Getaway With Murder

by McNeir, Leo

  Marnie looked at the clock. “I could really use some of that peace and quiet everyone keeps talking about if I’m to stand a chance of getting this design finished on time.” She leaned forward over her desk. In less than a minute there came a tap on the open door.

  “Remember me, Mrs Walker? Tony Dyson from the estate agents.”

  Marnie sat back and barely suppressed a sigh. “How could I forget? Good morning, Mr Dyson. What can I do for you?”

  He scanned the office, noting the computer, the drawing-board, the air of efficiency, nodding at Anne who seemed absorbed in her thoughts. “Not calling at an inconvenient moment, am I?”

  “That rather depends on what you have in mind,” said Marnie, indicating a chair. She reflected that at her London office, without an appointment, he would have been asked to wait in reception. Eventually, she would have gone out to see him, apologising that her schedule did not allow her more than a few minutes.

  “I was just passing and I thought I’d look in and see how things were progressing.”

  “I think,” said Anne, looking through the window, “the concrete lorry has just poured its load over a car parked by the main house, a red one.” Mr Dyson started in panic. Marnie raised a hand and he sat down.

  “Oh yes,” he said with relief, “I see. It was a joke. Well, I must say you’re certainly pressing on.” Anne gave him a disarming smile, swung her bag over her shoulder and went out on her rounds. “Are you in a position to know when you might be putting anything on the market, Mrs Walker? We hoped you’d consider letting us act for you.”

  “To tell you the truth, Mr Dyson, I’ve not had much time to think about that side of things. I wanted to see how the works shaped up.”

  “Yes, of course. I think we could offer you favourable terms if you were interested. Perhaps I could let you have some samples of brochures we’ve produced for similar types of country property. A lot depends on presentation, you know. I’m sure we could guarantee the highest possible price.” Marnie nodded, appearing to find this all very fascinating. In reality she was hoping a thunderbolt from heaven would come through the door – without damaging the rest of the building – and reduce Mr Dyson to a glowing pile of charcoal on the floor. The phone rang. She excused herself. Dyson could hear every word she said.

  “The managing director? … Yes, certainly, though I do have someone with me just at the moment … Is it urgent? I see … it may just seem to be a crisis … I’m sure we can sort it out … By all means put him through … I’ll deal with it at once …” She put her hand over the receiver, waiting to be connected. “I’m sorry about this, bit of a disaster.” Dyson stood up. He knew that if he stayed any longer, he could be sitting around for half an hour. He held up his business card and put it on Anne’s desk, miming good-bye and promising to be in touch. Narrowly avoiding decapitation from a builder carrying a ladder, he successfully crossed the yard and got into his car. Anne came back into the office and saw Marnie on the phone. She sat down and glanced at Mr Dyson’s card while reaching into her bag. She pulled out the mobile.

  “Ah, Mrs Walker,” she said. “The problem seems to have solved itself after all. Sorry to have bothered you.” They cackled like a pair of fishwives and put down their phones.

  “If anyone comes in without being invited in the next half hour,” said Marnie ominously, “I kill.” She returned to the scheme she was trying to finish.

  Luckily for Margaret Giles and the group of children who appeared in the doorway, over an hour had passed since Marnie issued her threat. The Head Teacher tapped on the open door, looking fresh as a summer morning in cream shirt and dark blue skirt, flanked by four children, two girls, two boys, each carrying a bunch of flowers.

  “I know we must be disturbing you, Mrs Walker.” She was in school-speak mode. “But we just wanted to give you and Anne a little something to thank you for the marvellous visit to Sally Ann on Friday.” The children went forward and presented their gifts.

  “Oh, there was really no need. It was a pleasure having you, thank you. They’re lovely. Would you like coffee? Anne, do we have some orange juice?”

  “No, no, thank you. We’re definitely not staying. You have work to do and this is just a flying visit.”

  “Well, thank you,” said Marnie. She turned to the children. “Thank you very much for coming. It was nice of you to take the trouble.”

  “Take the trouble?” said Margaret. “We had to draw lots to decide who would come. These were the winners.” She turned and spoke softly into Marnie’s ear. “I expect we’ll find there have been mass suicides in the playground when we get back. Everyone wanted to come.” Marnie and Anne accompanied their visitors across the yard and up as far as the track, Margaret and Marnie walking together, while Anne shepherded the children past the building operations.

  “Sorry for the intrusion, Marnie. I was going to ask Valerie to pop them in so as not to disrupt your work, but she’s gone very strange these days.”

  “What’s the matter? Has her thumb gone septic or something?”

  “She’s just very peculiar, hardly says anything, keeps out of the way. She’s even abrupt to the children.”

  “How old is she?”

  “No, it can’t be that. She’s only mid-thirties. If I went peculiar that would have to be my excuse! You know, I have a feeling that it has something to do with the vicar.”

  “You think she doesn’t approve of women priests?” said Marnie.

  “I mean the one before … Mr Hughes.” Margaret stopped walking. “Between you and me, Marnie, I’ve started to wonder if she wasn’t more attached to him than anyone imagined. I think she’s taken his departure rather badly. I can’t think what else it could be.” An inspiration to us all … Marnie remembered the words. Margaret put a hand on Marnie’s sleeve. “Sorry. I don’t gossip. It’s not my nature and in my position it isn’t on. I haven’t mentioned this to anyone else. But I am getting worried about her.”

  “Probably just a temporary state of mind,” said Marnie. “Or do you think she needs help, counselling or something like that?”

  “She needs something, I think, but it’s almost impossible to talk to her. She just avoids me the whole time. The more I think about it, the more concerned I become. I’m not sure what she might do. Anyway, I’d better get the children back. I shouldn’t be wittering on like this.”

  “I wish I could do something to help. Does she have a close friend you could discuss it with?”

  “Not that I know. She has a brother, but he lives in the north of England. And I don’t really know her husband.” Anne came bounding up. Margaret smiled, a bright, encouraging teacher’s smile. “I must remove these children and let you get back to work. Thank you again. Bye!”

  The children were skipping up the field track with their Head Teacher following close behind. Birds were singing in the sunlight and the trees were swaying slightly in the breeze. The girls were wearing blue gingham dresses, the boys were in white shirts and dark shorts. Summer uniform. It was a happy village scene. Halfway up the track they turned and waved. Marnie and Anne waved back. Everyone was smiling.

  *

  Over the next few days the village settled into its summer rhythm. The school term approached its end. Conversation in the shop turned to holiday plans. Yellow signs sprang up advertising gardens open to the public for charity. The honey stone of the houses glowed in the warm sun and cottage gardens provided a free show to passers-by. Down at Glebe Farm, building works rolled steadily on from eight in the morning till four-thirty in the afternoon. Anne made her daily trip to the post at five and returned with fresh provisions. At the centre of her world, Marnie strove to meet her deadlines, organised suppliers, guided and directed her projects, advised her clients.

  On Tuesday Anne was leaving the shop when she met George Stubbs posting letters.

  “Good afternoon.” His well-padded voice almost caressed her. Even on a summer’s day he wore tweed jacket and a hat, which he raised i
n gallant fashion. “And how is the lovely lady of Glebe Farm today?”

  “Marnie’s fine, thank you, Mr Stubbs.” Anne adopted her most inscrutable face. Her skilful parry was recognised and admired.

  “I hear work is in full swing, my dear. Perhaps I might look in some time, offer a word of encouragement and perhaps a warning.”

  “A warning?” said Anne.

  “The dangers of over-working. Long hours, a punishing schedule. These things can take their toll, believe me, even when you’re young and healthy.” He looked her up and down and although Anne’s slight, boyish figure was not his ideal, he detected an attractive young woman waiting to emerge.

  “Oh, I don’t think we’re overdoing it all that much,” said Anne. “Anyway, it’s fun. We love our work. In fact, I’d better get back, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Of course, of course. But tell Marnie what I said. What would happen if she couldn’t keep up the work? You must judge the pace to suit the race.” The words echoed in Anne’s mind as she walked home.

  *

  Thursday 20 July

  A day or two later, Marnie stopped off at the village shop on her way back from a site meeting at The Irish Navigator. While she was hesitating over her choice of cat food for Dolly, Richard Appleton called across from the post office booth.

  “I’ve got something here for you, Marnie.”

  “Won’t be a minute, Richard. I’m coming over to see you anyway.” She completed her selection and paid Molly at the counter.

  “There you are,” said Richard. “One parcel. Alan brought it in this afternoon. He was going to drop it off, but you can have it now, if you don’t mind carrying it.” The parcel bore the familiar franking mark of the office in London.

  “These will be the structural drawings from Mike,” said Marnie. “The church porch.” She took out her wallet and the pass book for Anne’s savings account. By the time Anne went to college next year, she should have a fair amount to help her on her way. It would be a surprise present. “Put this in Anne’s account, please. Usual amount.”

  “How’s the church job coming on?” said Richard, writing up the pass book.

  “Just starting really,” said Marnie. “I think these will give the vicar an idea of what’s needed.”

  “If you want to see her, you should catch her in the church,” said Molly. “She was in here not ten minutes ago and said she was going to do some clearing out in the vestry.”

  “There’s the woman’s touch for you,” said Richard. “I can’t imagine Randall Hughes spring cleaning the pews with a feather duster.” They laughed together good-naturedly.

  “Or you, “ said Molly to her husband.

  Marnie spotted Toni Petrie by the church gate as she drove down the road and pulled up beside her. The vicar was carrying a bulging, black plastic rubbish bag, that was evidently not light.

  “Hi Marnie. You would not believe how much rubbish there is in that vestry. I think some of it must go back to Norman times.”

  “I can give you the name of a firm that hires out skips,” said Marnie. “I don’t want to hold you up, but I’ve just got a parcel from London. Probably the drawings from Mike. I’ll look them over and let you see them.”

  “Fine. I’m ready when you are. Any time. Pop round for coffee. Give me a ring.”

  *

  Marnie pressed the doorbell at the vicarage for the second time and waited. It made a hollow sound that seemed to echo in empty space. She had a strong feeling that there was no-one at home. Just after ten-thirty. That was the time they had agreed on the phone. It occurred to her that the vicar might be in the garden and she followed the path round the house to explore. There was no vicar, but the garden bore all the signs of hard work. The lawn was mown in stripes with neatly trimmed edges. The flower beds had been weeded and mulched. Some of the plants had strange shapes, suggesting that they had been choked and overgrown, but now freed from their shackles, they were blooming again. Roses were the main source of colour, but they had support from straggling delphiniums and fox-gloves. There were clumps of marguerites and drooping peonies in deep red. Some evening primroses were trying to join in and here and there lakeland poppies swayed on tall stalks and Marnie guessed that they had seeded themselves like weeds. In gaps where the cutting back had been most severe stood pots of brilliant geraniums in red and pink. By their works shall ye know them … The old familiar words came into Marnie’s mind as she looked at Toni’s handiwork and saw it was good.

  The faint sound of a door closing reached Marnie and she made her way round to the front of the house and pressed the bell once again. The response was an immediate stirring from inside.

  “Marnie! Excellent timing. I’ve only just arrived myself. Come in. I’ve been over at the school.” Still talking, she led Marnie into the kitchen, gestured her to a stool and switched on the kettle. “End of term service. Lovely kids. I always feel on a high after a service. Gives me a charge. Sorry, I’m babbling.”

  “I understand,” said Marnie. “It is a nice school.”

  “Yes. I gather you had a group on your boat last week. Sally Ann? They’re still talking about it. The place is full of pictures and models of canals, bridges and an amazing aqueduct with a weird name.”

  “Pontcysyllte,” said Marnie with a passable pronunciation.

  “I’ll take your word for it. Everyone has spelt it differently, but Mrs Giles hasn’t corrected any of them. I don’t think she can spell it either. You and Anne are certainly big stars.”

  They spread Mike’s drawings out on the kitchen table and Marnie explained what had to be done.

  “I’ll check with the surveyor’s office what I’m supposed to do about this,” said Toni, “but I’d be grateful if you could contact some builders for a price in the meantime. Am I right in thinking there’s no actual danger of the porch collapsing?”

  “None at all, according to Mike. He thinks the diocesan surveyor is just sticking to the rules to cover his own back.”

  “Good. I hate to think anyone might come to harm in the church of all places. Do you have any plans of the building as a whole?”

  “Only these sketches that Mike drew. Nothing more accurate. The surveyor will have some, I expect. Do you want me to find out?”

  “No, no. You’ve done enough already. I just want to get to know every inch of my church. It’s very kind of you to take all this trouble. Will you let me have an invoice for your fees, and Mike’s of course, including his travel expenses for the visit.”

  “There’s no charge, Toni. We’re just doing it to help out. That’s okay.”

  “That’s very generous of you. Are you sure it’s all right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, thank you. And you’re not even a churchgoer yourself, are you? Sorry, that sounds like a reproach.”

  “I went to church when I was young – Sunday school, brownies, you know – but I’m very lapsed now. In fact I’m so lapsed I think I’m even a lapsed agnostic.” Toni laughed. “Actually,” said Marnie, “since my marriage broke up a few years ago, I’ve been trying to find a new identity for myself as a person. It’s been enough to cope with doing that.”

  “You started from inside,” said Toni. “Rather than looking for support from outside.”

  “I’ve tried to rebuild, so I know who I am again.”

  “That’s not easy,” said Toni. “I gather you work very hard.”

  “So do lots of people. But I have compensations … family, friendships and of course Sally.”

  “I have the impression the boat is more than just a hobby,” said Toni.

  “Sally Ann has really helped me to make sense of my life again.”

  “The boat did that?” Toni was trying hard to understand.

  “Yes,” said Marnie firmly. “Sally gave me a new start. I know others who’ve had much the same kind of experience.”

  “I suppose we all have to come to terms with life in our own ways,” said Toni. She shrugged.
“It was the sermon on the mount for me.”

  “Well, I don’t deal in absolutes,” said Marnie. “But I know that what I do is interesting, I believe it’s worthwhile and I hope it may be of use to people. And it has nothing to do with money.”

  “It sounds as if you have a sense of vocation, Marnie, and I’m sure it’s no less valid than mine. Good old Sally Ann.” She began gathering up the plans. “But I’ll tell you what, if ever you think of going into the church, I could use a really good Sunday school teacher who can inspire the kids like you do.”

  *

  “Hallo. I’d like to speak to the surveyor who deals with Knightly St John, please.” Toni waited to be connected, humming along with the Eine kleine Nachtmusik that played on the phone. It was an up-beat version. Eine kleine Nachtmuzak, she thought. It stopped abruptly.

  “Maxwell.”

  “Hallo. This is Toni Petrie at Knightly St John. We’re having work done on our porch. I need to check that I’m going about things the right way.” She explained the current state of affairs, and took notes of all she had to do. She repeated her understanding of the procedures back to the surveyor. “I think I’ve got that. Thanks. Oh, one last thing. Do you have any detailed drawings of the church as a whole? There are just a few sketch plans in the files here.”

  “Have you got other problems with the fabric, then?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just wanted to get to know the church and I thought a set of plans would be a good start. Is there anything you could let me have?”

  “There’s not much, only some Victorian survey drawings. All the older plans were destroyed in the fire.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you had a fire. I’m sorry.”

  “In Northampton, the Great Fire of 1675. The plans were held there for a survey of church property ordered by the Grand Committee. They never sent them back, so many of the old records were lost.”

  “What a pity. Never mind. I’ll just have to explore the church myself.”