A Rex Graves Mystery Novella
PRELUDE
~ TO ~
MURDER
C. S. CHALLINOR
PRELUDE TO MURDER: A Rex Graves Mystery Novella © 2015 by C. S. Challinor. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced, including print or Internet usage, without written permission from the author, except for brief quotations for the purpose of critical articles and reviews.
First Edition
Cover art © Can Stock Photo, Inc., 2015
Book cover, design, and production by Perfect Pages Literary Management, Inc.
This is a work of fiction with British spelling. All of the names, characters, places, and events in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, whether living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.
BOOK TITLES
Rex Graves Mystery Series, published by Midnight Ink Books:
Christmas Is Murder
Murder in the Raw
Phi Beta Murder
Murder on the Moor
Murder of the Bride
Murder at Midnight
Murder Comes Calling
Other Rex Graves titles, published by Perfect Pages Literary Management, Inc.:
Murder at the Dolphin Inn
SAY MURDER WITH FLOWERS: A Rex Graves Mini-Mystery
SAY GOODBYE TO ARCHIE: A Rex Graves Mini-Mystery
For Theo
~ PRELUDE TO MURDER ~
* * *
“Love is poison.”
~George R.R. Martin
Chapter 1
At the end of Barley Close, one of the larger houses stood wreathed in police tape, the last thing Rex had expected to see on Helen’s street during his weekend stay with her in Derby.
“Dare I ask?” he enquired, craning his neck from the passenger seat of his fiancée’s car as she turned into her driveway.
“Dare I answer?” she retorted with a wry smile. “I was entertaining the forlorn hope that you wouldn’t notice. Silly me! Or that the tape would be taken down before you arrived.” She had just collected him from the railway station after his long trip from Edinburgh that morning.
Rex sensed her unease. After all, they were supposed to be discussing their wedding plans this weekend, and Helen wouldn’t want to be side-tracked by his interest in a crime committed in her neighbourhood. “A burglary?” he asked with intentional nonchalance, getting out of the Renault and retrieving his suitcase from the back.
They walked up the path to her door, where she looked back at him before inserting the key in the lock. “Two deaths,” she said and walked inside the 1930s semi-detached house. “A young couple.”
Rex could barely contain himself. Two? And young? Unlikely it was an accident, then. However, he refrained from saying anything more and took his suitcase upstairs while his fiancée headed into the kitchen to prepare a late lunch. He continued to ponder the strange coincidence of two local deaths as he unpacked and put his toiletries in the bathroom. Two murders, perhaps.
Since Helen had not divulged further details, it was clear she did not want to discuss the event. They had postponed their wedding plans long enough, and their forthcoming nuptials were only months away. Helen had hoped for a May wedding, but had come around to a June one, to give their guests ample notice. Rex felt the customary jitters when he thought about the event. So much to do… Helen wanted a “proper” wedding. It was her first, whereas he was widowed. His marriage to Fiona twenty-seven years before seemed like a distant fairy tale. His son was now grown and pursuing studies in marine science in Florida. Rex sank down on the bed, holding three pairs of socks in his lap, and took a deep, calming breath.
“Are you all right, love?” Helen asked from the door. He had not heard her come up the stairs.
He smiled at her. “Aye, it’s just been a long week.” He’d had a particularly arduous trial at the High Court of Justiciary in Edinburgh, so why would he even want to think about any more crime? And yet… He bit his lip and opened his arms to his fiancée. “I’ve missed you,” he said, banishing all further thought of murder and marriage from his mind for the time being.
Chapter 2
Helen had prepared a quiche, baked potatoes and salad. She had also prepared a folder containing information about their wedding, which they had decided to hold in the Highlands. They had gone as far as selecting a wedding planner by the name of Kirsten Abercrombie, who came highly recommended by one of Rex’s legal colleagues, and with whom Helen had consulted over the phone.
They were to be married at Gleneagle Kirk and have the reception at Rex’s country retreat, a converted hunting lodge. Kirsten had sent Helen suggestions for the catering, flowers, music, and all the rest of it. Just looking at the bulging folder on the table made Rex’s head spin. He would have been happy to let Helen make the decisions about the table settings and other minutiae, but she wanted him to be involved in all the arrangements.
“All you have to do is say yes or no to the selections,” she assured him, apparently sensing his anxiety.
“I see you’ve been busy,” he said with an appreciative smile.
“And enjoyed every minute of it. I love the idea of a Scottish wedding, bagpipes and all.”
Rex was privately relieved they would not be getting married in Derbyshire, where they had attended the fatal wedding of an ex-pupil from Helen’s school. It had been enough to give even the most marriage-minded cold feet. By tacit agreement, they had not mentioned that murderous affair in the course of their own wedding plans.
He topped up his glass tankard with Guinness while Helen sipped her white wine across the kitchen table. “We’ll get everything sorted this weekend,” he promised. “And then you can let Kristen know what we decide and let her get on with it.”
“Kirsten,” Helen corrected.
“Aye, Kirsten. Anyway, that’s what wedding planners are for.”
Helen cast him an indulgent look over the rim of her glass. “I know how you hate all this, but it’s going to be wonderful. You’ll see.”
“I know. But I’m more aboot being married than getting married, you know that,” he said in his Lowland Scots. He raised his drink in a toast. “To my beautiful blonde bride.”
“To my strapping, red-headed husband-to-be.”
They clinked glasses.
“And I know you’re just dying to ask,” Helen said with an impish grin, “about what happened at the house down the street.”
“Aye?” Rex said hopefully. “But it can wait,” he caught himself. “Our wedding takes priority.”
“I know it’s going to be consuming you. I should have gone up to Edinburgh to stay with you instead, but I’ve got that meeting tomorrow.”
Rex continued to eat and listened patiently while Helen explained the necessity of the Saturday meeting, some sort of intervention at a girl’s parents’ home. As a student counsellor, she had concerns about the pupil’s suspected drug use. She sighed at length. “Anyway, as for Tom and Lydia Gladstone down the street, they’d been married seven years. They had everything going for them. And then pouf! Dead.”
“How?” Rex asked.
“Antifreeze poisoning.”
“Murdered?”
“That has yet to be determined.”
“But not a suicide pact?”
Helen shook her head. “I just can’t see it. They weren’t found together; in the same room, I mean, and there’s a young daughter, Hannah. Lydia’s mother is taking care of her now.”
“Any domestic problems?”
“Lydia, it seems, was carrying on with Tom’s uncle.”
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Rex paused in the process of dabbing at his beard with his napkin. “I see. Aye, that’s a wee bit too domestic, is it not? Is Bob’s-Your-Uncle a suspect?”
Helen laughed in spite of herself. “He’s called Rob, actually. And, really, it’s not funny,” she said, straightening her face.
“When did they die?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Rex thought for a moment. “You didn’t mention it a fortnight ago when you were in Edinburgh.”
“You were in the middle of that Ratcliff trial. I decided you had enough on your mind, and we have little enough time together as it is.”
“You’re right. So we’ll not even discuss this Gladstone case,” he said resolutely. “Although it does sound intriguing.”
Helen laughed good-naturedly at him. “It’s too much to expect you to resist. And it is rather juicy,” she confided. “I even have a theory.”
“Let’s be having it then,” Rex said in eager anticipation. “Just for the duration of lunch, mind. And then we’ll go over those wedding details.” He jerked his chin at the daunting-looking folder.
His fiancée adjusted her posture in her chair and pushed aside her plate. “Well, she began…”
Chapter 3
Helen proceeded to tell him how she had attended a party at the Gladstone residence not long prior to her hosts’ demise. They had just returned from a five-day trip to Paris and the festivities held a French flair, from the flowing Bordeaux wines to the delicate hors-d’oeuvres.
“Lydia had prepared some mini-quiches. I got the recipe from her.” Helen gestured towards her quiche on the table, where only one slice remained.
“I take it one of the ingredients wasn’t antifreeze,” Rex joked.
“Nobody was ill that night,” Helen informed him. “In fact, everybody was in really good spirits. Tom and Lydia especially. They were an extrovert and attractive couple, always the life of the party.”
Until now, Rex thought.
“They were making jokes, a lot of French double-entendre, some of it quite racy. She looked lovely. The sapphires dangling from her ears were just beautiful with her dark hair. And he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Mind you, he was a real flirt in general, but not offensively so. Good-looking too, a blond contrast to his wife, and almost as tall as you. Lydia was petite, even in high heels.”
“How old were they?”
“It was Tom’s fortieth birthday party. She was younger. Thirty-five, I think they said on the news.”
“And the uncle? His uncle, I’m assuming.”
“Right. Mid to late fifties. He owns the business they both worked for. He has a lot of money and likes to show it off. Gold Rolex, silver Porsche. Tall and nice-looking, as well. Receding hair, but still fit.”
“Aye, I’m beginning to get the picture,” Rex said. “Older rich boss; husband playing the field…”
“Tom? Not sure about that. He seemed devoted to Lydia and Hannah. He was married before. She was at the party. They had a son together, Hannah’s half-brother.”
“This just keeps getting cosier and cosier.”
“Doesn’t it though?” Helen refilled her glass.
“So, how did Tom and Lydia come to ingest antifreeze?” Rex asked. “And who found them?”
“The ex-wife, Natalie, came to collect the boy, who spent every other weekend with his dad. When no one answered the door, she walked in. The children were asleep on the sofa in their pajamas. She found Tom dead in the armchair in his study, and Lydia sprawled on the bathroom floor upstairs, unconscious in a pool of vomit. Tom had complained of the flu and had asked if Natalie could keep Devin that weekend, but she had arranged to go on a business trip with her husband. She called nine-nine-nine. It was late Sunday evening and suddenly all you could hear were sirens. I went outside to see what the commotion was about.” Helen described how the SOCO team had descended on the Gladstone place and began milling about the property in their white bunny suits, arc lights blazing everywhere. The medical examiner arrived for Tom. Lydia was pronounced dead from a heart seizure soon after she got to hospital.
The doorbell rang. “I wonder who that could be,” Helen said, getting up from her chair.
Rex listened as she opened the front door and spoke in animated tones to a female visitor. A woman in her late forties appeared at the kitchen entrance with Helen. Jill Nelson was a neighbour and friend of his fiancée’s whom he had met before. She wore a seal brown jogging suit, her dun-coloured hair flecked with grey cut drastically short.
“Sorry to impose,” she said to Rex. “I forgot you were going to be here this weekend.”
“Join us for coffee,” Helen insisted. “I was just telling Rex about the Gladstones.”
Jill took a seat at the table while her friend whisked the empty lunch plates away. “You didn’t hear about it in Edinburgh?” she asked Rex.
“I didn’t. Did you know them?”
“Not well, but we mingled at social gatherings in the neighbourhood.”
“Jill was at Tom’s birthday party too.”
“That was a blast, wasn’t it?” she addressed Helen, who was preparing coffee at the counter. “Très chic for Barley Close. The Gladstones were very up-and-coming,” Jill explained to Rex. “I’m sure they would have moved somewhere posher eventually, but with Tom paying child support to his first wife, this was all they could afford for now.”
“It’s a nice enough house from what I’ve seen from the outside,” Rex said. “Four bedrooms?”
“Yes, and very tastefully decorated inside. But Lydia was always hinting to Tom about moving to a nicer suburb.”
“It’s not like we live in the slums!” Helen objected. “I like my little semi.”
“I know. What I mean is that Lydia had aspirations.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that. And they each had new cars. Hybrids. They were fashionably environmentally conscious.”
Rex smiled as he listened to the women’s comments, which gave him an inside look at this perfect couple.
“And Hannah, their daughter, is just adorable,” Jill gushed. “She said goodnight to the guests before Nanny took her up to bed. She looked like a little princess with her golden hair braided down the back of her nightdress.”
“They had a nanny?” Rex asked.
“Not live-in.” Helen returned to the table with a tray holding three cups and a fine china coffee pot decorated with bluebells. “She usually only worked weekdays. She stayed that night to help serve at the party.”
“Had she been with them long?”
“A year?” Jill said, consulting Helen with a look.
“At least. She was young, maybe twenty, though seemed very competent.”
“Pretty, but shy,” Jill added.
“Still waters run deep. My theory that I was about to tell you,” Helen told Rex, “was that she poisoned her employers.”
“So she could get her hands on Tom,” Jill explained.
“You share Helen’s theory then?” Rex asked in amusement.
“It makes sense if you think about it. She spent a lot of time at their home, so would have known where the antifreeze was kept, and she was very attached to Hannah.”
“And perhaps Tom,” Helen added as she finished pouring the coffee.
“He was a catch. Almost twenty years older than Tracy, but incredibly seductive. He had these lovely dewy eyes. Hazel.” Jill had clearly been smitten by her ex-neighbour. “And she definitely had goo-goo eyes for him. Wouldn’t be the first time a man married the nanny.”
“So why kill him?” Rex said, asking the obvious. “Or perhaps it was unintentional and she meant only to kill Lydia.”
“We think it’s because he refused to leave his wife, and Tracy was jealous of her. Also, some jewellery and ornaments went missing from the house a month prior to the poisonings. The patio door had been left unlocked. The police were called, but no one was ever charged.”
“It could have been a random theft,” Re
x suggested, adding cream and sugar to his coffee.
Jill shrugged. “It was only Lydia’s stuff that was stolen.”
Rex nodded in thought. “That does seem odd. Did Lydia suspect her?”
“She never said so, and I expect the home insurance covered the losses, so she probably just went out and bought replacements. She liked to spend money, did Lydia. Oh, I suppose that’s really catty of me, especially under the sad circumstances. Sorry.” Jill smiled apologetically.
“Well, it’s true,” Helen supported her friend. “But she and Tom both worked hard.”
“What sort of business does the uncle own?”
“A furniture company,” Jill answered. “They do those fruit armchairs and sofas. You must have seen them. I have one at home. It’s a scooped out pear seat and so plush and comfortable. I love it.”
“Fruité Furniture?” Rex asked. “Aye, I saw one of their round sofas in an art gallery, supposed to be a segmented orange or grapefruit.”
“And they do interior banana hammocks for kids. So much fun. Wish I’d thought of it.” Jill sighed wistfully. “Better than being a driving instructor.” She ran a hand through her short hair. “Teaching teenagers to drive has turned me prematurely grey.”
“No arrests in the case, I take it?”
Jill shook her head. “I’m sure all the family and friends have been questioned. Police officers canvassed our street to see if anyone had noticed anything suspicious that Sunday night, but nobody did. It’s a cul-de-sac, so there’s no through traffic.”
“I can’t see a stranger coming into their home and poisoning them with antifreeze,” Rex said with a puzzled frown. “Did the police find any?”
“In the garage,” Jill replied. “The papers said a container of coolant for cars.”
“But their cars were almost brand new,” Helen offered.
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