A Fatal Flaw Read online

  ‘I rather gathered that.’

  ‘Patricia Merriweather.’ She thrust out a slightly gnarled hand. ‘Widow, tireless donator to charity, owner of a tediously respectable and tiresomely ‘old’ family name and champion of the city’s rather more risqué architecture,’ the old lady introduced herself.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Clement said, and meant it. He was beginning to think he was the oldest person there! ‘Clement Ryder. City coroner and all-round curmudgeon.’

  Over by the stage curtain, Trudy had just arrived and was yet to change. She saw Dr Ryder at once, chatting and laughing in the front seats with the old lady who was something to do with preserving the theatre.

  She noticed Betty, looking rather peeved, just walking away from the Dunbars, who were having a rather heated discussion about something, and saw the other girl’s face clear and then smile when she spotted her.

  ‘Hello,’ Trudy said with a grin. ‘I’m rather looking forward to tonight. Miss Farley hasn’t said what dress I’m going to be wearing, but I’m hoping it’s something swanky,’ Trudy confessed. She found it very odd to have to refer to her friend Grace as ‘Miss Farley’. ‘She says it’s really nice.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be,’ Betty said encouragingly. And then, following Trudy’s glance towards the front seats, nodded. ‘Looks like the judges will be out in force tonight. I wonder who the old girl is flirting with now.’

  Trudy blinked in astonishment. True, she’d already seen for herself how relaxed Clement was, even laughing now and then and leaning closer to listen to what his companion was saying, but it had never occurred to her that he was being ‘flirted with’! And by a woman so much older than he was!

  ‘Really?’ she asked, astonished. ‘Mrs Merriweather didn’t strike me that way. Didn’t I hear someone say that she was from one of the city’s old families?’ Trudy heard herself stutter.

  Betty laughed. ‘Oh yes. One of the oldest and most respectable. Old money too, and the Merriweathers have managed to keep it too, despite the two world wars. A lot of the old guard went into serious decline, but not them. Mind you, it hasn’t been all roses for them.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Family troubles,’ Betty said darkly. ‘The Merriweathers have always had the reputation of being unlucky. My mum said a lot of them died in that bad flu epidemic after the First World War, and losing so many of their children sent some of the older generation a bit dotty.’

  ‘I imagine it must have sent a lot of people dotty,’ Trudy said sadly.

  ‘Yeah. But the old girl’s all right,’ Betty said breezily. ‘Besides, she married into the family. No tainted blood in her and all that. Mind you, her son, Christopher, went a bit queer in the last war, so they say. Shell shock I suppose. Or he might have been a prisoner of war.’

  Trudy shivered. She had no real memories of the war, of course, having been too young to remember how bad it must have been. Her main memories concerned food rationing and the dearth of proper sweets that came afterwards! But she’d grown up listening to her parents talking about the friends and family they had lost, and those they knew who had suffered both mentally as well as physically.

  ‘I hope he’s all right now? Mrs Merriweather’s son?’

  Betty shrugged, quickly losing interest. ‘I don’t know. He must be, I suppose, because I know he got married and had a kid of his own – a girl, I think, because the old woman often talks about her granddaughter Millie. Dotes on her, like all grannies do. I think he travels a lot, and left his good old mother to raise the kiddie. Stopped her being so lonely, I expect.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ Trudy said. She liked a story with a happy ending. ‘I’ve only met Mrs Merriweather the once, I think, but I liked her.’

  ‘Yes, she’s a grand old dame,’ Betty agreed with a smile. ‘Bit of a raver in her time, though, or so I hear. Did the Charleston with the rest of the bright young things and drank champagne out of a slipper. That sort of thing! Mind you, she’s been a widow for some time now. So I don’t know if that fella she’s with is all that safe!’

  Trudy had to hide a grin. She was pretty confident that ‘the old fella’ could take care of himself!

  ‘Who’s not safe?’ Sylvia Blane asked, making Betty jump and Trudy spin around fast. She hadn’t heard her come up behind them.

  ‘Don’t sneak up on us like that!’ Betty said, betraying how tight her nerves were. Clearly the person behind the threats was having an effect on everyone’s morale, and it made Trudy angry. What right did he or she have to make everyone’s life so miserable?

  Sylvia mumbled an apology. ‘Sorry. But when you said someone wasn’t safe… I sort of got spooked. Nothing’ – her voice lowered a couple of decibels – ‘bad has happened again, has it?’ she whispered.

  Betty laughed in relief. ‘No! I was just telling the newcomer here about our Pat! How she was a grand old girl in her time, and how she’s probably getting her claws into the new judge over there.’

  ‘Oh, is that all!’ Sylvia wilted in relief. Then she smiled. ‘You’ve got to hand it to her. She’s a game old girl. I think I like her the best out of all the judges. At least you know she’ll be fair.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Betty said darkly.

  At this, Trudy’s mental antenna pinged suddenly. ‘What? What do you mean? Aren’t the rest of the judges fair?’ she asked, hoping she sounded suitably innocent and naive.

  The other two girls exchanged glances. Then Betty grinned widely. ‘Well, let’s just say some of us are trying to sneak an advantage. Right, Sylv?’

  Sylvia opened her eyes wide. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Right. Like you’ve not been vamping the lovely Rupert!’ Betty teased.

  ‘Oh well. Judges expect to be buttered up,’ the other girl muttered with a sly grin.

  Trudy sighed. This was getting her nowhere. ‘What about Vicky?’ she asked casually. ‘Does she butter up the judges too?’

  ‘Not that I noticed,’ Betty said, clearly determined to be fair.

  ‘I dare say losing her best friend left her feeling down,’ Trudy fished gently.

  ‘Yes. I suppose,’ Sylvia put in. ‘But if you ask me, she’s got over it pretty quickly.’

  But before Trudy could follow up on this interesting line, she was thwarted.

  ‘Oh hello – the judges are heading our way.’ Betty hissed the sudden warning, and Trudy turned slightly to see Clement and Patricia heading across the stage towards them.

  ‘Hello, girls. Going to treat us to a fashion parade tonight then?’ Patricia said with a smile. ‘Have you met your newest judge, Dr Ryder?’

  Clement politely shook hands with all three of them, Trudy not quite knowing where to look when her friend reached out and shook her own hand.

  ‘I think I’ve seen all of you before, the last time I was here,’ Clement said smoothly. ‘But it’s nice to meet you officially.’

  Trudy, worried that she might give herself away somehow if she indulged in too much small talk with her friend, muttered an excuse about needing to find her gown, and beat a strategic retreat.

  Grace was waiting for her in her dressing room with a gown that made Trudy’s eyes pop.

  It was a deep ruby-red genuine silk dress with an empire waistline and intricately beaded shoulder straps that seemed to glow like the gemstone. Sleeveless, it would leave her shoulders bare, no doubt lending her skin a pale-as-cream contrast that would hopefully catch the judges’ eyes.

  Then she brought herself up short. What did it matter if she caught the judges’ eyes or not? She was not really in the competition!

  ‘I thought this would suit you,’ Grace said casually as she handed it over. ‘It’s from a play they put on last year – one of those murder-mystery things. You know, set in the drawing room of a country mansion sort of thing. I think this belonged to the actress who turned out to be the killer,’ Grace added with a wry twist of her lips.

  Trudy, a little taken aback by the col
dness of the silk, stared down at the lustrously glowing folds speechlessly. It looked so sumptuous and glamorous that she was worried that just touching it might soil it.

  ‘Well, go ahead and put it on,’ Grace said, a shade sharply. ‘The girl who does hair will be along soon. She’s nearly finished with Connie Beardsley, and you’ll want to get yours done before that Judith Calver gets hold of her. She takes ages, and demands that all sorts of twiddly bits and who-knows-what gets done to her precious locks.’

  ‘Oh right,’ Trudy said, shaking a leg and going behind a screen to start peeling off her clothes. She felt absurdly shy doing so, and wondered nervously if she’d be able to do the lovely dress justice. The closest she’d ever come to owning a ‘gown’ was when a neighbour had knocked up a white frothy dress for her when she’d been voted May Queen of her primary school when she was 10!

  Grace carefully shut the door of the dressing room and then approached the screen. ‘Have you learned anything yet?’ she asked quietly, aiming her voice over the top of it.

  ‘Not really,’ Trudy was forced to admit. ‘But there are some interesting bits and pieces we’ve picked up on,’ she said, but didn’t go into the details about the dead moth, or any of the gossip that was doing the rounds. ‘I’ve just been chatting to the girls about Patricia Merriweather. Is it true there’s madness in her family?’ she asked.

  For if the prankster at the theatre really was Abby’s killer, then surely she should be looking at someone who might be insane? There was, after all, a sort of leering, nasty glee about the troubles that had beset the theatre and the pageant that smacked of someone with a sick mind.

  Although the old woman seemed perfectly normal on the surface, you never could tell. Trudy had already made a mental note to tell the coroner about it the moment she had the opportunity. Since he was so clearly getting on with her, he’d be in the ideal position to get to know her better, and as a medical man he might notice any tell-tale signs if there was anything wrong with her.

  ‘What? Mrs Merriweather?’ Grace said, startled. ‘No, don’t be silly,’ she added somewhat impatiently. Then, realising that she mustn’t sound too sure about things in case Trudy started to wonder why, she quickly temporised. ‘Well, I know her granddaughter’s been ill recently and is under the care of doctors,’ she added casually. ‘So she’s probably not feeling her best. We sort of got talking about it, when she learned about Mum being so ill. She was really helpful and kind and understanding about that. Reading between the lines, I got the feeling the doctors aren’t hopeful about her granddaughter’s recovery. Poor thing! Mind you, the old lady isn’t the sort who takes things lying down, and she has the doctors hopping to it and doing all they can.’

  Behind the screen, Trudy couldn’t help but smile. ‘I’ll bet she has,’ she said.

  ‘No, you’re barking up the wrong tree there, Trudy. Besides, she wouldn’t do anything that would hurt the theatre or its reputation. She’s determined to stop it being knocked down to make way for a car park or whatever might happen to it, if they can’t keep it going.’

  Trudy emerged from behind the screen and walked tentatively towards the mirror. The dress fell in lush, gleaming folds to the tops of her feet and made a gloriously ‘swishing’ sound as she moved. It had a modest set of underskirts that gave it a slightly bell-shaped and very pretty line, and she hardly dared look in the mirror. But when she did, her big dark eyes rounded. ‘Oh, Grace, it’s fabulous!’

  The beading on the shoulder straps and on the high waistline sparkled in the artificial light, and the deep ruby-red colour accentuated and made the most of her dark curls and dark eyes. When she’d got her hair done up properly – perhaps in some loose, wavy-type chignon – and had had time to get her make-up on properly, she…

  Again she had to stop herself from getting excited. She was here to do a job – not get distracted by playing ‘dress-up’.

  Grace, who’d probably seen more than her fair share of sumptuous gowns since being roped in to oversee the beauty pageant, barely gave it a glance. ‘Yes, you look lovely,’ she agreed absently. Then she got back to what was really important. ‘So you really have no idea who’s behind all this awful business?’ she persisted, unaware that there was something in her voice beside impatience, something darker and far more menacing. Or that Trudy had picked up on it.

  In the mirror, Trudy looked at her friend’s reflection with troubled eyes. Grace was standing just behind her and her face looked small, pale and tense in the windowless room.

  Trudy was sure that she’d detected pure desperation in her friend’s voice.

  ‘Grace, nothing’s been sent to you, has it?’ she asked abruptly, turning around, and catching her friend unawares. ‘Nobody’s been making trouble for you, have they? Because if they have, you must tell me – you mustn’t be brave and keep it to yourself.’

  But the only look on Grace’s face was one of genuine surprise. ‘What? Me? Oh no. You mean have I had a nasty letter or something?’

  Trudy nodded.

  But Grace shook her head firmly. ‘No. Nothing like that. Besides, I’m only the general dogsbody who does a bit of minor admin for the pageant. I’m not a competitor or anything important like that.’

  Trudy wondered why Grace was so sure that only those who were in the competition were at risk. If Abigail was murdered (and she had to remember that, so far not even that had been established) then perhaps her killer had a grudge against the beauty pageant as a whole. In which case, surely, any one of them involved with it might be at risk? The judges, Dennis Quayle-Jones, the Dunbars – anyone.

  Slowly, Trudy became aware of a slightly sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and regarded her friend uncertainly. ‘Grace… do you know something about all this that you’re not telling me?’ she asked quietly.

  She was dismayed to see a look of guilt quickly flit across her friend’s face.

  Inside, Grace felt a small leap of triumph that she was careful not to let show. Finally the opening she was looking for!

  ‘What?’ She forced her eyes wide in what she hoped was an unconvincing show of innocence. ‘No, of course not. If I had any proof of somebody doing something wrong, I’d have told you right away! You know I would!’ Grace avowed, hoping that her friend had picked up on the slight emphasis she’d given the word ‘proof’. Because if not, this was going to be harder going than she’d hoped.

  Trudy smiled with sudden relief. ‘Oh I get it. You suspect someone, but because you don’t know anything for sure, you don’t feel right in talking about it?’

  Grace looked away quickly, as if hiding non-existent guilt.

  Trudy smiled. Good old Gracie! It was just like her to be so fair-minded. Gently, she reached out and touched her friend on the arm.

  ‘It’s all right, Grace. You can tell me. I won’t go mentioning it to anybody but Dr Ryder and he’ll be discreet. But you have to tell me who you suspect and why.’

  Grace sighed gently. At last! But now, she would have to be careful. She couldn’t over-do it, but she needed to get her friend well and truly hooked.

  ‘But, Trudy, I don’t have any real proof. Nothing I can point to and say, “look, see, so-and-so did this”. It’s just… I just feel… I can sense that this person is… wrong. That there’s something… skewed, something… dark about them… Oh, it’s no good. I can’t really put the feeling into words. Trudy, it’s been really awful,’ she said. And meant it.

  Her life, just recently, had been made pure hell.

  ‘You just have an instinct about them?’ Trudy suggested gently. ‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, in training, my tutors told me that most officers develop a sort of “copper’s instinct” about things. They just can tell when something’s wrong.’

  Grace smiled wryly. ‘Most people just laugh at “women’s intuition” though, you know.’

  ‘Well. I won’t,’ Trudy promised, reaching out to put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. ‘So come on, tell me. Who
is it that worries you so?’

  Grace glanced around uneasily, but the dressing-room door was still firmly shut. She didn’t really have to feign fear, for she knew that if a certain person ever got wind of what she was doing… She shuddered.

  Beneath her hand, Trudy felt the movement, and felt a tremor of fear herself.

  ‘Gracie! What is it?’ Trudy asked, feeling more and more unnerved. She knew, from her training, that panic and fear could be as contagious as the common cold, and forced herself to brace up. ‘You must tell me! I won’t let anybody know what you say to me. I promise. I won’t even put it down in writing on my official police report.’

  Even with this encouragement, Grace visibly hesitated, and Trudy, who was beginning to feel like screaming with impatience, was just about to ask her again what she thought, when her friend finally spoke.

  ‘All right. It’s… it’s Mrs Dunbar! I think she might be the one doing all this. I think she killed Abby deliberately. I know she…’

  Chapter 17

  ‘Hello – does someone in here want their hair done up?’ The voice, shocking in its mundane breeziness made both women jump guiltily apart.

  The opening door revealed a plump, middle-aged woman toting a large bag overflowing with curlers, heating tongs, various hairbrushes and combs, and canisters of hairspray.

  ‘Yes, this is Trudy. I think her hair would look nice done up, don’t you, with maybe some curling tendrils either side?’ Grace gabbled hastily, shooting her friend a slightly panicked look. ‘I’d best go and let you get on with it.’

  Trudy, feeling immensely frustrated at being interrupted at such a crucial moment, watched her friend shoot out the door. Clearly she was terrified that the hairdresser might have overheard what she’d been saying.

  Was she really so frightened of Christine Dunbar?

  If only she’d had time to finish what she’d been about to say! Grace, having worked for the Dunbars for some time, was in the best position to have picked up on anything that might be wrong about the situation at the theatre if her employers were somehow involved.