Midsomer Maiden |1| The Trials of Midsomer

11. Blue Herrings

The Lawnside Nursing Home in Aspern Tallow was not, as you might expect, the docile, calm centre of octogenarian life. In the evening, as the nurses brought round soothing chamomile tea for the residents—including one Alice Bly, aunt to Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby—two elderly women were playing chess, and one of them was not enjoying it.

"What's that supposed to be?" Muriel Harrap demanded, making the other residents look up from their books and newspapers in annoyance.

"Hopefull," Madge Fielding replied.

"What?"

"You put down F-U-L-L, and I added H-O-P-E—hopefull."

Muriel was incredulous. "Oh, come on! You don't spell it with two L's!"

"Why not?" Madge frowned.

"Well, you just don't—you stupid woman!"

Madge huffed. "I didn't come here to be insulted."

One of the older gentlemen residents, a Mr. William Smithers, set down his newspaper, looking over. "Ladies, ladies, ladies."

"Mind your own business, you interfering old buffer," Muriel said sharply.

"Keep calm," he implored.

But Madge was gathering up her things, getting to her feet. "I've had enough of this damned place and I've had enough of you," she told Muriel firmly. "You are without doubt the most unpleasant person I've ever met." She marched off.

***

Later that night, when all was dark, Alice Bly was just getting ready to go to sleep when a terrible scream rang out loud, reverberating through the building. She went out into the now-lit corridor, where some of the other residents and the nurses were already gathering, and saw Muriel Harrap lying dead in the doorway to the lift.

The woman who ran the home, a Ms. Richards, began ushering the other residents away. "Come along, please. Back to your rooms." She began consoling a crying woman. "Oh, poor George."

William Smithers headed for his room, stopping by Alice on his way. "Another Indian bites the dust," he remarked. "Did you know Muriel?"

Alice shook her head. "I met her, that's all."

"Well, not my favourite person in the world," William admitted. "Rather the reverse."

"What were you doing, George?" Ms. Richards was asking, rubbing the elderly woman's shoulders. "Where were you going?"

"I... I didn't want to be late for church," George sniffled. Ms. Richards led her away, shaking her head.

"George found her," William explained, nodding in the direction they'd gone. "Very upsetting."

"George?" Alice echoed.

"Well, her real name is Marjorie," he clarified, "but everybody calls her George. Getting battier by the minute. Well, see you in the morning, no doubt—if we survive the night."

Alice blinked. "Do you think we may not?"

He grinned. "At my time of life, one never knows." He nodded to her, and headed on to his room.

***

The next morning, the residents all gathered at the windows of the sitting room to watch as Muriel was wheeled out in a coffin.

"She was no age," Alice sighed. "Only eighty-one. They said it was a heart attack."

"Oh, rubbish," said George Watson, scoffing. "Who said that?"