Murder on the Moor - C. S. Challinor [16]
The door next to Rex’s bedroom opened, followed by a knock on the bathroom door. Returning to his post, Rex strained to hear.
“I say, is everything all right, Moira?” Mr. Farquharson called out.
The bathroom door creaked open. “Aye, thanks, Cuthbert. Hamish Allerdice has had a wee bit too much to drink, but he went on his way.”
“A filly like you should be married. A slip of a thing such as yourself needs the protection of a man. By Jove, you look barely twelve years old wrapped in that towel …”
“I appreciate your concern, but I can look after myself.”
“I know, you were in Baghdad with bombs going off all over the place and all that. Hardly a fit place for a woman. Arabs take a different view of women, you know. If you were my daughter, I’d—”
“Mr. Farquharson,” Moira said firmly, “there’s a draught and I’m getting cold standing here. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Eavesdropping?” asked a voice behind Rex.
Helen stood behind him with an unreadable expression on her face. How long had she been standing there? he wondered.
“Hamish was pestering Moira,” Rex explained to Helen at the foot of the stairs. “Cuthbert’s up there offering assistance.”
“Why don’t you go up and join the adoring throng?”
“I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She is, after all, a guest in our house.”
“Our house,” Helen repeated wonderingly.
“Aye, and whether we like it or not, Moira is, for now, a part of our lives.”
Helen sighed in desperation. “Oh, I know that. It’s just a bit unnerving when she pops up out of the blue. At least Clive has the good manners to stay away.”
Clive was the mathematics teacher Helen had been dating before she and Rex met. She and Clive used to go skiing in Aviemore, a winter resort not far from Gleneagle. “Well, he still teaches at your school, as far as I know,” Rex pointed out.
“As far as you know.” Helen shook her head. “That says it all. If you were the least bit jealous, you would know. You would have asked.”
“Why would I be jealous? You said you found him boring.”
“I did not!” Helen exploded. “You just assumed he was boring because he teaches mathematics.”
“And drinks micro brews. And presumably won’t get on his bike without one of those stupid helmets that make cyclists look like aliens on wheels.” Rex laughed—until he noticed Helen’s angry expression, and realized he had gone too far.
Suddenly she dissolved into laughter too. “You’re right. What a dweeb!”
No voices came from upstairs now. Rex draped an arm around Helen’s shoulders and guided her down the hall. He went into the kitchen and set the dishwasher in motion. “Don’t worry about the glasses,” he told the Allerdice women. “I’ll take care of them in the morning.”
After locking the kitchen door to the outside, he bid them goodnight and climbed the stairs with Helen, glad to finally get to his bed.
She followed him into the room and shut the door. “It’s past midnight. Should we set the alarm for tomorrow?”
Rex groaned. “I’m not getting up before seven. Fortunately, it’s a solid old house so we shouldn’t hear too much noise. In any case, I’m so tired I could sleep through anything.”
He brushed his teeth and got into bed. A creaking floorboard and muffled voices reached him from next door, where Estelle and Cuthbert Farquharson were staying. He expected the wall would be thicker. He’d never had overnight guests before, other than Helen. Then the old water radiator started clanging as though struck repeatedly with a tire iron. Rex bunched a pillow against his ear. Just as he closed his eyes and murmured good night to Helen, an urgent knock rapped at the door. He thought about ignoring it.
“Rex!” Alistair’s voice reached him in a fierce whisper. “Are you awake?”
With a deep groan, Rex threw off the covers and went to open the door in his pajamas. Alistair was still dressed in his suit. Closing the door, Rex stood with his colleague on the landing.
“What’s the matter?”
“I turned on the late night news in the library,” Alistair recounted, his face strained and shadowed in the light from the hanging lamp.