Dying Art (A Dylan Scott Mystery) (7 page)

Chapter Eight

Guilt gnawed at Ruth as she watched her daughter open a bottle of wine. Getting through to Maddie was beyond her and she felt bad because she knew that, over the past few years, she’d stopped trying.

Maddie and Tim’s home was equally alien to her. It was cold and anonymous. Nothing hinted at the hopes and dreams of the occupants.

She’d been worried about Maddie and had felt honour-bound to come but, as always, she wished she hadn’t. There was a chilly atmosphere between them, an atmosphere that had never existed between her and Prue. Oh, Prue—

“What time will Tim be home?” she asked.

Her daughter spun round to face her, frowning as if she resented the question. “Soon. I offered to meet him from the airport, but Eddie’s bringing him. Tim said it would save me hanging around if the plane was late.” She shrugged. “Eddie doesn’t mind and it’s not far out of his way.”

It was the longest speech Ruth had heard from Maddie this afternoon.

“That was considerate of Tim,” Ruth said. “I expect he thinks you’ve got more than enough on your plate without acting as chauffeur for him.”

“Meeting someone from the airport is hardly acting as a chauffeur, Mother.”

“No.”

Ruth would never forget the sheer joy of seeing Maddie for the first time. The excitement of carrying her first child had been nothing compared to seeing that round face for the first time, the little tuft of featherlight hair and those tiny but, oh, so immaculate fingers and toes. Maddie had been perfect in every way. Of course Ruth was biased, but she’d never seen a more beautiful baby before or since.

Maddie had grown into an adorable toddler, one with a sunny smile that had lit up rooms, and one able to charm adoration from all who saw her. When Maddie had raced into her arms, Ruth hadn’t imagined that, one day, she would be almost afraid to speak to her daughter.

A couple of days after Maddie’s fifth birthday—Ruth could still remember the fairytale castle cake she’d baked for that special day—Prue had been born. Ruth’s happiness had known no limits. She had two beautiful daughters who were perfect in every way and her life was complete. Prue had been a smiling, placid child with a loving, giving nature.

And Maddie had been unbearable.

Ruth and Andrew had worried about sibling rivalry and they’d taken great pains to make sure Maddie got lots of attention. The more affection they gave her, the more she pushed them away. She hadn’t even been able to look at Prue.

As the two girls had grown up, Maddie had grown spiteful toward Prue. Yet Prue had tolerated it without a word of complaint. She’d been so easygoing, so kind and generous, so bloody understanding.

The sting of tears had Ruth taking a deep breath.

“Shall I take some of Prue’s things home, darling?” she asked. “It will save you having to go through it all.”

“There’s no point. I’ve almost finished it. Anything of importance is going to the solicitor and the rest is being binned.”

“Right. Well, don’t throw anything good away.” She smiled to soften her words.

“Like what?”

“Stuff that meant a lot to Prue,” Ruth said.

“Oh, no, that would never do, would it?”

Ruth flinched at such hostility. “If it’s all too much for you—”

“Yes? If it’s all too much for me, what should I do? Like who would care?”

“Maddie, darling, don’t be so hostile. We haven’t asked you to do any of this. You volunteered to sort everything out. You said you
wanted
to arrange the funeral. You employed that private investigator—”

“His name is Dylan.”

“Dylan, yes.”

“Don’t you want to know what happened to your precious daughter?” Maddie asked.

“I know what happened, darling. And I’m sure the police will be able to tell us more soon. There was certainly no need to bring in someone else. No one can bring her back to us, can they?”

“Why do you care? You’re not paying for it.”

Ruth longed to make her escape but a car’s headlights lit up the kitchen and she knew she’d have to stay long enough to say hello to Tim.

Maddie turned to smile as the two men walked into the kitchen. She accepted a peck on both cheeks from Eddie and a quick hug from Tim.

Ruth was also given kisses and hugs.

“Is everything okay?” Tim asked.

“Fine, thanks,” Maddie said.

“Ruth?”

“Yes, of course, Tim. I just thought I’d call in and see how Maddie was coping. Did you have a good flight?”

“The good part was that it was on time,” Tim said.

“How are you bearing up, Maddie?” Eddie asked.

“I’m okay, thanks.” Maddie held the wine bottle aloft. “Drink?”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asked, ignoring the question and the bottle. “We felt terrible leaving you at such a time. It’s just awful that you’ve had to cope with all this on your own.”

He made it sound as if Ruth had done nothing to help. Perhaps that was true, but it was only because she hadn’t been allowed to.

“I’m fine.” Maddie patted his arm and smiled at him. “But thanks, Eddie.”

Maddie was playing the martyr and Eddie had fallen for it and drawn a smile from her. Ruth bit back on the unkind thought but, really, Maddie wasn’t on her own. Maddie had
wanted
to take control. No one had asked her to.

“Eddie? Are you having a drink or not?” Tim asked.

“Go on then. I’ll have a quick one for the road. Better make it a small one though.”

“What about you, Ruth?”

“I’m driving. So no, thanks.” Ruth would have a stiff drink when she got home. Not that she was getting into that habit. It would be far too easy to try to numb the pain of Prue’s death with alcohol but she wasn’t that stupid.

Both men looked tense. Perhaps their trip hadn’t been as successful as they’d hoped. Eddie was three years younger than Tim but looked a decade older. He was, according to Tim, the brains behind the partnership. She supposed Tim offered the charm, sophistication and good looks. Clothes were honoured to grace his six-foot-tall, slim frame. Shoes were of the softest leather. His dark hair was kept short. Tiny lines around slate-grey eyes gave the impression of sincerity and of someone who laughed a lot. Ruth couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard a laugh tumble from his lips.

She couldn’t pretend to know her son-in-law well though. Tim and Maddie were far too busy to bother with the old folk.

She wondered if the marriage was a happy one. She hoped so but she had her doubts.

Eddie didn’t intend to linger, thank goodness. After a few minutes spent talking about the delights of sun-kissed countries, he drained his glass and gave Tim a hearty slap on the back. “I’ll love you and leave you.”

“Thanks for the lift home,” Tim said.

“No worries. Let’s fix something up for a night out. It will do you good, Maddie. There’s no point brooding, is there?”

“None at all,” she said. “We’ll arrange something soon. Good to see you, Eddie.”

When Eddie had gone, Ruth had no need to stay. “It’s time I was off, too,” she said. “It’s been good to see you, Tim. And Maddie, if you need me to take Prue’s things—”

“I don’t. Stop fussing, Mother. I can deal with it. Anyway, it’s too late now because it’s all done. I just need to get that painting—”

“Which painting, darling?”

“It’s nothing. There was a painting in Prue’s bedroom that the secondhand furniture dealer thought might be worth a few pounds. It won’t be, but I’d better get it checked just in case.”

“What sort of painting?” Tim asked.

“It’s just a tatty little miniature. I’ll tell you about it later.”

She would tell Tim, Ruth thought, but she wasn’t about to tell her own mother. Ruth didn’t really care. If Maddie found something of value and wanted to sell it and keep the money, that was fine. What she resented was feeling as if the task of taking care of Prue’s things had been snatched from her.

“I’ll be in touch then,” she said, picking up her coat.

Tim escorted her to the front door, opened it for her, gave her a quick peck on the cheek and was gone, closing the door behind him.

Ruth walked over to her car, hit the key fob to unlock the doors and then realised she’d left her scarf on the kitchen table. She considered leaving it there but it was one Prue had given her and she didn’t want to be parted from it.

She walked back to the door and was just about to knock when she heard Tim’s voice raised in anger. “Is it so bloody difficult to make an effort?”

“When I’ve endured a week like this one?” Maddie shouted. “Yes. When I’ve just buried my sister? Yes. When I’ve spent the week sorting through my dead sister’s things? Yes.”

Ruth shrank back against the wall. They were arguing in the hall. Would they notice that her car hadn’t moved?

“Forgive me for asking,” Tim said, and Ruth could hear sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “but exactly when did this sister come to mean so much to you? You saw her—what?—twice in the last three years?”

“Three times.”

“Three times in three years. I suppose you’ve conveniently forgotten that you couldn’t stand her company.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing. I just wish everyone would leave me alone. First my mother turns up trying to be nice when we all know she wishes the other daughter had died. Then you start on about money—”

“I didn’t start on about money. I simply said that I have to work to help pay for private detectives and shrinks that you insist on—”

Ruth couldn’t bear to hear any more. The scarf would have to stay where it was. Perhaps Maddie would return it to her. It didn’t matter. It was only a scarf, albeit one Prue had given her.

My mother turns up trying to be nice when we all know she wishes the other daughter had died.
How could Maddie say such a thing? How could she even think such a thing?

Ruth climbed in her car, fired the engine and, with tears streaming down her face, drove away from the house.

Chapter Nine

Dylan had arranged to meet Toby Windsor at ten o’clock. By ten-fifteen, there was no sign of him.

Having insisted that Maddie have Prue’s house empty by Friday, Windsor had then informed her he wouldn’t be able to get to the property and go through the inventory until today, Tuesday. Dylan supposed they shouldn’t have been surprised, as Windsor appeared to take delight in messing people around. As yet, Dylan had heard nothing good about Prue’s landlord.

Dylan planned to spend the week in Dawson’s Clough talking to anyone and everyone who’d known Prue so he’d offered to keep the house keys, save Maddie the journey from London, and meet Windsor himself. He was curious about the bloke.

He walked through the empty rooms as he waited. Danny Thompson was right in that the washing machine didn’t work. The cooker had two rings that worked but the grill and oven refused to even get warm. He could see his breath on the chilly air, but as there had been no heating on since Prue was killed, that wasn’t surprising, especially considering the low temperatures and the heavy rain that had hit the area. The place felt damp and cold, and without Prue’s cheap furniture hiding stains on the carpet or peeling wallpaper, utterly depressing.

It was difficult to imagine that Jane Cook’s lovely home was only on the other side of the wall. When Dylan had called on her, he’d been welcomed into a warm, cheerful house where Fudge, the cat, lazed on a windowsill that had attracted a few weak rays of sunshine. A plant-filled conservatory provided comfy seats that offered a view of a small but neat, colourful garden. It was like entering a different world.

“Prue planned to make a start on her garden this spring,” Jane had said. “She would have had her work cut out because it hasn’t been touched for years. I offered to give her a hand and let her have cuttings from my garden...”

Perhaps the next tenant would sort it out. They’d have a difficult task. It was a waterlogged, overgrown mess at the moment although the dilapidated wooden shed looked as if it was about to do everyone a favour by falling down of its own volition.

Dylan must have spoken to every resident on this quiet road but he’d learned nothing of interest. People were shocked that a neighbour had been killed in her own home, but no one knew anything about Prue that might help find her killer. A couple of people had installed new security alarms, and a few planned to press the local council to install CCTV, but he guessed that when the shock faded, Prue would be forgotten and life in this street would carry on as normal.

He wandered along the hall to the front of the house and was in time to see a white Mercedes glide to a halt outside. The man who eased himself out was mid-fifties, balding and overweight. His dark hair was thin but everything else about him, from his neck through his girth to his fingers, was fat. He was wearing a suit that must have reinforced seams.

Rain was lashing down now so Dylan went to the front door and held it open for him. “Toby Windsor?”

The name suited him. He looked like the Toby jugs that hung from beams in Dylan’s favourite pub.

“That’s me. Who are you?”

“Dylan Scott.” He shook his hand and grazed his knuckle on the enormous gold ring Windsor wore. “I’m a friend of the family. Mrs. Chandler couldn’t make it today so I’m here to go through the inventory and hand over the keys on her behalf.”

Windsor didn’t look overjoyed at this piece of news. “If any damage has been done—”

“There’s no damage.” The window that the intruder had broken to gain entrance had been repaired. Also, Jane Cook had been able to tell Dylan what Prue had done to the house. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Miss Murphy had the sitting-room window repaired. She preferred to pay for the repair herself, I gather, than wait for you to get around to organising it. She painted the kitchen and bathroom. She paid a plumber to repair the leaking cistern.”

“I’ll check everything,” Windsor said.

He heaved himself upstairs and Dylan followed.

Windsor stopped in Prue’s bedroom. It was bare but that didn’t stop him having a good look round before checking that the light worked, the window opened and closed, and the electric sockets were securely fastened to the wall.

“You wouldn’t believe what some tenants do,” he said. “About six months ago, a couple stopped paying their rent. I thought, ‘Here we go again.’ It’s a right bugger getting rid of ‘em, I can tell you. They have rights whether they pay their rent or not but the landlord doesn’t have a leg to stand on. The landlord can’t even go and ask for the rent more than once because it’s classed as harassment. I’d give ’em bloody harassment. This couple I was telling you about? The good thing was that they buggered off. I was glad about that because, like I said, it’s the devil’s own job getting rid of ‘em. But they only took the bloody doors off. Every bloody door in the house. Gone. Bastards!”

“Really?” They probably considered it suitable recompense for putting up with a faulty washing machine and cooker.

“You wouldn’t believe what some of ’em do.” Windsor strode to the spare room and, again, made a fuss of checking sockets, light and window. “A landlord’s lot isn’t an easy one, believe me.”

Windsor muttered his way from room to room with Dylan following and trying to get a word in.

“The washing machine and cooker haven’t been working,” he managed to say when they reached the kitchen. “But you’ll know that because Prue contacted you about it. Several times.”

“Yeah, I was meaning to—”

“The window’s been repaired.” Dylan showed him the small window where the intruder gained access.

“It looks okay.” Windsor’s tone was grudging.

“You were in Monaco when she was killed, I gather?”

“That’s right, yeah.”

“The police believe a petty thief was responsible,” Dylan said.

“It doesn’t surprise me at all. These days, if it’s standing still, some bugger will nick it. No matter how secure you make your home, some little shit will find a way in. Bastards.”

“True. It’s odd though, isn’t it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Everything. The way this thief is supposed to only target empty properties. The way he didn’t steal anything.”

“There was nothing worth taking,” Windsor said.

“But there was. The police reckon he’s happy to make a couple of hundred quid. Well, there was sixty pounds on the table and he ignored that. The TV and DVD player were old, but they would have fetched a few quid. It makes me think he was looking for something else.”

“Like what?”

“I wish I knew.”

“There was nothing worth taking,” Windsor said again. “I know because I called in a couple of times. Well, you have to make sure people are treating your properties as they should. Believe me, there was nothing worth stealing.”

“How can you know that? Ah, but you called quite often, didn’t you?” Dylan said. “Any particular reason? Or do you visit all your properties regularly?”

“I visit new tenants a few times,” he said. “Just until I’ve got the measure of them. And it’s a two-way thing. It gives them a chance to discuss any problems they might be having.”

“Only if the tenants are at home,” Dylan said. “And you still wouldn’t know whether there was anything worth stealing. No one would know if
I
had anything of value unless they had a good search through my home and looked in cupboards and drawers. Oh, but I forgot. You called here when you knew Prue would be away, didn’t you?”

“I never did!”

“That’s what I heard. I was told you visited when you knew Prue would be away for the weekend. Her appointment was cancelled and she returned to find you in the property.”

“Oh, that.” He shrugged huge shoulders. “Look, I’m not calling her a liar, but if she
did
tell me she was going away that weekend, I forgot. I have several properties in the Clough, Mr. Scott, and I can’t be expected to keep tabs on all my tenants, can I?”

“I suppose not.”

“So, yeah. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps she did have something worth nicking. I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“Not unless you had a good poke around in the cupboards,” Dylan said.

“I wouldn’t do that, would I? I wouldn’t look at people’s possessions. They’d be private and I respect that.” Windsor took a notebook and pen from his pocket. “Right, we just need to read the gas and electric meters.”

Dylan had already done so but he was curious to see if Windsor noted down the same figures. If there was a discrepancy, he’d bet it was in the landlord’s favour.

The gas meter was in a small cupboard beneath the stairs and Windsor was out of breath when he emerged. He had his readings, however, and when Dylan checked them against the ones he’d taken earlier, he was surprised to find that they were identical.

“You need to sign here,” Windsor said, pushing a sheet of paper at him, “just to say we’ve agreed that all is in order. I’ll sign here to say you’ve agreed the meter readings and handed over the keys. And that’s it.”

Dylan signed in the correct places and they exchanged agreements. “You’ll be looking to get another tenant in then?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s no use to me empty, is it?” Windsor said.

“None at all.”

“Right, thanks for this. We can go now.” Windsor strode to the front door, pulled it open and held it for Dylan. “After you.”

“Thanks.”

Windsor was soon in his car. Dylan stood, with the rain lashing down, to take one last look at Prue Murphy’s home. He hoped it held no clues because they wouldn’t get inside it again. He dismissed the thought. The house was empty. There was nothing to be learned from those damp, cold rooms.

He dashed to his car, jumped inside and drove off.

Red lights stopped him at the crossroads and he drummed the steering wheel as he waited for them to change. At the moment they did, he drove forward and glanced briefly along the road to his left. Standing there, watching traffic, was a tall bearded man with untidy grey hair. He was wearing a long overcoat with the collar turned up against the rain.

Dylan drove on to the next junction and took a left turn. He turned left and left again, but when he reemerged into the street, there was no sign of anyone wearing a long overcoat.

He parked, got out of the car and strode along the street. Apart from a couple of cafés, a run-down pub, a dry cleaner’s and a newsagent’s, there was nowhere to hide. He checked those buildings but he didn’t see his bearded quarry.

During a slow walk back to his car, he wondered if he’d been mistaken, or if he really had seen the man who’d distanced himself from the mourners at Prue’s funeral.