Small Town Shock (Some Very English Murders Book 1) (7 page)

She’d had agonies about what to wear and had changed her
clothes four times until she’d had a severe word with herself and settled on
black trousers and a patterned blouse. Her bony knees meant she would never
wear short skirts, and long skirts made her feel alarmingly hippy-like. The
black trousers reminded her of her confident, corporate days. Still she felt a
little nervous as she pressed the bell. In London, she could flounce into a
room and charm everyone. Here it seemed different. This was not her familiar
territory.

Cath flung the door open and her wide smile instantly made
everything all right. “Come in! Now then! I’m so glad you came. Please. This
way. Oh, don’t worry about taking your shoes off. I’ve got kids. For your own
sake, you’ll want to keep them on. Plasticine, ugh. Shoes are the least of my
worries – here we are. Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m driving. A softie, please. Do you have any lemonade?”
She was never, ever drinking again, anyway, she promised herself and her liver.
Never.

She found herself in a long lounge, with a table at one end
that bristled with bottles and plates of nibbles. There were two overstuffed
three-seater sofas, two matching armchairs that seemed to have been inflated
and then smothered with cushions, and a selection of chairs brought in from the
kitchen, the dining room, and possibly from outside on the patio if the plastic
ones were any clue.

She recognised the beehive-wearing woman from the gossip in
the bakery aisle at the mini-market. There were four other women there, all
clutching drinks and smiling with open, friendly faces, and plenty of unashamed
curiosity. Cath did a brief introduction, missing out exactly how they’d met
under awkward circumstances, and everyone chorused hello.

The beehive woman, who was revealed to be the local
hairdresser and called Agatha, patted the spare seat next to her on the
three-seater. “Now then, come here, my love. I have seen you before, haven’t I?
Eh?”

“Yes. I think I interrupted your conversation. In the
mini-market?”

“That’s right! I remember. I saw you again but you were
talking to Warren. Or at least, he was talking to you.”

Penny bit her lip. In a small town like this, she didn’t
want to speak badly of a man who might turn out to be someone’s uncle or
brother or secret crush. “Yes. He’s quite a …
determined
sort of man.”

Agatha howled with laughter, and announced to the whole
group, “You hear that? You hear what she said, eh? Warren’s a determined sort
of man!” She turned back to Penny and patted her on the knee as if Penny were
five years old. “Now you listen to me, my love. He’s a horrible pest of a man
who doesn’t understand ‘no’ and I am sure he means no harm but don’t you encourage
him, you hear.”

“I wasn’t encouraging him at all!”

Someone else said, “Yeah, Agatha, that’s not fair. A woman
only has to be breathing to encourage Warren.”

“I did tell him no. Anyway, it’s not all bad. Warren is the
reason I’m here, to be honest,” Penny confessed. Cath was standing close by and
she grinned.

“Yes, he was coming after both of us, wasn’t he?” she said.
“We evaded him pretty well.”

“Yes. I was avoiding him which is why I kept on asking you
about this party,” Penny said.

“You wouldn’t have come if Warren hadn’t been pursuing you?”
Cath raised an eyebrow in mock indignation.

“Well … it’s not something I’ve ever done before.”

“There’s always a first time!” Agatha gurgled, making it
sound like a filthy joke, and everyone laughed.

Cath began to set out some interesting and innovative new
plastic kitchen products while the rest of the women continued to drink and
chat. Some of the items looked frighteningly similar to the things Penny had
seen at the more “adult” party she’d unwillingly attended. She didn’t like to
ask what the long thin yellow thing, with the spiral on the end, was designed
to do.

Instead, Penny said to Agatha, “Speaking of unpleasant men,
and I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but can you tell me more about David
Hart, that farmer who was … found dead? Was he ever married at all?”

“No, he never married, but he had his share of lovers!”
Agatha said. “Isn’t that right? What about that latest floozy on his arm–”

“Now, Agatha, that’s not fair. I liked Mary,” someone said.

“Mary!” Agatha snorted. “Her. Huh. No better than she
should be, that one!”

It was a curious phrase that Penny thought she understood
without really making sense of it. “Did he really have a lot of … lovers?”

“I don’t know,” Cath said. “I actually think it’s a lot of
gossip with not a lot of truth. He had a few girlfriends from time to time, but
honestly, he wasn’t parading up and down the High Street with them. He kept
himself to himself, mostly. Everything else is mere speculation.” She spoke
firmly and warningly.

Agatha sucked at her teeth. “Maybe. But he
was
seeing Mary, most recently. That’s true, isn’t it? That Mary Radcliffe from
along North Road. All jingly bracelets. She thinks she’s something but she’s
not. Eh!”

Someone with a little more heart and feeling said, “I
wonder how she’s taking it? His death, I mean. They might not have been married
but even so. It must be hard.”

There was a moment of respectful silence, and even Agatha
looked abashed. “True, true. A difficult situation for anyone, under the
circumstances. I wonder how he died …” Agatha petered out but looked
quizzically at Cath, who shook her head.

“No. No idea. I’m not at work right now. Read the paper
tomorrow. Let’s look at these pots! Have you ever seen an egg timer like
this?
”

No, Penny had not. She had thought it was a lemon squeezer.
Penny was glad that the conversation was being steered away from the topic of
the murder. Fascinated as she was by the rumours and gossip, the fact was that
a man was dead – and she had touched him. She shuddered. It didn’t matter that
he was single, or a womaniser, or any such thing. Some people’s lives would now
be missing a piece. A family was bereaved.

However, though she no longer wanted to talk about David
Hart, the figure of Mary, his last girlfriend, did intrigue her. “Does Mary
work?” she asked, thinking it was likely to be a safe topic of conversation.

Cath’s face looked up, startled, as Agatha laughed again,
and said, “Oh, she’s here and there! Eh? She’s doing those cards now, isn’t
she? She’s always been into that craft stuff. Jewellery and cards and what have
you. Glue a feather onto a bit of paper and write ‘peace’ in swirly pen, and
charge three quid, eh. My kids did better at primary school.”

“I bought a sundial off her,” someone said. “It was made
from a bit of slate. It wasn’t bad till the sticky-out bit fell off.”

“Well, she certainly needs the cash,” Agatha said. “Ooh! Is
that one of those things that does nuts?”

Cath passed her the fluorescent yellow plastic thing that
looked more like a small rocket. Quite what it was supposed to do to nuts was
anyone’s guess. Penny sat back and pondered what she had learned. Would Mary be
named in the will? It depended on how recent a girlfriend she was. Was she
more? A partner, a lover. If she needed cash, she could have…

No. She pushed it out of her mind. It wasn’t her business.

Agatha was waving the nut-mangling thing at her. “Have you
ever seen the like? See how it moves!”

“Er…”

Someone else was cooing about a knife sharpener, and the
chance to talk more about Mary was lost.

* * * *

The kitchenware party lasted a lot longer than Penny had
expected. She had ended up buying some multi-coloured stackable storage boxes
and a cleaning cloth with micro-something embedded in it, that promised
miracles just short of getting up and doing the dusting itself. Even though she
hadn’t had any alcoholic drink, she felt warm and fuzzy as she said goodbye to
the gathering of women and got into her car. It had been two good nights for
her in a row. She felt mellow.

Cath was the last to say goodbye. The police detective had
become progressively more relaxed and then raucous as the night had progressed,
and increasingly incautious about what she said. She had regaled them with some
lurid tales about how criminals smuggled mobile phones which made everyone
cross their legs as their eyes watered.

Cath leaned through the open car window as Penny started
the engine and got the heaters going. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said.
There was the tinge of alcohol on her breath.

“Thanks for the invite. I mean it, in spite of my
reservations. I really enjoyed myself. Cath, can I ask … has it been established
yet whether David Hart’s death, that electrocution, was accidental? Or a
suicide? Or a … murder?”

Cath shook her head and smiled. “I’m not allowed to say.
But no, it wasn’t. It was foul play.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “I
didn’t say that, right! You’ll get me into trouble. Go home!”

“I’m sorry. Thank you. Get inside before you get cold.”

Penny’s mind was a whirl as she drove home. David Hart
had
been murdered. It was true.

Somewhere in Upper Glenfield, a murderer was on the loose.
And she had found the body! That made her involved. Francine’s words came back
to her. She
was
up to her neck in events.

It sort of made her a suspect, she thought, as she pulled
up outside her cottage. I’m a newcomer to the town too.

She felt a tingle of butterflies in her stomach. She got
out of the car and smiled to herself. I’ve made friends and now I have a
purpose. I
will
find the murderer. Things have to be put right. This is
great. Things are going to work out just fine.

She remained happy until she opened the front door and saw
the devastation that Kali had wreaked through her home.

Thursday opened with torrential rain hammering on the roof
and bursting from a hole in the guttering, and Penny was delighted. No one
walked their dogs in the rain; she and Kali would have a free run of the town.
She layered up with new yellow waterproofs and sallied forth. She would have
danced and sung a song like a terrible old musical if she knew all the words to
anything. Kali seemed surprised at Penny’s exuberance, and behaved impeccably
after about twenty minutes of insistent pulling. Penny was discovering that in
the battle of wills, she may as well accept that Kali was stronger; so instead
of letting the dog dictate where they were going, Penny would stop, and turn
around, every time Kali pulled forwards. Eventually Kali realised that pulling
got her nowhere. She still tried to pull, but with less heart, and the walk
back home was actually fun. Kali was still a pest, but Penny was beginning to
feel possessive of her. Kali was
her
pest.

Penny spent another hour attempting to sort out the
broadband to her cottage. She rang around all the suppliers, found she was
restricted in who would service the cottage, and had to concede an expensive
defeat. Then she decided she needed to unearth more old, shabby dog-walking
clothes. She was developing a line on the thigh of her jeans that was where
Kali’s slobbery jowls pressed against her when she wanted treats and fussing.
She went to root about in some of the unpacked boxes in the spare room. To her
surprise, she unearthed a decades-old sketchbook in the bottom of a box of
winter clothes. It reminded her of her student days once more, and she felt
warm. It inspired her to get sketching again. She brought the book down to the
kitchen and was just leafing through it when there was a knock at her front
door.

She wondered if it might be Francine, back with more advice
and wine. She held firmly onto Kali’s collar with one hand as she opened the
door slightly with the other, shouting through, “It’s okay, she’s friendly…
probably … are you wearing a hat?”

“Er, no, should I be? I can put my coat over my head.” It
was Drew’s voice, and Penny perked up with relief.

“Hello there! How did you know where I lived?” she asked as
she opened the door fully and Kali was released to greet him. Her whole body
seemed to wag as she dashed up to the man.

“Everyone knows where the new London woman lives. We know
all your business, remember? Your friend has gone home, then?”

“That is just creepy. And yes, she has, thank goodness. My
liver is hanging by a thread now. How is it that everyone knows who I’ve got visiting
me, but no one knows about David Hart?” she asked suspiciously.

“You’re new and exciting. You’re being watched.”

Eww. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that.” Let’s
watch to see what the mad London woman with the dangerous dog does next, she
thought. That’s not fair.

“You do like it, or you wouldn’t have moved here. It’s what
people come to small towns for. Your business is everyone’s business, now. This
is called neighbourhood spirit.”

She was suddenly aware that he was standing in the rain and
she jumped back into the hallway. “Please, come in.”

He stepped into the porch, shaking the drops from his hair,
and pulled a bag out of his large raincoat pocket. “I won’t come in and drip
everywhere. I just wanted to give you this. I think you might find it useful,
with the dog.”

She took it and unwrapped the bag to find a collection of
straps and a metal circle. “What is it?” she asked, shaking it out. Flashbacks
to the adult party came to mind.

“It’s a head-collar for Kali. I reckon it’s the right size.
She’s only got a narrow head, hasn’t she, for a Rottie? I mean, it might not
work, or you might want to try a different way, or a harness, or whatever, but
it’s worth a try.”

“Oh! How lovely. I don’t know about the fit … look, come on
through. You can’t stand in the porch. Come to the kitchen. I’ll put the kettle
on. And, thank you. So kind.”