Page 133 of The Stranger in Room Six
‘We don’t know for sure that she’s guilty, do we?’ says another.
‘My family are still coming. They want to have a nosy around, especially after those headlines.’
For me, the barbecue could be the break I need. Parties, barbecues, dances – any kind of community crowd – are always good for hiding crimes. People are too busy enjoying themselves to notice what’s going on.
Even better, everyone will be outside, including the hostess.
Tomorrow will be my last opportunity for a good snoop around this house. And despite what my boss said about no bloodshed, I’ll take my gun. Just in case.
94
Belinda
The Day of the Barbecue
The bunting is up. The trestle tables are being laid for those who wish to eat outside, and there are banners everywhere.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MABEL AND TO SUNNYSIDE HOME FOR THE YOUNG AT HEART!
Despite the bad press we’ve had – or maybe because of it – the place is packed with visitors oohing and ahing at the grounds and the house. I can’t help but notice how many glance Mabel’s way suspiciously.
‘Isn’t she the woman who supported Hitler during the war?’
‘We’re thinking of taking my mother out of here, to be honest.’
‘Us too. My great-uncle was a POW. It doesn’t feel right to keep him here.’
Meanwhile, I’m still waiting for the police to interview me.
Mabel is sitting in her wheelchair beside a huge birthday cake. The cook – a young man from Ukraine – has made it in the shape of Sunnyside. She only just manages to blow out the candles. Claudette strikes up ‘Happy Birthday’, but not everyone joins in.
‘I’m not singing for someone who was on Hitler’s side,’ says one.
‘I’ve always thought Mabel Marchmont was up herself, just because she owns this place,’ says another.
Mabel’s head is sinking onto her chest.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask, hurrying over to her.
‘Actually, dear,’ she says listlessly, ‘I’m very tired. I think I’d like to go to bed.’
One of the other carers takes her. I have to be here on duty. Now I won’t be able to search her room, though I suspect I wouldn’t find anything. I’ve already looked enough times already.
Karen is there, all dolled up in some cheap-looking sequinned dress and trademark red lipstick, which she keeps smudging by running her hands over her mouth. If Mouse is going to finish me off, then this is my last chance to find out the truth about Karen and Gerald, and whether they actually had a son or not.
Meanwhile, Claudette is asking the residents for their favourite songs.
‘“Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”,’ Karen calls out. ‘My husband Gerald used to call me Twinkle. He said it was because I made him feel twinkly inside.’
‘Ahhh,’ coos the audience.
Husband? How dare she call him that? As for the ‘twinkly’ bit, that makes me feel sick. He’d never givenmea pet name.
My blood pounds as Claudette strikes up the tune and everyone joins in. I watch Karen singing, her eyes closed in rapture. My chest hurts with fury. I might not have loved Gerald, but he had no right to destroy our family. And nor did she.
Afterwards, Claudette takes a break. My prey is still there in her wheelchair. I wander up casually.
‘Why don’t we go for a little walk, Karen? It’s such a beautiful evening.’
