Murder At Evensong by Hugh Morrison

Author:Hugh Morrison [Morrison, Hugh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Maraya21, Mystery/Thriller
Publisher: Montpelier Publishing
Published: 2024-04-14T00:00:00+00:00

Skinner heard a faint knock on his bedroom door but ignored it; his head throbbed from the whisky he had consumed and he wanted nothing more than to sleep the whole day through. The knock came again and a soft voice called his name.

‘Lennie…Lennie love, are you awake? I’ve brought you a cup of tea.’

God, he thought. It was her. He knew this would happen. Get too close to a woman and she starts thinking there’s something going on between you and her, even women like Queenie who should know better.

‘Don’t want any,’ mumbled Skinner, but Queenie did not seem to hear him. She bustled into the room and put a cup and saucer on the bedside table.

‘There you are,’ she said with a smile. ‘That’ll pick you up. I wondered where you’d got to. Taking an afternoon nap at your age! You sure you’re not sickening for something?’

Sickening to get you off my back, thought Skinner, who struggled into a sitting position.

‘Turn your back will you, while I get my trousers on,’ he said.

‘No need to be coy.’

‘I said turn your bleeding back!’

‘Charmed I’m sure!’

Queenie pouted, and turned to face the dust-laden dresser by the bed. She began examining and re-arranging Skinner’s personal effects, including the little slips of paper on which he wrote down his customers’ bets.

‘You need a woman’s touch in here,’ she said. ‘This room depresses me.’

So do you, Skinner was about to say as he pulled his trouser braces over his shoulders, but instead he buttoned up his flies and took a sip of tea. It tasted good; hot and sweet the way he liked it. Would it be so bad, after all, to have a regular woman around, and…he took a deep breath. Skinny, my boy, he said to himself, you are getting weak.

He lit a cigarette and squinted through the smoke at Queenie.

‘What do you want? I’ve got stuff to do.’

He looked across at the betting slips re-arranged by Queenie, and thrust his hand in his trouser pocket to check if any more were there. He suddenly felt something that was very close to fear, although he had never really understood what such a thing was.

‘I’m worried about you,’ said Queenie. ‘You haven’t been yourself since that to-do yesterday. What was it all about? Why didn’t we do what we arranged?’

‘Never mind all that,’ said Skinner. ‘Change of plan.’

He had to think. How much did she know? And was she a risk? She can’t have seen the papers, he thought, or she would be asking questions. The papers! His eyes darted to that morning’s East Anglian Daily Times, where he had left it on the chair beside the bed.

‘Oh, is that today’s?’ asked Queenie, following Skinner’s gaze to the newspaper. ‘I must have a look. There’s this new thing in there called a “horoscope”. They invented it for Princess Margaret, would you believe it? It tells you all about your future. Like tea leaves, only more accurate. Elsie down at the Rose and

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