Murder by Suspicion

by Veronica Heley

  ‘Mind your backs, there!’ The decorator wrenched the stepladder off his lad and tried to insinuate himself past Stewart into the hall.

  Ellie had had enough. ‘Out! No decorating today. Stewart –’ she turned to her general manager – ‘would you be so kind as to get this man to go away? I have not ordered any decorating and—’

  ‘This paper here says—’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s signed by the Prime Minister, the Queen of England and the Archbishop of Canterbury. I didn’t authorize any decorating. Stewart: get him out of here!’

  Stewart placed his substantial body between Ellie and the decorator. ‘Let me see that piece of paper.’

  Diana seized her mother by the arm and led her into the sitting room. Once there, Diana stopped short. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘Claire is what’s going on,’ said Ellie. ‘And, before you start, Diana: no, I didn’t ask her to do it. She got my own cleaners to leave and substituted hers, whom I’ve sacked. I’m in the process of sacking her, too. Whatever possessed you to recommend her to me?’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know anything about the murder or disappearance or whatever it was when you asked me if I knew anyone who could look after Rose while you were away, and I didn’t know she was a member of this silly sect that believes in poverty for others but loadsa money for themselves.’

  ‘Is that what they believe? She said—’

  ‘Oh, she’ll say anything to worm her way into the house and get control. That’s what she does, you know. It wasn’t till after you’d gone that I heard what she’s been getting up to, her and her like. They’ve formed a “church” of their own, which is nothing but a cult. She goes out working for people who have money and are on their last legs, and then the people they’re looking after die and they inherit. I needed someone to look after little Evan, and when she said she was desperate for work, well, I didn’t think anything of it – at the time.’

  ‘You think she came here to get her hands on Rose’s—?’

  ‘Rose inherited quite a bit from my great aunt, didn’t she? Also, you’ve been paying her to look after you all these years, and she’s never spent a penny on herself, so, yes, she must have a nice little nest egg. No wonder Claire jumped at the chance of looking after her.’

  ‘Would she have known that Rose had money when she took the job?’

  ‘Oh, this cult, or whatever it is, does their homework all right. They select their targets with care. They pretend to do a lot of good, looking after waifs and strays, taking people off the street – drug addicts and I don’t know what; nobody you should trust with a key to your house – and then their victims die, and who gets the money? They do, of course.’

  ‘That’s a serious accusation, Diana. Where did you get this information?’

  Diana looked uncomfortable, but only for a moment. ‘Well, that’s what I wanted to tell you. A wealthy widow died locally, and this Claire said she was going to inherit and asked us to put her house on the market for her. Only, then we got a letter from a solicitor saying that the will had been challenged by the woman’s children who live in Australia or New Zealand, somewhere far away, and we would be best advised to take it off our books. So we had Claire in, and she admitted that there was a hitch. She was in tears. She said she’d worked for the widow for ages, doing everything for her, and that when she died, she’d left only a few thousands to her children and the rest, including the house, to this church of the Vision that Claire acts for, but the children were contesting the will. They’d got a solicitor on the job, and Claire had been turned out of the house and had nowhere to live.’

  Ellie put her hand to her head, which was aching in earnest. ‘The children think their mother made a will giving the best part of her estate to Claire because … Are they claiming undue influence? I’d better warn Rose.’

  ‘Rose is small time. Once they’d got a foothold in this house, they’d have realized who you were and how much money you’ve inherited. So now they’ll be after you and everything you own. That’s why I came round to warn you. You’ve got to throw them out before they trap you into making a personal will in their favour.’

  ‘Give me credit for some common sense, Diana. You know perfectly well that I’ve put the money I’ve inherited into a trust. It’s not mine to keep or to spend. It’s for people who need it more than I do.’

  ‘So you say, but if Claire can extract money from people she works for once, she can do it again. I want you to promise that you’ll let me have a look at any proposal they make so that you don’t get taken for a ride.’

  ‘Nothing of that sort has been suggested, and if and when it happens, I shall deal with it as I would deal with any other business matter.’

  Diana was not appeased. ‘These are not just any other business people. They don’t play by the rules.’

  Stewart appeared in the doorway, waving a piece of paper, with the decorator frowning at his side and Claire close behind them. ‘Ellie, a word. This paper. It looks as if you signed and dated it last week. As I’ve told them, you weren’t here, so you can’t have signed it.’

  The decorator folded his arms at them. ‘I’ll swear it on the bible. That paper’s gospel true.’

  Stewart repeated, ‘I’m sorry, but this signature is a fake.’

  Diana was triumphant. ‘Told you! Fraud!’

  The decorator coloured up and flashed a look of dislike at Diana. ‘The old lady signed it herself. For the Quicke person.’

  ‘Rose signed it?’ said Ellie. ‘She had no authority to sign for me.’

  The decorator grinned, showing a gap in stained teeth. ‘Tell that to the lawyers.’

  ‘Yes, I will,’ said Ellie, thinking that perhaps Diana was in the right for once.

  The decorator wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. ‘So, I’ll start on the dining room, shall I? It was supposed to be cleared this morning, ready for me.’

  Was that why the new cleaners had dismantled the table?

  Claire nodded. ‘That’s right. I told Rose all about it, and she signed on your behalf.’

  Diana sniffed. ‘Unless you can produce an authority signed by my mother for Rose to deal with her affairs, that idea is a non-starter.’

  Tears started in Claire’s eyes. She wailed, ‘I was told, I was assured on the best authority that it’s legal.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t,’ said Ellie, who’d had more than enough of this conversation. ‘Look, I need to do some shopping, and I want you all out of here before I leave.’

  Claire wrung her hands. ‘I don’t have anywhere else to go! What am I going to do?’

  Ellie felt herself weakening. ‘Well, I suppose we can discuss that when I get back. Meantime, you can start by returning the furniture to its usual places.’

  The decorator was getting angry. ‘I know my rights. I ain’t moving.’

  Stewart took out his mobile phone. ‘I’ll get the police to remove him and his mate, shall I?’

  ‘Do that,’ said Ellie. ‘And Stewart, could you stick around till I get back? I won’t be long, but I must get tea, coffee and some meat before I do anything else. Diana, can I trouble you for a lift to the shops?’

  ‘A pleasure.’ Diana shot a look at her diamond-encrusted watch. ‘If we hurry.’ She walked around Stewart as if he didn’t exist.

  Ellie kissed his cheek as she passed him by. ‘I leave you in charge, Stewart. Just don’t enter into conversation with Claire, because she doesn’t play fair.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Trust me. You don’t want to find out. Whatever you do, don’t promise her anything.’

  Collecting her handbag and a jacket, Ellie wondered if Claire really had tried to hypnotize her. Or had she imagined it? Possibly. Mind you, she still felt strange. Her wits had gone a-wandering. Her mind was dull. Odd, very.

  She shook her head, trying to pop her wits back into their usual slots.

 
Had she made a shopping list? Well, she’d started to do so … Oh, there it was.

  Tucking the list in her handbag, Ellie reflected that she couldn’t be sure whether or not Claire was a wrong ’un, but she did feel that by warning Stewart against Claire, she was doing the right thing. Better to be safe than sorry. Stewart was a man too decent to believe ill of a woman without proof positive that she was Lucrezia Borgia. Or Mata Hari. Or Cruella de Vil?

  No, none of them. They had all majored in sex appeal, but Claire had none.

  So who was she like? Ellie couldn’t think.

  Some meek little woman who poisoned everyone she came into contact with? Ellie presumed there must be such people, although she’d never heard of them. Perhaps a female Dr Crippen?

  Enough of that. She could rest easy, leaving Stewart in charge. She trusted him. But, murderess or no, Claire was not to be trusted.

  FOUR

  Tuesday, early afternoon

  Ellie staggered back into the house laden with shopping, in time to see Stewart in his shirtsleeves manoeuvring the grandfather clock back into its old position. He stood back, looking pleased. The clock struck one.

  Ellie’s watch said it was after two.

  Claire was hovering, looking damper than ever. ‘Oh, Mrs Quicke! I was beginning to worry. Are you all right?’

  Stewart grinned at Ellie as he fiddled with the clock’s mechanism. ‘Just a mo. There!’

  The clock struck two. Splendid. All must be well if the clock was now on time.

  Ellie took her shopping bags into the kitchen and dumped them there. She still felt dizzy at times, but had convinced herself the sensation was wearing off. But, oh, she was worn out! Jet lag, jet lag. If she didn’t lie down soon, she’d fall down … and then where would they all be?

  ‘Thanks, Stewart. I wish I could be more coherent. I’m not sure I’m making sense at the moment. I’m going to make myself a mug of tea and have a little lie down for a few minutes. I’ll be all right after that.’

  In other words, Stewart: don’t try to make me attend to Claire, or to business, or the weather forecast till I’ve recovered.

  ‘Suppose I bring a cuppa up to you?’ Stewart the reliable.

  She thanked him and hauled herself up the stairs to totter into her bedroom. The bed was still in the wrong place. She let herself down on to it, shucking off her shoes. There.

  Stewart came up with a mug of tea for her. ‘Strong enough for you?’

  She made herself smile. Sipped. Aaaah. ‘You blessing!’ She leaned back against the pillows. He found her dressing gown and draped it over her feet. He was a nice man, and she was very fond of him. What’s more, she trusted him.

  He didn’t leave, but sat on a chair nearby, big hands clasping and unclasping, a frown mark between his eyes.

  She summoned enough strength to say, ‘Out with it.’

  ‘Maria rang. She’ll get you another couple of cleaners, starting tomorrow morning, though they may not be the ones you had before. She’ll see what can be done to switch the rosters round.’

  ‘I suppose Amy and Anna won’t return if Claire is still in the house?’

  ‘Probably not. The woman keeps saying she’s got nowhere else to go. Not sure I believe her.’

  It was unlike Stewart to be suspicious. Well, he was probably right.

  He said, ‘Maria’s still trying to find someone to live in here and look after Rose. No luck yet, but she’ll keep trying. You may have to advertise.’

  Ellie felt her limbs grow heavy. Ah, sleep …

  Stewart shifted. ‘Vera rang. Worried about you. Said she’d pop in after work today. She’s a gem, isn’t she?’

  Ellie smiled. Yes, Vera was a gem.

  He cleared his throat. ‘While you were away the trust was approached to fund the purchase of a large house locally, which is run partly as a hostel with community accommodation and partly as flats let out to people on the council’s housing list.’

  Ellie’s attention was wandering. She tried to concentrate. ‘For the deserving poor? Mostly, they aren’t. Deserving, I mean. And certainly not grateful. We’ve found that out, running the charity for so many years, haven’t we?’ Then she closed her eyes and said, ‘Uh-oh. So that’s it. Claire’s lot? Holy rollers, or something.’

  ‘Vision. Claire’s a foot soldier, not the captain of the crew. They rescue those who slip through society’s net: the widows and orphans; the recovering alcoholics and drug addicts. Their application to the trust ticked all the boxes. Our esteemed financial director, Kate, was all in favour, and so was I, at first.’

  ‘You did all the usual checks?’

  ‘Of course. The organization has been renting this house locally for quite a while and has had some success in getting the down-and-outers back on their feet. All very commendable. The house is owned by the council, but they have recently been approached by a developer with an offer to buy. He wants to tear the building down and put up a block of flats, thus throwing the Vision project out on to the street … unless they can come up with money to buy the place for themselves. Again, we were sympathetic to them. The sum required is large but not impossible. Kate and I were both in favour and, provisionally, I told them so. We said we’d be presenting their case to you on your return.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Maria doesn’t usually carry work home with her, but she knew I’d be interested in anything to do with you, and so—’

  ‘She told you that either Amy or Anna had had a spat with Claire and accused her of murder?’

  ‘I don’t think it was murder, but yes; it made me think.’

  ‘I suppose the organization is pressing for an early reply? We normally meet to discuss trust business on Thursday mornings. Are you on for that this week? And our wonderful finance director, Kate?’ She squinched her eyes shut. ‘I don’t know if my secretary Pat will be around – I think she took a holiday while I was away – but I suppose the rest of us could meet.’

  ‘I’m sorry to burden you with this, the moment you’re back.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  He pressed her arm. ‘You have a nice rest. I’ll see what I can do to get downstairs back into shape, and then I’ll have to get back to the office for a while. Ring me when you’re up to dealing with business.’

  Ellie surfaced. She felt rested and warm.

  She was warm because a large ginger tom was nestling by her side and purring. Midge, who could climb anything. A late-Victorian house was no sort of challenge to him. Ellie’s headache had gone, but she was aware that dark clouds loomed on the horizon. Hiding under the duvet was not the answer to her problems, and she ought to get up and face the day.

  Or, rather, the afternoon. The sun was still high in the sky, but it had lost its intensity. Her bedside clock was … somewhere else. The bed was still in the wrong place. She sat up, slowly, gingerly. No, it was fine. No headache, no dizziness.

  She would make it downstairs and see what was going on.

  Dear Lord, I’m in such a muddle here. Is Claire really a murderess, because if so, I am not going to let her stay … and, anyway, she’s such an annoying drip of a woman that …

  That was not nice. I shouldn’t judge her just because she’s unattractive and a cry-baby. I ought to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  No, I don’t. She doesn’t deserve it.

  Oh well, I suppose I ought to try to see her point of view …

  Ellie shook her head at herself, said, ‘Ouch!’ Her neck was stiff. She massaged it, washed and brushed herself down, and descended the stairs.

  The hall looked its usual self. Light music seeped through the open door to the kitchen quarters, and someone was moving furniture around in the sitting room. Someone had also put a vase of flowers on the hall chest.

  Vera appeared in the doorway to the sitting room. ‘Ellie, are you feeling better?’ Vera, smiling, rosy and sane.

  ‘Bless you, my dear.’ Behind her was the lanky figure of Vera’s son, Mikey. ‘Graci
ous, Mikey! I’ve only been away five minutes, and you’ve grown again!’ And behind Mikey was the tall figure of Vera’s very new husband, Dan, deputy head at a local secondary school.

  ‘Welcome back, Mrs Quicke!’ said Dan. ‘Vera thought we should come straight from work to get things straight for you. Now, she says I’ve got to shift the table in the window to the left a bit. Is that right?’

  Vera was holding a small vase of flowers cut from the garden. ‘Yes, Dan: six inches to the left. And this vase goes on a mat, so as not to mark the surface.’

  Ellie’s chair was back in its usual place and, when Vera placed the vase of flowers on the table nearby, the room looked its old self. ‘That’s wonderful. Thank you. But Vera—’

  Vera said, ‘It’s quite all right, Ellie. They wouldn’t let me lift a thing.’

  So she was pregnant? Good.

  ‘She speaks and we obey,’ said Dan, putting his arm around his wife with a tenderness that warmed Ellie’s heart.

  Thirteen-year-old Mikey jigged from one foot to the other. ‘Mrs Quicke, did you bring me back a present from—’

  ‘Mikey!’ Dan and Vera spoke as one.

  ‘Of course I did,’ said Ellie. All this kindness. Unexpected. She sought for a hankie and, predictably, didn’t find one. ‘I had to come back in a hurry, and it’s in the big case which Thomas has got with him. Which reminds me that I haven’t unpacked my own bag yet.’

  Vera pushed her gently into her own chair. ‘We’ve brought enough supper over for all of us, because you must be tired and Claire only cooks vegetarian so we thought there probably wasn’t anything you’d fancy for supper. We can catch up on all the news, and then we’ll go home so the men can get on with their homework.’

  ‘Am I not to be included in your plans?’ Claire, standing four-square in the doorway. ‘Am I not the official carer here?’ She spoiled the effect by bursting into tears.

  She is such a drama queen! Ellie didn’t feel she could cope with Claire’s tears. ‘Bless you, Vera. Supper, by all means. Thank you, and thank you, Dan, too. Claire, can you find something for yourself to eat?’