Murder in House

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This first world edition published 2009

in Great Britain and in the USA by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

Copyright © 2009 by Veronica Heley.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Heley, Veronica.

Murder in House.

1. Quicke, Ellie (Fictitious character)–Fiction.

2. Detective and mystery stories.

I. Title

823.9'14-dc22

ISBN-13: 978-1-7801-0030-2       (ePub)

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6783-4       (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-148-5       (trade paper)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

ONE

A
fter her first husband's death, Ellie Quicke discovered that she was stronger than she'd thought. She'd coped with a demanding daughter and, by networking in the community, had solved some neighbourhood crimes. Now married to the Reverend Thomas – her best friend as well as her dear love – she was finding marriage second time round deeply satisfying, if not always easy. To add to her good fortune, she'd inherited money and moved into the big house in which her Aunt Drusilla had lived and died. This didn't mean she knew all the answers, however, especially where murder was concerned.

Whack! Heavy breathing
.

Silence, but for more heavy breathing
.

Ellie didn't often go down with a cold, but this one had been a blinder. She wasn't the only person to go down with it, of course. Sometimes it seemed as if the whole world was suffering from it. Even her beloved husband, who was normally as strong as an ox – if you could have an ox who looked like an old-time steamship captain complete with beard – even he'd been forced to spend a couple of days in bed and had only just recovered his appetite.

The temperature had plummeted overnight, the rain had turned to sleet, the roads were black with slush, and Thomas ought to have been convalescing in the warm. Unfortunately, one of his clerical friends had rung to say he'd gone down with pleurisy and could Thomas take the morning service for him. Thomas, being Thomas, had stuffed his pockets with cough sweets and gone.

Ellie decided not to go with him as she was only just beginning to feel better, so had stayed at home to drink honey and lemon and prepare roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and all the trimmings against his return. She was aware that both of them ought really to be on a diet of lettuce leaves to reduce waistlines expanding with middle age and a love of good food, but in the aftermath of a heavy cold and in such bitter weather, surely it was right to pamper oneself a bit?

He should have been back by now. What was keeping him? She tested the vegetables cooking on the stove – almost done – and wished that her daughter Diana were not bringing little Frank over for tea that day. Small boys could be overpowering when you were feeling below par. What's more, Diana had asked for a ‘family conference', meaning she didn't want Thomas in on it. Diana had been known to refer to Thomas as ‘the proverbial church mouse, scraping the barrel while looking for a cushy berth for his old age'. Mixed metaphors apart, the poison had worked since Thomas now refused to discuss Diana.

Conscious that her mind became a whirlpool of contradictory emotions whenever she thought of her demanding daughter, Ellie felt she could have done with some backup that afternoon as she was sure Diana was going to ask for money.

Normally Ellie would have pointed out that although she'd inherited much of her wealthy aunt's estate, most of it had been put into a charitable trust and monies could only be disbursed by agreement of a board of directors, who were unlikely to give money away to someone with a tendency to cut corners in financial and other dealings. As Diana had done.

But circumstances were not normal, since the downturn in the financial market had found many small estate agencies – such as the one Diana and a partner had gone into – going out of business.

Ellie did not like to think of Diana in serious financial trouble, couldn't imagine what advice she should give her, and deplored the timing of her visit. It would serve Diana right if she or little Frank caught this heavy cold and had to suffer with a fierce sore throat for days until finally the cold broke, and then they would be awash with tissues and wouldn't sleep properly. And even when the catarrh had cleared up, there would probably be another fortnight of nursing a hacking cough.

How she wished she could discuss this with Thomas but – apart from his not wishing to be involved – he had more than enough on his plate with a demanding job editing a national church magazine, and a paper he was due to read at a conference in Oxford the following weekend.

She would be firm and not let Diana upset her . . . especially on a Sunday, which was Thomas's one day off work.

She looked at the clock. Thomas was late getting back from church, and Ellie was getting anxious. The Yorkshire pudding would spoil if left on a high heat in the oven, and sag if she lowered the temperature. The beef would lose its tenderness if overcooked. What could be keeping him?

At that moment Thomas used his keys to let himself into the house and came into the kitchen, still wearing his heavy car coat.

‘Ellie, light of my life, I have a problem. Could you put lunch on the back burner? A teenaged girl has staged a sit-in at church and won't leave. She refuses to tell me or the churchwarden what's troubling her, but she might talk to you.'

Ellie was horrified. ‘What, me? Go out, now?' She sneezed and said, ‘No way!' at the same time. ‘She's probably pregnant. Give her the number for social services.'

Thomas put his arm about her. ‘I thought of that. She said it was far more serious. I know you're not feeling a hundred per cent, the weather's filthy, and we've both been looking forward to a good meal. But would it hurt to put it back for an hour? There's something terribly wrong with this girl.'

Ellie hesitated. Not only would the roast be spoiled if she went with him, but it would also mean leaving their housekeeper, Rose, alone in the house. She noted Thomas's grave expression and sighed. Thomas loved his food, and he wouldn't ask her to defer lunch if this were not more important.

She turned back to the stove, working out how to keep the food warm without spoiling. ‘She's drunk? On drugs?'

He sneezed and blew his nose, his voice thick. ‘Neither. She's rational, calm and polite, but won't leave. She says she needs to stay in the church to fulfil some sort of vow.'

Ellie switched the hostess trolley on to warm up, and transferred the roast joint on to a plate so that she could make some gravy in the pan. ‘Do we know her?'

‘No. The churchwarden didn't know her either. She wouldn't give her name, but I judge her to be late teens or early twenties, possibly an undergraduate from a good family background, well educated. And determined. Apparently she sat at the back of the church during the service and didn't leave when everyone else, including me, trooped out to the church hall to have coffee.

‘The churchwarden asked her to leave and she refused. She's brought a sleeping bag, some sandwiches and a Thermos full of coffee and says she proposes to stay the night. The churchwarden said the heating in the church was being turned off and what would she do about going to the loo, and she said she'd brought a bottle for emergencies. And indeed, so she had.'

Ellie, stirring gravy, was forced to laugh. Thomas almost smiled too. He shucked off his coat and went to help her by ladling the roast potatoes and parsnips into a Pyrex dish that could also be put in the trolley to keep warm.

Ellie said, ‘I'm intrigued. Almost.'

Thomas sighed. ‘I'm not. I persuaded the churchwarden to put her in the vestry where there's an electric fire and access to a toilet. He muttered about security and said she'd probably let a crowd of vandals in to wreck the church if we left her there. She thought that was funny, which was reassuring in a way. I said I'd be responsible for locking her in, and for getting her out. He agreed, eventually. So I've got the key, the churchwarden's gone off to his lunch and she's in there all alone with her problem.'

He inhaled the aroma of the beef joint. ‘Ellie, it's just about killing me to leave this food. I could eat a horse and this is better than horse. Don't tell me there's apple crumble for afters.'

‘Then I won't. I'll heat it up when we get back.' Ellie fitted the gravy boat into the trolley and drained cauliflower florets while Thomas mashed swedes and piled them in as well. ‘Let me check on Rose and then we'll go.'

Their housekeeper – inherited from Aunt Drusilla – was asleep in her big chair, next door. The television was on, but the cup of tea which Ellie had taken in earlier had not been touched. Ellie spread a lightweight rug over her old friend and hoped she wouldn't wake in their absence. Perhaps it would be best to leave a note for her, just in case?

Outside there was a nasty wind and sleet was striking the windows. Ellie shivered as she found a Post-it note and scribbled a message. She definitely did not want to go out into the cold and rain. And for what? The girl must be a hysterical little madam to devise this plan. What were her parents thinking of, to let her inconvenience so many people?