Relief Valve: The Plumber's Mate, Book 2 (25 page)

“Maybe. I’d be more chuffed about the prospect if I was certain he wasn’t trying to kill me. Still, I suppose if I find what he’s hiding, he won’t have a reason anymore, will he?”

“You’ve got a short memory. That list of motives for murder I gave you? Revenge was in the top five. No, if you go back in that house, I’m going too.”

I grinned at him. “Watch it. People are going to start thinking you care about me.”

“Wanker.” He gave me a shove, and my coffee sloshed in my mug but didn’t splash onto my lap. “I do, all right? Care.”

“Yeah, well,” I muttered to my knees. “Me too.”

By the time we’d finished our coffee—and all right, a fair bit of slobbing around on the sofa talking the case round in circles—it was late morning, so we decided to have an early lunch and go interview the Literati after that.

First up was Margaret. She actually lived in St Leonard’s, it turned out, which must be nice and handy for murder attempts in the Old Deanery. We probably should have rung before we went, but based on my last experience of phoning her, I thought we’d be better off surprising her. Of course, she might not be in, but in that case, we could go and have another chat with Greg.

Bit of a lose-lose situation, that.

Margaret’s house was small and cottagey, but there was something very
Margaret
about the way the box hedge had been trimmed with the aid of a spirit level and all weeds ruthlessly exterminated from her brick driveway.

Nicotine was a weed killer, wasn’t it? Or a pesticide or something? I was sure someone had said so.

“Nice little house,” Phil commented. “Must be worth a bit.”

I might have known he’d like it. I rang the doorbell and cringed as an ear-piercing, high-pitched buzz sawed jaggedly through the midmorning peace. I half-expected neighbours’ heads to pop up over the hedge and go,
Do you
mind
?
Still, at least you knew you’d rung it. I hate it when you ring a doorbell and you can’t hear it from outside. Do you press it again and risk pissing them off? Sod’s law, if you don’t, you’ll end up standing on the doorstep like a lemon for the next ten minutes, until the neighbours or the postman or, if you’re very lucky, the householder him or herself happens by and lets you know the doorbell hasn’t worked for months.

Margaret kept us waiting long enough for me to worry she was out or, more likely, had spotted who it was through the window and was lying low. Eventually, though, the door was opened a crack, chain kept firmly on. “Yes?”

“Hi, Margaret. It’s Tom. From the Literati? I wondered if we could ask you a few questions.”

Suspicious eyes glared at us through the crack. “What about?”

Phil got there first. “Can we come in? It’s not really a suitable subject for the doorstep.”

He’d got Margaret’s number, all right. She shot a worried glance over at the neighbouring cottage, then opened the door fully, her mouth tight. “Come in,” she said curtly, the
I suppose you’d better
understood.

I got a weird case of déjà vu walking the short distance down Margaret’s hallway to her sitting room. It took me a mo to realise both rooms were done up like Morgan’s, only on a smaller scale. I wondered who’d copied the other—or did they plan their home decor together? There were the same echoey tiles on the hallway floor and the same horsehair furniture in the front room. Even the colours were similar: brown mud and green sludge. A sort of septic-tank chic. Although unlike at Morgan’s, here and there I could see splashes of rose pink attempting to enliven the mix. It didn’t.

The whole place had that over-sweet, fake flowery smell you get from air fresheners. It was getting right up my nose. The sofa was predictably hard, and if we’d been hoping for a cup of tea, it looked like we were going to be disappointed. Then again, seeing as she was a suspect in a poisoning case, maybe that should be “relieved”.

I thought I’d better follow Phil’s lead, seeing as this was his area. Since he was apparently going for the intimidating-silence tactic, this meant we all just sat there like a whole bloody crate of lemons for several minutes.

Margaret cracked first. “Well? I thought you had some questions you wanted to ask?”

Phil nodded. “Did you go to the party at the Old Deanery?”

“Naturally. Although the short notice was most inconvenient. I barely had time to get the baking done.”

The baking? “Hang about,” I burst in. “
You’re
one of Greg’s cathedral ladies?”

She looked at me frostily. “I’m a sidesperson at services, yes.”

“Which means?” Phil looked a bit uncomfortable at confessing his ignorance. He ought to leave that sort of stuff to me.

The ignorance, I mean. Definitely not the church stuff.

“I greet the congregation as it arrives and welcome them to the service,” Margaret explained impatiently.

Bloody hell. No wonder church attendances were declining.

Margaret sniffed. “Why don’t you ask Hannah what
she
was doing at the party?”

What? I sat forward. “Hang on, Hannah was there?”

“Of course she was. You think she’d miss any opportunity to see Gregory?”

This was doing my head in. “You mean she was sweet on him? Bit masochistic going to his engagement party, then, wasn’t it?”
If
she’d been there. I wasn’t sure I trusted Margaret as far as I could throw her, and I’d always been pretty crap at javelin.

Course, with a nose that pointy, she’d probably stick in the ground all right… Oops. She was glaring at me. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“I
said
, she probably hoped to change his mind.” She sniffed again.

Should I offer her a handkerchief? Course, mine wasn’t all that clean. She’d probably faint with shock at the sight of my manky hanky… I just about managed to turn a snigger into a cough. “Sorry. Still, a bit desperate, innit?”

“She’s the sort of person who
would
read too much into the invitation.”

Phil coughed. Possibly to remind both of us he was still there. “When you say invitation…”

“Gregory telephoned us. At least, he telephoned me and said he would be doing the same to the rest of the circle, although I told him not to bother calling Morgan, as he would be coming with me, of course. I believe he—Gregory, that is—had some romantic notion of letting bygones be bygones, and having Cherry make her peace with us all. Well, we all saw how that turned out.”

Was she saying what I thought she was saying? “You mean, you think one of the Literati poisoned her?”

Margaret’s cheeks flushed livid, and she stood up abruptly. I stood too, automatically, then took a step back before that beaky nose could take an eye out. I heard Phil cursing under his breath as he heaved himself off the sofa to join us.

“How dare you?” Margaret snapped. “I said nothing of the kind. I might have known you’d be cut from the same cloth as your sister. This interview is at an end.”

Shit. “Wait—sorry, all right? I misunderstood. Benefits of a crap education. Look, just tell me what you
did
mean? Please?”

“I
meant
, that disgraceful exhibition of hers. Turning to drink, and then to dramatics. Gregory will come to regret tying himself to her, you mark my words.”

Anger shot through me, sharp and hot. “You know what? You were right. This bloody interview
is
at a sodding end.”

There was an exasperated rumble in my ear. “Tom…”

“You want to stay here while she insults my sister? Fine. You can do it on your own.” I stomped out of the room and was at the front door before I realized I was alone. Bastard. I hadn’t meant him to take me literally.

Slamming the front door behind me would have been childish and petty. Also unsatisfying, as it was ringed all round with foamy draught excluders. I took my frustrations out on Phil’s car door instead, then slouched in the passenger seat with my arms folded.

After five minutes or so, I started feeling like a bit of a prat, so I sat up, unfolded my arms and switched on the radio. I was just getting interested in a discussion of footballers’ salaries fuelling celebrity culture when Phil dropped into the driver’s seat. “Cooled down a bit, have we?”

“Eff off.” I glared at him, then rolled my eyes. “Get anything more out of her?”

“You mean apart from a rant about the disgraceful manners of the younger generation? Not really. Although she confirmed all the Literati were at the party. They were hanging out in the ‘family’ room while we were there, most of them.”

“Talking to Mrs. Tiggywinkle?”

“Something like that. I got the impression most of ’em felt a bit uncomfortable with all the High Church lot. Raz especially, she reckoned, although that might just be her prejudices.”

“So…if they were all together the whole time, they’re each other’s alibis?”

“Nah. There was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, she reckoned. Going for drinks and eats. Making sure no one was treading pastry crumbs into the Old Deanery carpets—that was Margaret.”

I nodded. “And Morgan was in the other room at least some of the time. Talking to me. So any of them could have nipped in and slipped the nicotine into Cherry’s glass while we were distracted by Richard and Agatha?” I tried again to think if I’d seen any of them, but to be honest, it was all a bit of a blur now. All I could really remember clearly was the stuff after Cherry collapsed.

“Yeah. It’s interesting, though.”

I waited, but he didn’t say
what
was interesting. Just tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and stared out through the windscreen. “Well, come on. Big secret, is it?”

“Greg invited the Literati to the party. He made a
point
of inviting them.”

Shit. “You think he did it as some sort of smokescreen? You think
he’s
the one who poisoned Cherry?”

“Not necessarily. But if it
was
him, he’d have to think it wouldn’t hurt to have a few more suspects in the place.”

I scrubbed my hands over my face. “Oh, bloody hell. Cherry’s going to be gutted if it turns out to be him.”

“Hey, I’m not saying it was him. Could still have been one of the Literati, making the most of the opportunity. And don’t forget, Margaret Pierce had more notice than the rest of them. More time to make plans.”

“Except she probably got straight on the phone to old Morgan, so we can’t rule him out.”

“Not ruling any of ’em out. Then there’s the Morangies.”

I turned to stare at him. “You don’t seriously reckon it could have been Morangie junior, do you?”

“Why not? At least there’s a motive there. If it was you the poison was meant for, that is.”

“Yeah, but it was Cherry’s party, not mine. They wouldn’t even have known for sure I’d be there.”

“Come on, you’re her brother. Course you’d be there. And with an open invitation like that, it was too good a chance to miss.”

“
If
they knew about it. Don’t you reckon Cherry might have noticed if she was friends with someone called Morangie? It’s not exactly a common name.”

Phil nodded. “And it’s not like anyone ever changes their name or lies about it or anything.”

“Git. Nah, I’m not buying it. It’d have to be taking the
premeditated
bit a bit far, wouldn’t it? How would they know they’d have to hide who they were all that far in advance?”

“Just because you didn’t know about the will or your auntie being ill doesn’t mean nobody else did.” Phil tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe Morangie’s been playing you and your sister all along. Maybe he’s already found the will. It’d fit with him making you that offer, wouldn’t it? And then when you didn’t accept, he knew he’d have to go a bit further.”

“Yeah, but… All this, for a house?
Half
a house, even. I mean, it’s a nice house, but it’s in Mill Hill, not bloody Mayfair.”

“You don’t know she’s left you half a house. Could be a fortune in bling for all we know.”

“Or it could be tuppence ha’penny. Sod it. Let’s go talk to Greg.”

“Hmm.” The steering wheel got another tapping while Phil’s gaze bored a hole in the windscreen.

I got fed up waiting for him to say something. “Hmm, what? I don’t speak Morse Code.”

Phil turned to look at me, brow furrowed. “What?” Then he shook his head. “I think we’ll leave Greg for now.”

“But we’re right here. He’s only, what, three streets away? Might as well cross him off our list.”

“No, I want to talk to your sister again first. Is she still at your mum and dad’s?”

“Dunno. I’ll give her a bell. We could get her to meet us somewhere, anyhow. She must be feeling all right by now.”

He gave me a look. “Worried about taking me home to meet your parents?”

It wasn’t exactly that I was
worried
about taking Phil to meet Mum and Dad. Well, not on their end, anyhow. I mean, they’d met Gary, so after that anyone I could think of to take round would probably come as a relief to them. Well, except maybe Darren. But Phil, well…

I wasn’t sure what I was worried about, really. He’d probably get on better with them than I did.

I frowned.

“Penny for them?”