The Silent Killer Page 2

  “It’s ridiculous,” Anthea said as the two of us were toiling away in Brunswick Lodge, the centre of all such activities, sorting out the things donated for the Red Cross auction. “It’s just like last year. And the year before. Maurice Freebody promised faithfully to come and help – and Norman Hastings. And who has to do it in the end – we do! Men!”

  “It’s not just those two,” I said crossly. “Sandra Lewis said leave it all to her and Robert, they’d see to it this year. And then they went off to Malta. Why do people promise these things? They must have had the holiday booked when she said it!”

  “Oh, Sandra Lewis!” Anthea exclaimed scornfully. “She’s completely unreliable. She offered to make the mince pies for last year’s Christmas concert and two days beforehand – two days, mind you! – she rang me up to say that they were having to go up to Nottingham to spend Christmas with Robert’s mother!”

  “Typical!” I dragged a large wooden box full of assorted china out of the way so that I could get at a pile of old records. “Some of these things are jolly heavy. All those big pieces of furniture have got to be taken upstairs and there’s no way we can do that.”

  “What we need,” Anthea said, conveniently forgetting her earlier condemnation of the sex, “is a man.”

  “Exactly. But who? Most of our so-called helpers are either not available or too old. We need new blood. Surely there must be someone who’s just retired – you know, fit and with lots of time.”

  Anthea considered this. “Well, there’s the Nortons,” she said. “They’ve just moved down here. From Reading, I think. They came to the Wednesday coffee morning last week. He looked quite strong.”

  I met them the following Wednesday. Anthea called me over.

  “Sheila, do come and meet Myra and Jim Norton.”

  “Lovely to meet you, Mrs Malory – or can I call you Sheila? Everyone seems to use Christian names now, I suppose it’s friendlier. Anthea’s told me so much about you.”

  Myra Norton was short and plump and, obviously, very voluble. Jim Norton was tall and, I imagine by necessity, fairly silent. He did, however, look suitably strong for the activities Anthea had in mind.

  “How are you?” I said shaking hands. “Have you been in Taviscombe long?”

  “No, only a couple of months. It took us all that time to get settled. Well, you know what it’s like, moving. You can never find anything and then one of the boxes went missing. It had all my tablecloths and dusters in it – you can imagine how inconvenient that was. I had a terrible time getting it back from the removers. And then, of course, the bungalow here is quite a bit smaller than our house, so it was really quite difficult to fit everything in, though I must say this place has a lovely lot of cupboards.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “The garden’s bigger though. I tell Jim there’s quite a lot to keep him busy.”

  “Not too busy, I hope,” Anthea broke in, “to lend a hand here at Brunswick Lodge.”

  “Oh yes,” Myra Norton said eagerly. “We’re looking forward to joining in things, aren’t we, Jim?”

  Her husband gave a wintry smile but didn’t commit himself. Obviously his consent was not considered necessary.

  “It’s the Red Cross auction,” Anthea said. “Just a question of another pair of hands to sort things out. Some of the stuff is quite heavy, furniture and so forth.”

  “Well,” Myra Norton said, “isn’t that a coincidence? I was saying to Jim only yesterday that we have a few things we really don’t have room for. There’s that corner cupboard, Jim, you know the one I mean, and the small chest of drawers that used to be on the landing – though, of course we don’t have a landing now, living in a bungalow!” She laughed heartily. “Yes, we’d be really pleased to donate those. I mean, if you put things in the sale rooms you never get anything for them, do you? So I’d much rather they went to a good cause.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” I said.

  “And of course,” Anthea broke in, “if you,” she turned to Jim Norton, “could very kindly give us a hand with some of the heavy stuff, we’d be most grateful.”

  “Well,” Anthea said with satisfaction as we were washing up after the coffee morning, “I think they’ll be quite useful. She goes on a bit, but they both seem very willing to help.”

  “I don’t think he’s got much choice in the matter,” I said, laughing.

  “Oh well,” Anthea said dismissively, “as long as he moves that furniture, what does it matter!”

  The Red Cross auction was very well attended. It’s always popular, partly because of the bargains to be picked up, partly because it’s become a social occasion, and partly because Tommy Hunter conducts the proceedings. Tommy, an auctioneer by trade, is a large, genial man with a fund of well-worn witticisms, and immensely popular in the district. To see Tommy in full flow at a cattle auction (his favourite venue) is to see a true professional at work. He’d got the proceedings well under way (the audience nicely warmed up with a selection of the terrible jokes that are his trademark) when I saw Sidney Middleton come in. I edged my way round to the back of the room to where he was standing.

  “Hello, Sidney, how splendid to see you.”

  He smiled. “I thought I’d just come along to see how it was going,” he said. “Dick and Marjorie Croft from the village were coming so they gave me a lift.”

  “I’m afraid your things have gone already,” I said. “They all fetched really good prices.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Have you decided yet what you want to do?” I asked.

  “No, not really. David’s very anxious that I should move before winter sets in.”

  “Oh, but Lamb’s Cottage is very cosy.”

  “It is a bit isolated, I suppose, if the weather’s bad.”

  “We haven’t had a really bad winter for ages,” I said. “All this global warming!”

  Sidney laughed. “Well, I’ll have to see. Good gracious, whatever is that?”

  Tommy Hunter was holding up a peculiar object made out of wrought iron. Its shape was amorphous and its purpose enigmatic. Even Tommy appeared to be baffled by it.

  “Now who’ll make me an offer for this excellent – whatever it is! One thing you can be sure of. If you buy this, you’ll be buying something really unique. Now who’ll start me off at ten pounds? All right, five pounds. Come along ladies and gentlemen – look at what you’ll be getting for your money. There can’t be another of these in the whole of West Somerset! Put it in your garden, frighten the birds away! That lady at the front! Five pounds? Right now, any advance on five pounds? You’re missing the bargain of a lifetime! No? All right then. Sold to the lady with excellent taste!”

  “Who on earth bought that?” Sidney said.

  I craned forward. “Goodness,” I said, “it’s Mrs Norton.”

  “Norton?”

  “Yes, Myra Norton. She and her husband Jim Norton have just moved down here.”

  Myra Norton, catching sight of me, waved enthusiastically – almost inadvertently bidding for a large copper coal scuttle. I waved back, more circumspectly.

  “That’s her,” I said to Sidney, “and that’s her husband, the tall, melancholy man standing behind her.”

  Certainly Jim Norton was looking particularly glum today – though I suppose in view of his wife’s recent purchase that wasn’t surprising. He leaned forward and spoke to his wife and then turned away from the bidding abruptly and walked out of the room.

  “Poor man,” I said, “he probably can’t bear to see what she is going to bid for next!”

  Sidney laughed. “It’s extraordinary what people will buy on occasions like this. They seem to lose all sense of reason!”

  “Thank goodness,” I said. “It’s all for a very good cause.”

  “It’s been really successful,” Anthea said the next day when we were clearing up. “Trevor said we cleared nearly three thousand pounds.”

  “That’s more than last year, isn’t i
t? And not too much stuff left over.”

  “A few of the old faithfuls,” Anthea said, holding up a pair of stag’s horns mounted on a wooden shield. “I think these will have to go to the tip this time – no one will buy them now – politically incorrect.”

  “I suppose so. Still, you never know. It seems a shame…”

  “Well, certainly that chair will have to go, it’s got woodworm and is really unsafe, and that box of ornaments and that ghastly firescreen.”

  “I’ll see if Michael can spare the time,” I said. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “No, it’s all right, there’s no need to bother Michael again. Jim Norton has a trailer and he’ll take all the junk things to the tip for us. He said he’d call in today and see what there was and whether he’d have to make several journeys.”

  “How splendid! Did he actually offer or did his wife offer for him?”

  “No, he came up to me after the sale and was quite chatty.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I was surprised. I think he wants to be involved in things as well as her. He was asking about the various people there and that sort of thing. I was quite pleased, he’s just the sort of person we need. And,” she added, “he knows all about electricity so perhaps we can get another point put in the kitchen, you know how inconvenient it is only to have the one.”

  “He sounds too good to be true!”

  We were just on the point of packing up when Jim Norton appeared.

  “Sorry I’m a bit late,” he said, “but Myra wanted me to help her move some things out of the shed.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Anthea said. “We’ve only just finished. Now then, these are the things to go. Do you think you can manage them?”

  He surveyed the various items scattered around and said, “I think they’ll all go in one load.”

  “Oh, that would be splendid,” I said. “Can we give you a hand with moving them?”

  “No, no, I can manage.”

  “So,” I asked, “what did you think of the auction?”

  “It was very well attended.”

  “Practically everything went,” I said, “even the more peculiar items. Sidney – that’s Sidney Middleton – was only saying how extraordinary it is how people will bid for anything!”

  “Oh, was Sidney there?” Anthea said. “I didn’t see him.”

  “He only popped in for a little while. Dick and Marjory brought him.”

  “Well, he was certainly right. That wrought iron thing your wife bought,” Anthea said with her usual lack of tact, “whatever was it?”

  “Myra thinks it’s a jardiniere. She’s going to stand plants on it on the patio.”

  “How clever of her to spot it,” I said hastily. “She must have a good eye for a bargain.”

  Jim Norton looked unconvinced.

  “Well,” Anthea said, “if you’re sure we can’t do anything to help we’ll be off. Just slam the front door behind you when you go. It’s a Yale lock.”

  “And thank you very much for all your help,” I said, anxious to keep this paragon. “It really is appreciated!”

  He mumbled something about it being nothing and began gathering the various objects together in a workmanlike way.

  “Well,” I said to Anthea as we were walking along the Avenue together, “he does seem to be a find! Let’s hope we can keep him.”

  Things seemed a bit flat after the auction, but as Rosemary said, the next Bring and Buy sale would be on us before we knew where we were and we deserved a little break.

  “So,” she said, “let’s go to Taunton next week and have a look at the sales. It shouldn’t be too crowded now that the schools have gone back.”

  “Oh yes, that would be nice. I’d like to get a few things for Alice – she grows so fast, and some of the children’s dresses are so pretty now.”

  “Which is more than can be said for the grown up ones,” Rosemary said. “Quite hideous!”

  We spent a happy morning walking through the department stores making disparaging remarks about some of the items on display.

  “Honestly,” Rosemary said, stopping in front of a shapeless garment in violent tangerine, “how could they imagine anyone would buy that, even in the sales?”

  “This is worse,” I said, taking a dress from the rack. “Lime green and purple zigzags – and look at the skirt!”

  “Ghastly!”

  “I mean,” I went on, “I know they’re meant for the young, but we wouldn’t have worn these things, would we, even in our giddy youth?”

  “Certainly not. In our day, thank goodness, there were dresses that actually made you look more attractive, not less!”

  “Come on,” I said, “let’s go up to the children’s department and find something pink and frilly.”

  Laden with parcels (in spite of any good resolutions I may make beforehand, I always get carried away in the sales) we collapsed into chairs in the café grateful for pots of tea and prawn sandwiches.

  “I’m not sure about that top I got for Delia,” Rosemary said, rummaging in the bag to refresh her memory of it. “I think they’re still wearing them with those glittery bits. But she’s practically a teenager now and she has to wear whatever her friends are wearing.”

  “Oh, I think it’ll be all right,” I said reassuringly. “I’m sure I saw one like that in the trailer on television for some sort of pop show.”

  “Oh well, we must hope for the best. You make the most of Alice while she’s small and doesn’t have an opinion on such things – it doesn’t last long!”

  Rosemary poured herself a second cup of tea.

  “It was nice to see Sidney at the auction,” she said. “I thought he looked very well. Surely there’s no need for him to go into a home, is there?”

  “No, of course there isn’t. It’s only the wretched David pushing him. Still, Sidney said he hadn’t decided yet, so perhaps he’ll stand up to David and stay where he is.”

  “It is a problem, though,” Rosemary said thoughtfully. “I suppose the time will come when we’ll have to do something about Mother.”

  “Surely not!”

  Rosemary’s mother, Mrs Dudley, has always seemed to me indestructible, immortal even.

  “Oh, she’s all right for the moment – she’s quite well and pretty mobile, and as long as she has Elsie she’ll be fine. But Elsie’s in her seventies now and won’t go on for ever, even if Mother does!”

  “I can’t imagine your mother anywhere except in her own home.”

  “She’d fight any sort of move every step of the way,” Rosemary sighed. “I can see battles ahead. I know she’s spent the odd week in West Lodge – mainly to keep up with the gossip there! – but I don’t think she’s ever seriously considered going in there permanently.”

  “Oh dear. I didn’t have that problem with my mother, of course. I mean, she was an invalid for so long but able to stay at home with us. It was only at the end that she had to go into a nursing home.”

  “There’s no way we could have Mother to live with us,” Rosemary said. “Jack would divorce me!”

  “Good heavens, no!” I said, shuddering at the thought of the battle of wills between those two strong-minded people. “It doesn’t bear thinking about!”

  Rosemary picked up a stray prawn from her plate and ate it.

  “Getting old,” I said, “I mean really old, is horrible. Do you think we’ll be as difficult to our children?”

  “Certainly not,” Rosemary said briskly, “we have much sweeter natures. No, we’ll be like poor Sidney, not wanting to be a nuisance, taking ourselves off to a retirement home at the first hint of feebleness.”

  “What a dismal thought,” I said. “Oh well, with that in view I’m going to have a slice of that delicious looking chocolate cake while I still can. How about you?”

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  “What on earth are you cooking?” Michael asked as he came into the kitchen.

  “It’s only F
oss’s fish,” I said, taking it out of the microwave. “Be an angel and open the window to let the smell out, will you?”

  “It’s a bit stiff,” he said, wrestling with the catch. The window flew open with a jerk and he examined the frame. “You really need to do something about these windows. Look, the sill outside is quite rotten.”

  “I know,” I sighed, “but it’s so difficult to find anyone who’ll do small jobs like that nowadays.”

  “I’ll have to send you Brian.”

  “Who?”

  “His name is Brian Thorpe and he’s been doing some work for us – some units for Alice’s room, somewhere to put her toys away and get them off the floor. He’s basically a carpenter, but he’ll turn his hand to anything.”

  “Goodness, he sounds too good to be true. How did you find him?”

  “Edward recommended him.”

  Edward is one of the senior partners in Michael’s law firm, as well as a good friend, and I’d take his recommendation on anything.

  “Well, I’d certainly be grateful.”

  “Oh, Brian’s wonderful!” Thea said when I was talking to her on the phone next day. “He’s a brilliant workman and so clever. He’s made one of the units in Alice’s room so that it doubles as a desk for her. She adores it. And he’s put up a marvellous corner unit for me in the kitchen – just the right height, and stepped shelves so that you can get twice as much in.”

  “He sounds brilliant.”

  “Oh, he is,” Thea said earnestly, “and he clears up after himself splendidly – never a speck of sawdust or anything.”

  “There must be something,” I said. “He can’t be that perfect. Does he play Radio One very loudly?”

  “Oh no – no radio. I did hear him humming the other day, but quite softly. Oh yes, and he and Alice were singing ‘Rock a’bye baby’ together when he was working in her room.”