“I like your scent. Eau de Ellie, sunshine with a subtle bouquet of furniture polish.” He kissed me deeply and there were no shadows at Merlin’s Court.
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I admitted. “My mind was too busy, so I got up early and had a whip round with the spray can of lavender wax. There’s nothing like a little light housework for clearing away the mental cobwebs. Mrs. Malloy headed for the bus stop after breakfast. She should be back by now with her suitcase. If her sister doesn’t offer to put her up, she’ll be looking for a place in Milton Moor to spend the night. Which will be the same for us, if Tom and Betty send us smartly on our way.”
Ben kissed me again. I inhaled the spicy scent of his aftershave and the other essence that was essentially him. There are aromatic moments that put romance back into marriage, without thought of a ticking clock or a moody thirteen-year-old girl to be returned home.
I stroked his crisply curling black hair. “What about Abigail’s?”
“Freddy will handle things. We got it all sorted out over the phone while you were getting breakfast.”
“I know the situation has altered since last evening, but you so much wanted to get a quick start on the new book; also, you said you’d feel like a third wheel traveling with Mrs. Malloy.”
“It was the reverse. I didn’t want her feeling like piggy-in-the-middle when she was already under strain with this reunion with her sister looming.”
“Oh!” Talk about feeling small!
“I thought you’d guess where I was coming from.”
Perhaps I would have if I hadn’t said all the wrong things about the review in
“You’re wonderful.” I was bathed in sunlight, inside and out.
“Let’s hope the Hopkinses do boot us out and I can prove myself tonight in a hotel bedroom,” Ben murmured in my ear.
“I hope Betty doesn’t know Mrs. Malloy and I have done some sleuthing in the past. If she’s set on making it her mission to prove Lady Fiona murdered her husband, she’s unlikely to want either help or competition.”
“I don’t think you need worry about that angle. There was only one article in the local paper when the two of you took over that private investigator’s case and solved it-much to his chagrin.”
“Poor Milk Jugg. I hope he’s forgiven us.”
“Time to get going.” Ben picked up the suitcase and ushered me out of the bedroom.
“What’s Tom like?” I asked, as we headed downstairs.
“Quiet. Low-key.”
“Any hint of hidden depths beneath still waters?”
“We were never pals, even when working together at Uncle Sol’s restaurant. The only times I saw any real emotion in him was when he talked about his girlfriend and then on the couple of occasions I saw them together. The one before Ariel’s mother.”
“Who was his parents’ pick.”
“Right Angela. Same religious background. Safe choice.”
“For him, perhaps, but not for her. She died in a car he was driving.” I paused but found myself unable to ask Ben if he thought there was the remotest possibility it hadn’t been an accident. “Poor Angela! I wonder if he was ever madly in love with her. It’s obvious Ariel believes, or wants to, that it was the perfect union and Betty is a poor substitute turned pain-in-the-neck.”
“Then he’s got double trouble: his wife
“Tom didn’t insist on coming to collect Ariel?”
“A halfhearted offer. He said there was some sort of household panic going on that made it difficult for him or Betty to take off.”
“Maybe they have Lady Fiona tied up in the kitchen waiting for the police to arrive.” We stepped down into the hall to see the front door standing open and Tobias seated on the top outdoor step sunning his coat and lazily stirring his tail. Further investigation showed Mrs. Malloy heaving an enormous suitcase into the back of the Land Rover and Ariel standing off to the side with her skinny arms folded and a disapproving expression on her face.
“What’s in there,” she snipped, “the washing machine? So you don’t have to wash out your knickers in the sink at Crag-stone?”
Mrs. M was puffing too hard to reply.
“Let me help you with that.” Ben hurried over to her, and while he was stowing our luggage along with hers, which included the addition of a couple of hatboxes and a makeup case, Freddy ambled up the drive. Though looking the worse for his evening at the Dark Horse, he smiled amiably in our general direction. Scooping up Tobias, he nuzzled him into his beard, making it difficult to say where either of them left off.
“Never fear, Ellie.” He yawned a grin at me. “All will be well at Merlin’s Court under my command. Don’t bother to get in touch unless somebody dies.”
Hardly the best send-off. But Freddy has his own brand of humor. He claims the bodies start piling up wherever Mrs. Malloy and I put in an appearance. Completely unfounded… or, shall we say, exaggerated. Ben and I, having returned his wave, watched him head into the house and close the door. Paradise lay within: our entire refrigerator to himself.
We took our seats in the front of the vehicle while Mrs. M and Ariel got into the back. For a while we drove in silence, presumably each busy with our own thoughts. I for one was glad of the lengthy drive ahead. It would take us a couple of hours to get into Yorkshire. Mrs. Malloy had to be wondering what reception she would get from her sister, Melody. Ariel was surely somewhat nervous about being returned to the bosom of her family. Ben was probably the only one of us capable of enjoying the scenery as it slid past the windows. Or was I projecting my unease onto the two in the backseat? Maybe they only had happy thoughts in their heads. Ariel sounded chipper enough when she finally spoke.
“I hope nobody minds that I used the phone this morning.”
“Not at all,” I replied. “Did you ring your-”
“I’d rather not say for the moment who I spoke to.”
“That’s up to you,” Ben told her.
“Are we stopping soon for something to eat?” she inquired, with that imperious note in her voice that I’d compassionately ascribed to a desperate need to be loved. “I’m starving.”
“What, already?” Mrs. Malloy retorted before either Ben or I could flex our lips. “After that enormous breakfast you ate? I don’t know where you put it. Nice and slim as you are,” she added hastily, before letting out a piercing squeal.
Had Ariel pinched her? Before I could twist my head around, Mrs. M explained.
“It’s the underwire of me bra poking into me. They always do it after I’ve had them for a while.”
“Why not switch to another make?” I asked, as Ben passed a double-decker bus, only to discover it had been lumbering behind a lorry that seemed to be laboring under the delusion that it was a hay cart being pulled by a tired old nag. Making for further frustration, we were now going uphill, unable to see oncoming traffic.
“I couldn’t do that, Mrs. H. Like I’ve told you before, I had no trouble getting rid of me husbands when they didn’t work out, but I’ve kept me solemn vow to stay married to one make of bra for life.”
“I wish Dad would get rid of Betty,” muttered Ariel.
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” Ben replied, without shifting his gaze.
Silence pervaded the Land Rover’s interior. We finally made it past the lorry and came to a roundabout, followed the arrow marked TO THE NORTH, and got off at the right exit. Had I been driving, we would have circled until we were giddy. I dozed off and wakened to hear Mrs. Malloy rustling around in her handbag; there followed the crackle of candy wrappers.
“No, thank you,” said Ariel.
“Want a toffee?” A paper bag was handed up front.
“Not for me, thanks.” Ben edged to a stop at a red light in a street lined by narrow-faced gray stone shops, with an open-air market glimpsed around one corner.
“Then I’ll take two.” I handed the bag back.
Mrs. Malloy said it was always good to have a few sweets on hand. I agreed and we sped on, leaving the town
