Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (10 page)

Lexy raised her eyebrows.

“Surname’s de Glenville. I’m the last in a long line of Suffolk de Glenvilles. Annoys the hell out of the Village Institute, because I won’t play the country squire role.”

“Are you meant to be the country squire?” asked Lexy, with keen interest. She’d never met anyone who looked less like her idea of one.

“My father was,” replied Edward, soberly. “Sir Lawrence Melvyn de Glenville.” His round brown eyes rolled heavenwards. “Chairman of the local Conservative Party, Chairman of the Clopwolde Village Committee, Patron of St Ethelred’s – the local church, that is – tireless charity fundraiser, rabid local historian, organiser of the annual village fete, benefactor to the poor yahdee, yahdee, yah.”

“I sense that it’s not your scene,” observed Lexy.

“Nah. Anyway,” he went on, “who have you met so far on your travels in this part of the world? I could give you the low-down on them.”

This could be interesting. Lexy grinned, thinking back. Chronologically speaking, the first person she had met was Roderick Todd, but she decided to keep quiet about him for the time being.

“OK. First off I met a bad-tempered woman with a Yorkshire terrier.”

“Isabella Crotch. Estate agent, local councillor, complete bitch,” he replied, promptly.

“That fits,” Lexy agreed, impressed. “Then I met Hope Ellenger, the vet’s receptionist. Thanks to him.” She indicated Kinky, who was schmoozing up to Edward in a very over-familiar way. She’d have to have a word with him later.

Edward blew out his cheeks. “Nice girl. Can be prickly, though.” He rubbed his neat moustache reflectively. “She and her brother tend to keep themselves to themselves. I guess you met Guy, as well?” He peered at Kinky’s ear. “This looks like his work.”

“Yeah, he’s a dab hand with the needle and thread,” said Lexy.

“Gorgeous, too, isn’t he?” said Edward, slyly.

To her annoyance, Lexy felt herself blushing. “He’s all right,” she said gruffly. “Er… he’s not…?”

“Gay?” supplied Edward, brightly. “Unfortunately, no. Propositioned him once, when he was worming one of father’s retrievers, and he made it quite clear he played for the home team.” He frowned. “It’s just that I’ve never seen him actually out on the field. Oh, well, naught as strange as folk, especially the folk around here.”

“Do you know Avril Todd?” asked Lexy, in what she hoped was a light tone.

“Oh, gawd help us, you haven’t run into her already, have you?” Edward snorted.

“She was at the vet’s, too.”

“Ah, now she is the archetypal bad incomer,” said Edward. “Gives the rest of you a bad name. She and her old man moved here from wherever, bought a couple of the gorgeous little cottages on Windmill Hill that the villagers here don’t stand a chance in hell of being able to afford, knocked them into one…” He stopped, then went on, “Lord knows how they got the planning permission for that. Anyway, now she’s making a bid to take over the Clopwolde-on-Sea Players, our local am-dram group, having joined through the back door…” He stopped again. “Not sure how she did that either. At any rate, from my personal perspective as a longstanding member of said group, the woman is a monumental pain in the arse, if you’ll forgive the expression.” He grinned easily.

“Guess you know Tristan Caradoc, too?” Lexy asked. Might as well squeeze this one for all it was worth.

“Dreadful old ham,” said Edward, at once. “Used to be a professional actor, as he won’t tire of telling anybody who can stay awake long enough. Moved down here about ten years ago with his wife Tammy, and now they give us poor sad amateur actors the benefit of their experience and hog the leading parts every season. Or they did until Sheri-Anne Davis, the veterinary nurse, joined the company. Moody little cow off stage, but she’s got a terrific voice, and she can act. She’s been getting all the female lead roles recently, and that’s put Tammy’s nose right out of joint. She hasn’t worn very well, our Tammy.”

Lexy was silent, taking all this in.

Edward’s angular face became pensive, and he wandered restlessly across the room. “Planning to stay in Clopwolde long?”

It was a good question. “Not sure. I’m going to see how it goes,” Lexy replied truthfully.

Edward nodded as if he had expected this answer.

“So what were you doing in the States?” she asked.

“Visiting, mostly. I have lots of friends in San Francisco.”

Lexy nodded. That figured.

“Been to the States yourself?” he asked.

“A couple of times,” she admitted. “In a previous life.” She tried not to sound bitter.

He gave her a sympathetic look. “And now you’re on your own?”

“Just me and the dog,” she said, gruffly, amazed to suddenly feel a lump forming in her throat.

“That’s sometimes the best way.” He sighed. “I split up with my long-term partner just before I went to ’Cisco. Trouble is, he lives in Clopwolde – owns the big 1930s memorabilia shop in the high street, in fact, so I’m going to keep running into him. I’ve been dreading coming back, truth to tell.”

“Why’d you split?” asked Lexy. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Edward gave a humourless laugh. “Usual story. Stuff going on behind my back, you know?”

“I know,” Lexy agreed vehemently.

“Money issues. Clandestine meetings. There’s nothing worse than trusting someone who’s got secrets.” Edward cradled his cup reflectively.

“I think we must have been married to the same bloke.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Peter.” Edward drained his cup with polite relish and glanced down at his Rolex. “Guess I’d better go and see what’s happened to the old shack in my absence. Last spring, when I was away for a few weeks, I came back to discover I was housing the national squirrel collection in my roof. Little buggers had chewed through all the electrics.”

“Blimey – hope they don’t do that to mine.” Lexy looked up at the wooden ceiling.

“You should be all right,” he said. “My place is a bit older and more run down than this.”

“Is that possible?”

“You’d be surprised. Anyway, it was good to meet you, sweetie. Sounds like you’re in the same boat as me, and what with Glenda being… well, I guess we’re neighbours now, so any time you want to bitch about the ex, or just put the world to rights, you just pop round. You’ll always be welcome.”

Again, Lexy felt the lump rise to her throat. “Sorry to have to be the one to break the news about Glenda.”

“A real wake-up call,” he said, soberly. “I’m going to get my cholesterol levels checked first thing tomorrow.”

Lexy watched Edward walk off along a narrow path across the heath, his hands thrust in the pockets of his expensive linen trousers. So there were more cabins up here. She had thought there must be. She wondered what he was doing living, like her, on what was essentially a holiday site. He was obviously from an established Clopwolde family. Perhaps he was an eccentric. The cabin seemed suddenly very silent now that he had gone. She felt like popping next door to see him again already.

Pushing aside her unexpected loneliness, Lexy picked up the camera and squinted through the viewfinder. It felt very odd to be on the verge of what was essentially a spying mission. Astonishing what some people were prepared to do to save a marriage. She had no such tolerance where Gerard was concerned, not after she found out precisely how he came by all that money in his safe – and that had taken some detective work in itself.

She shut her eyes, suddenly exhausted, and sank on to the sofa.

“Must go to Windmill Hill for a recce,” she murmured. Kinky’s paw twitched. The sea sighed distantly.

Far out on the horizon, a single black cloud crouched like a bruise on the otherwise perfectly clear blue sky.

Lexy awoke with a jerk. She’d been dreaming about squirrels, dozens of them rampaging around Otter’s End chomping on electrical cables.

Bemused, she stared around. The room was hot and stuffy, and dust still danced thickly in slanted shafts of fading sunlight.

Her eye caught the clock on the mantelpiece. Seven forty-five.

She gave a loud yell. Kinky skedaddled off the sofa.

Lexy tore around the cabin frantically. At exactly ten to eight she ran out, clutching the camera, notebook and pen. She yanked open the door of the Panda, threw everything in, ran back into the cabin to grab a confused Kinky, and in another minute the car was trundling down Cliff Lane belching clouds of smoke.

8

Lexy accelerated along Clopwolde high street scattering indignant tourists, and by the blunt strategy of heading straight for the windmill, located Windmill Hill. It was a cul-de-sac culminating in the grassy knoll upon which perched the gleaming white tower itself.

Number four was near the top, strangely at odds with its neighbours as it was twice the size with an integral garage. The property was surrounded by a freshly clipped low privet hedge. Even as Lexy arrived, a woman emerged from the white PVC front door wearing a tight-fitting blue skirt, twinned with a blue long-sleeved top that stretched across her ample chest. Rust-coloured hair, severe features – it was Avril Todd, large as life and twice as ugly.

Lexy drove swiftly down to the end of the cul-de-sac, turned around smartly and parked a couple of doors down from number four, slouching low in the driver’s seat to avoid being seen.

Avril Todd was backing a dark blue Volvo out of the garage. She stopped at the end of the drive, got out of the car, strode back up and closed the garage doors. Then she settled back in the driver’s seat, putting on her seatbelt with a certain amount of fussing, and drove off.

A rusty lime green Panda followed at a discreet distance.

The Volvo took a left at the bottom of the hill. It soon became obvious from the road signs that Avril was heading for the A12 using the back roads; clearly she didn’t want to drive directly through the village centre.

On reaching the by-pass, which was unexpectedly busy, Avril found a gap, pulled out and drove off in the direction of Lowestoft. Lexy waited with growing impatience for another lull in the stream of vehicles, aware of the Volvo disappearing into the distance. She eventually accelerated out in front of a bus, causing a flurry of horn-blasting. Kinky’s eyes widened even more than usual.

“There she is.” Lexy pushed the Panda up to seventy-five and overtook a Porsche – probably the first time that had ever happened. Up ahead, the Volvo was about to cruise out of sight around a bend.

Lexy steamed along, keeping one eye out for speed cameras and police cars, the Panda’s steering wheel vibrating so much that her teeth rattled.

They tore around the bend. Lexy gaped at the long, empty stretch of road in front of her, and pounded the steering wheel in frustration. The Volvo was completely out of sight. But that meant it must have been doing about a hundred and fifty, which was crazy. Then she saw it, in a side road on the left, winding between two fields. A small signpost proclaimed that the lane led to a place called Nudging.

Lexy slammed her foot on the brake and swerved into the inside lane, causing another fanfare of honking and gesticulations. Talk about covert surveillance. Somehow she managed to slow in time to make the turning. Kinky only kept his hold on the seat by digging his claws into the striped fabric cover. He glared at her.

“Sorry, mate,” she said through gritted teeth. “Didn’t realise it was going to be this mental.”

The Panda squeaked and clanked along. The Volvo, still just visible ahead, seemed to be slowing. Lexy thankfully put her foot over the brake.

She watched as her quarry turned through an open five-barred farm gate with a public footpath sign to one side. It bumped along a rutted track lined on both sides by an overgrown hedge. Lexy drove slowly to the gate, pulled on to the verge alongside it, and stopped, letting the engine idle.

She wasn’t going to follow. It would be too obvious. Anyway, the Panda wasn’t built to go off-road. It could only just about deal with being on-road. Lexy watched the Volvo slowly disappear from view around a corner. It seemed to be drawing to a halt. She rolled down the window and strained her ears. She heard the engine cut, and a door slam. Hallelujah. She switched off her own engine. The Panda stopped with something suspiciously like a death rattle. But Lexy wasn’t going to worry about that now; she was far more interested in finding out exactly what Avril Todd was up to. Could she really be meeting a lover? At her age? And with that hair?

She waited for two minutes, to give the woman a chance to start doing whatever she was doing, then turned to Kinky. “C’mon, we’re going walkies.”

Lexy walked cautiously up the farm track, camera swinging around her neck. The setting sun had tinted the path ahead gold and pink. She squinted. There was a public footpath sign positioned next to a stile in the high hedge up ahead, right on the corner. Lexy strolled towards it like an innocent dog walker. The Volvo would be in sight any moment. Whatever Avril was up to, a quick click and that would be it. Three hundred and fifty quid in the bag. It was all going to work to plan. She felt a smile of relief creep over her face.

Until she heard the shrieking, that was.

Lexy stood immobilised.

“I don’t understand… what’s happening? Are you mad?” It was Avril’s voice, weak, but shrill, coming from the other side of the hedge.

“Oh-oh,” said Lexy.

“W…what the hell is that?” Avril bleated.

Her question was followed by a high, chilling scream.

Moments later a car engine gunned. Lexy instinctively dashed to the protective cover of a nearby bush, shepherding Kinky with flapping arms. Avril would be turning the Volvo and coming back down the track any second. Something was clearly wrong.

It took Lexy a few more seconds to realise that the sound of the car engine was receding. It wasn’t turning. It was carrying on up the track. She burst out of the vegetation and raced up to the corner. The Volvo was disappearing over the crest of a hill, dust billowing behind it like smoke.

“Bollocks,” Lexy yelled. What was she meant to do now? It hadn’t occurred to her that the track actually led somewhere. She would have to get the Panda and follow, off-road or not. She turned and started running back towards the gate. But what about that scream? It had come from the field. Perhaps she ought to take a quick look. She changed direction again. Kinky, who had been trying to follow her, gave up and sat on the verge, his back foot scratching uselessly at the plastic funnel on his head.