M.C. Beaton: Death of a Prankster

Melissa raised her eyes and looked at Jan, who was sitting next to Paul. One of her bony beringed hands was fondly caressing Paul’s sleeve and Paul was giving her a myopic, doting look. Melissa had not been a virgin when she had gone to bed with Paul that day. She’d had one previous affair and one one–night stand. But now she felt, made unreasonable by fury, that Paul had seduced her with promises of money. He had used her. She pushed back her chair and got shakily to her feet.

“You never meant to let me have any money,” she shouted at Paul. “All the time you meant to give it to Mummy dearest. Well, I’m not going to marry anyone with an Oedipus complex. Stuff you and stuff your bloody mother.”

She slammed out and ran to her room and threw herself face down on the bed and cried her eyes out. After a while, she grew calmer. If anyone had ever told her that the very prospect of a lot of money would drive her mad with greed and dreams, thought Melissa, sitting up and wiping her eyes, she would not have believed it.

♦

Down in the dining room, Charles was returning to the topic of Melissa. “I thought her a nice little thing,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought money would have meant that much to her.”

“What about Titchy?” demanded Betty.

“I suppose so,” said Charles ruefully. “But Htchy was different. She had an insecure, unstable sort of life. Now Melissa has a brain and a good job. Come to think of it, I rather fancy her myself, if you must know. I think you’ll find, Paul, that she didn’t mean a word of it. Girls don’t like chaps who are too tied to their mother’s apron-strings, not that I would know anything about that personally.”

“I’m sorry for Paul,” said Betty. “I think he’s well rid of Melissa. She reminds me of Titchy with that tarty hair.”

“I wish you would all keep your noses out of my business,” shouted Paul. “For Christ’s sake! One of us is a murderer. I thought that would be enough to occupy your minds.”

He walked out, leaving the rest of them looking at each other.

“Yes, but we can’t think of that every minute of the day,” said Charles at last. “The police are coming again tomorrow and then we should all be free to go our separate ways. I cannot tell you, Betty, Angela and Jeffrey, how deeply moved I am by your generosity.”

“What’s this?” demanded Jan, her voice shrill.

“Oh, Lor’,” said Charles. “Well, you’ll know soon enough. Betty, Angela and Jeffrey are going to make over a big chunk each of their fortunes to me.”

“Why?” demanded Jan, aghast.

“Because, precious one,” sneered her husband, “it’s only fair. He should have got the lot, you know.”

“You fool,” hissed Jan. “You bloody old fool.” She stormed out.

“Dear me,” said Charles, raising his eyebrows. “I hope the ones of us left can pass the rest of the evening in peace and tranquillity. How is Jan getting back to London, by the way? You drove her up, Jeffrey.”

“I’ll drive her back,” said Jeffrey. “We’re still married.”

“I’ll never understand you,” said Charles in amazement. “You spit hate at each other and yet you continue to share the same bed, and now you’re driving her back. I owe you a lot, Jeffrey. I’ll escort her if you like.”

“No, it’s all right,” said Jeffrey. “She can’t frighten me any more. Funny, that. I’ve been married for years to a woman who frightened me.”

♦

Paul was sitting beside Melissa on her bed, holding her hand. “You can’t mean you only wanted the money,” he was saying.

“Not at first,” said Melissa drearily, “but then the prospect of it all went to my head. So good luck to you and Mother dear. I hope you will be very happy.”

“I didn’t mean it,” said Paul quietly. “I only wanted to show them you weren’t mercenary. I agree it would be foolish not to enjoy ourselves.” His hand caressed the soft pink feathers of her hair. She shivered under his touch. Just before he had said that, she had begun to feel like her own woman again. But the dreams were rushing back in, the clothes, the villa, the servants, the old farmhouse…She gave a groan. “Go away, Paul, and let me think,” she said. “I can’t think straight living in this house.”

He got up reluctantly. “Won’t you let me stay with you?”

“Not tonight,” said Melissa. “With luck, we’ll be allowed to leave tomorrow. I’ll know what I want as soon as I’m away from here.”

When Paul had left, Melissa washed and undressed and settled down and tried to sleep, tried to banish all those rosy, wealthy dreams, but they came thick and fast.

Paul had been down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He met Betty on the stairs. “You are well out of that engagement, young man,” she said.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said cheerfully. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s back on again.”

“Why? Did you tell her you were keeping the money?”

“Well, yes, some of it. But she’s not mercenary.”

Melissa was just drifting off to sleep when she heard someone entering her room. She had forgotten to lock the door! She sat up in alarm and then relaxed as she saw the dumpy figure of Betty Trent silhouetted against the light from the corridor.

“You’ve had a horrid evening,” said Betty, approaching. “I’ve brought you a nice glass of hot milk and I want you to drink it all up.”

“Oh, thank you.” Melissa’s eyes filled with tears at this unexpected piece of kindness.

“Think nothing of it,” said Betty gently, and she went out and closed the door.

∨ Death of a Prankster ∧

8

So, at last I was going to America! Really, really going, at last! The boundaries burst. The arch of heaven soared. A million suns shone out for every star. The winds rushed in from outer space, roaring in my ears, “America! America! ”

—Mary Antin

One by one the guests at Arrat House shuffled down to the library, too anxious to protest at having been roused from their beds so early. All Enrico had told them was that they had been summoned by Constable Macbeth.

“What’s it all in aid of?” asked Charles. “And where’s Melissa?”

“Enrico says she’s asleep and the copper says he doesn’t need her,” said Jeffrey.

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Charles wrapped his dressing-gown more tightly about him. “I had a hope, you know, that we were all going to be told to go home.”

“Fat chance,” remarked Angela bitterly. “Dragging us down here at dawn.”

“It’s nine in the morning,” pointed out Jan. “Oh, I hear cars arriving. Here come the bloody reinforcements.”

Hamish Macbeth was waiting on the steps of Arrat House as Blair and his detectives arrived.

“As I told you on the phone, I want you to listen to what I have to say to them,” said Hamish, “and I think I’ll find your murderer for you.”

Blair thanked his stars that Daviot wasn’t going to be present. If Hamish made a fool of himself, then he would have all the pleasure of telling Daviot about it. If Hamish solved the murders, then, with any luck, he could claim the success as his own.

Everyone looked up nervously as Hamish, the detectives and two policemen filed into the library.

“Quite a crowd,” said Charles amiably.

“Constable Macbeth has something tae say tae ye,” said Blair, unable to keep a jeering note out of his voice as Hamish stood in front of the fireplace and faced them all.

“The difficulty in solving this murder was always lack o’ motive,” began Hamish. “You all, for various reasons, but mostly mercenary, wanted Andrew Trent dead. But one of you had the most powerful motive of all – mother love.”