Mrs Pargeter 01; A Nice Class of Corpse

Miss Naismith sighed with relief. “Well, that seems to have exhausted this particular –”

“The only thing that struck me about it,” Mrs Pargeter went on firmly, “is that, if this were a detective story, you could guarantee that the three cases would be connected.”

“What three cases?” asked Eulalie.

“The two deaths and the robbery.”

Mr Dawlish looked puzzled. “What have the two deaths got to do with it?”

“Well, if this were a detective story, you could safely assume that the two deaths were murders.”

There was an awkward silence, which Miss Naismith finally thought proper to break. “I’m afraid I cannot regard that suggestion as being in the best of taste.”

“I wasn’t suggesting it seriously. Only saying that, if this were a detective story, that would be a safe assumption to make.”

“Well, this isn’t a detective story.” Miss Naismith placed her empty glass on the counter. “I may say, I was always brought up to believe that detective stories are the products of trivial minds – and the entertainment of equally trivial ones.” She turned towards the door. “I believe it is nearly time for dinner.”

After she had left the room, the others downed their drinks rather hastily, regretting the slight ‘atmosphere’ that had been created. ‘Atmospheres’ were avoided at the Devereux.

But Mrs Pargeter was unrepentant. She had set up the scene deliberately to check out certain reactions and, though she could not claim to have observed anything startling, she did not feel that the exercise had been wasted.

It was part of a new approach to the case. Hitherto she had been discreet and unobtrusive. Now she was beginning to think she might have to assert herself a little more, show a higher profile, maybe even use shock tactics to get nearer the solution to the mystery.

Newth was picking up glasses from the counter. The other residents had gone through to the Admiral’s Dining Room.

“Oh, Kevin,” Mrs Pargeter said casually, “I went up to London today.”

“Really, Madam? I hope that was enjoyable.” The prim formality remained in his voice.

“Yes. I went to see someone near Bond Street.”

“Oh?”

“A specialist in imitation jewellery called Desmond Chiddham.”

Having decided to use shock tactics, she couldn’t have asked for more satisfactory shock reactions. The colour drained from Newth’s face. One hand reached up to press against his chest, while the other went forward to support him against the bar. Mrs Pargeter wondered whether he was about to collapse again as he had outside the bungalow in Lancing. Once again she was made aware of what a very sick man he was.

But he didn’t collapse. Not quite. He just swayed, looking at her speechlessly.

“I wonder…maybe you and I could have a talk? With Lady Ridgleigh, too, I think that would perhaps be best.”

His tongue licked across dry lips, but still no words came.

“What, in the Seaview Lounge, about half-past eight…do you think that would suit…?”

Newth nodded, and Mrs Pargeter went through to enjoy her dinner in the Admirals’ Dining Room.

? A Nice Class of Corpse ?

35

MONDAY, 11 MARCH – 8.15 p.m.

As I anticipated, it looks very much as if two murders will not have been enough. Mrs Mendlingham died because she could have incriminated me about Mrs Selsby’s murder, and now I fear that there is someone else who may have information that could restrict my freedom.

I have been suspicious of her since she arrived. There is about her a watchfulness, which I am beginning to find unnerving. She misses nothing, and I suspect she has the intelligence to make connections between the pieces of information she picks up.

I’ve a nasty feeling that she’s on to me. At first I thought she was just nosey, poking around the hotel because she’s curious by nature. But now I’m coming to the conclusion that her inquisitiveness is not random. She is behaving almost like a professional investigator.

For a start, she appears to possess a professional’s equipment – and the expertise to go with it. When I saw her in the small hours of Monday morning, I’m fairly sure that she had just broken into the Office. I can only assume that she used some sort of skeleton key. That sounds uncomfortably professional to me.

Then tonight in the bar she said something that suggested that she’s definitely on to me. That business about the crimes being linked came too close to the truth for comfort.

I don’t know how much she knows yet, but she’s getting there, and I can’t take the risk of giving her much more time. So far as I know, she hasn’t said anything to the police yet, and I must see to it that she doesn’t get the chance.

Yes, what I’m saying is that there has to be a third murder. I would like to have more leisure to plan, to ensure that this one looks as accidental as the others, but I think this time it’s too urgent.

She has to go – and quickly!

? A Nice Class of Corpse ?

36

Mrs Pargeter lay on her bed for a little while after dinner. She was tired after the exertions of the day, following on the sequence of interrupted nights. She couldn’t take it like she used to. Though very fit for her age, there was no way round the fact that she had reached sixty-seven. And she was going to need all her strength for the interview ahead of her.

She must have dozed off, and woke with a start, afraid that she might have missed her rendezvous. But no, her watch told her she had only been asleep for ten minutes.

As often happens after a brief nap, her mouth tasted foul. She went to the basin and cleaned her teeth, but still the rusty taste lingered.

“Make sure you always have sweet breath.” That had been another of the late Mr Pargeter’s pieces of advice. “There is no excuse for smelly breath. It’s one of those things that is quite controllable.”

For this reason, although her own breath was usually sweet, it was Mrs Pargeter’s habit to have an atomiser spray around in her bedroom (or in her handbag if she was going out). She had always taken to heart any advice that the late Mr Pargeter had given her (and she knew how particularly important it was for older people to be careful about their breath).

She reached to her bedside table now for the atomiser and directed a couple of sharp puffs into her mouth. The taste of the spray made her feel immediately better.

She put the atomiser down on her bedside table and checked her face and hair in the mirror. Then she picked up her handbag and went straight down to the Seaview Lounge.

¦

Lady Ridgleigh and Newth were already installed in the armchairs in the bay when she entered the room. The curtains had not been drawn, only one small lamp was on, on the far wall, and from the sea a faint, greyish light glowed, outlining the two figures against the windows.

Mrs Pargeter drew up a small stool and positioned herself between the two armchairs. She was very aware of the ponderous ticking of the grandfather clock.

“Thank you for coming,” she said softly.

The bony outline of Lady Ridgleigh’s head was graciously inclined.