Page 47 of Murder Most Haunted

Bridie raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been playing tarot cards, Midge? Was it you that hit your head or Noah?’

‘Midge turned over the Death card for her love option, in fact,’ said Rona.

Bridie and Rona stared at each other for what seemed, in Midge’s opinion, a very long time.

‘Could mean anything, of course,’ shrugged Rona.

‘Midge, leave some for the others!’ Bridie smacked Midge’s hand away from the bread that Noah had proudly placed on the table. Rona raised her eyebrows at Midge before leaving the room.

‘Enjoy your supper, ladies.’ Noah and Harold took their food into the drawing room, considerately leaving Midge and Bridie alone to eat theirs. As usual, Bridie didn’t have very much which, of course, made Midge self-conscious when it came to her own portions.

‘I’m surprised you and Rona are friendly,’ Bridie commented, as she sipped some water after they’d eaten and done the washing-up. No one had reappeared to help, of course.

Midge put her plate away with a sigh. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you just seem very different.’

Midge considered this. ‘In what way?’

Bridie took another sip. ‘Well, she’s so glamorous and a little bit OTT, don’t you think?’

Midge shrugged, experience having taught her that in these situations, it was best not to say too much.

‘And since when have you been friends with drug addicts?’

There it was.

‘Recovering,’ replied Midge. ‘She’s in recovery.’

‘If you say so.’ Bridie pursed her lips together.

Midge thought about Bridie’s words. Was Rona using again? She had been acting differently today, but then everyone was understandably nervous because of what had happened. ‘I have no evidence that she is high,’ replied Midge.

Bridie opened her mouth and then shrugged. ‘OK.’

Suddenly Midge didn’t want to talk any more, but she didn’t really know why. Fortunately, Bridie yawned and said, ‘I think it would be a good idea to go to bed now.’

For some reason that she couldn’t explain, a small stubborn part of Midge didn’t want to go to bed purely because she had been told to. She heard the grandfather clock chiming 10 p.m. from the hallway. ‘It’s only ten,’ she said, taking her glass to the sink and refilling it.

Bridie frowned and looked at her watch. ‘No, it’s ten thirty. The clock must be slow.’ She held out her arm. ‘Shall we, old girl?’ The familiar words seemed odd in the kitchen and out of place with the mood.

‘I’ll just do the lights,’ muttered Midge. ‘You go up. I’ve an unfinished crossword. We could work on that together, in bed.’

‘Wonderful,’ sighed Bridie. ‘But it’s been a long journey, perhaps I’ll give that a miss.’

Which suited Midge – Bridie tended to get rather competitive.

They met Noah by the stairs.

‘Off to bed?’ he asked. ‘Me too. Not much of a holiday for you,’ he said to Bridie.

She smiled. ‘Change is as good as a rest, even a bizarre one like this.’

Noah nodded. ‘Well, I’m still hoping to catch a sighting of the White Lady,’ he said, adding glumly, ‘Before the doctor brings in the police and we have to leave.’

‘You haven’t seen the ghost?’ asked Bridie. ‘What is it they say? Always the bridesmaid, never the bride?’

‘I wasn’t trying to marry it.’

‘He’s asexual,’ explained Midge.

‘That’s not someone who fancies ghosts, by the way,’ said Noah. ‘That’s actually a spectrophile, although I always think they should be called paramourmals . . . that’s a little joke of mine.’

Bridie laughed far more excessively than Midge believed the pun warranted.

She watched the two of them climb the stairs before turning to the drawing room, preparing to switch off the lights. A sudden noise stopped her in her tracks. Someone was inside the room and muttering angrily to themselves. She stood to the side of the door and peered round.

Inside, Rona was standing over the chaise longue, rummaging through the doctor’s medical bag and so focused on her search that she wasn’t aware of Midge until she cleared her throat. ‘What are you doing, Rona?’

With a shriek of surprise, Rona dropped the bag, emptying the contents out all over the floor with a clatter. ‘Oh bother!’ she exclaimed, and started to shovel things back into it. ‘Midge! What are you doing creeping up on people like that?’

‘I wasn’t creeping,’ said Midge, feeling the description was unfair. ‘I was observing. Why are you going through the doctor’s bag?’

‘Gloria can’t find her spare insulin pump.’ Rona kept her back to her as she spoke. ‘She thought it might be in the bag.’

‘Isn’t that it over there?’ Midge pointed. ‘It’s on the oak dresser.’

‘Oh! Right, thanks,’ she said, her hands still busy with the medical bag. ‘So, what are you doing here?’

‘I was switching the lights off. Couldn’t the doctor have got it for her?’

Rona shrugged. ‘He wasn’t there.’

Despite having returned everything to the bag, Rona still seemed reluctant to retrieve the pump and leave.

Midge considered this before holding the door wider. ‘We could walk back together.’

‘OK,’ sighed Rona, putting the medical bag back on to the chair.

‘You’ve left the pump,’ observed Midge.

‘Right,’ nodded Rona. ‘I’ll leave it for now. Don’t want to get the wrong thing, do I? Oh Midge, what are we going to do?’ She sniffed suddenly. ‘I feel so unsafe knowing that one of us is a murderer. I don’t know how I’m going to cope until Andrew brings help.’

‘Andrew?’ queried Midge, remembering the argument she had overhead between them before. ‘Are you and Dr Mortimer on good terms?’ The lack of formality with the doctor surprised her, but then Midge had called her own mother-in-law Mrs McGowan, right up until her death.

‘Not particularly,’ shrugged Rona. ‘He’s a bit of an arse. No idea what Gloria sees in him.’ Midge privately agreed. ‘Anyway,’ continued Rona, ‘I’m more annoyed at my colourings.’

‘Colourings?’ said Midge, who was beginning to wish she had just gone to bed when Bridie had first suggested it.

‘My auras! I told you on the first night that I couldn’t place Rendell’s colour,’ she said. ‘But it was you that turned the Death tarot card. Do you think I may be a bit off?’ Rona, who didn’t seem to be expecting a response, suddenly sighed. ‘I’m just feeling so bloody trapped here.’

Midge nodded, albeit with no idea of what she was talking about. It was a trick that she had learned through years of enforced interaction with the HR department.

‘And, I don’t know –’ Rona waved her arm around – ‘I’ve got a terrible feeling, like before I used to do a concert but without the fun.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Like a nausea.’

‘You haven’t been eating the hummus, have you?’ asked Midge. If the doctor was double-dipping with the marmalade, God knows what debauchery he employed with the actual dips.

‘I can’t eat a thing,’ shuddered Rona. ‘This always happens when I’m psychically worn down. I can’t get rid of this feeling . . .’ She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I don’t know, like maybe I’m next, or something?’

‘What do you mean? Next at what?’

Rona reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

‘It’s like I’m being watched, even inside my own room.

It’s worse than when I hooked up with one of the Swedish princes for a night and all the paps camped outside my flat for days.

You know?’ Rona lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

‘It’s this bloody ankle. It’s swollen right up and I can’t fit any of my shoes on and, quite frankly, I don’t feel myself when I’m not wearing heels. ’

‘You could try a pair of mine,’ suggested Midge, adding, in case Rona had forgotten, ‘They’re extra wide.’

‘Good grief, no!’ exhaled Rona. ‘I mean, big, sensible shoes are OK if you, you know, are a lesbian or canvassing for the Jehovah’s Witnesses . . . no offence.’

Midge, who couldn’t for the life of her think why she would be offended, replied, ‘They’re specially made.’

Rona grabbed at her hair with her hands. ‘It’s not just the shoes . . . I . . . don’t even know what clothes to wear tomorrow . . . Willow, my PA, it’s her job to style my outfits and now it’s just me, it’s like I don’t even know who I fucking am on my own.’

Midge scuffed at the floor with the end of her cane, frowning down at the carpet’s printed pattern. Two squares, a diamond and two squares. She shifted her weight, covering the isolated diamond with her foot. ‘You have good taste in lipstick.’

‘Willow buys it in for me!’ wailed Rona.

‘But you chose it for me,’ pointed out Midge, whose knee had started to throb in protest at standing still for so long.

‘Oh.’ Rona smiled. ‘Yeah, that’s true. Looks good on you, too!’

Midge felt an unfamiliar pang of pleasure that her efforts with Rona’s orange lipstick had been noted.

Other than the pop star, no one had taken an interest in her appearance for a long time.

Bridie tended to treat her as a rather disappointing accessory to her own outfits, in the manner of a neckerchief that often needed adjusting.

To prolong the unexpected feeling of companionship, she gave Rona some advice as they were about to leave the room.

‘When the police do come, there will be a lot of questions. You really should make sure that you have all your answers ready . . .’

After she had got into bed, trying her level best not to take up too much of Bridie’s side, Midge neatly refolded her remaining handkerchiefs inside the drawer, this time taking care to hide Rendell’s photograph, the key and her assorted collection of objects in case Bridie should happen to see.

She sighed at the gap in their ordering.

The missing hankie bothered her. Very much like this whole weekend had.

She lay on her back, listening to the slow ticking of the grandfather clock.

Suddenly the shelf of objects in her mind began to rattle .

. . and she gave a soft gasp of exclamation. Of course! The clock.

It was like a gong going off in Midge’s head.

Thunderstruck, she sat upright, allowing her thoughts to reorder themselves.

Unwittingly, Bridie had unlocked the secret of another foreign object – and that meant Midge was one step closer to finding the real killer in the house.

Bridie was right. The grandfather clock was indeed slow, because it needed to be wound up regularly, by the same key.

A small brass key, in fact . . . a key currently in Midge’s possession after retrieving it from the bathing room floor.

First thing in the morning, she would show the others.

It was time to stop chasing phantoms and shadows.

She sighed, regretting her earlier behaviour towards Bridie over bedtime.

Wanting to make it up to her by sharing her breakthrough, she rolled over, but Bridie was already fast asleep, the dark smudges under her eyes finally disappearing as her face relaxed.

Midge watched her for a while, enjoying the sound of her breathing, and decided that it could well wait for the morning.