Murder My Neighbour

by Veronica Heley

  ‘That stepdaughter of hers was under our feet, coming in and out every day, driving everyone crazy, criticizing every decision Mrs Pryce had made. “Why do you want to take this with you?” and: “You could have let me have that.” A right pain.

  ‘I went round special at lunchtime to say goodbye on her last day, and I saw the van being loaded up to take her own special bits and pieces to go to the home, but her car had gone and so had she. Couldn’t stand to see the last of it, I suppose.’

  ‘What day was that, and who was in charge of seeing the last things loaded on to the van?’

  ‘That would be the Friday. A lad from the estate agency was there with the keys. He said Mrs Pryce had arranged to leave early and have them clear up afterwards, as she wanted to be settled in her new home by teatime.’

  ‘What did this man from the estate agency look like?’

  A shrug. ‘Youngish, dark. Asian, probably born here. Posh.’

  Not Mr Abel, then. ‘Removal people always leave bits of paper and cardboard here and there. Was the house swept clean by someone after she left, and do you know who did that?’

  ‘The estate agency organized that. I passed by at lunchtime on the Monday—’

  Doubtless wanting to see if he could get into the garden and check if his beloved vegetables needed watering.

  ‘—and there was this cleaning company’s van outside, and they had the windows and doors open and they was working through the house with industrial hoovers, you could hear them even from the road. Three men I counted, and it was more, maybe. I didn’t go in to ask. That Asian guy was there again.’

  ‘Which cleaning company was it?’

  ‘Didn’t take no notice. The estate agents would know. I’d expected she would have Vera and Pet to clean the house through after she left, but when I thought about it I realized they’d got their own everyday jobs to do. I suppose it was easier to get the estate agents to do it.’ He delved into an inner pocket and produced a tooled gold cigarette lighter.

  ‘She give me this, as was her husband’s. She’d forgot I’d given up smoking some years back. I didn’t say nothing. The wife says we should sell it, but I think maybe I won’t.’

  Ellie said softly, ‘She was kind to my aunt, too.’

  There was a film of tears in his eyes. ‘Something’s happened to her, hasn’t it? There can’t be no other reason for her not being in touch.’

  ‘It seems like it. Tell me, was it you or was it Jack who turned off the water and electricity at the mains?’

  He took a deep breath. Preparing to lie again? ‘That last Friday the estate agent said they’d to read the meters and told me to turn everything off at the mains. The gas was easy to turn off, and so was the electrics. I tried to turn off the water, but it was stiff and I couldn’t manage it. I thought I’d go back with a wrench and do it later, but I left it over the weekend, and after that I couldn’t get in, could I?’

  Of course he could have. He could have got back in on the Monday when the cleaning firm were in. But he hadn’t done so because it was more convenient for him to go on using the water supply for his garden.

  ‘The cleaning company came in on the Monday, and you say they were using industrial hoovers, which run on electricity. Do you think they turned the power back on? And forgot to turn it off again?’

  Another shrug.

  It seemed important for some reason to find out when the electricity had been turned off, and then turned on again. Ellie tried to work it out after she’d sent Mr Fritz on his way.

  The hall was dark now that the sun had gone down. She switched the lights on. And then off again. And on.

  She knew – as did Vera and Pet and Fritz – that something bad had happened to Mrs Pryce. The lady was no longer around. She was, she must be, dead.

  If her body had been left in her car, then it must have been parked well away from human habitation, or somebody would have smelt decomposition by now. Perhaps it was in a secluded country lane somewhere?

  She was not in the house. Even if she’d been shoved in a cupboard somewhere, by now the smell would be noticeable.

  The cellar? No, the door to it was rusted shut. Mr Abel had not been able to get the door open, and Ellie had respect for Mr Abel’s capabilities. Strike the cellar.

  As Ellie went through into the kitchen to make sure everything was tidied away for the night, the fridge sprang into life.

  She’d heard a motor like that start up when she’d been in the covered yard and again when she’d been in the back garden of the Pryce house.

  Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Ellie knew exactly where Mrs Pryce’s body might be, and why nobody had smelled anything all this time.

  She must tell Thomas straight away what she suspected, and if he agreed with her they could inform the police together.

  He’d be in his office, wouldn’t he? He’d gone along there to take a phone call when Fritz had come to the front door.

  She found Thomas sitting at his desk. His head was bowed, and he had to drag himself upright to give her a caricature of a smile.

  ‘Whatever is the matter? My dear Thomas . . . !’

  He had a singularly sweet smile. ‘It’s all right, Ellie. Worse things happen at sea.’

  She pulled up a chair and sat beside him, taking one of his hands in hers. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Pressure. This time from the man who appointed me to this job. I might have to resign.’

  ‘Well, I’d certainly like to see a little more of you, but . . . Can you tell me why, or is it confidential?’

  ‘It’s no secret, I suppose. The book they want me to serialize is a clever attack on women, and by extension on their being ordained and everything that follows from that. A number of important men have backed it, and a major publisher has offered a contract. There will undoubtedly be a lot of media interest. I don’t approve of the line the book is taking but I foresee it will become a best-seller in its own way and do a great deal of damage to the unity of the church.’

  ‘I don’t understand. If the book has got so much going for it already, why are they bringing so much pressure to bear on you to serialize it?’

  ‘They believe that, although my magazine is of little interest to the general public, it is read by people of influence. Therefore they wish me to, er, toe the line. I can’t do it, Ellie. I shall have to resign.’

  She stroked his hand. ‘Only a little while ago you were saying that God thought you were worrying unnecessarily about this.’

  He laughed in genuine enjoyment. ‘So He did. You’re quite right, Ellie. This is a storm in a teacup and I suspect . . .’ He looked at her sharply, ‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it? Have I been neatly diverted from helping you, just when you need me?’

  ‘Perhaps. But it’s getting late. Too late to do anything about it now. It’s just that I suddenly realized . . . No, that’s too strong a term. I can’t be sure, but I suspect I know where Mrs Pryce might be. I’ll ring the police tomorrow and tell them.’

  He rubbed his eyes, and yawned again. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Ellie. And then: ‘Of course, I might be quite wrong because I do tend to jump to conclusions; but I rather think she is.’

  ‘You wonderful woman.’ He switched off his computer and got to his feet. ‘Do you know how she died?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. How could I know that!’ Laughing, she drew his arm within hers, and they went up to bed together, leaving the hall lights on for Mia’s return.

  Thursday morning

  Thursdays were always busy. Pat, Ellie’s middle-aged and, to tell the truth, somewhat frumpy part-time assistant, arrived to bully her into dealing with the paperwork that had been piling up during the week.

  After that they adjourned to what had once been the formal dining-room of the house, for the weekly property meeting. Their finance director was on holiday, but Stewart had brought along his assistant. Ellie wondered why he’d done that. To back him when he brought
up the subject of Disneyland?

  Stewart was, as usual, able to provide meticulous and succinct reports concerning what properties were vacant and needed work done, which ones were ready to be let out again, and so on. So far, so good. They whisked through the usual load until they came to Any Other Business.

  ‘Disneyland,’ said Stewart, looking pugnacious. ‘Even in this depressed market the price tag on such a large house in extensive grounds is going to be three or four million, maybe more.’

  His assistant played devil’s advocate. ‘It’s a prestigious site. Why not? We’ve taken on larger projects before: buying a big house in poor condition, knocking it down and putting up a block of flats instead. That’s what’s needed around here: more housing stock. Miss Quicke had an instinct for it.’

  ‘I realize,’ said Stewart, ‘that since Miss Quicke died we haven’t gone down that road, but there is no reason why we shouldn’t. Besides which, if we don’t step in now, someone else will. An unscrupulous developer could put up a couple of tower blocks which would overlook all the houses and gardens around here and destroy your privacy.’

  Ellie said, ‘They’d never get permission, not in this area.’

  ‘Want to bet?’ Stewart was grim. ‘We’ve all seen blocks of flats go up on tiny plots of land around here. This one is going to attract some serious money.’

  Ellie struck out for sanity. ‘Our core business is in buying, converting and maintaining properties to rent out. I know my aunt did occasionally buy a house in order to develop the site, but I’m not sure it’s in our best interests to do so in a recession. I’d like to keep this item on the table to be looked at again later. Coffee anyone?’

  Coffee was provided. Chat ensued. Everyone left, except Stewart.

  Stewart was like a Rottweiler once he’d got his teeth into something, and Ellie knew he was not going to let this one go easily.

  ‘Stewart, I have my own reasons for being interested in the Pryce house, but I definitely don’t want to buy it. It’s a monstrosity and ought to be shrunk to a miniature and kept in a glass bowl. Converting it into flats would be hideously expensive, and clients who might want to live in a Disney fantasy are few and far between . . . which means we’d be lumbered with a huge outlay and unable to clear our costs. And no; I do not want to develop the site myself – not in a recession. Too dicey.’

  As he opened his mouth to object she added, ‘I can quite understand that Hoopers would be delighted to move such an important property in this area, but to the best of my knowledge they have no right to offer it. You told me yourself that Mrs Pryce withdrew the house from the market, and now I can tell you something that you didn’t know; the lady has gone missing. That’s the real reason why I’ve been sniffing around the place.’

  Stewart leaned back in his chair. ‘Now how did you find that out, Ellie? And what else do you know that I don’t?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I do suspect that something bad has happened to her. I have no proof, if that’s what you mean, and I’m not entirely sure that I’ve got the right end of the stick, although I rather think I have. I’m going to set the police on to it, so we’ll know soon enough.’

  She saw Stewart out and went to her office to ring the police.

  ‘May I speak to DC Milburn, please? Mrs Quicke calling.’

  Muffled voices, a hand over the receiver? Ellie was put on hold. Now what?

  Finally, someone deigned to return to her. ‘DC Milburn is tied up on a case right now and will be for some time. If you have a complaint, perhaps you’d like to put it in writing.’

  Complaint? Ellie looked at the receiver and heard the line buzz. She’d been cut off, without even so much as a suggestion that she should speak to someone else.

  Something had gone wrong with her plans. Yesterday DC Milburn had been eager to follow up the leads which Ellie had given her, but now she wasn’t even available to speak to Mrs Quicke. Hm. Did one detect the fine hand of Ears? Had he learned that the DC wanted to follow up Ellie’s suggestions and pulled rank to stop her doing so?

  That was, of course, implying that Ears disliked Ellie so much that he was prepared to sidetrack any investigation that she might instigate. A nasty thought, and one which Ellie knew she ought to throw out of her mind without delay.

  Unfortunately, she thought it might be all too true.

  Which meant . . . which meant that Ellie was going to have to become more involved in finding Mrs Pryce than she had hoped to be. After all, it would only take a few minutes with a screwdriver to check out her suspicions. She regarded her plump wrists with dissatisfaction. She wasn’t good at opening the lids on jars and usually handed them over to Thomas to deal with. She suspected that getting screws out of wood might be rather too much for her.

  What about Thomas? She went down the corridor to his study, only to be met by him coming out. ‘Sorry, sorry. Got to rush.’ A quick hug and a kiss. ‘I’ve just had an idea, got to check it out. Be back before lunch, with luck.’

  Another kiss on the tip of her nose, and off he flew. Thomas was trying not to be stressed half out of his mind, but she realized that he couldn’t help worrying about his future. Perhaps, thought Ellie with a smile, Thomas wasn’t trusting in God to sort out his problems as much as he ought to?

  Now, if she were going out for lunch, she must make sure that either Mia or Pat would be around to keep an eye on Rose. Mia had gone out, not saying where or for how long.

  Right. Well, Pat would usually agree to stay on for a while if Ellie made it worth her while. And yes, today she would do so with pleasure. Rose was up, dressed and pottering around in the kitchen, almost like old times. Good.

  So who did she know who had strong wrists and a screwdriver? Hm. Oh well, if all else failed, and it meant she’d have to eat humble pie . . . Well, why not? One more phone call, and then it would be time to decide what to wear for her lunch date with Mr Hooper, a lunch date which might turn out to be very interesting indeed.

  Ellie didn’t ‘do’ business clothes. She’d decided long ago that she was no great shakes as a business woman, but since she’d inherited money and couldn’t deal with it herself, she’d find people she could trust to do whatever business people did with legal this and financial that. Her function was to give praise for work well done, and to trust her instincts. Rather like Mrs Pryce, in fact. Except that in the latter’s case, she might have been a little too trusting.

  Ellie put on one of Thomas’s favourite dresses, a pretty blue and white floaty affair with a frill around a low neckline. She popped on a pair of dark blue sandals to match and eventually managed to find her lipstick; pale pink, nothing too strong. She brushed her silvery curls out till they shone.

  There. She was the very picture of a sweet little housewife, wasn’t she? Er, no. Perhaps too much cleavage for that. She grinned, remembering that Thomas called it her ‘flirtatious frock’. Which reminded her to send up an arrow prayer. Please, Lord. Look after Thomas?

  She remembered, too, that little Frank would probably be around most of the weekend. What were they going to do with him this time? Perhaps Thomas might have an idea – if he could disentangle himself from this nasty little problem with the bishop.

  Evan Hooper – tall, beaky, and wearing an expensive mohair and silk mixture suit – called at the house to collect Ellie, driving a Lexus. She knew it was a Lexus because he told her so as soon as she got into the car. ‘The very latest, of course. I change my car every year, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I never learned to drive.’

  He relaxed into a Great White Shark smile. Stewart had been spot on about this man. Did Mr Hooper think he was dealing with an unworldly little old lady, whom it would be easy to bully? Mm. Well, she didn’t mind him thinking that. She had a question or two which might be easier for him to answer if he were not on his guard.

  He’d chosen to take her to the Golf Club, whose restaurant was only sparsely occupied. Ellie had eaten there in the past. She remembered that the m
enu then had been old-fashioned and the food rather filling for one who had to watch her weight. It hadn’t changed, but the wine list was definitely more extensive – and expensive – than it had been in the past.

  Mr Hooper was the sort of host who liked his guests to eat what he recommended, and to drink glass to glass with him. He swept the menu away, told the waiter he’d have his usual, and informed Ellie that she’d like the steak and kidney pudding, with a starter of prawn cocktail.

  Ellie said, ‘Actually, I’d prefer a salad and no starter. And I don’t usually drink at lunchtime.’

  ‘Nonsense, nonsense. My treat. Waiter, two prawn cocktails, with some of the Riesling I had the other day. With the steak and kidney puddings, we’ll have a bottle of claret; you know the one I like.’

  Ellie wondered if Mr Hooper planned to get her drunk and incapable of making suitable decisions. She asked the waiter to bring her some iced water and took only a sip of the wine Mr Hooper pressed upon her.

  ‘Your husband is not a member here?’

  The idea of Thomas playing golf made her smile. Mind you, he ought to take more exercise than he did. ‘No, I’m afraid he—’

  ‘Well, we’ll soon put that right. What do you do to fill your time? It must hang heavy on your hands nowadays, with indoor staff to look after you.’

  Ellie thought of her busy life and was amused. ‘Well, not really, because—’

  ‘You play bridge, of course?’

  Ellie opened her eyes wide. ‘No, I’m afraid I—’

  ‘Never mind. There’s a beginner’s class, I believe. Must keep the old brain ticking over as you get into the sere and yellow. Drink up, there’s plenty more where that came from.’

  Ellie was annoyed. He looked much older than her – probably well into his seventies – and she was pleased to note there were threads of red in his cheeks. Did he drink too much? Probably. She remembered he’d screwed up his eyes when offered the menu, and she thought she’d spotted the bulge of a glasses case in the top pocket of his jacket. Ah-ha. Was he short-sighted but too vain to bring out his specs in front of her? She smiled to herself and tried to stop him topping up her glass.