Now, it was Monday and Juliet could almost believe that nothing dramatic had occurred. Dorothy was upstairs, still stripping beds and cleaning bathrooms after the party on Friday. The hum of the hoover was reassuring, almost hypnotic. Harriet had taken herself off immediately after breakfast. ‘I might park in Hexham and get a train into the city. There’s an exhibition at the Laing Gallery that I rather fancy.’
Juliet thought any examination of the art would be superficial and quick. Harriet adored shopping, but would have thought it undignified to admit to browsing the city’s clothes shops as a form of therapy. The exhibition provided an excuse. She would have lunch or afternoon tea with one of her friends. Usually Juliet was anxious when Harriet disappeared to Newcastle – she had an ability to spend money that was close to addictive, and Mark became almost puritan when Harriet came back dripping with upmarket clothes bags – but today she was delighted to be free of her mother.
Juliet was setting out a simple lunch for herself and Dorothy – the remains of the cheese and fruit left over from the Friday party – when the doorbell rang. Though there was a police officer on the gate, the previous day some journalists had found their way into the grounds and now Juliet answered the door with a little trepidation. She found it hard to be rude and to shut the door in the faces of the reporters, even when they’d climbed over a wall to intrude, so when she saw Vera standing there, it was almost with a sense of relief.
‘Come in!’
Vera walked past her and made her way, without being asked, into the kitchen. She stood with her back to the Aga. ‘It’s still bloody freezing out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was more snow.’ She looked at the places set at the table. ‘Just the two of you today?’
‘Just Dorothy and me. Mark’s at work and Mother has gone into Newcastle to get her monthly fix of the shops.’
‘Have you and Dorothy been in all morning?’
‘I’ve not left the house. Dorothy drove into Kirkhill first thing to pick up bread and milk. I thought we had some in the freezer, but your forensic chaps cleared us out.’ Juliet couldn’t see where this was leading. She wondered if all Vera’s conversations sounded a bit like an interrogation.
Vera sat heavily on one of the wooden chairs by the table. ‘Stick the kettle on, pet. I’m parched and this might take a while. It’s not a courtesy call.’
‘You’ve found out who killed Lorna?’ Then this might be over, Juliet thought. We can go back to how things were, worrying about money, Mark’s project, the need for a new boiler, but not thinking about a killer who might be lurking in the trees in the park. Not worrying that someone we know is a murderer or that all our family secrets will spill out.
‘No.’
The kettle squealed and Juliet moved towards it to make tea. There were footsteps on the stairs and Dorothy appeared in the doorway carrying the hoover as if it had no weight at all. She looked at Vera. ‘I thought I heard the door.’
‘It’s Constance Browne,’ Vera said. ‘She’s disappeared. I wondered if you had any idea where she might be.’
‘What do you mean, disappeared?’
Juliet poured boiling water into the teapot and carried it to the table.
‘She left home suddenly, without telling anyone.’ Vera sat heavily on the nearest chair. ‘Anyone else, whose car had been involved in a murder, and who disappeared off the face of the earth, we’d think of them as a suspect.’
‘You don’t believe Miss Browne killed Lorna?’ Juliet thought this was so ridiculous that she wondered if Vera meant it as some weird joke. She felt herself begin to giggle, the rise of hysteria. She turned away to fetch mugs from a cupboard and only looked back when she’d composed herself.
‘Why not? She was fit, strong. We only have her word that Lorna had borrowed the car last Friday. She could have been driving.’ Vera reached out to pour tea into her mug before waiting to be asked, stared at Juliet. ‘Or don’t you think an older woman could be capable of planning something like that? Don’t you think she’d have the nerve?’
‘Constance had plenty of nerve,’ Juliet said. ‘But couldn’t she just have gone off to Newcastle for a day’s Christmas shopping? Or off to visit relatives for the holidays?’
‘A day’s Christmas shopping, maybe,’ Vera conceded, ‘but not the holiday. As far as we can tell, she didn’t take anything with her. We’re checking taxi firms and bus companies now. We still have her car, so she’d not have been driving.’
Dorothy fetched milk from the fridge and set another knife and plate for Vera. Lunch, it seemed, would be eaten, despite the new mini-drama.
‘Constance might have the strength,’ Dorothy said, ‘and she’s certainly intelligent enough to plan something like that, but why would she? There’s no reason at all.’
‘No skeletons in her cupboard?’ Vera asked. ‘Some secret Lorna might have discovered?’
‘Of course not!’ Juliet felt the hysteria bubbling again. ‘This is ludicrous. Like some dreadful TV
