Epitaph: a gripping murder mystery

by Anita Waller

He was a little surprised to find that when he turned the key, the door actually opened. He had assumed that following Shirley’s text she had put on every chain, every bolt and every lock, to keep him out. That was clearly not the case, and he shouted her name, once he was standing in the hall.

  He had no idea why she had sent the text; was she pissed off with him for cancelling the school visit on Saturday, or had she found out about Melanie? She had been fine when he left the house, so what had happened in the meantime to make her think she could order him around?

  ‘Shirley!’ he shouted once again. ‘Where the fuck are you?’

  Silence. He kicked off his vomit-covered shoes, dropped his vomit-covered tie in the waste bin, and climbed the stairs. ‘Shirley,’ he called, this time not so loudly. He was starting to think maybe she wasn’t in the house.

  He checked every room. No Shirley. Sinking down onto the bed, he groaned. What was the silly cow playing at? Rosie. Shirley would have gone to her sister’s. Thick as bloody thieves they were, that’s where she’d be. He glanced at his watch, saw it was just after six and thought it was a bit early for her to have gone to Rosie’s. Maybe she’d gone while he was doing his talk.

  He forced his legs to take him to the bathroom, and he put the shower to its hottest setting.

  Ten minutes later he hoped his skin wasn’t peeling off; the smell of sick had gone, and he felt a little more alive. He might make it to the office by twelve if he continued to recover. All he had to do was find his wife, make sure she understood she couldn’t send him texts like that without expecting there to be consequences, and mostly, make sure she knew she wasn’t to bugger off to her sister’s without asking his permission first.

  7

  There was a small bunch of flowers on the kitchen table along with a note saying Welcome home, travellers. You want anything, you shout. Love Luke. X

  ‘He’s a star, your lad,’ Wendy said.

  ‘You’re not kidding. And he’s not really a lad now. I’ll send him a quick text to tell him we’re home and thank him for the flowers, because he’ll not relax until we’ve checked in.’

  ‘And I’ll put the kettle on,’ Wendy said. ‘I know my priorities.’

  They decided to collect Belle at some point in the afternoon; there was nothing to be gained by leaving her at the cattery. Initially she was a little huffy, her owner had abandoned her and she was not to be forgiven, but she was quickly bribed with tuna and everything was good at Little Mouse Cottage.

  Rosie was startled to see Mark pull up outside her front gate. He stormed up the path and she reached the door at the same time as he did.

  ‘Where’s my fucking wife?’ he growled, pushing past her. ‘I’ve had to get a taxi to go and get my car because she wasn’t there to run me down.’

  I’d like to run you down, Rosie thought, but instead she said, ‘Good morning, Mark. Please do come in.’

  He looked at her and mumbled, ‘Sorry,’ before proceeding through to the kitchen. ‘So where is she?’

  ‘I have no idea. Have you tried ringing her phone?’

  ‘Can’t. I’ve lost my mobile.’ His mind had a flashback to it smashing against the tree. ‘And I can’t ring her on the landline because I don’t know the number.’

  Rosie looked at him, trying to hide the loathing, and picked up her own phone. She rang her sister, listened to it ring then go to voicemail. ‘She’s not answering. Didn’t she say where she was going?’

  ‘I’ve not seen her since I went out last night. I thought she’d be here.’

  ‘You had an argument?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Rosie tried ringing Shirley once more. ‘Nope, no answer. She was still in the house when you left last night?’

  ‘She was. And she’ll be in trouble when she comes crawling back, I can tell you. Anyway, I’m off to work. Give me a ring when you find her.’ He turned to walk out of the kitchen and Rosie threw a saucepan at him.

  ‘Don’t speak to me like that,’ she said, wanting to laugh at the shock on his face. ‘I’m not Shirley, and if she’s left I couldn’t be happier. If I hear from her I’ll decide whether to tell you or not, depending on what she says. Piss off to work, Mark, and don’t come back here until you’ve had an attitude transplant.’

  He slammed both the kitchen and front door, and Rosie heard the screech of his tyres as he pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘Dickhead,’ she muttered, but the unease she felt for Shirley overrode any thoughts of Mark. Where was she, and why had she disappeared without saying anything?

  Doris and Wendy went supermarket shopping in the afternoon and by the evening were settled in, both of them reading. Wendy glanced up from her book to see Doris staring into space.

  ‘Would a Ferrero Rocher help?’ she asked gently.

  ‘I don’t think anything will help. I’ll get over it, I always do, I was considering whether to tell Mouse or not. Eventually I suppose I’ll have to, because I would hate her to find out sometime in the future when I’m dead and gone.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Wendy laughed. ‘Are we feeling our own mortality a little bit?’

  ‘Not really.’ The sigh was huge. ‘But I really could have done without this. What a pathetic plonker I married.’

  ‘It’s all about the p words, isn’t it? But you had good times with Harry, you know you did.’

  ‘I know. That’s what’s so bloody annoying. He was a proper Jekyll and Hyde, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Seems like it. And I’ve decided I’m going to have to contact Rosie to get an email address where I can send copies of Harry’s birth certificate, death certificate and suchlike. I know she doesn’t want to use her work email, but it’s not rocket science setting up a personal one.’

  ‘It is to some people.’ Wendy laughed again. ‘You had to sort me out.’

  Before they headed off to bed for the night, Doris had sorted out some photographs of Harry, his birth and death certificates, and had written a brief résumé of his life, taking care to put that he was a civil servant and nothing more.

  ‘I’ll ring her tomorrow and tell her what I have for her. If she doesn’t want to give me an email address I’ll copy them and post them. It’s no big deal either way.’

  ‘You think you’ll sleep tonight now you’ve done this?’

  ‘I hope so. Who would have thought I’d feel like this at my age. It’s supposed to be the calm after the storms of earlier years, but it doesn’t feel that way. If he wasn’t already dead, I’d strangle him.’

  Rosie couldn’t sleep. There had been no word from Shirley all day, and she was sick of Mark ringing to check if his wife had been in touch. She had initially thought that wherever Shirley was, she would be back by Friday night because she was off to see her boys at school on Saturday, but now it appeared that wasn’t the case. Mark had postponed the visit for a week.

  She knew Shirley would have been horrified by that; visiting her boys was everything she lived for. What she couldn’t understand was why Shirley hadn’t said to her, I’ve had enough, I’m leaving. They couldn’t be any closer, with a cold-hearted mother they had clung to each other all their lives, and it was unthinkable that Shirley would disappear without being in contact first.

  Rosie got out of bed and went back downstairs. She opened the fridge, took out the milk and poured herself a glass.

  ‘I’ll have one of those please, Mum,’ Megan said.

  Rosie almost dropped her glass. ‘Good grief, girl, what are you doing up? It’s after midnight.’

  ‘I heard you come down. You worrying about Aunty Shirley?’

  They carried their drinks to the table and sat down. ‘I am. It’s not like her. I wish she’d ring. Drink that milk, and let’s have you back in bed. School tomorrow.’

  ‘I could stay home and help you look for Aunty Shirley.’

  ‘Nice try, Megs, but I wouldn’t know where to look anyway. The only thing she does is go to the WI, and I can’t see her hiding away in the church hall, c
an you?’

  ‘No, but I also can’t see her going to a hotel either. Uncle Mark’s not generous with her, is he? She’ll not have much money.’

  ‘She does. Mark doesn’t know about it. Your nan’s house was a rented one, and because she knew she would never buy one to leave to us, she took out a hefty insurance policy. The policy specified it was for both of us equally, and we have that. We took the cost of the funeral out of it, and we’re left with a little over thirty thousand pounds each. So you don’t need to worry about her not having money, she does. This is secret, though, Megan. She didn’t want Mark to know, so she opened a new online bank account and her part of the money is in that. I have all the log in details and everything, because she says if anything happens to her, the money is for her boys. I checked it about ten minutes ago, funnily enough, and she hasn’t touched it.’

  ‘And does Dad know?’

  ‘Yes, until I told you, only Shirley, Dad and I knew. Now there’s four, but it really is secret, Megan. Uncle Mark must never know, he’d find some way to take it from her.’

  ‘Honestly, Mum, I understand. I’m Team Shirley, anyway. Can’t stand him.’ She finished her drink and stood. ‘You’ll be okay?’

  Rosie smiled at her daughter. ‘Of course I will be. I’ll be better when Shirley rings, but I’ll sleep now, don’t worry. Off to bed. You need your sleep.’

  All became silent once more in the cottage in Hucknall, although it wasn’t the silence of sleep. Rosie tried her best; she read, she tiptoed downstairs to make a hot drink, she sat and brushed her long brown hair thinking it might soothe her, and she pulled her diary from her bedside drawer and wrote down her feelings. This activity drove her thoughts back to a long-ago Christmas when she and Shirley had both received diaries, little books with locks on and fairies on the front. Every night they wrote about their day, heads under the bedclothes, a torch shining on to the pages. After that Christmas, a diary was always at the top of their wish list.

  Now they made a special day of going to buy their diaries, usually at the end of November, bringing their current ones with them to decide who had the fattest diary. They stuck in photographs, recipes, articles from newspapers – anything that took their interest, and it was their ‘thing’, although Megan was making noises about joining in with them.

  She wrote Where are you, Shirley? at the end of her thoughts, sighed and put away the diary. Perhaps Shirley’s diary could throw some light on where she was, but Rosie had no idea where Shirley kept it. She stashed it away from Mark’s prying eyes, wrote during the day while he was at work, but she had never actually revealed her hiding place. To stop Mark asking, because in the first flush of love she had told him of a shared activity of having a diary alongside her sister, she kept a second diary that was purely for appointments, and which she kept in her bedside drawer.

  Rosie watched the digits on the bedside clock tick over to 04:00 and thumped her pillow. She’d be having strong words with Shirley when she eventually turned up, putting her through this. She closed her eyes and refused to open them.

  Megan woke her to say she was going.

  ‘Going? Going where?’ was Rosie’s groggy answer.

  ‘School, Mum. I left you to sleep as you’d clearly forgotten to set your alarm. I’ve had my breakfast, and I’m off now. Text me if you hear from Aunty Shirley, please. I’m worried too, you know.’

  Rosie tried to sit up, prior to getting out of bed. ‘You’re a good girl. And of course I’ll let you know. Your dad will be home by the time you get back from school.’

  ‘Good. We need him. We’ve got to go and find her.’

  ‘Don’t spend all day worrying about this, Megan,’ Rosie warned. ‘You’ve exams next week, concentrate on your lessons.’

  ‘Easy peasy,’ Megan said and blew her mum a kiss. Before she left the bedroom, Megan said, ‘Stay in bed, you’ve nothing to get up for.’

  Rosie wished she believed that. She picked up her phone and once more rang Shirley’s number. Voicemail. She left a short, sharp message for her sister. ‘Ring me, idiot. You know I’m worrying. Where the hell are you?’

  She disconnected, wobbled out of the bedroom towards the bathroom, and her day began, turning the warm shower to a cold one in an effort to wake her up properly. It did.

  Weetabix and a cup of tea told her she was still alive, and she loaded the dishwasher with the odd bits of cutlery and crockery they had acquired since the previous afternoon, then set it going. That was enough chores for the day, she decided, if anybody was bothered by the dust around the television, she could hand them a duster. And really, if the ironing troubled anybody in her household, she would set up the ironing board for them. Today she had new priorities, she had to find her sister.

  8

  ‘Good morning.’ Wendy smiled at Doris as she walked into the kitchen, hugging her dressing gown around her. ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Don’t be so… awake,’ Doris said crossly. ‘And you’re dressed!’

  ‘I am. I woke at six with sun streaming into my bedroom, so thought it best not to miss it. I’ve been sat outside under the gazebo with a drink and my book. I’d come in to fill up my coffee, so which do you want?’

  ‘If coffee’s done, I’ll have that. You had breakfast?’

  ‘No, thought I’d wait for you. We can discuss today’s activities then, because you might be a bit more awake. Didn’t sleep too good?’

  ‘My brain’s out of control. I need to ring Rosie Steer and get this stuff off to her, then I’ll feel better.’ Doris took the proffered coffee and moved towards the back door. ‘Did the weatherman say it was going to be nice?’

  ‘Yep. For the next three days apparently.’

  ‘Okay. What day is it?’

  ‘Friday. All day.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Is it? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I always like Fridays. It’s fish and chip day. I feel a bit woolly-headed, can you tell?’

  Wendy laughed. ‘I can, but you’re always like this when you first get up. You’ll be fine in ten minutes. Scrambled egg on toast good for you?’

  ‘Oh, it is. I’ll have a walk around the garden while you’re doing it.’

  ‘No problem. Belle’s somewhere in the back garden, she’s had her breakfast.’

  ‘Thank you, you’re a star,’ Doris said, and stepped out into the warmth of that Friday morning.

  Doris pulled the phone towards her, and Wendy gave her a thumbs up sign. The scrap of paper handed over by Rosie with her phone number written on it was lying on the table, and Doris tapped in the numbers.

  It was answered immediately.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello. It’s Doris Lester. I felt as though I should have a bit of a chat with you. I have some things that you may want, photos of Harry, birth certificate, death certificate, that sort of thing. I obviously can’t send you the originals, but if I can email you with copies…’

  ‘I do have a personal email address, Mrs Lester. I didn’t want to make things easy for my father, I wanted to make him write a letter, buy a stamp and physically post it. I didn’t want some anonymous email arriving. And thank you for finding the papers out. I’ll email you within the next two minutes, so that all you have to do is click on reply, then–’

  ‘I have a degree in Information Technology, Rosie.’ Doris laughed. ‘Email me and I’ll respond immediately. The photos show Harry at various stages. The first one was taken about the time you were born, the second one he is about forty, and the third one was taken shortly after his cancer diagnosis, about a year before he died. Will you forward the email to Shirley, please?’

  There was a pause from the other end of the phone. ‘She’s missing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shirley. She left here about ten minutes after you went on Wednesday, and nobody has seen her since around seven o’clock that night.’

  ‘Has she done this before?’

  ‘No. Shirley is the cool, calm
and collected one, level-headed, lives for her sons, but we don’t know where she is. I’m sorry, we shouldn’t be burdening you with this, it’s not as though you know us. I’m so worried…’

  ‘I can tell. Has her husband reported her as a missing person?’ Doris felt herself going into Connection mode.

  ‘Huh. Mark’s far more concerned that she’s left without doing a pile of ironing.’

  ‘Then you report her. I’m guessing you’ve tried ringing her?’

  ‘Yes we have. It goes to voicemail.’

  ‘Maybe she simply doesn’t want to be found yet. I’m sure that when she’s had some time to think, she’ll be in touch. And it will probably be with you, if Mark is the reason she’s left. Hold that thought as a positive, and take it that she maybe only needs time out. I wouldn’t wait much longer before reporting her as missing though. I’ll get this email off to you, and I hope Shirley is soon back with you.’ Doris’s Connection brain resurfaced. ‘Maybe check any hotels near the boys’ school. Perhaps she simply needed to see them.’

  There was a slight lift in Rosie’s voice. ‘Thank you, Mrs Lester. I hadn’t thought of that, I’ll get on to it straight away, after I’ve emailed you. And thank you for listening. I’ve been going out of my mind all night worrying about her.’

  They disconnected and an email ping followed almost immediately. Doris took care of scanning and emailing the documents, then sat back with a sigh.

  Wendy placed a second coffee in front of her. ‘Trouble?’

  ‘For Rosie, yes. It seems Shirley’s gone missing. She was there up to about seven on the day we met her, but nobody has seen or had contact with her since. I’ve told her to report it. The husband, Mark he’s called, sounds a bit iffy; he’s not told the police she’s disappeared. Apparently he simply wants his shirts ironed. No wonder she’s gone.’

  ‘You’re not.’

  Doris grinned at her friend, knowing exactly what she meant. ‘No, I’m not getting involved. They’re not my family, they’re Harry’s. I’ve advised them to go to the police as soon as possible, and that’s as much as I can do. You saw me email their papers over, so let that be an end to it. Now, where shall we go today? What about a drive around, ending it by coming down Winnat’s Pass and then lunch in Castleton. Once we’ve had lunch we’ll decide whether to come home, or go somewhere else if we’ve got the energy.’