Murder in Style (5 page)

And that's how he'd run up debts? That businessman at the crematorium … was he holding the widower's IOUs? Had he come to the funeral to call in the debt? No, no. Surely debts to a gambling club were collected by large men with LOVE and HATE tattooed on their knuckles? Men with thick necks and a thirst for destruction?

Ellie counted the number of cars in the driveway. There were too many to be accounted for by the immediate family. The high, taxi-looking one would be for the man in the wheelchair and his family. The sleek model for Ray, the slightly beaten-up one for Trixie's leather-jacketed agent – if that is what he was. The solicitor's car was the discreet, expensive-looking one.

Celine had asked to be dropped off by Charles, so the limo with the tinted windows would belong to the businessman, whoever he might be.

Ellie said, ‘Poppy was contemplating a divorce?'

Marika sighed. ‘With sorrow, yes. We only knew something was wrong when she put off refitting her kitchen and downsized on a holiday. We knew the business was all right, so we asked her what was going on. She said Ray kept promising to stop but couldn't, that it had become an addiction and that she wasn't sure how much longer she could continue to pay his debts. I don't know what she might have decided to do, but when Ray found out about the buy-to-let properties, it was like bursting the bubble …'

‘The boil,' corrected Gerald. ‘Like bursting a boil. Ray said that as she was worth so much more than him, she could well afford to pay for his “entertainment”. He said that if she drove him to divorce her, he'd be entitled to half of everything she had.'

Marika said, ‘We advised her to talk things over with Juno because a divorce settlement might affect The Magpie. She agreed. But then she died.' She put her hand on Gerald's arm. ‘We ought to go in?'

Gerald said, ‘I'd give a lot to turn tail and run for it, but yes; let's get it over with, shall we?'

T
he front door was ajar. Gerald pushed it open and walked in. Ellie followed, feeling awkward. She did not like gatecrashing a family ‘do'.

The hall was square with a tiled floor. The walls were also tiled to dado height. It was an old fashioned way of doing things but suited the house. The Lincrusta wallpaper above the dado had been painted a dull green. It was so out of date it was stylish, but it made the place rather dark.

The girl Trixie was already there, communing with a mirror on the wall as she tarted up her lipstick. She had flung her black coat over a chair, and was now revealed to be wearing a little black dress, expensive, very. From elbow to wrist she tinkled with a dozen fine silver bracelets. Dangly silver filigree earrings. Heavy rings on the fingers of each hand. Leather Jacket was at her elbow, whispering in her ear.

Gerald made an effort. ‘Trixie, love. How are you doing?'

Trixie stretched her scarlet mouth into and out of a smile. ‘Hello, Gramps. Hello, Gran. I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me.' She walked off through a door at the back of the hall with Leather Jacket at her heels.

Marika and Gerald followed but Ellie hung back because she really needed to use the toilet. There was a door ajar on the left? Ah, yes. Thank goodness.

When she came out, the hall was empty but the murmur of conversation and the clink of glassware came from a room at the back of the house.

Ray appeared in the doorway, fidgeting with his gold watch. A very good watch, worth a few thousand pounds. ‘Oh, there you are!' Speaking direct to Ellie. ‘You're late! We've given everyone a drink, but they want their faces fed. The stuff's in the kitchen. Make sure the coffee's hot. I'll send Clemmie out to help you.' He turned back into the room.

Ellie realized she'd been taken for a waitress. She was not affronted but amused. And, it gave her an idea. She hadn't liked the thought of being introduced as the head of a charitable trust on such a difficult occasion, but hardly anyone ever looked at a waitress's face and she was wearing midnight blue instead of the more usual mourners' black. If she adopted the role which had been given her, she'd be practically invisible at the forthcoming family reunion … a reunion which might well end in tempers being lost. When tempers are lost, truth sometimes pops out of hiding, and she'd be in the front row of the stalls to see it happen. Gerald and Marika knew her, but if she avoided meeting their eyes …?

The coffee and cream girl – Clemmie? – came out of the main room to give Ellie a fleeting, social smile. ‘The kitchen's this way. Thanks for helping out.' Clemmie also wore a black dress, but it was neither very expensive or new. She wore one, rather old-fashioned, brooch. Pearls, set in gold. A gift from a relative? From Poppy, perhaps?

Clemmie continued to talk as she led the way. ‘Uncle Ray says their usual cleaner laid everything out before she had to go on to another job. He did ask her to find someone else to help us out. Thank goodness you could come.'

A large, black and white kitchen, with a slightly tired look. Ellie remembered Poppy's plans to update it had been scotched by the need to pay Ray's debts. There were trays of sandwiches under clingfilm on the central unit together with thermoses marked ‘Water', ‘Coffee', and ‘Tea'.

‘Milk is in the fridge, I expect,' said Clemmie, foraging. ‘Can you lay the sandwiches out on those big plates and take them round? There's some plastic gloves on the counter over there. My aunt was very keen on hygiene in the kitchen.' She stood still for a moment, swallowed hard, attempted a smile, and resumed. ‘There should be a hostess trolley somewhere … ah, here it is. Are there plates and napkins …? Yes. I'll load up with the cups and saucers and thermos flasks and deal with the drinks, if you can cope with the sandwiches.'

She disappeared and Ellie set to work on the sandwiches, transferring them to large serving platters.

So the girl of mixed race was Clemmie, who was Poppy's niece and Juno's daughter … but not, presumably the daughter of Juno's husband … unless the man in the wheelchair was not Juno's husband?

Ellie thought that Clemmie was being treated like a servant. An au pair, perhaps? But not like a daughter of the family. Not like Trixie, who was obviously not going to lift a finger to help.

What was going on in this family?

Ellie finished filling one platter, and started on the next.

Clemmie returned. ‘I forgot the sugar. How are you getting on?'

‘Nearly done,' said Ellie, putting the last touches to the second platter. ‘I'll follow you in, shall I?'

‘Most of them want alcohol, not tea, but my mother doesn't touch alcohol and neither does Celine. If you come across any used plates and glasses, would you bring them out and stack them in the dishwasher?'

Ellie didn't think she'd be able to pass herself off as an agency waitress for very long, but she nodded and followed Clemmie through the hall and into a big sitting room at the back of the house. The room was large but seemed full of people; some were restlessly moving around, talking in low voices; others sat in silence, staring into space.

The fireplace was elaborate and probably authentic – more tiles here – but it was dwarfed by an enormous plasma television placed directly before it. In front of that matching settees, which probably faced the television on other days, had been angled to face into the room instead. Each one was attended by a glass-topped coffee table.

Gerald and Marika had seated themselves on one of the settees with the solicitor, whose face was giving nothing away. The senior Cordovers looked grey and drawn. Suffering. Gerald and Marika waved Ellie's offer of sandwiches away without looking at her. The solicitor also declined, with a shake of his head and a glance at his wristwatch. Did he have another funeral to go to? Or was he just anxious to get the reading of the will over and done with?

On the companion settee were Juno, and Celine from The Magpie, hands tightly clasping one another. Truly grief-stricken. Both wore gold wedding rings but no other jewellery.

Juno was wearing the very minimum of make-up but her beauty was ageless. She outshone even her own daughter, who was also beautiful in her own way. As Ellie offered sandwiches, she was struck by the notion that Juno was unwell. Possibly feverish? Or in pain?

Ellie wondered why she'd thought that.

Celine urged Juno to eat something. ‘It will do you good.'

A slight smile. A shake of the head.

Ellie passed on to Juno's husband, who sat in his wheelchair beside them, looking bony, bored but also … pleased with himself? Hiding amusement? He had heavy-lidded, pale grey eyes, which were constantly shifting, working the room. His triangular face was pale, from a lack of fresh air? He was wearing an expensive silk and mohair mixture suit, and a silk tie. His hair had been cut by a master, his nails were manicured and his shoes shone with glossy polish. He'd spent money on himself. He took three sandwiches without looking at Ellie.

Trixie, the daughter of the house, and Leather Jacket stood close to one another in one of the windows. He was whispering to her. Advice as to her future, or love talk? Both held cut-glass tumblers, half full of … what? Whisky? Leather Jacket took a stack of sandwiches, Trixie nibbled one.

Ray, the widower, had a cut-glass tumbler in his hand, whose contents he drained as Ellie approached him. He handed her his glass, asking her to fill it up again. She sniffed. Whisky, neat. She thought he'd probably had enough to drink already but there was a drinks cabinet open at the side so she located the whisky bottle and did as he asked.

Ray was talking, partly to himself and partly to his friend the businessman, saying how much he was going to miss his darling wife. The businessman sat on his plump behind, a solid, almost menacing, presence. He was listening to Ray but his small, blackcurrant eyes roamed the room, lingering on Trixie, who was apparently unaware of him. Or was she? If he were a friend of the family then surely she should be making an effort to talk to him? The businessman consulted his watch. Time was money, et cetera. He took four sandwiches, which disappeared into his fat-lipped little mouth, leaving not a crumb behind.

Clemmie, dry-eyed, offered coffee or tea to everyone but Ray. Wise child.

Somewhere a clock chimed the hour, and Ray held up his glass. ‘A toast! To my darling Poppy!'

Everyone drank, from glass, coffee or teacup … or mimed drinking from empty cups if they had nothing left to drink.

Ellie slid on to a high-backed chair in the shadow of the drinks cabinet, hoping no one would notice her. Which they didn't. From this vantage point she surveyed the room. Yes, it was clean and tidy, but already there was evidence that the mistress of the house had departed; a picture hung crookedly, there was a dead plant in a pot, a film of dust on the glass of the coffee tables and an untidy stack of old newspapers and magazines which ought to have been put in the recycling bin.

From where she sat, Ellie could see everything without being seen. She saw Ray take his daughter Trixie's elbow and say, ‘Get that fellow of yours out of here. Family only for the reading of the will.'

Trixie smiled sweetly. ‘He's my future. He stays.'

Ray reddened. He turned on Celine. ‘Well, you're not family!'

Juno started. She said, in a tired voice, ‘Oh, let it go, Ray. Hasn't Celine been part of our lives for years? Poppy would have wanted her to be here and I'd like her to stay.'

Ray didn't bother to ask the businessman to leave, but dragged a chair forward and seated himself, gesturing to the solicitor to proceed. ‘So, let's have the good news, then!'

The grey man produced a folder tied up with pink tape, and opened it. ‘This is the last will and testament …'

Ellie tuned him out. She knew what was coming. Who else knew? She scanned faces. The senior Cordovers knew but were giving nothing away.

Juno knew, but she seemed to have removed herself from the scene. Once again Ellie wondered if Juno were sick. She seemed uninvolved. Ellie wasn't even sure Juno was listening. Did she not know, or did she not care that this was the only will Poppy had ever made? Did she not realize everything came to her?

‘I appoint as executor …' So Poppy had appointed the solicitor as sole executor? Not a bad decision. And the date was … ‘On the twelfth day of May 1999—'

‘What!' Ray, laughing. ‘All that time ago? That can't be right!'

‘On the occasion of the signing of the agreement for the partnership to be known as The Magpie—'

‘You mean, she made this will when they first started up in business?'

The solicitor gave a stately nod. ‘When the partnership was formed and the business was put on a formal footing, yes. Two years after they first started The Magpie. When two people enter into a partnership, it is common practice for them to make wills in one another's favour, so that the business may proceed if one partner is, er, lost.'

‘You mean, she left the shop to her sister?'

‘That is correct. Together with everything else she might possess at the time of her death. In the event of Juno predeceasing Poppy, then everything would have gone to Gerald Cordover, her father.'

Ray wasn't worried yet. He even looked slightly amused as he turned on his sister-in-law. ‘Juno, did you know she was going to leave the shop to you?'

Juno roused herself. ‘Well, yes. I suppose so. We signed identical wills, leaving everything to one another. Nineteen ninety-nine. Yes, that would be about right. I haven't done anything about updating my will. I know I ought to.'

The man in the wheelchair smiled, showing very white teeth. ‘Yes, my dear. You really must.'

Ray looked uneasy for a moment, then grinned. ‘Well, if Juno gets the shop, I suppose I get the houses and her portfolio of shares.'

‘Er, no,' said the solicitor, unperturbed. ‘This house is in her name, is it not? I have done the conveyancing for all the houses owned by the sisters, either for private or for business purposes. The deeds for the private houses have always been in the names of Poppy or Juno alone. This house is in Poppy's name.' He twitched a smile, signalling that he was about to make a joke of sorts. ‘Mrs Cocks always made the excuse that you were having a minor problem with the bank at the time.' The smile faded. It wasn't much of a joke.