Small Town Suspicions (Some Very English Murders Book 3) (13 page)

“Oh, did she? She’s a gossip
but I like her. She’s quite lonely. So what’s Steve doing, then? Is the
deadline still the same?”

“Yes,” Francine said.
“Everything needs to be done by the first of August for the big Summer Fair.
Which means they only have a few weeks, and to be honest, he can’t possibly get
it done by then. I mean, I admire youthful exuberance and confidence but he
should have stuck with Alec’s designs. Alec had a series of wooden carved posts
all drawn up, and ready to be done. Although I don’t know how long it takes to
carve a wooden pole. Everything’s been delayed.”

“What’s Steve planning
instead?”

“Clay tiles, on top of the
posts. They’ve bought the wooden poles already, you see.”

“Clay tiles? They won’t last
in the weather.”

Francine nodded. “I know. It
all seems a bit daft to me. Ah. The police tape is still everywhere.”

“The duty copper isn’t
there, though. And look, the tape’s on a loop, it’s not attached properly.”
Penny picked up one end and pulled it free of the gatepost. They slipped inside
and she replaced it carefully before they continued up the driveway. They
avoided the dark, silent house and made for the shack at the far end.

There was a light on in the
window, although it wasn’t yet dark. As Penny and Francine crunched along the
gravel, which petered out into a dusty path, two squat and noisy bull terriers
came barging out of nowhere and thundered towards them.

Francine squealed and jumped
behind Penny, who simply shouted, “Sit!” at the pair.

Both dogs skidded to a halt,
and sat. Their mouths were open, tongues lolling and their hips were waggling
as their tails thrashed in delighted greeting.

“You pair of puddings,”
Penny said, chiding them. “What are you? Puddings.”

The door to the small
building opened and a stocky figure emerged. He was jowly and had a number of
chins, and his beer belly hung over his faded and scuffed jeans. But his smile
was wide and warm.

“Now then! Bob, Cassandra,
come here.”

The two dogs gave one more
longing look at the visitors, and then dashed back to their master. He bent and
rubbed them both behind the ears, affectionately swearing at them, before
ordering them back into the house. He pulled the door to, and came towards
Penny and Francine.

“Evening ladies. What can I
do you for, ha ha.”

“Hi. Are you Barry Neville?”

“Depends on if he’s done
anything wrong, ha ha. Who’s asking?” He kept on smiling, and Penny couldn’t
see any malice in his broad face.

“I’m Penny and this is
Francine.”

“How do Penny, and how do
Francine. Yeah okay. I’m Barry. What have I done? Nothing bad, I hope. Have I
won the lottery, ha ha?”

Penny smiled at him. “Not as
far as I know, sorry. Actually we were just wondered about Alec Goodwin,
really.”

“Were you.” He said it
flatly, and his smile faded right away. There were no more jokey laughs at the
end of every sentence. “You and every other nosey parker in this town, I reckon.
I lived near the bloke. Didn’t have to talk to him, though, did I? So I
didn’t.”

“Isn’t your house rented
from him?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“But you didn’t get on?”

“No. We didn’t.” Barry put
his hand out behind him and pushed his door open again. The two bull terriers
had been eagerly waiting behind the door for just the chance, and bounded out
again. They dashed back up to Penny and Francine, and this time Barry made no
move to call them off.

“So, er, which one is Bob
and who is Cassandra?” Penny said brightly. “I’ve got a Rottie myself.”

“Bob’s the one who’ll bite
your face off and Cassandra’s the one who will gnaw your leg off,” he said. “Ha
… ha.”

“Are they Staffies?
Staffordshire bull terriers?”

“Yeah. If you’ll excuse me,
ladies, I’ll get back to my tea.”

He slammed back into his
house, all humour and smiles totally gone, and left Penny and Francine outside
with the dogs. Both dogs were on their backs, presenting their round bellies to
the sky, their wide faces open and laughing.

“Daft things.” Penny shook
her head at them. “Well, I guess that’s all we’re going to find out.”

“Yes, let’s go,” said
Francine hastily, already retreating along the path towards the gravelled area.

Penny waved goodbye to the
dogs and followed Francine. “Wait up. You’re not scared of dogs, are you? I
mean, I know Kali ran at you the first time you met her, but you soon became
friends.”

“I don’t mind Kali, now that
I know her, but I’m not keen on dogs, no. And those are pit bulls, aren’t
they.” She quickened her pace. “They eat babies.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake! They
were Staffies, not pit bulls. Any dog can be bad or good. It depends on the
owner.”

“Well, and what of the
owner?” Francine slowed down as they reached the road. The ducked around the
tape and began walking up the lonely, deserted road in the direction of town.
“He was all laughter and joking until you mentioned Alec. And then, boom! He
couldn’t wait to get rid of us.”

“Yeah, you’re right about
that. Very odd.”

Francine stopped suddenly.
“Is this his closest neighbour?” she asked, pointing at a house set back from
the road.

Penny looked back. “It looks
like it.” From this point, there was a scattering of detached houses before the
main residential part of Upper Glenfield began.

“Right. Let’s go and talk to
them about Barry.”

“Barry? Don’t you mean
Alec?”

“No,” Francine said
decisively, pushing open the ornate metal gate. “Barry. He seemed very strange
to me.”

Penny could only scamper up
behind as Francine strode to the front door and knocked the brass lion’s head.
It wasn’t long before they were greeted by a very tall, very broad-shouldered
woman of indeterminate age, with ironed-straight black hair and more Goth
make-up than Penny had seen in one place since the early nineties.

“Hello,” the woman said, keeping
the door half-closed as she peered from one to the other. “I don’t buy from the
doorstep. Or go in for being converted. And I already know who I vote for. So…”

“It’s okay,” Francine said.
“We’re none of the above. We’re investigating the death of Alec Goodwin. I’m
sure you’re fascinated with it.”

Penny cringed, and waved her
hands in the air like she was swatting flies. “I am
so
sorry. What my
friend means is … um …”

The woman raised one
pencil-thin arched eyebrow. “I knew of Alec and his work but I would hardly say
I’m fascinated.”

“But you’re a …” Francine
said.

“…accountant?” the woman
finished.

Penny took charged and
elbowed Francine aside with no ceremony. “What about Barry?” she asked
politely. “Barry Neville, that lives on Alec’s land. That’s who we are actually
interested in.”

The woman didn’t open the
door any further, but she graced them with a slight smile. “Oh, Barry. He’s
harmless, really. He’s got a mouth on him. He thinks he’s funny but he’s not
really a bad sort.”

“What about his dogs?” Francine
said.

“Ahh, those pair. Yes, well,
they’re as harmless as Barry is. Except that he needs to keep them under better
control. They roam around all over the place. They’ve even got up here, and dug
holes in my lawn. Bit of a nightmare, really, when they run out in the middle
of the road. How they haven’t caused a bad accident, I do not know.”

Ahh
, thought Penny,
the universal conversational glue
of dogs and animals in general. Sometimes I’m really glad to be British. We
won’t talk about important stuff unless it’s through the filter of the weather,
our pets, or the price of fuel.
“I suppose they caused chaos for Alec,
too.”

“I’ll bet. It was no wonder
he was trying to get poor Barry evicted.”

“Oh! Was he, indeed. How
long had Barry lived there?”

“Four years, I think. I’ve
been here just about the same length of time. And the gossip locally is that
they haven’t exchanged a civil word for three and a half years.”

“Wow,” Penny and Francine
both said together.

The woman nodded. “Luckily
it’s not so easy to just evict someone without reason these days. I helped
Barry out a bit with that. I told him to get down the Citizen’s Advice Bureau
and everything. Helped him with some forms. I can’t stand to see someone being
targeted.”

“Well, yes,” said Francine,
“but if his dogs were a problem…”

“Alec’s fences were the
problem, really,” the woman said firmly.

There was an awkward pause.
Penny said, finally, “Thank you for your time. We appreciate it.”

“Are you with the police?”
she asked.

“Not exactly,” Penny said.
“I’m a concerned citizen and I am involved in the arts scene locally …”

“Oh, wait!” the woman said,
opening the door a little wider. “Yes, you’re that London woman who sorted out
the Warren Martin case, aren’t you!”

“I am.” She couldn’t keep
the note of pride out of her voice.

“You’re shorter than I
thought you would be,” the woman said. “Good luck.”

The door closed. Penny
turned to Francine and they nodded at one another, staying quiet until they
were off the woman’s property and on their way back to Upper Glenfield.

“Salad or cake?”

“What?”

“Salad or cake?” Cath
repeated. Her voice was fuzzy and distant, like she was driving and speaking to
Penny on her hands-free set in her car.

“Cake, always.”

“Great. I’ll meet you by the
Cathedral at midday.”

“Will you?” Penny said.

“Yes. Gotta go. Bye!”

Penny rolled her eyes and
tucked her phone away. Kali was looking up at her with patient expectation, and
they continued on the walk. It was Monday morning, and Penny had explained to
Francine that while she was very grateful for all the walks she was doing with
Kali, Penny felt excluded. She missed the quiet time with her dog. Francine had
been reserved, hiding her distress that her good intentions had caused more
upset, but Penny felt relieved that she’d finally got it off her chest.

Strangely, she was also
getting used to Francine being around. It was a comfort to know that Kali
wasn’t going to be on her own.

I’m in danger of taking
Francine’s presence for granted
,
Penny thought to herself once she got home. She started to ease into her
motorcycle gear. She wanted to give her old motorbike a spin, and now the hot
weather was breaking, it was just the right temperature to chug along the quiet
back lanes to Lincoln to meet Cath. Francine’s reaction to the classic bike was
one of mingled horror and pure envy. She thought that anything with two wheels
was a death-trap, but she couldn’t deny the beauty and the elegance of the M21
with its shiny chrome and its low roar.

The ride up through the
ripening fields of crops was enjoyable. Although the Fenland roads were flat
and straight, the landscape changed into rolling hills as it approached the
ancient cathedral city of Lincoln. The roads swept around in broad curves, and
the villages were older and prettier – and the houses were far less affordable.

As Penny got closer to
Lincoln, the traffic got heavier. She took the back way, avoiding the main A15
road, instead skirting alongside the back of the vast airfield of RAF
Waddington. The usual plane spotters were lingering the lay-bys but most of
them would be at the designated viewing area on the main road south of Lincoln,
staring at the huge planes with the odd cigar shapes on the top. Drew had told
Penny what they were called, but she couldn’t remember. It was all to do with
surveillance, anyway. She craned her neck upwards, hoping to see the far more
remarkable and interesting sight of the Red Arrows Display Team practising in
the sky. They were based to the north of Lincoln but often treated the local
residents to elaborate air shows, as they ran through their breath-taking
displays.

The sky was blue and clear
today. She slowed as she reached the residential areas and it took her as long
to get through Lincoln’s city centre traffic as it had done to get from her
house to the outskirts of the city.

She found a decent car park
to leave her bike, dragged a heavy chain through the wheels for added security,
and slung her helmet onto her arm as she walked through the busy pedestrian
streets. The Cathedral sat atop a steep hill, called Steep Hill, the locals not
being known for their inventive naming. Walking up it necessitated the use of a
handrail so she had parked at the top, and it was a short walk to the large
square that contained the Cathedral, the castle, and a tasteful smattering of
gift shops and pubs. Cath was lurking in the cool shade of the Gothic doors.