Page 2 of Murder Most Haunted

The coach was two minutes late. Not enough to annoy the rest of the assembled group despite the cold weather, but long enough to bother Midge, who had arrived fifteen minutes early in the hope of securing a seat close to the back so that she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. She needn’t have worried.

There were only four others in their party and ten pieces of luggage.

Two expensive, black canvas suitcases belonged to a smartly dressed couple in matching sheepskin coats.

They were about Midge’s age, and stood slightly off to the side talking between themselves.

The man was also carrying a black leather medical bag, which Midge hadn’t added to her luggage tally, given its professional function.

Five leopard-print cases of varying size surrounded a thirty-something female, who had introduced herself as Rona, without even looking up from her phone.

The final pieces, aside from Midge’s own navy hostess suitcase, were a mismatched red suitcase with its keys still attached to the lock alongside a well-travelled green rucksack, both of which were being hovered over by a nervous young man dressed in so much black that Midge wondered if he had just come from a funeral.

‘We’ll be picking up a couple more at the services,’ explained Rendell from the coach steps.

She had recognized him immediately. True, the trousers were a little snugger around the waist, the skin more sagging and mottled, but the Scottish accent, wavy hair and overwhelming scent of cigars hadn’t changed.

Nor had the smarminess.

‘Lovely people! Gather round.’ He turned and shouted up to the coach driver, ‘Jesus Christ, Harold, you’ve parked in the middle of the road.

I’ll need a gang plank to get this lot on, what’s the matter with you?

’ As they waited for the door to fully open, he added, ‘Hurry up, now, come . . . come, I won’t bite, unless you want me to! ’

For a split second, Midge wondered if she was supposed to inform him that biting of any kind would not be acceptable, but he continued to wave them closer without actually leaving the warmth of the coach’s heater system. ‘I’m John Rendell, the owner of Haunting Holiday Excursions.’

The group, apart from Midge, all murmured back their hellos from the cold pavement.

‘I have the honour of being your tour guide for the weekend.’

For reasons that were unfathomable to Midge, this announcement elicited a scattering of applause.

‘Word of warning,’ continued Rendell, pointing up at the dark, grey sky.

‘We’ve been told it’s heavy snow forecast for the weekend, so let’s hope you’ve all packed something to keep you warm at night.

’ He raised an eyebrow at the young female on her phone.

She had bright pink hair, which was topped off by a leopard-print jumpsuit that coordinated with the indecent number of bags crowded around her.

The leopard suit covered the sort of figure that Midge felt men appreciated, certainly if the furtive glances of the young fellow in black were anything to go by.

Rendell was interrupted by the driver (an elderly man with an unusually thick head of hair wearing a Christmas jumper of two indecently positioned reindeer), who pushed past to climb down the steps. ‘This is Harold,’ said Rendell.

‘Morning all!’ the man smiled. His eyes drooped slightly into the corner folds, which distracted Midge enough to stop her pointing out that, due to his tardiness, it was in fact now afternoon.

‘If you take your suitcases over to the back end of the coach, he’ll load your baggage on,’ said Rendell.

Not Midge’s. She had her suitcase firmly grasped in her hand and didn’t have the slightest intention of releasing it to a man wearing a jumper with two fornicating reindeer on it.

It had been all very well for Bridie to urge her to ensure she had clothes for ‘every occasion’, but she’d disappeared off to the shops before Midge could ask her exactly what that meant.

Left to her own devices, she’d opted for two police-issue navy jumpers and a pair of walking trousers, while her travel outfit consisted of brogues, casual slacks and a blouse that Maureen in finance had once said was a nice cut.

She had, of course, packed all the new ‘ladies’ – it would have been unfair to leave one behind.

Six handkerchiefs, each with their brightly embroidered canaries, tucked snugly into the case.

She had given the one with the mistake to Bridie for her chemotherapy session.

In a last-minute fit of daring, Midge had thrown the rainbow smock in as well, and then had needed to sit down for a minute or two to recover, which was long enough for her to realize that the only other shoes she had to wear with the smock were her old police boots that she had packed in the event of snow.

‘Best do the rest of the introductions on the coach, hadn’t you?’ said Harold, rubbing his hands together and revealing a number of black tattoos across his knuckles which starkly contrasted with the ghostly band of a displaced wedding ring. ‘Freeze the balls off a brass monkey out here.’

‘The brass monkey is a brass plate on the deck of a ship used for storing cannonballs,’ Midge informed the group, remembering Bridie’s advice to make an effort with conversation.

She cleared her throat. ‘So the balls in question are not, in fact, the reference to primate genitalia that many people assume.’

Harold stared at her before attempting to lift one of the cases. ‘Blimey, what’ve you got in here, mate, a dead body?’

It was the red case belonging to the boy in black. ‘My recording equipment,’ he said, rushing forward to stop Harold bouncing it across the pavement. ‘Careful! It cost a lot.’

Unable to help herself, Midge’s eyes were drawn to the handwritten label on the suitcase.

IF LOST PLEASE RETURN TO:

NOAH CAMBER

C/O THE CAMBERS

THE WINTERBOURNES

LEAMINGTON

‘Recording?!’ said Harold, straightening his back. ‘Are we going to be on the television?’

Which is when the young woman who had identified herself as Rona finally looked up from her phone and said, ‘I most certainly hope not, I’m supposed to be incognito.’ She appealed to Rendell, ‘My PA was very explicit about that in her emails to you. No one must know I’m here.’

‘Did she tell you it was a safari?’ asked Midge, pointing to the leopard print, thinking that perhaps would explain the camouflage.

‘I knew I recognized you! You’re Rona RX, the pop star, aren’t you?’

Midge turned to stare at the woman who was speaking. It was the well-groomed sheepskin lady, whose pearl earrings now emphasized the red flush of her ears brought on by the sudden attention.

‘My son . . . loves . . . loved your music,’ the woman fumbled, while her gloved hand reached for that of the man next to her.

‘Rona RX is dead,’ replied Rona, pulling a pair of Gucci sunglasses down over her eyes even though Midge had already begun to feel the touch of sleet on her cheeks. ‘It’s just Rona now.’ There was the faintest upper-class enunciation to her throaty voice as she spoke.

‘A pop star, eh?’ whistled Harold. ‘Wait until I tell my Linda.’

Rona grimaced before suddenly pointing a finger at Noah’s suitcase. ‘Look, if he’s got something heavy in there, I don’t want it squashing my shoes!’

‘It’s nowhere near your shoes,’ said Harold, frowning.

‘No, that suitcase.’ She pointed at one of the leopard prints. ‘It’s all my shoes. They go everywhere with me.’

‘That entire suitcase?’ said Midge, who was glad she had kept the ladies with her, unable to bear the idea of them being squashed.

‘Fifty pairs,’ nodded Rona.

Noah was back clucking over Harold as he pushed the suitcases into the hold. ‘It’s not TV equipment,’ he was explaining. ‘I’m a podcaster.’

‘Pardon?’ said Harold, levering the suitcase up for one last shove, causing Noah to wince.

‘Like a radio show,’ he explained.

‘Oh?’ Harold straightened up, raising an eyebrow. ‘Do you do requests and things?’

Noah shook his head. ‘Uh, no. Nothing like that. It’s a show about the paranormal.’

Harold was disappointed. ‘That’s a shame. I love a bit of the golden oldies . . . any of the big band stuff . . .’

To Midge’s surprise, the driver suddenly burst into song, the air condensing into dismal puffs in front of him.

‘Parom pa dom . . . pom-pom . . . parom—’

‘Harold!’ Rendell’s voice cut through the noise, his face dark with irritation. ‘Stop fooling about, we’re behind the departure schedule.’ He flashed a smile towards the rest of them. ‘If you’ve handed your bags over to Harold, please find your seats.’

‘Yes, boss!’ Harold gave a mock salute and smiled at Midge, who was left standing next to him as the others moved back along the pavement.

‘Leather trim on this leopard-print one is fake . . .’ he muttered, shaking his head, throwing the last of Rona’s cases on board. ‘I bet there’s nothing about her that’s real, if you get my drift . . .’ He winked back at Midge, causing her to blink in alarm.

‘I prefer my women a hundred per cent authentic,’ he continued, grabbing at his sizable man breasts in case she was in any doubt as to what he meant.

‘But not your own hair?’ enquired Midge, purely out of curiosity.

Harold was still smoothing his toupé as she made her way to the coach steps, determined to get to the back seats first.