Preface to Murder, M Morris [best selling autobiographies TXT] 📗

with her trowel, upended one of the baby plants, and struck the bottom of its plastic pot with what seemed like unnecessary force. The fledgling shrub popped out of its container in one neat movement, and Vanessa pushed it into its allotted hole, topping it up with compost. She firmed the dark crumbly material down with gloved hands, then started to dig a second hole before she spoke again.

‘Mum’s getting back on her feet now, and Dad’s looking after her. I think they’ll be okay for the moment at least. But I’ve said that I’ll go back and see them again as soon as I can. I’m hoping that you’ll be able to come with me next time.’

‘I hope so too,’ said Bridget. ‘That is, I’ll do my very best to get away. As soon as this current investigation is concluded, I’ll be able to take time off.’

And, if as was looking increasingly likely she failed to conclude the investigation with a positive result, she would probably find herself with an abundance of free time. Grayson wasn’t likely to cut her much more slack. He had made it perfectly clear that he would bring in Baxter if he lost confidence in her. Perhaps she should pre-empt the decision and suggest it herself. She couldn’t claim that she was filled with confidence at her own ability to solve the case.

‘Things are going to have to change, one way or another,’ continued Vanessa. ‘In the short term, we’re going to have to spend more time down in Dorset helping out. Their house is just about manageable, but the garden is far too big for Dad to look after, especially now that Mum’s taking up so much of his time.’

‘How is she?’

‘Not at all strong. She has too many underlying health conditions. Dad was already struggling, and this broken arm is merely the latest in a long line of issues. I’m worried about her, and I’m worried about how much of a burden she is for Dad. You and I are going to have to lighten that load, otherwise I don’t know how he’ll continue to cope.’

Bridget nodded. ‘I hadn’t realised things had got so bad. It’s because we’ve seen so little of them since they moved to Dorset. They’ve been hidden away.’

‘Exactly. You’ve put your finger on it. The fact is,’ said Vanessa, ‘they’d be much better off moving back to Oxford. We’d be close on hand to help out, and to step in if anything else happens. Or when it happens, I should say, because Mum’s not going to get any stronger. They’d see their grandchildren regularly too, and they’d also be able to visit Abigail’s grave whenever they wanted to.’

Bridget nodded. Her dead younger sister was out of sight, but never far from her thoughts. ‘But will they agree to moving back?’ she asked.

The second plant was now in place. Vanessa moved her kneeling mat along the border and plunged her trowel once again into the neatly-weeded soil. ‘Not without a fight.’

‘Did you discuss that with them?’ asked Bridget.

‘Of course I did.’

‘And what did they say?’

Vanessa freed a third shrub from its container and lowered it into place. ‘They weren’t exactly keen on the idea. They refuse to admit to themselves that they can’t cope anymore. I think that for them, leaving Lyme Regis would be like an admission of failure.’

‘So what’s your plan?’

‘The next time I see them, I’m going to insist that they move back to Oxford, and I’d like your support in this matter. If we both tell them the same thing, then they might start to listen.’

‘I don’t think I have any more influence with them than you do,’ said Bridget.

‘Nonsense,’ said Vanessa. ‘They expect me to make a fuss, but if you back me up, then they’ll be forced to take the idea seriously.’

Perhaps that was true. Vanessa had always been the bossiest of the three sisters. But this was the closest she’d ever come to admitting it. Bridget savoured the moment.

Vanessa had now planted all four azaleas and was tidying up the edge of the bed where the soil met the lawn. ‘Anyway, make yourself useful and pour some of that liquid fertiliser into the watering can, will you?’

Bridget picked up the green plastic bottle standing on the grass. ‘How much should I add?’ She scanned the label for guidance.

‘Just one capful,’ said Vanessa. ‘It’s strong stuff.’

But Bridget’s mind was no longer on plants and gardening. Her attention was fixed on the bold letters on the label of the bottle.

Ericaceous fertiliser: Rich in phosphorous, magnesium and potassium for all acid-loving plants.

Phosphorous, magnesium and potassium.

The three substances that had been found in Diane’s blood. She had been killed with liquid plant food.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Bridget, thrusting the bottle into Vanessa’s hands, ‘but I have to dash.’

Vanessa scrambled to her feet. ‘Wait a minute! You can’t just abandon me again. We need to talk about when we’re both going down to Lyme Regis.’

‘Call you later,’ said Bridget. She was already halfway across the lawn, heading towards her car. She thought she heard Vanessa swear at her, but she was too far away to know for certain.

34

Bridget still couldn’t remember the Latin name for Professor Al-Mutairi’s exotic pot plants, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that she had seen him watering his precious flowers with liquid feed. Phosphorous, magnesium and potassium. Seeing the deadly cocktail of ingredients listed on Vanessa’s bottle of plant food had unlocked the final clue in the case.

The professor had never tried to conceal his personal and professional hatred of Diane Gilbert. He had even threatened to fire her just a day or so before her murder, and Diane had countered with a threat to expose the truth about him. Bridget had a good hunch she knew