Small Town Secrets (Some Very English Murders Book 2) (3 page)

“Out in a shed? He has his own house, and he lives alone.
Why would he meet someone in a lonely shed?”

Agatha clicked her tongue. “There’s no accounting for
people’s strange little ways, though, is there? I was reading a magazine last
week where the woman had a deep and abiding …
fascination
, if you get my
meaning … with balloons. They had photos. They had to black bits out. Makes you
think, though, doesn’t it? Eh?”

It was something that Penny was absolutely sure she did not
want to think about. She shuddered. She was about to make her excuses and move
on, when Agatha stopped her.

“Anyway, Penny love, what are you going to do about it?”

Penny’s foot paused in the air. “Me? Nothing.” Apart from
get hold of Drew at some point and press him for all the information, she
thought.

“Well, after the David Hart case, we all assumed you’d be
looking into this one.”

“I found David Hart. That’s all. Everything else just
happened accidentally. I’m sorry, I need to get on. Kali wants to get to the
fields to, um, you know.”

Agatha waved her on. “Of course, of course. Time waits for
no dog, isn’t that what they say? Eh?”

It was not. Penny smiled. “Yes. See you later.”

One hundred yards later and Penny was accosted again, this
time by someone from the ramblers’ group, who fell into step alongside her and
opened the conversation with,

“So, who do
you
think did it?”

“Kevin, I assume we’re talking about Warren. And I have no
idea. And anyway, we don’t even know how he died.”

“Wasn’t he found with his throat cut in a hay barn?”

“I don’t know. Was he?”

“So they say!”

And on it went. No sooner had she shaken off Kevin that
Sylvia descended upon her. “Poisoned!” she declared by way of hello.

“I doubt it.”

“Oh yes, with a bottle of paraffin next to him, they say.”

Penny sighed. “And was this in a shed or a hay barn?”

“Who said that?” Sylvia wanted to know. “They’re wrong. It
was in a crew yard.”

“I don’t even know what a crew yard is.”

“Horses. But do you know who did it?” Sylvia asked eagerly.

“No! And it’s up to the police!”

It was a tedious and frustrating walk, with rumour piled on
rumour, and the belief throughout the whole of Upper Glenfield that Penny was
somehow able to work out what had happened, who had done it, and why.

“If only I knew the lottery numbers, too,” she grumbled to
Kali as they got back to her cottage, much later than planned.

She had work to do. She had a craft fair coming up in a few
weeks’ time, and she had a roll of linen that needed stencilling and making up
into bags. There were sketches to mount and frame, cards to make, and bookmarks
to laminate.

But as she sat at her kitchen table, the back door propped
open and Kali dozing in a patch of sunlight, half in and half out of the room,
Penny’s mind kept drifting back to Warren. And, more importantly, to Drew.

She had expected him to call her that morning. But the
clock ticked past midday and there had been no word from him.

It’s not like we’re in a relationship, she told herself.
Not exactly. We have an understanding. Although maybe I understand something
different to what he understands, or he would have phoned me by now.

Maybe he was working. Weekends were his busiest time, now
he was taking out groups of holidaymakers and guests from The Arches Hotel. He
also had corporate midweek sessions from time to time. He seemed to be always
on the go, these days.

Penny hadn’t seen much of him at all, lately. And she
missed him.

She sighed.

She hoped he wasn’t going to end up in the overworked and
stressful position she had been in; but no one had been able to warn her, and
she knew she wouldn’t be able to get it through to the stubborn Drew, either.

Her phone began to ring and she nearly stabbed her own hand
with the scissors that she forgot she was holding. She was thinking about Drew
so she decided it must be him.

It was not.

It was just another neighbour wanting to know if she had
solved the crime yet.

At this rate, she thought, I will have to do so, just to
shut everyone up.

It was carnage.

The hot, sultry weather had continued and the ground was
baked hard. Somehow, things had come together, and the first photoshoot for the
dogs was organised within a week, in spite of Penny’s reservations. It was
Saturday, and seven days since Warren had been found dead.

And the newspapers had printed “foul play” and the whole
town was deep in speculation.

Penny congratulated herself on managing to avoid as much
gossip as she could. She walked Kali early in the morning, telling herself it
was to “avoid the heat of the day” when in fact she was staying away from
everyone who was keen to tell her to investigate. Then she spent the rest of
the day in her cottage, the blinds down to keep the rooms cool, working on her
art and craft.

Now she was surrounded by people and dogs, and cameras and
large parasols and bowls of water to step into accidentally, and it was a noisy
chaos.

They had set aside a shady end of one of the exercise
fields, where it was cool and the dogs could rest. By nine in the morning,
everyone had arrived, and the plan was to complete as many shots as possible
before the day got too hot.

Well, Penny thought as she watched a portly man carrying a
very large camera lumber across a field in pursuit of a hyperactive Jack
Russell with a doll in its mouth, well, I will be surprised if we get any decent
photographs at all.

She was glad that she had left Kali at home, happily
gnawing on a rubber toy stuffed with frozen sugar-free peanut butter.

The dogs’ home was going to open to the public at eleven
o’clock, as it did every weekend. Lucy and Marge were already on hand to help
out, as were a plethora of other regular staff and volunteers. Because of her
background, Penny had been asked to deal with design queries. She readily
accepted and was looking forward to putting the photographs together in the calendar.
She was going to be in charge of the layout and dealing with the printers. It
was nice to have a role in the community.

It was not so nice when it appeared to make her a target.
She could hear someone, a male voice, demanding to know where “Penny May, that
London woman” was.

She tried to spot the man before he spotted her, but their
eyes met at the same time. He was tall, with black hair and deep grooves in his
cheeks. Not, she guessed, from doing too much smiling.

“Are you her? Penny May? That London woman?” he asked
gruffly.

“I am. Hi. How can I help? Are you from the club?” she said
as he strode over to her. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and jeans, and
terrible brown deck shoes with little tassels on them.

“So you’re in charge of things this end, are you?” he said,
ignoring her question.

If he could ignore her question, then she could ignore his.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name…?”

He glared. She glared back. She hadn’t survived years as a
television producer without learning to be utterly unfazed when someone tried
to stare her down. She’d been glared at by police officers in Nigeria, a camel
herder in Morocco, a militant traffic warden in Los Angeles and a herd of goats
somewhere in central Europe where the borders were hazy.

And he broke, and she did a little internal whoop of
triumph. “I’m Eric Summer. Yes, I’m the president of Upper Glenfield Camera
Club.”

She thrust out a hand. “I’m Penny, and I’m going to be
doing the layout for the printers. I’m not really in charge of things here,
though…”

“You’ll do,” he barked gruffly. “We need to get started
before the sun goes too high and ruins all the shadows.”

“Of course. Over there, Vicky has those two terriers all
ready to go. If you will come along with me, I’ll introduce you.”

He was not the sort of man to follow someone. Instead, he
surged ahead of her, and Penny rolled her eyes at his back. But he was only
halfway across the field before Marge approached them, and as she was the
manager of the dogs’ home, Eric had to stop as she planted herself in front of
him.

“Eric!” she said, all warm matronly smiles hiding the core
of steel that Penny knew lurked beneath her floral print summer dress. “I am so
glad you could come. As, indeed, are we all. Now tell us! What happened between
you and Warren, then?” She winked at Penny as if they were in cahoots together.

Penny’s mouth dropped, as Eric half-turned, glowering over
her. “Oh yes! I remember. You’re the one who couldn’t stop meddling in the
David Hart case, aren’t you? Well, you can take me off your list of suspects
for a start. Did I end up here under false pretences? I’m here to photograph
dogs, not answer to some silly woman who isn’t even local.”

“Of course you are! Come on, let’s go and meet the
terriers,” Penny said desperately, pushing past Marge.

But Marge tagged alongside. “They say you argued,” she said
to Eric. “You and Warren.”

“Warren was a valued member of the club who will be sadly
missed,” Eric said stiffly. “That is all I have to say on the matter. Right.
These dogs. Do you have any just like them, but in white?”

The handler, a young man called Peter who had some learning
difficulties, frowned. “No. Poppy and Billy are brown.”

“Well, they will have to do. Come along then. Let’s get
into that patch of daisies over there.”

Eric walked off, every inch of his bearing suggesting that
he fully expected everyone else to simply scurry along behind him.

So they did.

Eric put his large black bag down, and began unloading far
more gear than Penny thought was possible to have been stored in it. The two
terriers watched as he screwed poles together, shook out a large golden circle
of fabric stretched across a stiff hoop, and began to squint into the middle
distance, sucking his teeth. Marge stood next to Penny and Peter, watching the
show.

Marge had obviously repented of her crass questioning. She
struck out on a new tack. “So, Eric, how’s your daughter getting on, now she’s
back?”

He shook his head sadly, pausing in the middle holding up a
small square measuring meter of some kind. “It will take her some time to get
over it all. He broke her heart, the…”

“Well!” Marge interrupted his unfurling expletive. “Quite.
Poor Nina. What are her plans? She’s young. She’ll soon be back on her feet.
There are plenty more fish in the sea, as they say.”

“I’ve yet to meet any that are good enough for my
daughter,” he said through gritted teeth. “She escaped from one heartless fool
in Edinburgh only to come here and end up being pursued by … right. So, do
these two dogs do any cute tricks? Where are they?”

Peter spoke up. “Poppy is doing a wee in your bag.”

“What the–”

“Eric! Please. Language,” Marge said firmly, whirling round
and scooping up the surprised terrier, angling the dog’s stream with the
uncanny accuracy of a mother long used to male babies. “She is just doing what
dogs do.”

Penny tried very hard to keep her face straight, but she
had to turn away to gain control of herself. She was putting two and two
together regarding Eric and Warren’s disagreement. No doubt as soon as Eric’s
daughter, Nina, came back to Upper Glenfield, Warren would have launched
himself on her in his usual way. Penny was sure that Nina could handle herself
just fine, but then, fathers were protective animals. And if she were the
parent of a child who was being romantically menaced by someone like Warren,
then she knew that she herself would have stepped in to stop it.

“My polarising filters!” Eric babbled. “My filters! My
filters!”

“Would you like a tissue?” Peter asked politely.

“What a good idea. Can you run to the office and fetch
some, please, Peter,” Marge said, her tone suggesting it was an order not a
question, and Penny knew she was getting the young lad out of the way before
Eric exploded into any more inappropriate language. He seemed exactly the sort
of person who wouldn’t care who he offended, and Penny’s assumption was proved
right as he began to turn the air blue.

Penny shook her head as she met Marge’s eyes. Marge tutted.
“There is no need for that, thank you.”

She had a school mistress’s tone of voice, and Eric’s swearing
was lowered as he knelt and began to mop out his camera bag.

His profanity turned into a litany of complaints,
half-heard and barely coherent, to Penny’s mind. She tuned him out and looked
around the field. The portly man had finally caught up with the playful Jack
Russell terrier, and was coaxing it along a small wooden bridge. The dog had
realised it was the centre of attention and was playing up to the camera like a
pro. In a patch of dappled sunlight, a Dalmatian was lying on its back, showing
everyone next week’s washing, as it were, while a very elderly and
frail-looking woman took photos from an angle that Penny thought they would
probably have to censor.

Then she spotted a slender, dark haired young woman making
her way over the field, moving slowly and looking around, one hand held over
her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. In the other hand she was carrying a
clipboard. When she turned, Penny recognised the figure to be Nina, Eric’s
daughter. She wondered if Nina was looking for her father, so she waved and
began to walk towards her.

“Hi, Nina!”

Nina looked a little blank at first, but she smiled
politely. “Hello. Er…”

“It’s Penny. We spoke in the shop. I’ll be doing the layout
and design…”

“Oh yes!” Nina shook her head and coloured slightly. “I
remember. I am so sorry. I’ve been so distracted lately.”