  Trudy got up and moved up to her other side.

  ‘It’s horrible!’ Betty gasped shakily, putting a hand up to her face and wiping away her tears angrily. ‘Who would write such a thing!’

  Trudy quickly glanced down and realised that the other girl had opened her letter and read it. It was written in thick, black, large letters, all in capitals, with what looked like some sort of marker pen.

  She could read it easily.

  FLAWED SO-CALLED ‘BEAUTY QUEENS’ HAVE NO BUSINESS PUTTING THEMSELVES FORWARD AS EXAMPLES OF FEMININE PERFECTION. BEWARE ALL VAIN WOMEN. REMEMBER YOUR DEAD COLLEAGUE – ANOTHER FLAWED SPECIMEN – AND WHAT HAPPENED TO HER!

  ‘But what does it mean?’ Candace Usherwood said, looking rather sick, her hand held up to cover her mouth.

  Trudy saw Betty’s tear-streaked face rise up to meet her reflection in the mirror. Her sherry-coloured eyes looked darker with tears and shock.

  ‘Is this a death threat?’ she said. But whether she was asking Trudy or Candace – or herself – Trudy couldn’t be sure.

  Chapter 9

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Trudy said, looking and feeling a little bewildered by the poison pen’s somewhat obscure message. ‘I mean, what can this “flaw” be that it mentions? Do you know?’ she asked Betty, trying to give her something else to think about to help her get over the nasty aftertaste that must have been left by the anonymous letter.

  ‘What?’ Betty said vaguely, and then, with a visible effort, pulled herself together. She frowned slightly and then shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. There was nothing wrong with Abby. She was a really beautiful girl – and one of the favourites to win. She certainly didn’t need to kow-tow to the cat.’

  For a moment Trudy didn’t understand what on earth the other girl was talking about, then suddenly she did. So Abigail and Caroline Tomworthy hadn’t seen eye to eye. Perhaps that was not surprising, with both of them being hot favourites to win the competition.

  ‘Unless it refers to her mole?’ Candace put in uncertainly.

  ‘What? Oh, her beauty spot,’ Betty said. And then frowned. ‘But it can’t mean that, can it? I mean, if it does, then we’re all in trouble! I mean, none of us are absolutely perfect. No human being is. Even Caroline has just a slight twist to that patrician nose of hers. You must have noticed how, when she’s rehearsing, she always manages to make sure her face is partly in profile whenever she’s in front of the judge’s panel, instead of looking at them straight-on?’

  Candace, Trudy noticed with interest, suddenly began to look very scared indeed. ‘Oh, I feel sick,’ the younger girl moaned, and with a sudden dash for the door was gone.

  Trudy looked at Betty, who was staring down at the letter with
distaste.

  ‘Do you know who might have written it?’ Trudy asked her gently.

  ‘Not a clue,’ the other girl responded flatly.

  ‘I mean… you don’t think… maybe Caroline…?’ Trudy offered tentatively, just to see what the other girl would say.

  But after barely a second’s pause, Betty shook her head firmly. ‘I can’t say I have any great affection for the cat, but I just can’t see her stooping to this sort of… of…’ She nudged the edge of the letter with a finger, her lips twisted in a grimace of distaste. ‘Anyway, even if it was her, why would she send it to me?’ she wailed. ‘Sylvia Blane is far more competition than I am. So is Vicky Munnings if it comes to that. If it was the cat doing it, she’d be targeting her nearest rivals, wouldn’t she?’

  Trudy didn’t know.

  She so badly wanted to scoop the letter and envelope up in order to preserve the evidence that she could feel her fingers literally itching, but she wasn’t quite sure how she could set about doing that without attracting attention.

  Then she had a bit of a brainwave. ‘Do you want me to get rid of it for you?’ she offered solicitously. ‘I dare say you don’t want to even touch it again. I can burn it for you, if you like?’ she fibbed shamelessly. ‘Unless you want to show it to someone in authority – Mr Dunbar, perhaps?’ she asked cunningly. For she didn’t think that the other girl would want to do any such thing.

  ‘Oh no, not him,’ Betty said at once, endorsing her confidence. ‘I don’t want him to think I’m a troublemaker or anything. It might affect my chances of winning!’

  And at this, Trudy just had to hide a smile. For all Betty’s so-called certainty that either Caroline or Sylvia or Vicky were the real favourites, she still clearly wanted to win the crown herself – and thought she was in with a chance.

  ‘So what do you want to do?’ Trudy pressed, itching to get possession of the note. Out of all the ‘pranks’ played at the theatre, this was the first one that offered up any real evidence in tangible form.