Free Late of This Parish by Marjorie Eccles

information about Willard’s life, his friends and his enemies, anything which might have relevance to the man’s death. At the very least she should have some idea who her father had seen that day, who’d visited him and so on. She was the most likely person to be able to give him this information.
    The Rector, handing over the church keys and with a final bemused look towards the activity in front of the chancel steps, left, followed shortly afterwards by Dr Hameed. Mayo joined Ison who was packing up his instruments and who proceeded to give him a brief resume of his findings, which did not differ from those of Dr Hameed. ‘Bright young woman, that,’ he remarked. ‘Have to be a PM, of course. I’ll hang around until Timpson-Ludgate arrives – not here, though, I’m off to grab a sandwich at the pub. Your boys caught me before I’d even started my soup and I’m hungry. Coming?’
    â€˜Too much to do, Henry, sorry.’
    Shutting his case, Ison paused and looked down at the body in the wheelchair. ‘Poor devil wasn’t long for this world anyway, in the natural course of events, but somebody helped him on his way, take it from me. I hear there’s a daughter, poor soul. Ah well,’ he finished, buttoning himself into his coat, ‘tell them where they can find me when T-L arrives.’
    The implication of Ison’s remark about the daughter wasn’t lost on Mayo. Ison’s tone clearly indicated that that clinched it, and maybe it did. It was the obvious solution and the obvious solution fairly often turned out to be the correct one. Maybe this was a run-of-the-mill domestic murder after all.
    But if Laura Willard had wanted to get rid of her father, why hadn’t she simply dosed his cocoa with a sleeping pill before smothering him when he was asleep in bed? Trying to divert suspicion from herself by doing away with him in the church was surely being unnecessarily devious, not to mention unnecessarily risky.
    'Poor Laura! All this hassle and then having to cope with the fuzz on top. Honestly. That’s enough to make anybody throw up,’ declared Phyllida Thorne. ‘Is she feeling any better now?’
    â€˜I stopped them from questioning her.’ Triumphantly her mother began slinging coffee mugs back on to their hooks, with much attendant danger to their handles. ‘Told them she’d been sick and that the young Indian doctor had given her something to make her sleep and she was already dozy and would soon be out for the count. The Chief Inspector chap wasn’t very pleased but I can’t help that. Anyway, she was awake enough to give him permission to go and poke around the house – though I'm not sure she should have, and what he expects to find I don’t know. She’ll be able to face things better after a good sleep. What she really wants is David – but he isn’t due back until tomorrow evening, and she won’t let me ring him to let him know what’s happened.’
    â€˜Good old Mum. I’m glad to see someone around here’s capable of standing up to that lot. David – that’s David Illingworth, the new man, isn’t it? Bet Papa Willard wasn’t very happy about that!’
    He wouldn’t have been if he’d known everything, thought Miriam, deciding she didn’t want to discuss Laura’s affairs with Philly. She was sharp and might prise out her things that Miriam herself had only guessed at, leading to an argument about Sebastian, which she didn’t want. How we all keep our own secrets, thought Miriam: Laura now, normally as open as daylight. Catherine, hiding from Lionel the fact that she’d written that book. Philly, who didn’t always tell her parents when she came to visit her friends in Hurstfield. Sebastian, keeping his own counsel about almost everything ...
    â€˜The new man!’ she repeated, ignoring the second part of her