A Body in Seaview Grange by Dee MacDonald (jenna bush book club TXT) 📗

Kate looked around at the dated Formica-covered units and worktops, and at the tiles depicting lurid carrots, tomatoes, leeks and peppers. It had plainly been fitted at least fifty years ago, she reckoned, probably as servants’ quarters. But the room seemed warm and friendly and Kate would have been happy to down her tea there, but Stan was already beckoning her to follow him through into another low-ceilinged room, complete with beams, a slate floor and an open fireplace with a log-burning stove. There were a couple of very saggy sofas upholstered in an old Sanderson fabric which Kate remembered from her youth. It was also a friendly room and Kate could see that when the log-burner was lit, which it wasn’t, it would be a very cosy retreat.

‘Sit down, sit down,’ ordered her host, removing a copy of the Sporting Life, which had shed its pages all over one of the sofas. Kate sank down into its depths, and wondered if she’d ever get up again without the aid of a crane. Barney sat close to her feet. Just then the bull terrier came through and sniffed him suspiciously, while Barney sat absolutely still, with only his tail thumping slowly and warily.

Sharon appeared with a tray loaded with teapot, mugs, milk, sugar, teaspoons and a box of biscuits. Kate’s mug, which featured a picture of Princess Diana, contained the nicest tea she could ever remember drinking.

‘We don’t use them teabags,’ Stan informed her after she’d commented. ‘We always has proper tea, don’t we, Shar?’

It was years since Kate had drunk ‘proper tea’ and her opinion of the Starkeys was already soaring skywards. Sharon, sitting opposite, offered the box of biscuits. Kate declined politely while each of her hosts tucked into a macaroon.

She cleared her throat. ‘I imagine you’ve been pestered by the police and press?’

‘Yeah, but they got their jobs to do, don’t they?’ said Sharon, wiping crumbs from her mouth.

‘That’s true,’ Kate agreed, ‘but it must still feel like an intrusion.’

‘Well, we can’t complain. It was Stan’s fault really for ringin’ up his mate at the Post in the first place.’ She smiled at her husband, who was sitting alongside and shuffling about in the tin searching for a desirable biscuit. ‘But we can cope, don’t we, Stan?’

‘We got nothin’ to hide,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who poisoned the old cow, and I don’t much care, but it wasn’t us.’

Kate felt the need for a prompt. ‘The first time I met Edina Martinelli was when she broke her ankle falling down the stairs.’

‘Yeah, that’s somethin’ else!’ said Sharon, helping herself to another macaroon. ‘Everyone pointed the finger at me! As if I’d leave a bloody flex across the top of the stairs!’

‘But someone presumably did?’ Kate persisted.

‘Yeah, someone did. My fault I suppose for not puttin’ the bloody machine back in the cupboard, although I was pretty sure I did.’

‘Who do you think it might have been?’ Kate asked, sipping her tea slowly in an effort to prolong her stay.

‘Could be any of them.’ Stan sighed as he finally unearthed a custard cream. ‘Most of them old gits would’ve been glad to see her gone. At least we were far enough away that we couldn’t hear her screeching, thank God.’

‘That Gloria Pratt’s a vicious piece of work,’ Sharon put in for good measure. ‘She was jealous cos her old man was forever runnin’ up there to change a lightbulb, mend a fuse, build a shelf, any bloody excuse. Madam called, up he went with the speed of light. Potty about her he was.’ She paused. ‘He was right out of his depth, mind you, wasn’t he, Stan?’ Stan nodded. ‘Tryin’ to make out he was interested in all that opera stuff! Nearly drove Gloria mad!’

‘Mad enough for her to want to kill Edina?’ Kate asked.

‘Who knows?’ said Sharon. ‘But I wouldn’t put it past her, she’s got a real temper on her.’

‘Like I said before, my money’s on Cornelius Crow,’ Stan said. ‘He’s an expert on finishin’ people off; got nothin’ else to do all day while he’s writin’ them stories. Sure you won’t have a biscuit?’ He waved the tin in Kate’s direction. Then, to Sharon, he asked, ‘Why did you get all them ginger things? You know neither of us like them.’ He looked hopefully back at Kate. ‘You sure you won’t have one of them?’

Kate shook her head. ‘No, thanks. But what about your asthma, Sharon?’

Sharon shook her head. ‘Don’t tell me he’s been bothering you with all that? I’m fine most of the time.’

‘What about when you’re not fine? Have you been using your inhaler as often as you should?’

Sharon shook her head. ‘I always take my blue one when I have an attack.’

‘And what about your brown one?’ Kate asked.

‘Well, I take it sometimes, but the prescription is expensive having both of them.’

‘Sharon, it’s really important you take your brown inhaler regularly, because that’s the preventor and it’ll stop you having so many attacks.’ Kate got her phone out. ‘I’m making you an appointment for next Friday, OK? In the meantime, remember to take your brown inhaler regularly, as prescribed.’

‘Thanks,’ said Sharon. ‘I did keep meaning to go down there but… you know…’

‘Well, you have an appointment now,’ Kate said, ‘and we must be on our way.’ She patted a drowsy Barney. ‘Thanks so much for the tea.’

‘Any time,’ said Sharon.

Kate waved goodbye and headed back towards the main gate, keen to mull over the conversation they’d had. Somehow or other she didn’t think that the Starkeys were killers but, as she knew to her cost, you could never tell.

She was just turning out of the gate when a tiny figure came rushing out the front door.

‘Excuse me!’ she called. Kate turned and recognised the woman as Hetty, who’d rushed out after David Courtney when she’d visited previously.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

‘I need to