Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (7 page)

And that seemed to be about it.

Lexy arranged her own meagre pieces among Glenda Doyle’s. A few clothes, all practical – jeans, t-shirts and a fleece, which she hung in the empty wardrobe; some bathroom necessities; a copy of
Culpeper’s Herbal
; a slim, oddly-shaped musical instrument case; a portable CD player and half a dozen CDs, a small bag of essential oils, and a compass.

Finally she withdrew from her rucksack a framed photograph of her mother being manhandled by the police during a dockside demonstration against the export of veal calves. Lexy had always thought this photograph caught Angelica Lomax particularly well.

She put the photo in the very centre of the mantelpiece, above the fake flame gas fire. “Go Mum,” she said, “wherever you are.”

6

After a restless night, Lexy awoke early and sloped down into Clopwolde, a still-sulking Kinky in tow. A silvery haze hung over the village, promising another day of brilliant sunshine, and in anticipation café owners were already pulling down striped awnings and setting out tables on the pavements.

Lexy was studying the adverts in a newsagent’s window, when a voice hailed her. “Ms Lomax?”

She twisted around, alarmed.

“Hello… again.” It was Hope Ellenger, the vet’s receptionist, standing stiffly behind her.

“’Lo,” replied Lexy warily, hoping she wasn’t in for any more grief from the woman.

“How’s your dog?”

“My walking lampshade, you mean?” Lexy threw Kinky a sardonic glance. “He’ll live.”

A tentative smile hovered on the receptionist’s lips. “Look, I want to apologise to you for being so rude yesterday,” she said.

Lexy hadn’t been expecting that. “Don’t worry about it,” she replied gruffly.

“No, really.” Hope Ellenger grasped hold of Lexy’s arm. “I’ve felt awful ever since. You caught me in a really bad way, I’m afraid.”

Lexy nodded mutely. Hope had caught her in a really bad way too. She didn’t want to start screaming, but if the woman gripped her new tattoo any harder, Lexy thought she might have to.

“I don’t want you to feel that Clopwolde-on-Sea is an unfriendly place. Please, let me buy you a coffee. There’s a really nice café over the road.” She darted anxious glances at Lexy as she spoke.

“But I’ve got…” Lexy inclined her head at Kinky, managing to free her arm.

“Not a problem. Tuck him under the table – they won’t even notice him. You’ll behave yourself, won’t you, poppet?” This last was directed at Kinky, who was looking distinctly truculent, having just noticed a doberman approaching.

“OK… thanks,” said Lexy, looking back at the newsagent’s adverts. There was one offering work at a local plant nursery. A nice sensible job that didn’t involve stalking sex-crazed women or searching for mutant cats. Someone else might have called about it by the time she got back.

“Great!” Hope herded Lexy across the road. Kinky followed reluctantly, emitting small snarls from his funnel. She opened the door of a gingham-themed café called Kitty’s Kitchen. Lexy leant down to pluck up Kinky, concealing him under her shoulder bag as best she could.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee hit them as they went in, mingling with a pleasant low murmur of chat and chink of crockery.

“Let’s sit over there,” said Hope, indicating a dark corner behind an oak pillar.

Lexy thrust the still irritable Kinky under the long white tablecloth, and watched while Hope fussed with her serviette, picked up and put down the menu several times and seemed at a loss for words. Her eyes, Lexy couldn’t help noticing, were every bit as red and bloodshot as they had been the day before, and her cheeks seemed even paler. She obviously didn’t get that good night’s sleep.

“Are you all right?” Lexy asked, bluntly.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine,” insisted the receptionist, with false brightness.

An awkward pause followed.

“Look, this isn’t about me going to see your brother at home on Saturday, is it?” Lexy said. “Because it’s not like I’ve got any…” Any what? Designs on him? Intention of seducing him?

But Hope Ellenger was frowning uncomprehendingly. “I never thought… no, this is something else. It’s rather difficult, actually.”

Lexy stared at her with new consternation. What was rather difficult?

“I…” Hope broke off. A stout woman in a gingham apron had materialised at Lexy’s shoulder.

“Hello, Kitty.” Hope’s voice was as brittle as a charcoal twig.

“Hello, dear. What can I get you and your friend?” The woman peered curiously at Lexy.

“Er…” Lexy glanced distractedly down the list of beverages. “Just a black coffee, thanks.”

Hope glanced quickly up at Kitty. “Double espresso for me, please. And… I don’t know… chocolate croissants?”

The woman nodded. “Anything to eat for you, dear?” she asked Lexy.

“No – I’m fine, thanks,” Lexy replied, tersely. She just wanted the woman to be gone, so that she could hear the worst.

Hope waited until Kitty had bustled out of earshot.

“I have this problem,” she said, in an undertone.

“OK,” said Lexy, slowly. Why was Hope Ellenger coming to a total stranger with her problems?

“I…” Suddenly a tear shivered in each of Hope’s eyes.

“Hey, don’t get upset, now.” Lexy cast around nervously, wishing that she could pass the woman on to someone else. “If it’s a… personal thing, isn’t there someone you can tell who can really help you?”

“Yes – I’m telling you,” Hope rejoined, wiping her eyes fiercely. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re a …
private investigator
, aren’t you?”

“What? I’m not exact… who told you that?”

“Guy, of course. I got it out of him, actually. I knew something was up when you said you were going to visit him. Anyway – I want to hire you.”

“To do what?” This couldn’t be happening. Not three times in the space of twenty-four hours. What was it with this village? She eyed Hope. What could this be about – another lost animal? Money missing from the RSPCA collection tin on the reception desk? Or some scam involving…

“Find out who’s sending me poison pen letters,” whispered Hope.

“Poison pen letters?” That was a turn up. Despite herself, Lexy was interested. “What – nasty ones?”

“Is there any other sort?” Hope’s lips pulled tightly inwards in a way that told Lexy more tears were approaching.

“How long’s it been going on?”

“I got the first one six w…weeks ago.”

“How many have you had?”

“Three.”

Lexy considered, while Hope picked up a paper napkin and blew her nose. She and her folks often used to get anonymous letters shoved under the van door, or chucked through the window. Pretty unpleasant ones, too. Stuff you don’t forget.

“You told the police?”

Hope shook her head violently. “I want to keep this as low key as possible. It could have… implications. Anyway, I just couldn’t bear to have it raked up again.” She put her head in her hands, looking at Lexy through splayed fingers.

“You told anyone about them? Your brother?”

“No one. You’re the only person I’ve told. It would devastate Guy. He does a good impression of a grounded human being, but he’s really a mass of neuroses.”

Was that a fact? Lexy filed this unexpected piece of information away for later analysis.

“Any idea who’s sending them?”

“No. But it’s either someone who knew me and my family a long time ago, or someone who’s been deliberately doing some research. Either way, it’s someone who really wants to hurt me.”

“Can I ask what took place – you know, in your past?” Lexy eyed her steadily, expecting a rebuff.

Hope was silent for a moment, then, eyes cast down, she began speaking in a low voice. “We were brought up on a big old farm outside the village.”

Something in her voice gave Lexy a prickle of fear.

“Our f… father…” Hope swallowed hard. “He was a drunk, an alcoholic.” She closed her eyes. “He was abusive to our mother – violent. Accused her of all sorts of senseless things, from not cooking the dinner to his liking, to sleeping her way around the entire neighbourhood. Any excuse for him to lay into her with both fists.” She paused. “Basically, he was ill and needed help, but Guy and I were too young to understand that. We hated him. We kept telling mum to leave him. But she wouldn’t. She was too frightened of causing a scandal. Can you believe that?”

Lexy shook her head, saying nothing, just letting Hope get it out. She felt torn between sympathy, morbid fascination and guilt because the receptionist was only telling her all this because she thought she was talking to a real private detective.

“No one except us knew what he was like,” Hope went on, her voice now hoarse with emotion. “He only used to drink at home. He was never drunk in public. He was a respected man in the community. Can you imagine that? A pillar of the local Rotary Club, Farmers’ Union, you name it…”

She shook her head. “Anyway, to cut a long story short, one night, twenty-five years ago, when I was eight and Guy was ten, he got paralytic on a litre of whisky someone had given him, and started beating the hell out of mum.” Hope’s eyes went dark. “Then he dragged her upstairs by her hair like a bloody caveman, while she screamed the place down.”

She began shredding her napkin, her hands shaking. “I was hiding in Guy’s room. I always used to when he started drinking. We’d listen to music through a shared set of earphones so we didn’t have to… you know…”

“Yes,” said Lexy, thinking about her own father, a world away from this. And a world away from her, now.

“Well, this time Guy and I decided to call the police. I had got as far as dialling 999 on the upstairs phone, while all this screaming was going on. Guy was behind me… we suddenly heard this awful crashing, thumping sound.” Hope paused, her eyes wide, and unfocused. “The bastard had fallen downstairs and broken his neck. He was stone dead.”

“Christ,” said Lexy, softly.

“When we realised he was dead, we were all crying,” Hope continued, speaking faster now, as if she wanted to get the words out before they stuck in her throat. “But Guy and I were actually crying with relief and hugging each other. Is that awful?”

“No… no.” Lexy passed Hope another napkin.

“Our mother thought we were wicked to be rejoicing,” said Hope. “She called an ambulance, and the police came, and there was an inquiry.” She gave a humourless laugh. “Even after death he kept hurting us. They didn’t accept that it was an accident. We all had to give statements. Guy and I… we didn’t see what had happened. I think the police thought our mother had pushed him, because it was obvious he had been drinking, and there had been some sort of scene. But that was never proven. In the end the verdict was death by misadventure.”

She pushed back her hair. “But the damage was done. Local people, who had no idea what our father was really like, started whispering, saying that mum really had pushed him. They reckoned she did it deliberately so she could hook up with another local farmer she was friendly with. Then a hate campaign started in earnest. Mum couldn’t take it. She sold up, put the money in trust for us, brought us to Clopwolde to our godparents, who had just moved here, and then she walked into the sea down near Sizewell and drowned herself. Like she was finally admitting guilt for what she’d done.” Hope nodded, emphasising this last fact.

“I’m sorry,” said Lexy ineffectually, appalled by the tale. “Do
you
think she was guilty?”

Hope looked down. “I do think she might have been having an affair. But Guy and I didn’t see what happened, so I guess we’ll never know.”

“Can’t have been easy.”

Hope gave a faint smile. “We survived. Local people gradually forgot, and new faces replaced old ones. Our godparents were wonderful, considering they’d had a couple of screwed-up kids dumped on them when they were looking forward to a peaceful retirement.

“Anyway, as time went on, Guy did well at school and decided to become a vet. We settled here and eventually bought the practice with the money we’d inherited, and we bought our two properties, and we’ve been happy ever since.” She paused. “At least I
was
happy…”

She opened her handbag. “Then I got this. The first one. Delivered by hand to the surgery.” She gave Lexy a small white envelope.

Lexy, resisting an urge to pick it up with the corner of a napkin, took it reluctantly.

Hope threw her a warning look. Kitty was approaching with a tray.

“There we are, my dears. One black coffee, one double espresso, and two chocolate croissants.”

Hope immediately grasped her cup.

“How are the driving lessons, going, dear?” Kitty asked.

Hope grimaced. “Bit of a struggle.” She glanced sheepishly at Lexy. “I had my third one this week – I think the instructor is even more afraid than I am.”

“Well – keep at it.” Kitty waddled off, and Hope gave a nervous giggle which was cut off as Lexy, with some trepidation, slid out a sheet of paper from the envelope. It was pasted with an assortment of letters cut from magazines. If there was a text-book on how to construct and word a poison pen letter, this one would have illustrated it.

I KNOW WHO KILLED YOUR FATHER

Lexy stared at the words, feeling a chill slice through her.

“And you’ve had two more?”

Hope nodded. She drained the last of her coffee with a grimace.

“Same wording?”

“Pretty much.” Hope’s face crumpled.

“It’s OK. We’ll figure something.” Figure something? Figure what? What was she saying?

Lexy replaced the letter distractedly in the envelope and handed it back to Hope.

“Were all the letters delivered by hand?”

“Yes.”

“Any pattern – like were they all delivered on the same day of the week?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll try to remember. All three I’ve picked up on the mat with the morning post, I know that.”

“Can I see the others?”

A strange, guarded look suddenly came over Hope’s face. “They’re much of a muchness,” she said.

Lexy studied her. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.”

“I’ve told you a lot more than I’ve ever told anyone else.”