Death of a Prankster by MC Beaton Read Free Book Online Page A

return. Their complaint was that a whistle had been blown to announce their tea-break and another whistle to signal time up. They did not like the sound of that whistle, they had said. The factory owner had damned them as lazy. Of course it could, on the other hand, be the quirky bloody-mindedness which was often the curse of the north.
    ‘Tell me about your son, Paul,’ he said suddenly.
    Jan went quite rigid.
    ‘What about Paul?’
    ‘Why did he leave?’
    Jan shifted uncomfortably. ‘You saw his letter. It was these terrible practical jokes. No one in their right mind could stand them for very long.’
    ‘But you are still here.’
    Jan assumed an air of frankness. ‘You must know we all came here because Andrew said he was dying. A lie, as it turned out. But he is worth millions and quite capable of leaving it to that young fool, Charles. Paul is honest and upright and hard-working. I felt sure Andrew would be impressed by him.’
    ‘And was he?’
    Jan laughed bitterly. ‘He was the same callous old fool he’s always been.’
    ‘Tell me about Melissa Clarke.’
    ‘Some weird creature who works with Paul at the atomic research station. I think she ought to be investigated. Her clothes look lefty. She has pink hair. Pink hair, I ask you. As far as I could gather, this was the first time he had asked her anywhere. I think she is a corrupting influence.’
    ‘Your son being easily corrupted?’
    ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant, Paul is naïve and unworldly, thoroughly honest and straight. He thinks everyone else is the same.’
    ‘Where were you between eleven and midnight last night?’
    ‘I was in the drawing room.’
    ‘Did you leave it at any time?’
    ‘I went up at one point to … er … use the bathroom.’
    ‘Before Mr Trent retired to bed or after?’
    ‘I can’t remember.’
    ‘That will do for now. Send in Miss Gold.’
    Titchy Gold had changed into a low-cut black blouse and long dark skirt. She seemed nervously excited.
    ‘Miss Gold,’ said Hamish. ‘I will need to take you through this again. I want you to tell me all about your visit from the beginning.’
    Titchy gave him a competent and brief summary of everything that had happened, right to the finding of the body.
    ‘There is just one thing,’ said Hamish, ‘you said you were talking outside to Charles Trent for a long time. What about?’
    Titchy fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Come now, Constable, what do lovers usually talk about?’
    ‘Yet you say he joined you in your bed later. Would that not have been a more comfortable place to discuss things?’
    ‘Hardly, copper. We were otherwise occupied.’
    ‘Is Titchy Gold your real name?’
    ‘Yes. Quaint, isn’t it? Mummy and Daddy were Shakespearian actors.’
    ‘I cannae call to mind a Titchy Gold anywhere in Shakespeare.’
    Titchy gave a musical laugh. ‘Silly. I mean they were bohemian, extravagant people. It was just like them to think up an odd name for me.’
    ‘Where are they now?’
    ‘Both dead.’
    ‘Of what?’
    ‘They died in the Paris air crash of ’82.’
    Titchy whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.
    I don’t like this woman one bit, thought Hamish suddenly.
    ‘When is the will being read?’ demanded Titchy suddenly.
    ‘That I do not know. Strathbane police will no doubt call the solicitors in Inverness and ask them to send someone here. Why? Surely you do not hope to inherit?’ asked Hamish, being deliberately stupid.
    ‘No, but Charles will. He must. He’s the son.’
    ‘Adopted. Besides, Mr Jeffrey says that Mr Andrew Trent may have planned his last joke by leaving the lot to a cats’ home.’
    Something unlovely flashed in Titchy’s eyes and was gone. ‘Any more questions?’
    ‘Not for now. Send in Miss Angela Trent.’
    Despite her mannish appearance, Angela Trent was the first one of them, apart from Maria, that Hamish had met who seemed distressed.
    ‘I will not keep you long,’ he said gently. ‘Where were you last night