A Little Murder by Suzette A. Hill

Oughterards who were not known for their bounty). Football pools? Hardly! Perhaps she had sold a redundant heirloom … A mystery. But it was one easily dismissed, for by now she was near Oxford Circus and ready to pursue more pressing matters, the taffeta skirt.

    Mission accomplished and having elected to carry the purchase herself rather than have it delivered, Rosy took the lift to the ground floor. She was about to make for the exit, but hesitated and then turned towards the jewellery department in search of something blue to match the skirt. The best addition might be a brooch to set off the cream silk blouse intended as its companion. She selected a couple of items from the counter display, and just as she was holding one of them against her shoulder to judge its effect, felt a firm tap on her arm.
    ‘A larger one would be better. Be bold!’ someone said. Rosy spun round and was confronted by a grey-haired woman nursing a dachshund. ‘Yes,’ continued Miss Collinger, ‘if you are going to buy cheap jewellery there’s no point in being mealy-mouthed. Wear it with pride.’
    What? Like your feather? Rosy felt like retorting, but said instead, ‘Oh goodness, what a surprise!’ She was indeed surprised – and none too pleased either by the term ‘cheap jewellery’. A bit much, in fact!
    This time the woman was hatless (awaiting a new feather to replace the lost one?) and without the brim her squarish features seemed slightly softened. But the harsh voice was the same, as were the sharp eyes. In comparison the dachshund’s were mild and docile. ‘I have been following you,’ she announced.
    Rosy was not sure she liked the idea of being followed by Miss Collinger, especially given the Sapphic persuasion, but said politely, ‘Ah – well, so now you’ve caught up!’ She smiled politely.
    ‘Yes,’ the woman replied, ‘I was going to telephone this very evening – found your number in the book; but just as I was turning out of Berners Street there you were crossing the road. Rather a jolly coincidence, don’t you think?’
    Couldn’t be jollier, Rosy thought acidly.
    ‘You see,’ Miss Collinger went on, ‘I had to push off rather quickly the other day – pressing matters you know; but there are a couple of things about Marcia I’d like to discuss if you don’t mind. I suggest we confer in the tea room, they do an excellent seed cake.’ The suggestion was less an invitation than an edict.
    Rosy particularly disliked seed cake, and neither was she drawn to ‘conferring’ with Vera Collinger. However, too surprised to make an effective excuse, she gestured towards the dachshund and said hopefully, ‘But I don’t think they allow dogs in there, do they?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ was the firm reply, ‘provided they are carried and kept out of the way. There’s never any difficulty. Now, you get on with that brooch business and I’ll go ahead and bag a table.’ Hitching up the dog she turned briskly and took off towards the tea room.
    Rosy stared at the two brooches on the counter and selected the larger. The wretched woman was right, itdid look better. She sighed, completed the purchase and reluctantly followed her leader.
    In between steady mouthfuls of seed cake Miss Collinger expatiated on this and that and nothing in particular, while Rosy thought, ‘Well if this is “conferring” why am I wasting my time?’ She sat smiling blandly and getting increasingly irritated.
    And then the patter ceased and a direct question was fired: ‘Exactly how well did you know your aunt?’
    It was not the question as such that annoyed Rosy, but rather its phrasing, i.e. the term ‘exactly’. The word carried a hectoring note, a note of command one might hear in a court of law or a military debriefing. It rendered the query officious and she felt reluctant to respond. However, clearly something was required, so giving a slight shrug she said casually, ‘Oh, as well as anyone knows a relation, I suppose,’ –