Mrs. Malory and a Necessary End (Mrs. Malory Mystery)

by Hazel Holt

  “Well, then,” I said thoughtfully. “The shop closes at five, so all Desmond’s visitors would have had to go round the back. How about times, then? John seems to have gone in about five, just after the shop closed. We don’t know when the man in the suit went in or how long he stayed, but it won’t have been that long because Miss Paget was able to see Agnes arrive before she went to switch on her program, which was probably one of the soaps at seven.”

  “Agnes Davis told me she arrived at quarter to seven and left at half past,” Bob said. “So there were around two hours when the murder could have been committed—it helps to narrow down the time.”

  We were both silent for a moment, considering this. Then Bob said, “What would he be doing so late after the shop closed? Why didn’t he go home?”

  “Oh, he liked to poke around after everyone had gone—mostly to see what we’d been doing wrong so that he could come and lecture us the next day! Or else think up new ways of doing things.”

  “Very hands on.”

  “You could say that! Or I suppose he might have been reading the pamphlets Agnes brought him.”

  “Pamphlets?”

  “She said that’s why she went to see him, to give him some pamphlets. Actually, there’s a bit of a mystery about them.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Agnes came into the shop today to ask for them back. I had a good look round but I couldn’t find them, and Desmond was killed before he could have taken them home.”

  “Perhaps someone threw them out.”

  ‘I don’t think so—I did investigate that. I don’t suppose they’re important, but I thought I ought to tell you.”

  “Yes, well, thank you—I’ll bear it in mind.”

  A few days later I was passing the end of Wendy’s road and, on an impulse, I thought I’d go and see if she was back. Bob Morris hadn’t said anything, but it seemed a good opportunity to take a look, perhaps to see if there was a FOR SALE board outside or anything like that. There was no board, but Wendy’s car was parked in the drive.

  For a long time after I’d rung the bell nobody answered, but then the door was opened by Wendy, wearing an apron and looking harassed. However, she greeted me cordially and invited me in. The sitting room was cluttered up with boxes and felt cold and dismal.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Wendy said as she bent to switch on the electric fire. “But, as you see, I’m trying to pack up a few things for the move.”

  “Did you bring Tiger back with you?”

  “No, he didn’t like traveling—cried all the way, poor little soul, so I’ve left him with John.”

  “Has John got a place at the art school?”

  “Yes. I think I told you about one of the people there who were ever so impressed with his work a while ago—well, he’s arranged for John to start in the New Year.”

  “That sounds excellent.”

  “Yes, isn’t it! He’s got to do some sort of project—that’s what they call it, don’t they? I don’t understand these things, but I’m sure he’ll be all right. He’s so happy there!”

  “So you are definitely leaving then?”

  “Oh yes. We’re renting a small house for now, but I’ve seen a really nice little place in Moseley that should suit us very well, as soon as we can sell this place.”

  There was a pause. Then I said, “Did Inspector Morris manage to contact you?”

  “Oh yes, he did telephone. I can’t think why he needed to see us again. I’m sure we’ve both told him everything we can.”

  “I think there was something about some of Desmond’s business papers he wants to look at.”

  “It seems a bit silly going on about those. Desmond’s been retired for years now—I can’t imagine what use any of that stuff would be to him.”

  “I think he has to explore every avenue, as they say.”

  “I suppose so, but it seems a great waste of time. But here I am, going on, and I haven’t even offered you a cup of tea.”

  “That would be lovely, if it won’t hold you up.”

  “Goodness me, no—it’s lovely to have someone to talk to, and I could certainly do with a cup myself by now!”

  She went off into the kitchen and I wandered around the room, looking into the boxes. Mostly china and ornaments. But one box, on the table, had papers in it. Lying on the top were some pamphlets. Cautiously, listening for Wendy’s return, I took one out. It was torn, as if someone had tried to tear it in two, but the title page was still perfectly readable: “Transubstantiation: What It Means for Us Today.”

  I put it back in the box on top of several others. It was obvious they were the pamphlets Agnes had asked about. But how had they got back here? There seemed to be only one answer, and I simply didn’t know what to do about it. My first instinct was to tackle Wendy about it straightaway. But really, I thought, it should be done by Bob Morris; it was, after all, his job. But then, by the time I’d got in touch with him, she might have got rid of them—it seemed as if she’d tried to destroy at least one. I heard Wendy coming back and quickly moved away and sat down on the sofa.

  “Sorry to be so long. Funny, isn’t it, the way the kettle always takes ages when you’re in a hurry.”

  She was carrying a large tray with the tea things on it, and I got up and went over to the table.

  “Here,” I said. “Let me clear a space for you.”

  As she put the tray down I felt it was too good a chance to miss, so I casually leaned over and picked the top pamphlet out of the box.

  “This looks interesting.”

  She looked up from pouring the tea. “Oh, that’s just some of Desmond’s old stuff,” she said quickly. “I was going to throw it away.” She put the cup of tea on one of the little tables beside me and offered me a biscuit.

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. But, Wendy, I don’t think you should throw any of Desmond’s papers away until Inspector Morris has had a chance to look at them.”

  “Oh, that isn’t anything to do with Desmond’s business,” she said airily. “It’s just some of his old church things.”

  I hesitated for a moment and then I held up the pamphlet and said, “I think this is one of the pamphlets Agnes Davis was asking about the other day. She came into the shop especially to ask about them.”

  “Oh.”

  “She was very anxious to have them back because she wants to lend them to someone.”

  “Oh well, she’s welcome to them,” Wendy said shortly. “I’m sure I don’t want any of that stuff cluttering up the house. Like I said, I was getting rid of all the old rubbish.”

  There was a pause and then I said, “We were wondering what had happened to it—to them, really; I gather there were several pamphlets. The thing is….” I took a deep breath. “The thing is, Agnes Davis brought these particular pamphlets into the shop for Desmond on the evening that he—well, that he died.”

  I looked at her inquiringly but she didn’t say anything.

  “Since Desmond didn’t come back home that evening,” I went on, “the question is how did they get here?”

  The silence seem to last for a very long time. “I brought them back,” she said.

  “You mean you went back to the shop later on?”

  “Well, the time was getting on and I was worried about John, and Desmond had said he was coming home to speak to him and John wasn’t here. And Desmond didn’t come and I didn’t know what he was going to do about it all. After a bit, I couldn’t stand waiting any longer, so I put on my coat and got the bus and went to the shop.”

  “When was this? What time?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t notice. It was quite late by then because I got the last bus.”

  “But that would have been after ten!”

  “I suppose so.”

  “But Desmond was dead by then.”

  Another silence, even longer than the last one.

  “I know,” she said.

  “You mean,” I said slowly, “that you went into t
he shop and saw him there? Dead.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t do anything about it?”

  “There was nothing I could do. He was dead. I had to get back—I’d no idea where John was and he might have been trying to ring me.”

  “You didn’t call the police.”

  “I told you I had to get back for John.”

  “But…”

  “Anyway, I didn’t want to get mixed up in all that.”

  I didn’t know what to say. There seemed no way of getting through to her the enormity of what she’d done. It was like dealing with an uncooperative child.

  “What about the pamphlets, then?” I said at last.

  “Oh them.” She looked at the pamphlet I still had in my hand. “A lot of old rubbish,” she said. “She was always using them as an excuse to see him, calling in at the shop at all hours of the night. I know what people were saying—it’s not very nice to have people saying that sort of thing about your husband. I wouldn’t have minded if she’d been something to look at, but she was nothing but a dried-up old spinster. If they’d been having a proper affair—I could have understood that. But no, it was all this church stuff. Just friends, he said—intellectual stimulus, if you ever heard of such a thing—funny sort of friends, meeting on the sly like that.”

  “It must have been hard on you.”

  “So you see,” she said eagerly, “why I couldn’t leave those things there. What with all the fuss there’d be about his death and everyone talking about it—people would know she’d been there.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “I didn’t want that.”

  “The next day,” I said, “when they asked you to identify the body, why didn’t you say anything then?”

  “It was too late. I’d have got into trouble—you know what they’re like. Anyway, it wouldn’t have made any difference. I wasn’t going to stir up trouble all for nothing.”

  “But Wendy,” I said, “you’re going to have to tell them now.”

  “I don’t see why. Like I said, it doesn’t make any difference.”

  “Inspector Morris wanted to know what happened to the pamphlets.”

  “Oh, those stupid things!”

  “And,” I continued, “he’ll want to know how they got here.”

  “You’re not going to tell him?”

  “I’m afraid I have to.”

  “I thought you were my friend. You were so good about Tiger and everything.”

  “I am your friend, Wendy, and that’s why I’m saying that you must tell Inspector Morris all about it. He’s a nice man. I know he’ll understand what a difficult situation you were in.”

  “I don’t know….”

  “Would you like me to ring him and ask him to come round here now?”

  She considered this for a moment. Then she said, “And you’ll stay?”

  “Of course. Can I use the phone in the hall?”

  As I dialed the number I prayed that Bob would be in the station. Miraculously, he was.

  “Bob, I’m so sorry to bother you, but something quite extraordinary has happened. Can you please come to Wendy Barlow’s house right away? She’s here and there’s something very important she needs to say to you.”

  “Well…”

  “Honestly, you need to see her here.”

  “Right. I’m on my way.”

  Bob must have left right away because he arrived quite soon, which was a relief—conversation was not easy and was confined to talk about John and how well he was doing. When the bell rang Wendy looked at me beseechingly and I went to let Bob in. While we were in the hall I told him briefly about the pamphlets and what Wendy had told me about her movements that evening.

  “I honestly believe she has no idea that what she did was wrong,” I said, and when he went into the sitting room he spoke to her gently, in a quiet, friendly way with simple, easy questions.

  “Well, now, Mrs. Barlow,” he said at last. “I think the best thing will be for you to come with me back to the station, where we can get all this written down properly.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…. I’ve got so much to do here.”

  “It won’t take long, and we’ll send you back home in a police car.”

  This promise seemed to appeal to her, and she said, “Oh, all right then. I’ll just go and get my coat and lock up the back door.”

  When she had gone out of the room I got up and took the other pamphlets out of the box and gave them, together with the partly torn one, to Bob.

  “I’m so sorry to have called you out like this,” I said, “but I was so afraid she might have destroyed these and I thought you needed to see them here—evidence, I suppose.”

  “Absolutely. No, I’m most grateful that you were on the spot at the right time!” He smiled. “As you have a knack of being.”

  After a great deal of fuss about handbags and front door keys, Wendy finally got into Bob’s car and was driven away.

  The whole episode was so extraordinary that I felt in the need of some rational conversation. So I rang Rosemary and told her all about it.

  “She had simply no idea that what she’d done was wrong,” I said. “It’s like dealing with a child.”

  “Well, Desmond always treated her like a child, so I suppose she just became one,” Rosemary said. “Anyway, she was never allowed to grow up properly.”

  “Oh?”

  “Her parents died in a car crash when she was about ten and she was brought up by a fierce old grandmother, very strict, always telling her what to do.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “Oh, Mother—of course—knew all about it. Church contacts. Apparently the grandmother wouldn’t let her mix with other children and young people because the parents left all this money and she had this thing about fortune hunters.”

  “Poor Wendy. But how did she come to marry Desmond?”

  “Oh, the grandmother lived in the Midlands, and Desmond went to the same church. I expect Desmond made up to her to get to Wendy. And, of course, she thought he was such a nice young man, a lay reader and well in with the vicar, so she encouraged it.”

  “You think he married Wendy for her money?”

  “Partly, but partly because he didn’t want a wife so much as a doormat and obviously Wendy was very good doormat material. And that’s what she became. Never had a thought in her head he hadn’t put there. Except about John, though he was as weak and spineless as she was.”

  “Oh dear. Well, anyway, she couldn’t have murdered Desmond, even if she did go back to the shop—he was dead already.”

  “Are we sure of that?” Rosemary said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She could just as well have gone back there earlier, in that gap when he was still alive and before Sophie found him.”

  “But she said….”

  “After all this, can you really trust anything she says?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You were absolutely right,” Bob Morris said wearily, when he rang me later. “She didn’t seem to realize that finding your husband dead was something you should report to the police!”

  “Did you believe her?” I asked. “About the time she went back.”

  “I don’t know what to believe. Can she really be as naive as all that?”

  “I think she is,” I said and I told him about her past life. “I don’t believe she’d be capable of anything devious. I mean, she’d have to be a pretty good actress to have kept up that act all these years!”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Actually, you might have a word with her next-door neighbor (the one on the right-hand side). She seems to keep a fairly watchful eye on Wendy—I think she worries about her. She might just have seen her going out that evening—after all, it was most unusual—and have noticed the time.”

  “Good. I’ll do that. Anyway, I’m going there tomorrow to look through any business papers that might have survived. I don’t think she’s thrown them
away because she said they’d be in her husband’s desk and she seemed nervous about opening it.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me! Well, good luck. Just be grateful she didn’t bring her cat back—you’d never get her to talk about anything else if it was there.”

  When I got to the shop next morning I found Jean alone.

  “Where’s Norma?” I asked.

  “Don’t ask me!” Jean said shortly. “She was out of that door before I’d even taken my coat off. Muttered something about a meeting—believe that if you want to!”

  “It certainly seems a bit much when there’s just the three of us.”

  “Exactly. We haven’t heard anything lately about this friend of hers from Malvern who was going to be such a wonderful asset. We’ve got a couple of boxes of china that need looking at and half a dozen pictures, all waiting for this so-called expert of hers! Say what you like about Desmond, but he always got things done.”

  “I have a sort of feeling,” I said, “that the friend from Malvern isn’t going to materialize—not here, anyway.”

  “Really?”

  “I did hear—Brunswick Lodge gossip, but it’s usually reliable—that she and Norma had a great falling out. All to do with the arts committee there. I think this ‘friend’ was trying to take over, something like that, anyway.”

  Jean gave a snort of laughter. “One in the eye for Madam! She wouldn’t dream of letting us know, of course, but it does leave us in a hole. I think Dorothy might come in for a few extra days, but it’s not satisfactory, and I’m going to tell Norma so when she gets back.”

  “I must say, I’m surprised Norma hasn’t been more hands on since she took over. I thought it would be Desmond all over again. She’s altered the window display and moved things around a bit, but since that first burst of energy, nothing much at all. You know how she used to go on about how old-fashioned all Desmond’s idea were. I was expecting something really revolutionary.”