‘I couldn’t take that risk. Maisie knows where the bodies are buried, so to speak. I knew poisoning her hot chocolate would do the trick. Easy to do. Just a squirt of my hay fever meds in her drink. Aiden’s told the police, of course, but I’ve denied it and there is no proof I was ever at their house that day. And isn’t it always the husband? Are you going to sit down?’ She looks so prim, sitting there with ankles crossed in her tweed suit and the pearls at her neck.
‘Did you kill my mum? And Dorothea?’
She sighs and pats her hair. She’s still wearing her leather driving gloves. Her handbag is open by herfeet, and I notice a bottle of eyedrops nestled next to her purse. I remember reading a case about a man who poisoned his wife with her own hay fever medication as some brands of eyedrops contain tetrahydrozoline, which can cause death if too much is ingested.
‘Your mother’s death was an accident. Nobody wanted to hurt her. We were all very fond of Ruth.’
A jolt of dread shoots through me. ‘Please, Annette. Please tell me what happened.’
‘Please sit down, Imogen, you’re making me nervous.’
I slump into the nearest chair.
‘I was cross with your mother for going back to that man. I thought she’d been very disrespectful to Dorothea, to all of us who had escaped abusive relationships. But she was willing to give your imbecile of a father another chance. And then, at the Halloween party he came charging in, effing and blinding as usual, trying to get her to leave with him. We threw him out. But not long after, she left too. I followed her. I was furious with her, but I also wanted to make sure she was okay. I found her on the towpath, she told me what had happened, how they’d rowed, and how he’d tried to get her in the car. I said then that she should come back with me and stay at Rosemary’s or move into Dorothea’s. Or mine. She was welcome to stay at mine. You have to believe me when I say I was desperate to save her from your father. But she refused. Said that he was different – she was deluded, of course, he wasn’t different. His behaviour that night proved that. But she wouldn’t listen, and I tried. I tried to make her listen.’
My stomach flips. ‘What did you do?’
‘I got angry with her. I didn’t mean to. Things became heated and I tried to pull her back along the towpath, in the direction of Rosemary’s house. She wrenched free, stumbled backwards and fell, hitting her head. It was an accident.’
‘Then why didn’t you explain that to the police?’
‘Because I was scared, Imogen. I didn’t want to go to prison.’
‘So you thought you’d set up my dad instead?’
‘I had his mask in my pocket. He dropped it as he left the party. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision and he was a bad man. An abuser. We all felt it was the right thing to do to put the blame on him. He needed punishing, one way or the other.’
I stare at her open-mouthed.
‘Oh, don’t look so shocked. Don’t worry, your precious Dorothea tried to convince me to go to the police and tell the truth. But she owed me, you see. She owed me for Bobby. Her hands were tied.’
Annette had robbed me and Alison of both of our parents. The realization is guttural and painful, and I experience a stabbing sensation in my chest.
‘And the others? Rosemary and Maisie?’
‘They found out later. It was Dot I told first. Dot who helped me.’ It’s obvious to me that Annette Baker-Hume doesn’t do anything unless there is something in it for her.
‘Why did you help Dorothea cover up Bobby’s death? What was in it for you?’
She blanches. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I was being a good friend. We kept each other’s secrets.’
Annette sips her tea and then carefully places the cup back in its matching saucer.
‘I think you killed Dorothea, Annette. You killed Maisie to stop her talking. You – or rather your grandson …’
She stiffens at the mention of her grandson.
‘… pushed her down the stairs and set fire to her work.’
‘I didn’t mean to push her downstairs.’
‘What, like you didn’t mean to kill my mother?’
She gives me a withering look. ‘You’re making it all sound premeditated, and it wasn’t like that at all. Dorothea had become … strange in the months before she died. Paranoid. Untrustworthy. She pulled away from me, and I didn’t know why. When I read in the newspaper that she had come up with this magpie collection and hinted at secrets, then I had to see for myself. I couldn’t risk her exposing all our secrets, could I?’
‘You meanyoursecrets?’
She doesn’t say anything.
