Page 12 of Murder Most Haunted
Midge had absolutely no intention of staying where she was on the mere disqualification of being female and, using her cane to gain some leverage through the snow, she hurried into the garden despite the complaints from her knee.
The snow was streaked with blood, swathes of it bathing the ground in a red wash while the tang of iron hung in the air.
‘Oh God,’ moaned Gloria, who had also ignored her husband’s command and followed behind Midge. Strewn across the croquet lawn in front of them was a dead sheep, its innards spilling out where it lay. There was a sudden retching noise. Noah had joined them and promptly thrown up. Reluctantly, Midge handed him one of her handkerchiefs from the canary set to wipe his mouth while he leaned over.
‘Will you be using that for your audio effects?’ Harold asked him.
‘Oh, come on,’ said Dr Mortimer. ‘Pull yourself together, snowflake. This sheep has got lost and some fox has had a bit of fun, that’s all.’
Noah stiffened and immediately stood up. It was probably not the first time he had been called a snowflake, thought Midge.
‘No fox is big enough to kill that sheep,’ said Harold.
Gloria was quietly weeping. ‘The poor thing,’ she sniffled to herself. This presented Midge with a dilemma, since she’d already handed one handkerchief to Noah and she wasn’t sure if asking for it back in order to pass it on to Gloria would be appropriate or even hygienic, given the amount of vomit.
She was distracted by the fixed gaze of the sheep staring directly at her, overwhelming her suddenly with a memory of death. She liked animals. They were uncomplicated and unconditional. Once, she’d fed a stray cat that had kept coming into their garden in the secret hope that it would make a home with them. That dream had ended abruptly, one Saturday afternoon, when she found the creature dead in the garden. Bridie had thought it wasprobably for the best – after all, she’d said, Midge could barely look after herself, let alone another being.
Her thoughts were interrupted by echoing reports of gunfire.
‘Oh my!’ screamed Gloria, covering her ears with her hands. ‘What’s happening?’
‘It’s OK,’ soothed Harold, waving his arms. ‘It’s the firing from the army. I’m afraid we are right in the middle of the ranges.’
‘I thought you said the ranges were inactive this weekend.’ Dr Mortimer pointed a finger at Rendell, who smiled weakly. ‘I should be asking for my money back.’
‘I checked – nothing was scheduled,’ said Rendell, scratching his head. ‘Although it may explain why it was so cheap this weekend. But,’ he smiled ruefully, ‘it does mean that the house is truly cut off for now.’
‘Cut off?’ said Midge, frowning.
‘Yes,’ replied Rendell. ‘It would be too dangerous to leave the grounds until the training exercise finishes. I suspect they’ll close the gates after us anyway. Unfortunately, the exercises could take all weekend.’
Gloria cautiously lowered her hands as the latest volley of gunfire died down. ‘I’m not sure my nerves will take much more of this.’
‘Come on, love,’ said Harold, putting his arm around her. He began to lead her back round to the front of the house. ‘Let’s get you inside and have a nice cup of tea, shall we?’
‘As the flock of ghoulish crows kept an opportunistic watch over the ravaged sheep, the group—’
‘A murder.’ Midge swung round and almost lost an eye to Noah’s microphone as she interrupted.
‘Pardon?’ said Noah, who had regained some colour to his cheeks.
‘It’s a murder of crows. Not a flock.’ And there were dozens of them, screeching down from the trees around the gardens.
‘Whatever,’ said Noah, but he put his microphone away.
‘Let’s hope we’ve packed the mint sauce,’ said Rendell, eyeing the dead sheep.
Midge thought the joke to be mistimed, as it set Noah off gagging again. Timing, she was often told, was important both with jokes and social niceties. Therefore, Midge decided that it probably wasn’t appropriate to ask for her handkerchief back now either.
Chapter6
Midge walked behind the others as they followed Gloria and Harold back round to the driveway at the front of the house, where Rona was standing waiting on the steps. ‘Those guns are driving me crazy!’ said Rona, who seemed to have recovered from discovering the sheep remarkably well. ‘All that thud-thud-thudding reminds me of Ibiza in the noughties.’
‘What time is dinner this evening?’ asked the doctor. Midge was pleased someone else had asked. Her own stomach had been rumbling ever since the engine house.
‘Whenever Harold helps me get the catering boxes inside,’ said Rendell.
‘Some vegetarian options, I hope?’ asked Rona. ‘Willow should have let you know that I was veggie. She’s my PA,’ she said to Midge, who hadn’t asked.
