For One Night Only

by W W Walker

  “Well, no. I just assumed it would be locked.”

  They spoke no more as they stepped inside the kitchen of No.8.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “I think Tammy might come,” Rhianna said.

  Eva looked surprised. “I don’t think she will. We’ve invited her to many things in the past, but she never accepted.”

  “Did you invite Tom too?”

  Eva guffawed. “No of course not. He’s in a wheelchair.” Eva sipped her drink. Rhianna noticed she was staring at Jade a lot, making evil eyes at her.

  “Well, maybe if you’d invited him too, he could have decided himself if he wanted to come or not.” Rhianna felt like kicking herself. The last thing she wanted to do was cause trouble for Tammy and Tom, but honestly, were people that single-minded?

  “Did they say as much?” Eva asked.

  Now she’d torn it. If Tammy did turn up to Eva’s party, would Eva confront her on the issue? It wouldn’t surprise Rhianna if she did. “She didn’t say anything. It was just my own observation.”

  Eva pouted as if she was wondering if Rhianna was sincere. Yes, Rhianna had torn it, all right.

  Kiki was trying her best not to think about Tyrone, but it was hard not to become distracted when there was little or no decent conversation. How she hated small talk.

  In her mind, she’d exhausted all explanations as to his whereabouts. His car had been outside the gates since twelve last night. If it had broken down and he’d grabbed a lift, as Marigold had suggested, wouldn’t he by now have collected his car?

  She’d tried phoning him up until the very last moment the power had gone off. If he’d gotten a lift home, wouldn’t he have answered when she rang?

  Nothing made sense and the small talk that was going on was giving her a serious bloody headache. She decided to give it ten minutes and then she’d make her excuses and leave.

  Eva glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece where a pair of silver candlestick held white candles, making it look like an altar. “I wonder what’s keeping the others,” she said.

  Jade was standing next to the radio. Fortunately, it had batteries, so at least they had some music. She watched her twiddling the dial to get a different station. She was starting to get Eva riled. Who the hell did she think she was, coming in her house and taking over?

  When Simon and Garfunkel sang The Sound of Silence, Eva thought how apt, considering the lack of guests.

  She looked at Kiki. She was distracted as she played with the cuff of her denim jacket. “Is something wrong, Kiki?” Eva asked.

  She looked up, surprised that someone had targeted her. “Erhm, no. I was just thinking about a friend of mine.”

  Eva refrained from rolling her eyes. The party was bombing.

  Then all heads turned when they heard a knock on the door.

  They all looked relieved.

  Maybe it was someone who would stir the place up, get a few laughs going, some decent conversation…They could only hope.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Constance and Marigold were given a glass of brandy to calm their nerves. Gladys could only sit by and watch them as they came to terms with what they’d found at No.8.

  Constance felt like she was in shock, and that the vision she’d seen was as much a figment of her imagination as Marigold’s when she’d imagined seeing the slaughtered cat.

  They’d walked into the kitchen of the Butler’s house. It was insanely quiet apart from a battery clock ticking on the windowsill. They had two torches now and the double beams of light crossed over as both women randomly searched for life.

  Constance had called out, but it came out as a whisper. “Mrs Butler?”

  Marigold came out of the lounge. She shook her head. No one in there. “We should try upstairs.”

  Constance had watched enough films in her time, which quite frankly reminded her of the steps they were taking right now. Friday night TV was the best. There was always a late film showing before it closed down at midnight: Dracula, The Mummy, Frankenstein…all in a backdrop of dark houses with candlelight burning in the terrible gloom. But this…this was real, and it was making her feel sick to the stomach with sheer horror.

  At the top of the stairs, she stopped. “You know what, this is ridiculous. We’re just freaking ourselves out with our very active imaginations.”

  “Hardly surprising after seeing that cat.”

  “But Marigold, you didn’t see a cat, remember? There was no cat.”

  Marigold shrugged as they walked the short length of the landing to the back bedroom where the Butlers slept. They shone the torch and took one final glance at each other. Then, expecting to dissolve into a fit of laughter when they discovered the room was empty, they pushed open the door.

  Two mounds filled the bed.

  It was the most curious of scenes. They looked like two long pillows covered over with a blanket, as if a couple of escapees were pretending to be fast asleep, tucked up in bed, when really, they were out on the town, painting it red.

  In the dark, Constance approached the bed while Marigold shone the torch. She shook her head as if she wanted to dispel the thoughts going through her mind. She was overdramatising the whole thing. She was convinced of it.

  She grabbed the blanket and pulled it off the two forms below it, then she took a step back as if she’d been hit by a train and knocked into the wall.

  Next to her, Marigold screamed as they both looked down upon the bodies of Mr and Mrs Butler, murdered in their beds, with ties still wrapped around their throttled necks, their eyes staring nowhere and their mouths agape, their tongues hanging out, as if they had each suffered a stroke.

  Pinned up against the wall, the two women couldn’t breathe, but that was only seconds before they ran from the room and down the stairs, crashing through the back door and spilling out into the garden.

  Marigold was shaking from head to toe for the second time in an hour. She’d been sledgehammer-ed over the head three times that day, what with the news of Eddie’s death, that dead cat and now the Butlers.

  “What happened?” Gladys asked after they’d downed their brandy in one straight gulp.

  Constance stared right into her eyes. “They’re dead.”

  “Who’s dead?” It was the simplest of questions.

  “Mr and Mrs Butler…killed…strangled.”

  “That’s ridiculous. They couldn’t…”

  Marigold sat up in the chair making her back straight as a ramrod. If she hadn’t, she felt like she would have remained a hunchback forever. “It’s true. They’ve been murdered.”

  Gladys sat down. How long had the three of them sat at that table deliberating the events of the day? A silence fell between them like an invisible brick wall. None of them knew what to say. It was hard enough trying to map it out in their minds, but to speak of it…well, it just didn’t seem real. Marigold wondered if she was being a victim of some cruel prank. Maybe Constance and Gladys were in on it…to make her look foolish. Soon, Eddie and the Butler’s would jump out from the darkness shouting ‘SURPRISE!’

  Then her shoulders slumped again, along with a rounded spine crushed under the weight of her troubles. No, what had happened there today was no joke. It was very, very real.

  “We should call the police.”

  As soon as Gladys said it, Marigold could tell she hadn’t first thought about the statement. There was no phone. Her remark hung in the air like a whirling dervish, spiralling out of control while they all considered the consequences of what they’d seen. The first question to come out of their lips was Constance’s when she asked, “Who could have done it?”

  They stared at her, perhaps a little aggrieved that she should ask a question they couldn’t answer.

  None of it made sense. Marigold had arrived an hour ago to find out that Constance had killed her husband and now two more murders were on her mind. How could that even be? Maybe Constance killed them. Maybe Mrs B had witnessed her killing Eddie…Mrs B
threatened to tell all, so Constance went next door and strangled her…with a tie…and Mr Butler too…and then covered up the bodies…

  Marigold slammed on the brakes of her over-active imagination. No, none of that made sense. In fact, there was no explanation. She was literally stumped.

  She rubbed her eyes and then felt her hair. Earlier she’d put rollers in. She’d planned on waiting until the last minute to brush out the curls after she’d got dressed for the party. Why did she come over to find out if they were all okay? Why hadn’t she just stayed safely in her own house, minding her own business? And to top it all, what the hell was Wilbur going to say when he came home?

  Constance was on the verge of another breakdown. How many breakdowns could someone have in one day?

  Marigold looked like she had the troubles of the world on her shoulders and now, she too was sinking into a pit of despair. All logical thought process had exited her brain. There was no explanation for what had happened next door. Why would someone want to kill them? What harm had the old couple ever done anyone?

  “I’m going to walk into town,” she said suddenly as the other two women looked up sharply.

  “What?”

  “Someone has to notify the police. It will have to be me.”

  “No, wait.”

  “Stop,” said Gladys.

  Marigold reached across the table and pressed her hand down on Constance’s. “You won’t get through the gates. They don’t work without power.”

  “Okay, I’ll go over it.”

  “That’s a nine-foot high gate. And besides. You’ll hurt yourself trying to get over it. It has spikes remember?”

  “So, I’ll go over the wall then. If we can find some ladders…”

  Marigold shook her head. “No, we have to think about this.”

  “What’s there to think about? Three people are dead. I don’t care about Eddie, but someone needs to inform the Butler’s family.”

  “I don’t think it’s as easy as that?” said Marigold.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, if you go and confess to killing Eddie, they’ll think you killed the Butlers too.”

  “What?” Constance scoffed. “Why would I want to hurt them?”

  “You wouldn’t, but the police won’t know that.”

  Constance paused, thinking things through…no, it was impossible. No one would blame her. Would they? “If I don’t go into town and report this, what would you suggest we do?”

  “Wait until morning.”

  “What difference will it make?”

  Then Marigold stopped. Her eyes fixed on a place behind Constance’s shoulder. She was deep in thought. Her eyes had glazed over. Her lips had formed a pensive pout. She was still as if to move would have distracted her.

  “What is it?” asked Gladys.

  She broke the spell on her own accord. “I think I have an idea.”

  Constance had her own ideas. “What if the murderer is still around here somewhere?”

  “No, he’ll be long gone by now. I think the bodies must have been in there like that all day. If they were robbed, the perpetrator would have made a dash for it hours ago.”

  “Unless he’s still inside Seaview,” Gladys said. “And he can’t get out either. Maybe he’s waiting to rob us too.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Marigold said

  “I find it all hard to believe.”

  “Look, I’ve been thinking about something…I’m not sure how we can spin it yet, but there’s a chance we could work this to our advantage.”

  “Our advantage?” said Constance frowning at Marigold’s evaluation.

  “What if the robber or killer…whatever he is…what if the police assume that he killed Eddie too?”

  “What?”

  “Think about it.” Marigold stood up and paced back and forth. Her head was filled with plots and tactics. She’d never felt so fired up. “Is it so hard to imagine that the guy, whoever he is, killed Eddie too? It would get you off the hook, Constance.”

  Gladys tuned in, going along with Marigold’s chain of thought. “If the killer gets caught for the murder of the Butlers, no one’s going to believe him if he denies killing Eddie.”

  Marigold pursed her lips tight together and nodded knowingly. “Exactly.”

  “No, that couldn’t work,” Constance said. “Could it?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Eva answered the door once more. It was Tammy from next door at No.4. “Well, hello,” said Eva, without any control over the surprise she felt that the woman had turned up at all.

  She hesitated on the doorstep. “I…I thought I’d been invited.”

  Eva stepped aside. “Of course, you are. Come in. Come in.”

  Tammy carried a bottle of red wine and a posy of flowers. She handed them to Eva. “From our garden,” she said.

  “Oh, lovely, thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

  She wore jeans with a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt. Eva thought she had a wonderful figure. She had long reddish hair and her skin was sublime. Her teeth were perfectly formed, and she had the most amazing green eyes. Eva couldn’t remember ever noticing how attractive she was. On the rare occasions she’d met them, Eva had perhaps focused more on the man, Tom. She thought of him as a physically frail man, and she’d dished out enough pity to satisfy any guilt she may have felt for not spending more time with them. The truth was, Eva never knew what to say to them. She was always too worried about putting her foot in it.

  She’d often wondered how they coped. Surely, they were bored staying in their house day after day and not mixing socially with their neighbours. She’d noticed them going out a few times when Tammy had pushed his wheelchair along the eight to the gates, but there had been one particular time when Eva had bumped into them.

  It was a bright Sunday morning, spoiled by a biting cold breeze. She’d just returned from her her own brisk walk when she saw the gates ahead of her opening as if on their own accord. It was only as she got closer, she saw that it was him, in his wheelchair. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”

  He smiled politely.

  “Are you on your own?”

  He hadn’t answered and she remembered wondering why. She repeated her question a little louder, but he’d remained staring at her with a strange frown on his face. Behind him she saw Tammy walking briskly towards them, carrying a checked blanket.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Here, let me help.” Uninvited, Eva had taken the blanket from Tammy’s hand and put it across Tom’s lap. She tucked it in at the sides, making him all cosy.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he said.

  She’d been quite taken aback by his response especially when he used that dreadful word. Nevertheless, she chuckled her response to hide her embarrassment. “There’s quite a wind-up. You don’t want to get cold.”

  Tammy stepped forward and whipped the blanket from his lap. “I went back for the blanket so that I could sit down on the grass,” she snapped. “He doesn’t need you fussing over him.”

  “Oh, well, that will be nice...sitting on the grass, I mean.”

  They didn’t say any more. Tammy had simply taken hold of the wheelchair and pushed Tom out of the gates. As it closed behind them, Eva had shouted, “Enjoy your stroll.”

  Now Tammy was as friendly as could be, so maybe she wasn’t as stuck up as Eva had first assumed.

  Rhianna was relieved when she saw Tammy walk into the lounge. She stood up and went towards her. “Am I glad to see you,” she whispered.

  Tammy chuckled. “Not as glad as I am to see you.”

  “Tom didn’t want to come?” Rhianna had hoped to see him again. Before she left his house earlier, he’d shown her to the door. He was about to open it, but he stopped and touched her hand. She’d wrapped her fingers around his and they looked at each other as if they both knew what the other was thinking. It made Rhianna’s heart lurch to realise he felt the same.


  “He thought he’d let us get on with it,” she said. “Socialising with a group of women isn’t really his thing. He’s writing by candlelight.”

  Rhianna smiled as she imagined him writing a chapter in the dark with just a candle to guide him. “Tammy,” she started. “Can I tell you something?”

  “What, that you like my brother?”

  “Don’t you mind?”

  “He likes you too.”

  “He does?” That made Rhianna feel very happy.

  “Tom doesn’t take to people very quickly. He seems to see straight through them and most of the time he prefers to stay away. But with you, he liked what he saw. He liked you.”

  “Do you think we would perhaps come for a walk tomorrow? Do you think he’d come?”

  “Yes, I bet he would.”

  Eva was surprised that Marigold hadn’t shown up. It was 6.30 now, way past the planned time of arrival. And where was Constance? Wasn’t she coming either? Maybe Eddie wouldn’t let her, since he hadn’t gone on the golf trip. She wished she could get in touch with Roger. Her imagination had been on overtime and she needed to talk to him. Why would Jade have been in his office? For what reason? Jack was his best mate, surely, he wouldn’t betray him, let alone Eva. But she had betrayed him with Jack, hadn’t she? So, who was she to talk?

  Jack had promised to call her this evening. She wondered if he’d tried and what he’d thought when he couldn’t get through? Oh, why couldn’t the power come back on? That damn electric company!

  Then, someone else knocked on the door.

  Marigold went inside, her knees shaking. On her arm was Eddie’s mother, Gladys. She seemed frail next to her with her stride slow and laboured as she forced one foot in front of the other. Marigold wondered how much sleep she’d had over the past twenty-four hours.

  They’d met before, Marigold and Gladys.