Read A Nice Class of Corpse for Free Online

from the exertion, but generally she felt pleased with her day. She had found her bearings in Littlehampton. She now knew where the Devereux stood in relation to the sort of services she was bound to need – newsagent, bank, chemist, hairdresser, public telephone, car rental agency, betting shop. Increasingly the conviction grew that she had found the right place – at least for the time being.
    She was also increasingly intrigued by what she now thought of as Mrs Selsby's murder. And she thought what an attractive project for an elderly person with time on her hands would be finding out who had committed that murder.
    Loxton's memory for the minutiae of her job was excellent, and Mrs Pargeter's tray arrived at her table with a pot of strong Indian tea. Mrs Pargeter poured herself a cup in silence and listened to the conversations around her. She had decided that listening was going to be her most effective method of investigation.
    'Sad business, sad business,' observed Colonel Wicksteed, after a swallow of his own strong Indian brew.
    'Yes, indeed. Will come to us all, though.' Mr Dawlish was suddenly and unaccountably struck by the humour of what he had said, and let out another of his manic giggles.
    'Oh yes. "Don't ask who the bell tolls for," the Colonel misquoted again. ' "It's for you." '
    'Is that a ketch?' asked Dawlish, abruptly pointing out to a smudge on the darkening sea.
    Colonel Wicksteed's binoculars shot up to his eyes. It was too dark to distinguish anything through the bay window, but he pronounced with authority, 'No, no. Some bloody nouveau riche gin-palace.'
    'Ah.' Mr Dawlish nodded, content with the answer.
    'What is so sad . . .' Eulalie Vance dropped her voice thrillingly low on the word '. . . is that we could be the only people at the funeral.'
    'You don't know that,' said Miss Wardstone combatively.
    'Well, no one ever came to see her here, did they?'
    'Doesn't necessarily mean she hadn't got anyone. Lots of people never visit their elderly relatives while they're alive and then turn up gushing tears at their funerals.' Miss Wardstone spoke as bitterly as if she anticipated suffering in the same way herself, but since the spinster's customary manner was one of bitterness, Mrs Pargeter did not allow herself to form any conclusions from this.
    'Oh, I know . But it must be terrible to feel that no one cares. That's one of the advantages of living a full life, you know. Oh, there's pain and heartbreak, of course . . . But I do like to think that when I die, there will be one or two people left in whom a little spark of memory still glows. That is,' Eulalie added archly, 'unless I live to a very great age.'
    Predictably, this was greeted by a sniff from Miss Wardstone. 'Depends usually on whether the person who dies had any money or not. If they think they're in with a chance of inheriting something, it's surprising how many relatives suddenly come out of the skirting board.'
    'Well, Mrs Selsby always gave the impression of being extremely . . . comfortable,' observed Eulalie.
    'Comfortable? She was loaded,' Miss Wardstone snapped. 'Her jewellery alone was worth more than most people's life savings.'
    The mention of jewellery brought both of them unconsciously to turn and look at the newest resident of the Devereux. Mrs Pargeter studiously peered into her teacup.
    Miss Wardstone realised she was staring and snapped her beady eyes away. 'Oh well, it will be interesting to see who does inherit, won't it, Miss Vance?'
    Yes, thought Mrs Pargeter. It most certainly will.
    * * *
    'It is distressing,' commented Lady Ridgleigh to no one in particular, 'how much people are obsessed by money.'
    'Money does come in handy,' said Mrs Pargeter judiciously, looking across at the speaker. Lady Ridgleigh was wearing a silk dress in pale green and beige Paisley. Around her neck were the same strings of pearls, unsuitable with this ensemble, lost in the colours of the pattern.
    'Oh, I agree one needs it, Mrs Pargeter,