Melody of Murder Read online

  ‘What do you say?’

  Look into his so innocent eyes … and lie. ‘Laura will love that.’ Laura was tired of being used or ignored. ‘And Annie.’ He and Annie would make it work for them, and he would take trips into London whether his father liked it or not.

  ‘Good, good.’ Percy’s little smile was the one the world saw when the man was triumphant. ‘I should leave you to your practice, Elyan. You’re a good boy. You have always understood that I know what is best for you. Now you must never forget that.’

  Pearl pink streaked the sky and a strengthening wind whipped against Elyan’s back, pushing his dark hair forward. One of the benefits of curly hair was that it looked much the same whatever you did to it. His mind had raced even faster than his feet while he slipped rapidly through the back exit from the house on Lawn Road to Belsize Park tube, took a train to Hampstead station and burst up to the street again. Sebastian had made sure Elyan could get away without being seen. There had been no opportun- ity to discuss his father’s bombshell, but that would have to come. He kept jogging the hilly streets until he reached the alley off Heath Street where Slider’s, a small blues club, occupied a tucked away corner.

  He saw Annie’s long, coppery hair and remembered to breathe again. She stood against the gray stone wall that faced the club. From the other side of the wall, new branches of a laburnum tree loaded with yellow blossoms bounced above her head sending faint shadows over her face. His favorite face. Big, serious brown eyes, a sharp nose and a mouth that belied those serious eyes, full, soft lips tilted in the perpetual hint of a smile.

  She saw him and waved. Elyan ran faster and didn’t stop until he swung her against him and held her in one arm. ‘Did your parents tell you about my father’s plans for the Cotswolds?’

  ‘Yes, all of it. Look at me, please.’ She shook him until he stared into her eyes. ‘We’ve always known there were going to be obstacles. This is just the latest and it won’t be allowed to change a thing between us. You agree?’

  Looking at her, listening to her voice, he believed anything she said. ‘Of course I do. I’m ticked at the underhanded stuff, that’s all. Do you trust Sebastian?’ That wasn’t what he meant to say next. He usually had better control over his concerns than that, especially with Annie.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Annie leaned away to see his face. ‘He’s your friend. He’s our friend.’

  A jostling, laughing group filed past them and he looked at the ground. Dull grey cobbles. ‘Let’s get inside.’ He guided her up stone steps so old they were worn down in the centers. Inside Slider’s, shiny brown-painted walls were covered with taped or pinned-on hand-lettered ads for flatmates, flyers for bands appearing in the area, or sessions in an array of the less traditional arts. Elyan quickly eased Annie through sagging green curtains into a darkened alcove he’d noticed before. Draped boxes and unidentifiable shapes crowded against each wall like ghost impersonators.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ Annie said breathlessly. ‘Tell me now.’

  He had to smile. His Annie was a quiet, composed young woman but she was no good at mysteries or guessing games. ‘You’re smiling,’ she whispered. ‘I can see it. Where would we be without Sebastian – and Laura? How would we see each other at all? Without them we wouldn’t be here right now.’

  ‘I know that and I understand Laura, she’s something special, but have you ever wondered why Sebastian helps us?’

  Annie gathered her long coppery hair into one hand and pulled it forward over her shoulder. ‘I don’t want to stay in this … cupboard. Laura was probably right behind us and if we aren’t out there, she might leave.’

  ‘Would that be so bad?’ Damn, but this was a night for saying things that could be thought but never said aloud. ‘I mean—’

  ‘I don’t believe you said that.’ Annie looked away. ‘Is that how you feel about Laura, Elyan?’

  There were times when honesty, even if it hurt a bit, was the only best course. ‘Sometimes. I’d like us to have more time alone. But don’t listen to me. I’m in a shit mood after today. Sorry. It’s fine she’s coming, you know that. We’ll go in and get a table.’

  ‘Sebastian reserves a table for us.’ Light caught her eyes.

  ‘You mean he’s arranged for the same table to be available whenever we want to come. This isn’t a place where you telephone to reserve tables.’

  She caught his hand. ‘He knows Slider. They’re friends. He does it for us so we’ll be close to the music.’

  ‘Yes and I could be all wet on this, but I’m sick of being manipulated. We’ll sit somewhere else.’

  ‘Why?’ She tugged on his arm. ‘This is our place. We … this is the only place I get to hear you play your blues. We’re safe here, Elyan. Please?’

  There wasn’t a reasonable answer. What did he think, that the table was bugged? ‘Forget it. I’m overreacting.’

  He let her lead him back into the passage. At the entrance to the single long, narrow room where the bar ran along most of one exposed brick wall, he ducked through the stream of people coming and going. They went to their usual table only feet from a battered upright piano where Slider, the owner, played a medley of jazz and blues.

  As if magically summoned, the waitress they knew as Nancy plopped two half pints of lager on the scarred black tabletop before they were even settled. ‘On the house,’ she said, raising her voice above the music. ‘I’ll be back with Laura’s.’

  Slider segued into an old favorite, ‘Bayou Blues’, and played with his usual bench-bouncing, ivory-hammering style, his head thrown back and rocking, eyes tightly closed. The black man’s shaved skull shone in a single overhead spot. One after another, crescent furrows spread across thin cheeks from a mouth drawn back in a wide smile. Forties, fifties, sixties, who knew how old the man might be? He could hold any roomful of blues lovers rapt.

  Elyan raised his glass and Annie did the same. They clinked and grinned at each other. Annie took a swallow and said, ‘Let’s freeze this moment – stay where we are right now. Like this. Let’s never go back.’

  ‘We’ll both have decisions to make, but not without thinking everything through.’ He drank thoughtfully, watching her across the rim of his glass. ‘You don’t know how much I want … I’m worried.’

  ‘About this house in the Cotswolds? So am I but I’m not going to let it ruin what we have. We’ve dealt with the way things are here. We’ll manage there. They can’t get between us if we don’t let them. And Sebastian worries almost as much about your happiness as he does Daisy’s, and that’s a huge statement.’

  Elyan passed a hand over his eyes. ‘I know.’ It was true. Sebastian put his daughter, Daisy, first in all things, but his prize pupil and friend came in a close second, or so it had always seemed. ‘Forget I brought it up. Put it down to brain overload.’

  ‘I’m late. Father had his eagle eyes in so I had to look as if I was settled in the den.’ Her color high across her cheekbones, Laura slid into a chair between them. ‘He’s on a tear. Ripped into poor Mrs M.’

  Maud Meeker, Mrs M., MMM – hummed in three-part harmony when she was nowhere around – was another safe harbor in the stormy seas of the Quillam household. Housekeeper and often all-purpose glue for the family, she’d been there a long time, since she arrived with Laura’s mother, Audrey, when she and Percy married.

  ‘Poor old Triple M,’ said Annie. ‘But she doesn’t let much get to her. She’s one of my favorite people. So many times she’s been kind to me.’

  Elyan kept a grip on his glass but aimed a forefinger at his half-sister. ‘You’re the one who keeps the lid on chaos, Laura.’ He didn’t want to say it, but he owed her the honesty. ‘Are you okay? You aren’t ill?’ She darted glances around the room and he could see the sheen of sweat on her forehead. The movement was subtle, but she pressed a fist into her stomach.

  ‘Father caught me off guard, is all. I’ve really never felt better, or more determined. We all know I’ve got a good reason to
be antsy, don’t we?’ The look she gave him was almost wild and not like anything he’d seen before. ‘We already knew I’ve got a good reason to be antsy. We all do. But now I’ll be making up my own mind about my own life.’

  ‘We’re going to talk about it,’ Annie put in quickly, covering one of Laura’s hands with her own. ‘You’re all clammy. Take some deep breaths. What do you want to drink? She said she was bringing you something.’ She searched for Nancy and raised a hand when she saw her.

  ‘I’m not staying till I inherit from my mum.’ With jerky fingers Laura tore a beer mat into little pieces. ‘Not anymore … Don’t listen to me. I’m just babbling. I won’t do anything in a hurry, but I’m making plans.’

  The waitress glided by, plopping a gin and tonic in front of Laura without breaking stride. Laura drank more than Elyan wished she would. He worried about alcohol and whatever medication she took.

  From photographs he knew that Laura was almost her dead mother’s double. Shiny pale blond hair cut in a sleek, straight style at collar length, piercing blue eyes shadowed by dark, curling lashes, and rounded features that usually gave the impression of glowing health. Her illness was the one thing they never discussed and Elyan had sometimes wondered if Percy used the cardiac surgery she’d had as a small girl as an excuse to ignore her musical ambitions.

  ‘When did he tell you about the Cotswolds?’ Laura asked.

  ‘Late this afternoon. Annie’s parents told her today, too. They’re coming for dinner at ours tomorrow.’

  ‘I should have been spoken to before.’ Laura’s color was suddenly too high. ‘This is the best it’s ever been for us. The best it will ever be for me. And he’s found out we’re happy so he’s trying to rip us away so he can lock us up in some godforsaken house in the country where he can watch our every move. You’re off to Oxford in a few months, Annie. Don’t think our father isn’t counting off the days until he can isolate Elyan completely, here or anywhere else.’

  ‘Oxford isn’t far enough away to isolate us, whether you’re here or in Gloucestershire. Even the concerts won’t keep you and Elyan apart forever.’ Annie scooted her chair close to Laura’s and put an arm around her shoulders.

  Laura turned her face into Annie’s shoulder. To Elyan’s dismay, he could see her shoulders shaking as she cried. He pulled his own chair close and the three of them clung together.

  ‘I finally have a chance to do what I want.’ Laura choked on the words. ‘People have heard me and I’m getting interest. I want to be here. I need to be here. How would I cope, isolated with him? He’d see any move I make. It doesn’t matter. I’ll wait for the right moment and jump. I can start to make money – maybe enough to support myself for a couple of years until I come into what my mother left me. I don’t need much. A little stockpile to start and I’m off. I feel strong, and I feel angry. But I know how to play the subservient game. I’m going to be as near to invisible as you can imagine. I’m going to be so invisible, he won’t notice I’m gone at first. I’m finally going to sing for my supper.’

  This was the first time he’d heard his sister sound like this. ‘We’ll be okay, sis, we will. All of us. We have to make changes but we’ll be stronger for them.’

  Annie put a forefinger on her own mouth and then rested it on his. She smiled and the agitation in him softened. ‘The three of us,’ she said. ‘Until death do us part. I do like my little drama, too.’

  They all laughed.

  ONE

  One month later

  Alex Duggins scrunched down on her haunches and leaned against the back wall of St Aldwyn’s church. Silence but for cool breeze flipping the leaves of a giant beech tree let her slip to a peaceful place in her too-busy mind.

  Thick moss in every cranny of the building, between cracks in the pathways, smelled rich and damp. A scent that blended with the earth and the mulch of many seasons. She breathed in deeply. The cycle of growing things, even moss, was endlessly predictable and nowhere more so than among the permanent resting places of the dead. Inscriptions on ancient, leaning tomb stones faded beneath thick films of green and grey stains.

  Summer came beautifully to the Cotswold Hills. From where she sat, in the shade of the beech, she could see the soft, early-morning sunlight shadow painting grass and clumps of tiny bright white daisies beneath the shadows of the dark gravestones.

  Bogie, her gray, mostly terrier dog, ran after his earthward nose, back and forth, snuffling, black ears flapping. She dropped to sit on the ground. The area was still damp with lingering dew but she wore a long canvas jacket over jeans and it would keep her dry enough.

  From the church came the sounds of someone playing the old upright piano used for choir practice. She looked toward the stained-glass windows overhead but couldn’t see them without moving. They were not remarkable but she liked them. The music gained strength and a woman’s voice rose in song. A woman’s beautiful, husky, completely out-of-place voice singing in short bursts, with intervals on the piano. It sounded as if this was a new piece for the singer and she was working it out. Every few moments she fell silent, but then began again.

  The voice reminded her of Madeleine Peyroux. When Alex had first heard Madeleine she’d thought of Billie Holiday. Alex loved the sound. The woman inside St Aldwyn’s had the low, lazy tones of some blues singers, but also an unexpected range that let her climb high scales that made Alex grin with pleasure, even while her throat tightened with emotion. ‘Loving you drives me crazy. But I ain’t got no choice.’ Again there was a piano interlude, practicing the same notes again and again. Alex could hear the woman hum while she played, a full, natural sound. The humming faded away. Each silence was longer until the sound ceased completely.

  Wrapping her arms around her drawn-up knees, Alex rested her chin there and waited for more.

  Any diversion was a good diversion these days. She lived in a muddle of decisions that needed to be made. Each one could be absolutely right or horribly wrong for her.

  She could see the back windows of the Burke sisters’ two row cottages that faced Pond Street. The downstairs floors of the cottages had been combined to make Leaves of Comfort, their tea rooms, book and handicraft shop. Alex smiled toward the upstairs window where she knew the sisters would be having breakfast in their flat over the shop and chatting about the rights and wrongs of Folly-on-Weir, or more likely of the villagers. For two elderly, retired teachers who supposedly didn’t get out much – other than to Alex’s pub that was so conveniently close – they were a depthless treasure of local news and speculation.

  But it was Tony, Tony Harrison, village vet, vet to the surrounding farms, and Alex’s sometimes lover who crowded out everything else whenever she couldn’t push thoughts of him away. He was her best friend. Now how likely was that combination?

  She wanted to keep on making love with Tony. Recently, rather than slipping into a comfortable routine together, they had moved into a realm of experimentation and excitement she would never have thought either of them would seek out.

  She gave a quiet smile behind her hands.

  What neither of them seemed able to confront was their future. That could be for the best; they both had miserable marital failures in their pasts.

  She wished the woman in the church would sing again but silence suggested a very long pause for thought. Or perhaps she’d finished.

  The little girl Alex had lost at birth five years earlier, not long before she returned to Folly-on-Weir, had no marker here, in the place the child’s mother, and grandmother, Lily, called home. Lily attended services regularly. Alex went when the mood moved her and it had moved her more frequently lately. This morning’s visit to the churchyard had been with the idea of choosing a spot where a bench might be enjoyed by those who came here. A little brass plaque would say only ‘Baby Lily’, as the baby had been named after the grandmother who never saw her, never held her.

  Why couldn’t she move on from her lost child? Sometimes she didn’t think about her for wee
ks, but then the memories returned, usually in the dark night hours when she lay awake watching for the dawn. She got up and wandered between graves, searching out the perfect spot for a bench. When she reached the lych-gate with its rose-draped canopy, she crossed her arms on a splintery cross beam, careful not to disturb a few vines curling there.

  Teenagers on horseback clattered up Mallard Lane, laughing and chattering, their mounts’ coats shining. Two Jack Russell terriers bustled in self-important circles close, but not too close, to the horses’ hoofs. She watched the group until they crossed Pond Street, heading for a shortcut to the village green, then she turned back and made a loop around the entire, semi-circular path until she returned to sit against the wall again.

  Alex had to concentrate on the Black Dog, Folly-on-Weir’s village pub and her investment in the future when she’d returned after her divorce. No business ran itself and it was important to her not to be an absentee owner while her mother, Lily Duggins, and manager Hugh Rhys, ran the place. Capable as they were, customers formed a bond with the landlord, or lady. She smiled at the thought. Once she had wanted nothing more than to follow her career as a successful graphic artist; becoming landlady of a pub would never have occurred to her.

  From inside the church came a mighty crash, the discordant clatter of piano keys. Probably a slam of exasperation. The singer had been silent for so long, Alex assumed she really had left.

  Disappointed, after another lengthy, soundless interval, Alex pushed to her feet, whistled for Bogie to heel and set off for the side door into the ambulatory behind the organ. That was where the rather decrepit, if well-tuned upright was kept, and the choir practiced. The piano they occasionally used at the Black Dog was a better-looking instrument, but not much.

  If the woman was still there, Alex wanted to say how she loved her voice and hoped she’d hear her again.

  In the distance, to Alex’s right, a figure in dark clothing walked on the other side of the graveyard wall. He, and she was sure it was a man, went toward the rectory and almost instantly disappeared from sight when the church blocked her view. Must be Reverend Ivor, the interim vicar who was rumoured to be leaving soon. She would miss him and his wife, Sybil – and their longhaired Dachshund, Fred.