“It was hidden, too. But that might have been so Hannah couldn’t get at it. She’s at that age, running around and into everything.”
Rex asked about the antifreeze effects on the bodies, and the women relayed that the victims’ skin had been pink and white, according to Natalie who found them. The ME had discovered oxalate crystals in their tissue. Both had suffered renal failure. Lydia’s best friend, Cheryl, reported to police that when she had phoned early Sunday evening, Lydia’s speech had been slurred, as though she were drunk. Lydia was known to indulge at parties, the friend told the media, but drinking at home when the couple was not entertaining was unusual.
What goes on behind closed doors…, Rex thought. “And you said Tom had the flu that weekend?” he confirmed with Helen.
“That’s right. He mentioned at his birthday party that he’d been suffering from dizziness and abdominal pains, and wondered if he’d developed an allergy or stomach bug. His doctor was at a loss and was prescribing him medication that didn’t help. But he said he felt fine that night and hadn’t had any symptoms since before Paris.”
“And how was Lydia?”
“In perfect health,” Helen replied again. “She was knocking back the Absinthe they’d brought back from their trip, an aperitif she told us had been popular with Hemingway and Oscar Wilde, and Picasso, Vincent van Gogh, and other writers and artists.”
“Tastes like Nyquil,” Jill said with a grimace. “I tried it at the party. I don’t like anything with aniseed in it.”
“When was the party held?” Rex asked.
“In early February, two weeks before they died. Lydia threw it as a surprise for Tom’s birthday. It was a Saturday.”
“How many people attended?”
The women exchanged questioning looks. “About forty?” Helen answered. “Mostly family, friends, and colleagues, and half a dozen neighbours.”
“Lydia went jogging with us sometimes,” Jill said. “Slogging, she called it. That’s how we knew her. She also did Pilates and hot yoga. She was really fit. The other neighbours at the party live in the bigger homes by the Gladstones’. It’s shocking what happened,” she added. “I don’t see how their deaths could have been accidental, not when it happened to both of them. I’d really like to know for certain who killed them.”
I would too, Rex said to himself, wondering if he would get the chance when he had promised Helen to dedicate his time to the wedding arrangements.
Jill politely declined Helen’s offer of more coffee and said she had taken up enough of their precious time together. She got up from the table and bent to kiss Helen, and then saw herself out of the house.
“I see you’ve already been doing some sleuthing,” Rex remarked with a smile after Jill left.
“You must think us a couple of gossips, but when it’s people you know, you just can’t help speculating, can you?”
“Understandably. I just thought you didn’t want to discuss it.”
“Not with you! I wanted to concentrate on the wedding.”
“Well, let’s get to it then.”
They took the folder into the sitting room and made themselves comfortable on the sofa. For the next two hours they studied the information and made their selections, deciding on the menu and theme for the banquet. Helen’s friend Julie from the school where they worked was to be her maid-of-honour. His son Campbell was to be best man. Afterwards, they went to the cinema to see a romantic comedy and then for a meal at a local Chinese restaurant. It was not until the next morning that Rex was able to further satisfy his growing interest in the Gladstone case.
Chapter 4
Helen had arranged to go jogging with Jill. Rex, meantime, decided to take a walk and, naturally, his morning stroll took him past the Gladstone house. The weather was mild for the time of year, no rain forecast, and he was in no hurry.
Barley Close consisted of prewar semi-detached homes by the entrance to the cul-de-sac where Helen lived. Towards the back, where the unfortunate couple had lived, the properties were separate and divided from each other and the street by low walls, their front squares and lozenges of lawn surrounded by shrubs and winter-bare ornamental trees. The victims’ rectangular red-brick home, Rex noted, was spacious and well-maintained, but hardly pretentious.
The porticoed front door, coated with glossy dark green paint and fitted with a shiny brass knocker, flew open as he was retracing his steps along the pavement. A young girl with strawberry blonde ringlets turned to lock the door and then scurried down the path, carrying an object in the crook of her arm. Ducking under the police tape barring the gateposts to the driveway, she pulled up short in front of Rex. He had thought at first she might be the nanny going back to the house to pick up something for Hannah, but a closer look placed her at least ten years older than twenty.
“Hello,” she squeaked, pale eyes wide with alarm. “Are you the police?”
“No,” Rex said. “My fiancée lives down the street. Helen d’Arcy. I’m visiting.”
“Oh, I know Helen. I just thought you might be from the police. You know, with your dark overcoat…”
And imposing height, he said to himself. “Rex Graves.” He held out his hand.
Since she was clutching a book of some description in one arm and the front door key in her other hand, she hurriedly slipped the key into her jacket pocket and held out those fingers. “Cheryl, Lydia’s friend. Best friend,” she added, tears glazing her eyes. “Look, I shouldn’t really be here. I best get going before somebody sees me.”
“Where’s your car parked?”
“Down the road.” She nodded in the direction of the street entrance.
“I’m headed back there. I’ll accompany you.”
She fell into step with him, her blonde head above the fur-trimmed hood of her ski jacket barely reaching his shoulder.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rex said. “Helen was telling me yesterday she attended a party at Tom and Lydia’s last month. She sent a condolence card to Lydia’s mother, but couldn’t go to the funeral because she was at a conference in Birmingham.” He squinted at the object in Cheryl’s possession, which was likely the purpose of her furtive visit to the house. “Seems Lydia entrusted you with a key?” he said as he amended his longer stride to hers.
“I’d water the plants and feed the cat when they were away. I’ve taken Tabatha in.”
“I’m sure the cat must be of some comfort to you.”
“Paula—that’s Lydia’s mum—won’t have a pet. She’s very house-proud, but Hannah comes over to visit Tabs.”
Rex gestured towards the item bundled under her arm. “Is that for Hannah?”
Cheryl did not answer immediately. “It’s actually Lydia’s diary. Thank God you’re not a detective.”
“Caught red-handed, eh?”
“I was hoping they wouldn’t find it. How would you feel if some stranger’s grubby hands were going through your private entries?”
“I’m surprised they didn’t find it.”
“It was well hidden. Only I knew where. Lydia told me in case anything happened to her.”
“Like what?”
Cheryl merely shrugged.
“I suppose you two didn’t keep any secrets from each other?” Rex probed.
“For the most part,” Cheryl said in a hesitant voice. “We were like sisters really. Neither of us had a sister.” She stopped beside a white Volvo. “This is my car.” She looked up at Rex. Her tiny nose, he noticed, was sprinkled with freckles, which added to her childish allure. “You won’t tell, will you? About me taking this?” She nodded towards the diary. “Helen mentioned something about you being a barrister.”
“Up in Edinburgh. Mum’s the word, but if you come across anything in the journal that might point to a culprit, naturally you will go to the police…”
“You mean, like a clue? I suppose so. But then I’d have to tell them how I got hold of it.” She looked at the exposed soft leather corner of the diary. “It h
as a lock, and I couldn’t find the key. I’ll have to break it open.”
“Try a hair pin.”
Cheryl smiled. “Well, it was nice to meet you.” This time it was she who held out her hand.
“Likewise. I don’t know if Helen also mentioned that murder mysteries are a morbid hobby of mine.” He proffered his business card. “So, if you do come across anything interesting… And only after you’ve gone to the police with it.”
She nodded and took the card. “If you want my honest opinion, I think Rob Gladstone had something to do with it,” she said, unlocking her car and getting in the driver’s seat. “I thought they would have sussed that out by now.” She slammed the door shut and started the engine.
Rex watched as she sped away. Deep in thought, he crossed the road. Cheryl suspected Uncle Rob while Helen and Jill favoured the nanny. No, he couldn’t ignore the Gladstone case now. Family drama was fascinating, as long as it wasn’t his own. How he wished he could be the one to leaf through the pages of Lydia’s journal. Diaries held secrets, and the diary of a dead woman who had been having an affair? His curiosity burned to learn the truth behind the two murders.
Chapter 5
“It’s an obsession,” Helen pronounced over tea after showering from her jog and changing into a sweater and jeans. “Perhaps your mania for solving cases has grown worse since you gave up your pipe. It’s not unusual for people to trade one addiction for another, you know.”
Rex shook his head and smiled back at her. “I got the bug that Christmas at Swanmere Manor when, as you will recall, I was still smoking a pipe. I like puzzles, that’s all.”
Helen pointed a teaspoon at him from across the kitchen table. “You can’t resist them,” she corrected. “Well, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, as they say.” Her lips twitched in a mischievous smile.
He looked at her in mock dismay. “You mean you’re going to help me try to solve this?”
“Won’t be the first time. And we did make a lot of headway with the wedding yesterday and even got the guest list down to sixty.”
Rex sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples. “I kept dreaming aboot tartan napkins and floral arrangements last night.”
“Good. That means it sank in.”
They had planned a splendid catered banquet offering smoked salmon and roast beef, and sundry other delicacies, both sweet and savoury. But no cake. Not after that calamitous wedding in Derbyshire. A giant champagne sorbet garnished with exotic fruit would be their one deviation from tradition. However, they had failed to settle on an exact date, nor had they resolved the logistics of where they would make their home together. Helen had spoken about taking up a counselling position at a school in Edinburgh, but said she would have to ease into it. She was happy at work and would miss her friends.
“Would you happen to know how to get hold of Tom’s ex-wife?” Rex asked, reverting to the Gladstone case.
“Natalie? You want to start with her?”
“Who knows someone better than a spouse? And who more likely to vent than an ex-spouse?”
“Depends who was responsible for the ex-ing, I suppose.”
“My bet is on Tom. He sounds like a philanderer.”
Helen chewed on her lip. “I wonder. And I wonder if he mended his philandering ways. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about that with you.” She flicked a look at Rex. “I don’t, do I?”
“You know you don’t even have to ask, Helen.”
“Yes,” she said with certainty. “That’s one of the reasons I have no qualms about marrying you.”
“Nor I you. But if we are to be effective in solving this case, and it’s a big ‘if’ based on the scant information, we must remain objective and not let our personal views colour our judgment.”
“Of course not.”
“Do you happen to have Natalie’s number?” he asked as he pushed back his empty tea mug.
“I don’t. I’ve only ever spoken a couple of words to her. But her husband’s a dentist, and Jill is one of his patients. I can call her. Perhaps his practice is open on Saturdays.”
Some minutes later, Helen returned to the kitchen after speaking with her friend. “Before I forget, Jill wants you to ring her. Something about a door-to-door salesman in the neighbourhood shortly before the Gladstones died.”
Rex wasted no time contacting Jill while Helen went back into the hallway to make another call.
“That was quick,” Jill said with a friendly laugh when he announced himself on the phone.
“A door-to-door salesman sounded suspicious. Was he selling encyclopaedias?”
“Vacuum cleaners, and he was very persistent. I bought a lithium battery-operated handheld just to get rid of the beastly little man. He saw my car’s driving school sign and Learner plates and said it would be a handy little tool for cleaning. And it is pretty good, actually, though it only holds a charge for twenty minutes or so. Still, for thirty pounds I can’t complain.”
“You think he might have been casing the homes?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that we don’t get many salespeople pounding the pavement these days, do we? And he looked a bit unkempt. Decent enough car, though. A Rover. This was a week or so before that event down the road. Helen doesn’t remember him, but I think it was a weekday, and she would have been at work. Oh, and he was a Scotsman, but he didn’t sound as refined as you,” Jill added over the phone.
“Beastly wee Scotsmen forcing Hoovers on people,” Rex joked. “Whatever is the world coming to? Did you mention him to the police when they canvassed the neighborhood?”
“I didn’t think to. I was in shock over Tom and Lydia’s deaths. I was reminded of him earlier today when I was cleaning my car floor mats. Do you think it’s important?”
Rex said he wasn’t sure, but agreed it was a strange coincidence happening so close to the alleged murders, and thanked her for the information.
Helen returned to the kitchen. “I was able to get Natalie’s number from the phone book. Jill told me her husband’s surname is Purvis, but she didn’t want to talk to me.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked her how she was holding up, using the excuse that you had run into Cheryl this morning. Natalie said she was still in shock and couldn’t believe her ex-husband was dead, and possibly murdered. I mentioned that you did a bit of private investigating on the side and might be able to help. But no luck. She said it upset her too much to talk about, and her son kept asking after Tom and what happened to him. He’s only eight.”
“Did she sound very upset?”
“More nervous, I’d say.”
Rex stroked his beard pensively. “Looks like we’re at a dead end with the ex-wife. Pity. She was the one who found the bodies. It would have been helpful to meet with her and get her perspective on things.”
“As someone who knew the couple well,” Helen agreed. “And the first one to find them dead…”
“Aye, and perhaps the last one to see them alive.”
Chapter 6
Failing Natalie, the person Rex next wanted to talk to was the nanny. Tracy had spent every weekday at the Gladstone house while Hannah’s parents were at work and had helped out on occasion in the evening. She would know about the interactions of her employers and their routine better than most. In any case, Rex was loath to approach the victims’ parents so soon. It had only been three weeks since Tom and Lydia died in their home. He really had no business poking his nose into their deaths in the first place, he reminded himself.
“Perhaps I should leave well alone,” he told Helen as they returned from the supermarket that afternoon and began unloading the groceries from the car. Helen had been to her meeting with the pupil’s parents earlier in the day, and he had spent time on the computer researching newspaper articles pertaining to the Gladstones’ suspicious deaths.
“You mean, forget about the murders?” Helen stared at him in surprise. “That would be a first.”
“It w
ould. But it’s not as though anyone has asked me to help solve the case in this instance.” Rex lugged two shopping bags to the front door. “Perhaps we should just let the police do their job.”
“They don’t appear to be making much headway.”
“That we know of,” he corrected. “A lot goes on behind the scenes the public is not aware of. Three weeks is not a long time not to have made an arrest in a murder case. And it’s just possible it was not murder.”
Helen looked sceptical as she removed her jacket in the hallway and hung it up on the coat rack. “How do two adults accidentally swallow antifreeze kept in the garage? And, if it was a suicide pack, or even a murder-suicide, it’s a bizarre choice of death, don’t you think?”
“True. And one would expect a note,” Rex said. “At least some instructions for the care of Hannah, if such arrangements had not previously been addressed in a will.” No mention of a suicide note had been made public. In any event, he did not deem suicide likely from what he had been told about the young and vibrant couple. He took the shopping through to the kitchen. Upon placing the bags on the counter, he heard his mobile phone ring in his pocket and saw it was a local number.
“Hullo. Rex Graves,” he answered.
“It’s Cheryl,” a young voice faltered on the other end. “We met this morning outside Lydia’s house.”
“Of course. How can I help you?” Rex calculated it had been about eight hours since their meeting, and wondered what Lydia’s friend could be calling about, unless she’d discovered something of interest in the diary. Helen entered the kitchen at that point and he signaled with a raised finger that he was on an important call.
“I read the diary,” Cheryl told him on the phone, confirming his guess. “I even missed lunch.”
“That engrossing a read?” Rex said pleasantly.
“You could say that. Some of it, anyway. That part I can’t repeat as it’s private.”
“Journals tend to be. How far back did you go?”
PRELUDE TO MURDER: A Rex Graves Mystery Page 2