Read Online Murder at the Laurels by Lesley Cookman - Free Book Online Page B

again,’ she said. ‘Mrs Castle, isn’t it? I didn’t expect to see you so soon.’
    Fran tried not to look as sheepish as she felt. ‘I just thought I’d keep Charles company,’ she said weakly.
    â€˜And we’re going on to see Mrs Denver,’ added Charles. ‘There are things to sort out.’
    â€˜Of course.’ Marion Headlam nodded, not a hair on her perfectly groomed head dislodged by the movement. ‘You’ll want to sort out the funeral.’
    â€˜Exactly,’ said Charles. ‘Have any arrangements been made?’
    â€˜Oh, yes. Mrs Denver organised it.’
    â€˜Oh? I thought as the executor – and her power-of-attorney –’ Charles was now looking exceedingly grumpy.
    â€˜I’m sorry, Mr Wade, but I dealt mostly with Mrs Denver, as you know.’
    â€˜I signed all your cheques.’
    Marion Headlam smiled sweetly. ‘Yes, Mr Wade, and, of course, I shall send you the final account.’
    Charles and Fran both looked taken aback.
    â€˜Already?’ said Charles.
    â€˜We are a business, Mr Wade. Naturally, we won’t pressure you at this sad time, but we have a waiting list for that room.’
    â€˜I understood my cousin had cleared it of my aunt’s possessions, so you could let it out right now, surely.’
    â€˜Not completely cleared, Mr Wade. There are some clothes left. Perhaps, as you’re here, you and Mrs Castle could take care of that now?’
    Charles opened his mouth, looking put out, and Fran rushed into the breach.
    â€˜That might be sensible,’ she said. ‘Of course. Come on, Charles.’
    Marion Headlam left them alone in Aunt Eleanor’s room.
    â€˜Bit of a cheek,’ said Charles, as soon as the door had closed.
    â€˜No, it isn’t Charles.’ Fran went to the wardrobe, where she’d noticed the few clothes last time. ‘You just said you were the executor. She’s every right to ask you to take stuff away. And as there isn’t much of it left and you live in London, best do it while you’re here. It makes sense.’
    Charles made a sound suspiciously like harrumph, and began to prowl round the room, picking things up and putting them down again. ‘Barbara certainly did a thorough job,’ he said eventually, as Fran continued to lay faded print dresses on the bed. ‘But when did she do it? She left when I did, I’m certain of that, and she seemed too shocked to have come back the same day. And you were here the next day.’
    â€˜She must have come in the morning. I didn’t get here until the afternoon.’ Struck by a thought, she swung round to face him. ‘And how come the funeral was arranged so quickly?’
    â€˜The efficient Barbara obviously did that the next morning, too. What I can’t understand, is why she didn’t phone me first. I was the one with power-of-attorney, and she knew I was the executor.’
    â€˜She probably thought she was doing you a favour. After all, she was the one visiting regularly, wasn’t she? And her son?’
    â€˜I couldn’t visit regularly. I live in London.’
    â€˜Exactly.’ Fran began folding clothes. ‘You’re operating on a double standard, here, Charles. And what did you say to me last night? You didn’t know what to do about the funeral. Well, here it is, all done for you, and you’re still complaining.’
    Charles looked away and went to stand by the french windows.
    â€˜You’re right,’ he said, ‘I’m being stupid.’ He swung back. ‘I’m sorry I’m behaving badly in front of my long-lost cousin.’
    Fran grinned. ‘Oh, don’t mind me. And I’m not exactly a cousin, anyway, am I?’
    He grinned back. ‘That’s a relief. Couldn’t stand another Barbara.’
    â€˜What are we going to put these in? Shall I go and ask for a black bin bag?’ Fran