so. But I just know that Abby wouldn’t have killed herself,’ she insisted stubbornly.
‘All right.’ Trudy nodded amicably, not willing to argue. Clearly, her old friend believed she was right. But now that she was remembering more details, things didn’t seem to quite bear out what Grace was saying.
Tentatively, she said, ‘But didn’t the people who were closest to her say that she was… well, rather moody? That she could be depressed sometimes? I think even her own mother was reported as saying that she could be a bit… intense?’
Grace again sighed heavily. ‘Oh, that was just her way. She was only 19 after all, and yes, she could be a bit up and down. A row at work would get blown up out of all proportion, or a present from her boyfriend would have her walking on air. It was just her way. But that doesn’t mean that she was suicidal!’ Grace argued. ‘Abby had great plans for her life. She talked about them often. And she enjoyed herself far too much to seriously want to die! For a start, she was looking forward to the beauty contest too much!’
Trudy blinked. She knew that a beauty pageant was being staged, of course, from the notices she’d seen around town, but it hadn’t really registered with her much. ‘Oh, she was in that, was she?’
Grace nodded, and with her hands restlessly folding and unfolding her skirt, began to speak rapidly.
‘I work for Mr Dunbar, who owns Dunbar’s Jams, Honey and Marmalade. You know, the factory up past Summertown?’
‘Oh right,’ Trudy said. ‘You’re his secretary or something?’
Grace gave a rueful smile. ‘Hardly! I’m not that high up! I do the odd bit of book-keeping – petty cash mostly, and fetch the coffee, do the filing and some bits of typing that the other secretaries don’t like doing… all tabs and… never mind that.’ Grace suddenly waved a hand in the air. ‘It’s not important. What is important, is that last year Mr Dunbar came up with a plan to help promote his honey. He wanted to put Dunbar Honey up there with the famous Oxford Marmalade brand.’ She paused to smile whimsically at this bit of obvious folly, and shrugged. ‘So he came up with this idea of holding an annual Miss Oxford Honey beauty pageant.’
Trudy couldn’t help but smile. Her friend, catching her look, laughed suddenly.
‘I know – it’s hardly Miss World!’ Grace said, rolling her eyes a bit. ‘But actually, it’s quite a clever idea. All the papers will cover it, and Mr Dunbar knows someone who owns that old theatre just off Walton Street who’s letting him hold rehearsals there for free. He’s also agreed to host the beauty contest for the public one Saturday night next month. Tickets are already nearly sold out. That’s one of the reasons why they decided not to cancel the event after Abby died. Everybody was so excited about it, it seemed a shame to call it all off. Not only that, he’s got local shop owners putting up big prizes and acting as judges, so it’s hardly costing him a penny.’
‘He’s obviously quite a businessman, your boss,’ Trudy said, somewhat sceptically.
‘Actually, he probably is,’ Grace said flatly. ‘But that’s not really the point. I was asked to help out on the organising side of things, since I wasn’t exactly indispensable in the office,’ Grace laughed. ‘And Mrs Dunbar…’ For a moment the name seemed to catch in her throat, and then she smiled ruefully. ‘Well, let’s just say that Mrs Dunbar was adamant that her husband shouldn’t spend time on the beauty contest or let it get in the way of the business of making honey!’
‘Ah, I get it,’ Trudy said with a wicked smile. ‘She didn’t want her husband spending too much time hanging around with pretty girls.’
Grace dragged in a large breath, but was obviously far too discreet to either confirm or deny her friend’s interpretation of how she’d come to be the hands-on manager of the contest. ‘So, anyway, a few weeks ago Mrs Dunbar drafted a piece for the newspapers, asking girls who lived in the city or within a twenty-mile radius, and who wanted to take part, to get in touch and sign up for the auditions. Obviously, they had to be over 18, but under 30 and well, er, they had to be, er…’
‘Pretty and with good figures?’ Trudy put in helpfully, when her friend seemed to struggle for a diplomatic way to phrase things.
Grace suddenly giggled. ‘Well, you’d have thought that went without saying, wouldn’t you? But some of the women and girls who turned up…’ She rolled her eyes with yet another giggle. ‘Well… let’s just say that me and Mrs Dunbar and Mrs Merriweather – she’s the old lady who’s a Friend-of-the-Old-Swan-Theatre, and is helping us run the show – anyway, we had a bit of a job persuading some of them that they weren’t… er… quite suitable for what we had in mind.’
Trudy shook her head. ‘The tact and diplomacy must have been quite something!’
Again, Grace giggled. Then her face suddenly fell, as she remembered why she was there.
‘Yes. Well… anyway, Abigail and her friend Vicky were one of the first ones to apply, and we signed them both up straightaway. Over the next week, we whittled the applicants down to about twenty or so. Actually, the process is still ongoing but, again, that’s not what matters. The point is I got to know Abby, and… well, to put it in a nutshell, she was fairly confident that she had a good chance of winning. She was so looking forward to the competition night. She had stars in her eyes! What’s more, she was so upbeat about her “talent” spot and she just loved trying on the evening gowns and… Trudy, there was just no way that girl killed herself,’ Grace finished forcefully.
Her eyes were now open so wide, and were fixed on Trudy with such a glare, as if she thought she could make Trudy believe her by sheer force of will. ‘And I don’t know what to do about it. If they bring in a verdict of suicide, as everyone seems to think they will… it just won’t be right!’
Her hands were shaking again, and Trudy reached out and held them firmly. ‘Gracie, it’s all right – just calm down a bit. But I don’t quite know what you think I can do about it,’ she told her gently. ‘I’m just a probationary constable. And I didn’t know this girl, or anything about the circumstances surrounding her death.’
‘No, but you know this Dr Ryder man, don’t you? He’s a coroner, isn’t he? Can’t you ask him to help?’ Grace asked quickly.
For a second or two, Trudy stared at her friend aghast. How could she possibly explain to her friend, who knew nothing about the police force and how its hierarchy actually worked, why her request was so impossible. For a start, if her boss, DI Jennings, ever found out that she’d gone behind his back about a case, he’d skin her alive! Especially since the Inspector was hardly a fan of the coroner.
But as if sensing what was coming, Grace got in first. ‘Please, Trudy, can’t you just speak to him? At least ask him to call me as a witness or something? I can testify to her state of mind, at least, can’t I? Won’t the inquest want to know that Abby wasn’t feeling suicidal at all?’
‘But, Grace, how can you be so sure?’ Trudy asked helplessly. ‘None of us know, not really, how someone else is feeling.’
Slowly, Grace’s shoulders slumped. ‘So you won’t help?’ she asked flatly, her gaze so accusatory that Trudy almost winced.
‘It’s not that I won’t. It’s that I can’t,’ Trudy tried to explain. ‘I’m not even one of the officers assigned to the case,’ she pointed out. ‘And believe you me, my superiors… well, let’s just say, they won’t be in any hurry to listen to what I might have to say,’ she added, a shade bitterly. The thought of the look that would cross her DI’s face if she came to him with this tale was enough to make her shudder.
Seeing what she was up against, Grace decided that if she was in for a penny, she might as well be in for a pound, and took a deep, deep breath.
‘It’s not only this thing with Abby,’ Grace said, sounding almost defiant all of a sudden. ‘It’s other things as well. At the theatre…’ She paused, closed her eyes for a second, and