The ideal property
"Morning", Caroline cheerfully greeted her colleague as she entered the office of Frith & Jones.
"I suppose", Katrin answered without raising her eyes from her P.C. "At least it has stopped raining." The heavy downpours of the holiday weekend had soured her outlook.
Caroline took off her jacket and slipped it on to a hanger before taking it to the cloakroom. Her hair needed no more than a swift comb through, a touch of lipstick and she was ready to face whatever the day brought.
She sat at her computer and booted up.
"Had a good weekend?" Katrin called above the noise of her own machine as she rattled off letters to clients.
"A bit dismal really. All this rain makes gardening impossible and there is so much needs doing at this time of the year. What about you?"
"Visited the folk. Roast beef and yorkshires followed by sherry trifle. Spent the afternoon watching Mum's favourite video, "Gone With The Wind", gorging chocolate and fending off questions on my non existent love life, the usual."
"Oh no, not him again!" Caroline groaned.
"What?"
"Another e-mail from This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.."
"I thought from your groan of despair it was from a frustrated lover. What is it this time?"
Katrin knew the problems Caroline had had with this particular client over, of all things, buying a house. He had ordered more surveys in a month than most people had in a life time.
"He wants me to look at another converted barn. This time in the Peaks."
"You personally? Surely you could say no?"
The problem was she felt sorry for the guy. He had apparently spent his last three weeks, before taking up a contract in America, trying to find a house that suited him. His first choice had fallen through when, after paying survey fees he found that the barn conversion hadn't got planning permission for residential use. This had been a blow particularly as he had sold his London property and put his furniture in storage.
Several days had been spent viewing property advertised on the Internet. Some were very attractive in themselves but were spoilt by property in the close vicinity. One was opposite a night-club that was subject to a petition by local residents complaining of the clientele urinating in their gardens and of a leaking cess pit. Another was next to a ramshackle car repairer. There was no doubt information provided by estate agents was lacking in essential details.
Two days before departure he found the perfect property and had made an offer subject to contract - instructed a surveyor and chosen Frith & Jones Solicitors to act for him only to find once more that extensive repairs were needed before it was fit for occupation and that it had been over valued by 10,000. The file had landed on her desk. She had faxed the news to him.
Apart from instructions to withdraw from the sale there had been nothing further for a month and she had prepared his account when he e-mailed her again. He had down loaded details of three more properties was there any possibility that she could personally, without prejudice, look them over before he involved himself in more expense.
Here instinctive response was ‘no way’ but he was so apologetic and she did understand the problem. From the properties he had been interested in she knew roughly what he was looking for.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to go this weekend if I've nothing better to do."
"You must be mad. Remember what happened to Suzy Lampugh?"
No estate agent would ever forget the girl who went to meet a client and was never seen again. Now she was in the news again, her mother had received information as to where she was buried and the case was being re openened. Caroline fervently hoped that Suzy's body would be discovered and her mother able to set her mind at rest.
There was no comparison with the Suzy case Caroline assured herself.
Suzy had gone to meet a client but This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. was safely in the USA.
With Katrin's dire warnings echoing in her mind Caroline set off early the following Saturday morning. She planned to be there before lunch and return mid afternoon. Caroline calculated on a two hour journey but the appearance of the sun had brought the weekenders out and she hit along tail back which delayed her over an hour.
She arrived at Chapel en le Frith, hot irritable and hungry. Her temper wasn't improved when a phone call to the key holder informed her it would not now be available until four o'clock.
The 'Hanging Man', a pub claiming to serve home made food, had caught her attention as she drove into the village. She decided to reverse and while away the time with a drink and a pub lunch.
"Got business in the area?" Queried the landlord eyeing her tailored suit.
He's taken me for some kind of rep Caroline thought. "Sort of? I"m looking for property. I believe there's a house for sale in Wood Lane."
The landlord pursed his lips and shook his head making his carefully arranged lock of hair fall away from his bald spot. "You wouldn't like that - not at all."
She waited surmising he would reveal all the property's faults.
"Too lonely. Only house in the lane and the wood behind." He drew his breath with a hiss. No one's lived there since the murder.
"Yes Bob, Pint is it?" He turned his attention to an elderly man who had just entered.
The man nodded. "Take no notice. It's a nice house, plenty of room and out buildings converted to a studio.I've got a key if you want to look round."
"I was supposed to be picking up the key from a Miss Pettiforth at 4 o'clock." Caroline said hesitantly. She didn't want to wrong foot herself.
"My daughter. She asked me to look out for you."
Gratefully Caroline took the key she didn't really want to wait until four and meet the home returning traffic. "Shall I return it here?"
"Best bring it to the house. I'll be back there soon."
He took his beer over to one of the oak tables and took a newspaper from his pocket. Caroline smiled as he turned to the racing page. His generation were more interested in horses than women. She drove through the village to the bottom of Wood Lane. The lane was too narrow for a car so she was obliged to tuck her Rover in the hedge and walk the few yards up to the house.
Twigs cracked under her feet and grit wormed its way into her shoes. Opus would certainly find the quiet he craved here. She stood before the property, her experienced eye checking for leaking gutters and disintegrating pointing. The guttering would need replacing it was the old metallic type and had rusted through in places.
The door was dark brown weathered oak. The lock too was antiquated which didn't surprise her as the key was large and ornate. As she inserted it into the lock the door creaked open. Perhaps Miss Petiforth had come early.
"Hello, is any one there?" Her voice echoed in the stone flagged hall. A shudder ran through her. For all of a minute she thought of turning and running back to the car. This was ridiculous Katrin with her talk of Suzy Lampugh had unnerved her. She had a job to do and she wasn't going to turn tail without doing it.
Bang! A gust of wind had blown the door closed making the gloomy hall even darker. She found the light switch, click, click - nothing. The vendor hadn't thought to turn on the power. She made her way to the kitchen. This was more like it, a large room with a huge range and a collection of brass pans reflecting the light from the window through which she could see a nature garden.
There was no key in the back door and it was securely locked. Perhaps she could gain access round the back. She glanced at her watch, so much for her hopes of an early get away. It was three thirty she decided to wait for the key holder.
A sound above her head set her adrenaline fizzing. She hurried back to the front door. There was no door knob, why hadn't she noticed that when she came in? She pushed, the door would not budge. A scream rose in her throat, she was trapped. She heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs, looked desperately around for a weapon, her eyes lighted on a flat iron used as a door stopper. Picking it up she waited arm raised as the steps came nearer and nearer. The door behind her opened she span round. Miss Pettiforth never knew what hit her!
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