Page 63 of Murder Most Haunted

By the time Midge had made her way downstairs, it wasn’t the acrid smell of developing solution that filled the hallway, but rather the aroma of Noah’s baking – cookies again, if her nose was any judge.

In the kitchen, Noah had abandoned his cookies to the oven and was immersed in the shadows of the pantry, being ordered about by Bridie.

Harold, however, was not being much help.

‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ he said again, when she walked in.

Bridie shooed him out. ‘The pantry is the best place, no windows or natural light to worry about.’

‘Not the pantry,’ said Harold. ‘I just don’t think we should be wasting time looking at these photos.’

‘Did you get the ingredients?’ Midge asked Noah.

He nodded and held up hands covered in a pair of yellow marigolds. ‘Yup. Managed to find everything on the list with Bridie’s help.’

Bridie looked very tired, in Midge’s opinion, and the activity had aggravated her cough. ‘I think you should go and rest too,’ said Midge, thinking that Bridie was the third woman she had sent to bed in as many hours. ‘Rona isn’t going to be awake any time soon.’

‘Neither is Gloria,’ said Harold. ‘I think she must have taken a load more of the sleeping pills. They’ve knocked her right out.’

‘I think I will go and have a sit-down upstairs,’ agreed Bridie.

‘Harold, can you take those cookies out of the oven when they’ve finished?’ Noah nodded at Midge and extended his arm towards the pantry. ‘Shall we?’

The smell of the homemade chemical solution overwhelmed her as soon as she stepped inside, disorientating her almost as much as the darkness.

‘I’m going to shut the door,’ said Noah, appearing behind her. ‘It will take your eyes a little while to adjust to the dark. I find keeping them closed and counting to ten helps.’

With that, he shut the door with a slam and the two of them were plunged into instant darkness. Squeezing her eyes shut, Midge could hear Noah counting out loud next to her. ‘One Mississippi . . . two Mississippi . . .’

When he had reached ten, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking a couple of times to let them adjust. There was just enough light to make out the pantry shelves and a long counter at waist height.

Laid out on it, next to Noah, were three baking trays.

The one on the left was filled with the foul-smelling liquid.

The space was restrictive and the smell potent.

Her heart jumped as something brushed against her forehead. A small length of washing line had been strung up from the ceiling with several plastic pegs dangling from it.

Beside her, Noah was fiddling with the canister, trying to pull out the roll of film. ‘Have you done this before?’ she asked.

‘Mmm. Yes. Sort of. I hope I don’t ruin all the photos.’

‘Strange to use film,’ Midge wrinkled her nose. ‘Seems a bit old-fashioned.’

‘I like the depth of quality it gives to the photos,’ said Noah, finally releasing the film and holding it gently in his hands. ‘It adds a lot to the experience of my website subscribers.’

‘And do you have many?’ she asked, carefully. ‘Subscribers, I mean.’ She remembered him saying something about ‘over a thousand’ on Friday, but she had little context for the figure.

He turned his back and pulled a strip of the film from the reel, cutting it into sections. ‘Uh. Yeah, enough. I’ll have even more when this show lands.’

‘Do you want some help?’ she asked as he continued slowly cutting.

‘It’s OK, I like doing it.’ He raised his head. ‘The precision.’

Of course, thought Midge. ‘Will you be including Dr Mortimer’s death in the podcast?’

‘Absolutely! It adds even more evidence.’ Noah lifted up one of the negative strips with what looked like barbecue tongs and placed it into the first tray, completely submerging it in the solution.

Midge frowned. ‘In what way?’

‘Well, clearly the ghost is behind both murders.’ He held up gloved hands and ticked the points off one by one. ‘Rendell, dead in the bath – Charles Atherton, dead in the bath.’

Midge listened.

‘Now, Dr Mortimer, death by shooting – William Atherton, death by shooting,’ said Noah, dropping another strip into the tray. ‘My subscribers are going to love it.’

Midge watched him lift the first strip from the first tray into the second tray – the rinse.

‘Sorry about Bridie,’ he said, suddenly. ‘The cancer, I mean.’

Midge nodded.

‘My mum, um, she had it.’ He was looking down at the first tray and had started to swirl the film around. ‘She beat it, though,’ he said. ‘But it was tough for a while. She was chemo-shielding for a long time too, so we always had to be careful with germs and stuff.’

‘Chemo-shielding?’ Midge frowned.

‘Yeah, you know. The chemo leaves them so vulnerable to infections and stuff.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘I’m surprised Bridie isn’t taking a bit more care.’

‘Is that why you dropped out and moved home?’ asked Midge, remembering the luggage label.

Noah nodded and slowly moved another strip of film to the second tray. ‘Yeah. A couple of years ago. Still, it’s given me a chance to work on my podcasts.’

Standing there in the dark, Midge thought about Noah’s argument with Rendell on that first night. Rendell had been going to take away his equipment. And then there were the doctor’s words: Great for Noah’s podcast thingy, though.

His continual reluctance for anyone to go and get help.

‘Can you pass me that tray,’ he asked, pointing with his hand.

Midge moved the tray closer and watched as Noah carefully placed the next round of film into it. The smell was starting to make her feel dizzy.

What was it Rona had said earlier?

Lost all his sponsors.

‘Noah?’ she asked, trying to breathe through her nose.

‘Mmmm . . .’

‘Rona seems to think that your podcast has been dropped.’

His shoulders stiffened and for a moment he stopped swirling the negatives in the rinse. ‘Oh.’

‘Is it true?’ Midge stepped backwards towards the door, to get some air.

He was silent for a moment before saying, ‘Yes. Sort of. But it was all a misunderstanding, really. I was going to get things back, though, with this White Lady series.’

A series with two real murders in it. Murders that appeared to be carried out by a ghost. A ghost story that had been carefully narrated by Noah, and his findings in the doctor’s journal.

What better way to guarantee being picked up again.

Midge put her hand out to touch the handle of the pantry door.

‘Stay where you are.’ Noah spoke quietly, his back still to her.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, trying the door handle. It wouldn’t twist.

‘It’s locked, Midge.’ Noah turned round slowly, holding up the pantry key. ‘You know I can’t let you leave, not now.’