Chapter Sixteen

Ellie walked into the charity shop at five, noting that Ruby was closing up her boutique early.

The people who worked in the charity shop could have staffed MI5 without needing to be trained. They knew all about their neighbouring shopkeepers, and far more than their customers suspected about the lives and problems of everyone who shopped in the Avenue. If they had ever wished to turn their hands to it, they could have made an excellent living by blackmail.

But, with the glaring exception of Madam — whose snobbery and inefficiency were a byword — they were good-hearted men and women, working unpaid and often unthanked for charity . . . and also, let’s face it, for the fun of being ‘in the know’.

‘That Ruby?’ said Anita. ‘You want to know about her? Where shall we start?’ And to a customer, ‘Now, now. You know we can’t reduce our prices any further. This is a charity shop, remember.’

Anita left one of her mates in charge of the till, and beckoned Ellie through to the back room where they were sorting and pricing the piles of stuff which were given them by the public. ‘Take a seat, if you can find one. Here, move that pile of clothes . . . that’s it. Oh, this is Mae. New since your time. Mae, this is Ellie. She used to work here. She wants to know about Ruby.’

‘Why Ruby?’ asked Mae, a buxom wench with golden curls, sixty if she was a day.

‘Ellie’s our chief finder outer,’ explained Anita. ‘On the track of something nasty, are we, Ellie? Well, now. What do we know about Ruby? To start with, Ruby is something of a mystery woman. The word is that her father bought her a long lease of that shop some years back, after she got her divorce through and he went off to Australia — the husband, that is. Not the father. He’s loaded, we think.’

‘What’s the father’s name, do you know?’

‘Um . . . Mae, you used to work in the Post Office and saw all sorts. Do you know what Ruby’s name was before she got married?’

Mae said, ‘Never heard it. Never laid eyes on her till after the divorce, when she suddenly arrived, lease in hand, so to speak.’

‘Where does she live, then?’ said Ellie.

‘Now then, where does she live?’ wondered Anita. ‘She runs that nice little Peugeot, keeps it out front where she can see it all the time. Where does she live, Mae?’

‘Hanwell way, some place? One of those big houses which are usually chopped into flats, though I don’t think hers is, the way she talks about it. Lady Muck, tries to be. Can’t blame the husband for getting away.’

Anita seized a needle and thread and began sewing a leg back on a soft toy which looked as if it had been attacked with a sharp knife. ‘Now, who would know?’ She repeated herself. ‘Who would know? Ricky, at the beauty parlour. I’m sure she goes there. It’s the most outrageously expensive place in the Avenue.’

She handed the partly mended toy to Ellie and delved for a mobile phone in her handbag. ‘Ricky, is that you? Anita here. Can you talk for a moment? Got a small query. Do you know where our Ruby hangs out . . .’ She shrieked with laughter. ‘Apart from the Red Lion and the Duke of Kent, that is. No, I mean, what hole does she crawl back to when the pubs throw her out? . . . Oh, the wine bar in the Broadway, is it? I knew you’d know where . . . Hanwell, we thought. Somewhere down near the Butts, the really posh bit . . . mhmm . . . no! Who told you that?’

She shrieked with laughter again, and was still shaking as she switched her phone off. ‘He says he thinks her shop is a front for money-laundering for the Mafia, because she never seems to have any customers, but the stock keeps changing.’

Ellie smiled, but shook her head. ‘Now come on. That’s actionable.’

‘Only if it’s a lie. Anyway, Ricky says he’s seen her car in the Butts once or twice. He comes up that way from West Ealing, and if the main road’s gridlocked he goes through the back doubles.’

‘Narrows it down,’ said Mae, taking the mended item out of Ellie’s hands, and sticking a price on it.

‘So it does,’ agreed Ellie. ‘Many thanks.’

‘Any time. Care to come back to work here? One hour, two hours a week? Full time?’

‘In some ways I wish I could. I miss the shop — and all of you.’

‘Get along with you. Give our love to Thomas.’

‘I will.’ Thomas did get around, didn’t he?

Time to check in with Felicity and Roy. Wait a minute . . . she quickened her pace . . . Kate had said something about messages on Ellie’s answerphone that morning. She’d better get home and check them, and feed Midge and water the conservatory and garden. The rain the other morning had done some good, but it wasn’t enough to keep the plants going. It was very hot in the sun and the annuals in her garden would be feeling it. Felicity would be fine with Aunt Drusilla for a few hours.

Ellie’s house seemed undisturbed as she let herself in. There was a froufrou of mail inside the front door, but nothing to worry about. Midge — how did he manage to appear just as she returned? — arrived to wind himself around her legs. Armand or Kate had probably fed him but he would now demand to be fed again, just to make a point.

Yes, the answerphone light was winking.

She fed Midge first, then watered the conservatory and turned the sprinkler hose on in the back garden. She could hear Catriona chirruping in Kate’s garden and, looking through the gap in the hedge, saw that Kate and another youngish mother were watching over Catriona and a similar size small boy. Kate’s garden had once had a large water feature, but a covered sandpit under an awning now stood in its place.

Finally Ellie got herself a cool drink — she always kept a jug of water in the fridge, with slices of lemon floating in it — and listened to her phone messages.

The first was from her builder, saying he was about to go off on his holidays and he’d do the repointing of her front wall when he came back, if that was all the same to her. It was.

Then Bill. ‘Ellie, are you there? It’s . . . what time is it? . . . half past nine on Thursday night, a bit late to ring but I assume you’re not in bed yet.’

No, thought Ellie. I told him I was at Felicity’s, but he’s forgotten that, hasn’t he? Uh oh, wait a minute, he probably hasn’t got my mobile phone number.

‘Anyway, what I wanted to say was that I’d just remembered I’m at my junior partner’s for supper tomorrow night, Friday. He knows about you, of course, and wondered if you’d like to come along as well. I’ll pick you up at seven, shall I?’

Click, end of message.

Ellie said ‘Eeek!’ She consulted her watch. Was she really supposed to be going out for supper tonight? It was nearly six now . . .

Another phone message. Aunt Drusilla. ‘Ellie, just to say that I’ve offered to have Felicity stay here for the time being, but she won’t hear of it. She had a nap this afternoon and since then she’s been out in the garden helping Rose. Roy’s phoned twice to see how she is, and though she didn’t take his calls I am not displeased with the way things are going. I couldn’t make out if she was really in danger or not. On the whole, I think it would be good to take precautions. Better safe than sorry.’

Click went the phone.

Bill ringing again. ‘Ellie, did you get my message? Seven o’clock sharp. They live near me. I do hope you’re not off on another of your wild goose chases. Well, see you this evening. The time is now . . . oh, two p.m.’

Click.

Diana. ‘Mother, I know I said I could look after Frank this afternoon, but something’s come up. It seems his father doesn’t get back till tomorrow, now. So inconsiderate. But luckily, Frank likes coming to you. I’ll pick him up about six, all right?’

Click. Ellie groaned. It was after six now, so presumably — hopefully — Diana had checked with the school and retrieved her son in time.

The phone rang again as she was halfway up the stairs. She hesitated about returning to answer it, and decided to let the answerphone take a message.

Roy this time. ‘Ellie, are you all right? My meeting’s only just finished, and I’m on my way home. Mother says Felicity’s had a good rest and is looking much better, but I don’t think she should be alone in her house until things are sorted out, do you? I’m going to suggest I take us all out to supper somewhere local, and then I’ll doss down with her for the night. Pick you up about quarter to seven?’

Click.

Ellie took a deep breath and tried to sort out her priorities. If Roy was looking after Felicity, then she could go out with Bill — which she ought to do, anyway.

She found her mobile phone, and dialled Bill’s number. This time it was his answerphone that clicked in. ‘Dear Bill, sorry I didn’t get your message till just now — the time is . . . er . . . just after six. Yes, I’d love to come, and I’ll be ready as near seven as I can make it.’

Next she rang Aunt Drusilla. ‘Aunt, Roy’s been on his phone to me, I gather he’s on his way home at the moment. He suggested we all go out for supper somewhere but I’ve got a date . . .’

‘There is absolutely no reason for him to take us out,’ said Aunt Drusilla, who obviously didn’t want to be bothered going out for the evening. ‘Rose is preparing a special treat here for us tonight. Are you sure you can’t make it?’

‘Quite sure. But would you tell Roy that I think I’ve discovered where Mrs Alexis lives. She was working at the retirement home till this morning but has left that job. The only address they had was her old house — Felicity’s house. But she works for a woman called Ruby Hawthorne, who runs a dress shop in the Avenue, and it’s thought she lives in one of the big houses in the Butts, in Hanwell. I don’t know whether or not the police are ready to move in this matter, but perhaps if he told them where to find her . . . ?’

‘Good thinking. I’ll see that it’s done. Oh, here’s Felicity, wanting a word.’

Felicity’s pretty voice took over. ‘Ellie, is it you? I’ve had a lovely time here, but helping Rose in the garden just makes me think all the more about what I can do with mine when I get back. I’m determined to sleep there tonight, but . . . you will be with me, won’t you?’

‘I believe Roy intends to act as guard dog again, so you won’t need me, will you?’

‘If you don’t mind, Ellie, I’d rather have you and Roy. Rose says he sleeps like a top and is difficult to wake, and that’s the last thing I want if someone’s going to start creeping around the house at midnight. Besides, I don’t want to be alone with him in the house, do I?’

Felicity was trying to joke, but Ellie could hear the fear in her voice.

‘Very well, my dear. I’m dining out with some friends of Bill’s and will come on to you after that, all right?’

‘Bless you.’ Felicity hung up.

Before the phone could go again, Ellie rushed upstairs, stripped off and jumped into the bath, wishing there was time for more than a quick shower. Splash, splash. Run the dryer over her hair.

What to wear? She’d met Bill’s younger partner on several occasions, and liked him. What was his name, now? David something. David Webb. So far so good.

How décolleté did one go when dining out in the summer? Not very, perhaps.

In any case, there might be gnats in the evenings down by the river, and she was sure to get bitten because if anyone was going to be bitten, it would be her.

Perhaps she ought to have bought something suitable at Ruby’s boutique. Or perhaps not. Black didn’t really suit her. She pulled open her wardrobe door, and tugged various garments out. The rose-pink was too warm for a summer’s evening.

A pale blue with splodgy flowers on it . . . no, it made her look too pale.

A good white blouse with a bit of a plunging neckline never comes amiss, dressed up with some jewellery . . . a string of good pearls, rather old-fashioned but they suited her, her engagement ring. Her favourite floaty dark blue skirt, cut on the bias. The outfit looked a trifle too severe, perhaps? Well, tough. It would have to do.

High-heeled sandals. Bother, was that a ladder in her tights? Oh well, knee-highs would have to do. Better than tights in this hot weather, anyway. Where are the knee-highs? Mustn’t try to rush putting them on, or they’d be laddered for sure.

Brush out her hair. Dash on some pressed powder and that rather pale lipstick that she was trying to remember to replace with something a little darker . . . she did hope Diana managed to collect Frank from school . . .

Bill sounded his horn and she snatched up her evening bag, thrust necessaries inside, and ran down the stairs, clutching at the banister so she didn’t fall over in her high-heeled shoes. Only seven minutes late.

‘Dear Bill, what a lovely surprise date.’

He welcomed the peck on the cheek that she gave him, but was clearly annoyed that she’d kept him waiting. ‘I thought I said seven o’clock.’

‘You did. Sorry.’

She didn’t like this. She’d spent half her married life apologizing to people because she hadn’t measured up to what they wanted. It was a trap which was far too easy to fall into, even now.

‘Never mind,’ said Bill, patting her hand. ‘I know most women like to keep a man waiting now and then.’

The words ‘but don’t make a habit of it’ hung on the air, unuttered but understood.

David and his wife Janetta lived not far from Bill on the river. Their garden didn’t actually go down to the Thames, but in all other respects it was delightful. The house was rose-red brick, Georgian or early Victorian, with high ceilings and sash windows. There was no evidence of children around, and no expense had been spared in the décor. Ellie was reminded of Felicity’s next-door neighbour with her minimalist furniture and swimming pool in the back garden. David’s wife also reminded Ellie of skinny-thin Suzie, even to the glass of red wine in her hand.

‘Lovely to meet you at last,’ gushed Janetta, air-kissing Ellie’s cheek while assessing every item of her clothing and deciding it definitely wasn’t from Harrods. Janetta was wearing something so flimsy it looked as if it might take off any minute, and Ellie realized that she was under-dressed for the occasion.

There was another, similar type of fortyish-woman-trying-to-be-thirty, possibly divorced since she was wearing rings on her right hand but not on her left. ‘Come and meet Cilla,’ said Jannetta. ‘And this is a neighbour of ours, another Bill, I’m afraid.’

‘Bill Two,’ said Cilla, showing over-large teeth.

Ellie felt dizzy. ‘Second Bill?’

Everyone except Bill Two and Ellie laughed. Both of them smiled politely.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ said Ellie’s Bill. ‘I’m afraid Ellie was off on one of her wild goose chases.’

‘Oh, do you shoot?’ said Janetta, looking almost interested. ‘Red or white for you, Ellie? I know what Bill likes.’

‘No, I don’t shoot,’ said Ellie. ‘May I have a soft drink? It’s been such a hot day, and I’m really thirsty.’

‘Do you play bridge, by any chance? We’re looking for a fourth for next Wednesday.’

‘Sorry, no.’

Bill tapped her arm. ‘You’ll learn quickly enough. There are classes for beginners.’

Ellie made a mental vow never to learn to play bridge. Hadn’t she enough on her plate already?

‘It was so hot at Wimbledon,’ yawned Cilla. ‘And the tennis was deadly dull. I don’t know why I bother to go before the Finals.’

Tennis became the subject of the conversation. Ellie was not particularly up on tennis, but knew that you only had to listen with rapt attention to someone on their hobby horse, to be considered a delightful guest. So she listened. From tennis they passed to cricket, and these two subjects lasted them till supper, which was served in a garden room at the back of the house. Candles were lit on the table as Janetta conjured up dish after dish from the kitchen to oohs and aahs of appreciation.

‘A few of my favourite recipes,’ said Janetta, modestly.

Ellie cast her eye over the food, spotting that it had all been ordered from Waitrose. Clearly Janetta was no great cook. But what did that matter — so long as she didn’t try to pull the wool over her guests’ eyes? The portions were small, but that was fine by Ellie. Conversation flagged.

It was then that Bill Two asked the fatal question. ‘So what sort of goose chase were you on today, Ellie?’

Ellie’s Bill had had several glasses of wine while they waited for supper. He was pleasantly relaxed, and ready to poke fun at her. ‘Someone played a practical joke on one of Ellie’s friends, and she fancies the role of private detective.’

Ellie knew she’d blushed, but managed to keep calm. ‘No, of course I don’t.’

David Webb showed interest. ‘Now wait a minute. Didn’t you get mixed up in something nasty some time back? A case of poison-pen letters?’

Her Bill rolled his eyes. ‘This isn’t poison, but it sounds as if it involves an emetic. Big deal.’ The others laughed.

Ellie lowered her eyes. ‘This mousse is delicious.’

‘Intriguing,’ said David, pouring wine lavishly all round. ‘Tell us more.’

‘Yes, do tell us,’ said Janetta, her attention elsewhere. Was that a wasp hovering around?

Ellie’s Bill was not displeased to play the role of indulgent sponsor. ‘There was a mix-up with some bread rolls at a church function, and now everyone’s in a blind panic that they’re going to be poisoned, or murdered in their beds. Isn’t that right, Ellie?’ He was belittling her in front of the others. How could he!

‘Are you frightened of being murdered in your bed, Ellie?’ asked Cilla, amused and a little disdainful.

Ellie recalled Mrs Alexis staring at her across the road the previous evening. These people hadn’t seen the woman, and didn’t understand. Bill ought not to have made fun of her like that. He knew her better than anyone and he knew that although she could be a bit silly at times, she had seen something of the dark side of life in her time, and Mrs Alexis was as dark as they came.

She squared her shoulders, pushed aside a full glass of wine, and took a sip of iced water. ‘Very well, if we’re going to tell horror stories, let me tell you how this one started. One evening last autumn, a rich tycoon found a pizza on his doorstep. He ate some of it, disliked the taste, threw up. His dog ate some, and died. There were sufficient sleeping tablets in the pizza to kill more than one man. That’s Act One, Scene One.’

The rest of the table fell silent, as Ellie told them what efforts had been made to find the perpetrator, how suspicion had fallen on a certain woman, who had then disappeared leaving no forwarding address.

‘Then came the incident at church. Senna, possibly? Or something similar in the bread rolls, just as Bill said. Trivial? No. An elderly man, who had a weak stomach, died. A woman miscarried. There was no evidence at that point that the two incidents were linked, except . . .’

Ellie went on to tell of Felicity’s fear, the false trail that had led to Mrs Rivers, and then the information Ellie and her friends had gathered about Mrs Alexis’ past.

‘Husband, father, sister, gone. The dog, poisoned. The handyman Paddy, dead. Mrs Alexis has a motive for persecuting first Felicity’s husband, because he turned her out of her house. She has perhaps even more motive for persecuting Felicity, who’s taken it over. She’s haunting the place.

‘Now we think we’ve found out where Mrs Alexis can be found — she has a live-in post as a housekeeper — and we’re just waiting for the police to analyse the bread rolls. And then . . . well, that’s it, really. I’m no detective and don’t try to be. All I do is talk to people and sometimes they tell me what they know.’ Though she’d failed to get through to Ruby Hawthorne, hadn’t she?

By this time Janetta had cleared away the dessert dishes and put cheese on the table.

Bill helped himself to more wine. ‘Well, I’m glad you haven’t asked me to be involved this time, Ellie. It seems to me there isn’t a single piece of evidence to convict this poor woman.’

Cilla shuddered. ‘Poor creature, hounded from pillar to post.’

David Webb concurred. ‘There’s nothing in it, Ellie. No wonder the police aren’t rushing to act.’

‘I disagree,’ said Bill Two in his quiet way. He’d drunk less than the others. Ellie still didn’t know what he did for a living, but he had a look of understated competence about him, and she thought that he was probably very successful. ‘I think Ellie’s friend has every right to be worried.’

Janetta scoffed. ‘What, on the grounds that someone might have put a laxative in her bread?’

‘No, on the balance of probabilities. You can take each case on its own and dismiss it . . . but remember that in none of these cases have the police been called in. Suppose they had been? Would the verdicts still be ‘Misadventure’, ‘Accident’ or ‘Natural Causes’? Each time Mrs Alexis has had motive and opportunity to kill, and so far she’s got away with it.’

‘The husband gassed himself,’ said David Webb. ‘The father had gastritis, the sister fell down the stairs, Paddy took too much to drink . . .’

‘And the dog died of sleeping tablets. So let’s start with that death.’

‘Not proven, not proven,’ chanted Janetta.

‘True, but the balance of probabilities is that she did poison the pizza . . . do you agree?’

Everyone nodded, some reluctantly.

‘Good. Then add the death of the husband. Does that improve the odds? How about if we add the deaths of husband, father and sister? What do the odds look like now?’

‘Don’t forget the handyman,’ said Cilla, pertly.

‘Include the handyman. Include the second batch of rolls dumped on Felicity’s doorstep, include the fact that she seems to be haunting the place. What are the odds?’

‘I’m hopeless at maths,’ said Ellie. ‘But I think what you’re trying to say is that the balance of probabilities tips more every time you add in one of the “incidents” surrounding her.’

‘I could easily convince a jury that she did it,’ said Bill Two. ‘All of it.’

Ellie looked at her watch. ‘You’re saying that Felicity is in very real danger. I’ve promised to stay with her tonight, just in case. So I ought to be going, I’m afraid.’

Bill Two said, ‘If you survive the night in one piece, Ellie, go straight to the police in the morning, tell them everything you’ve told us, and insist that they get those rolls analysed straight away.’

‘We have been trying to get them to move but, yes; of course, they haven’t had the full picture, have they?’ She looked around at the others, who seemed set for the duration. ‘I’m sorry to break up the party — lovely meal, quite delightful — but perhaps I could ring Felicity, see if she can drop by to pick me up. Or get a taxi?’

Ellie’s Bill got to his feet with difficulty, looking disgruntled. He’d expected Ellie to be laughed at, and instead she’d been commended. Ellie wondered if he really liked her having taken the limelight for once. ‘The night’s young. You don’t have to go yet, Ellie.’

‘I’ll just crack open another bottle,’ said David Webb.

Janetta pouted, shrugged, smiled. ‘If you really have to go . . . what a shame!’ She didn’t really mean it.

Ellie put some warmth into her voice. ‘It was a really lovely evening. Thank you. Dear Bill, I’ll speak to you tomorrow, shall I?’

Janetta and Bill accompanied Ellie to the hall. As soon as the door was closed on the others, Ellie heard them burst into raucous laughter. Laughing at her? That hurt. She knew that if she’d left her own friends, they wouldn’t have laughed at her behind her back. Bill’s lips were twitching, but that may have had another reason. He made an inarticulate sound and lurched towards the downstairs loo. Ah. Bladder trouble?

‘Can you manage?’ asked Janetta.

Ellie said, brightly, ‘Of course I can. No need to stay with me, you know.’ She fished out her mobile phone, trying to get through to Felicity’s mobile. Switched off. She tried Roy’s. Ditto.

‘No luck yet?’ Janetta attempted to look as if she cared. ‘Shall I phone for a taxi for you?’

‘No, thanks. I’ll try my aunt’s landline.’

Janetta hung her hip on the hall table. ‘My dear, if you’ll accept a word of advice . . . if you’re going to marry Bill then . . . well, men like their women to fit in, don’t they? I mean, there’s no need to let yourself go, is there? A touch of hair colour would work wonders . . .’

Ellie wanted to die. Luckily Miss Quicke picked up the phone. ‘Aunt Drusilla, Ellie here. Have Felicity and Roy left yet? No? Well, tell them I’m on my way home to change and will get to Felicity’s in about . . . oh, half an hour.’

‘Taxi?’ said Janetta, inspecting perfect fingernails.

Ellie nodded. ‘I’ll get a cab to pick me up. No need for you to wait here, Janetta. Unless, of course, I can help you with the washing up.’

Silly of her. Of course Janetta would have a dishwasher. Also, she wouldn’t want Ellie to see the discarded supermarket packaging from the meal.

‘That’s all right,’ said Janetta, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Bill came out of the toilet, and seemed surprised to find her still there. ‘Shall I run you home, Ellie?’

‘No, no, Bill. You’ve enjoyed your wine, and we don’t want you being picked up by the police, do we?’

Ellie got through to the cab firm she always used, and said she’d be waiting outside on the doorstep. David Webb came to the door, calling for Bill to tell them some tale or other. Bill hesitated.

‘You go back in,’ said Ellie.

‘Are you sure?’ he said, looking relieved.

‘I’m sure,’ said Ellie. ‘It was a lovely evening. The taxi will be here in a minute.’ She went and stood outside till the cab came.

* * *

Mrs Alexis was puzzled. The old man had fallen asleep with the television full on. Well, there was nothing unusual in that. But he didn’t wake up to have his supper, and that was unusual. His bottle of sleeping pills stood on his bedside cabinet as usual. She picked it up. Had he taken one early, by some chance? She couldn’t be sure because she’d never counted them.

Ruby had come back to the house earlier on, but only stayed long enough to change into another of her evening out fits and check on her father before leaving again.

Perhaps he’d asked Ruby to get one out of the bottle for him earlier. The cap was difficult to remove, although he could manage it, if he tried hard enough.

He was still in his big chair by the window. Mrs Alexis drew the curtains, and wondered what was best to be done. If she left him in the chair, he might fall out of it and bump his head. Or even break a limb. Old people had fragile bones.

She pulled back the duvet on the bed, and with some difficulty manoeuvred him across the room and tipped him on to the mattress. It was lucky she was stronger than she looked. He snored gently as she lifted his legs into bed, and covered him over.

She left his soup handy in its thermos, so that he could drink it when he woke in the night.

There was something else she had to do before she went to bed. She lifted the handset of the telephone in the hall and dialled 999. ‘Police,’ she said, disguising her voice. When she got through, she made her voice go high and panicky. ‘Oh, please do send someone. There’s some horrid boys in the park playing with matches, and I’m afraid they’ll set fire to the litter bins, oh dear . . . who is it calling? Lady Kingsley, of course! I live just opposite the park!’

Mrs Alexis killed the call, and sat there, laughing. That had set the scene nicely. The police would go looking for some youths playing with matches, if all went as she planned.

Oh. She’d just remembered that she hadn’t used gloves when preparing her final weapon of destruction. She must go down and wipe the bottle clean before she went to bed . . . not that she’d be there for long, of course. Two o’clock, two o’clock and all’s going to be well.