Death of a Prankster Read Free Page A

as Angela swore terrible oaths as she looked for her sewing scissors to cut the bottoms of the pyjama legs open. But as Betty lay laughing, she clutched her favourite hot-water bottle in the shape of a teddy bear to her bosom. It began to leak all over her and her laughter changed to squawks of outrage and dismay. Her father had punctured her hot-water bottle.
    Charles lay stretched out on the top of the bed and watched Titchy Gold as, clad only in a brief nightie, she went to see if the housekeeper had hung away her clothes properly. Charles and Titchy were not sharing a bedroom, but Charles planned to enjoy a little love-making before retiring to his own room. Titchy opened the carved door of a massive Victorian wardrobe and a body with a knife thrust in its chest fell down on top of her. She screamed and screamed hysterically. The bedroom door opened and Andrew Trent stood there, leaning on his stick and laughing until the tears ran down his face. Behind him gathered the other guests.
    ‘It’s a joke, Titchy. A dummy,’ said Charles, taking the hysterical girl in his arms. ‘Come to bed. It’s too bad of you, Dad. Your jokes are over the top.’ When Mr Trent and his guests went away, Titchy howled that she was leaving in the morning.
    Charles soothed her down. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking, Titchy. Dad’s an old man. He’s enjoying himself and, yes, he tricked us all into coming here by saying he was at death’s door. Why don’t we just charm the old money-bags and pretend his jokes are funny? He can’t live for ever. If he drops off, then I inherit, and we’ll have loads of money.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ Titchy dried her eyes and gazed up at him.
    ‘Sure as sure. He’s Trent Baby Foods, isn’t he? Worth millions. Come to bed.’
    The fastidious Jeffrey Trent removed his contact lenses and said to his wife, ‘Well, at least he has had the decency not to play any tricks on me. But dying he most certainly is not. I will get out of here as soon as possible even if I have to charter a helicopter to do so.’
    His wife held up the phone receiver of the extension in their room. ‘Dead,’ she said. ‘We’re cut off.’
    ‘Tcha!’ said Jeffrey. He went into their bathroom to urinate before going to bed.
    But he did not notice until it was too late that the practical joker had covered the top of the toilet with thin adhesive transparent plastic.
     
    Melissa slept heavily and awoke to the sound of a gong beating on the air. The door opened and Paul walked in. ‘Aren’t you dressed yet?’ he exclaimed. ‘We’re all expected at the breakfast table at nine. House rules.’
    ‘I haven’t telepathic powers,’ groaned Melissa. ‘Why didn’t you tell me last night? God, I feel sick. That old bastard put a bag of flour over the door and it hit me a stunning blow on the head. He should be certified. Did anything happen to you? And poor Titchy.’
    ‘I got clockwork bats in the shirt drawer. I’ll see you downstairs.’
    ‘No, you don’t!’ Melissa scrambled out of bed. ‘I’m not facing that lot on my own. What’s the weather like?’
    Paul pulled aside the curtains. Together they looked out at the bleak whiteness of driving snow. ‘Damn!’ muttered Melissa. ‘Trapped. Wait here, Paul. I won’t be a minute.’
    She grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom. She stripped off her transparent pink nightie – Paul hadn’t even noticed it – and pulled on her underwear and an old pair of jeans and a ‘Ban the Bomb’ sweater.
    ‘I wouldn’t wear that,’ said Paul firmly. ‘Not the sweater. We’re working on nuclear power, remember?’
    ‘But not bombs. Wait! I’ll put on a blouse instead. This place is too hot for a sweater anyway.’ She stripped off the sweater. Would Paul notice the fetching lacy bra? No, Paul was staring in an unseeing way out of the window. She put on a man’s white shirt and tied the ends at her waist.
    The dining room was in an uproar when they entered. Betty