Small Town Shock (Some Very English Murders Book 1) (6 page)

“Ladies, if I may…” Warren said behind them, catching them
up.

Penny walked faster, swishing though the automatic doors
and Cath kept pace. “I’d love to come,” Penny gabbled. “You’ll have to give me
your address.”

“Of course.” By unspoken mutual consent they darted across
the road to the covered market hall.

“He can’t leave the shop while he’s working, can he?” Penny
asked, not daring to look back.

“I don’t think he leaves it even when he’s not working,”
Cath replied. “It’s like a self-imposed restraining order.” They sidled into
the wide entrance of the market.

Penny peeked in the direction they’d come. Warren was in
the window of the mini-market but someone was trying to attract his attention with
a frozen leg of lamb, and he had to turn away. “We’re safe,” Penny said.

Cath was already writing her address and phone number on a
piece of paper torn from a police officer’s pocket book. Penny wasn’t sure that
she really wanted to go to a party that involved the discussion and sale of
plastic tubs; it didn’t sound wild enough to be called a “party.” But it would
be a good way to meet folks, she had to agree, and Cath seemed to think it was
a done deal. And she owed Cath for letting her escape Warren with her.

Cath handed her the paper. “So you met Warren before, have
you?”

“The other day.” Penny shuddered.

“Did he ask you out?”

“He did. I guessed he tries to ask every woman out.”

“Yeah. I can tell you that half the women in this town got
married simply to stop him asking them. It’s the only possible defence. He does
stop at that. He has standards. Limited ones, but still. You could pretend to
be married, buy a cheap ring...”

Penny laughed. “What a horrible man. They said that David
Hart was a ladies’ man…” she added, fishing hopefully for more information.

Cath was not to be drawn into it. “Not like Warren is. Warren
is ever hopeful, whereas somehow David Hart did manage to keep a lady friend
from time to time. He was never a womaniser. Ignore the gossip. Anyway, I will
see you tomorrow night, at my place, seven o’clock.”

“Do I have to bring anything? Wine, snacks?”

“Not at all! Just yourself, that’s all.” Cath smiled
warmly. “I must get on. The kids will be killing each other by now, and hubby
will be barricading himself into the shed. It is a good job we don’t have close
neighbours.”

Penny waved goodbye, feeling curiously warm and at the same
time, bereft. Cath was lovely but her world was a different one to what Penny
was used to.

Just like her sister, Ariadne, Penny thought. Family life,
kids, all that. Except the Ariadne doesn’t seem half as happy with it as Cath
does.

I ought to tell Ariadne that I’ve moved, I suppose.

* * * *

Penny walked home with an aimless, slow step. She was lost
in thought. There was a part of herself that was amazed and appalled that she
was considering going to a kitchenware party, but she recognised her own
snobbery in that. What was wrong with wanting to meet other people? She had not
expected to be attending the opera and discussing Nietzsche every night, had
she? She knew she needed to get over herself.

And remember, she told herself sternly. This was all about
de-stressing, relaxing, letting go and becoming one with … one with … one with
myself. As it were. Reconnecting with my creative and idealist side. I am going
there with an open mind and I will meet some lovely people.

But when she reached her own cottage, the figure on the
step, listening to Kali bark her own head off from within, made Penny’s stomach
clench.

What on earth was that Francine Black doing here?

Francine greeted Penny with a frantic wave, as if somehow
Penny could miss the apparition in layers of floral fabrics. She had a small
bag at her feet, and an enormous hat on her head. Her smile was wide and warm.
You couldn’t look at a smile like that and not respond. She had one of those
faces that shouldn’t have worked; technically, she was a plain woman, with a
long nose that was bulbous at the end, and uneven teeth, and narrow eyes. But
her beaming grin made everyone feel so warm that if you had the choice, at a
party, to talk to her or a supermodel, you’d always pick Francine. Penny smiled
in spite of her surprise.

“You-hoo!” Francine warbled.

“Goodness. Hi, Francine. How did you…”

“I asked Daisy who asked Ash who said that Billy Choudhury
knew but he didn’t but his wife did. So here I am! I couldn’t resist. What a
beautiful cottage! Is your dog all right?”

Kali was apparently trying to eat her way through the
wooden door in her excitement at having visitors. “Stand back, please,” Penny
said to Francine.

As soon as the door swung open, Kali burst through and
launched herself in delight at Francine, who screamed and fell backwards,
holding her arms over her face. “Get it off, get it off…”

Kali stood over the cowering woman, her tail and indeed her
hips waggling in greeting, nuzzling Francine’s face and hands.

“Oh, Kali, come here.”

Kali licked Francine’s wrist and reluctantly came to
Penny’s side. She tried not to laugh as Francine sat up, but when she saw
Francine’s face, her humour died.

“Are you all right? I didn’t think you were scared of dogs.
I’m so sorry. She really has no manners.”

“It’s a Rottweiler! It’s a dangerous dog!” Francine said,
her face pale and her hands trembling. Penny felt sick with shame, and also
with anger at being unfairly labelled.

“She’s not dangerous at all. I did say stand back … she’s
just over excited. I’m really sorry. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Francine stayed on the ground, looking at Kali. Kali looked
back, her head cocked to one side, her tail thumping on the ground.

“I’m not hurt,” Francine said at last. “Gosh. I was so
shocked. Wow. What a dog … she is pretty, though. I’ve never been this close to
one before. Hello, beautiful.”

“Yes, she is. Come on. I think you need a cup of tea.”

Francine struggled to her feet, her bouncy nature
temporarily subdued as she followed Penny into the cottage.

* * * *

Two bottles of wine later, and Penny couldn’t remember why
she’d disliked Francine, and Francine couldn’t remember why she’d disliked the
dog. They all sprawled across the living room floor as the height of the sofa
had grown increasingly risky as more alcohol was consumed. Instead they lay on
a plethora of cushions, giggling at childish jokes. Kali didn’t giggle,
exactly, but she seemed to get immense pleasure from making the two humans
laugh. She’d roll over and over, waving her paws in the air until she got a
reaction.

“London isn’t the same without you,” Francine said.

“You’re repeating yourself. You said that before.”

“Yeah but I’m drunk so I can.”

“We’re both drunk. Oh, aren’t we too old to get drunk?”

“Too old! Nonsense. Sense. None. No sense.” Francine
snickered. “You’re only as old as the man you feel. Felt any nice men?”

“Only a dead one,” Penny said, her mood shifting from
hysterical to maudlin with the alacrity that only a tipsy woman could manage.
“Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear.”

Francine reached out and patted Penny’s thigh. Kali rolled
over and her tongue lolled out of her mouth. Penny had to smile.

Francine said, as seriously as her slurred speech could
manage, “It must have been awful. How did he die?”

“Electrocuted.”

“No. Never!”

“But not by his electric fence.”

“Murdered!” That thought sobered Francine up quickly.
“There’s a murderer here?” She looked around as if someone was about to burst through
the door wearing a balaclava.

“Yes, there possibly is. Unless it was a strange suicide.
Or an accident.”

“Oh … so, what are you going to do about it?”

“Lock my doors at night, and stay off private land. More
wine?”

“I could really murder a cheese toastie. Oh, Penny, can I
stay over tonight please?”

“I kind of assumed that you were.”

Francine grinned sappily. “Thank you!”

* * * *

It was an evening of conversations started and aborted,
circular arguments and random observations. But the next morning, as they both
hunched over the kitchen table with narrowed eyes and tried to eat some dry
toast and painkillers, the question of the murder resurfaced.

Francine had come prepared to stay overnight, and was
wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe that made her hung-over pallid skin look even
more deathly pale. She clutched a cup of hot coffee and whimpered. “Penny,
aren’t you worried that there’s a killer on the loose?”

“Not really. I think, if he was murdered, it was a targeted
attack. It must have been someone he knew, who had a reason for it. I don’t
believe that anyone else has to worry.”

“I’d worry.” Francine’s eyes were slits against the light
but she blinked rapidly in excitement. “What are you going to do?”

“Ah, yes, well, I do have a plan.” In spite of her thumping
head, furry mouth and queasy stomach, Penny was feeling upbeat and chipper. She
was actually enjoying spending time with Francine. She’d been awful to work
with – her relentless enthusiasm had been tiring – but socially? She was a
delight. Now Penny was away from London, she was starting to see what an
unpleasant person she had been becoming. Thank goodness she escaped when she
did. She said, “It gives me something to follow. I’m going to buy the local
newspaper and study it and find out about the area, and make an effort to talk
with people and learn who is who.”

Francine furrowed her brow. “No, that’s not what I meant at
all. How are you going to find the murderer?”

Penny snorted a laugh most inelegantly. “How can I find a
murderer? I could go and knock on doors, I suppose. ‘Hi, I’m new here. Did you
kill David Hart?’ Yes, I am sure that would endear me to the locals.”

“You found the body! You have a duty. You always stood up
for what was right. That’s why I liked working with you.”

“I think I mostly stood up for my own interests. Francine,
how are you still so lovely? London life was making me nasty.”

Francine shrugged. “Oh, people are people. Everyone loves
someone, don’t they? I just look for that love in them. Hey, do you remember
when we were in Berlin?”

“I remember that rather startling club. Why?”

“You stood up to that man, then, who was bullying the poor
make-up girl. You were fantastic.”

Penny thought back. Yes, she did remember. He’d accused her
of spilling his pint. She hadn’t. It was obvious. But no one spoke out except
Penny. “I did what I had to do.”

“You see!” Francine declared in triumph. “And it’s the same
with this murder. Anyway, you’re up to your neck in events already.”

Penny remembered, then, some of the reasons that she’d disliked
working with Francine. Her enthusiasm was so smothering. She rolled her itchy
eyes. “It is absolutely nothing to do with me, and I need to leave it to the
professionals.”

“Rubbish! Everyone knows that amateur detectives are far
more effective.”

“Such as?”

“Er … Miss Marple?”

“Francine, I’ve got some really bad news and I know this is
hard to take, but Miss Marple isn’t real. Oh, and there’s something I need to
tell you about Santa Claus…”

Francine waved her right hand in the air dismissively. She
had always made reality fit what she wanted to see. “I know that, but even so,
it’s true.”

“It is not.”

“You’ve got to find out who did it!”

“I have not.”

Francine sat back, and said, somewhat smugly, “Well – what
else are you doing with your time?”

* * * *

Francine left in the mid-morning. She had warmly embraced
Penny, as if they were long-lost friends, and Penny patted her in return.
Francine even gave Kali a cuddle, and apologised to the dog for calling her
dangerous. Kali sneezed.

“I think too much,” Penny told Kali once they were alone. “It
was lovely of her to come and see me. I really hated working with her but she
means well. It’s a person’s intentions that are important, isn’t it? I didn’t
see that side of her before. My perception was all skewed.”

Kali cocked her head.

“No, you don’t understand, do you?” she said sadly, feeling
the house was suddenly empty. “Come on. Let me get dressed. I suppose I should
take you for a walk…”

She didn’t leave the house until midday and she felt
reluctant to face the possibility of meeting other dogs. However, she had to
take responsibility. “Why are you so reactive?” she grumbled to Kali as they
made their way out of the cottage. “Why are you so aggressive?”

Suddenly Penny stopped dead, and Kali lurched against the
lead. Perception. It was all about perception. “
Are
you aggressive?” she
asked the dog.

Kali sniffed the ground.

“Maybe, maybe not.” They continued on. “Maybe you’re just
scared.”

* * * *

“Right. I can do this. Francine told me to, after all,”
Penny muttered to herself. Francine had, indeed, insisted that Penny attend the
kitchenware party. It would be “a blast” and “a scream”, apparently. She stood
outside Cath’s detached house, still feeling the lingering effects of the
previous night’s drinking clouding her tender head. The house stood in a remote
spot halfway between Upper Glenfield and Lincoln, set back from the main road
and hidden by tall cypress trees and conifers. Lincolnshire seemed littered
with square, boxy houses, standing alone and isolated and surrounded by fields
and dark, intimidating hedges, just like this.

There were half a dozen cars on the wide gravel driveway,
and all the windows were lit and welcoming.