If a man has committed wrong in life, I don't know any moralist more anxious to point his errors out to the world than his own relations... -- William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair

Louise continued to be amazingly helpful in arranging her own murder. That very evening she insisted on seeing photos of all the houses Ruth and Nancy had considered.

"Oh, very nice! But just a little too small, don't you think? This one's impossible. Not a single room I could paint in. I like this one's kitchen, but the surroundings are so dull. No garage? We simply must have a garage! That room would do very well for my studio, but the window is on the wrong side. Oh no, this one will never do! Such old-fashioned architecture!" She tossed all the photos onto the table. "No, I'll have to go to the estate agents myself."

Ruth and Nancy exchanged glances.

"Why don't I come with you?" Nancy asked sweetly. "I could help you choose."

~~~~

"This house is a little larger than you're looking for, but it's overlooking the lake. It has its own boathouse and two garages." The estate agent held out a collection of photos.

Nancy looked at them and did a double take. The architect must have been mad! Or else there had been at least four different architects, all of them with their own designs. Louise had terrible taste, but not even she could...

"How lovely!" Louise said. "Can we view the house today?"

...On second thoughts, she could.

~~~~

The drive to the house put Nancy in a good mood. It was on the outskirts of a town, but so far along a little country road that they were almost a mile away from the main street. Their road took them past a caravan site, a few cottages, and a small marina. Then it wound along the lake's edge for a while before going through a wood. It was a perfect site for a holiday: quiet but not completely isolated, with a lovely view of the mountains on the other side of the lake.

It was a less-than-perfect site for a murder. There were too many potential witnesses. But she and Ruth could cross that bridge when they came to it.

Then they reached the house, and Nancy's good mood collapsed faster than her ill-fated attempt at building her own tree house.

In the first place, the main building was shaped like a two-storey lighthouse with two single-storey wings jutting out on either side. In the second, the garage looked like a miniature castle complete with portcullis.

Louise screeched in excitement. "Look at it! Doesn't it just thrill you?"

"I'm looking," Nancy said flatly. If incredulous disbelief could be described as a thrill, then yes, it did thrill her.

Louise sprinted up the steps and unlocked the door. Nancy followed, feeling like the heroine of a Gothic novel who was about to enter the villain's castle.

The hall was a mess of white and gold. White tiles, white doors, white walls, white bannisters, white stairs, white carpet on the stairs, gold mouldings on the walls, gold ceiling, gold railing on the balcony at the top of the stairs. Nancy squinted against the colourlessness, which all merged together into one blank sea of shiny white, and realised the balcony was in fact the start of the landing.

There was no door separating the living room from the hall. Nancy looked through the empty doorway and saw another endless stretch of white and gold. The grey suite, though it looked as comfortable and stylish as an old sack, was downright comforting as the only colour that stood out. She poked her head into the room. There was an ornamental fireplace — at least she hoped it was ornamental; surely no one would hang white gauzy curtains on either side of a real fireplace. There was a dining table and a set of chairs. (Wonder of wonders! They were made of pine wood and hadn't been painted white or gold.) There was a wall lined with windows, and not a single curtain in sight.

Louise had disappeared through the door at the far end of the hall. Nancy steeled herself to face whatever waited in the kitchen before she followed.

As it turned out, black marble waited in the kitchen. Blocks of the stuff formed the worktops and island-top. The walls were covered with white tiles. The floor was made of grey tiles. Even the cupboards were made of dark wood.

The previous owners must have been deadly afraid of colours, Nancy thought in disgust.

Louise was flinging open cupboards and muttering to herself. "Rice here, all the tins could go in here, where will I put my pots?"

Nancy realised with horror that Louise had already decided to buy the house.

A chunk of misshaped metal hung from the ceiling. Nancy blinked up at it, trying to work out why part of the building had apparently fallen out of place and just been left there. Then she realised with sinking horror: it was the ceiling light.

That was the last straw. Nancy turned and fled.

~~~~

"You won't believe it," Nancy said. "Imagine the ugliest house you've ever seen, make it ten times uglier, and it still won't be as bad as the real thing."

Ruth could well believe it of Louise. "And she actually bought this monstrosity? How much was it?"

Nancy told her.

Ruth nearly fainted.

~~~~

Mr. Fitzpatrick took the news much better than expected. Well, that was a relative term. If Ruth had been married, and if her husband had told her he'd just spent over a million pounds on the world's ugliest house, she would have reached for the nearest axe. Stephen just smiled in a vague sort of way and went on shouting down the phone at the customer who had somehow lost a hundred pounds.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick, clearly thinking she hadn't spent enough money, now went in search of a boat for sale. Even the knowledge that this would help their plans didn't cheer up Nancy and Ruth. At this rate there'd be nothing left of their father's money by the time they inherited it!

One day Louise went out in the car. She took Nancy, of course. It was unthinkable that she would have to drive herself. Ruth's car was having the engine checked. Ruth was absently doodling pound signs on a sheet of paper when Stephen poked his head through the living room door.

"Where's your car?" he asked, as if he hadn't collected her after she left it at the mechanic's. His face fell when she reminded him of this. "Bother! Now I'll have to take the bike."

He went upstairs to hunt for his bicycle helmet. An idea seized Ruth as soon as he was gone. It was stupid and poorly-thought-out, but it might just work.

She darted out of the living room, paused in the kitchen to grab a carving knife, and ran out the back door. The bike was propped against the side of the house. Ruth knelt down beside it. After a minute's scrutiny she worked out which cable worked the front tyre's brakes. She sawed at it until it was cut mostly through. Just to test it, she gently squeezed the brakes. The movement made the cable fray a little more. It wouldn't take much pressure to snap it.

Ruth walked sedately back into the house. Her father was still upstairs. She could hear the thuds and muffled swear-words that meant he was still searching for his helmet.

After ten minutes he traipsed down the stairs, buckling his helmet on. "I've got to go to the office," he told Ruth.

"Be careful on the roads," Ruth said with a perfectly straight face.

Stephen went outside. A minute later she saw him wheeling the bicycle down the driveway.

~~~~

If Ruth had kept watching, she would have seen a neighbour from further down the street run out of his greenhouse and stop Stephen before he got on the bike. She would have seen them talk for a while. Most importantly, she would have seen Stephen give the bike to the neighbour. The neighbour took off down the street, waving over his shoulder. Stephen waved back, then set off for the bus stop.

Unfortunately for Ruth, she didn't see any of that.

She hummed as she began to doodle a house. It was the dream house she planned to buy as soon as she inherited her father's money. It was a nice little cottage with a garden and a swimming pool behind it, with ivy creeping up the walls.

As she doodled she imagined her father cycling up to the main road. He'd brake. The cable would snap. The bike would hurtle out into the path of the oncoming cars. Obviously it would be put down to an unfortunate accident. Then it would be easy to stage a similar accident for Louise.

Ruth added a second storey to the cottage. She began a garage beside it — which didn't fit in with the garden, but she didn't have to worry about things like that when it was just a drawing.

Maybe Louise could fall out of a boat. Maybe they could arrange for her to fall off a ladder while redecorating her house. (Because surely even she would want to redecorate. Not even Louise could like the colourless nightmare Nancy had described.)

Or maybe they could make it look like a suicide. I can't bear living without my husband. Goodbye, cruel world! Yes, that one had potential.

Ruth hummed to herself as she finished the drawing. She folded it up and put it in the fire. Then she went into the kitchen and began the dishes. At any moment she expected to hear a knock on the door. It would be a policeman. He would begin with something like, "I'm very sorry, miss," and would go on to tell her about her father's tragic death.

Of course she'd be appalled. So would Nancy and Louise, and they wouldn't even have to act.

Ruth's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the return of the women she was thinking about. Nancy pulled into the driveway and braked so sharply that she could easily have sent Louise and herself flying through the windscreen. Louise leapt out and ran to the back door, apparently not noticing anything odd. Nancy got out looking as glum as a dental patient.

"Ruth, dear! I've bought the most wonderful little boat! You must come and see it tomorrow!" Louise shouted as she bounded into the kitchen.

Why she thought she had to shout was a mystery. Ruth's eardrums continued to ring even after Louise was gone.

"How much did it cost?" she asked Nancy out of morbid curiosity.

Nancy shuddered.

"How ugly is it?" Ruth asked, already sure of the answer.

"The ugliest she could find!"

~~~~

Over an hour later, and no policemen had arrived with grim tidings. Ruth was beginning to get suspicious.

Nancy was also getting suspicious, but for different reasons. Louise had disappeared up to her artist's studio with a vague order to "scrub the potatoes!", so that was what Nancy was doing. Ruth had run out of dishes to wash and was grimly scrubbing the cooker instead. She felt she'd go mad if she had to sit around and wait.

"What exactly is going on?" Nancy asked, dropping a freshly-scrubbed potato into the pot with extreme prejudice and a muttered, "Take that, damn you!"

Ruth said shortly, "I made a plan." She rubbed harder at a stubborn piece of dried cabbage. "I don't know if it's worked."

Silence fell for a while. It was broken only by the splash of Nancy dropping more potatoes into the pot.

"Dad isn't here," she observed thoughtfully.

Ruth was about to answer when she saw something that made her drop the cloth and cleaning spray. Her eyes became fixed on the window. Puzzled, Nancy followed her gaze. Their father was walking up the driveway. He waved when he saw them.

Ruth might as well have been turned to stone. Nancy looked from her to Stephen. Understanding dawned.

"Your plan failed?" she whispered.

Ruth nodded mutely. Then Stephen opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. He hung up his hat and gave them a broad smile.

"Well, Nancy, how did the shopping go?" Without waiting for an answer he continued, "I hope dinner's ready soon. I've had such a trying day."

Casually Nancy asked, "What happened?"

He sat down at the table and picked up the newspaper. He flipped to the daily crossword. "First I couldn't take Ruth's car, so I thought I'd go to the office by bike. But when I was passing No. 37, Mr. Dibble ran out. His own bike has a flat tyre and he doesn't have a car, you know. Anyway, he was in such a hurry to get to the police station. Something about someone's dog digging up his prize petunias again. He demanded I let him borrow my bike. Well, there wasn't much I could do but agree. He would have taken the bike by force if I didn't give it. So I handed it over and walked to the bus stop. I swear to God, those bus drivers are determined to break their own necks and everyone else's. It was a miracle I got there and back in one piece."

If he had been looking at Ruth, he would have seen her expression grow more and more horrified.

~~~~

"What exactly was your plan?" Nancy asked.

"It doesn't matter now. Just pray it didn't work."

~~~~

"Dear me. How very unfortunate." Louise sighed and helped herself to another spoonful of carrots. "I just heard it from Mrs. Jennings. The man from No. 37 was killed in a car crash."

Ruth dropped her fork.