Death Waits for Some Men

Chapter II: In Which a House is Bought

If a man has committed wrong in life, I don't know any moralist more anxious to point his errors out to the world than his own relations... -- William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair

Louise continued to be amazingly helpful in arranging her own murder. That very evening she insisted on seeing photos of all the houses Ruth and Nancy had considered.

"Oh, very nice! But just a little too small, don't you think? This one's impossible. Not a single room I could paint in. I like this one's kitchen, but the surroundings are so dull. No garage? We simply must have a garage! That room would do very well for my studio, but the window is on the wrong side. Oh no, this one will never do! Such old-fashioned architecture!" She tossed all the photos onto the table. "No, I'll have to go to the estate agents myself."

Ruth and Nancy exchanged glances.

"Why don't I come with you?" Nancy asked sweetly. "I could help you choose."

~~~~

"This house is a little larger than you're looking for, but it's overlooking the lake. It has its own boathouse and two garages." The estate agent held out a collection of photos.

Nancy looked at them and did a double take. The architect must have been mad! Or else there had been at least four different architects, all of them with their own designs. Louise had terrible taste, but not even she could...

"How lovely!" Louise said. "Can we view the house today?"

...On second thoughts, she could.

~~~~

The drive to the house put Nancy in a good mood. It was on the outskirts of a town, but so far along a little country road that they were almost a mile away from the main street. Their road took them past a caravan site, a few cottages, and a small marina. Then it wound along the lake's edge for a while before going through a wood. It was a perfect site for a holiday: quiet but not completely isolated, with a lovely view of the mountains on the other side of the lake.

It was a less-than-perfect site for a murder. There were too many potential witnesses. But she and Ruth could cross that bridge when they came to it.

Then they reached the house, and Nancy's good mood collapsed faster than her ill-fated attempt at building her own tree house.

In the first place, the main building was shaped like a two-storey lighthouse with two single-storey wings jutting out on either side. In the second, the garage looked like a miniature castle complete with portcullis.

Louise screeched in excitement. "Look at it! Doesn't it just thrill you?"

"I'm looking," Nancy said flatly. If incredulous disbelief could be described as a thrill, then yes, it did thrill her.

Louise sprinted up the steps and unlocked the door. Nancy followed, feeling like the heroine of a Gothic novel who was about to enter the villain's castle.

The hall was a mess of white and gold. White tiles, white doors, white walls, white bannisters, white stairs, white carpet on the stairs, gold mouldings on the walls, gold ceiling, gold railing on the balcony at the top of the stairs. Nancy squinted against the colourlessness, which all merged together into one blank sea of shiny white, and realised the balcony was in fact the start of the landing.

There was no door separating the living room from the hall. Nancy looked through the empty doorway and saw another endless stretch of white and gold. The grey suite, though it looked as comfortable and stylish as an old sack, was downright comforting as the only colour that stood out. She poked her head into the room. There was an ornamental fireplace — at least she hoped it was ornamental; surely no one would hang white gauzy curtains on either side of a real fireplace. There was a dining table and a set of chairs. (Wonder of wonders! They were made of pine wood and hadn't been painted white or gold.) There was a wall lined with windows, and not a single curtain in sight.