The Winding Stair Read online

‘Got you at last, I knew I’d catch up with you sooner or later.’ Nancy, a scowl on her face, came marching up to the desk. Ginny turned to walk away but Nancy snatched at her coat and held it. ‘No, don’t you dare run away.’

  ‘Take your hands off me. I have nothing to say to you,’ snapped Ginny.

  ‘No, I won’t. You’ve got some explaining to do.’ Still holding the sleeve of Ginny’s coat, she pulled on it to bring Ginny closer to her. ‘I want to know why you’re avoiding me and what I’ve done for you to treat me this way. I thought you were my friend.’

  Hazel stared in surprise at the two angry women.

  ‘Do you need to ask?’ Ginny slapped Nancy’s hand. ‘Get off me, go away.’

  But Nancy held tight. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘For the life of me I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you.’

  Through clenched teeth Ginny snarled, ‘Would roses on my doorstep ring any bells?’

  The angry expression on Nancy’s face changed to one of shock. ‘What are you talking about? Roses … oh, Ginny, you can’t think that I put them there. Good heavens, if I wanted to give you roses it would be a bunch and I certainly wouldn’t leave them on the step.’ She let go of Ginny and stepped back.

  ‘No? Who else can you think of who could leave them and not be seen?’ Ginny, her voice raised and angry advanced on Nancy. ‘When Bill suggested my stalker might be a woman, did you not think I would guess?’ She raised a hand and pointed a finger at her friend to emphasize her words. ‘And wouldn’t the person who lived next door to me be the person most likely to be able to leave stuff on my doorstep? Who else had access to my house and could have found out where I’d gone so that she could send a rose to the hotel, who but you, Nancy?’

  Curtis Brookes had drifted along to stand beside Hazel. ‘What’s going on?’ he whispered.

  ‘Something I never ever thought to see,’ Hazel whispered back.

  ‘Did you realize what it would do to Bill if you were found out?’ Ginny went on. She glared at Nancy. ‘Is that what made you stop?’

  Shaking her head Nancy said, ‘Oh, Ginny, I thought you were my friend. How could you think that I … how could you, oh, how could you?’ Her eyes brimming with tears, Nancy turned and ran.

  Ginny watched her go then turned to Hazel. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid that couldn’t be helped.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Hazel looked at Ginny. ‘I know I’ve no right to ask, but you two have been friends for as long as I’ve known you. What happened?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Ginny. ‘Nancy knew about the flowers on the doorstep and the phone calls and that it was all getting to me. She said I ought to report it to the police and brought Bill round to talk about it. He suggested that the stalker could be a woman and I thought that it just had to be someone who knew me, and all I could think was that it had to be Nancy. It was funny because it all stopped after that.’

  ‘How awful for you. But I think you’re wrong,’ said Curtis. ‘I can’t see Mrs Graham doing that. It must be someone you’ve upset who’s trying to get back at you. You say it’s stopped now, so perhaps they think they’ve done enough.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Curtis,’ said Ginny.

  ‘I hope so too. We don’t like to see you so upset,’ he said and in his neat, precise way, went back to marshalling books to their correct places.

  ‘So when Bill said it could be a woman, you jumped to your own conclusions,’ said Hazel. She shook her head. ‘No, Curtis is right; I can’t see Nancy doing that, I’m sure you must be wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘But I don’t understand …’

  ‘No, I didn’t at first, but it all fits. Think about it. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going but a rose was delivered to the hotel I was staying at. Nancy had the key to my house and could have gone through my papers and found out where I was. Who could have been better placed to reach me?’

  ‘Well, when you put it like that … but I still don’t think it could be Nancy. It’s completely out of character.’

  ‘Time will tell, I suppose,’ said Ginny. ‘I certainly hope so. I’d better go and find some books and go home.’

  Ginny liked nothing better than to curl up in front of the fire and read. Reading for research was done on the Internet or in the reference section of the library; reading for pleasure saw her dipping into fiction. She was walking slowly along, looking at the bookshelves for her favourite authors when Curtis, holding an armful of books, stood in front of her.

  ‘Can I help you, Miss Harvey?’ he said. ‘Were you looking for anything in particular?’

  ‘No, nothing special.’

  ‘Ah, come and look here then. You might like Ruth Rendell’s latest. I’ve read it and it’s good. Here, have a look.’

  Ginny scanned the blurb on the back cover of the book Curtis gave her. ‘Mmm, that looks good,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it.’

  ‘I’ve noticed you sometimes go for sci-fi,’ said Curtis. ‘I’ve got Season of the Harvest, Michael Hicks’s latest book, at home. I could lend it to you if you like.’ He smiled then, a smile that started slow, spread and parted his lips to show even white teeth, reached up to crinkle his eyes and spread across his face like a glorious sunrise.

  It took Ginny by surprise and the joy of it made her smile too. ‘My goodness, you should smile more often, Curtis,’ she said. ‘It transforms you.’

  ‘Nice of you to say that, Miss Harvey,’ said Curtis as the smile faded. ‘Would you like to borrow my book?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Ginny. ‘If you bring it in, I’ll pick it up next time I’m here.’

  ‘I will,’ said Curtis, and went on slotting books into their places.

  Books chosen and checked out, Ginny left the library, collected some dry cleaning and, though she’d already prepared vegetables for her evening meal, decided to eat out. She was glad she did for when she got to the bus station, most of the shoppers had gone and she had missed the rush, but the queue for her bus was still long. Squashed into the corner of her seat by a vastly overweight woman, she was glad when the bus pulled up at her stop. She got off and started to walk.

  ‘Miss Harvey, wait,’ called a voice.

  Ginny turned and looked back. ‘Curtis?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘This is where I live.’ Curtis pointed to one of the houses Ginny had admired while she waited for the bus in Blackton.

  ‘Good heavens, do you really? We’re practically neighbours then because I have a cottage at the far end of Church Lane. How strange it is I’ve never seen you here before.’

  ‘You haven’t lived in the village very long, have you? It’s quite big and it takes time to get to know who lives where. And you usually drive your car so I suppose we’ve never been on the same bus. I can give you that book now.’

  ‘Well … it’s not urgent, I can wait.’

  ‘But why wait? You’re here and so am I.’ Curtis was running up the steps to his front door. Ginny hesitated – then followed. At the top she stood and waited. ‘Come on in,’ called Curtis.

  It was a chance to see inside the house she had admired earlier and, following the direction of his voice, Ginny walked into a beautifully furnished room. Large, voluptuous settees stood either side of a fireplace. Small side tables held books and magazines. Elegantly draped curtains framed the windows. A low bookshelf filled with hardback volumes ran the length of one wall. Money was clearly no object in this house, so what was Curtis, an assistant librarian, doing here?

  And then he was walking towards her.

  But this was not the gentle Curtis she knew. His walk was assured, purposeful and confident. He was smiling, but it was not the sunrise smile. It was a smile to darken the sky.

  Ice ran through Ginny’s veins.

  FIVE

  ‘ Is your neighbour away, Mrs Graham?’ asked the milkman when he called to collect payment.

  ‘I really wouldn�
��t know.’ Nancy’s voice was cold and uncaring.

  ‘Ah … she hasn’t taken in her milk, there’s been no note to cancel and there’s two bottles on her step. They’ve been there for days. I’ve hammered on the door and called through the letter box but I can’t get any answer, not a peep. I thought, as you’re her neighbour…’

  ‘And what makes you think I would know all about her comings and goings? She’s a neighbour, that’s all. She’s not family. Good day to you.’ Nancy shut the door.

  What did she care if Ginny had gone away again? She wouldn’t be surprised if the girl was just hiding, though it was strange that she hadn’t taken in the milk. And her car was still in the drive, but then it was not the most reliable of vehicles so maybe she had just gone into town on the bus and caught a train, but to where? She wasn’t Ginny’s keeper, though, and after the accusations the girl had made, she wouldn’t lose any sleep if she never came back. But then again perhaps she was ill. But if she was she would surely have phoned the surgery and someone would have called. Yet her cat had been coming round every day; it obviously hadn’t been fed, for it was ravenously hungry. All the signs pointed to Ginny having gone out and not come back.

  Nancy had been busy with her housework. Holding a can of spray polish in one hand and her duster in the other, she stood and stared unseeing out of her window. Something was wrong. Ginny would never intentionally go away and leave her cat to starve and neither would she leave milk on the doorstep. But perhaps because the atmosphere between us had gone wrong, she was just hoping that I would look after the cat anyway. I ought to go round and see if I can make her answer the door, but if she wouldn’t answer the milkman, I’ve no chance.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Nancy found it hard to concentrate. As she gathered in her washing, she looked at Ginny’s upstairs windows. One was the window of the room Ginny used as an office. Glass panes stared blankly back at her. There was no movement behind them, no sign of life. Nancy sighed as she folded her laundry and put it in the basket ready to iron. Her mind travelled over the wilder possibilities of what could have happened to her neighbour.

  She’s ill or had an accident and is in a hospital bed. She’s been spirited away and murdered by some evil man high on drugs. Or maybe she’s lost her mind and is wandering around not knowing who she is or where she lives.

  When at last she heard Bill’s key in the front door, Nancy went to meet him.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ she said. ‘Something’s happened to Ginny, she’s disappeared. The milkman said she hasn’t cancelled the milk, there are two bottles on the doorstep and she isn’t answering the door.’

  ‘Disappeared, what do you mean?’

  ‘She hasn’t taken in her milk. If she was at home she wouldn’t leave it, she’d take it in if only to feed her cat. What do you think has happened?’

  ‘Well, seeing the way she’s treated you just lately, I don’t think it’s any concern of ours, do you?’ said Bill.

  ‘No, but … the cat’s starving and she wouldn’t have gone away and left it without making sure it was looked after, you know how much she dotes on it. And not to cancel the milk, don’t you think that’s strange?’

  ‘But she’s done it before, you know she has, she didn’t tell you then and she didn’t cancel the milk that time because she knew you’d use it to feed Smudge. She’ll be back.’

  Bill took off his hat and coat and hung them up. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air. As he made his way to the kitchen he said, ‘Something smells good. Is grub ready then?’

  ‘Yes, it is. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘Why?’ Bill laughed. ‘You haven’t cooked Ginny’s cat, have you?’

  ‘Be serious. You know very well what I’m talking about. I think something awful must have happened to her. There aren’t any lights on next door and there should be. She’s never sitting there in the dark. Perhaps she’s ill in bed and can’t get up. I know we fell out, but I’d never forgive myself if she was really ill and I’d done nothing to help. We’ve got to do something.’

  ‘It does look odd, I suppose. But I’m sure you’re worrying about nothing. You’ve still got a key to her house, haven’t you?’ Nancy nodded. ‘We’ll go round after supper and have a look, if only to put your mind at rest.’

  Ginny’s house was dark and deserted and the bottles of milk were still on the step when Nancy and Bill walked up to the door.

  ‘Doesn’t look good,’ said Bill as Nancy slotted her key in the lock and turned it. Pushing the door open she called out, ‘Ginny, are you there?’ When there was no answer she called again, then switched on the light in the hall.

  The layout of Ginny’s cottage was a mirror image of Nancy’s own. From the hall, a door on the left opened into a sitting room which was at the front of the house. To the right, a staircase led to an upper floor, and a passageway to a kitchen diner at the back, where a door opened into a small garden.

  With Bill behind her, Nancy looked into the sitting room. Curtains had not been drawn, heating was not on. The room was cold and empty and menacingly quiet. In the kitchen two small pans stood on the stove. Nancy lifted the lids. One pan held potatoes and the other, carrots. The potatoes were going black and little bubbles of putrefaction lay on top of the water round the carrots.

  ‘Looks as though she had every intention of coming home,’ said Nancy. ‘She’s left stuff here to cook for her supper. Oh dear, this is awful. I wonder what’s happened to her.’

  ‘Don’t touch anything else,’ said Bill. ‘There’s something fishy going on. We’d better look upstairs.’

  The upper floor consisted of two bedrooms and a bathroom. One of the bedrooms Ginny used as an office. Nancy followed her husband up the stairs. The bed in Ginny’s room had not been slept in and the standby light blinked on the computer in her office. Nancy felt for Bill’s hand.

  ‘I don’t like this one little bit,’ she said. ‘No matter what she did or said I’m afraid for her. Something terrible has happened. Perhaps she’s been in an accident or maybe … oh, don’t even think it … maybe she’s been murdered.’

  ‘We don’t know that … yet,’ said Bill, ‘but I think it’s a missing person case. Let’s go home. I’ll ring the duty officer.’

  While Bill phoned the police station and asked to be put through to the duty officer, Nancy counted mentally. ‘Ginny’s been gone almost a week now. It’s too long.’

  ‘Shhh,’ said Bill, ‘zip it. … No, not you sir, I was talking to my wife… . Yes, I shall be home all evening… . Number four, sir. I’ll expect you.’ Bill put down the phone. ‘DI Barker will be here shortly, he’ll want to ask questions.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about. You met Barker when we went to the Christmas do last year.’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t like him. And anyway, it’s all right for you, it’s your job… . I think I’ll make a cup of tea.’

  ‘Good, I’ll have one.’

  The police station in Salisbury, Bill’s place of work, was not too far away and it was not long before there was an imperious knocking on the front door of number 4, Church Lane.

  Detective Inspector Bob Barker took off his hat as he stepped over the threshold of the Grahams’ house. Bill led him and the PC who was with him into the sitting room. Nancy was there.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Graham,’ said Barker. He turned to the constable, ‘This is acting detective constable, Jasper Tremayne.’

  ‘I’ve met you before, Mr Barker,’ said Nancy. ‘Last year, if you remember.’ She nodded and smiled at the constable.

  ‘Of course, how could I forget?’ said Barker. ‘I believe you think that your neighbour, Virginia Harvey, has gone missing.’

  ‘Yes, everything points to it.’

  Bob Barker smiled. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, it’s the cat for a start,’ said Nancy. ‘Ginny would never go away and leave it without making sure it was looked after, and i
f she was going for more than a few days she would tell me, even though we’re not on the best of terms right now. I thought she might be ill so Bill and I went round to her house. I’ve got a key for emergencies. There was no sign of Ginny, but what was more important was that there was food prepared and put ready to cook. It must have been there for a week, because it’s beginning to rot.’

  ‘I see. You must have known her well to have a key to her house.’

  ‘Yes. We were good friends … until recently.’

  ‘Were? What happened to put a stop to it?’

  ‘She accused me of harassing her, of leaving roses on her doorstep … and there were other things. But it wasn’t me. Why would I want to do that? We were friends. I could have given her a bunch of flowers any time.’

  Barker sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, turned his head and looked at the carpet. He appeared to be studying the pattern. Seconds ticked by before he lifted his head and stared straight at Nancy.

  ‘What made her accuse you?’ he snapped.

  Startled by his attitude, Nancy began to babble. ‘Because she took off without telling anyone back at the end of September, and a rose was delivered to the hotel where she was staying and she thought I was the only one who would be able to find out where she’d gone.’ Nancy gasped for breath then went on to tell of the roses left on Ginny’s doorstep and that there were phone calls where no one spoke and how, though the calls and the roses had stopped, Ginny had accused her of being the guilty one. ‘I could never have done that to her. She was a good friend, my only friend. No one wants to be friends with a policeman’s wife.’ Nancy stopped talking. Her eyes were filled with tears. ‘She wouldn’t listen to me and we had a row, and after that she wouldn’t have anything to do with me.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Barker pursed his lips. Why did women always give way to tears? ‘When did you see her last?’

  Nancy looked down at her hands and began to pick at her fingernails. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It must be a week or two at least.’

  The DI was a quietly spoken man, whose long silences tended to make others uneasy and this was often the reason a suspect, under questioning and anxious to fill the gaps, talked too much and gave the game away.