A Fatal Flaw: A gripping, twisty murder mystery perfect for all crime fiction fans. Faith Martin
meet her?’
Grace sighed, and then opened her handbag and reached inside for a packet of Camel’s cigarettes and a small lighter.
She offered them around, but both Trudy and Clement refused.
‘Well, I’ve only really known her since the beauty pageant started when Abby and Vicky showed up at the initial interviews. We’re still having one or two girls coming in even now, though rehearsals are well under way.’
‘I’m not sure I know just how a beauty contest works,’ Trudy admitted, sensing that her friend was very nervous indeed. Whether it was because she knew that the morgue was so close by, or whether Dr Clement Ryder’s somewhat imposing presence was getting to her, she couldn’t tell.
‘Well, neither do I really,’ Grace admitted ruefully. ‘But I know how Miss Oxford Honey is being run. Basically, we want girls from Oxford or within a twenty-mile radius to come for an interview so we can see if they’re suitable. After that, they need to do a piece for the talent contest to make sure they have a certain flair – and that’s really the main reason for the rehearsals, which is why we’re so lucky to have the theatre. What’s more, the resident make-up lady and wardrobe mistress are helping out with the evening wear section and swimsuit catwalk bit.’
‘OK. And Abby was one of the favourites to win, was she?’ Trudy gently led her back on course.
‘Oh yes. Well, perhaps her and three or four of the others. Caroline Tomworthy is very exotic-looking, and a bit older, at 28. So she has a bit more glamour, I suppose, though 30 is the cut-off age,’ Grace explained, puffing assiduously on her cigarette. ‘Then there’s Betty Darville and Sylvia Blane. And maybe Candace Usherwood. But she’s only just 20 and acts much younger, so…’
‘And how did Abby get on with these girls – the ones who were her main rivals?’ Trudy asked curiously.
‘Oh, I would have said they got on fine. I just can’t imagine who’s playing such nasty tricks on everyone. Just last night a girl’s shampoo was doctored with glue! Poor thing, it took us all ages to wash it out. Even then, she had to have a hairdresser come in and cut her hair. Luckily, we all agree the shorter style suits her better than her long hair, but even so she was very upset…’
Grace sighed heavily. ‘Poor Mr Dunbar is at his wit’s end! So far the press haven’t caught a whiff about the sabotage, but when they do…’ She broke off helplessly, stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the table and wearily folded her hands neatly in her lap. She didn’t really want to talk about Mr Dunbar. She felt bad enough steaming open and reading his private mail, then reporting back the contents to his wife. It made her feel dirty and incredibly shabby. And that was not the only demoralising thing she’d had to do.
‘So it couldn’t have been Abby who was playing the tricks then,’ Trudy said with a quick glance at the coroner. It wasn’t a theory they’d discussed before – but it was obvious that if the prankster was still at work, then it couldn’t possibly have been the dead girl who was causing the nuisances. ‘Unless someone has taken over from her,’ Trudy theorised. ‘Maybe one of the girls might have known or suspected she was behind the pranks, and then decided to simply follow on where she left off? Especially if it was working, and some of the girls were being spooked into leaving the competition!’
Clement felt his lips twitch.
Grace looked at Trudy a little shocked. ‘Do you think that’s possible?’
‘I think it very unlikely,’ Clement interposed firmly. ‘But Trudy has raised an interesting question. Have any of the girls dropped out?’
‘Only two so far,’ Grace said unwillingly. ‘But most seem determined to try and win. Even the girl who had to get her hair cut shorter is carrying on. It’s the prize you see – not the money so much, but the automatic entry into the Miss Oxford competition.’
‘Did Abby suspect anyone of being the prankster?’ Trudy asked abruptly.
‘No, I don’t think so. She never said anything about it to me if she did. But you should ask Vicky. She’d be the one who’d know. She and Abby were always thick as thieves. So if she’d told anyone, it would be her.’
‘Did you ever hear her mention anyone who was trying to help her out by giving her beauty tips?’ Trudy asked next.
‘No. Oh, I know she and some of the other girls tried all sorts of homemade things to try and help. Some girl said putting cucumber slices on her eyes at night was marvellous for stopping her getting bags, and that sort of thing. But nothing about making concoctions and stuff to drink!’
‘So you think it was an accident then, Miss Farley?’ Clement put in smoothly. He was watching Grace closely and sensed a tension in the girl that seemed rather out of place.
Like Trudy, he’d sensed her nerves the moment she’d walked into the room. But again, like Trudy, he’d initially put that down to her being in an unfamiliar environment. The legal and medical professions made most people feel nervous, and here, at Floyd’s Row, both of those combined. And, of course, a lot of people were uncomfortable around the trappings of death. As a coroner, he was used to people feeling unhappy in his presence.
But now he was beginning to think there was more to it than that. It seemed to him that Trudy’s friend was holding something back. And he wanted to find out, at the very least, where to start probing for that information.
‘An accident?’ Grace echoed, her mouth suddenly going a little dry. She darted a quick look at her friend sitting beside her, then looked at the coroner, and quickly away again. It was one thing to try and manipulate Trudy Loveday, Grace suddenly realised, but rather a different thing altogether to try and hoodwink a man like the one now sitting across the desk from her.
‘Well, what else could it be?’ she heard herself say, and looked down into her lap. There, surely that sounded feeble and unsure enough? Or maybe it didn’t? Maybe they’d just take the words at face value. Clement could see that Trudy was frowning. Clearly she was perplexed by her friend’s behaviour.
‘Grace, if you know anything, you need to tell us,’ Trudy said gently. She reached out and touched Grace’s hand, still resting on the handbag in her lap. ‘Even if you think it might not be important, or you don’t quite know what to make of it. Just tell us and leave it to us to sort it all out.’
Grace quickly looked down, a feeling of relief flooding over her. It was all right. She’d done it. She’d planted the necessary suspicions in their minds. Surely her part was now done? She could just sit back and wait for things to unfold as they must. And then she’d be safe.
Wouldn’t she?
She looked up at her old school friend, and took a deep breath. ‘Trudy, you will come to the theatre, won’t you? The Old Swan Theatre, you know the one, just off Walton Street? I’d feel so much happier if you’d just come and take a look around. It’s run by Mr Quayle-Jones. He used to be an actor himself, but now he owns and manages the theatre.’
‘Of course I’ll come,’ Trudy said, nobly ignoring Grace’s nervous habit of waffling. ‘But it’ll have to be one evening, when I’m not in uniform.’
‘Tonight?’ Grace said urgently. ‘There’s a rehearsal on for the evening gown section of the show. Some of the dresses are on loan from the dress shops, and Mr Quayle-Jones has even said we can have our pick of some of the costumes. You have to see the gowns sometime, Trudy, they’re sensational! Tonight won’t be all that exciting since the girls will just be going through the motions in their normal clothes. But it’ll give you a chance to meet everyone and…’ Grace trailed off and shrugged helplessly.
Trudy smiled and patted her hand. ‘I’ll be happy to come!’
‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ Grace said, making a show of glancing at her watch and then getting up. ‘I really have to go – I can’t be late back from lunch. So I’ll see you tonight then? About seven-thirty? Just go around the side entrance and knock.