Page 53 of Murder Most Haunted

When a loved one dies unexpectedly, or someone receives any kind of big shock or trauma, there is always a compulsion to shepherd that person towards bed and sleep.

Doctors prescribe painkillers and there is generally talk of the body simply shutting down, while people tell each other that it’s really the best thing for it.

But Midge had often wondered if, in fact, the urge to confine the bereaved to bed rest came from a desire to avoid witnessing their pain.

It tucked them away, neatly, out of sight and out of mind.

However, people follow habits, don’t they?

And never more so than in times of stress.

So, that is exactly why, shortly after discovering Dr Mortimer’s body, Midge was rummaging through his medical bag trying to find something to give to Gloria for the shock.

And at that precise moment, something odd caught her eye on the green and white prescription pad within the bag’s inner pocket.

The medicinal issuer at the top of the pad was not Dr Andrew Mortimer, but was instead a stamp in the name of Dr Alan Masters.

Thinking that now was not the best time to raise the matter with the late doctor’s wife, she mentally tagged and filed the prescription pad away in her mind before finding some sleeping pills and handing them over to Gloria.

After witnessing her dutifully swallow the pills, Midge tucked her back into bed and firmly shut the bedroom door on her.

For the rest of them, it was a very subdued party that sat around the kitchen table that lunchtime.

Concerned that Bridie had been overdoing it, Midge insisted on her resting on the chaise longue in the drawing room, and Harold was only too happy to prepare a fire for her as it gave him something to do, other than shovel up more buckets of snow to cover Rendell with.

No one had mentioned it, but the stench from the body was unmistakably seeping through the bathroom door.

Quite frankly, it was a relief to separate Bridie from Rona.

Every time Rona burst into tears, which was often enough, Bridie would roll her eyes and mouth ‘addict’ to Midge.

Rona was very emotional and certainly appeared a woman on the edge, but whether it was anything synthetic rather than nerves was hard to tell.

‘Cup of tea?’ said Harold, who’d joined them after lighting the fire. ‘My Linda says there’s nothing a cup of tea can’t fix.’

‘Does it bring people back from the dead, Harold?’ asked Rona, her voice getting higher with each word. ‘Does it stop people from being murdered? Because if not, I do not want another cup of your fucking tea!’

Harold’s face fell. ‘I was just trying to—’

‘And Linda left you . . . remember? So, it clearly didn’t fix your marriage either, did it?’

‘I’m well aware that Linda has left me,’ said Harold, stiffly. ‘And just because you’re a pop star doesn’t give you the right to talk to people like that. You should watch yourself.’

Rona suddenly started screaming, banging her hands down on the table with such force it shook the saucers. ‘What the hell does that mean? Are you threatening me?! Did everyone hear that? If I’m dead tomorrow, remember that!’

‘I’m not threatening you,’ said Harold, picking some lint from his cycling trousers. ‘But you should be thanking me, not being rude.’ Which Midge thought a very odd thing to say, and apparently she wasn’t the only one.

‘Thanking you?’ yelled Rona. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing.’ Harold swallowed. ‘It’s just an expression. Calm down.’

‘Calm down!’ said Rona. ‘What woman in the history of womanhood has ever calmed down after being told to calm down? Two murders in one weekend and you’re telling me to calm down?’

‘We’ve only got her word for it that Rendell was murdered,’ said Harold, pointing at Midge.

‘I bet it was you, Harold!’ shouted Rona. ‘I mean, let’s get real. You didn’t like either of them very much, did you?’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Harold.

‘It’s a bit of a leap from “not liking someone” to lurking around in bathrooms waiting to slit their throat,’ commented Noah.

‘He hated the police, didn’t he? All that mining bollocks,’ said Rona.

‘I am here,’ complained Harold.

‘And Rendell hadn’t paid him for a long time. That’s a motive.’

‘It’s in the past,’ said Harold, dismissively. ‘If I had a seat for every person who’s ever pissed me off, I’d have a very full coach.’

Midge shifted her legs and rubbed at her knee, the trousers catching on her rough palm.

‘It’s not like you haven’t got form for lying. All that stuff about Linda,’ said Rona.

‘Hey! I’m not the only one who’s been lying,’ said Harold. He pointed at Midge, much to her surprise. ‘She’s not being completely honest either.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Noah.

‘She’s a detective,’ announced Harold, shrugging.