Murder With Mercy (12 page)

Hugh stared into space. Then focused back on Ellie. ‘Mikey doesn't carry a knife?' He made it a query, but he knew the answer really.

She said, ‘Of course he doesn't. Workmen often carry knives, don't they?'

Hugh licked his lips. ‘You're saying … No, no. Why would Preston …?'

‘Unless …?'

Hugh didn't want to consider the prospect of one of his own men turning traitor on him. ‘Preston said the boy acted sullen when he realized he'd been caught. I suppose he might have hit his head when he tumbled down the stairs.'

‘Possibly. He'd certainly been clouted on his jaw. The doctor at the police station checked him out for concussion and said it probably wasn't, but organized photographs to be taken of his injuries. His mother had gone down with flu earlier that day. The boy was running a high temperature. He's been asleep more or less ever since. I'm hoping it's only flu.'

Hugh passed a big hand over his face. ‘What a mess.'

‘Suppose we turn the scenario around? Mikey came across one of your men in the act of sabotage, and whoever it was reacted by lashing out at the boy.'

‘Not Preston.'

‘If it wasn't Preston, then why did he take it upon himself to haul the boy off to the police?'

He stared at her, and she stared back.

‘No, no. I can't believe it.' He didn't
want
to believe it. ‘Suppose … suppose Preston found Mikey looking at a leak which had been started by someone else? Preston jumped to the wrong conclusion and overreacted.'

‘I'd like it, too … if it weren't for the knife. Preston – or someone – went for Mikey with a knife.'

Hugh kneaded his cheek. ‘I don't like that.'

‘You can't ignore it. Mikey has a knife slash through his jacket and his sweatshirt. It's a defensive wound. He'd held up his forearm to ward off a blow. The thickness of his clothing saved him from a nasty cut down his forearm. He's scratched, and will need a new jacket and sweat shirt, but that's all.'

‘I can't see Preston lashing out with a knife. He's a family man. He wouldn't.'

‘Then … who?'

‘Preston wouldn't have used a knife on a boy. I'll have another chat to him. Perhaps he did overreact when he found the boy where he ought not to have been, but I'm sure he wasn't responsible for the boy's injuries.'

Ellie had a feeling that Hugh was waltzing around the issue, concealing some information, hiding something? But why? And what?

He said, ‘I'll go down to the station and say we are not going to press charges.'

That was fine as far as it went. ‘And I'll see to it that Mikey pays no more visits to the site – when he's recovered.'

He shifted uneasily. ‘I must remember to get that rope cut that Mikey uses to get over the wall. What with this and that, I forgot about it this morning.' He scratched the back of his neck. ‘You must understand that Preston is one of the old guard. He's worked for me full time on a number of projects over the years, and I've never known him overstep the line. It's uncharacteristic. I'm sure we'll find there's some perfectly simple explanation for what happened. Preston and Mikey may have stumbled across the damage at the same moment. Or perhaps the boy tumbled down the stairs and hurt himself on his own. Preston picked him up and—'

‘And knocked six bells out of him? Again, I say, if not Preston, then who?'

‘I don't like to think that any of my men … You say you've got evidence? What sort of evidence?'

She hadn't really got anything, had she? ‘Photographs of the boy's injuries were taken by the police at the station.'

‘You can't prove Preston did it.'

‘Agreed. I suppose it depends exactly what Preston accused the boy of doing, when he made his statement to the police.'

‘What does the boy say?'

‘Nothing. He's too ill to talk.' Crossing her fingers.

Hugh shook his head. ‘I'll ask if anyone else witnessed the incident. I'll get Preston to write out a full account of what happened. The worst of it is that it's thrown us behind schedule again, so there's going to be even more questions asked at Head Office.'

The front doorbell rang. There was a bustle out in the hall; voices were raised, doors were opened and shut. The business meeting was about to start in the dining room. Ellie looked at the door, wondering whether to make her excuses to Hugh or to her fellow trustees.

Hugh made up her mind for her. He stood up, holding out his hand. ‘Tell the boy … I don't know what you can tell him, except that I wish him well. All right?'

‘Thank you, Hugh.' She shook his hand, helped him on with his coat, and saw him off the premises.

What next? The answerphone light was winking again. What was it Lesley Milburn wanted to say to her? Did Preston's formal complaint accuse the boy of an offence so serious that Hugh would be unable to stop things going any further?

Well, she couldn't think about that now. She had a business meeting to attend. She put her head round the dining room door, saw everyone was there but that no coffee had yet appeared. ‘I won't be a moment.'

Where was Rose, who was always ready to feed and water visitors? Not in the kitchen. Ellie returned to the hall, to see Rose halfway up the stairs, panting and holding on to the banister. ‘Sorry, Ellie. Long way up. I thought I heard the boy cry out but my legs gave way. Old age is a terror, isn't it?'

Ellie managed to pull Rose to her feet and helped her down into the hall with an arm around her waist. ‘Go and have a rest in your own room, my dear. I'll see to everything.'

‘Just like you.' Rose creaked her way along. ‘You think you're Superwoman. Come to think of it, a nice little lie down would be just the ticket. I'll be back on my feet again in no time.'

Ellie eased Rose on to her bed, switched on the telly with the sound turned low, and almost ran back into the kitchen. The breakfast things were still on the table but the dishwasher had run its course. She put the kettle on to make a cafetière of coffee, while throwing cups and saucers on to a tray.

Stewart, who had once been married to Diana but was now thankfully and happily remarried with a new family to look after and love, came in to see if he could help. Much to Diana's disgust, Stewart was now the highly valued general manager of the trust. ‘Rose said there was some kind of crisis? Is there anything I can do?'

Ellie was fond of Stewart. ‘Find the sugar and the milk jug. Crisis? Yes, you could call it that. Stewart, could you make the coffee and take it in? Vera and Mikey are down with the flu and I need to check on them before I do anything else.'

Ever practical, Stewart buckled to, while Ellie started up the stairs, slowing down and breathing hard before she got to the top of the first flight. If she was finding it hard to cope, she wasn't surprised that Rose had given up.

Vera was still in bed and, if possible, looked worse than before. Her temperature was still high, and the sandwich someone had made and put beside her bed was uneaten and going stale. She half opened her eyes to give Ellie an approxim-ation of a smile, and said, ‘Mikey all right?'

‘He's down with flu as well. I'm looking after him. Don't you worry about anything except getting well. Have you taken some aspirin? Have you enough to drink?'

Vera nodded and drifted off into sleep again. Best thing for her.

Next door, Mikey was lying in bed, eyes open, not moving. The cat Midge was lying, curled up, on his tummy. Ellie touched his forehead. Warm, but not hot. He hadn't got flu, had he? Or had he?

‘Are you well enough to get up?'

He shook his head a fraction.

‘I told the school you'd got flu, but I don't think you have. Mikey, I know you're in trouble and I want to help. Hugh's been round, anxious for you. We need to talk about what happened. I haven't told your mother anything, she's too poorly to be bothered, but at some point I do need to hear your side of events.'

He shook his head again and closed his eyes. He had his own small television set and computer. What was the betting he'd be out of bed and switching them on, the moment she left the room? She wasn't a betting woman.

‘Are you hungry?'

No. Well, Vera kept her freezer and fridge well stocked, and there was a microwave as well as a conventional oven in their kitchen. The boy wouldn't starve.

Ellie descended the two flights of stairs, trying to clear her mind of everything that had been happening recently in order to concentrate on the business of the trust.

Ellie had never been particularly interested in luxury for herself, but had inherited sizeable estates from her first husband, from his aunt and, latterly, from her good neighbour Mrs Pryce. She had set up the charitable trust to deal with these bequests.

This morning's meeting ought to be routine but she was the chair and must keep her wits about her. It wasn't fair to the others to have a chair whose mind was occupied with thoughts of sabotage and/or how many painkillers you could take for flu in any twenty-four hour period.

Today there were only three other people at the meeting: Stewart himself, who had overall responsibility for the administration of the trust; Kate, their financial guru; and Pat, Ellie's part-time secretary, who took notes and saw that everyone did what they'd promised to do from one week to the next. All three were well on top of their jobs and zipped through the agenda with ease.

Despite her best intentions, Ellie let most of the meeting pass by in a daze. She was pretty sure she hadn't missed anything … until Stewart uttered the name of that time-wasting spendthrift, Ms Edwina Pryce.

He passed a letter on headed notepaper to Ellie. ‘The Pryce woman has got a new solicitor who's alleging that you are behind the series of ‘accidents' which have caused the work at the hotel to fall behind schedule. He claims that you are acting against the best interests of the hotel and have placed the Pryce family's future in jeopardy.'

‘What? Wait a minute! I had a letter from her solicitor the other day but—'

‘She proposes that you resign from the board and transfer your shares in the hotel to her by way of compensation. What's going on, Ellie?'

Ellie flushed. What a tiresome woman Edwina was! Whatever would she think of next? And what did she mean by saying Ellie was behind the sabotage at the hotel? As for asking for ‘compensation', the idea was ridiculous! ‘The woman is impossible!'

‘Tell me about it,' said Kate, shuffling papers. Kate had the responsibility of passing Edwina's outstanding bills for payment by the trust.

Stewart gave Ellie a reassuring smile. ‘I haven't had any dealings with the woman, personally, though I've heard you say she's difficult.'

‘Difficult?' said Ellie, trying to think of a more appropriate word to describe Edwina – and failing. ‘When Mrs Pryce died and left me her estate it was with the proviso that I kept the surviving members of the Pryce family out of the bankruptcy court. Mrs Pryce knew the bequest was a poisoned chalice since it was unlikely Edwina would change the habits of a lifetime and live within her means. And she hasn't. Far from it. She's a bottomless pit, and I can't cut her off, no matter how much I'd like to do so. Still she's not satisfied. Does she really think I'd hand over our shares in the hotel to her? I don't understand her.'

Stewart looked worried. ‘She seems to have sent a copy of this letter to a director of the hotel chain whom she addresses in first-name terms. If he decides there's even the shadow of a case to answer, their solicitors will swing into action. They've invested a lot of money in the rebuild and refurbishment and are not going to be happy about this development. Can't you reason with Edwina?'

Ellie was annoyed. ‘She sent me a similar letter, and she's been in touch with Evan Hooper about it as well. It's all pie in the sky. She's threatening this and that so that we'll pay her off to keep her quiet. I'm not playing. Thomas said I'd better pass the letter on to my solicitor, and I will do so as soon as I've a minute to spare. Let him deal with her.'

Then she stared into the distance. What did Edwina Pryce mean by saying that Ellie had been responsible for the recent problems at the hotel site? That was too ridiculous for words. It was far more likely that she herself … No, no. How could she? Or, indeed, why should she?

Ellie shook her head at herself and returned to the matter in hand. ‘It's annoying enough that she's trying to draw Head Office into the argument, but what's even more annoying is that we'll have to pay
our
solicitor a fee to counter
her
solicitor's claim. Now that
is
what I call annoying. More coffee, anyone?'

‘Yes,' said Kate. ‘I expect you're right. She's a past master at getting us to pay for whatever it is that she wants.' She flicked through a pile of bills. ‘Talk about biting the hand that feeds her …! I'll get you to sign a cheque for her last month's expenditure before I go, Ellie.'

‘Oh well,' said Stewart, ‘let the solicitors fight it out.'

After the meeting broke up, Ellie did another scurry around the house.

Up to the top: Mikey was not in his room, and his computer screen was dark. Oh.

He wasn't in their sitting room, either.

Ellie stood at the window which overlooked not only their own back garden, but also, beyond that, the garden of Pryce house.

The scaffolding had come down from the back of the house, and over the past couple of weeks there'd been men toiling away to create a patio there. They had finished laying paths and were now putting down turves to make a lawn. The designer preferred by Ellie and accepted by Hugh had envisaged guests having drinks outside in good weather. There was even a children's play area with brightly coloured equipment in one corner.