Corpse in Waiting by Margaret Duffy Page B

weary-looking piece of green ribbon but her face was practically unlined.
    I continued, ‘I’m here because I’m thinking of buying it and wondered if you knew anything about its history. Such an attractive little house – I’ve really fallen in love with it. It’s a happy sort of place.’ All this sounded horribly banal to me but what on earth did one say?
    She raised her head and looked at me and for some reason a shudder went through me. She had not been happy there.
    â€˜The garden’s got plenty of potential,’ I said. ‘I should imagine that at one time it was really pretty. Do you enjoy the gardens here?’
    There was no response.
    â€˜I understand that your nephew’s on his way back from New Zealand,’ I went on chattily. ‘David, isn’t it? He must be your brother’s son as you’ve the same surname. I expect he’ll come and see you when he gets home.’
    Again there was something in her look that told me I was wrong. They were not close and he would not be coming to visit her.
    I asked the important question. ‘Was he living at the house before he went away?’
    She still said nothing and I felt as though her dark, unsettling eyes were burning holes in me.
    I tried to get a response for one last time, risking, ‘Don’t you like him?’
    She closed her eyes, rejecting me utterly, and returned to her own world.
    â€˜She don’t say nothin’,’ hissed the old man sitting in the chair nearest to me. He peered searchingly at Miss Bennett for a few moments and then jerked his head in the direction of a door on the far side of the room that led into a large conservatory. I made my way there and he followed me, slowly and painfully, half a minute or so later.
    â€˜I wish you hadn’t suggested struggling so far,’ I said.
    â€˜If you don’t bloody struggle you may as well go outside and shoot yourself,’ he declared. ‘Besides, that woman has long ears.’
    â€˜It doesn’t sound as though you like her very much.’
    He flopped down on to a padded bench. ‘I don’t like people who can’t even spare you a smile – no matter how ga-ga they are. Sit down, gal, so I can see you better.’
    I sat.
    â€˜Thought so. I’ve seen your face somewhere before. Been on the box, have yer?’
    â€˜A few times,’ I replied. ‘In books programmes.’
    â€˜That’s it then. Sorry, my ears are too long too and I heard you say you were buying her house. I’m not too daft to read the papers and I know a police sergeant came to talk to her the other day. Is this the place where they found the body?’
    â€˜Yes, it is.’
    â€˜P’raps it’s just as well that she’s here then, not knowing, like.’
    â€˜You’re probably right. How long has she been here?’
    â€˜Around a year. I know that because she came two days after my birthday last year and it’s next week. I overheard someone say that she’d been in another home but had got worse.’
    â€˜D’you happen to know which home that was?’
    â€˜No, but a green people-carrier with some kind of gold-coloured logo on the side brought her. I didn’t pay much attention.’
    â€˜Does she have any visitors?’
    â€˜No one that I’ve seen.’
    â€˜The police are trying to find out who was living in her house when the murder was committed. Do you know anything about a nephew who sometimes goes to New Zealand?’
    â€˜No, sorry, nothin’. As I said, she don’t speak.’
    â€˜What, to nobody ?’
    â€˜Sort of grunts when the staff ask her things, that’s all.’
    I thanked him and left. I did not enquire as to which care home Miss Bennett had come from as I knew I would be wasting my time. ‘Client confidentiality’ would see to that.
    At three thirty that afternoon I had a call from Patrick.
    â€˜He