Page 49 of Murder Most Haunted

It was probably fair to say that Bridie was the only one who slept well that night.

However, for Midge, it wasn’t just the excitement of her realization about the key that kept her awake, but the problem of having to share a bed again.

When she finally did fall asleep, her dreams were full of Rendell and babies crying.

In the morning, she woke up in a cramped foetal position, such had been her effort to leave as much of the mattress to Bridie as possible.

Now, Bridie’s side of the bed was empty, and Midge could hear her in the bathroom.

‘Did you hear any noises last night?’ Midge called through to the toilet.

There was the sound of a tap running. ‘No,’ Bridie’s voice came back through the door. ‘Apart from your snoring and those bloody guns.’

Midge instantly felt a familiar flush of shame at the mention of her snoring.

‘Why, did you?’ Bridie asked.

‘Yes.’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘I don’t know.’ Midge paused. ‘Crying . . .?’

There was a pause. ‘What, like a person crying?’ said Bridie.

‘More like a baby.’ Midge held her breath.

‘No.’

Midge swung her legs round to the side of the bed, getting ready to find her shoes, and then stopped. There was an odd noise coming from the bathroom.

Bridie was being sick in the toilet.

Midge shoved her feet into her shoes and grabbed her cane, wobbling to the bathroom and pulling open the door. Her wife was leaning over the toilet bowl, her lovely hair slick with sweat against her face. ‘Good morning,’ she said, attempting to wipe her mouth. ‘Fancy a snog?’

‘Have you taken your pills?’ Midge asked, pouring a glass of water and holding it up, only to be waved away.

‘They don’t do anything,’ said Bridie.

‘They’re supposed to help with the sickness,’ said Midge, helping Bridie up and leading her back into the bedroom.

Bridie grimaced. ‘I’ll be fine in a minute, Midge, stop fussing. Honestly, it’s like having a giant bumblebee buzzing around me.’

Midge, suddenly feeling five times larger, went into the bathroom and returned with Bridie’s washbag.

‘Leave it, Midge,’ she snapped, closing her eyes briefly as she rested her head back. ‘We’ve got a ghost or murderer to catch – honestly, I can’t make up my mind.’

‘Please don’t tell me you think this is all the work of a ghost. You’re as bad as the others,’ said Midge.

‘Are the pills in here?’ She pulled the zip back on the washbag, rifling through Bridie’s toothbrush and face creams before pulling out two identical pill containers, one empty and the other full.

‘What’s this?’ she frowned, not recognizing the label on them.

Bridie glanced over before quickly looking away. ‘It’s a new pill, someone at the support group recommended them.’

Midge stared at the label. ‘Someone? Do you mean a doctor?’

Bridie shrugged and fidgeted with the blanket. ‘You know what, Midge? I think I would like a cup of tea, please.’

Midge opened her mouth, but Bridie had closed her eyes again and looked so worn out that she said nothing, instead getting quickly dressed and leaving the room.

She was surprised to find Noah and Rona already up and at the kitchen table, deep in conversation, which stopped as soon as they saw Midge.

‘You two are up early,’ she said.

‘I thought we’d all overslept,’ said Noah. ‘That stupid grandfather clock has broken.’

‘He’s in a terrible mood,’ muttered Rona, giving Midge a hug and shooting her eyes towards Noah. ‘He’s trying to work out what the ghost has done with his camera.’

Midge waited for Rona to let go of her and wondered whether she would be able to eat something in the time it took for the kettle to boil. It occurred to her that she had been hugged more in this weekend than she had her entire life.

‘We don’t know who was in his room,’ said Midge. ‘And the camera was stolen, not moved. Is your ankle better?’

‘Much, thank you,’ replied Rona.

‘Beth . . . the White Lady of the Moor, if they are one and the same, is definitely a poltergeist,’ said Noah. ‘They communicate by moving things. It’s trying its hardest to speak with us.’

‘Do they knock people over as well?’ asked Midge. ‘It would take something fairly substantial to do that, and I didn’t imagine being clattered into.’

‘How else would whatever knocked you over have just disappeared?’ asked Rona. ‘Whichever direction it had gone in the corridor, it would have been seen by either you, me or the doctor.’

That was bothering Midge too. Not for one second did she entertain the idea that it had been a ghost in the room, but why had no one else seen Noah’s assailant making their escape?

‘Transmutation,’ announced Noah, chewing on some toast.

‘Pardon?’ asked Rona.

‘It’s where the ghost transforms into a physical object or person.’

Midge blinked. ‘Are you suggesting that myself, Rona or Dr Mortimer has been taken over by a ghost?’

‘No!’ Noah held his hand up. ‘That would be a possession. And there would still be a trail of ectoplasm.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Midge.

‘I’ll be keeping a close eye on her all the same,’ mouthed Noah to Rona.

‘Has the doctor left already?’ asked Midge. ‘I’ll take a cup of tea up to Gloria.’

Rona shrugged.

‘What else were you two talking about when I came in?’ asked Midge, pouring a cup of tea from the pot.

Rona and Noah shared a look. So, it hadn’t been her imagination.

‘Must have been a bit of a shock, Bridie turning up like that,’ said Rona, suddenly appearing very interested in her nails.

‘It was unexpected,’ replied Midge.

‘I’m just wondering . . . whether—’

‘Rona, stop,’ Noah interrupted her.

But she ignored him. ‘It’s just . . . does she always talk to you like that, Midge?’

Midge cleared her throat before carefully pouring some cold water into Bridie’s teacup to cool it down. No milk, one sugar. She stirred it with a metal spoon three times before placing the spoon gently to the side on the counter. ‘She has cancer.’

She didn’t know why she said it, certainly not as any kind of explanation. It was true, of course, but it had never been spoken out loud to anyone by Midge. All the months of chemo. Nothing.

‘Come with me,’ she said, suddenly.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Noah.

‘To put something back where it belongs,’ replied Midge.

‘Now,’ said Midge, when they were standing in front of the giant grandfather clock on the landing. ‘The clock has stopped working.’

‘Yes, we know that,’ said Noah, rolling his eyes as if humouring a geriatric. Midge chose to ignore his tone for the moment.

‘And that is because, if you look here –’ Midge pointed to a small hole in the middle of the clock face – ‘it should be wound up every so often with a key.’

The other two obligingly looked at the hole.

‘So, what we have is a missing key, and a key on the floor in the bathing room that shouldn’t have been there,’ said Midge, impatiently waiting for the others to catch up.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Rona.

Midge pulled something from her pocket. ‘Someone staged the locking of the bathing room door from the inside.’

‘Staged? It was locked. Rona and I had to bash it down. Look, I’ve still got the bruise.’ Noah started to roll his sleeve up.

‘Don’t embarrass yourself Noah, you didn’t even touch the door,’ said Rona.

‘I mean, it was locked. But not from the inside,’ said Midge.

‘We saw the key on the floor when we got inside.’

‘You saw a key,’ said Midge. ‘But it wasn’t the key to the bathing room. That was locked from the outside. What you saw was this key.’

Midge held up the brass key she had retrieved from her drawer and briefly explained her findings in the bathroom, how the little key had been deliberately placed inside the keyhole, to fall on to the tiles when they got the door open.

Rona folded her arms across her chest and frowned. ‘But hang on, how did the murderer get inside the bathing room in the first place? I can’t imagine Rendell taking a bath without locking the door.’

‘The changing screen. I would imagine they were already there when Rendell entered. Hiding in plain sight. They waited, killed him, placed the false key in the lock before stepping outside and locking it with the proper key.’

‘You are clever, Midge,’ said Rona, her eyes wide. Midge’s face flushed with the unexpected compliment.

‘And so, if I’m right, this key belongs here.

’ She gently placed the key in the clock face hole, smiling with satisfaction as she heard the answering click of a fit, and began to wind the mechanism back up.

Her smile quickly faded, however, when the clock still didn’t start to tick, despite being wound up.

Instead, a strange grinding noise could be heard coming from inside the clock’s body.

‘Something must be jamming it now,’ she said. Placing her fingernails into the gap on the front panel, she prised open the door.

Something was tangled up in the pendulum mechanics.

‘My camera!’ cried Noah.