by Jill Barry
A while after her return, the same couple called at the agency and Bethan had immediately recognised Mrs Childs’s fuchsia pink jacket and heavy turquoise eye shadow. The pair of them had trotted out that creepy tale of the murderer’s burial as an excuse for not wanting to view The Sugar House.
But, this woman before her now, surely couldn’t be the same woman who’d stood beside the couple looking in the agency’s window the other morning. That one’s hair was longer, a different colour, and styled differently from Ms Morgan’s. The other woman’s clothing spoke of casual yet chic boutiques, in sharp contrast to the house sitter’s practical attire. Yet, Bethan couldn’t get that gesture and – something else – yes, that nervous tic out of her mind. How odd was this?
“I expect you’re exaggerating,” said Ruth. “But I suppose that’s what people like you do for a living.”
Bethan didn’t bite back. “Would you please go and see what I mean? Humour me. See if I’m exaggerating or not while I go upstairs. We need to come up with a plausible explanation for that revolting smell.”
She left Ruth taking her time about getting up from her chair. The woman must be playing some sort of game. There was something about the way Ms Morgan conducted herself that fired red exclamation marks. Maybe it would be safer to hold off further viewings until the Deacons returned and Ms Morgan was safely off the premises. Yet how the heck could she explain her misgivings to the vendors when it was their trusted friend under suspicion?
She sprinted upstairs, banishing all such thoughts, telling herself she had two potential buyers to think about. “How are you doing?”
“We’re doing fine,” called Mrs Sarani from the master bedroom. “I love this balcony, overlooking the forest. You can get two chairs and a little table on here. I could sit reading and gazing at the trees, with Jalil beside me, dreaming over his sketchpad.”
“Yes, it’s a beautiful feature. You’ll have a grandstand view of red kites and buzzards if you’re interested.” Bethan hesitated. “I may as well be frank with you both. That dreadful smell in the downstairs cloakroom definitely isn’t coming from outside and I can’t for the life of me think why the Deacons would go away without warning me about it.”
“Didn’t they mention it to the house sitter?”
“Apparently not. I’ve asked Ms Morgan to check it out but I’m not sure what she can do without calling in a drains expert.”
Mr Sarani raised his eyebrows. “I’m accustomed to smells. Would you like me to investigate?”
“I don’t want you to be put off the house.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Mrs Sarani. “As long as there’s some logical explanation, which I imagine there must be, we won’t allow it to influence our decision.”
“Thank you.” Bethan was touched by Mrs Sarani’s calming bedside manner. “But be warned,” she said. “It’s stomach-turning, even for a medic.”
Ruth called to them from the hallway as the three descended. “It’s highly unpleasant. I can’t understand how my friends haven’t said anything. I fear it must be something to do with the plumbing.”
“Mr Sarani has kindly volunteered to take a look.”
“If it’s something deep-seated, needing a tradesman’s attention, surely it’s not worth him bothering?”
Bethan clenched her fists behind her back. “Let’s allow him to be the judge of that, shall we?”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful.” Ruth composed her features to show concern.
Mr Sarani walked across and flung open the door to the downstairs cloakroom.
“Ah,” he said, disappearing inside. “It smells very much as though something’s died in here.”
“Ugh, that’s nasty,” said Bethan, unable to resist shooting Ruth a triumphant look. “Can you see anything?” She stopped herself from blurting out anything connected with a possible infestation.
“I’m sure Mr and Mrs Deacon would have warned me about anything I needed to investigate.” Ruth hovered behind the two women.
Mrs Sarani turned away. “It could be that everything was fine when they went away. Why don’t I open the front door?” She glided across the hallway.
Her husband, now on all fours in the cloakroom, whooped with triumph. “Here’s our culprit.” He got to his feet and lifted the opalescent conch shell from the corner. “One decomposing field mouse in situ.”
“What an odd thing to happen,” said Mrs Sarani.
Ruth spread her hands in a gesture of disbelief. “It must have come into the house some time when the front door was open. Or, maybe the dog brought it? Yes, that’s quite likely, don’t you think?”
“I’d opt for your first suggestion, considering how well-concealed this poor little chap was.” Still holding the conch, Mr Sarani walked towards the front door. “I’ll deposit the victim on the track and let Mother Nature do the rest.”
Bethan turned to Ruth. “Well, isn’t that a relief, Ms Morgan? I’m sure you’ll find a way of eliminating the smell once we’ve gone.”
Ruth nodded. “Of course. I’ll go and see what I can find in the utility room.”
“Most importantly, some disinfectant please, for Mr Sarani.” She turned to Mrs Sarani. “Your husband might like to wash his hands in the utility room before we make a tour of the garden.”
Bethan had now made three visits to The Sugar House. On each occasion, the door to the smallest room, plus its window, had been shut. How very unfortunate that both front door and cloakroom door must have been open at the same time in order to allow the dog to carry the field mouse to its last resting place.
Dr Sarani obviously thought the small rodent must have wriggled inside the conch shell rather than have been placed there by the dog. Or, should someone other than poor old Sparkles or the field mouse be the one to shoulder the blame?
Chapter Ten
“I’ll ensure I call personally when Mr and Mrs Deacon return. I know how devastated they’ll be to hear about this.” Bethan drove up the slope leading back to the main road.
“Whatever you think best,” said Mr Sarani, who’d opted for the rear seat this time.
“We certainly won’t let a dead rodent cloud our judgement,” said his wife.
“No. Both of us like the house though I think we need to view two or three more, before making a decision. I can’t help thinking the possibility of being marooned once winter sets in is rather an important factor.”
“None of us can escape extreme weather conditions, Jalil.”
“No, of course not. What do you think, Bethan?” Mr Sarani leaned forward. “Make believe you don’t have your estate agent’s hat in place, why don’t you?”
She chuckled, wishing more house viewers were as amiable as these two. “I won’t try to pretend Three Roads doesn’t become cut off for an odd day or two during hard winters. But the local farmers as well as the forestry workers soon sort things out, even if the council can’t get there too quickly.”
“In the scheme of things, not a problem, I’d say. We wouldn’t be trying to get to work.” Mrs Sarani turned to look at her husband but he kept silent.
“So, did you notice anything else on our books that appeals? I can think of one or two possible properties.”
“We may as well see what you can come up with,” said Mrs Sarani. “Preferably one without a rodent sarcophagus in its downstairs facilities.”
“I doubt we’d find a repetition of this morning’s fun and games,” said her husband. “As for winter in the village, I can well imagine the peace and beauty but I can’t disregard the annoyance of having three ways out and every one of them uphill.”
“It’s poor Mrs Deacon I feel sorry for.” Bethan negotiated a stretch of zigzag bends, willing Mr Sarani to stop dwelling on something no estate agent could control. “She’ll be mortified when she hears what’s happened.”
“Well, our feedback won’t include the field mouse,” said Mr Sarani. “If the vendors had been at home, they’d have
noticed something was wrong before the creature decayed any further.”
“At least they have their friend staying. She’s sure to put matters right before anyone else happens along.”
“Yes, indeed, Mrs Sarani, and thank you again for being so understanding.” Bethan’s lips set in a tight line as she accelerated on the straight road into Knightly. She could feel this potential sale slipping away.
Bethan let herself into what she privately regarded as her jewel of a house, dumped her briefcase on the carpet and kicked off her high heels with a sense of relief.
“Poppy? I’m home.”
“In the kitchen, Mum.”
Bethan padded across the hall carpet and through the wide-open door. “Good day?”
Her daughter shook back a waterfall of chestnut hair. “Not bad. It’s cool, being in the sixth form. And it’s great having Miss Price for French.”
“Doing four A levels will be a challenge, but you already know that.”
“Watch my lips. I. Can. Handle. It.”
Bethan opened the fridge and took out a bottle of wine. “I know you can, sweetie. I can’t help going into mother hen mode now and then.”
“Especially without Dad around.”
Bethan watched her daughter eye her as though she was the disobedient child and Poppy the watchful parent. “I had a difficult day,” she said defensively. “I need to sit quietly and chill, as you’d doubtless say.”
“Poor Mum, you’re forgiven. I turned the slow cooker up, by the way. The chicken thing smells yummy.”
“Thank you. And you’re a star.” Bethan took a swallow of Chenin Blanc. “Mmm, that’s very welcome.” She pulled out a stool and joined her daughter at the breakfast bar.
“Want to talk about it? I bet you’d bend Dad’s ear if he was here.” Poppy picked up her glass of orange juice and sipped.
“Yeah, too true. We may be estranged but we’re still on amicable terms.”
“Is that because of me?”
Bethan blinked hard. “You know how much we both love you, Poppy. You also know your father and I tend to clash when he comes back. Maybe we need a bigger house. I don’t know.”
She knew she sounded defensive. And Poppy didn’t take prisoners.
“You’re the estate agent. Find us a bigger house if that means you and Dad can hack it under the same roof!”
“If only it were that easy. Anyway, I don’t intend on sharing my work problems while your father’s far away on an oil rig.”
“I bet he wouldn’t mind if you did.”
“Probably not.”
“So, Skype him.”
“I’m sure he’s got enough on his plate already. I can sort this. I have to sort it.”
“Sounds heavy.”
Bethan gave her daughter a quick hug. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I would like to run something past you, Poppy. Of course, it might just be me being paranoid.”
“So, what’s new, Mum?” Poppy twirled a long strand of hair around one finger.
Bethan ignored the jibe and began from the beginning.
Poppy listened without interrupting until her mother finished her story.
“So, what do you make of it, lovey? Am I being paranoid, do you think?”
“Dunno. She does sound pretty creepy, this Morgan person.”
“She is, though you wouldn’t think so from the way she looks.”
“How old is she?”
Bethan turned her wine glass slowly around on the breakfast counter top. “Difficult to say. Probably knocking on fifty but she’s very elegant in an ageing model girl kind of way.”
“Like Twiggy?”
“I’m impressed you’ve even heard of Twiggy. Yes, a little younger but nowhere near as lovely. The awful thing is, today I could’ve sworn Ruth Morgan was wearing a necklace I saw on Mrs Deacon the day I carried out the valuation.”
“You’re joking! Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”
“Positive. I told Mrs Deacon how much I admired the gorgeous combination of gemstones. I hate to say it, but somehow I can’t help having bad vibes about this woman.”
“Maybe Mrs Deacon gave her the jewellery as a gift for looking after her house?”
Bethan shrugged. “Maybe. But my hunch about the house sitter makes me question some of her actions. Why would she dress so differently and put on a wig unless she was up to something?”
“That’s like, too bizarre for words, Mum.”
“Well, I think so. And the other thing niggling me is, when I left our office the day Brad and Valerie Childs were in the town, I caught a drift of expensive perfume from either Valerie or the other woman – the woman who wouldn’t catch my eye when I called Good Morning on my way to the car park.”
“So?”
“I adore scent, don’t I? Always notice it on other people. But the woman who came in to see us told me she and her husband had just been to a teashop with a nice lady who offered to tell them about Three Roads. Valerie was wearing such a very different scent from the one I noticed earlier. I’d have recognised that other, much more subtle and probably expensive fragrance, which tells me the unnamed woman was the one using it.”
“You’re not making sense, Mum. Unless you could smell that same subtle scent on the house sitting person.”
“My point is, Poppy, Ruth Morgan’s more carbolic than Chanel in her choice of perfume. I told you it was just a minor niggle.”
Poppy took a gulp of her drink. “If, and it’s a big If, your suspicions are right, why shouldn’t this Ruth person use scent as part of her disguise?”
Her mother stared at her. “Clever. . .”
“But what you’re saying is this Ruth person’s trustworthy enough to be invited to house sit but you’re afraid she’s doing weird shit – weird stuff – so The Sugar House won’t sell and she can keep things as they are?”
“Something along those lines.”
“I can’t understand why she’d do such a thing. It’s so not her business.”
“I believe Ruth Morgan thinks it’s very much her business and it’s probably all about feeling needed. It appears she befriended Mr and Mrs Deacon soon after they moved in. She gave them some homemade produce and provided contact numbers of reliable tradesmen. Did all the kind of stuff that’s so useful for anyone moving into a new area.”
“So, couldn’t she do the same for the new owners, whoever they may be? Those two doctors sound great. The Morgan person would soon make friends with them, surely?”
“Mr and Mrs Sarani are charming. And by the way, he’s drop dead gorgeous. Reminds me of Omar Shariff.” She paused. “Except you don’t have a clue who I mean. Your gran would, though.”
“Enough, Mum.”
“Okay. I’d love them to buy The Sugar House and not just for the commission. But there has to be something bugging that house sitter. Something important enough to make her determined to keep the Deacons from moving out of Three Roads.”
“You seriously think she’d do stuff like dress up and spread rumours to put people off buying the place?
“Not only put them off buying, Poppy. Put them off even viewing it. I have never, ever before, experienced a situation like this one. Too many odd happenings are hindering proceedings.”
“I’d hate to live out there in any case. Being snowed in and missing school’s one thing but having no public transport is totally pants.”
“There is a train station only a few miles away.”
“I rest my case.” Poppy’s smile was triumphant. “Anyway, Mum, I think you must be mistaken about the woman you noticed outside the office. It sounds too much like one of those rubbish TV detective things you like watching.”
“I wish I could agree but the more I think about the mystery woman, the more I can see the shape of Ruth Morgan.”
“Maybe she has a sister?”
Bethan frowned. “Good point, but remember, taking note of people’s body language is an important part of my job. I can still hear that sam
e throat clearing noise, like a nervous scrape. I can clearly picture those long fingers stroking her throat.”
Poppy shuddered. “So, when are the Deacons due back?”
“Not for a few days. My only hope is that I can delay any further inquiries until then. No way do I want any more prospective purchasers being hassled by Ruthless Ruth.”
“Nice one.” Poppy sat up straight and stopped playing with her hair. “Guess what.”
“Um, judging by your expression, you can’t wait to tell me.”
“It’s something very important. Callum’s asked me out.”
“Callum as in he whom you’ve had a crush on for, like forever?”
“Very droll, Mother. He told me he’s been trying to get rid of his girlfriend and now it’s happened. Sweet!”
Bethan twiddled the stem of her half-empty wine glass round and round in her fingers. “Don’t you feel a little bit sorry for this poor girl?”
“Nooooo! She’s done him a favour. Found someone else and dumped him. Cow.”
Bethan winced. “Where exactly does Callum want to take you?”
“Cardiff. He’s got tickets for a concert in the Millennium Stadium. I so have to go, Mum!”
“Well, there’s a surprise. How will you get there?”
“Chill, Mum. Callum’s folks are driving us. They’ll go and get dinner and walk around and whatever while we’re watching Faithless.”
“Faithless?”
“Not relevant, Mum.”
“OK.” Bethan drained her glass and slid off her stool. “One of those groups is the same as the others and, before you say it, yes, I’m showing my age, lovey. As long as Callum’s parents are doing the driving, I’m happy for you to go. I’ll ring to thank them later. Now I need to get changed before I dish up.”