Murder by Mistake (32 page)

The first of Diana’s guests had arrived.

‘Do we have to form a reception committee?’ asked Thomas.

‘I don’t think so. Let’s lurk at the back of the hall until we know if we’re needed or not.’

The bridal arch had been moved to stand over the doorway into the conservatory. The guests flooded in. A very different lot of guests: high-maintenance business women, ditto men. Sharp, discontented faces. Abrasive voices talking of breakfast appointments, air travel, favourable deals. Botox, face lifts, invasive perfumes and aftershave lotions.

In the middle of all this Diana’s first husband, Stewart, showed up with little Frank in tow. The boy had been got up in a gold page-boy’s suit and looked as if he’d been crying.

Frank sniffed. ‘The shoes are too big. They’ll fall off me.’

Ellie gave him a hug. ‘You’ll manage. I’m really proud of you, darling.’

Thomas shook Stewart’s hand. ‘It’s very good of you to delay your holiday like this.’

‘I’ve promised Frank, ten minutes is all it will take. He will wait with me at the back till the vows are exchanged, take the ring up to Diana in this gold box – the one I’m hanging on to till the last possible minute so he doesn’t lose it – and then he comes away with me. We’re all packed up ready to go, so we’ll zip back home, pile everyone into the car while Frank changes out of his glad rags, and then we’re off. Right, Frank?’

‘If I must.’ He gave Ellie a moist kiss and got a hug from Thomas.

Stewart said, ‘We’ll find a couple of seats at the back till we’re needed.’ They passed on into the conservatory, as another pair of high-stepping, expensive-looking executive types arrived.

‘Smile on,’ said Thomas. ‘It’ll soon be over.’

An immaculately-clad figure in a grey morning suit passed down the stairs, strode across the hall into the conservatory, and thence into the marquee. Denis had no best man, apparently.

Rose and Mia, still in their wedding finery, came to join Ellie and Thomas at the back of the hall. ‘No reception line,’ said Ellie. ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

The flood of guests abated. The clock struck the half hour, and Diana glided down the stairs in her superb dress, carrying a bouquet of gold flowers. Another expensive package, scented and beautifully made up.

She spoke to Ellie without looking at her. ‘Is Frank here? Is he properly dressed?’

‘He is. Stewart is looking after him and will take him away immediately after.’

Diana relaxed a trifle. Then firmed her jaw. She nodded to Mr Balls and went to stand at the door to the conservatory, waiting for a signal to enter. Mr Balls preceded her through the conservatory and gave the signal for the man running the disco to play something slow and churchy – possibly by Handel? – so that Diana could make her grand entrance. Alone. Superbly herself.

No need for a man to walk her to her fate. No need for bridesmaids. No need for love or friendship.

Ellie and Thomas followed at a suitable distance with Rose and Mia, and stood at the back beside Stewart and little Frank. The boy bit his lip, his eyelids fluttering. He looked as if he’d rather like to make a dash for the exit.

Denis waited for his bride in front of the high table.

Ellie had to admit that they made a handsome pair: he being so tall and well-built, fair-haired and well groomed; she being elegance itself, even though, as Rose had once remarked, she could have done with more meat on her bones.

Someone rang the front doorbell. Ellie ignored it. Some latecomer? Footsteps passed across the hall behind them, hesitated, and then went into the drawing room. Oh, really? Wasn’t that out of bounds?

She couldn’t spare the time to investigate, as the Party Planner thumped with his staff on the floor and asked everyone to please be upstanding for Diana and Denis to make their vows to one another before their friends.

Diana laid her bouquet down on the high table and turned to Denis, who took both her hands in his, looking down into her eyes. To Ellie’s amazement they launched into the age-old church vows. ‘To have and to hold, for richer for poorer . . .’

Ellie rolled her eyes at Thomas, who shook his head and sighed. Stewart had his hands firmly on little Frank’s shoulders. Frank wriggled, hating every minute of this.

Denis said, ‘Amen,’ loudly. Both he and Diana turned to look down the marquee, waiting for little Frank to do his bit. Stewart placed a gold box in his son’s hands and gave him a little push. Frank lost one of his shoes on his way up the tent and, oh dear, the box flew out of his hand and fell open on the floor. A gold ring rolled out and came to rest at his mother’s feet. He went on his knees to collect it, but Denis, temper only just controlled, leant over and hauled the boy to his feet by one arm.

Frank went red, his arm held up at an angle. Stewart started forward, but Diana saved the situation. She bent down to pick up the ring and smiled at Frank. ‘Well done, you!’

Rigid with fury, Denis let the boy go. Frank staggered and would have fallen, but that a bystander caught him up and set him on his feet again. There was a murmur of indulgent laughter, mixed with some condemnation of Denis’s rough handling. Frank, disorientated, plunged for the nearest exit – which happened to be beyond the dais where the disco had been set up.

Someone started to clap. Diana held up the ring, smiling and frowning at once, lightly passing the incident off. ‘Boys will be boys!’ She handed the ring to Denis, who pressed it on her finger, smiling ferociously.

Ellie and Thomas slid back into the hall with Stewart. ‘Frank’ll have gone out to the kitchens. That’s the only way—’

‘He might go right round the marquee—’

‘I’ll go this way, if you go that—’

Ellie said, ‘I think someone’s in the drawing room. I can get out into the garden that way, and we can meet in the middle.’

The notice saying ‘Private’ was still on the door, but when she went in it was to find herself confronted by a big man in casual clothes. Definitely not a wedding guest.

He took a step back. ‘You! What are you doing here?’

‘This is my house.’

‘But –’ he looked at the door behind her – ‘he didn’t say—’

‘Say what? Who didn’t say?’ She went to pass before him to the windows, but he caught her arm. He was strong. She could feel nervous energy pulsing up and down.

‘Let go of me. I have to—’

He swung her to a chair. ‘You sit there, while I have a think.’

‘But I’m supposed to be—’

‘I said, let me think!’

She could hear music striking up in the marquee outside and, more faintly, Thomas and Stewart calling Frank’s name. She sat still, watching the newcomer, who was studying her. Then came the clash of plates as the caterers began to serve the sit-down meal for the party guests.

The man was tall, well-built and fair-haired. The description rang a bell for Ellie. This was the sort of man Mrs Summers had liked to entertain. Did he own a white van? Was it he who had tried to kill her at least twice this last week? And – crowning question – what was he doing here?

She said, ‘Denis asked you to come here. Why?’ And then, realizing part of the truth, ‘He said he’d pay you off for what you’ve been doing for him. Is that right?’

‘Yes. Shut up. Let me think!’ He was no brain of Britain, though he was no fool, either. Had he driven the van in the attempts to kill her? If he had, then why wasn’t he trying to kill her now? Answer: either he hadn’t been paid for what he’d done earlier, or he wasn’t the one who’d actually driven the van.

So was he the killer, or an accessory?

Denis was next door, on the spot. Denis had brought this man here. WHY? To make sure she died this time? But getting the deed done in her own house . . . How on earth could he expect to get away with that? Perhaps if she could work that one out, she’d know what to do next: scream, or offer him a drink?

She said, ‘Were you there when he killed Mrs Summers?’

‘What?’ He changed colour, clenched his fists. ‘No, I – what do you mean? He didn’t. I mean, it was some passing maniac.’

‘He got her to undress, knocked her out, tipped her into the bath and turned on the tap. Did he tell you why?’

He was shocked. ‘No, that’s . . . She was a bit of all right. I can’t believe—’

‘Why did he have to kill her?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know that he did.’

‘But you know he’s been trying to kill me all week.’

A frown. ‘Not to kill you. To frighten you. Yes. I know that. Why do you think I let him borrow the van?’

‘The Volvo wasn’t anything to do with you, then?’

His eyes slid away. ‘He was thinking of buying one. I know how to hot-wire cars, so he asked me to get one for him to try out for an hour. He offered me plenty for doing it, and I’d had a bit to drink, like, and agreed. Stupid, really. He could have got a test drive in one from any dealership, and I don’t want to get done for stealing cars, do I?’

She swallowed. So the Volvo had been intended to kill her, too. ‘Were you in the car with him when he drove it at me?’

‘He was laughing, said he’d got the accelerator and brake mixed up. I sweated blue murder over that, I can tell you. Couldn’t get away fast enough. Talk about reckless.’

‘It was your van he used to “frighten” me with when I visited Mrs Prior?’

‘He got me to put that tinted stuff on the windows so that no one couldn’t see in, but I didn’t know what he wanted to borrow it for, did I?’

‘You let him borrow it, all the same. You were in the van with him on Wednesday in the driveway to the Prior’s house?’

He worked his jaw. ‘No. I let him hire it off me for a coupla days, but I said I wanted no part of whatever it was he was planning. When he got it back to me last night with the dent in the front where he’d been in a hit and run that was it for me, I can tell you.’

‘The man he hit last night died.’

‘He said the man came from nowhere, right across him, couldn’t avoid hitting him.’

‘True. But he could have stopped, after.’

The visitor rolled his shoulders. ‘I think he’s mad.’

‘I think so, too. Do you know why he wants to kill – er, to frighten me?’

A shrug. ‘Something to do with getting a lot of money? He promised me plenty helping to give you a fright.’

‘He frightened me, all right.’

Her visitor was calming down, even as Ellie’s nerves tightened up.

She coughed, to relax her throat. ‘What’s your name? You know mine, I suppose? Ellie Quicke. He wants to marry my daughter, Diana. That’s a party for them that you can hear out in the marquee.’

The noise of the party was growing. Faintly, she thought she could still hear the men calling for Frank. Where could the little boy have got to? Was he hiding somewhere because he’d made a mess of handing over the ring? Why didn’t one of the men come looking for him in here?

‘My name’s Craig,’ he said. He sat down opposite her. ‘Look, finding him a Volvo to test drive and lending him my van is one thing, and so is giving someone a fright, but losing my van’s another. That’s my livelihood, window cleaning, and I need a van for it. How I got into this beats me, but I’ve had enough. I’ll borrow some wheels and get back up north where I come from. I’m sorry you got a fright, but you know what he’s like, don’t you? He’s not easy to say “no” to. So as soon as he pays me I’ll be gone, right?’

‘I don’t think he’s going to let you get away with it as easily as that,’ said Ellie, understanding how they’d both been set up. ‘I think he intends to give you and me a final pay-off here and now. He’ll say that you killed me, and he killed you. That way he provides the police with a dead murderer and a dead mother-in-law. And he’d get away with it, wouldn’t he?’

The door opened behind her, and in came Denis, breathing lightly, his eyes twitching from one to the other, one hand behind his back.

Craig said, ‘Is what she says true?’ He started towards Denis.

Denis brought his hand from behind his back. He was holding a long, shiny knife.

He swung the knife into Craig’s stomach, driving it in with an upward movement. And withdrew it.

Craig’s face contorted. His hands clutched at his middle, and he folded down on to the floor.

TWENTY-ONE

E
llie started up from her chair with a scream in her throat.

‘Now, Mother-in-law, it’s your turn.’ He swung the bloodied knife at her in the same underarm gesture that he’d used to stab Craig. She jumped back, but caught her heel in her chair and slipped to the floor just as little Frank popped in through the French windows, grinning and shouting, ‘Boo!’

Denis turned on the boy, his lips drawn back from his teeth.

The door into the hall shot open and in rushed Stewart, saying, ‘I can’t find—’

Everyone froze.

Frank aghast.

Ellie on the floor.

Stewart, wide-eyed.

Denis half turned to see who had entered. His knife dripped blood on to the floor.

Stewart moved first. He hit Denis. His fist started somewhere down by his knees and travelled straight up to connect with Denis’s chin.

Ellie heard Denis’s neck snap. His eyelids closed and he stretched his length out on the floor, next to Craig. The bloodied knife fell to the floor beside him.

Frank screamed.

Ellie scrambled away from Denis, using the chair to help herself up. She was trembling. ‘It’s all right, Frank. All over. Stewart; get an ambulance. Is Craig dead? We need something to tie Denis up.’

Stewart nursed his hand, wincing. Then he held out his arms for Frank, who rushed into them, sobbing. The little boy had lost both shoes by now, and he looked as if he’d been crawling through the undergrowth.

Thomas arrived, took one look, and went into action. His mobile came out to summon police and ambulance. He checked that Denis was not dead, removed his tie, turned him over, and tied his wrists together. By that time Craig was groaning, trying to lift his head from the floor, hands still clutching at his stomach.