Page 5 of Murder Most Haunted
‘That entire suitcase?’ said Midge, who was glad she had kept the ladies with her, unable to bear the idea of them being squashed.
‘Fifty pairs,’ nodded Rona.
Noah was back clucking over Harold as he pushed the suitcases into the hold. ‘It’s not TV equipment,’ he was explaining. ‘I’m a podcaster.’
‘Pardon?’ said Harold, levering the suitcase up for one last shove, causing Noah to wince.
‘Like a radio show,’ he explained.
‘Oh?’ Harold straightened up, raising an eyebrow. ‘Do you do requests and things?’
Noah shook his head. ‘Uh, no. Nothing like that. It’s a show about the paranormal.’
Harold was disappointed. ‘That’s a shame. I love a bit of the golden oldies... any of the big band stuff...’
To Midge’s surprise, the driver suddenly burst into song, the air condensing into dismal puffs in front of him.
‘Parom pa dom... pom-pom... parom—’
‘Harold!’ Rendell’s voice cut through the noise, his face dark with irritation. ‘Stop fooling about, we’re behind the departure schedule.’ He flashed a smile towards the rest of them. ‘If you’ve handed your bags over to Harold, please find your seats.’
‘Yes, boss!’ Harold gave a mock salute and smiled at Midge,who was left standing next to him as the others moved back along the pavement.
‘Leather trim on this leopard-print one is fake...’ he muttered, shaking his head, throwing the last of Rona’s cases on board. ‘I bet there’s nothing about her that’s real, if you get my drift...’ He winked back at Midge, causing her to blink in alarm.
‘I prefer my women a hundred per cent authentic,’ he continued, grabbing at his sizable man breasts in case she was in any doubt as to what he meant.
‘But not your own hair?’ enquired Midge, purely out of curiosity.
Harold was still smoothing his toupé as she made her way to the coach steps, determined to get to the back seats first.
Unfortunately for Midge, the back of the bus was also the location of the lavatory. The small cubicle door had a latch displaying ‘ENGAGED’ and a poster reading ‘OUT OFORDER’ hanging from the handle. The rest of the coach, upholstered in scratchy nylon the colour of an aubergine, also did little to live up to the promise of the brochure. There were twelve rows of seats, two on each side, and the bus was old enough to still have ashtrays carved into the arms of the chairs, which heightened the residual smell of cigarettes. Despite having deliberately laid her cane out at an awkward angle (a trick that usually had the desired effect on trains), to Midge’s immense disappointment, Noah Camber chose the seat adjacent to her.
‘Is it OK if I move your stick?’ he said, although Midge noted that he had already done so. He then proceeded to clean his hands with antibacterial gel before sitting. So much gel, in fact, that Midge was beginning to feel lightheaded with the fumes.
Midge collected her cane, sending it a silent apology for the disturbance, and wedged it back across the seat, blocking his attempt to sit down.
The boy frowned. ‘I need to be near the toilet,’ he explained, even though she hadn’t asked.
‘There are plenty of other seats equidistant from the lavatory,’ said Midge, gripping the end of the cane firmly. ‘Ones that arefree.’
‘But this oneisfree,’ protested Noah.
‘Do you see my cane?’ she asked.
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘Then clearly the seat isn’t free.’
‘I get really travel sick... Oh bugger!’ He’d noticed the sign on the door.
Midge thought about this. ‘I don’t really think that is something that I need to know,’ she said.
She took out her phone and began to tap quietly into the keypad.
There was a ping from an incoming text notification. It was Bridie.
Are you on the coach?
