Page 55 of Murder Most Haunted

‘How long have you known you were a detective?’ Rona asked Midge.

‘Ever since I got sworn in, thirty years ago,’ she sighed, reaching into her bag and pulling out her embroidery.

‘I mean, why didn’t you tell us?’ Rona threw her hands up in the air.

Sticking to the bare facts as she stitched, Midge replied, ‘I’m retired. And usually when people know what I do, they want to talk to me about parking tickets.’ She lifted her head to stare at Harold. ‘How did you know?’

He shrugged. ‘Obvious, isn’t it? I can smell coppers a mile off.’

‘That’s usually something that criminals say,’ observed Midge, quietly.

‘But that’s perfect!’ cried Rona, clapping her hands together. ‘Midge can solve the deaths for us. A real live detective on the case.’

‘I’m not!’ Midge’s voice rang out against the kitchen walls.

‘But you said . . .’ Noah was frowning.

‘I mean, I’ve never handled a large investigation like this . . . well, any investigation really.’ She pushed a needle into the cloth, drawing the cotton through.

‘See?’ snorted Harold. ‘Can’t rely on any of them.’

‘You can do it, Midge,’ said Rona. ‘I know you can.’

‘No.’ Midge kept her face down, avoiding the disappointment in Rona’s eyes. ‘Harold is right. This needs people with years of training. Specialists. My theories are just that . . . theories.’

‘Right, so it’s OK for you to have theories but not me?’ said Noah, sulkily. ‘Seems a bit unfair.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Midge.

‘Oh, I dunno . . . How about there is no murderer but, in fact, it’s the White Lady of Atherton Moor wreaking her revenge? Just like I’ve been saying all along.’

‘Mate, the only one reeking here is Rona and her bloody garlic,’ said Harold.

‘First it’s the ghost, then it’s one of us, now it’s a ghost again!’ wailed Rona, grabbing at her hair. ‘I can’t cope!’ Her eyes were darkly smudged and her cheeks flushed.

‘The journal,’ said Noah, excitedly. ‘It’s all in there. One of the Athertons must have got Beth Hallow pregnant then got rid of the baby’s body when they died.’

Midge shivered as if someone had walked over her grave, a sudden chill overwhelming her. ‘Where is your evidence?’ she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady.

‘There’s no mention of the baby on the headstone.’

‘Perhaps they couldn’t afford to carve it?’ said Midge.

‘The tin magnates of south-west England? Come off it. And the diary says “denied a Christian burial”,’ persisted Noah, waving his arms in excitement. ‘What else could it be? Anyway, I can prove it.’

‘How?’ asked Rona, folding her arms.

‘Easy,’ replied Noah. ‘Dig up the grave.’

Rona said they were all mental and they could count her out of any grave fiddling, because this was all starting to feel like a bad trip that she had in the noughties.

Harold said he’d had a few of them himself with the pensioners in Torquay, at which point Rona announced she couldn’t trust any of them and took herself off for a lie-down.

Midge followed her out into the hall, keen to ask her something, despite having the feeling that she wasn’t wanted.

‘Rona?’ she said.

Rona stopped underneath the display of rifles. ‘Yes?’

‘Did you and the doctor get on?’

Rona pointed a finger. ‘So now you do want to play detective.’ She crossed her arms over her chest and deepened her voice. ‘Tell me, Rona, where exactly were you at eleven this morning?’

It was a fair impression, but it didn’t stop Midge from noticing that Rona hadn’t actually answered the question. ‘I’m not asking where you were. I’m merely asking how you and the doctor got on.’

‘He was an unpleasant old goat,’ snapped Rona. ‘But then, I expect losing a child will do that to you.’

Midge felt cold all the way down to her boots.

‘Why were you going through the doctor’s bag last night?’

Rona became very still, her hand resting on the banister, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You said it was for Gloria’s pump, but it wasn’t, was it?’

Rona’s shoulders slumped. ‘I . . . I wasn’t looking for Gloria’s pump,’ she agreed. ‘I was looking for some painkillers. For me,’ she clarified.

‘Oh,’ frowned Midge. ‘But aren’t you a recovering—’

‘Obviously not recovering as well as I thought,’ sighed Rona. ‘That’s what I was arguing with the doctor about. I wanted some more pills and he refused.’

Selfishly, Midge couldn’t help feeling relieved that Bridie wasn’t there to say, ‘I told you so.’

A thought occurred to her. ‘Have you heard the name “Dr Alan Masters” before?’

Rona shook her head. ‘No. Look, I was annoyed at the doctor for not letting me have any. But I didn’t kill him because of it,’ she carried on. ‘That wouldn’t make any sense.’

None of it made any sense as far as Midge was concerned. And she couldn’t help thinking Rona was holding something back. But who really stood to benefit from Rendell and Dr Mortimer’s murders?

‘Can I go now?’ Rona asked, starting to climb the stairs.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you,’ Midge said, surprising herself.

Rona half turned. ‘I’m stuck in a house full of mad people and either one of them or a ghost is a murderer .

. . and I’m so terrified that I’m actually, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I’m actually considering digging up a grave to find out which it is.

’ She took a deep breath. ‘You were the one person I thought I could trust.’

Rona continued up the stairs, leaving Midge behind, but she had one more question.

‘Have you ever heard of a drug called “laetrile”?’

Rona paused and turned back again. ‘Um. Yeah, hang on. Rings a bell.’ She thought for a moment while Midge’s heart pounded loudly in her chest. ‘It’s used as an alternative treatment for cancer . . .’ She stopped and looked at Midge. ‘Oh, is that something your wife is taking?’

Something about Rona’s words bothered her. ‘Alternative?’

She nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s not available in the UK and it’s been banned in the States. There’s no evidence that it does anything beneficial – can do a lot of harm, actually – but plenty of the self-help websites bang on about it.’

Midge held her gaze. ‘But you don’t think it worthwhile?’ She frowned.

Rona shook her head. ‘You may as well hold a rabbit’s foot and hope for the best. In fact, at least the rabbit’s foot won’t cause poisoning.

Sorry,’ she said, suddenly realizing what she was saying.

She started to move off before she spoke again, her tone softer this time, ‘Midge, that laetrile . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s usually taken by people as a last hope . . .’ said Rona, not meeting her eye.

‘Last hope?’

‘Yes. When the chemo’s stopped working.’

‘Oh,’ said Midge, and then because she wasn’t quite sure what else to say, ‘Thank you.’

Rona left her at the bottom of the stairs, staring thoughtfully up at the gap in the display of rifles.