Heredis fletus sub persona risus est. (The tears of an heir are laughter beneath a mask.) -- Publilius Syrus

It was Mr. Ross's funeral that gave Ruth the idea.

Mr. Ross had been old, curmudgeonly, and very rich. His children were more relieved than upset by his death. They watched the coffin descend into the earth with suitably mournful expressions. Then they turned away from the grave and became downright cheerful. Slapping each other on the back, enthusiastically shaking the guests' hands, and inviting everyone back to the church hall for a meal.

Ruth looked at them, then at the grave, then — very thoughtfully — at her father.

Mr. Ross had done his family a good turn by dying. His first child would inherit the accountant's firm and his other children would divide the money between them. Ruth's father would soon be made a partner in the accountant's firm. Mr. Ross had been eighty, in poor health, and a widower. Ruth's father was fifty-three, in revoltingly good health, and was a widower until he went and lost his head over a thirty-year-old artist. Or "artist", as Ruth always thought of her stepmother, because the wretched woman took delight in producing the most appalling crimes ever committed against art.

There were five Ross children. Ruth had only one sister, Nancy, who was currently hiding behind a headstone. Not because she was insane — though Ruth believed she was — but because she was sketching a bird and didn't want to scare it off.

When Ruth's father was made a partner and the firm became Ross and Fitzpatrick, he would make considerably more money. But when he died most of it would go to Ruth's stepmother. He had no children with her yet — they'd cut short their honeymoon to attend the funeral — but when he did, the money would be split up even more. Ruth would get very little. And Ruth very much wanted a lot of money.

If only Louise would drop dead five minutes after Dad, she thought gloomily. Louise was her stepmother. No power in heaven or earth would make her call her "Mum".

The guests were starting to disperse towards their cars. Ruth went over and rapped her knuckles on Nancy's head.

"Owww! What'd you do that for?" Nancy whined, dropping her sketchbook and snatching it up again.

"We're leaving," Ruth said.

As she and Nancy traipsed towards their father's car, another thought struck her. If this was a thriller novel I could kill both of them and inherit all the money.

She stopped in her tracks. Nancy walked into her back.

"What'd you stop for?" Nancy complained.

"Nothing," Ruth said mechanically. "I was just thinking."

~~~~

She continued to think all that evening. She thought about it on and off for the rest of the week. She thought about it when Dad and Louise left for the rest of their honeymoon. And she thought about it when they came back.

The Fitzpatrick home was not what anyone would call happy. In the first place there was Stephen Fitzpatrick, who had yet to realise that his daughters were adults and might want to have lives of their own. Like getting jobs and moving out, or even going to university. Then there was Nancy, who was now twenty-five and had given up on ever being able to leave home. Ruth herself was twenty and hadn't completely given up hope. Her father's continued good health was the only thing standing between her and inheriting a fortune — not to mention her freedom.

Then there was Louise. Louise with her dyed magenta hair and her paint-splashed overalls, who believed whole-heartedly in her own genius. According to her, a genius was someone who despised beautiful things like sunsets and flowers and instead painted empty beer bottles and unmade beds. Louise who would inherit almost everything in the event of Stephen's untimely death. Louise who was only five years older than Nancy yet treated both of her stepdaughters like toddlers.

At some point between the funeral and the happy couple's return, Ruth went from thinking What if I killed them? to How can I kill them and get away with it?.

She hadn't considered making Nancy an accomplice. No doubt Nancy had many good traits, though Ruth couldn't think of any off-hand, but she wasn't exactly what an aspiring murderer would look for in an accomplice. She would probably do something stupid like sketching the scene of the crime, providing very useful evidence for some future detective to uncover.

No, Ruth would never have thought of bringing Nancy into the plan.

Nancy brought herself in.

It was their father's fault. He finished his weekly letter with a cheery reminder to "Eat your vegetables! Nancy, make Ruth clean her hands if she's been working in the garden!".

When they read that, the sisters looked at each other in disgust. It wasn't surprising — either Stephen Fitzpatrick believed his daughters were both under ten, or he thought they were both half-witted, and it was hard to say which possibility was worse.

"I wish he'd die," Nancy complained.

Ruth looked up, startled at hearing her own thoughts spoken aloud, and saw the exact moment Nancy gave herself an idea. If they were characters in a comic book, a lightbulb would have appeared above her head.

"Dad's healthy, isn't he?" she asked in a bad attempt at a casual tone. "No chance of him suddenly keeling over from a heart attack?"

"Not unless Louise puts something in his food," Ruth said carefully. She was torn between immediately telling Nancy everything, and waiting to see where this went.

Nancy pursed her lips. "Louise only married Dad for his money, so do you think..."

Silence fell in the kitchen as they both considered this. There was no denying Nancy was right. Stephen was too blind to see it, but there was simply no other reason for a woman almost fifteen years younger than him to throw common sense to the wind and marry him. But Louise was bound to know that Stephen was healthy and likely to live another thirty years. She wouldn't be willing to give up so much of her life in the vague hope he might die early. Therefore, she must know something about Stephen's health that no one else die.

Ruth's eyebrows crept higher and higher as she thought this over. It was quite embarrassing to realise that she had needed Nancy, Nancy of all people, to point out something so obvious. In gratitude she might as well share her own plans. She would have to present them carefully. Nancy would be reluctant to accept a cold-blooded murder. If she made it look like self-defence...

"I think you're right," Ruth said. "And if Louise bumps off Dad, do you think she'll stop there? We'll be next!"

It was Nancy's turn to raise her eyebrows in shock. "But we've never done anything to her! I've never even been rude to her!"

"We're standing between her and this house, a million pounds, and whatever raise Dad will get in a few months," Ruth pointed out.

Nancy looked stunned. Ruth got up and went out to the garden, leaving her to think this over for a while. She wrestled with the weeds that would keep sprouting among the rosemary. When she went back into the house she found Nancy sketching away furiously. Ruth put the kettle on and pointedly said nothing about the earlier subject. It was time for Nancy to make the next move.

She did. She set down her sketchbook. It showed a stick figure falling into a deep well. "We've got to get rid of Louise."

~~~~

The Fitzpatrick house was a small two-storey building on a street full of small two-storey buildings. You couldn't sneeze without your neighbours hearing. When Ruth looked out her bedroom window she could see directly into the Pattersons' garden. When Nancy hung washing on the line she couldn't help looking over the Aikens' fence. When they opened their front door they were in full view of the Wilsons' living room window. When they sat in their garden the only thing they could see was the back of the Weirs' house.

It was a busybody's paradise, and a murderer's worst nightmare.

Ruth and Nancy put their heads together. There was only one thing to do. Either they killed Louise somewhere outside the house — say, a car accident or a fall at an art gallery — or they convinced their father to buy a new house. A nice, quiet house somewhere far out in the country, without any inconvenient neighbours.

He would be more likely to accept their idea if they had already chosen a house and had all the arguments ready in its favour. So the two of them set out to the estate agents'.

Nancy read out her list of ideal traits at each agency. "Not too big, but also not too small. Peaceful and far away from busy roads. A river nearby is preferable."

"Why a river?" Ruth asked when they went back to the car.

"Easier to make it look like an accidental drowning," Nancy said cheerfully.

Until now Ruth hadn't seriously considered how they would commit the murders — and how she would make it look like she hadn't planned their father's death, because so far Nancy had only agreed to murder Louise. They stopped at a garage for coffee. As they drank it in the car they debated the subject.

"A bomb under the car would put the police on the completely wrong track," Ruth said.

Nancy wiped the froth away from her mouth. "Too conspicuous. What about rigging one of those ugly paintings to fall on Louise's head?"

"If our new house is near a lake, we could stage a boating accident."

"We could cut the brakes of Louise's car!"

"Or we could poison her." Ruth almost choked on her coffee in excitement as this idea took hold. "Yes, that's it! Poison her slowly, with little doses at first so she'll think she's just catching a cold. Tell everyone she's feeling ill. Then when she dies we'll blame it on her sickness. No one will ever suspect!"

And, of course, it would be easy to give their father the same poison. After they already gave it to Louise, she thought. That would make it look as if he caught whatever Louise had. It would be the perfect crime.

Nancy sipped her coffee. "You know what? We could frame Dad."

This was the last thing Ruth expected. "We could what?"

Nancy misinterpreted her surprise. "He'll never stop treating us like children! We have to get him out of the way if we ever want to live our own lives."

And to think I thought it would be a fight to make her plot against Dad, Ruth thought in astonishment. Until now she hadn't realised Nancy also hated staying at home and doodling all day. She'd always seemed much more content than Ruth.

"We could frame him," she agreed, setting her coffee cup down on the dashboard. "Then he would go to court insisting he's innocent, and people would start asking questions, and the next thing you know the police would be re-examining the evidence. Where would we be if we got caught?"

Nancy scowled. "Well, let's kill him too, then. I can't put up with him telling me what to do, giving me pocket-money like I'm a child, and being sent to my room if I say I'd like to go out by myself."

"My thoughts exactly," Ruth said. "We'll make it look like an accident. Or a murder-suicide."

~~~~

Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick returned from their honeymoon on a Wednesday afternoon. Ruth and Nancy were waiting at the airport to welcome them home. They exchanged hugs, Mrs. Fitzpatrick kissed both girls on the forehead, and the four of them went out to the car.

"We were thinking of what to get you for a wedding present," Nancy said as Ruth reversed out of the parking place, "and we thought you might like a new house somewhere outside the city. No neighbours, a nice big garden, peace and quiet..."

Mrs. Fitzpatrick gave an excited squeal. "Why, I was thinking the very same! I thought we could get a house by the lake. I've always liked boating."

Ruth kept her eyes on the road. Nancy very carefully didn't even glance in her direction.

The same thought went through both their heads: how nice of Louise to provide the setting and means for her own murder!