Murder in Style

By Veronica Heley

Ellie Quicke finds you can choose your friends but not your family.

Poppy’s wealthy father hadn’t liked the look of the men whom his twin daughters intended to marry, and had set them up in the Magpie fashion boutique to ensure they would be able to support themselves; at the same time ensuring that the girls made a will in one another’s favour.

The business prospered and expanded until, many years later, skeletons start to come out of the closet. Bodies too…

And Ellie’s enquiries uncover a hornet’s nest of greed and malice combined with tragic secrets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Severn House
• Release date: Oct 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781780107998

Veronica Heley

Veronica Heley has a musician daughter and is actively involved in her local church and community affairs. She lives in Ealing, West London. She is the author of the Ellie Quicke and Bea Abbot mystery series.

Book preview

ONE

Thursday morning

Ellie’s daughter was after money – again.

‘Mother, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime! I heard about it purely by chance, but we have to act quickly. I know you will want to support me—’

Ellie didn’t know anything of the kind. What she did know was that when her difficult, demanding daughter rang it was either to ask for money, or to babysit young Evan. This time it was money. ‘Sorry, Diana. Got to dash. You caught me just as I was leaving.’

‘But Mother, this can’t wait! Time is of the essence, and—’

Ellie looked at her watch. ‘Diana, I’m on my way to the dentist. Ring me later?’

Diana started to object but Ellie crashed the phone down. Now, had she got her keys and did she need a jacket? It had looked like a nice morning, but …

The phone rang again. Almost, she let it ring. But didn’t.

‘Ellie, do you have a minute?’ A tense, breathless voice.

‘Not really.’ It was her good friend from the police. ‘Lesley? What’s wrong?’

‘Will you be in this afternoon, about three? There’s someone I want you to meet.’ Controlled panic in her voice?

‘Is it serious?’ Ellie glanced at the clock. ‘I might. But—’

‘Yes, it’s murder. At least, I think it is. But then … Got to go. Speak later!’

Down went the phone and out of the door went Ellie, wondering how to juggle the errands she’d meant to run after she’d visited the dentist, who might be running late but – on the other hand – might be on time. It was only a routine appointment, and she didn’t think anything needed to be done, but after that there was a whole lot of stuff she had to attend to: take a library book back, collect the dry cleaning, pop into the clock shop to see if that nice man could look at her watch which was losing time and … Where had she put her shopping list? She hadn’t left it on the kitchen table, had she? Today of all days!

The doorbell rang. Three o’clock on the dot.

Ellie shucked off her gardening gloves, slipped out of her clogs and managed to ease her feet into her brogues on her way through the hall to the front door. It was a fine afternoon, if breezy, and she’d stolen a few minutes away to tie up some dahlias which the wind had torn away from their stakes.

She glanced at the clock. Very soon she ought to be in the kitchen, starting supper. Ellie and her husband didn’t have people over for a meal very often and she wanted to do it properly. They did have a lodger in the flat upstairs who cooked for them occasionally, but this was not one of her nights, and Ellie was responsible for putting food on the table. She’d allowed herself enough time to prepare a steak and kidney pudding and set the table in the dining room … if all went well.

Bother Lesley! Didn’t she know better than to inflict visitors on Ellie at short notice?

‘Mrs Quicke? We’re not intruding, I hope?’ A sixtyish couple, prosperous, silver haired, well padded and half out of their minds with worry. They weren’t too sure of their welcome, either.

‘I’m Ellie Quicke. Do come in.’ Ellie was also sixtyish, prosperous, silver haired and well padded. She understood these people. He would be a self-made businessman. A glance at the car parked in her drive confirmed that he wasn’t short of a bob or two. His wife – presumably they’d been married a long time; they had that air of presenting a united front – was well groomed and expensively upholstered, but some trick of the light caused Ellie to imagine her in a comfortable wrap-around pinny, with her hair in a bun. A farmer’s wife, perhaps?

The man held out his hand. A gold ring flashed. ‘Cordover, Gerald. Builders. The wife, Marika. Good of you to see us at such short notice.’ No smile. He was too worried for social niceties.

Mrs Cordover – Marika – said, ‘We appreciate it.’

A slight sibilance? English was, perhaps, not her first language? Polish?

Ellie said, ‘May I offer you tea or coffee?’

They shook their heads, so she led the way into her pleasant, high-ceilinged sitting room. They didn’t glance around them but seated themselves on the settee with their eyes on Ellie.

The man said, ‘I don’t know that there’s anything you can do. The policewoman said you might be able to think of something, but now we’re here, I don’t see what anyone can do.’

Ellie prompted them. ‘My friend Lesley Milburn suggested …?’

‘The thing is,’ he said, giving every word its weight, ‘it’s all my fault.’

‘That is not true!’ Marika pressed his arm.

He said, ‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’

‘You were,’ said Marika, comforting him. ‘All these years, it has worked.’

Ellie understood that this wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. He threw up his hands. ‘I swear he killed her, though I can’t prove it, and the police won’t act.’

Marika turned her eyes back to Ellie. ‘The police say there is nothing to prove she was murdered. But when the will is read, when he finds out he’s killed her for nothing … what will he do then? His temper is very bad.’

Ellie decided she needed a drink, even if they didn’t. ‘Look, I’ve been working in the garden and I need a cup of tea. So, will you join me? If you’d like to wait here, I’ll just put the kettle on—’

‘The kitchen?’ Marika was on her feet. ‘We will be happy to have a cup of tea with you in the kitchen. Right, Gerald?’

Yes, they had the appearance of people who had started life with very little, who had worked hard all their lives, and who would feel at home in the kitchen. And, perhaps, an informal atmosphere would help them to explain their problem?

Ellie led the way back across the hall into the kitchen quarters.

Midge, their marauding ginger cat, was asleep on top of the fridge. He opened one eye a fraction, inspected the newcomers and closed it again. Midge was supposed to be a good judge of character, so Ellie took heart. If Midge liked her guests, so would she. Probably.

They sat round the old-fashioned table, and drank tea strong enough to stand a spoon up in, while Ellie passed the biscuit tin round. She glanced at the clock, calculating that if her visitors were to leave within the next half-hour, she’d still have time to make a steak and kidney pudding and follow it with an apple crumble. Rib-sticking fare for a chilly autumn evening. As this was a special occasion, she’d planned that they’d eat in the dining room, which was rarely used nowadays …

‘Good biscuits,’ said Marika, who would know a homemade biscuit when she saw one. ‘You bake?’

‘Our lodger is a student of cookery. These are some of hers.’

Almost, a smile from Marika, but her anxious attention never strayed far from her husband.

Rain rattled against the window, reminding them that the year was turning from summer into autumn. The central heating clicked on.

Gerald started, bringing his thoughts back from some dark place. ‘We shouldn’t have come. I don’t see how you can help.’

Marika pressed his arm again. ‘Start at the beginning.’

He ran his fingers back through well-cut but thinning hair. ‘How far back should I go?’ He addressed Ellie direct. ‘My first wife died, you see. She’d come over from Poland to improve her English and found work as a cleaner. I serviced the boiler in the house where she was staying, and we hit it off. We got married and had the twins, both girls. Life was hard, but it was good. Then one day she was walking down the street with the girls in their pushchair and a lorry mounted the pavement and … that was it. She lived for nearly six weeks. Eventually we had to switch the support systems off. And there were my two little moppets, three years old, without a mother.’

Marika took over. ‘She was my younger sister. I came over from Poland to look after the little ones.’

‘So we comforted the girls, and one another.’

The glance they gave one another proved that theirs had been a good marriage.

He said, ‘I’ve always worked hard, and I won’t deny it helped that I got some compensation from the lorry company. I took better premises, employed staff. Marika did the books. So we upsized twice, no skimping, good schools for the girls, we gave them whatever they asked for within reason.’

‘We did our best to teach them the value of money. They had an allowance but if they overspent—’

‘Which they did.’

‘—then they had to wait till the next month.’

Both nodded. Gerald picked up the story. ‘When they left school, we paid for their driving lessons and we bought them a small car each and we encouraged them to go on to college. Poppy – she’s the one who could add up without a calculator—’

They both smiled, proudly. Remembering.

Gerald continued, ‘Poppy took a business course. And Juno – she’s the artistic one – she got a place at art school.’ Another proud smile. ‘Of course they went out partying, particularly Poppy. They were in a great crowd, most of them we liked, and if some of them weren’t quite what we wanted for our girls, well, it was better they worked that out for themselves. Maybe it was a mistake for us to keep open house because their friends could see we had money, what with the swimming pool and the cinema and all. But we couldn’t have foreseen … we never dreamed …’ He faded out, looking miserable.

Marika took a deep breath. ‘They both got pregnant at eighteen. The men had both been going out with them for some time. They said they’d marry the girls if we helped them to buy a house each. It left a nasty taste, as if we had to pay them to marry our girls. If we’d picked husbands for them, we wouldn’t have chosen those two.’

‘It cost us an arm and a leg,’ said Gerald. ‘Identical town houses out in the suburbs, and they didn’t come cheap even then. A big, double wedding. That cost, too. One boy was training to be a solicitor and the other was working in his father’s garage, but I could see them thinking they were marrying money, that they’d be in clover for life.

‘Marika and I, we talked it over. We’ve both seen marriages where the women have given up their careers to stay at home and look after the children. And then, when their women are past their best, the husbands go off with someone younger, leaving their untrained, stay-at-home wives on short commons. We didn’t fancy that for our girls. So the first thing I did was to make them sign pre-nups, and I put the houses in the girls’ names.’

‘Sensible,’ said Ellie.

A deep sigh. ‘But then what did I do? I had the bright idea of setting the girls up in business together so that they wouldn’t have to rely on their husbands for every penny. I bought them the lease on a shop and made them a loan so that they could open a boutique for classy clothing.’

Marika said, ‘They pooled their childcare and worked hard. Juno bought the stock, Poppy did the accounts, and they both worked in the shop. It’s called The Magpie, and it was a hit from the first day.’

‘There was an unexpected bonus,’ said Gerald. ‘The lease included a flat above the shop. I advised the girls to fix it up and rent it out. I promised them that if they did well, I’d turn my starter loan into a gift. They took to it like ducks to water. At the end of the second year I wrote off the loan, plus I gave them the deeds to a couple of run-down terraced houses nearby, which I’d come by in a business deal and didn’t want. I said that now they’d got the shop going, they could afford to take on some help, and could diversify into the buy-to-let business. I suggested that Juno could choose new kitchens, bathrooms, furniture and decor, while Poppy sourced materials and acted as project manager. It worked like a charm. Within a few years they turned the flat over the shop into an office, and later on they extended both the shop and flat out into the yard at the back.’

‘So what went wrong?’ said Ellie.

‘Nothing. I got them to make wills in one another’s favour, and to take out insurance on one other in case of accidents. The girls saw the point of that, didn’t they?’

Marika sighed. ‘Two years into their marriages, they understood they’d picked losers for husbands but, to give them their due, they kept going.’

‘Chips off the old block. They enjoy work. But,’ gloomy face, ‘I hadn’t liked the men when they’d first appeared on the scene, and I got to like them even less as time went on.’

Ellie looked a query.

Gerald said, ‘Here’s where I went wrong. I said to the girls that they should keep quiet about their buy-to-let business. The men knew about the shop, of course, and that it was doing well. They complained like mad that the girls had to spend such long hours at The Magpie, but they enjoyed having the extra money to spend, did they not! The girls agreed with me that it was best their menfolk didn’t know exactly how well their wives were doing, in case the husbands gave up trying to earn their own livings altogether. Which, unfortunately, is what happened anyway.’

Marika looked as if she wanted to say something, but he raised his hand and shook his head. ‘No, I know what you mean, we couldn’t have anticipated the accident, but it’s no excuse for his giving up work altogether. For this reason and that, Mrs Quicke, the men gradually let the girls take over all the household bills, fork out for holidays and cars and whatnot.’

‘Meanwhile,’ Marika said, ‘we told our sons-in-law that Gerald and I were downsizing to pay for their houses. We didn’t want them thinking we would be a purse without a bottom for them to draw on. Gerry’s business was doing well, and we could have stayed on in the big house, but we did not need five bedrooms once the girls had left home, so we sold up and moved to a smaller property. Gerry hopes to work till the day he drops dead. I retired from doing the books for him some time ago, but I work for a charity three days a week. We are comfortable with what we have. We live quietly without any desire for foreign holidays or yachts or diamonds.’

Gerald said, ‘The twins tried to be strict with their daughters – they had one each. Poppy and Juno didn’t want the girls growing up to think that money grew on trees, but they could see that even though the men weren’t pulling their weight, there was always plenty of money in the kitty. Trixie in particular thinks she can carry on spending regardless – no matter what her mother says.’ He corrected himself. ‘What her mother said. Trixie thinks she was born to shop. I believe her.’

‘Clemmie’s not like that.’ Marika’s mouth closed in a thin line.

‘True,’ said Gerald, but he didn’t seem to like thinking about Clemmie, either.

Ellie refreshed the teapot, and pushed the biscuit tin round again. She shot another glance at the clock. She was going to have to cook the steak in the microwave before making the suet-based pastry. There wasn’t going to be time to do the usual slow cook, was there? Perhaps she’d better abandon her plan to open up the dining room tonight. ‘So, what went wrong?’

Marika dabbed at her right eye, and then her left. ‘Ray – that’s Poppy’s husband who runs the garage on the ring road – he’s always placed the odd bet but as the years went on, he spent more and more time and money on what he called his little hobby. Poppy used to cover his debts, because he always promised never to … but of course he didn’t keep his promises and it got worse and worse. She couldn’t bear the thought of divorce, but she was starting to think she might have to go down that road when he found out through a wrongly addressed bill that The Magpie wasn’t just the shop, but that there were a number of other properties involved. That did it! He said she was a treacherous, lying so-and-so, and how dare she try to conceal her business affairs from him, her husband who had never looked at another woman, not once in all the time they’d been married. He threatened to divorce her and take half of everything she owned.’

Gerald said, ‘To make matters worse, he told Trixie that Poppy had been hiding a small fortune from them. So then Trixie started up, wanting her mother to finance her going into films! Can you believe it?’

‘What!’ Ellie choked on the biscuit she was eating.

Her guests both nodded. Ellie hadn’t misheard.

Marika said, ‘Trixie said it wasn’t going to be a porn film. She thought that made it all right. She said she had friends who can operate a video and they’d hire in lighting and pay for studio time and … she has no idea of the costs involved, none! There was a family meeting at our house which went from bad to worse, and later that night Poppy fell down the stairs at The Magpie, and broke her neck. She’s been up and down those stairs almost every day for twenty years with never a slip. She wasn’t wearing high heels, and she wasn’t carrying anything.’

‘Accidents will happen,’ said Ellie, trying not to look at the clock again. If they ate in the dining room, that would mean buffing up the best silver. She was running out of time. ‘What makes you suspect foul play?’

Silence.

Ellie looked from one to the other. ‘You think Ray or Trixie tumbled her down the stairs?’

‘We’re sure Ray did it but—’ he made a gesture of frustration – ‘there’s no proof. Unbreakable alibi and no forensics, the police said. The detective inspector. He said our feelings weren’t evidence. But I know, I just know that she was murdered. That woman police officer, she knows it too. That’s why she said we should talk to you, Mrs Quicke, to see what you could do about it.’

Ellie spread her hands. ‘I don’t see what I can do.’

Marika said, ‘I think you can help us if you wish, Mrs Quicke. That policewoman was telling us how you get people to talk to you, and how you have no fear of anybody, and have solved some nasty cases.’

‘I’m just a housewife who happens to have inherited some money, which I’ve put in a trust fund to … ah!’ She saw their expressions sharpen.

‘That’s it!’ Gerald thumped the table. ‘We could introduce you to the family, saying that you have a fund which Trixie might be able to tap into for her career. Then you could keep your eyes open, couldn’t you? See if you can spot how he killed her?’

‘But it’s a charitable trust which would never, ever—’

‘No, of course they wouldn’t,’ said Marika, ‘but you can make it an excuse to get to know them? Gerry’s right about one thing. The family’s like a, what do you call it? A pressure cooker at the moment. There’s grief; oh yes, there’s deep grief with some. It tears my heart to see them suffer. But Poppy’s husband and daughter … Well!’ She threw up her hands in frustration and, yes, perhaps some anger as well. ‘I do not deny there is some shock, and perhaps later on there will be sorrow, but of all the selfish, self-centred …! I see them smiling, talking about silver linings and I can’t bear it. And tomorrow … oh dear!’

Gerald said, ‘You see, Ray and Trixie think they’ll inherit Poppy’s share of The Magpie. He’s already been on the phone to his pals, boasting how he can pay off his debts and sail away into the sunset … by which he means getting back to the gaming tables. And she’s texting her mates, planning how to use the money for her venture into films—’

‘What they don’t realize is that Poppy only ever made one will, and that’s the one leaving everything to Juno. I checked with the solicitor. Zilch. I checked with Juno; she hasn’t made another will, either. They did talk about it recently because of Poppy having come to the end of her patience with Ray, but neither of them had done anything about it. I dread to think how they will react when the truth comes out.’

Marika added, ‘Ray and Trixie know there is some other property, but they don’t know how much. It’s true the girls started with two small terraced houses—’

‘But they’ve worked hard and reinvested. Now they have ten! Whatever’s going to happen when the will is read? There’s going to be such an explosion! And Juno, poor Juno, she’s devastated. How she’s holding it together, I do not know. To tell the truth, I’m worried sick what might happen. When Ray realizes the money all goes to Juno, won’t he try again?’

Marika reached out to take Ellie’s hand. ‘We want you to come to the funeral and on to the house afterwards.’

‘My poor Poppy. My brave little girl,’ said Gerald, on the verge of breaking up.

Marika said, ‘Mrs Quicke; when there is screaming and shouting, people are not always careful what they say, and sometimes the truth will come out. So, will you help us find out who killed our little girl?’

‘No, no. I really don’t think—’

Gerald got to his feet, leaning on the table. ‘No, Marika. She won’t. I said, didn’t I? I said, Why should she help us?’

‘Because,’ said Marika, ‘a great wrong has been done. I know we may never have proof that Ray killed our daughter, but perhaps we can stop his destroying our granddaughters as well. I have prayed about it and I know Mrs Quicke will help.’

Ellie understood that Marika was a good woman, strong and sturdy, and that she would survive this and keep her husband on an even keel. Perhaps she would even save the remaining members of their family … with help.

Dear Lord, what do you want me to do?

Ellie knew. Of course. Her mind raced ahead to the forthcoming week, and she realized without any sense of surprise that she was comparatively free of engagements. Had God prepared the way for her? Possibly. Though, if He wanted her to get involved, it wouldn’t have mattered how many coffee mornings and meetings and evening events she was supposed to attend. But as it was …

‘Come to the funeral, midday tomorrow.’ He produced a card, wrote on the back. ‘Here’s the details. Contact me at any time. Day or night.’

Ellie closed the front door behind her visitors, her mind racing ahead. How was she to rescue her plans for supper? It was too late to serve anything which required a long, slow cooking time, which meant … and she hadn’t set the table in the dining room and …

The phone rang. Pulling a face at the interruption, Ellie lifted the receiver. She might have known! It was her police friend Lesley ringing back. ‘Ellie? Did they come?’

‘The Cordovers? Yes. Lesley, I honestly don’t know that I can do anything—’

‘I know, I know.’ Annoyed. ‘Poppy fell down the stairs of her own accord, right? Let’s put it down to suicide or an accident, and tidy it away, shall we?’ Sarcasm unlimited. Lesley really was wound up over this, wasn’t she?

Ellie tried to keep calm. ‘Was there any reason for her to commit suicide?’

‘No. Added to which, throwing yourself down a flight of stairs is not exactly a sure-fire way to kill yourself, is it? You might get a broken bone or two, but as an efficient way of committing hari-kari it’s a no-no.’

‘There was some mention of divorce?’

‘The husband, Ray, is a right whatsit! Scum of the earth, that one. Yes, she might have had to pay him off, but good riddance, if you ask me!’

‘Look, Lesley; I’ve got people coming for supper and I’m way behind with—’

‘It stinks, Ellie. Believe

Reviews for Murder in Style

[jenniferrobb · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

recommended by a friend. I've not read others in the series. Probably won't look for any others because it didn't impress me that much, though the second half was better than the first.The entire Cordover extended family seemed messed up other than Clemmie. Clemmie's grandparents were probably the second best, but I still felt like they tried to manipulate their children. All the others seemed to just want the money.