Miranda’s scream affected Libby exactly as if she had stepped off a ladder into emptiness. The shock was appalling. Suddenly everyone was running and she found herself swept along to where Miranda’s dressing door stood open, revealing Miranda slumped at her dressing table, Bennett standing over her with a grim expression on her face.
‘What’s happened?’ Sir Jasper, even paler than usual, pushed his way into the room. ‘Miranda?’
‘It’s those emeralds.’ Bennett’s words emerged through a mouth like steel trap. ‘They’re gone.’
Libby felt the gasp that arose around her.
Sir Jasper lifted his wife’s head from the table. ‘Come along, now, Mary, dear,’ he said, to the surprise of many of his listeners. ‘Are you sure they were here?’
Miranda’s face was bleak. She nodded.
‘It was, Jasper.’ Oliver went into the room and picked up an ornate box that lay open on the table. ‘It was in here. I opened it for her.’
Sir Jasper shot him a look. ‘Did you, now?’ he said quietly. ‘So it was unlocked?’
‘Yes,’ Miranda’s voice was a whisper.
‘And Bennett? Were you here?’
‘Some of the time. I was in and out, like usual. Went and had a fag out the back.’
Miranda looked up. ‘Why did you do that? You were supposed to be where I needed you.’
‘I always am.’ Bennett barely repressed a sigh. ‘It was while you were doing your last scene.’
Sir Jasper looked at Oliver. ‘It’ll have to be the police, Marcus.’
Oliver nodded as a collective mutter rippled round the company.
Miranda’s head lifted swiftly. Libby couldn’t see the expression on her face, but it obviously surprised Oliver.
‘Excuse me,’ said Libby hesitantly, ‘but couldn’t you have a look for them first?’
‘Look for them?’ said Sir Jasper and Oliver together.
‘You’ve got to find out how someone got in first,’ said Liz.
‘Got in?’ Oliver stopped and turned towards her. ‘Got in? Is that what you think?’
‘Well, of course.’ Liz was indignant.
‘Nobody got in, darling. This was – what do they call it? – an inside job.’
‘Never!’
‘Oh, come on. No one could have got past the crew backstage. And no one could get through from the front. So who do we have? A cast and crew of suspects.’
‘But no one would take Miranda’s emeralds! It would be too risky, surely?’
‘All robberies are risky.’ Sir Jasper took his phone from his pocket.
‘But,’ said Libby, ‘if nobody could get in, nobody could get out, so the emeralds must still be in the theatre. They’ll be found! And why take them then? Just when they were bound to be missed?’
Sir Jasper slowly returned the phone to his pocket.
‘How awful.’ Liz shivered. ‘To think it – it must be someone we know. Who on earth could do it?’
‘Well?’ Miranda spoke for the first time. ‘Aren’t you going to phone the police?’
‘I think – Mrs – er – Libby’s suggestion is a good one,’ said Sir Jasper.
‘Yes. Search the dressing rooms,’ said Miranda.
‘And what right have we to do that?’ asked Oliver.
‘It’s my husband’s company and the emeralds belong to me. That makes it my right.’ Miranda lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘And we will find them before we call the police.’
On cue, Bennett came into the room and held out her hands. Everyone’s eyes turned towards the emeralds that lay there.
‘Well?’ snapped Miranda.
Bennett looked at the ceiling. ‘Liz’s bag,’ she said.
‘Liz?’ Oliver’s voice penetrated the fog. ‘That’s impossible.’ His arm came round her shoulders.
Sir Jasper looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure, Edith?’ he asked.
Edith ?
‘Yes, Jasper, I’m sure,’ replied Bennett, to Libby’s surprise.
‘Well, I’m terribly sorry, but I didn’t put them there,’ said Liz, who was visibly shaking.
‘Who did, then, little Miss Mouse?’ Miranda’s three-cornered smile was once again in evidence. ‘You’re not accusing someone of planting them on you, surely?’
‘Someone has, obviously,’ said Oliver. ‘You noticed they were missing after your last exit, Miranda. When did you last see them?’
‘Before I last went on, I suppose.’ Miranda shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Of course it does. When did you last see them, Bennett?’
‘I’m not rightly sure.’ Bennett frowned. ‘I saw the box all right – but not the emeralds. Not since before the first act.’
‘So they could have gone any time during the last two hours. And every time Miranda’s dressing room was empty I think you’ll find Liz was in the wings or on stage.’ Oliver’s colour was rising.
‘Oh? How do you know?’ Miranda sneered.
‘Because I was watching her all the time.’ Oliver looked down at her and gave her shoulders a squeeze.
‘Why exactly were you looking in Liz’s handbag, Edith?’ asked Sir Jasper.
‘I – er – well …’ Bennett looked at Miranda. ‘I just saw them.’
‘Let’s go and look.’ Sir Jasper got up, pulling his wife with him. As he passed them on the way to the door, Libby saw the look exchanged between him and Oliver and wondered what was going on.
The dressing room Liz shared with another member of the cast was smaller than the one Miranda had commandeered. Bennett pointed to a bag under the dressing table.
Liz frowned. ‘But that’s not where I left it. And where exactly were they?’
‘I could actually see them from the door, Liz,’ said Bennett apologetically. ‘I’m sorry.’
Liz looked round at the assembled faces. ‘But if I took them, why would I leave them in full view? Someone would have seen them as soon as they looked in, like Bennett did.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Oliver, the comforting arm still round Liz’s shoulders.
They all stared at the bag until Miranda laughed.
‘Oh, really. Look at us, believing her. How can we possibly take her word for it?’
But Bennett was now looking at Miranda.
‘You put them in there, didn’t you?’ she said quietly.
Libby was surprised to see Miranda’s face lose all its colour. Sir Jasper sat down suddenly in Liz’s wonky chair and put his face in his hands. Liz looked up at Oliver hoping for enlightenment, but saw he was as puzzled as her.
‘You thought I’d never say anything, didn’t you?’ Bennett was continuing. ‘I saw you go out of the dressing room earlier and you thought I’d never let on. What were you trying to do? Get this little girl the sack? Get her put in prison? You never thought I’d let you get away with that, did you? And all because you couldn’t bear anyone else getting what you wanted.’
Miranda turned to Sir Jasper. ‘Jassy, darling. It isn’t true – you know it isn’t.’
He looked up. ‘She’ll never be better than you, Mary, dear, but she’s a lot younger. And I think Oliver’s lost to you for ever.’
Miranda stood as still as stone.
‘I’m afraid so, Miranda.’ Oliver spoke quietly. ‘And I will try to believe that you meant no real harm to Liz.’ He turned to Bennett. ‘But why did you say –’
Sir Jasper stood up and put his arm round Bennett’s shoulders and Libby was horrified to see that she was crying. ‘Come along, Edith. Let’s call you a taxi. I’ll look after Mary.’ He held out his hand and Miranda took it. He looked at Libby. ‘She thought she would get away with it, you see, because Edith isn’t just her dresser.’ He gave Miranda’s hand a little shake. ‘This, ladies and gentlemen, is Miranda Love, or Lady Miranda Stone, also known as little Miss Mary Bennett.’
The cast and crew, embarrassed, had melted away. Libby and Ben took Oliver and Liz into the foyer bar for a restorative drink, and Bennett ha
d been bundled into a taxi.
‘So what will happen now?’ asked Libby. ‘Will you still go on? It was actually looking good before that little scene.’
‘I think Jasper’s just about had it. And I think Miranda’s heading for some kind of breakdown.’ Oliver sighed. ‘All the ticket money will have to be returned. Thank God it was done through his company and not your box office. You won’t lose out.’
Liz was still looking white and shaken. ‘I just can’t believe …’ she began, and shook her head. ‘It was such a mad thing to do.’
‘If the police had been called it would have been much worse,’ said Ben. ‘I’m glad you suggested a search, Lib.’
‘But Bennett must have gone off to look before that was decided. I didn’t even notice her go,’ said Libby.
‘She obviously had an idea of what had happened,’ said Oliver. ‘Both Bennett – damn, I won’t call her that any more – Edith and Jasper had seen Miranda’s – Mary’s – little foibles before. Jasper’s had to keep a close eye on her for years. That’s why Bennett’s always around.’
‘What does she do?’ Liz’s eyes were round.
‘Shoplifting.’ Oliver shrugged. ‘Taking things from people’s houses. She has absolutely no natural empathy with anyone.’
‘A sociopath?’ said Libby.
‘I don’t know. But Jasper knew this was something to do with Miranda herself. Didn’t you see how he suggested the police, and how he allowed Libby to persuade him to look first?’
‘You mean he knew she’d done it all the time?’
‘He wouldn’t have been sure, but he would have had a suspicion.’
‘He might have said something!’ Liz said. ‘I was really worried no one would believe me.’
‘I’m sure he would have done,’ Oliver replied, ‘he wouldn’t have let you get in any trouble.’
‘And I suppose,’ Libby said thoughtfully, ‘things haven’t worked out too badly for him. He’s off the hook of having to relaunch her career. After that little scene, even Miranda will see there’s no way back for her.’
‘No flies on you, Libby, are there?’ Oliver chuckled.
Later, as Libby and Ben made their way back to Allhallow’s Lane, after waving goodbye to Liz and Oliver, they talked over the events of the last week.
‘It’s a shame,’ she said, ‘that the Oast Theatre isn’t going to get all the publicity, but I suppose it could have been much worse. If it had gone ahead and been a disaster we’d never have lived it down.’
‘Yes,’ replied Ben, grinning, ‘and at least this time you haven’t got a murder to investigate. Who knows what might have happened if they’d all been here another week or two!’
‘Golly, yes! … hmmm’ she grinned back – slightly wistfully, it seemed to Ben.
Goodbye, My Darling
Cara Cooper
At long last I hear his car pulling into the garage. I stare out of the window as he kills the engine. This moment has taken forever to come. Months and months. You would not believe what I’ve had to put up with in the meantime. Banging, crashing, drilling, and hammering until I thought my head would explode. Then the dust settled. And the waiting started. Waiting in this stark, white, icy-cold house with its heart-wrenching memories and its brand new interior. I know Max, he did his best to forget me and start again.
All my things went first of course. Not just my clothes, my favourite Guerlain perfume, and my beautiful book collection. Max, always so ultra-tidy, had hired a huge skip and hurled everything in. It would have broken my heart. Except that was shattered in pieces, many moons ago. That was the first indignity, having my life’s possessions tossed away like so much rubbish.
I prowl around the empty house waiting for his key in the lock, gazing at the spaces where my things used to be. The dressing room where I’d kept my designer clothes. The glittery, sparkly things he’d taken me dancing in. How I used to love the feel of his cheek against mine when we did the tango, and the urgent press of his thigh during a slow salsa. I raised my hand to the empty space which once held the skirt suits I’d worn when I was earning all that money. The money Max loved to spend on wildly expensive dinners and trips abroad. Just the two of us journeying to paradise.
There’s the pale blank square on the wall where he’d hung our wedding photo. Eyes fixed on the whiteness, I can see us in my mind’s eye. We are arm in arm, desperately in love, me looking up at him like a puppy dog, wide-eyed faithful to its master. Except I wasn’t the puppy – he was. Fifteen years younger than me, enviably taut and sleek. Superbly put together with endless muscles straining under his wedding suit. No wonder I fell for him even though he was penniless. That gypsy black hair, those come-to-bed eyes, that skin glowing with youth. ‘Darling, we’ll be together forever,’ he’d whispered into my wedding veil.
I kidded myself into thinking he appreciated my maturity. People said I was a beauty and that elegance never fades. I was certainly well-preserved but inside I was as foolish as a teenager. Now I know he hooked on to that immediately. Conmen can spot a mark a mile off. He smelt my desperation. He knew I was smitten enough to believe he loved me madly. I was blinded enough to trust his silken words gasped through the heated nights of a year’s wedded bliss. Bliss for me. I really did love him to distraction. Part of me still does, always will. But for him? He tired of me. He always was one to look for the next fix, the next excitement. I wonder which one of those three hundred and sixty five days marked the day he started planning. Yes, that’s all he gave me. One year before he made his bid for freedom.
Now I’m standing in front of the new floor to ceiling windows looking out on the garden. He’s had it completely re-modelled along with the house. My glorious roses which I planted with my own hands have been ripped up. He used to tell me I’d created our own slice of heaven. He’d stroke my hair and marvel at my expertise. I often find myself transfixed at the place where he built the rose arbour. I was proud of his hard work, told him how strong he was to lift those heavy logs into place all on his own.
Little did I know quite how clever he would be. He placed the new bench under the arbour, just underneath the heaviest beam. And he dug a pond right by it and said I could look down and see all the golden fishes swimming. He knew I loved their jewel-bright colours. Then he chose a day sparkling with sunshine. He said he’d bought me a special fish, a koi all the way from Ogata in Japan. He made a big ceremony of releasing it and told me to sit on the bench, close my eyes, and then open them at the point he set it free. The fish darted from its plastic bag into its new home. I sat mesmerised as it swirled and floated, the light glistening on its gold and silver skin.
My heart overflowed to think how thoughtful Max had been to stage all this. He was always doing special things. He must love me to distraction. Then the fish swam over to me, looked up, opened its mouth and I was overjoyed. Until I saw, reflected in the water, a huge log at the top of the arbour start to wobble. I turned to jump and escape. But what the –? There was my beloved husband heaving against the upright strut of the arbour. The log crashed down on me. In that second I realised, with horror, he’d built it that way. Built it to collapse. It pinned my head under the water until the bubbles no longer appeared on the surface. Dreadful bad luck everyone said, but fatal garden accidents happen every year. A great tragedy, especially to happen to such a devoted couple. People knew how much Max loved me, because he’d chosen the sweetest place in the churchyard for my grave, underneath the wide pink blossom tree.
Lying silently under the earth I’ve had time to think. Had time to remember the life insurance forms we’d both signed. I’ve thought endlessly of our house. He inherited the lot and the life insurance payout on top of it. He’s blown all that on these fancy improvements. Indulged himself like the little boy he is. Gold taps, mirrored ceilings. I feel chilled to the bone. That’s what drew me back, the compulsion to see what he’s wasted our money on. This house feels heartless to me now. Just like him.
There’s
the key in the lock, the front door closing. He’s here. I don’t know if he’ll be able to see me but I keep well out of the way as I watch him. He’s stroking the furniture. Smiling …
The thing is, we can all be clever when we’ve got an eternity to think. And I’ve had plenty of time pacing these rooms, going over things in my mind. I sit on the stairs and see he’s opened a bottle of champagne. He’s celebrating. He always did like to get his own way. It makes me wince. He’s pouring himself a glass and he’s peering out of the window. He likes to look at the spot where I spent my last moments. Now Max turns, plonks himself on the sofa and laughs out loud. It makes me jump. Then he raises his glass and I hear him speak into the silence. ‘Goodbye, my darling. Once I really did love you. Shame all good things have to end.’ He downs his champagne.
I float upstairs to my favourite place. An unusual one; inside the roof. You wouldn’t think I’d like it here, but I do. You see, I know things. I know Max is greedy. He was too greedy to choose good workmen. He likes the cheap ones. And I’ve seen things. Things people keep hidden. I watched the electrician do the wiring up here. I heard the argument he had with the builder. I grinned when I saw a spark fly as they turned on the lights. I also watched as the electrician carelessly discarded his newspapers. They are sitting perilously close to the wires. He used to sit reading them when he should have been doing the final checks to make sure everything was safe.
The wires spark, crackle, and dance in the roof like mischievous sprites in the dark. Max has turned all his fancy gadgets on at once: the mood lights, the flatscreen TV, and the electric air conditioning. He’s downed his vintage champagne and he’s comatose on the sofa. Way up above him, I clap noiselessly and jump up when I see the sparks catch the newspaper. I knew it would happen in this baking hot summer. It was just a matter of time. How long I have waited to get my revenge. Just a flicker at first, then a flame, then a whoosh and suddenly one of the beams is alight. It’s getting too smoky even for me. Even for one who no longer breathes the air.
A Case of Crime Page 6