Page 39 of Murder Most Haunted

According to Dr Andrew Mortimer, Rona’s ankle wasn’t broken. It was a bad sprain. Rona teared up at the announcement as they all stood in her room waiting for the doctor to finish examining her.

‘I’m so sorry, I feel like I’ve caused a drama over nothing.’

She was disappointed in the reduction of the injury, Midge could tell. A dreadful fuss was exactly what Rona lived for.

‘Not at all,’ said Harold, who had taken the opportunity to sit down in the chair after the long walk back through the snow carrying her. ‘A sprain can be just as painful.’ He held his hands out to the open fire and rubbed them together for warmth.

‘You will still need complete bed rest, to take the weight off,’ said the doctor. He was less abrupt when dealing with an actual patient, at least that was until Harold said, ‘Shouldn’t we try and get her to hospital?’

Dr Mortimer visibly bristled. ‘To what end, precisely?’

‘I don’t know,’ shrugged Harold. ‘An X-ray or something.’

‘I told you it’s not broken,’ said the doctor. ‘And how do you propose to get her there? And what in God’s name are you wearing?’ he added, glaring at Noah.

Noah sighed and pulled his fur robe closer. ‘It’s cosplay.’

‘It’s fucking ridiculous is what it is,’ said the doctor, snapping his medical bag shut.

‘I can’t stay in bed all day,’ moaned Rona. ‘I’ll be bored out of my mind.’

Midge agreed. For the briefest of moments, she tried to imagine what it must be like, being in bed all day.

This had only ever happened to her once in her life, after the baby incident.

Even when she was a child, she had always been an early riser.

In fact, it was a mystery what all these people found to do with their time under the bedcovers without getting pins and needles.

‘I’ve got a pack of playing cards in my room,’ suggested Harold. ‘I could go and fetch them later for you?’

Rona grumpily agreed before leaning back in the bed with her eyes shut. ‘I did see her, you know? The White Lady of the Moor.’

‘Did you lose consciousness at all, Rona?’ the doctor asked.

‘Only when I saw I was sitting in a graveyard.’ Rona gave a groggy smile.

‘We don’t know what type of bones they were,’ said Midge.

‘Harold said it was a sheep,’ said Rona.

‘Maybe,’ nodded Midge. The bones had certainly belonged to something small.

‘I saw her, she wanted me to follow.’ Rona winced in pain.

‘What did she say to you? The ghost?’ asked Noah.

Rona looked out of the window for a bit before replying, ‘Well, it wasn’t so much what she said . . . I can’t really explain it. She seemed so sad and I just had this sense that I had to go with her, but then I fell over.’

Midge frowned. ‘Did you trip or did something hit you?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course,’ replied Midge. ‘These things always do.’

Rona rubbed at her head. ‘It’s all a bit of a blur, really. One minute, I was trying to find her again and the next, I was on the ground. I must have tripped on the . . . on the . . .’ Her lip started to tremble as she tailed off.

‘Was she dressed in white?’ asked Noah.

‘Yes . . . I told you, it was the White Lady!’ Rona frowned.

Despite the heavy layering of perfume in the room, there was another familiar smell that kept wafting over Midge as she sat by the window.

It seemed to be coming from the cushion underneath her, which was unexpectedly lumpy.

Wrinkling her nose, she inserted her hand underneath the corner and rummaged around.

To her amazement, she pulled out a bulb of garlic.

And then another. Turning towards the glass, she was confused to see several rows of individual bulbs standing to attention against the windowpane.

‘Have you been eating all of this garlic?’ she asked.

Rona immediately looked sheepish and began to fiddle with the bedcovers.

‘Oh my God . . .’ cried Noah, who had noticed the bulbs. ‘Have you been trying to ward off the White Lady?’

‘I thought that smell was Harold,’ said the doctor.

‘None taken,’ glared Harold. ‘How are we supposed to have spag bol tonight if she’s got all the garlic up here?’

‘You leave that garlic where it is!’ wailed Rona. ‘I’m not taking any chances. I saw her with my own eyes. Charles Atherton saw her and he died, Rendell saw her and now he’s dead . . . obviously I’m next.’

‘You do realize she’s not a bloody vampire, don’t you?’ asked Noah, his eyes wide.

Rona opened her mouth to reply but Midge interrupted her, ‘It wasn’t a ghost that killed Rendell, and nor was it a suicide.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Harold.

‘The weapon,’ said Midge. She stroked her knee, which was still throbbing. ‘Or the letter opener, to be more accurate.’

‘How long have you known it was a letter opener?’ asked Rona.

‘Ever since I saw Rendell using it to open envelopes with,’ said Midge.

‘No, I mean . . . what letter opener?’ frowned Rona.

‘The missing letter opener that I’m assuming was used to slit Rendell’s throat.

The puncture wound was too small for the razor that was left on the bath.

That was a misdirect. And another thing, the point of entry was on the left of his neck,’ replied Midge, keeping her eyes on the garlic as she became uncomfortably aware of everyone staring at her.

‘You noticed that?’ asked Harold. ‘With all that blood?’

‘Of course. It indicated that the throat was slashed from the left to the right.’ Midge made a slashing motion with her hand. ‘From memory, Rendell used his left hand to hold the opener the last time I saw him use it. He also used his left hand to unlock the front door when we arrived.’

‘So, he was left-handed!’ said Rona, excitedly.

Midge nodded. ‘Around eighty per cent of people hold scissors and suchlike in their dominant hand. We can assume that if Rendell really was attempting to cut his own throat, he would have been holding the tool in that hand and the direction of the wound would have followed right to left.’

‘So, what?’ Harold put his head to one side as he thought. ‘Someone was behind him?’

Midge flushed, unused to holding people’s attention for so long. ‘The direction of the wound would strongly suggest that the cut was made from behind.’

‘So, where’s the letter opener now?’ asked Rona, her eyes wide.

That’s a very good question, thought Midge. Find the letter opener, find the murderer.