Murder at Maddingley Grange Read Free Page A

“I’ll organize it all.”
    â€œWhat do you know about murder weekends?”
    â€œDone lots of research.” Simon indicated a pile of brochures sitting next to some paperbacks by the lemonade jug. He picked up a copy of Death on the Nile and waved it about. “And got lots of ideas. I shall draw up a flexible plot outline, give everyone a stock character and let them get on with it.”
    â€œIt all sounds a bit vague.”
    â€œVagueness is vital. You’ve got to allow room for improvisation. Usually, according to these”—he patted the brochures—“actors are involved, but I’m certainly not hiring any. They want what’s called the Equity minimum. I was horrified when I discovered what it was. I thought they all did it for love. Like nuns and missionaries.”
    â€œI shall want to vet all the replies to the advert.”
    â€œNaturally.”
    â€œAnd this butler and maid.”
    â€œOf course. Though they’ll really just be set-dressing. You can do lots of cooking before the guests arrive and tart up the house. You know—put flowers in all the rooms—”
    â€œThanks a lot!”
    â€œI thought you liked flowers. Right, so that’s the weekend after this. June fifteenth to seventeenth.”
    â€œAnd what will you be doing whilst all this activity’s going on?”
    â€œI,” said Simon grandly, tilting his chair back again and resting his loafers once more on the rungs of the table, “will be pressing my plus fours.”

Chapter Two
    O ddly enough, in one respect Simon proved to be correct. Once Laurie had really thrown herself into the business of organizing the weekend, her misgivings, temporarily at least, slipped away. She vacuumed and dusted and ran up and down stairs with piles of lavender-scented sheets and pillowcases, making sure that each guest had fresh flowers, fluffy towels, scented soap and plenty of reading materials. Plus, on their bedside tables, a handwritten menu card.
    She had prepared for their delectation pigeon terrine, boeuf en croute, lemon and toffee puddings and, in case anyone was a vegetarian, some ratatouille and a Stilton and broccoli quiche. All this was in the freezer together with a hundred rolls and fifty assorted croissants and brioche. There were still pheasants to prepare and a whole salmon was in the fridge awaiting Saturday lunch. For the first time Laurie felt grateful to her aunt who, quaintly believing gardening to be no job for a lady, had refused to pay her niece’s fees for the coming year at Pershore College until she had completed two full terms at the Tante Marie School of Cookery. Now, feeling crisp and capable, Laurie checked her housekeeping list over and over again, sure she had forgotten nothing. She was, of course, wrong.
    Simon, as always once he had got his own way, was all sweetness, light and helpful assistance. He had driven the Mountfield Simplicity to great effect over the vast lawns, throwing up sparkling clouds of frail grass cuttings and leaving stripes of exquisite perfection. He had also obtained a minibus (all the guests having taken advantage of the free train offer) by trading in, temporarily, his old Karmann Ghia. The bus now stood washed and polished outside the front entrance. An amber sunstrip, boldly lettered MADINGLEY GRANGE, arched over the windshield. And yesterday they had braved the cellar.
    Neither of them had been down there before and they were amazed at the size of the place. It was like a small aircraft hangar dimly lit by three sixty-watt bulbs suspended from frayed old electric cord. A cryptish smell prevailed, the floor was gritty under their feet and the dust made Laurie sneeze. There was no echo. Rather the sneeze was immediately trapped and enfolded in an atmosphere of overpowering fustiness. As they stood, rather close together, one of the bulbs sizzled briefly and went out.
    â€œGreat,” said Simon. “We could