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“Did you try and poison her, Miss Bence?”
Her mood changed. She got up and laughed.
“What ridiculous questions you do ask! But I suppose you have to. It’s part of your job. No. I can assure you I didn’t kill her.”
“That isn’t what I asked you, Miss Bence.”
She looked at him, frowning, puzzled.
“Marina Gregg,” he said, “is still alive.”
“For how long?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t you think it’s likely, Inspector, that someone will try again, and this time—this time, perhaps—they’ll succeed?”
“Precautions will be taken.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will. The adoring husband will look after her, won’t he, and make sure that no harm comes to her?”
He was listening carefully to the mockery in her voice.
“What did you mean when you said you didn’t ask me that?” she said, harking back suddenly.
“I asked you if you tried to kill her. You replied that you didn’t kill her. That’s true enough, but someone died, someone was killed.”
“You mean I tried to kill Marina and instead I killed Mrs. What’s-her-name. If you’d like me to make it quite clear, I didn’t try to poison Marina and I didn’t poison Mrs. Badcock.”
“But you know perhaps who did?”
“I don’t know anything, Inspector, I assure you.”
“But you have some idea?”
“Oh, one always has ideas.” She smiled at him, a mocking smile. “Among so many people it might be, mightn’t it, the black-haired robot of a secretary, the elegant Hailey Preston, servants, maids, a masseur, the hairdresser, someone at the studios, so many people—and one of them mightn’t be what he or she pretended to be.”
Then as he took an unconscious step towards her she shook her head vehemently.
“Relax, Inspector,” she said. “I’m only teasing you. Somebody’s out for Marina’s blood, but who it is I’ve no idea. Really. I’ve no idea at all.”
Sixteen
I
At No. 16 Aubrey Close, young Mrs. Baker was talking to her husband. Jim Baker, a big good-looking blond giant of a man, was intent on assembling a model construction unit.
“Neighbours!” said Cherry. She gave a toss of her black curly head. “Neighbours!” she said with venom.
She carefully lifted the frying pan from the stove, then neatly shot its contents onto two plates, one rather fuller than the other. She placed the fuller one before her husband.
“Mixed grill,” she announced.
Jim looked up and sniffed appreciatively.
“That’s something like,” he said. “What is today? My birthday?”
“You have to be well nourished,” said Cherry.
She was looking very pretty in a cerise and white striped apron with little frills on it. Jim Baker shifted the component parts of a strato-cruiser to make room for his meal. He grinned at his wife and asked:
“Who says so?”
“My Miss Marple for one!” said Cherry. “And if it comes to that,” she added, sitting down opposite Jim and pulling her plate towards her, “I should say she could do with a bit more solid nourishment herself. That old cat of a White Knight of hers, gives her nothing but carbohydrates. It’s all she can think of! A ‘nice custard,’ a ‘nice bread and butter pudding,’ a ‘nice macaroni cheese.’ Squashy puddings with pink sauce. And gas, gas, gas, all day. Talks her head off she does.”
“Oh well,” said Jim vaguely, “it’s invalid diet, I suppose.”
“Invalid diet!” said Cherry and snorted. “Miss Marple isn’t an invalid—she’s just old. Always interfering, too.”
“Who, Miss Marple?”
“No. That Miss Knight. Telling me how to do things! She even tries to tell me how to cook! I know a lot more about cooking than she does.”
“You’re tops for cooking, Cherry,” said Jim appreciatively.
“There’s something to cooking,” said Cherry, “something you can get your teeth into.”
Jim laughed. “I’m getting my teeth into this all right. Why did your Miss Marple say that I needed nourishing? Did she think I looked run-down, the other day when I came in to fix the bathroom shelf?”
Cherry laughed. “I’ll tell you what she said to me. She said, ‘You’ve got a handsome husband, my dear. A very handsome husband.’ Sounds like one of those period books they read aloud on the telly.”
“I hope you agreed with her?” said Jim with a grin.
“I said you were all right.”
“All right indeed! That’s a nice lukewarm way of talking.”
“And then she said ‘You must take care of your husband, my dear. Be sure you feed him properly. Men need plenty of good meat meals, well cooked.’”
“Hear, hear!”
“And she told me to be sure and prepare fresh food for you and not to buy ready-made pies and things and slip them in the oven to warm up. Not that I do that often,” added Cherry virtuously.
“You can’t do it too seldom for me,” said Jim. “They don’t taste a bit the same.”
“So long as you notice what you eat,” said Cherry, “and aren’t so taken up with those strato-cruisers and things you’re always building. And don’t tell me you bought that set as a Christmas present for your nephew Michael. You bought it so that you could play with it yourself.”
“He’s not quite old enough for it yet,” said Jim apologetically.
“And I suppose you’re going on dithering about with it all the evening. What about some music? Did you get that new record you were talking about?”
“Yes, I did. Tchaikovski 1812.”
“That’s the loud one with the battle, isn’t it?” said Cherry. She made a face. “Our Mrs. Hartwell won’t half like that! Neighbours! I’m fed up with neighbours. Always grousing and complaining. I don’t know which is the worst. The Hartwells or the Barnabys. The Hartwells start rapping on the wall as early as twenty to eleven sometimes. It’s a bit thick! After all even the telly and the BBC go on later than that. Why shouldn’t we have a bit of music if we like? And always asking us to turn it down low.”
“You can’t turn these things down low,” said Jim with authority. “You don’t get the tone unless you’ve got the volume. Everyone knows that. It’s absolutely recognized in m
usical circles. And what about their cat—always coming over into our garden, digging up the beds, just when I’ve got it nice.”
“I tell you what, Jim. I’m fed up with this place.”
“You didn’t mind your neighbours up in Huddersfield,” remarked Jim.
“It wasn’t the same there,” said Cherry. “I mean, you’re all independent there. If you’re in trouble, somebody’d give you a hand and you’d give a hand to them. But you don’t interfere. There’s something about a new estate like this that makes people look sideways at their neighbours. Because we’re all new I suppose. The amount of backbiting and tale-telling and writing to the council and one thing and another round here beats me! People in real towns are too busy for it.”
“You may have something there, my girl.”
“D’you like it here, Jim?”
“The job’s all right. And after all, this is a brand new house. I wish there was a bit more room in it so that I could spread myself a bit more. It would be fine if I could have a workshop.”
“I thought it was lovely at first,” said Cherry, “but now I’m not so sure. The house is all right and I love the blue paint and the bathroom’s nice, but I don’t like the people and the feeling round here. Did I tell you that Lily Price and that Harry of hers have broken off? It was a funny business that day in that house they went to look over. You know when she more or less fell out of the window. She said Harry just stood there like a stuck pig.”
“I’m glad she’s broken off with him. He’s a no-good if I ever saw one,” said Jim.
“No good marrying a chap just because a baby’s on the way,” said Cherry. “He didn’t want to marry her, you know. He’s not a very nice fellow. Miss Marple said he wasn’t,” she added thoughtfully. “She spoke to Lily about him. Lily thought she was crackers.”
“Miss Marple? I didn’t know she’d ever seen him?”
“Oh yes, she was round here walking the day she fell down and Mrs. Badcock picked her up and took her into her house. Do you think Arthur and Mrs. Bain will make a match of it?”
Jim frowned as he picked up a bit of strato-cruiser and consulted the instructional diagram.
