Springtime for Murder Read online

  “Oh yes, we met last weekend, didn’t we? Your husband was the handsome one with curly dark hair and green eyes.”

  Her calling him my husband gave me a little thrill, although I doubted she remembered the colour of all her patients’ visitors’ eyes.

  “We met some people outside her house this morning claiming to be council workers checking her house was safe for her to return to before she could be discharged,” I explained. “They had what looked like official council badges, but as a precaution we wanted to check with you.”

  The nurse didn’t seem to mind. “I’m so sorry, I think we presumed your – your aunt, is it? – would have passed the message on.”

  “My aunt?” For a moment I imagined a ghostly May had dropped by.

  “Yes, you know, the aunt who was visiting at the same time as you, the one who brought so many gifts. A Mrs Loft, was it?”

  I could hear the smile in her voice. Perhaps Bunny had given her some of Mrs Lot’s chocolates.

  “Oh yes, of course. Dear Aunt Petunia.” I almost gagged as I said it. She was no more related to Bunny than I was.

  “Your Aunt Petunia told me she’d requested the council inspection. She was worried that Mrs Carter might have mobility difficulties on her return.”

  She paused as if expecting me to say something, but as I was dumbstruck by Mrs Lot’s interference, the nurse continued in a kindly tone.

  “There are all sorts of home improvement grants, for things like handrails and toilet seat boosters, available that might help her. She should get what she can.”

  “I’m sure that is precisely my aunt’s intention.”

  Aunt Petunia, that is.

  28 Room to Let

  No sooner had I finished serving morning coffee to the school-run mums than an expensively dressed woman of middle-age came in and headed straight for the trade counter without a glance at the rest of the shop. Well-groomed and in full make-up, she was clearly not part of the primary school drop-off set. Hector, scanning in new sample stock left by a visiting rep, put down the scanner and gave her his full attention.

  “Do you carry ads?” She glanced around the shop in search of a bit of wall space that wasn’t obscured by bookshelves. There wasn’t much. “I mean, do you have a noticeboard for local advertisements?” She pulled a neatly written pink index card from her designer handbag and thrust it at Hector. He read the details.

  “You’re after a lodger?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m afraid we only carry posters for village events.” He pointed to the noticeboard behind the door, already covered with bus timetables, adverts for local community group meetings and the month’s church service schedule. “The village shop has more space than we do for this kind of thing. Carol charges for putting up notices, but only fifty pence a week. Wouldn’t you be better off posting something online? Especially as your property is in Slate Green rather than Wendlebury. You’ll reach a much wider audience via the internet. Or do you have a particular reason for advertising here?”

  She took the card back. “Maybe. I don’t suppose you happen to know anyone in the village who’s looking for accommodation, do you?”

  Intrigued, I wandered over from the tearoom to join them. “I heard in the pub the other day that a local builder’s about to leave his wife. He might be looking for a temporary place.”

  Her icy stare suggested I’d just stabbed her in the heart. “Do you mean Paul Brady? Very funny. That rumour would be wrong, then. I suppose the next thing you’ll be telling me is that you’re his bit of stuff.”

  As she ran her cold eyes up and down my body, I took a couple of steps back.

  Hector came to my rescue. “No, she’s my bit of stuff, actually.” It was my turn to glare. “But yes, she does mean Paul Brady. I take it you’re Mrs Brady?”

  “Mrs Fenella Brady. And the thing is—”

  She looked over at the tearoom to make sure the customers weren’t eavesdropping. Having fallen silent as they tuned in to our conversation, they immediately began chattering self-consciously.

  Fenella lowered her voice, perhaps realising she was making a fool of herself. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid remark. I apologise unreservedly. I don’t really think he’s having an affair, I’m just tense right now.”

  Hector nudged me.

  “I’m sorry too, it was wrong of me to gossip about someone I hardly know,” I said, inwardly cursing Donald for putting the idea in my head.

  Fenella and I smiled awkwardly at each other for a moment, before she began again.

  “The thing is, with my son away at university, the house seems so empty, and my husband’s always out working. He hardly even comes home for meals these days. I never see him. God knows what he’s up to. It’s a huge house to spend so much time in by myself. I thought having a lodger might be rather fun. And I thought I might get a more pleasant type of person from a village than from town.”

  Hector’s golden rule was to be helpful to all customers, no matter how irritating or embarrassing.

  “What sort of lodger are you looking for?” I asked. “A student, perhaps?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, I’d rather have someone more grown-up and sophisticated. Someone who would be good company during the lonely evenings at home.” She glanced coquettishly at Hector, who gave a nervous cough. “I thought perhaps a nice executive who lives some distance away but needs a pied-a-terre for local work. Having someone else in the house would make me feel more secure at night when Paul’s out late, now that Dominic’s away in term-time. He’s a pharmacy student, you know. He’s a clever boy.”

  “Try asking the human resources departments of big local employers. If they’re regularly putting up visitors in hotels, they could well be interested. If you work directly with them, you won’t have to pay commission to a middleman for the booking.”

  Fenella’s face relaxed a little.

  “What a good idea. Thank you. You’re very kind.” She glanced across to the tearoom again. “Your coffee smells good. I think I’ll stop for one, if that’s OK?”

  I led her to the one free table and pulled out a chair for her. She sat down heavily and plonked her fancy handbag on the other chair.

  “God knows, I shouldn’t be indulging myself this way. Dom’s university pharmacy studies won’t pay for themselves. That’s another reason for having a lodger – it would give me a bit of spare cash for treats. I’m afraid my husband is so tied up with his business that he doesn’t realise how much it costs to run a household these days. Or doesn’t want to know. He takes after his mother.” She sighed. “Her excuse for not sponsoring Dom’s fees is that she doesn’t hold with drugs, which is nonsense. At her age, she must be held together by them. Poor boy will be saddled with a student loan for decades.”

  If she was after a free coffee, she was barking up the wrong waitress.

  “Did you see her jewellery?”

  I’d had to wait till the shop was finally empty of customers to put this question to Hector. He shook his head.

  “If she simply took off all her jewellery and threw it on the table, there’d be the equivalent to the price of a car.” Hector was unmoved. “Enough money to buy a brand-new Land Rover.”

  That caught his attention.

  “I notice she didn’t buy a book to thank us for being helpful,” he said. “If she’s bored at home, what she needs is a good book. You’re never lonely with a good book. And our advice was worth more than the price of her coffee.”

  He powered down his laptop and closed the lid. “If she’s going to go round slagging off Bunny in public, she’s no friend of mine.”

  “Maybe she’s hoping Bunny will leave everything to her precious Dominic in her will? What’s he like?”

  Hector pulled out the cash drawer to tot up the day’s takings a little earlier than usual. “I’ve no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever set eyes on him. Paul brings his family back to the village on Show Day, as most people with any Wendlebury connecti
ons do, so I suppose I might recognise him if I saw him, especially if he takes after his father’s side in looks. He will have grown up in Slate Green, where they live now. Which makes me wonder why Fenella is going round Wendlebury looking for a lodger.”

  He started stacking pound coins in piles of ten.

  “Wendlebury’s hardly an industrial zone. Carol, Donald and I are the only local employers besides the farmers and a smattering of self-employed working from home. Nearly all the villagers are families, rather than singletons looking for lodgings.”

  “Maybe she isn’t looking for a lodger at all, and that was just an excuse to check that Paul really has got a building contract up here. She might suspect he’s carrying on with some woman, hence that hideous ‘bit of stuff’ remark. If her suspicions proved right, she might be planning to seek revenge by spreading rumours about his character throughout the village.”

  Hector thumbed through the banknotes. “Remind me not to ditch you any time soon, Sophie. You have far too many good ideas for a woman scorned.”

  I grinned. It might not be the best reassurance that he wasn’t about to abandon me for Becky or the Battersby rep, but it was better than nothing.

  “Do you think Fenella might have something to do with Bunny’s abduction?”

  Hector looked askance. “I’m not sure she’d have the physical strength, nor the gumption. She’s quite slight, and she didn’t seem exactly resourceful.”

  “No, but if she’s got a hulking spoiled son in his prime, bright enough to study pharmacy, he’ll have brains as well as the brute strength of a young man.”

  “But would anyone really be so keen to avoid student debt that they’d murder their granny?”

  “It would explain why Bunny didn’t resist her abductor. She’d have recognised him and been glad to see him.”

  “Wouldn’t she think it odd that he’d appeared at the crack of dawn, presumably in her bedroom?”

  I shook my head. “If Bunny sleeps as badly as Kitty claims, she might not have realised how early it was. Old people’s body clocks are different to ours. Fenella, being her daughter-in-law, would probably have had a front-door key to the Manor House. Not that she’d have needed one, as the lock is jammed open. Plus Dominic, as a pharmacy student, would have professional knowledge of which drugs to administer to knock Bunny and Kitty out.” I pictured Fenella’s manicured hands with their flashy rings and bracelets gently pushing open that big front door. “And I tell you what else: Fenella would be just the sort of person to have a fur coat.”

  29 The Penniless Mile

  “Ah, Sophie, there you are!”

  Shortly before closing time, the vicar cornered me in the tearoom. I’d been avoiding him since Sunday, as he wanted to prepare me for teaching the Sunday School. I retreated behind the counter and pretended to be busy stacking teacups and saucers.

  “Hello, vicar!” I tried to make my voice sound more relaxed than I felt, without encouraging him to linger. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you your usual mocha as I’ve just turned the coffee machine off for the night.”

  “No problem, I’ve just had a cup of tea at home. What I’m actually after is you.”

  Much as I feared. “The thing is—” I was about to launch into an apology for avoiding him, but he interrupted, clearly on a mission.

  “I just wondered whether you’d like to accompany me to visit Bunny Carter in hospital? My wife’s away at her sister’s, and I thought a woman’s touch might be welcome. You know, taking in clean underwear, and the like.”

  He coughed, a little embarrassed. I grinned. Unlike the vicar, Bunny seemed pretty unembarrassable.

  “I’d love to,” I said, glad to have the excuse to visit her again. “We can call in at the Manor House on the way to collect anything Kitty thinks she might need. Can we go via the village shop so I can buy Bunny a newspaper and some chocolates?”

  “Of course. How kind of you.”

  “You can slope off a bit early if you like, Sophie,” said Hector. “It’s very quiet.”

  “Thanks. Shall I come and see you when I get back to tell you how she is?”

  “If you like. Or just give me a ring or text me if you’re too tired. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I turned off the lights above the counter and put up the ‘Sorry, Tea’s Off” sign. Grabbing my jacket from its hook, I was just about to leave when the door swung open and in strolled Becky without her usual accessory, baby Arthur. She flashed a radiant smile, which was probably meant exclusively for Hector.

  Hector smiled back and came out from behind the counter to follow the vicar and me to the door. “Give Bunny my love,” he said, flipping the “Open” sign to “Closed” a full fifteen minutes before our official closing time.

  The vicar sensed my disquiet and sought to distract me as we got in his car.

  “The journey will give us the opportunity for a chat about our plans for Sunday School.”

  My heart sank.

  “By the way, Kate’s said she’ll help you with the first few sessions till you’re comfortable running it on your own. Kate used to lead it before she retired, and only gave it up when she went on her long holiday to Australia last year.”

  Kate was Hector’s godmother, a zesty, upbeat lady whom I liked very much. Suddenly the prospect of teaching Sunday School didn’t seem as daunting.

  The vicar pulled up by the shop, and we went inside. I hoped the vicar wouldn’t disapprove of liqueur chocolates.

  I should have known better. “Yum!” He eyed the packet. “They’ll be a better tonic than any medicine.” I grabbed a second pack for us to share in the car, after reading the label to check the alcohol content wasn’t enough to put the vicar over the legal limit for driving.

  I was just getting the right money out of my purse when a woman not much older than myself entered the shop and came to stand beside me at the counter.

  “Excuse me, can you please tell me where Mrs Brady lives?”

  “Mrs Brady?” Carol hesitated, glancing at the vicar for guidance. “There’s no Mrs Brady in this village. The Brady boys moved away a long time ago, taking their wives with them.”

  The woman turned to me. “Do you know a Mrs Brady? She’d be very old.”

  “Mrs Brady, old lady?” I said before I could stop myself. “Oh, that Mrs Brady. If it’s who I think you mean, she’s not Mrs Brady any more. She’s Mrs Carter now.”

  “How odd that Stuart never told me his mother had married again.” The woman’s face softened as she mentioned him. “How adorable to find love again at her age. Like mother, like son, even though they’ve been estranged for so long. Isn’t it sad that I’ve never met my own mother-in-law? It’s not as if we live a million miles away. It’s only the Midlands.” She fluttered her eyelashes at the vicar. “I’m always telling Stuart that he ought to make up his differences with his mother before it’s too late. I guess that’s why he dashed down here when she was rushed to hospital.”

  The vicar gave a nervous smile.

  The woman turned back to me. “Could you tell me where Mrs Carter lives, please? Stuart told me he’d most likely stop at her house while he was visiting, but he forgot to tell me her address or which hospital she’s in, and I need to find him urgently to tell him some very good news.”

  “Why don’t you phone him or text him first to check?” Her side of the story was sounding odd, and I thought he might prefer to be alerted to her imminent arrival.

  “My news for him is far too exciting to tell him over the phone.” Her hands went to her flat stomach. You didn’t have to be psychic to guess what her news might be. The old dog! Stuart was old enough to be her father, never mind the baby’s.

  For a moment, none of us spoke. If she didn’t know about Bunny’s third marriage, she might not know about Kitty either.

  The vicar took charge. “My dear, by a lucky coincidence, Sophie and I are just about to call in at the Manor House to collect some personal effects to take to Mrs Ca
rter in hospital. As far as I know, Stuart won’t be there at present, but I can introduce you to his half-sister Kitty.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be very interested to meet you,” added Carol, with an air of mischief.

  The vicar turned to me. “Sophie, I know you had something you needed to discuss with Carol. Why don’t you stay here to catch up with her, while I introduce this lady to Kitty and fetch Bunny’s things from the Manor House? I’ll come back to collect you shortly.”

  I didn’t have something I needed to discuss with Carol, but I realised he was just being discreet.

  “Righto, vicar.”

  With that, he ushered the woman out of the shop and into his car, leaving Carol and me staring after them as they drove off down the High Street.

  I turned to Carol. “Why has Stuart told her he’s staying at the Manor House? The hospital’s closer to Slate Green, where he lives, than it is to here. So what was all that about coming down from the Midlands?”

  Carol bit her lip. “You’ve never met Stuart’s wife before, have you?”

  “No.”

  “I was at school with her.”

  “Really? I don’t want to seem rude, Carol, but that lady seemed about half your age.”

  Carol nodded, wide-eyed. “Exactly. If you ask me, it looks like a case of botany.”

  I bit my lip to suppress a smile. “I think the word you’re looking for is bigamy, Carol.”

  Like mother, like son, indeed.

  “I’m afraid I’ve left both of them in a rather awkward situation,” said the vicar. “But all credit to Kitty. She made Angelica welcome. She seemed more intrigued than disturbed by evidence of her brother’s second wife. At least we’ve kept Angelica away from Bunny’s bedside. We don’t want to upset Bunny further while she’s unwell.”

  “I think we’d better not tell her about Angelica, even though she’ll be glad to hear a new grandchild is on the way,” I said as we turned from the High Street on to the main road and headed towards Slate Green.