The Art of Murder (Harriet Quigley Mystery) Page 2

  ‘I’m convinced that’s one of the reasons we found ourselves without a teacher; he’d simply had enough of her and was grateful for a chance to jump ship. It’s hard to explain why she’s so difficult. I mean, she hardly ever says a nasty word but she looks like a kicked puppy if she doesn’t get her own way; her big brown eyes well up and people give in to her. She can be tactless too, so she gets people’s backs up, then she’s upset because she’s been misunderstood.’

  In the 12 months since she had moved to her cottage just outside Winchester Harriet had been too busy to become involved in many of the village activities but Fiona, a friend for more than 25 years, had kept her up-to-date. In this way Harriet had learned that the previous year, Jess Tyndall’s bad back had caused her early retirement from nursing; that her husband worked for the county council; and that her fourth, and youngest, child had just left school. Fiona said Jess was fun to be with and her merry smile certainly suggested she would prove congenial.

  A thought struck Harriet. ‘If you’ve only met this woman through an art class once a week for one term, how is it you know so much about her? How do you know all this stuff about getting her own way and upsetting people?’

  Jess drained her coffee mug with a sigh. ‘I vaguely know someone from Linzi’s previous art group, not our Winchester one, and she told me – too late, not that we could have done anything about it – that when Linzi left, they went down the pub to celebrate!’ She grinned at Harriet. ‘It’s a rotten thing to say but they’d known her a year and she’d worked her way through nearly all of them. We try to keep our distance but she’s insidious and I worry about the future of this group, I really do.’

  ‘The way she can turn on the tap when it suits her must have been like the Chinese water torture for her poor husbands – drip, drip, drip. No wonder she’s on her own now.’ The Treasurer, Nina, was an unknown quantity as far as Harriet was concerned. They had exchanged greetings but little more and Harriet had only a passing remark by Fiona to go on: that Nina was ‘difficult’. She worked for a building society and was a slim, quiet woman, about the same age as Jess, somewhere in her mid-50s, and her immaculately tidy hair framed a neat round face which was marred by a perpetually discontented frown.

  ‘Husbands?’ Harriet was intrigued. ‘How many has she had?’

  ‘Three that she’s admitted to, but any number of husbands she’s pinched from other women.’ Nina sounded distinctly bitter.

  ‘Along with some, like the Wife of Bath’s gentlemen friends, who didn’t make it to the church door,’ Fiona put in, before adding: ‘To be fair, this is all hearsay.’

  Nina scowled. ‘The first husband died years ago, a car accident, she told us.’

  ‘More likely she’s a vampire and threw out his bloodless corpse the morning after the wedding,’ Fiona laughed, though Harriet was concerned to see her pause and shake her head with a sudden frown. ‘The second one was disposed of along the way, city whizz kid or something, so I’m surprised she let that one go. The third only stuck her for about six years until he made a dash for freedom with another woman just before Easter.

  ‘Linzi’s playing the martyred wife for all she’s worth, but he’s absolutely loaded so he just handed over the house and the Porsche and didn’t argue, just coughed up whatever it took to get a quick divorce. The only surprise, by all accounts, is that he didn’t escape earlier.’

  Harriet screwed up her face. ‘Are you talking about that pretty woman who swooped on you in Marks & Spencer’s, Fiona? That must have been about Easter. She was telling you in hushed whispers about something that sounded embarrassingly medical so I made myself scarce. She sounded a bit intense but I thought she seemed rather nice, if I remember correctly.’

  ‘It was a routine gynae op, nothing to fuss about,’ Jess explained.’And yes, that would be her, Linzi Bray. That’s Linzi with a ‘z’ and ending in ‘i’, and you’d better not spell it any other way or you’ll get a slapped wrist.’

  Harriet raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I know, I know, we do sound bitchy, don’t we,’ Fiona looked guilty. ‘When you meet her you can’t resist the vulnerable charm and you feel sorry for her. You’re happy to give her a helping hand because she’s all alone but then you find you’ve agreed to give her a lift somewhere because there’s a problem. It turns out she needs lifts for another month so you’ve become her designated driver. You don’t feel you can turn round and say ‘No, I’m busy’ because it seems unkind. Suddenly, it’s a regular chore.’

  ‘By the time you’ve worked out that she’s totally taking advantage of you, she’s dropped you like a hot cake and moved on to a new best friend, complaining about how badly you treated her,’ added Jess crossly.

  ‘She’s not currently on your back, Jess. Stop being such a drama queen.’ Fiona shook her head, while Jess laughed ruefully.

  ‘I’m not the drama queen, she’s way out of my class. Anyway, you know what she did to me, don’t you?’ She nodded to Harriet. ‘As I said, Linzi takes advantage and I still have no idea how I came to offer her a bed for a night after her operation. I certainly had no intention of doing so but she comes across as helpless and we all fall for it. She stayed with us for a week and by the third day Bill said he was working late till I got rid of her. He was terrified of her, the wimp, though to be fair,’ Jess grinned, ‘his main worry was that she might claim he’d made a pass at her. I only got rid of her by stealth. I made Fiona phone and pretend to be my mum having a crisis in Lincoln.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Harriet was agog. ‘That was drastic.’

  ‘If you do complain that she’s taking you for granted there are tears and martyred sighs about how she’s been misunderstood,’ Nina put in. ‘Then she plays the health card so you feel an absolute monster. If you met her around Easter, Harriet, it would have been just after her operation and about a month after the husband took off. According to her, she’s a walking medical miracle, besides having various allergies.’

  ‘Allergies?’ Harriet was surprised, ‘Serious allergies?’

  ‘God only knows,’ Jess chimed in sounding dismissive. ‘She exaggerates everything so much that I neither know nor care. Mind you, she practically rattles with her assorted medication, most of it quackery from what I’ve seen.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh, Jess,’ Fiona was expert at defusing tempers in young children and found her training useful among adults too. ‘We only hear about the small stuff. She’s very secretive about some things and I do wonder whether she has a real, underlying condition.’

  Harriet thought Jess looked sceptical, but she was distracted when Nina broke in.

  ‘You know, now I come to think about it, Linzi hasn’t looked well since the early summer.’ She frowned. ‘Remember she went on some art appreciation course to Florence, around the beginning of June, and loved it so much she stayed for a couple of months?’

  Harriet noticed that Fiona’s expression looked guarded, but Jess picked up the thread.

  ‘I imagine she found a sexy young Italian to help her get over the husband’s defection. Good luck to her, I say – or I would if she wasn’t such a pain in the backside most of the time. It must have ended in tears, though; she’s not been exactly radiant since she came home.’

  Fiona gave Harriet a half smile. ‘Our gripes and whinges sound petty, don’t they? The thing is, she’s the most amazing artist which is one of the reasons we put up with her.’

  Harriet was intrigued. ‘I envy people who can paint. I can just about draw something recognisable but I’ve never had a go at painting. It’s not something I needed, teaching history. What sort of thing does this Linzi paint?’

  ‘The most delicate dolls’ house miniatures you can imagine. It’s incredible the detail she can get into something so small. Portraits. Landscape, still-life, you name it – she’ll turn out a tiny masterpiece, practically museum quality. She sells them for an absolute fortune, all done to scale and very popular.’

  ‘Really? I’ve see
n that sort of thing at the big fairs. I must take a look at her work.’ Harriet, with an impressive dolls’ house collection herself, was intrigued. ‘I’m quite sure I’d never have the patience to do anything so fiddly. You say she’s good?’

  ‘It’s very galling,’ Jess confessed as she drained her coffee mug. ‘You’ll need to take out a mortgage, Harriet, if you want to buy one, but they’re beautifully done.’

  ‘Oh, she’s all right, really,’ Fiona was looking anxious. ‘The annoying thing is that just when you’ve decided you won’t put up with her shenanigans any longer, she does a complete turnaround and charms you into wondering why you were being so horrible.’

  ‘You didn’t think that when your Thomas was hanging around Linzi all summer, I heard my girls talking about it. How’s he getting on, Fiona? I can’t think why teenage boys get crushes on such unsuitable women—’

  ‘I think that’s enough, thank you, Jess.’ There was ice in Fiona’s voice. ‘Thomas is fine, he went off to uni the day before yesterday, so can we please consider the subject closed?’

  ‘I wish I had some of her money,’ Nina sounded peevish.’I’d get my hair done twice a week and go to her plastic surgeon to have some discreet work done. That’s how she stays looking so good.’ She tugged at her neck with a sour, dissatisfied frown. ‘We hoped she’d do her trick of moving on to new friends but so far she seems to be sticking with us, more’s the pity.’

  As she and Nina headed for the door, Jess rummaged in her bag and handed Harriet a booklet. ‘Here, Harriet,’ she said, ‘I know you don’t feel you can commit to joining the poetry group yet, but I’m sure you’ll be interested in our latest efforts.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Oops, got to rush, I’ll be late for my weaving class.’

  ‘Weaving?’ Harriet grinned once Jess was safely through the door and took a look at the poems. ‘Oh dear,’ she made a face at Fiona. ‘I wish she’d get it into her head that her poets aren’t really my cup of tea. If their work is all the same standard as this I definitely don’t want to join.’

  ‘Oh, Jess is all right,’ Fiona shrugged. ‘She’s a lot of fun and she doesn’t often press her master-works on her friends. She’s always been into crafts as well as the painting but I expect the poetry and weaving will go the way of the wood-carving and the batik, not to mention the chickens and rabbits. The fox got that lot, poor creatures.’

  She glanced across at Harriet. ‘Nina’s a problem though; she’s getting more and more uncomfortable to be around, which is a rotten thing to say, but true. She’s bitter about Linzi because her own husband was targeted at the May Day barbecue in the village. I think you were away at the time. The brutal truth is that Phil Allison is a randy old tom and I think he took Linzi up on her offer. I have a nasty feeling it’s turned into a full-blown affair since she came back from Italy and that they’re still at it.’

  ‘Oh blimey.’ Harriet hesitated, then put down her mug. ‘Okay, Fiona, are you going to come clean and tell me what’s going on? I saw your face when you were all talking about Linzi’s health. Is it something I can help with?’

  ‘I’m not sure anyone can actually help,’ Fiona surrendered and sat down again. ‘I’ve been keeping mum about it because she made me promise not to tell anyone but I’m in a real quandary and I can’t see which way to turn. I know I can trust you, though I’m swearing you to secrecy anyway. I don’t think there’s anything you can do but it’ll be a relief to share it.’

  Harriet made a show of crossing her heart then waited quietly while Fiona gathered her thoughts.

  ‘Linzi told me last week that she thinks she’s being stalked.’ She held up her hand at Harriet’s gasp of surprise. ‘I know, I know … I told her to go to the police at once, but she absolutely refused, which made me furious! And worried to death, and I’ve started to feel rotten about it.’

  ‘Rotten? But why?’ A frown puckered Harriet’s forehead.

  ‘Because I can’t rid myself of the suspicion that it’s all a product of her imagination, attention-seeking, perhaps,’ Fiona hunched her shoulders. ‘And that makes me feel bad.’

  ‘Oh, I get you,’ Harriet sympathised. ‘Like Munchausen’s? Or is that just when you fake illness? That is a tricky one. If she’s really being stalked it’s very serious and of course the police have to know, but have you reason to believe she’d make up something like that? I mean, do you know her history? In any case, has she explained why won’t she call the cops?’

  ‘She says it’s probably her imagination and that she’s used to having men stare at her.’ Fiona’s pleasant round face creased in a frown. ‘Can’t deny that, but whether it’s true or not she keeps ringing and emailing me, even though I shout at her every time because she won’t do anything. At least she doesn’t text me; I pretended my mobile was on the blink.

  ‘The day before yesterday I bawled her out again and she said “I just can’t,” but wouldn’t explain why she can’t. She’s as jittery as hell and she surely must be more worried than she lets on, or why keep telling me about it?’

  ‘She thinks it’s a man?’ Harriet seized on the point and Fiona nodded.

  ‘She says she’s not sure because she’s never seen this person’s face. It’s a figure in dark jogging bottoms and a dark hoodie, medium height, medium build, and wearing sunglasses, absolutely unisex. As I said, she assumes it’s a man because men always do look at her, but she’s getting more and more edgy.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t know. Of course I sympathise but Linzi’s being a complete pain about this. I’m sure she’s not telling me everything.’

  ‘Hmm, tricky.’ Harriet digested this.

  Fiona gazed distractedly out of the window. ‘Linzi told me the other day that she’s been getting weird mail, just an empty envelope with a printed address – one a day for the last ten days, she says, along with regular silent calls on the landline. The latest variation, besides today’s sighting, is that the phone has taken to ringing at weird times, day and night – no voice, no heavy breathing, nothing – and she’s had a couple of texts on her mobile – “caller withheld” … that kind of thing.’

  ‘That’s a lot of commitment by a stalker,’ Harriet looked puzzled. ‘You’d have to know her timetable, wouldn’t you? To be sure you were in the right place at the right time.’ She thought about it. ‘Unless you were a neighbour with a lot of time on your hands.’

  Fiona picked up her mug and took a long sip. ‘Ugh, it’s cold.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I wish to God she’d chosen someone else to confide in. The other day she was looking quite haggard and I’ve an idea she has no friends at all, not female ones anyway. Maybe I’m the only person she can confide in.’

  She rose and rinsed out their coffee mugs. ‘More? Me neither, I’ll be fizzing all day so you’d think I’d lose weight with all this caffeine.’ She surveyed her curves with a rueful grin but her expression changed as there was a ping from the laptop. ‘Hold on a sec, I’d better check that. I live in dread that yet another person will drop out.’

  Fiona cursed as she read the name on the incoming message and added: ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, it’s Linzi: more changes. That bloody woman can be a royal pain sometimes. I swear I’ll swing for her if she thinks up one more thing that she’s quite sure I won’t mind altering – because I’ve got all the time in the world, of course.’ She thumped her hand down on the mouse to open up the email and her shoulders sagged. ‘She says she’s had more calls but she’s finally gone to the police.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ Harriet was glad for her friend. ‘What did they suggest she should do?’

  ‘Leave it with them, apparently. Keep a list of incidents, dates, times, that kind of thing, and let them know if it escalates. Doesn’t sound much but it’s better than nothing. I suppose there’s not a lot more they can do.’

  *

  Thursday morning

  Linzi Bray pressed ‘Send’ and felt a moment’s relief that at least she had a friend in Fiona Christie. As she
closed and double-locked the front door she shuddered at the thought that someone might invade her house, so she looked nervously from side-to-side.

  Her leg was still sore and bandaged after Tuesday night’s fall and with her keys ready in her hand, she limped across the gravelled drive to where the silver Porsche was parked outside the oak-framed car port. Don’t run, she told herself, there’s nobody here. I’m in my own front garden; nobody will attack me in public. She pressed ‘Unlock’ and shuddered again as an old horror, long-remembered from some ancient film, beset her. What if there’s someone inside? Hiding in the back? Waiting to strangle me?

  That fear was summarily banished as a gasp of fury escaped her lips. All along the driver’s side was a deep groove marring the gleaming paintwork. Someone had scratched her precious car, had scored along it deliberately with a key. What made her shiver was the knowledge, sure and certain, that there had been no mark, no disfigurement on it, when she left in the drive on her return from Sainsbury’s, two hours earlier.

  She looked at the mark and at the keys in her hand. No! It wasn’t me …

  There was a ping from her mobile.

  A text.

  ‘Pity about the car’, it read.

  *

  Thursday evening

  ‘I get what you say about the art group, Harriet.’ Sam brought it up again that evening, when he dropped in for a drink. ‘I know they’re hoping to use the old barn when it’s refurbished, so why are they paying out for a weekend in a B&B just down the road?’ He frowned. ‘I mean, Fiona Christie only lives in the Old School House, not far from the church.’

  She nodded. ‘They’re mostly from the village and the surrounding area. I do know some of them by sight and others to chat to, but Fiona is the only one I’d claim to be friendly with and we go way back, of course. As far as I can make out they originally decided to go for a one-day workshop in the barn, as a kind of kick-start to get their group back on track.’