Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (16 page)

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You have a pensive quality.”

Lexy gave him a wan smile. “Sorry. I’m a bit preoccupied today. To be honest, I need to get a job.”

Edward raised his eyebrows, surprised.

Lexy pressed on quickly. “I don’t care what I do – bar work, cleaning, shop assistant, deckchair assistant… Any ideas?”

He blew his cheeks out. “What – in Clopwolde? Tricky. There’s not even enough work for the locals.” He registered Lexy’s crestfallen expression. “Tell you what – I’ll make some enquiries.”

“Thanks,” said Lexy fervently. “I guess you must know a lot of people.”

“Everyone who’s anyone in this place, darling.”

Lexy gave Edward a significant look. “I’m specifically after a cash-in-hand deal, if you know what I mean.”

“Want to remain incognito, do we?”

“Exactly that,” replied Lexy.

Edward looked around. “I’d offer you cleaning work here, if you’d stoop to it, but I already have…”

He put a hand to his mouth and gave a sudden singing exclamation. “Time!”

Lexy looked up at the clock. It was half past eleven.

“I need to be at the rehearsal.”

“When?”

“Fifteen minutes ago. Not a full rehearsal, it’s just Sheri-Anne, Tristan, Peter and me running through a couple of numbers.” Edward stood up and drained his gin and tonic. “Want a lift down to the village?” he asked, swinging a car key.

“Thanks, I will.” Lexy stood up too, and rounded up Kinky, who was still sniffing around the chewed stick with great interest.

“It’s going to be a pretty strange old afternoon, what with everyone wondering where Avril is, and me trying to join in the general surprise at her absence,” Edward remarked as he led the way through a back door.

“Look on it as a test for your acting talents,” she said, firmly, shooing Kinky away from the stick, which he was clearly intent on dragging out with him.

“Couldn’t I just…”

“No. Not if you want to keep me out of trouble.”

“OK, OK. I’ll do my astounded ‘Where on earth can she have got to?’ routine.”

Lexy just hoped he’d be able to keep the news to himself better than she had.

A sleek maroon Jaguar stood in the shade of a lilac tree in the back drive. A minute later they were bumping gently down a dusty track, the engine a muted purr. Lexy leaned back in the soft, squashy leather seat, feeling so comfortable that she found herself wishing they were setting off on a long drive, instead of the short hop to Clopwolde. A long drive with no particular destination. Driving away from all her problems and…

“Here we are.”

Her eyes snapped open. The car was parked just outside the village hall.

Sheri-Anne Davis was outside, a cigarette in one hand. She was writing on a large chalkboard propped up on a windowsill. It said:

Important – All Cast Members – Full Rehearsal, Sunday at 10.00!

She wore a pair of microscopic shorts and a cropped top which showed off her tanned midriff and glittering belly-button jewel a treat. A cutesy little handbag dangled from her shoulder.

“Ooh, dear, look at her,” said Edward. “I thought we were doing
South Pacific
, not South Pole Dancing. Allow me.” He jumped out of the car, and came round to open Lexy’s door.

“Thanks again,” Lexy said, awkwardly. How embarrassing was that, to fall asleep when he was doing her a favour?

“It was a pleasure, darling. Bye-ee.”

She watched as Edward flounced up to Sheri-Anne open-armed and air-kissed her on each cheek, before disappearing into the building.

Lexy nodded to Sheri-Anne, who was grinding out her cigarette with a killer heel. “You look amazing. Did you get that tan in Clopwolde?”

Sheri-Anne gave her a condescending look. “No – from a spray. Sunbathing’s bad for you.”

Lexy glanced down at the squashed cigarette butt, then quickly back to Sheri-Anne. Now wasn’t the time.

“Well, it doesn’t look in the least orange,” she lied.

Sheri-Anne looked gratified.

Lexy gazed meditatively down the high street. “So… what’s the nightlife like around here?”

The girl laughed scornfully. “It’s like, totally awesome – if you like pub quizzes.”

“No music venues, raves, anything in the area?”

“No, it’s crap. There’s a couple of clubs in Ipswich.” Sheri-Anne gave her a superior look. “Personally I prefer going out to dinner, that kind of stuff?”

“Oh, right,” said Lexy. She tried to imagine Sheri-Anne at a dinner party, discussing literature and the arts.

“Were you out last night?” She tried to make it sound chatty.

“No. I was working late.” Interesting.

“Going out tonight, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Anywhere nice?”

“Well…” Sheri-Anne clearly didn’t want to tell Lexy, but she couldn’t resist bragging. “Bellington’s. In Norwich. It’s a bistro.” Sheri-Anne said the word with relish, as though it were an exotic concept.

Lexy arranged her features to convey that she was impressed. The other girl snapped open her little handbag and pulled out a glossy card, handing it to Lexy. “This is it.”

“Cool – I might try it.”

Sheri-Anne gave her a once over. “They’ve got, like, a dress code.” She turned and pushed open the heavy front door to the village hall. “Bye then.”

A couple of men walking past stopped dead.

“Yeah, all right – put your eyeballs back,” muttered Lexy. To think that only a few days ago men were ogling
her
like that! How demeaning.

Irritably straightening her t-shirt, she continued along the road. That was Sheri-Anne accounted for anyway, working in the surgery late last night, although Lexy thought it unlikely that the girl was the type to go around thwacking people over the head. She wouldn’t want to break her nails.

Something about their exchange was bothering her, all the same. Lexy walked thoughtfully down the high street, keeping a weather eye on Kinky. Before long she found herself at the bottom of Windmill Hill. She registered the road name, and stepped back instinctively in the shade of a hedge, wondering if Roderick Todd had returned from Lincoln yet. She craned her head round and up the road. There was a police car parked halfway up, with two uniformed officers in it. They must be waiting for him. In fact, he might drive past at any moment and it wouldn’t do for her to be loitering on…

“What
a dinky little doggy!” Lexy spun round, to be greeted by the sight of Kinky lying on his back on the pavement, being caressed by a grey-haired old lady. They both looked up at Lexy. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Lexy gave her a wan smile.

“Is he yours?”

“Yup.”

“What’s his name?”

“K… Keith.” Probably best.

“Aw, isn’t that sweet? Hello, Keith.”

Kinky gave a brave grin.

“I think those police are there about the Todds,” said the old woman, straightening up with a groan. “At number four. At least it’s number four now. It used to be number three and four, till they knocked them into one. Terrible thing to do, that was.”

“Is something wrong then?” Lexy asked, wide-eyed.

“Eh? Oh, yes. We think it must be to do with Mrs Todd. Avril. The police have been round asking when we last saw her, and if she was with anyone. I wonder if there’s been an accident.” The old lady thought for a moment.

Kinky took the opportunity to right himself, having done his duty.

“You see, her husband, he’s away at some do. He went off yesterday afternoon. Told Reg at number two that he was going to Leicester or somewhere.”

Lexy just stopped herself from saying ‘Lincoln.’

“The police broke into their house,” added the old lady. “Don’t know what Avril’s going to say when she gets back.” She gave a wheezing laugh. “That fancy glass door of hers is all shattered.”

Lexy winced.

“…Horace was in there on his own, so they asked if Reg next door would have him until Mr Todd gets back, but Reg isn’t very happy about it because he’s allergic.”

Lexy remembered the mewing cat basket that Avril had been holding when she first encountered her at the vet’s.

“Did anyone see Mrs Todd yesterday?” she asked.

“Well, it’s funny really,” confided the old lady, “but I saw her myself at half past seven yesterday evening. Striding up this hill like the clappers she was. Clack, clack, clack, lugging that big tapestry bag of hers.” She gave another wheezy smirk, then her unkempt eyebrows descended in a frown. “But my young neighbour Dorothy at number fourteen, she reckons it was quarter past seven that Avril came up here. And I could see the police believed her, not me, on account of that clock of hers. But I know what I saw, and when I saw it.
Coronation Street
was just starting.” Her whiskered chin shook indignantly. “Anyway, I’d better be on my way, love, or my old man won’t get his dinner. Bye-bye, Keith.”

Kinky wagged his tail politely.

13

Lexy retraced her steps to the high street. She couldn’t see that it would matter much whether it had been a quarter past seven or half past that Avril had come striding up the hill. It was clearly an issue of pride to the old lady, though.

As she moved further into the village centre, Lexy noticed something different about Clopwolde. On every lamp-post and standing structure there was a poster with vivid black and yellow lettering.

LOST CAT

LARGE REWARD FOR RETURN.

YOUNG FEMALE CAT ANSWERING TO

PRINCESS NOO-NOO, WITH CREAM-COLOURED,

SHORT CURLY COAT. MISSING SINCE WED 3RD.

PLEASE CALL TRISTAN OR TAMMY

IF YOU THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE SEEN HER.

Underneath was a mobile telephone number and a muzzy photograph of the cat, Princess Noo-Noo, lying down. She looked, Lexy thought, almost like a normal cat. Nothing like as deformed as Guy Ellenger had described her. He was obviously given to exaggeration. Not entirely perfect, then.

She groaned inwardly. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to telling the vet that she had decided against trying to find the creature, but the sooner she did, the sooner she could start looking for a sensible job.

She walked past the side alley where the vet’s surgery was situated, wondering if it opened on Saturdays. She might be able to tell him there and then, get it over and done with. She swung abruptly into the narrow lane, at the same time as a laden figure approaching from the opposite direction. They just managed to avoid colliding.

It was a large, plump woman, heavily made-up. She had a large bag in one hand, from which a number of long, rolled canvases protruded, together with a sheaf of the brightly coloured missing cat posters Lexy had just been studying.

“Sorry,” said Lexy.

The woman gave her an irritated look. “That isn’t one of Guy Ellenger’s chihuahuas running loose, is it?”

“No, he’s mine,” said Lexy. “Come here, Kinky.”

The chihuahua had started sniffing at the woman’s bag, and Lexy hoped he wasn’t about to cock his leg over it. The woman obviously had the same idea, as she heaved the bag into her other hand.

“I do know Guy, though,” said Lexy. “We met the other day. I’ve just moved here actually. My name’s Lexy Lomax.” She stuck out a hand.

“Tammy Caradoc,” said the woman guardedly.

That would explain why she was toting the missing cat posters – she’d obviously just been plastering them all over the village. Lexy felt another stab of guilt.

She studied the woman. Tammy Caradoc was clearly in her fifties, a few years older than her husband, and she looked it. She must have been beautiful once, and she was trying to keep up the illusion, but the thick make-up couldn’t disguise the lines. In fact, it accentuated them. She had flicked-back blonde hair with grey showing through, and wore skin-tight jeans and a blue paisley smock top that must have been twenty years out of date. It made her look a good ten years older than she should have done. She also looked unhappy.

“You’re an actress, aren’t you?”

That brightened her. “Yes. Did you recognise me?”

“Of course,” said Lexy, thinking back to what Tristan had said in the tea shop. “You were in
Bergerac
, weren’t you?”

Tammy’s smile widened. “That, and a few others. My husband Tristan is a well-known actor too.”

Lexy made a noise of polite interest. He was certainly good at acting like he wasn’t married.

“You do know the vet’s is closed?” Tammy started walking down towards the surgery.

Lexy followed her. “I just wondered if Guy might be at the surgery anyway, doing paperwork or something.”

“He doesn’t work on Saturdays,” said Tammy, “except for emergencies.” They had reached the door.

“Looks like Hope’s not there either,” Lexy name-dropped as they peered into the unlit reception. “Or Sheri-Anne.” As soon as she spoke, Lexy remembered that Sheri-Anne was at the am-dram rehearsal.

So did Tammy, by the look of jealous rage that flashed in her eye. She mopped her forehead. “I’m dropping off some canvases for Hope, as a matter of fact, if your dog hasn’t…”

“Kinky!” Lexy glared at the dog. “Er… does Hope paint?”

“She does the stage backdrops. She’s going to start them this weekend, but she likes to do them in rough first.”

Tammy hoisted the bag of canvases on to her hip, produced a bunch of keys, selected one and unlocked the door. “It’s all right,” she said, clocking Lexy’s expression. “Hope does allow me into her inner sanctum.”

Lexy walked thoughtfully back to the high street, stopping outside the newsagent’s.

Looked like the plant nursery job was gone; the card wasn’t there any more. Typical. She went in, hoping to sneak a quick look through the local newspaper’s job section. But the man behind the counter kept his eye firmly on her, and after a few minutes she had to give up and leave.

She and Kinky threaded their way through crowds of sunburnt tourists. Even somewhere as dignified as Clopwolde-on-Sea couldn’t escape the type of holidaymakers who thought it was a good idea to put their rolls of blubber on parade. It was like negotiating a pack of rutting elephant seals. With some relief Lexy found a quiet bench to sit on in a public garden. Kinky found a discarded half-saveloy by a bin. Lexy watched him scoff it down. Poor little blighter.