Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (25 page)

“I know.” Hope pulled some tissues from a box. “But the letter writer...”

“I told you – you won’t be getting any more.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me – I know.”

Lexy and Kinky left thankfully, albeit for different reasons. The visit had had a twofold purpose: to get that business with Hope out of the way and also to ensure that the receptionist was at the surgery, rather than at home, because that was where Lexy was going next.

She left Kinky tied to a railing out of sight around the corner, jammed her old baseball cap firmly over her cropped hair, and walked up the steps to Hope’s neighbours at number two, carrying a large plastic bin bag.

A buxom thirty-something woman opened the door and gave Lexy the hostile but resigned glance that people usually reserve for door-to-door salespersons. At least she didn’t recognise her from the evening before last.

“Hello. I’m collecting old clothing for charity,” Lexy said smoothly.

The woman visibly relaxed. “I’ll see what we’ve got.”

She turned and gave a call. “Vince – they’re collecting clothes for charity. Where’s that old suit of yours?”

“Back of my wardrobe. I’ll get it.”

“You should have given us some notice – I might have been able to find some more bits and bobs. I seem to have grown out of everything just lately.”

“I usually call Friday evenings,” Lexy lied. “But there didn’t seem to be anyone here last Friday. Or next door.”

“We were here,” said the woman at once. “All evening. We hardly ever go out on Fridays now. My husband likes to cook instead – thinks he’s Jamie Oliver.”

“Sounds all right to me. How about next door?” Lexy pointed to Hope’s house.

“Let’s see. She went out, I think. About half past seven it was. She had a big bag with her so she was probably going to the surgery. She’s the vet’s receptionist,” she added.

“Here we are.” A chubby man appeared toting a shiny grey suit.

“Oh, brilliant. Thanks so much.”

“Hope went out Friday night, didn’t she, Vince?”

“Was that the night I made seared carpaccio of beef with parsnip mash? Followed by strawberry vanilla cream tart?”

His wife nodded, a tad ruefully.

“Yes, in that case, and I remember the crash at midnight when she got back.” They gave each other a significant look.

Lexy scooted off with the awful suit and collected Kinky. She retraced her steps with a horribly lucid vision of Hope Ellenger out and about on the night of the murder, carrying a large bag in which a weapon might have been concealed.

If Hope had driven straight to Nudging, it would have taken her about fifteen minutes. Seven forty-five. She would have had to hide her car a couple of miles away from the scene of the intended crime, as her getaway plan would have involved using Avril’s Volvo, and walk to the field. At a brisk pace, two miles would take about half an hour. She would have just about been in place before Avril arrived around twenty past eight, and...

Lexy drew to a sudden halt, remembering Kitty’s words to Hope in the café the other day.

How are the driving lessons going, dear?

Hope was only on her third lesson. Lexy nodded grimly. So that was her off the prime suspect list. But perhaps not off the hook altogether.

Lexy made her way to Windmill Hill. She needed to nip up to number fourteen without being seen by Roderick Todd, the police or the old dear who thought Kinky’s name was Keith.

Apologising profusely to Kinky, she left him tied up to a lamp-post and jogged up the road, still carrying the large plastic bag, which now contained the shiny grey suit. Number fourteen was almost opposite the Todds’ house. Lexy slunk up the garden path and rang the bell.

A spry-looking woman with a grey bun answered. Budgerigar-type squawks emanated loudly from the interior of the house.

“Hello – just collecting some clothes for charity,” Lexy smiled.

“What charity?” the woman demanded.

“RSPCA.”

It was the right answer.

“Why didn’t you say?” She bustled off. More whistles and squawks. “Now, now, Murgatroyd, don’t be rude.”

Lexy checked swiftly behind her. The Todds’ house looked drawn and quiet, as if it were itself in mourning. Horace the cat was sitting solemnly in the front window.

“It’s not much, I’m afraid.” The woman with the bun had returned. Was she having a laugh? Lexy was going to need a wheelbarrow. She packed the pile of shapeless woollen items into the plastic bag on top of the suit, murmuring appropriate words of thanks; then she said, “Oh – do you have the right time please? My watch gave up the ghost earlier.”

“Wait a moment.”

The woman disappeared into her living room.

“Ten to three, exactly,” she said, with a brief but smug look at the house next door. “I always make sure my carriage clock is set to Greenwich Mean Time. Unlike some people.”

Lexy returned to Kinky, staggering under the weight of the clothing. “Looks like number twelve and number fourteen are going to have to agree to differ on the time that Avril came home on Friday,” she told him. “But at least I tried.”

After a visit to Oxfam to donate clothing, Lexy returned to Otter’s End. She needed to give a bit of thought to her other investigative job – the one she would be tackling that evening. If she pulled it off, she was going to make several people very happy. The Caradocs, Hope and Guy Ellenger, and anyone else who cared about the fate of Princess Noo-Noo. It would mark her first and – she reminded herself – last success as a private sleuth.

It would also make certain other people very angry and upset. She’d do well to bear that in mind.

At seven o’clock, Lexy collected her camera, a penknife, and a fleece. Just in case she was in for another late one. Her hand was on the door handle, ready to leave, when a knock made her jump back.

She peered through the net curtain, then gave a grin and pulled the door open.

“Hello, lovie,” said Edward. “Who are those odd people crouching at the bottom of your garden? I trust they’re not doing something unsavoury.”

“Long story,” said Lexy.

“Do tell later. Look, I’ve bought you a little treat. Proper coffee.” He handed Lexy a paper carrier with the name of a posh grocer on it. “And some choccies to go with.”

“Wow – that’s very kind. Is it my birthday?” asked Lexy.

“If you want it to be. Actually, darling – this is an excuse for
me
to have coffee and chocolates, and to talk about
you know what
. I had two policemen at my place yesterday, you know. Very attractive ones, too, in full uniform – it was quite thrilling.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “And on my way out last night, I just happened to notice a lean, tall man driving down from
your
place. Could he have been a plain-clothes policeman, perchance? He left very late – you must have had a good long interrogation.”

Did nothing pass him by?

“Did you tell them anything you shouldn’t have?” Lexy asked, checking her watch surreptitiously.

“Of course not, sweetie. It’s all over the papers today, anyway.”

“Listen, Edward, believe it or not, I’m just on my way out,” Lexy said. “I have to go back to the police station, actually. It’s a real drag.” She really was going to have to stop lying.

“Oh – let him wait ten minutes.” Edward waltzed into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Lexy checked her watch again and winced.

“OK – just a very quick one,” she said.

“Story of my life,” he trilled. “Look – violet and rose creams – yummy.”

Lexy tried to smile.

Edward lifted a small cafetière out of the bag, and opened a sachet of Javan coffee. “So, do you have any more juicy details? Tell me all.”

Lexy screwed up her face. “Not really. They think Avril had taken some sort of drug before going out.”

“Oh, please tell me it was ecstasy,” begged Edward. “The scandal would be endless.”

“Sorry to disappoint – it was just a sedative.” Again, Lexy wondered how Avril could have driven as well as she did under the influence of a tranquillising drug. She must have had a cast iron gut, to match her features.

“She was probably depressed, poor cow.”

Edward pushed the plunger into the cafetière and poured the coffee into two dinky cups which he also pulled out of the carrier.

“Milk in the fridge, is it?”

“There’s some soya milk, but it curdles in coffee,” said Lexy.

“Nice. Well, black it is then.”

He passed it over to her.

“Ta,” said Lexy. She threw back the hot liquid as quickly as possible.

“My word, you are in a hurry.” Edward watched her replace the cup. “Violet or rose?”

“What? Oh – rose, thanks.”

She took the proffered confection, picked off the pink candied top and smiled bravely at Edward as she popped it into her mouth.

“Have another one, lovie, you need fattening up. Although, I deduce from the foil containers in your kitchen that someone’s been treating herself to a takeaway.”

Lexy gave him a weak smile. “Fragrant Garden.”

“Best Thai restaurant in Clopwolde,” Edward proclaimed.

“It’s the
only
Thai restaurant in Clopwolde, isn’t it?” said Lexy.

“Well – yes.” He pushed his chair back. “I can see that I’m not going to get anything out of you until you’ve had another tête-à-tête with the dashing detective.”

“He’s not exactly dashing,” said Lexy. “More grim. Anyway, he’s not on this case.” Although you wouldn’t believe that if you knew him.

“Ha – I was right! Your long, lean visitor is one of our boys in blue.”

Lexy cast her eyes up.

“Now – remember to pop into mine on your way back tonight,” said Edward. I simply
have
to know what’s going on. TTFN.” He blew her a kiss, let himself out, and gave the bird-watchers, who were just packing up, a coy wave for good measure. “Now that’s what I call a telephoto lens, lovie.”

Lexy waited until Edward was out of sight, then rounded up Kinky, who looked alarmed to be going out in the Panda again.

She drove straight to a garage on the outskirts of Clopwolde, put a fiver’s worth of petrol in the car, bought a newspaper, drove back into the village and located Bartholomew Lane. Thankfully it was short, with only a dozen twee red-brick houses. Lexy occupied a parking space conveniently vacated by a Land Rover about halfway down.

She slouched down in her seat and shook out the newspaper. Now all she could do was wait, and hope her instincts were correct.

The minutes ticked past. Eight-thirty came and went. A number of cars drove past – the lane was obviously a rat-run of some sort. But it wasn’t passing cars Lexy was interested in. Methodically she scanned the houses, watching for movement at the front doors.

Twenty to nine. Had she missed her chance? Lexy began to fidget. She was going to have to go back and call Milo. Tell him what she knew. And he wouldn’t be pleased she’d been holding out on him.

Quarter to nine. Right. That was that. Over to the boys in blue. Or rather to the suspended policeman who wouldn’t give up. Lexy chucked the newspaper into the back of the car, pushed herself up, and started the engine.

Then she saw her. Running down the drive of number nine, checking her watch, dressed in jeans and a fetching cotton top. She jumped into a yellow Mini, which, as luck would have it, was facing the same way as Lexy’s Panda. All Lexy had to do was slide the Panda into gear and follow Sheri-Anne Davis.

Ten minutes later they were deep in the countryside. Sheri-Anne had turned down a series of increasingly small lanes that snaked through parched-looking heathland ringed with dark conifer woods. Lexy followed at a distance, only just keeping Sheri-Anne in sight. Eventually the Mini turned into a farm entrance, and bumped up a track. Lexy didn’t dare to follow. She parked the Panda just off the lane in a small copse and, leaving Kinky to guard it – at least that’s what she told him – she darted back to the gateway. Dusk was beginning to fall, and she kept to the shadow of a hedge, camera at the ready. It felt horribly reminiscent of the Friday night just gone, moments before she had heard Avril’s dying scream. She rounded a corner, and saw two cars parked next to an old barn in a dingy yard garnished with stacks of used tyres, rusting car parts and rotting bales of hay. A dilapidated farmhouse stood nearby, clearly uninhabited.

Lexy slipped behind a tree and looked at the cars. One was Sheri-Anne’s yellow Mini. The other was one she had seen very recently.

She crept nearer to the barn and made her way around to the back, climbing up a precipitous mound of rubble to reach a crack in the wooden slats through which light filtered from inside. A familiar sound made Lexy grin and nod. She put an eye to the hole.

Gotcha...

She watched for a moment, straightened up and took a step backwards – into nothing.

The pile of rubble had a sheer edge, over which Lexy had toppled. She dropped down several feet, with an involuntary gasp, and fell back hard against the unyielding trunk of an elder tree, her head striking it with a dull thud.

A thin trickle of blood began to seep slowly into the earth.

18

When Lexy awoke all was whiteness. Must be heaven, but why did it hurt so much? Clouds were meant to be soft and fluffy. Perhaps she was lying on her harp.

A smooth, pink face loomed over her, the mouth open.

With a gasp, Lexy tried to push herself up.

Gentle pressure held her down.

A pair of ice-grey eyes swam into view. Definitely not heaven, then.

“Venus de Milo.” Her voice was croaky.

The lips twitched. “That’s me.”

“What happened?”

“You’re in hospital.”

“Yeah – I already worked that one out.” Forming the words was a real effort, like she was drunk. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You’ve got concussion. Not badly. You’ve obviously got a skull of granite.”

Lexy grimaced, put a tentative hand upwards. She felt a bandage that seemed to encompass most of her head.

“How long have I been here?”

“Since last night. You’ve been sleeping for hours. You must have been exhausted.”