Next Door to Murder Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Recent Titles by Anthea Fraser

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Recent Titles by Anthea Fraser

  The Rona Parish Mysteries

  (in order of appearance)

  BROUGHT TO BOOK *

  JIGSAW *

  PERSON OR PERSONS UNKNOWN *

  A FAMILY CONCERN *

  ROGUE IN PORCELAIN *

  NEXT DOOR TO MURDER *

  The Detective Chief Inspector Webb Mysteries

  (in order of appearance)

  A SHROUD FOR DELILAH

  A NECESSARY END

  PRETTY MAIDS ALL IN A ROW

  DEATH SPEAKS SOFTLY

  THE NINE BRIGHT SHINERS

  SIX PROUD WALKERS

  THE APRIL RAINERS

  SYMBOLS AT YOUR DOOR

  THE LILY-WHITE BOYS

  THREE, THREE, THE RIVALS

  THE GOSPEL MAKERS

  THE SEVEN STARS

  ONE IS ONE AND ALL ALONE

  THE TEN COMMANDMENTS

  ELEVEN THAT WENT UP TO HEAVEN *

  THE TWELVE APOSTLES *

  Other Titles

  PRESENCE OF MIND *

  THE MACBETH PROPHECY *

  BREATH OF BRIMSTONE *

  MOTIVE FOR MURDER *

  DANGEROUS DECEPTION *

  PAST SHADOWS *

  FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS *

  * available from Severn House

  NEXT DOOR TO MURDER

  Anthea Fraser

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published in Great Britain 2008 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey SM1 1DF.

  This first world edition published in the USA 2008 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS INC of

  595 Madison Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10022.

  Copyright © 2008 by Anthea Fraser.

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Fraser, Anthea

  Next door to murder

  1. Parish, Rona (Fictitious character) - Fiction 2. Women

  authors - England - Fiction 3. Murder - Investigation -

  Fiction 4. Detective and mystery stories

  I. Title

  823.9'14[F]

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-251-1 (ePub)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6614-1 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-051-8 (trade paper)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  One

  Max Allerdyce came clattering down the basement stairs to the kitchen, kissed his wife, patted the dog, and announced, ‘It looks as if someone’s moving in next door.’

  Rona nodded. ‘So I noticed. Wonder who we’ll get this time.’

  The house next door, a four-storey Georgian like their own, had been empty for several months. Its owners lived abroad, and over the years there’d been a succession of tenants, most of whom had taken it for the minimum period of six months. Some of them Rona had barely seen during their tenure, some she’d known only to say ‘Good morning’ to, and, very rarely, some they’d had in for drinks. Usually, the tenants were couples with school-age children whose jobs had moved them to the locality, and, intent on finding a place of their own, they’d had neither the time nor the inclination to strike up an acquaintance with temporary neighbours.

  ‘Seen anything of them?’ Max enquired, taking out a couple of glasses.

  ‘An elderly man went up the path at one point. If he’s the one moving in, it’ll be a change from the usual age group. Not that it’ll make much difference; I doubt if we’ll see much of them.’ She took the drink he handed her. ‘Thanks. How did the classes go?’

  Once a week, Max held art classes in the afternoon for those who couldn’t attend in the evenings – mainly housewives and the retired.

  ‘OK, but it was unpleasantly hot in the studio. The fans are pretty useless; all they do is move the air around. If this weather continues, I’ll have to think seriously about air con.’

  ‘One problem we don’t have here, with these thick walls,’ Rona commented. ‘It stays cool in the highest temperatures.’

  ‘And the lowest!’ Max said with a laugh. ‘Thank God for central heating.’ He glanced outside. ‘The sun’s off the garden now; let’s take our drinks out before I make a start on dinner. I thought we’d have a barbecue while the weather holds.’

  Max was the chef of the family. Rona loathed cooking, and on the evenings he had classes she existed on takeaways, salads and visits to the conveniently close Italian restaurant.

  He slid back the patio door, and she went ahead of him into the small paved garden. After the cool of the kitchen, the air was warm on her bare arms, and she inhaled with pleasure the mixture of scents drifting on it. She loved this small, private area, with its urns and baskets overflowing with flowers, and its small, half-hidden statues reminiscent of Italian courtyards. It was surrounded on three sides by a high wall of mellow, rose-coloured brick that now, in the evening sunlight, gave back its warmth.

  Gus, the golden retriever, flopped down on the sun-baked flagstones, his tongue lolling. He seemed resigned to his evening walks becoming later and later, postponed till the heat of the day had abated.

  Max and Rona strolled in contented silence to the end of the garden, from where they could see that the upstairs windows of the house next door were wide open.

  ‘It’s been empty quite a while, hasn’t it?’ Rona commented. ‘I hope the agents gave it a good clean and airing before anyone moved in.’

  ‘If it’s an elderly couple, at least we should be spared screaming children in the garden!’

  He leant against the wall and lifted his face to the sun, eyes closed. ‘Why did we spend a fortune on that holiday, when the weather’s just as good here?’

  They’d returned only days earlier from four weeks in Greece – longer than they usually took, but Rona’s last assignment for Chiltern Life had been a trying one. She’d been subdued for weeks afterwards – hardly surprising, in view of what had happened – and Max had felt she needed a complete break.

  ‘Because here,’ she answered lazily, her own head tilted back, ‘there’s no warm sea, or golden sand, or ouzo, or tavernas, or—’

  He laughed. ‘OK, you have a point.’ He pushed himself away from the wall. ‘I’d better start sorting out the food. I’ll give you a shout when I need your inpu
t.’

  She walked back towards the house with him, and sank into one of the loungers by the open door.

  He took her empty glass. ‘Like a top-up?’

  ‘No thanks, I’ll wait for wine with the meal.’

  He disappeared inside and she could hear him moving about, the fridge door opening and shutting, cupboard doors sliding. Gus ambled over and lay at her feet, yawning prodigiously, and she reached down to scratch his ears.

  She admitted to herself that she’d needed that holiday. So much had changed over the past months; at the time it had carried her along with it, but the stresses and strains of that last project and the emotions aroused had proved the final straw. It was good of Max to have recognized that, and taken measures to rectify it.

  Eighteen months ago, she reflected, life had seemed set in its smoothly running pattern. She’d been about to start on her fourth biography – of the recently deceased thriller writer, Theo Harvey. Her twin sister Lindsey, a solicitor, was bouncing back from her divorce from Hugh, and their parents, if not particularly happy, appeared to be rubbing along together as they had for years.

  Now, all that had changed. Rona’s own career seemed to have switched – at least temporarily – to that of freelance journalist at the glossy magazine Chiltern Life – a move that, while seeming innocuous enough, had flung her repeatedly into violent and distressing situations, a trend that her present series, on the history of long-established family businesses, was continuing to uphold.

  Lindsey meanwhile had lurched from one unsuitable lover to another – including Hugh himself, who was now back on the scene – and her latest was, in Rona’s view, an arrogant and opinionated millionaire, whose cavalier attitude left Lindsey miserable and unsure of herself.

  Most dramatic of all, her parents had separated and Pops was now living in a flat in town, waiting for two years to elapse before divorcing to marry Catherine, an ex-headmistress. While Mum had miraculously metamorphosed from a drab, discontented shrew into a smartly turned-out woman with a part-time job and a paying guest.

  How had it all come about? What ‘tide in the affairs of men’ had been responsible for dropping her family into a kaleidoscope and giving them all a good shake? A mixed metaphor if ever there was one, Rona thought with a self-deprecating smile.

  Only Max hadn’t changed. In addition to his commissioned paintings and teaching at the art school, he continued to hold classes at Farthings, a cottage ten minutes’ walk away, and spend three nights a week there following the evening sessions. Yet, though he was unaware of it, even their relationship had come under threat during that last assignment. Furthermore, though she longed to put the whole episode behind her, including the death of a young woman she’d considered her friend, she was prevented from doing so. For Curzon, local manufacturers of fine china whose history she’d been researching, would celebrate their hundred and fiftieth anniversary in two months’ time, and, although all the work had been done on them, the articles were being held over to coincide with that. It was as though a small black cloud hovered over her, and however hard she tried, she couldn’t escape it.

  Max’s call came as a welcome diversion. ‘OK, time to prepare the salad.’

  She swung her feet to the ground, narrowly missing the dog. ‘Coming!’ she said.

  Lindsey phoned the next morning.

  ‘I’m fed up. Are you free for lunch?’

  ‘I’m free for anything at the moment,’ Rona answered wryly.

  ‘Still not back in gear? That’s what four weeks away does for you.’

  ‘I needed it, Linz.’

  ‘I need it too, but I’m not likely to get it.’

  ‘One of the advantages of self-employment. Max organizes his own classes, and the students had no objection to the four-week break. Which just left the art school, and as he only teaches there one day a week and was able to arrange a stand-in, it wasn’t a problem. And to answer your question, yes, I’m free for lunch. Where shall we go?’

  ‘The Gallery at one? Then I can shop my way down.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  The next call was from Barnie Trent, features editor at Chiltern Life.

  ‘How’s my favourite journalist?’

  ‘Guilt-ridden,’ Rona replied.

  ‘Well, far be it from me to heap coals, but I was wondering—’

  ‘When, if ever, you were going to hear from me? It is an occasional series, Barnie. I always stressed that. I might abandon you at any time to do another bio.’

  ‘If that’s on the cards, fair enough; but until you take that decision . . . Look, I know there were hiccups over the last venture, but it’s behind you now.’

  ‘Not till it’s in print, it isn’t.’

  ‘Well, the hiccups must be, surely. The series is very popular, you know; I keep getting hints from local businesses that they wouldn’t be averse to some publicity. In fact, quite a queue is forming.’

  ‘I’m flattered but surprised, considering each one so far has turned up something untoward. Or do they subscribe to there being no such thing as bad publicity?’

  ‘Whatever. How about it, Rona? Are you prepared to get down to a new one?’

  She sighed. ‘I suppose I must. The trouble is, I can’t get up any enthusiasm.’

  ‘Work at it,’ he said briskly. ‘Call in next time you’re passing, and I’ll give you a list of those who’ve approached me. One of them might provide the necessary spark.’

  ‘Will do,’ she said.

  The Gallery Café was approached by a wrought-iron staircase leading to a walkway above the shops on Guild Street, the main shopping area. Enclosed by ornate black railings, the parade also included a couple of boutiques and galleries, but the café held pride of place since, like Willows’ Fine Furniture beneath it, it rounded the corner into Fullers Walk, thus offering its patrons a choice of views over the busy thoroughfare. It was a popular eating place, and Rona, arriving just before one o’clock, was not surprised to find all the tables occupied.

  She hesitated, wondering whether, since Lindsey’s lunch hour was limited, to wait for her outside and try somewhere else, and was on the point of doing so when her name was called, and she turned to see her friends Georgia Kingston and Hilary Grant waving at her.

  ‘We’ve finished, Rona – you can have our table.’

  Rona walked thankfully over to them, Gus at her heels, and as she pulled out a vacant chair, he went to his accustomed place under the table. ‘Thanks; I’m meeting Lindsey, and was about to give up.’

  ‘We’re just waiting for the bill,’ Hilary said. ‘Haven’t seen you lately; where did you get that fabulous tan?’

  ‘In Greece; we had four weeks there, and it was sheer heaven.’

  ‘Lucky you! We can’t get away till September, thanks to Simon’s deadline.’ Simon Grant was an artist friend of Max’s.

  ‘How’s your series on family businesses going?’ Georgia enquired. ‘I haven’t seen any for a while.’

  ‘We’re holding the Curzon one, to tie in with their anniversary.’

  ‘So who’s your next prospect?’

  Rona grimaced. ‘You’re as bad as my editor!’

  ‘You said some time ago that the Willows were on your list, and asked me not to mention it till you’d approached them.’

  ‘So I did,’ Rona remembered. ‘And you told me that in your youth, you went out with Julian.’

  ‘Only for a month or two!’ Georgia protested. ‘But look – if you want an intro or anything, why don’t I ask him and his wife to dinner with you and Max? Would that break the ice?’

  Rona hesitated. Was she ready to plunge back into work? But wasn’t that just what Lindsey and Barnie, not to mention Max, had been urging her to do?

  ‘Tell you what,’ Georgia said, gathering up her shopping as the waitress at last brought their bill, ‘I’ll fix it anyway, and leave it to you whether or not to approach him.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Georgie. Thanks.’

  �
��I’ll ring you and suggest a few dates. Enjoy your lunch.’

  Lindsey arrived minutes later. ‘Sorry, there was a phone call just as I was leaving. Well done, getting a window table.’

  ‘I was in luck – Georgia and Hilary were about to leave. I’ve ordered wine – house white; we usually enjoy it, and it’s light for lunchtime.’

  ‘Fine, though a double G and T wouldn’t go amiss.’

  ‘You’d fall asleep at your desk! So – what’s the matter?’

  ‘Dominic, what else? Ro, I haven’t heard from him for a month!’

  ‘Then write him off,’ Rona said briskly. ‘You still have Jonathan and Hugh.’ Jonathan Hurst, a fellow partner at Chase Mortimer, was another of Lindsey’s admirers.

  ‘Neither of them can hold a candle to Dominic.’

  ‘Not having a private plane or chauffeur-driven Daimler?’

  ‘Don’t be vile; you know quite well what I mean.’

  Rona passed her the menu. ‘We’d better decide what to eat. If we don’t order it when the wine comes, it could be a long wait.’

  They settled on quiche and a side salad, and when the order had been given and the wine poured, Rona asked, ‘Seriously, are you still stringing those two along?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be, if Dominic was more reliable.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s out of the country.’

  ‘More than likely, but he could have told me.’

  ‘Linz, he’s been like this from the start. Either it doesn’t occur to him to inform you of his plans, or he considers them none of your business. You have to take it or leave it. And – admit it – that’s part of his attraction.’

  Lindsey sighed and sipped her wine. ‘I bet bloody Carla knows his every move.’

  Carla Deighton was Frayne’s personal assistant. Cool and glamorous, she was bitterly resented by Lindsey.

  ‘It’s her business to. Now, snap out of it, there’s a love. Any day now you’ll get a phone call, and life will be rosy again – provided you don’t let him know you’ve been fretting. If you do, you can kiss him goodbye.’

  ‘Auntie Rona’s Advice Column,’ Lindsey said sourly. She straightened. ‘Sorry. How about you, anyway? You still haven’t settled back to work?’