The Celibate Mouse

by Hockley, Diana

  Jason Hardgreaves, doctor, 30-ish, engaged to Libby, Edna’s grand-daughter. Who are Libby’s parents? Beatrice Eams, the director of the hospital is the second wife of Libby’s father. The first wife is dead. Lots of deaths in this family.

  George Murphy, developer, forty maybe, cousin. Connie’s son. Married. He loathed Jack, a sliver of gossip I picked up at the luncheon.

  The cricketers, Ferna’s brothers. Both unmarried, but can’t remember their names, so will ask Daniella if they prove important to the investigation. They thought Jack’s sexual antics admirable.

  Every last one of them needs to be investigated. Here’s hoping David’s troops are dealing with that. Now what about Sir Arthur? Hm ... a bit old for the current murders, but the right age for the original–happening. John was too young at the time. None of the women in the family are tall enough to be the killer of Edna, but were they involved? Maybe.

  David returns indoors, folding his mobile into its pouch, as I finish the list

  ‘I suppose you’re going out again now?’ pouts Marli, earning a startled glance from her father.

  ‘Why would you assume that?’

  ‘Well, you got a phone call and that means you’re leaving for work,’ she snarls, but before he can reply, she storms off down the hall and slams into her bedroom.

  ‘What brought that on?’ David is shocked by her vehemence.

  ‘She’s used to having me dash out at all hours to attend crime scenes, so she expects you to do the same,’ I answer dryly.

  He eyes me, warily. ‘I know you’re longing to know who phoned. Right? It was a friend.’ Yeah, right.

  ‘Your love-life is none of my business, David. I am only concerned by your relationship with Marli and right now, this case.’

  He takes time to digest my statement. ‘What do you mean, ‘this case’? It’s my case, Susan. You’re on leave, remember? All I want you to do is list who was at lunch today. I’ll talk to Marli when she cools down.’

  I measure up the distance between my hands and his throat, wondering how I can get away with killing him. Susan, control yourself, don’t blow it. Doesn’t he realise how much Marli wants him to be here for her? And how much I need to get back into harness?

  His well-developed male instinct for survival kicks in. Of course this is programmed into male DNA. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply your help isn’t invaluable. You’re the only one of us who knows the Robinsons on a social basis, so let’s look at your list and you can give me your ‘take’ on each one. Please?’ He moves a chair over next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. His warm, male aroma and lemon-based aftershave waft up my nostrils. My skin burns under his hand. Deep inside me, vibrations of lust drum a cicada’s song.

  ‘You need to go and talk to Marli,’ I insist. Head-banging music blares out from our daughter’s room. Heaven help her rats, though I suppose they’re used to it.

  David closes the door to the hallway and sits beside me. ‘I told you, I’ll talk to her later. So what do you make of this bunch?’ He’s clearly trying to appease me, but I’m determined to find this killer before he does.

  ‘So how many have you checked out so far?’

  He squints at the paper, sighs and takes a pair of spectacles out of his shirt pocket. Unfortunately, he looks better in them than any middle-aged man has a right to.

  ‘Okay. I agree. It’s a family thing. We’ve got alibis for–’

  He ticks off the names as he enumerates the Robinson male contingent, finishing up with the future bridegroom, Jason Hardgreaves who is dismissed, being on duty with witnesses when both murders occurred. Some of the other males in the family are also accounted for. However, ‘Slimeball’ has no alibi for Edna’s demise, and was actually at the showgrounds when Jack was knocked off.

  ‘Beatrice Eams was on duty when Harlow was killed and at a dinner party when Edna died. So that lets her out. Libby doesn’t have an alibi for either times, but neither of these women are tall enough. You didn’t include Daniella Winslow and her daughter here,’ he says, doodling on the paper, ‘Adam Winslow’s tall enough and where’s Daniella’s husband?’

  ‘He was killed in an accident years ago at the same place John Glenwood had his accident.’

  ‘Okay, that lets him out.’ PC Winslow’s name is added to the bottom of the list and his father is crossed off.

  ‘I hadn’t gotten around the lot of them yet. I think we can discount the women although they could be accessories. The twins, Grace and Connie were at the luncheon, they’re Arthur’s sisters and almost as old as he is. There’s the Royal Couple of course and Ferna’s son, Mark.’

  My tone alerts him to something interesting, because he subjects me to a curious stare. ‘You have a thought about him?’

  ‘Er, no. He’s invited me out to dinner tomorrow night. I’m counting on you to babysit.’

  He stares at me, astonished. Light gleams along the rims of his spectacles, turning his eyes into satanic slits. What? Don’t you think anyone would want to take me out?

  ‘He’s a suspect in this case, Susan. You can’t fraternise with him.’ His words are laced with chilli.

  ‘Ah, but it’s your case. You just reminded me, didn’t you? I’m a private citizen right now and not bound by ethics in this instance.’ I fix him with a narrow-eyed glare. ‘You are though!’ Put that in your pipe and smoke it, mate!

  ‘But I’m not dating anyone connected with the case, Susan,’ he points out, reasonably enough.

  My glance falls on his mobile phone. His expression is inscrutable, then a flush starts under his chin and travels up to his cheeks. Gotcha!

  ‘Leanne has nothing to do with this case. I’ve only been seeing her since I moved to Ipswich. Now can we get on with this? We haven’t had dinner yet and I’m starving.’

  ‘And you still have to talk to Marli.’

  It is 6.30pm by the time we’ve listed everyone who could be even remotely connected to the case. I make copious notes and phone Briony Feldman to organise a date for coffee tomorrow morning. Her grateful response betrays her loneliness.

  I’m determined to take the mutilated photo to show to Ms Feldman. David will consider it his duty to take it to the station to add to the evidence and then quiz the Robinson rellies. No way. David isn’t going to get his hands on it, until I’ve discovered who ‘pin-hole’ man is. ‘If you take this photo to the station and ask the rellies before I’ve discovered who he is, they can lie and we’ll never know the name.’

  He concedes I am right, and heads down the hallway to talk to Marli. I go to the kitchen, take a large container of casserole out of the fridge and put it in the microwave. Then I quietly open the cupboard door under the sink and peer inside. The tiny mouse nest heaves with transparent, pink life. Mrs Mouse peers up at me and abandons ship to hide behind the mop. I partially close the door and look around to see an empty cardboard container waiting to be binned. A creative minute with a pair of scissors and my mouse has a mansion, complete with front and back entrances.

  David almost catches me, as I pop it over the top of the nest, a protective shell for the little family. They will be safe until I can decide which outside shed to place them in.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ he asks, glancing around the kitchen.

  ‘Nothing. Has Marli calmed down?’ I ask, standing in front of the cupboard, hoping David won’t take it into his head to investigate.

  ‘Yes, we’ve had a chat. She’s getting washed up for dinner. What’s that?’ His eyes light up. ‘Casserole?’

  ‘Yep. Beef Stroganoff. You can set the table.’ I thrust cutlery into his hands and go on a sour cream hunt through the refrigerator. A few minutes later, Marli comes into the kitchen, gives me a kiss and takes the pup into the laundry to feed him.

  As we hoe into the succulent casserole, Marli and David share a significant glance.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  David nods to Marli.

  ‘Mum, when Dad took me to tea the other ni
ght, we got talking and we realised something about Da–Harry.’ She stalls and casts a pleading glance at David.

  He stops eating, his face grim. ‘Susan, you need to know something ...’

  As I listen to their theory I don’t know whether to cry or explode with anger. Harry, aided by his secretary, would have found it very easy to separate the girls from their father by blocking letters and gifts, because I wasn’t home to beat them to the mailbox.

  ‘For the last few years I haven’t sent anything, Susan. I gave up.’

  ‘Mum, how could dad–Harry–do that? It’s so mean!’ Marli is getting her father’s mixed up.

  ‘I’m sorry I blamed you,’ I say contritely to David, who accepts my apology with a gracious nod and continues eating his meal.

  In the ensuing silence, my mind flips back to Harry’s greatest betrayal. A year or two after we were married, I told Harry I wanted another baby and he confessed to knowing he was infertile before we were married. ‘Just how long have you been aware of this?’ I’d screamed.

  ‘Since I was seventeen, when I had mumps.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before we were married?’ I wanted to kill him.

  ‘‘Well, I didn’t because you wouldn’t have wanted me. I loved you–love you,’ he hastily corrected himself.

  ‘But that was unfair and deceitful, Harry! I had a right to know.’

  ‘Well, get over it, all right?’

  He refused to consider adoption. ‘I don’t believe in it,’ was his explanation. But what then did he consider his appropriation of my children? Adoption, surely. Why hadn’t I walked out when he admitted his monstrous deception? My love for Harry was severely rocked by his revelation, but I wouldn’t–couldn’t–allow myself to acknowledge I might have made a mistake. For the girl’s sake, I told myself to paper over the cracks and move on. ‘You couldn’t face up to starting over again, could you? ‘And Susan,’ a little voice inside said. You were only too happy to accept Harry’s protection, weren’t you? And then use it to your advantage to pursue your career.’

  And then there were my mother’s words inside my head, repeating the old cliché. ‘You’ve made your bed so you’ll have to lie in it.’ What right did I have to condemn Harry, when I was hardly blameless? So we stayed together and jogged along well enough, and ten years passed before I faced the fact that my second marriage had gone the way of my first, but still I hung on, to no avail. Three years later, we are separated and going for a divorce.

  The dogs start barking, alerting us to someone approaching the house. David leaps to his feet and charges out the back door. As his footsteps fade, the front door opens and slams shut. High-heels tap down the parquet hallway. Marli and I exchange a “what now?’ glance.

  ‘I’ve been driving for hours. I thought I’d never find this fucking place!’ announces Brittany, as she marches through the kitchen door, slings her backpack off her shoulder onto the floor, where we can all trip over it. ‘I had to come and see what you’re up to, Marli. You can’t be trusted with anything, no more than you can, mother.’

  ‘Brit–’

  ‘Shut up, Marli. You listen to me. You insisted on staying with the emotional loser, so I’ve had to come back to take you to live with us. You won’t get anywhere staying with her!’ She shoots me a withering glare. ‘She’s run off two husbands so far and she managed to get her subordinate shot. What does that say about her? Stress leave, my arse. She’s crazy!’ Brittany’s voice rises with each syllable.

  A volcano is gathering momentum deep within me, but my voice is steady. ‘Brittany, mind your mouth. I was completely cleared of negligence and I am not crazy. And Marli has a right to make her own choices without your interference. I won’t tolerate you poking your nose into her life. You’ve made your own choice–’

  Brit shouts over the top of me, enunciating each word as though she’s biting pieces off my body. ‘No, mother. You influenced Marli to come with you, playing the sympathy card sooooo well. ‘

  ‘She did not!’ shrieks Marli, tears welling.

  Brit doesn’t miss a beat. ‘I know how you work. You’re like, beyond sad,’ she shouts, with practised contempt.

  David comes into back into the kitchen, his face like granite.

  Brit turns on him, incandescent with rage. ‘You! We were perfectly happy with dad, until he couldn’t put up with her any longer!’ she screams, advancing toward her father, fists clenched.

  Marli listens open-mouthed and I, with interest. Her sister pulls no punches; we are all ‘mentioned in despatches.’ Her condemnation is evenly distributed between Marli and me, but David gets the lion’s share. He is accused of everything with the possible exception of murder, and she would include that if she can drum one up for the occasion.

  David lets her hang herself with words before responding. ‘Sit down and be quiet!’

  Brit’s mouth opens, but before she can say anything, he cuts her off. ‘You heard me,’ his voice is soft, his tone deadly. ‘Don’t you ever–ever–let me hear you speak to your mother and sister like that again.’

  He yanks a chair forward and gestures her to sit. White-faced with shock, lips folded into a hen’s-bum moue, she moves to the table and he shoves it under her bottom.

  She settles gingerly onto the seat.

  He pushes her up to her place with one sweep of his arm.

  The silence is electric.

  Marli’s eyes swivel between the combatants like a metronome.

  ‘Susan, get Brittany something to eat, please. No, I’ll decide when you can speak,’ he adds with narrow-eyed fury, as she opens her mouth for another tirade. He sits down and picks up his utensils, nodding to Marli to continue her meal.

  I dish up a liberal serving of casserole for Brit and pop it into the microwave to heat. I’m trying to hide a smile, as I take out utensils and a serviette. At last I have some support in my on-going battle with her. It seems my wayward, volatile, but much-loved daughter has finally run into a brick wall.

  CHAPTER 26

  Cuckoo Cuckoo

  Brittany

  Thursday: after midnight.

  Anger boiled inside, a writhing thing, erupting into scorching heat. It was a wonder her sheets didn’t catch on fire. Humiliated and unable to take control of Marli and her mother, Brittany tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, before she slipped into the recurrent dream which pleased her most. This time the ending had changed.

  She pushed past her, striving to reach the house before her twin. ‘Brit, wait for me!’ Marli screamed. If Brittany got to their father first, she’d be the one he would pick up and swing around. Oh no, her mother was there as well. She tried to veer away from her, but her legs refused to change direction. Then Marli got there first, and dad picked her up and swung her around.

  Brittany pushed her mother’s arms aside and kept running ... running ... straight into the arms of–him. Maguire. She struggled as he picked her up and swung her high into the air, higher and higher until she flew over the countryside, trying to land but totally unable to. Then Harry was beside her– ‘You’re not worthy, Brit,’ he said, ‘no one likes a smart arse. Behave yourself or we won’t love you anymore.’

  Brittany kicked wildly, until she got free of the sheets. Breathless and trembling, she sat up, covered in perspiration, her cheeks wet with tears. The impenetrable black and silence of the night disoriented her. A wild dog howled on the mountain, sending shivers through her. She glared at her sister, asleep in the other bed. ‘I look like a fat toad next to Marli,’ she thought bitterly. ‘Dad doesn’t like me because I’m fat.’ Her lack of confidence didn’t allow for them being identical twins and therefore exactly the same size. Self-pity was too enjoyable to acknowledge facts, and the interloper, Maguire, was not the pushover she’d expected. The prospect of regrouping seemed insurmountable.

  She contemplated climbing into bed with Marli, but rejected the idea. She had to go to the loo, but didn’t want to fumble her way along the hall to th
e bathroom. Couldn’t the stupid Kirkbridges have put in an en suite? She supposed it was a sad environmental thing. She reached over to the bedside table and fumbled around for her watch. The tiny lighted dial said 1.30am. At least four hours before she could leave. The treatment that man had meted out to her at dinner was unbelievable. There must be someone she could report him to. The pol–he is the police, she reminded herself. Child Protection would do– no, that was for young kids.

  It transpired that David Maguire was leading the investigation into a couple of boring murders, and her mother, who couldn’t keep her nose out of anything, was helping him. What a laugh! ‘Mum’s a flake. Everybody knows that,’ she muttered, trying to get comfortable. As for Marli, where did she get off with the attitude? Brittany threw her pillow onto the floor and turned the second one over so it was cool under her neck.

  She had treated that man’s caution not to roam around outside at night, with the contempt it deserved, but when her mother displayed marks on her neck and told her about the attack, Brittany had hidden her shock, sneering, ‘I don’t give a “monkey’s”.’

  The dog howled again, nearer this time. The family dogs, whom she had missed more than she cared to admit, answered from their yard. Marli stirred and rolled over, but didn’t wake. The pet rats chased each other around as they trashed their cage, occasionally pausing to look at Brittany with disdainful shoe-button eyes.

  Another sudden yearning for comfort almost sent her scurrying into Marli’s bed, but she rejected the idea. Showing any sign of weakness might get her sucked into the crap going on here. She sat up, slipped her coat over her pj’s and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She crept to the door and quietly opened it. The nightlight above the skiring board sent a soft glow down the hallway.

  ‘I’ll bet he’s with mother,’ she thought savagely. ‘They’re disgusting.’ The ticking of the pendulum in the grandfather clock followed her to the kitchen. After she turned on the light, the dogs began running up and down outside, under the window. Footsteps sounded outside in the hall, followed by the door opening. Maguire came in, dressed in jeans, boots and a thick sweater.