MURDER ON THE STAIRS

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Karl Davies switched off the bingo machine.

'That's all tonight, folks. Don't forget the tea dance starts at seven tomorrow. We got a hot live band; Ricardo and his Latin Serenaders. Local boys, they are, so let's support them. See you all then.'

With that he dashed off the podium to the sound of renewed conversations and scraping chair legs.

'Ricardo, my elbow,' Florrie muttered. 'That's Dickie Beddoes, that is, from Fern Street and his lot. None of 'um under fifty.'

Connie gathered her cardigan and handbag, and rose from the table.

'Coming over to my place for coffee, Florrie?' she asked, pointedly ignoring Betty and Phillis. 'I've recorded Catchphrase.'

'Listen, you two,' Betty said brightly. 'Why don't you both come to the Duke's Arms for a drink with us? I'm paying,' she added quickly.

'Oh, I dunno,' Florrie said doubtfully, eyeing her friend for guidance.

'Well, if you're paying,' Connie countered. 'We might as well. Maybe for an hour, anyway.'

'Good. Come on then. It's only a short walk.'

They walked out of the hall and into the big entrance lobby.

Phillis pulled at Betty's sleeve. 'What the hell..!' she whispered anxiously.

'Play along,' Betty whispered back.

The Duke's Arms was on the adjacent corner a little way along the main road. The place was not what it had once been. Originally, a fine old red brick building dating back to the latter days of the coach, it had been knocked down and something else built in its place. What exactly, Betty wasn't sure.

When they entered the raucous noise that passes for music these days blasted them in the face like a wave.

'Good gawd!' Florrie exclaimed. 'What is it?'

'Music,' Connie said. 'We won't be able to hear ourselves think, let alone talk.'

She had a point, Betty conceded. And it was vital that they talked.

The room they were in was awash with youngsters, chatting away, obviously undisturbed by the music.

'I'm not staying here,' Connie said. 'It's Bedlam.'

'Wait a minute,' Betty pleaded desperately.

'I know!' Phillis exclaimed. 'We can go to the Ermine Club. It's only around the corner.'

'Men only,' Connie reminded her.

'Women can get in if there's a man with them,' Phillis said. 'Fred Stern took me there for a drink when you were away, Bet.'

'What, Fred the Bed?' Connie scorned. 'You never went out with him.'

'Fred is all right,' Phillis snapped angrily. 'He never laid a hand on me all evening. He was a proper gentleman.'

'We'll take your word for it,' Connie sneered. 'What are we hanging around by here for? If we're going to get drinks we'd better find seats.'

'Wait a minute,' Phillis said. 'That's Rob Wilmott over by the bar. He's a member of the Ermine Club. Let's ask him.'

Before Betty could object Phillis dashed off. Betty watched as her friend leaned coquettishly on the bar next to Rob Wilmott and said something to him.

He glanced over where the three women stood near the door; waved and strode towards them, Phillis in his wake.

Rob Wilmott was a big, bullish man in his mid-sixties, and an expensive dresser. He drove a Porsche too. There was no shortage of money there.