Page 47 of Murder Most Haunted
‘Hey!’ said Noah, putting his arm around Harold. ‘Harold was sharing a moment with us then. You know what, Harold? I think this would make a great backstory for the podcast.The lonely, abandoned pensioner, clinging to...’
‘You’ve missed off “pathetic” from that description,’ said Rona.
‘Rona,’ said Noah, reproachfully.
‘What? We’re stuck here with a dead body because of this moron.’ She faced Harold. ‘If you were that desperate for company, why couldn’t you just get on Grindr or whatever it is you geriatrics do.’
There was a small pause. ‘Actually, I think you mean Tinder...’ said Noah, quietly.
But Rona was apoplectic. ‘Tinder, Grindr – I don’t care! We should have left hours ago, but for this idiot.’ She pointed a finger at Harold. ‘Do you know what, I’m not surprised bloody Linda left. In fact, Rendell probably topped himself so he wouldn’t have to listen to any more of your tedious stories—’
‘I’m not standing here listening to this,’ said Harold, grabbing his apple and storming out of the kitchen.
The rest of them sat in silence while Midge ate her sandwich, slowly shuffling through the evidence in her mind as she chewed. To her surprise, the feeling of unease remained despite her words to Noah. The shelves of evidence stored inside her mind rattled loudly – the figure who’d collided with her in the drawing room, the fuse box, the bathroom and Rendell’s bedroom clamouring for attention. Shoving her hand into her pocket, she fingered the edge of the photograph inside. Someone had deliberately tampered with the fuse in the box, wanting the house to be plunged into darkness. And as far as Midge could see, the only possible reason to do this was if somebody was desperate to conceal either an object or an activity.
Chapter28
Midge had been about to retire for the night when she was stopped outside Harold’s bedroom by several exclamations of bad language coming from inside. Wondering whether she had partly caused such an outburst of ill temper, she hovered next to the door, leaning her ear towards it. As she did so, her eye caught on something shiny on the ground by her shoe. It was a lone mother-of-pearl button, a single frayed thread still clinging to it. Unable to help herself, Midge bent down and scooped it up before cautiously knocking on the door.
The noise from inside immediately halted and, naturally, Midge took the absence of a reply as permission to enter, before pulling on the handle.
Harold was leaning over his dressing table, trying to stuff a collection of papers back into a drawer. But it wasn’t the coach driver who caught Midge’s attention. The entire room had been ransacked. Clothes were strewn across the floor, drawers emptied upside down on to the bed and even a chair cushion had been ripped in half, the stuffing splaying out on the carpet. The reckless abandon and sheer depraved disorganization was enough to make Midge twitch.
‘What on earth has happened?’
Harold spun round at the sound of Midge’s voice, clutching a bundle of newspaper clippings to his chest. ‘What are you doing in here?’ he asked.
‘I wondered if this was your button?’ She held it up, not caringto refer to the language she had heard. ‘Have you been burgled? I should really let the others know.’
‘What?’ Harold hastily stuffed the remaining papers into the drawer and pushed it tightly shut. ‘No. Burgled?! Of course not, that was me. Just trying to find my emergency cigarettes. And no, that’s not my button.’
He moved forward, arms out, herding Midge backwards as if she were a sheep.
‘Cigarettes inside your cushion?’ asked Midge. ‘You must have been very dedicated to quitting.’
‘What?’ Harold spun round as Midge pointed to the slaughtered upholstery. ‘Oh, that. That’s had a tear in since I got here. Had planned to complain to Rendell about it earlier, totally forgot about it.’
‘I suppose that’s hardly surprising.’ Midge stared at Harold as he moved forward again, blocking her view of the dressing table. ‘Shall I keep hold of it, then?’
‘What?’ Harold frowned at her.
‘The button,’ she said, waving it at him.
‘Yes. Yes, all right, whatever.’
‘So, did you find them?’ she asked, reluctantly turning to leave.
‘Find what?’
‘The cigarettes.’
‘No,’ said Harold. ‘It’s a mystery where they’ve got to.’
Not the only mystery in this house, thought Midge. Firstly, a death which every bone in her body told her was murder, not suicide. And one that, by confessing he was owed months of wages, Harold had just given himself a rather large motive for. And secondly, the mystery as to why the same quiet coach driver should have a drawer full of press clippings that appeared to be all about their very own Rona RX.
Sunday 22 December
Chapter29
