A Move to Murder: A Bride's Bay Mystery Page 19

  She jerked her head up. She had it. They had been in Gina’s arrangement for Melissa. Peonies, gypsophila, carnations, ivy and aquilegias, the same pinky yellow aquilegias as in the picture on the screen. She had pulled them out with the peonies. But something was wrong. What was it? She sat back, frowning, trying to tease out the muddle of thoughts in her head. Closed her eyes and imagined the arrangement. Saw the black pedestal stand, the ivy tumbling over the edges, the white froth of lacy gypsophila. Cream and pink and lemon in the delicate petals of the peonies, the carnations, the….

  She snapped her eyes open. She knew what it was. Of course she did. The photo she had seen at Grace’s yesterday; there were no aquilegias in the arrangement. The peonies were there, and the carnations, the gypsophila billowing around them, the ivy trailing down, but between the blowsy pink and lemon peonies, huddled next to the lemony cream carnations and the white frothy gypsophila, were alstromerias. Alstromerias, not aquilegias. She was sure of it.

  Beth sat back, thoughts whirling through her head, spinning. It didn’t make sense. She must be wrong. One way to make sure. She walked to the worktop and picked up the phone. Gina would tell her. Dialled the familiar number and leant back against the counter, thoughts and ideas still whirling round in her head, like angry bees around a honey pot. No answer, just five rings and the answer phone cutting in, Gina’s voice stating she was unavailable, please leave a message.....

  Damn. Now what? Grace! She could tell her what was in the photo. She scrabbled through her handbag, searching for her diary. Why did everything always sink to the bottom? Located it and thumbed through the pages at the back for Melissa’s number.

  Grace was there. “Beth, hello. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks” anxiously, hurriedly. “Grace, you know the photo on your fireplace? The one of Gina’s arrangement for Melissa?”

  “Yes?” query in Grace’s voice.

  “Could you do me a favour?”

  “If I can.”

  “Could you look at it and tell me something?”

  “Sure, I’ll go now.” Turned away, footsteps as she walked into the living room.

  “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  “Can you tell me the flowers in it?” Beth felt slightly stupid. Grace would think she was mad, she had seen the arrangement itself for two weeks and the photo only yesterday.

  “Of course” puzzled. “There are peonies, carnations, alstromerias...”

  “Alstromerias. Are you sure? Not aquilegias?”

  “Of course I’m sure” a laugh. “Beth, I photograph flowers all the time, at weddings. I know my alstromerias from my aquilegias. What is all this?”

  “I’m not sure” Beth said slowly. “But thank you Grace, I’ll talk to you again soon.”

  “Beth...”

  But Beth had cut the connection, sat down, head in her hands. What did it all mean? Why had the flowers been changed? And when? And by whom?

  She sat there, head spinning, a kaleidoscope of ideas, images. She was watching a roundabout in her head, spinning round and round, glimpses of different faces stared at her as they passed her. At last she stood up stiffly, like an old woman. It couldn’t be, surely it couldn’t. But it was the face she kept coming back to.

  She picked up her car keys, patted Charlie and out of habit went to pick up his lead. No, she wouldn’t take him; put the lead back on the side. Out of the house like a sleepwalker, on autopilot across town to turn in at Addison Close. Parked outside Carol’s.

  Carol answered the door, smiled a greeting which faded as soon as she saw the expression on Beth’s face.

  “Beth? Beth love, what on earth is the matter?”

  Led Beth through to the kitchen and sat her down on a chair, taking her hands in hers.

  It sounded ridiculous. Beth knew how crazy it sounded but Carol sat quietly, gazing intently at her friend’s face, clutching her hands.

  At last she spoke. “I don’t know Beth. It sounds implausible but...” frowned “I just don’t know. But I think you need to tell the police. No, we need to tell the police.”

  “I will. But will you come with me?”

  “Of course I will. No, we will, Ken as well. He’ll be home in an hour or so. It can wait until then. We’ll come round to you and pick you up, then go on to the police station.”

  “And if I’m wrong? And I expect I am. I’ll look stupid. And I could be causing so much trouble…..”

  Carol squeezed her fingers. “It won’t matter. Better to get it checked out. The police will check it out. Now, would you rather stay here until Ken gets back?”

  “No, I need to get back for Charlie. He had a long walk this morning, so I’m not taking him on the beach tonight. But I need to feed him before we go. We might be a while at the station.”

  “Tom would feed him for you. Why don’t you phone him?”

  Beth shivered, thought of his warm eyes, heard his deep voice, felt an ache deep inside. “No, it’s alright. By the time I’ve done that, I expect Ken will be back. I’ll wait for you.”

  Was it really still Saturday? And only six o’clock? How long ago it seemed that she had set off for Portchester, not just eight hours. The elderly couple in the pub garden, the young family, had that really been just a few hours ago? Beth drove home in a daze, parked the car, got out and locked it. Walked up the path and unlocked the front door. Called out to Charlie and walked into the kitchen.

  Chapter 14

  No Charlie. But she could see down the hallway, into the kitchen. No sign of him there, not in his basket or on his blanket on the sofa. And one of the kitchen doors out onto the garden was swinging open. Beth frowned. Surely she hadn’t left it open? She never did that when she went out. She always checked it. Always locked it. Had she left in such a hurry she hadn’t locked it or checked it? Couldn’t remember. It was the sort of thing you did automatically, having no memory of actually doing it. Like turning off the gas, unplugging the iron, driving the same route to work, to the shops, to a friend’s. How many times had she arrived at church, or at Gina’s, and had no recollection of actually driving there? It wasn’t a matter for concern. Everyone did it. It usually just meant you were preoccupied with other thoughts. And she certainly had been, when she had gone haring off to Carol’s. The only thought in her head had been to share her suspicions with her friend. But if somehow she had forgotten to lock it, it would still be closed, wouldn’t it? There were two French doors into the garden; one was always held back with a bolt, the bolt only slid back when she wanted to open both doors wide. The other door was unlocked with a key. Could she have left it open, could it have been blown open? No, it wasn’t windy, wasn’t even breezy. And where was Charlie?

  She went into the kitchen, stepped out into the garden and called him. No response. Called again.

  She gazed around the garden but no black bundle of hair bounded out from under any shrubs. The garden was silent, still. So, he wasn’t downstairs, he wasn’t outside. The garden was secure; there was no way he could have escaped. James Lamb had fitted a side gate to keep the little dog safe, at the same time as he had fitted the cat flap. Little rascal, he was probably asleep on her bed. He was probably exhausted from the long walk that morning. Though it was surprising he hadn’t padded downstairs when he heard her open the front door, head on one side, tongue hanging out. She turned to go back into the kitchen, held the doorframe as she climbed the step, and froze.

  A figure stood in the doorway leading to the hall. A dark figure standing still, face a blur of white. The light was behind Beth and the figure in shadow. Beth’s heart lurched, her mouth was dry, brain registered a slight figure, grey all over, from head to feet, clothes, hair. Apart from the white face. Then realised who it was.

  “Frances!” Bath gasped. “You scared me! What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  No answer. The woman stood there, eyes steely grey and cold, staring at Beth.

  Then “Sit down Beth” quietly.

  Bet
h stood in the doorway, frozen with fear. Two simultaneous thoughts….she was right and she was terrified. Turn; turn round, into the garden, run round the side of the house. Get away. Even as the thoughts screamed through her head and she started to move her stiff muscles, the other woman had moved silently across the room and grabbed her arm, gripping her, pulling her to the table and pushing her heavily down onto a chair. Beth’s spine slammed against the seat back and her head snapped back then forwards again, like a puppet. Her upper arm burnt from the other woman’s grip.

  “Sit!” Frances hissed. Frances had thrown something onto the sofa behind Beth. Now she picked up a pile of brown rags and yanked one of them round Beth’s middle, round again, then again, round her arms, tighter, ever tighter. Beth realised they were being knotted behind her back, behind the chair. Tights. They were nylon tights. And she was being bound to the chair with them, arms pinned to her back, twisted awkwardly up behind her, wrenching her shoulders from their sockets. Now Frances was scrabbling on her knees and Beth felt her ankles pulled apart and tights being wound round and round her ankles and the chair legs. Round and round, rubbing her bare ankles against the hard wood. Frances was breathing heavily. Eventually she stood back. “There. You’re not going anywhere now, are you Beth?”

  “Frances” Beth’s voice was shaking. Her head was swimming with fear, vomit rising in her throat. “Frances, what are you doing? Why? Please. Please don’t.”

  The other woman sat at the end of the table, sideways onto Beth. Her face loomed close to Beth’s and Beth felt faint at the expression in her eyes as she spat out the words.

  “But you know, don’t you? You saw? You know what I did?”

  Beth swallowed bile, felt it burn her throat. Blackness was filling her head; the room was spinning around her, Frances’s white face floating close, then fading.

  She nodded, her heart pounding, trying to leap from her chest. Forced herself to breathe, clear the darkness from her head, speak calmly. Talk to her. Isn’t that what you’re meant to do? Keep them talking, calm them down?

  “I think you killed Melissa. I think you made it look like a burglary and you killed her. You changed the flowers to hide the..the hammer.”

  Frances clapped her hands. “Well done Beth. The police are stumbling around, haven’t a clue, and you’ve worked it all out yourself. So clever, Beth!”

  “Not really” Beth swallowed vomit and forced herself to breathe slowly.

  “I might have worked out what you did, how you did it, but I don’t know why.”

  Frances’s face still rolled in towards Beth, then receded, like the waves on the beach. She stared at Beth, pale blue eyes watery and blurred.

  Why did you kill her, Frances? What had she done to you?”

  “What had she done?” Frances jerked, her head snapping forward, eyes focussed again. She leaned towards Beth and breathed in her face. “You ask what had she done.” Her voice rose, saliva sprayed into Beth’s face and she cringed back, closed her eyes, lightheaded and dizzy. This wasn’t calming Frances down. She was losing control, eyes wild, teeth bared, breathing heavily.

  “I’ll tell you what she did. Ruined this town, poisoned it, contaminated it. She was scum, scum and dirt. With her pretty face and pretty clothes, tossing her hair, smiling, laughing. Chatting up all the men, laughing at the women, pretending to be oh so friendly and all the time laughing at them, looking down on them. Helping with everything, offering paintings, as she’s so talented, clever, beautiful Melissa! And everyone thinking oh lovely Melissa, sweet Melissa, aren’t we lucky she moved here? No!” She slammed her fist down in front of Beth and Beth jumped, kept her eyes shut tight to avoid seeing the venom in the other woman’s eyes.

  “Ali wasn’t lucky, was she? When that tart started making eyes at her husband, charming him, flirting with him. All over him in her short skirts, low tops. Pushing herself in, taking over the gallery, pretending to be so sweet and friendly to Ali when really she was laughing at her for not being able to keep her own husband interested.

  And no one saw what she was up to! Except me.”

  Heavy breathing. Beth half opened her eyes, saw the woman next to her staring out into the garden, eyes glazed again.

  “Maggie wasn’t lucky either, was she? She didn’t want Melissa here. She could see what the bitch was doing as well. And Mark, stupid man, always at the whore’s house, how wonderful she is, giving us her paintings. So kind and generous. Oh yes, generous with her body. Even your Carol.”

  Beth’s eyes snapped open. No. Carol had never complained about Melissa, had always said what a breath of fresh air she was. Frances continued to stare ahead, her arms wrapped around her thin body.

  “Moaning to me how Ken was late again, showing that bitch around areas he thought she might like to live. Making him get home late. Always pestering him in his office, tossing her hair, flaunting herself in those trashy clothes. She was evil, pure evil, and none of you could see it. You were all too stupid to see she was laughing at us, ridiculing us.”

  Beth forced the dizziness away and tried to think clearly. What to say? If she argued with the woman, she would tip her over the edge. If she agreed with her, what then? But Frances wasn’t waiting for her to say anything.

  “Then she had the nerve to try and tell me how to arrange my flowers. Me! I’ve arranged those flowers for nearly thirty years! Oh Frances, have you thought of doing some simple arrangements, something stark but effective, one bloom, one leaf type of thing? I’ve got some photos, I’ll show you. These pedestal arrangements are quite old fashioned, aren’t they Frances?”

  Frances did a sickening impression of Melissa’s light, amused voice. Stared not at Beth but out into the garden, sitting back in her chair, eyes unfocussed, reliving the many slights and criticisms. “But she always made it sound as though she was helping, not laughing at me. Even Mark told me she had some good ideas to share with me, and weren’t we so lucky to have her? Have her!” She spat the words, swinging round to Beth again. “They could all have had her. She was anyone’s. And she didn’t care who it was. And poor Ali, watching her. Listening to her with her own husband.”

  The phone rang, making both women jump.

  “Just leave it. Whoever is phoning can leave a message.” Frances’s face loomed close to Beth’s again.

  The phone rang, six rings, then Beth heard her own voice, then a familiar voice, agitated and urgent. Carol.

  “Beth! Beth? Are you there? Oh bother. If you’re out with Charlie, phone me as soon as you get back.”

  Frances looked at Beth. “Lucky for Carol her husband has more sense than to get taken in by a tart! But Julian, stupid, stupid Julian. With a lovely wife like Ali. Taking that bitch all over the place, Portsmouth, Southampton, Romsey. Dressing himself up, ignoring poor Ali, neglecting her for that…that whore. And Mark, all excited, like a silly schoolboy. Oh he says, Melissa says why don’t we have an autumn flower show? Isn’t that a wonderful idea? Clever Melissa! I’ve suggested that year after year but no, it’s too close to the summer fete. Until she suggests it! And telling Tom he shouldn’t let me have free rein of his garden for my flowers. His garden, not hers! But she says I shouldn’t be able to wander around freely. But she can wander around Ali’s house! Oh yes, wander anywhere. Make herself comfortable in Ali’s bedroom, in Ali’s bed, with Ali’s husband. Julian, stupid man, brains in his trousers. And now Ali has gone. My one friend.”

  Frances’s face crumpled and her eyes filled with tears. Beth’s armpits and shoulders were burning where they were twisted backwards. She sat as still as possible to ease the pressure on her ankles but the position was causing her cramp, making her feel sick again. She looked at the woman sitting opposite her, at her grey face, tears rolling down her cheeks. She seemed to be shrinking, chin shaking, arms wrapped tightly around her.

  “Frances” gently “Frances, this has really upset you. You’re not well. Why don’t you untie me and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea and we can phone Docto
r Clarke. She’ll look after you.”

  Frances looked at her, eyes glazed and watery.

  “Am I ill? If I am, that woman has made me ill. I was fine before. Everything was fine. My lovely little town. I’ve lived here all my life, you know. I was born here. It was my parents’ house before. My father made the garden, set it out as it is now. I played in it as a little girl, loved it. I had my own little part to grow things in. Daddy used to help me. He said I had his green fingers. He made me a swing on the apple tree. I would swing and swing and watch him, gardening. And I was happy. So happy. Then after he and Mummy had gone, I still had my garden, his garden. And I kept it just the same. I looked after it so well. For Daddy. So he would be pleased and proud of me. And I was so happy here. I grew flowers for church. And had my friends. And it was good. Until she came.”

  Tears poured down her cheeks. “Until she came. Like a serpent in the Garden of Eden. Changing everything.”

  She was rocking now, backwards and forwards, hitting her arms on the table, her grey head sinking lower and lower. Beth fought back nausea, the pain in her shoulders and calves was making her head spin, black at the edges.

  Frances looked up at Beth. “She had to go, you know. I knew, as soon as Maggie told me she wanted to join the flower arranging group. I couldn’t have that, Beth. She would have poisoned that as well. She would have taken over and everyone would have said oh clever Melissa! Look at that! When you think of the boring arrangements poor Frances did. I couldn’t have that Beth. I had lost my only friend. All I had left was my garden, my flower arranging. Nothing else in my life. Nothing worth living for. I couldn’t let her take that from me as well, could I?”

  Glazed grey eyes stared at Beth, their expression chilling Beth to the core. “I couldn’t, could I?” She was mad, thought Beth dully. And none of us realised. And now it’s too late.

  “So you killed her.”