THE SUPPER CLUB MURDERS a gripping murder mystery packed with twists (Smart Woman's Mystery Book 3)

by VICTORIA DOWD

  Dad shook his head frantically.

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ I whispered, still staring at him.

  Mother’s face wrinkled with confusion. She stared at the space where his shape lingered. He looked at her and smiled.

  I don’t know if she saw him in that moment. Maybe. But her eyes turned to Mirabelle.

  ‘I just wanted you to love me as much,’ Mirabelle pleaded.

  Mother’s smile was just a thin, sharp line. ‘Well, now I hate you as much as you made me hate him.’

  Aunt Charlotte held up her hands. ‘OK. Let’s stay calm.’

  ‘Stay calm? She destroyed everything.’ Mother spat the words out.

  I was suddenly very aware of the rest of the room, the outsiders watching us. Their excruciating little eyes on us, judging us. I put my hand on Mother’s sleeve.

  ‘That wasn’t what I wanted!’ Mirabelle shook her head.

  ‘Who the hell was the woman at the funeral?’

  ‘No one.’ Mirabelle looked down shamefully. ‘Just someone I asked to come along to support me, and then I said it was time to go.’

  ‘Jesus, Mirabelle,’ Aunt Charlotte breathed.

  ‘I can’t . . . I don’t . . . I’m not coping so well now and I just . . .’ Mirabelle was crumbling in front of us, drowning in guilt. And then she was on her feet, looking around us rabbit fast with fear. She bolted from the room.

  Mother held up her finger. ‘Don’t fucking speak, Bridget.’

  Bridget shrugged.

  We stood in an empty silence. No one moved.

  I watched Dad, his face soft with sympathy. His outline was more blurred. He was no more than a pale grey shape. His eyes never left me. His smile didn’t flinch.

  And then he was gone.

  I saw Mrs Abaddon enter as if I was on the other side of the window staring in. The big ring of keys by her side jangled against her hip.

  ‘She did everything for her,’ I whispered. ‘Looked after her.’

  CHAPTER 34: THE ART OF FRAMING A LADY

  I could hear people talking as if they were very distant. Sweat trickled down my temples. The newborn air rushing into my lungs.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’ Aunt Charlotte’s firm hands pressed into my leg. I could smell Mother’s hairspray, her head near mine.

  Lee Colman spoke in a sombre voice. ‘She doesn’t look well.’

  ‘We need water.’ It was Verity by my side, her eyes full of concern. There was no walking stick in her hand now.

  ‘Well, I’m not doing anything for any of you anymore,’ Lucy Morello said viciously. ‘You’re all liars and murderers.’

  ‘I’ll fetch some, madam,’ Mrs Abaddon said calmly.

  ‘What happened to the tea you were making?’ Tony Voyeur grumbled.

  ‘Tea, sir. Right away.’ Her keys rattled with irritation.

  ‘She looked after her,’ I said into Mother’s face.

  She stared at me.

  ‘Who, dear?’ Aunt Charlotte spoke softly.

  ‘Verity.’

  A vague memory of Dad was there, shaking his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Mirabelle said, “it’s not right”.’ Cobwebs of doubt were spinning out fast.

  Verity’s face tensed. I turned my head to look at her. ‘She did everything for you, didn’t she?’

  She looked away, her face hot with shame. ‘I know. I know I lied.’

  ‘Lot of it about,’ Aunt Charlotte said pointedly.

  ‘But I didn’t kill anyone. I swear.’

  Behind her, I could see Gerald Bradshaw was making for the door. ‘I need to go and check my wife is safe. And my daughter. I can see exactly what’s happened here. It’s very easy to see.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘What if they died because of what they didn’t see?’

  ‘Oh, attention seeking again,’ Bridget said.

  ‘You’ve said enough, Bridget.’ Mother stared at her. ‘Don’t make yourself the next victim.’

  I turned to Verity. ‘Where does your tunnel go?’

  She looked confused. ‘From my home to the churchyard. It comes up under one of the graves.’

  ‘And the castle tunnel?’

  ‘Well, that’s a different tunnel and a different grave. It’s quite clever, really. They’re purposefully not linked, so if one tunnel was discovered, another could remain in operation.’

  ‘So, Verity, if you’d passed through your tunnel, you would have come up in the graveyard and had to use a different tunnel to get to the castle, yes?’

  She nodded.

  ‘If Jocasta and the vicar were in the graveyard at that time, which she said they were, they would have seen you move between the graves. But she didn’t see that. She came to your house and she never mentioned seeing you there. She said she’d been ”watching the ghosts”, meaning there was no one else there to watch. Jocasta and the vicar had to die because they didn’t see you there. They saw no one in the graveyard.’

  Everyone was looking. Waiting. Gerald was paused at the door.

  ‘Your daughter, Scarlett Bradshaw.’

  He frowned. ‘She’s got nothing to do with this.’

  ‘She told us the Peacocks were flapping about the lightning hitting the exchange. Joseph Greengage, you were with her?’

  He nodded. ‘That’s right. She wanted to check on her mum and dad. We’d just seen Lee Colman and he said the road was flooded too.’

  ‘But you see,’ I said, ‘that makes no sense.’

  ‘It’s true!’ Joseph said. ‘We’ve got no need to lie.’

  ‘Other than sleeping with Lord Elzevir’s wife.’ Lucy Morello watched him suspiciously.

  ‘No, no,’ I held up my hand. ‘The Peacocks had no reason to be flustered about that if it was all true.’

  Lee Colman coughed. ‘It’s all true. I ain’t no liar.’ He stared meaningfully at Verity, who winced.

  I sat up straight. My stomach was roiling. ‘Four corners square, this. One, the panic of the Peacocks; two, the vicar and the witch saw nothing; three, the key; four, Verity’s lie.’

  Verity looked down.

  ‘The Peacocks wouldn’t have panicked.’

  Tony Voyeur sighed. ‘They’re quite old and this is an isolated place. You don’t know what it’s like when we’re cut off.’

  ‘I think we do now!’ Bridget said indignantly.

  I ignored them and continued. ‘The Peacocks wouldn’t have panicked because the exchange was already down. They didn’t expect to have any signal. Add that to the facts we know. Jocasta and the vicar would have seen Verity pass through the churchyard if she’d been there. Jocasta, when she stood at Verity’s door and made her quip about “watching the ghosts”, was unwittingly telling the murderer she was there and saw nothing but ghosts, no humans.’

  They were silent.

  ‘Then add the fact that Mrs Abaddon has the keys to the castle.’

  ‘But not the portcullis, miss.’ Mrs Abaddon stood at the door. Again, without the tea.

  ‘No, but you did lock the main door before we left, yes?’

  She nodded. ‘I always do.’ She rattled the large set of keys at her side.

  ‘Verity, your leg is fine?’ I asked.

  Lee Colman stepped forward. ‘Enough. We know that.’

  ‘We do now, but up until this moment only Verity knew.’ I looked round them. ‘Oh, and the murderer.’

  They stared.

  ‘You see, all the little details were put in place to point us Verity’s way. She organised the party. She wanted it. She organised the decorator and the moving platform. She was the reason Lord Elzevir was alone. She has a tunnel under her house leading to the graveyard. She had the bag in her home and planted the fob. So when her big lie about her leg is finally revealed and we discover she is able to move around and she’s been lying for so long, well, we would obviously think she was guilty. But to set all this up and then allow for the big reveal, the murderer would have to know you had that big secret. That you could have committed th
e murders because you could walk very well.’

  ‘No one knew,’ Verity said quietly. ‘Not even Lee.’

  ‘You told no one. But someone else did know.’

  She frowned.

  ‘The only other person who knew was the one who took such good care of you and took you to all your hospital appointments. Lady Marsha Black.’

  Gerald Bradshaw sighed. ‘We’re going round in circles. You’ve just told us Marsha was framed.’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘Well why would someone frame her if they weren’t the murderer? Who would go to the trouble of framing the murderer?’

  ‘She would.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Marsha.’

  Their faces seemed to gather as one.

  ‘Think! Marsha wants to kill her husband. He’s awful to her. She hates him. That much is public knowledge. It’s also well known by enough people that he intends to divorce her and make sure she receives nothing. But how can she kill him when she would be the obvious suspect? Everything points to her. Then it occurs to her, if it is so obvious and becomes so improbably so — it could start to look like she’s being set up. She can use it to her advantage and make it look like someone is framing her. She just needs to tweak the edges of the picture, and rather than looking overwhelmingly guilty, she looks overwhelmingly framed. All she needed was the framer for this particular portrait of a sad woman. Someone she could back into that role.

  ‘It was done very subtly but constantly. Who told us everything we knew about Verity’s involvement? Marsha did. The party was Verity’s idea, so Marsha said, out of earshot of Verity, who would no doubt have corrected her. The decorating project was Verity’s, as was the platform with wheels and its placement — so Marsha told us when Verity wasn’t there, Lord Elzevir being alone because Verity fell.’

  I pushed the bruise on the back of Verity’s leg and she winced. ‘Perhaps it’s on the back from where someone else kicked you down. The make-up planted in your bathroom — I was in the middle of saying I was going to the bathroom when Marsha jumped up and ran in there.

  ‘It looked like Verity was moving us all around and creating situations she wanted. Verity sends Marsha back to the castle to make sure Lord Elzevir can get in and ensures she’s alone there. Verity wanted the staff with her that night. Verity wanted Marsha to take everyone back to the castle after the death, presumably giving her a chance to kill Jocasta and the vicar. But all these things we “know” about Verity because we were told them by Marsha. We never heard Verity say this party was her idea. We never heard her make demands about where the staff should be or send Marsha home to be there on her own. Everything we know that makes Verity the framer comes from the person she supposedly framed. Marsha Black.’

  ‘What about the remote control in Marsha’s handbag?’ Tony Voyeur pointed out.

  ‘Mrs Abaddon,’ I said, ‘where did you leave Marsha when you walked her up?’

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘At the gates.’

  ‘So you didn’t walk up and unlock the main door. The key is the other key. Marsha would have had to unlock the door with the large bunch of keys she kept in her handbag. There was no room in her skinny clothing to hide that. She took the bag because it had the keys. It was never left overnight at Verity’s. She couldn’t have got in the castle otherwise.

  ‘She knows when he’ll be back — just before midnight. After all, she told him to be. She said Verity had reminded her to tell Lord Elzevir, but again we never heard that. Marsha waits. Flicks the remote control. The portcullis lowers and the rope tightens and pulls back the magnet. The cannonball falls and Lord Elzevir is dead.

  ‘She has all along followed a careful two-pronged plan — first, frame herself, and second, make it look like someone is framing her. Then all she had to do was set up the pieces to make it look inescapably like it was Verity who framed her. And it all falls into place because . . .’ I paused to breathe.

  ‘She knows the big secret Verity has. That she has lied. She knew Verity could easily have committed the murders and has hidden behind a lie. And it’s such a big lie that when revealed alongside all the times she has “framed” Marsha, there can be no other answer than that she is the murderer.’

  ‘This is some trick!’ Tony Voyeur said quietly.

  ‘Ah, but it started to derail a little when Jocasta turned up at Verity’s and announced she’d only seen ghosts in the graveyard. She would, of course, have seen Verity if she really had been up to the castle via the tunnels. Marsha had to eliminate anyone else who knew no one was there. And she was cunning and daring enough to commit two more murders later that night when we had all gone to bed. She even had the luxury of time to be grotesquely creative.’

  The sound of an engine ripping into life made me pause. We listened.

  ‘So where the hell is our murderer?’ Mother said.

  We looked around stupidly as if we’d just misplaced her.

  ‘She went to ask Mrs Abaddon about the tea.’ Gerald looked down the hallway. ‘And perhaps something stronger, she said.’

  ‘I didn’t see her,’ said Mrs Abaddon.

  The crunch of gravel mingled now with the sound of the engine.

  There was a pause before the room spun into movement.

  I glanced back only momentarily to see Dupin smiling at us and holding out the map as if he was studying it. I frowned at him and I could have sworn he winked.

  We ran through the long hallway, past the weapons and armour, our feet echoing around the high ceiling.

  I watched Verity racing on ahead, she looked so odd unencumbered by her cane. Lee Colman was watching her too, with sad eyes. Big lies leave big marks. Deceit is a stain that will always leave its outline behind.

  I looked for Dad. He wasn’t there.

  Outside, the pulse of the engine filled the air. It was a small sports car, the smoke from its exhaust clouding the dirty grey courtyard. Marsha sat gripping the wheel with both hands, staring resolutely, angrily at the small gatehouse. She glanced over towards our rapidly assembling group at the door to the castle. She smiled as if we were in some way ridiculous to her and nodded towards Verity.

  ‘Wait!’ Verity called and began running towards the car.

  Marsha turned and looked straight ahead. With a sudden jolt, the car burst into life, racing towards the open gate.

  ‘Surely she doesn’t mean to run over his body?’ Aunt Charlotte looked horrified.

  Bridget shrugged. ‘She killed him, I suspect damage to the corpse isn’t a worry for her.’

  We stepped out into the courtyard, Lee Colman running ahead with Joseph. All of us scattered out.

  As I crossed the courtyard, I began to slow and I watched the slim, dark shadow of my father rise up in the centre of the gates. He stood there, motionless. The car was accelerating towards him.

  ‘No!’ The word exploded out of me.

  Mother turned to look at me in confusion and saw my eyes widen as Mirabelle ran from the side of the gates and held out her arms in front of the speeding car as if she could in some way stop it.

  She could not.

  Marsha did not stop.

  When the car hit her, Mirabelle’s body rose up in a fast arc through the air, thrown out to the side as easily as water. It ended in a dull thud.

  The air erupted with a riot of noise, shearing metal and shattering glass against the stone as the car veered to the side with the impact and the front end smashed into the wall of the gatehouse. Screams echoed round the courtyard. The car came to an immediate standstill, a buckled mess pushed up against the unmoved stones. Then silence. Stillness. Disbelief.

  The portcullis began to slowly descend and I looked back to see Mrs Abaddon holding the remote control in her hand. It was perhaps unnecessary, as Marsha’s body was slumped over the wheel, unmoving.

  ‘Mirabelle!’ Aunt Charlotte was the first to reach the unmoving bundle. She fell to her knees and shouted out again, ‘Mirabelle!’

  I watched M
other slow to a stop in front of me. The world seemed to snag on those seconds, caught unawares as if this wasn’t part of the preordained plan. Something shifted in that moment, recalibrated.

  Mother looked all around as if she didn’t understand.

  ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.’ Bridget was scuffling in shocked breaths towards them.

  We gathered around Mirabelle — me, Mother, Aunt Charlotte and Bridget — and we knelt down as though praying. But we weren’t. We looked down at the broken parts of her, her blood-smeared face and twisted arm. Her leg was against mine. I took her hand, holding it in both of mine. It was still warm with life. She couldn’t be dead because it didn’t feel like she’d gone. The touch of her was too real. Could she feel my hand? She felt of life. But her eyes told a different story. They didn’t flicker. They were set open and wide, drinking in some view that those about her couldn’t see.

  I turned desperately to Mother, who in one slow blink closed any idea that this wasn’t death. Her head fell and her body sank into itself.

  Aunt Charlotte called her name again, this time with annoyance as if she wasn’t listening. ‘Mirabelle! Don’t be silly. Just get up.’

  Mother grabbed at Mirabelle’s arm. ‘Mirabelle! Mir-a-belle, listen to me.’ She looked up at my face pleadingly.

  Bridget lifted Mirabelle’s head and placed it on her lap. A thin red trail trickled out of Mirabelle’s nose, curving round her lips. Bridget pulled back the matted hair, thick with sticky blood.

  ‘Oh Mirabelle.’ Mother’s words were being suffocated. ‘Don’t go. Please don’t go away. Not now. Don’t leave. We’ve so much more to do together.’

  ‘We need to get an ambulance,’ Aunt Charlotte said.

  I could see the others, holding back in disbelief, Joseph trying his phone.

  Bridget rocked Mirabelle’s head a little in her lap. ‘Shh.’

  The cool wind touched Mirabelle’s face and her eyelashes seemed to move as if she was blinking, as if she might flutter back to life. I tried to imagine her lips breaking into a small smile. But she was very calm. A stillness had entered her face as though all her thoughts had suddenly relaxed, all the words and anger had just slipped away. She was empty.