Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (4 page)

“And I suppose when this tub runs out, there will be plenty more at eighteen pounds a go?”

A spot of red appeared on each of the receptionist’s hollow cheeks. “Avril, we will happily refund the money if you don’t want the cream.”

“No, I’ll take it,” replied Avril Todd, as if she was conferring some kind of favour. She dropped the tub into her handbag and turned to go.

The other woman closed her eyes briefly.

“But,” Avril threw over her shoulder, “I’m starting to wonder if the trading standards people might be interested in what’s going on here.”

The receptionist’s face froze.

Lexy’s mouth twisted. What a bitch! What bloke in his right mind would be having an affair with someone like that? As she watched Avril Todd’s broad back disappear from view, she suddenly found the prospect of tailing her strangely intriguing.

She put Kinky down and emerged from behind the magazine rack.

The hollow-cheeked woman jumped. She had a badge on her tunic that proclaimed her to be Hope Ellenger, Veterinary Practice Receptionist. Was this nervous wreck the vet’s wife?

“Er… hi… I’d like to get my dog looked at,” said Lexy, somewhat disconcerted by the fact that Hope Ellenger was still looking beyond her to the door through which Avril Todd had just passed. “It’s his ear.”

“His ear?” The receptionist’s voice was vague.

“Yeah. It’s torn quite badly. I think it needs stitching.”

“Stitching?”

“You know. Needle and thread.” Lexy made a sewing motion in front of the woman’s nose.

The receptionist focused properly on Lexy for the first time, taking in her cropped hair and tattoo. She managed a thin smile. “Yes. OK. Not a problem.” Up close her eyes were bloodshot; she looked like she could do with a good night’s sleep.

“Great,” said Lexy.

“But I’ll have to ask you for the money in advance.” She glanced down at a list on her desk. “Ninety-eight pounds, I’m afraid.”

Lexy swallowed wordlessly at this unwelcome news, feeling her fingers curl around the roll of fivers nestling so comfortably in her jeans pocket. She brought it forth and handed it over.

Hope Ellenger counted it out with hands that shook a little, and gave Lexy a pound coin and two fifty pence pieces. Lexy regarded the change dismally. At this rate she wouldn’t be treating Kinky to a can of Pedigree Chum; she’d be fighting the little git for it.

“I assume you’re from the camp?”

“Camp?” Lexy started, giving the woman a hard stare. “I’m not a …”

“Pleasurelands holiday camp?” interrupted the receptionist. “In Marshlands-on-Sea?” From her tone of voice, Marshlands-on-Sea sounded like the sort of place that Lexy should have chosen from the start.

“No – I’m not on holiday. I… live in Clopwolde.” Unfortunately.

“Really?” Hope Ellenger’s eyes narrowed as she studied Lexy. “You’re not Pam Bridgend’s daughter are you? Back from India?”

“No. I just moved here. From the city. Escaping the rat-race and all…”

But the receptionist’s face had set, and Lexy’s voice tailed away.

“You’ll be expecting to register with us then?” Her voice was tight.

“Well, yes, please.”

“Name?”

“Lomax.” Lexy racked her brain, trying to work out why Hope Ellenger was eyeing her so rancidly.

“Dog’s name?”

“Kinky,” she muttered, wishing, not for the first time, that her mother-in-law had plumped for Prince. Or Lucky.

Hope Ellenger’s lips pursed in distaste as she tapped at the keyboard in front of her. “Here you are then.” A registration form was passed over the desk. “Where is the animal?”

“Here.” Lexy held Kinky up above a display of flea powder packets.

At the sight of him, Hope Ellenger appeared to experience another kind of inner struggle. “A chihuahua,” she pronounced at last.

“Yeah – is that OK?” said Lexy, irritability finally bursting through. Perhaps the receptionist would have preferred it if Lexy had turned up with a sodding great elephant.

“The vet has four chihuahuas.”

“What’s he want – a round of applause?” said Lexy, under her breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Er… is the loo through those doors? I need to get some paper to mop him up.” She indicated Kinky’s bloody ear.

Hope Ellenger ripped some tissues from a box next to her and handed them wordlessly to Lexy.

Lexy made a final grim attempt to smile at the woman. “Will I have to wait long to see Mr Ellenger?”

“You’ll be next.” She glanced at an appointment book. “When my brother has finished with Floppy.”

Brother and sister act then.

Lexy plumped herself down heavily on a plastic chair to fill in her form. How the hell was she going to survive on two pounds until she saw Roderick Todd again? And what if she didn’t manage to get a single snap of Avril and lover boy anyway? And where, she added darkly, did Hope Ellenger get off on being so condescending? She wouldn’t be in the least surprised if the woman was related to the arrogant cow from Periwinkle Cottage. In fact, everyone in Clopwolde was probably inbred. She should never have fled to this one-pony village. She should have gone to a big, anonymous town and got a cash-in-hand job in a bar, or a factory.

But wherever she went, Lexy thought with a sudden wave of misery, the truth was, she was going to be pretty much alone now.

Except for a tiny mutt with a death wish.

Her black musings were interrupted when a door opposite her opened. Through it emerged a pale, lofty man holding a lop-eared rabbit awkwardly out in front of him. Kinky’s lip immediately curled, showing a small fang.

That’ll be Floppy and his owner, then, thought Lexy, gripping the chihuahua a little more tightly under her arm. Don’t need to be Miss Marple to work that one out.

The man headed towards the receptionist’s desk, looking around the surgery as he went. His sombre grey eyes met Lexy’s. To her horror she saw them suddenly snap open with the involuntary surprise of recognition.

She immediately turned away, aware of him still staring.

“Don’t come over. Don’t come over,” she heard herself whispering frantically into Kinky’s neck.

Lexy had never seen the man before in her life, but she knew that look.

Some while ago she’d made the mistake of appearing in
Heirlooms in Your Attic
, Gerard’s long-running TV show. Lexy had been a kind of glamorous sidekick, climbing up loft ladders and helping him forage through boxes of old tat – anything, in fact, that involved her bending over in tight jeans. A number of men began emailing Gerard’s website, asking for her vital statistics. One or two had even recognised her in the street. Gerard cut her out of the next series. He couldn’t bear to be upstaged. But the damage was done. She had a feeling that this miserable-looking specimen might be a member of the fan club, judging by the way he was gazing at her.

Then Lexy frowned. She kept forgetting. She wasn’t a glamorous blonde in tight jeans any more. There was no way on earth this man could have recognised her from the show. So, how else…?

“Kinky Lomax,” repeated the receptionist loudly, indicating the surgery door.

Lexy leapt up, keeping her head turned from the strange, disconcerting man.

She dropped her completed form on the reception desk, rapped on the surgery door and bundled quickly through it.

Lexy had already made up her mind what the vet would be like. Irritable, balding, harassed, probably nursing a peptic ulcer. Which is how anyone with four chihuahuas was going to be. She was heading that way herself with just the one.

If he was as offensive as everyone else she had met so far, that was it. She wasn’t going to take any more crap from…

“Hi there.” He was large and handsome, with wavy golden-brown hair, clear luminous eyes and a perfectly good-humoured countenance. Rather like a well-groomed Labrador, in fact.

“Ms Lomax?” He smiled, showing a flash of even white teeth and healthy pink gums. “I’m Guy Ellenger.”

Temporarily nonplussed, Lexy plonked Kinky on the examination bench, unwrapping the dishcloth from his head. He had said Ms. He was a man, and he had called her Ms – without prompting.

He took hold of Kinky confidently. “Let’s have a look at you then.” His voice had the same Suffolk lilt as the receptionist, although there any resemblance with her seemed to end. “You know what, you’re just like my Juan.”

“One?” Lexy found herself exclaiming accusingly. “Your sister said you had four.”

He flashed that smile at her again. “Yes, that’s right. Juan, Jose, Chico and Gomez. I inherited them from my godfather.”

“Oh,” said Lexy. “I inherited this one too. From my mother-in-law. Ex-mother-in-law, that is.” She wasn’t sure why she added that last detail.

“What a coincidence!” Their eyes met briefly. “So, are you new to Clopwolde?”

“I moved here yesterday.” She watched him closely for signs of disapproval but his smooth face remained neutral.

Probably can’t afford to be choosy about who he treats – he obviously needs the money, she thought, looking at the shabby lino and peeling paintwork on the window frames, which in turn reminded her of Otter’s End, and her own financial dilemma.

The vet was peering at Kinky’s ear. “Nasty cut.”

“Yeah. He was chasing a …” Lexy hesitated. She wasn’t going to tell him that Kinky had been chasing a chuffing great stag. It was embarrassing and almost certainly illegal. “…a cat.”

But she wished she had stuck with the buck. The vet’s expression had changed to one of consternation. “Chasing a cat?” he almost snapped. “Did he harm it at all?”

“God, no,” said Lexy, suddenly anxious. “Look at the size of him! Any self-respecting cat could deck him with one whack. In fact, that has been known to happen. Thing is, he’s always chasing things. He’s never actually bitten anything. Main problem is he keeps getting
himself
duffed up. Went after a police horse once and got kicked into the Thames. Had to fish him out with an umbrella. Never learns.” Lexy realised that she was babbling.

Her incoherent speech had seemed to work, though, and the vet’s former pleasant expression had returned.

“Never bitten anything, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“Good, good.” He nodded vigorously and turned back to Kinky. “Right, I’d better put a couple of stitches in this ear.” He tipped some clear liquid on to a wad of cotton wool and dabbed it on the wound, then turned away to rummage in a tray of instruments.

Kinky looked at Lexy dubiously.

She winked at him. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d faced the needle.

She stared around the room. Mounted on the wall, above the vet’s head, was a huge yellowing bone.

“Femur from a St Bernard, that one,” said the vet, turning back and seeing the direction of her gaze. “Found the skeleton on the beach.”

Lexy swallowed.

“What brings you to Clopwolde, anyway?” he continued, conversationally.

She jumped. “Er… my work.”

He smiled genially at her. “And what do you do?”

“Do?” Lexy stared at him. He had eyes like melting toffee. Say something, for heaven’s sake.

“Private investigations, actually.” The words blundered out like so many Keystone Cops.

The vet stopped in the act of pushing a length of surgical thread through a needle head. His straight dark eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

Lexy nodded, internally berating herself.

“Hold him steady, will you?” Guy Ellenger advanced on Kinky. “This shouldn’t hurt him.”

With practised ease he slid the needle in and gently sewed the gash together. Kinky appeared to be gritting his teeth.

“Um, this private eye business,” the vet murmured, as they bent over the chihuahua together. “Is it all muck and bullets, or do you stoop to finding lost cats?”

Lexy could only stare at him.

“It’s just that the Carodocs, this couple who live next door to me, are missing their cat. They suspect my dogs.”

In spite of her confusion at this sudden turn of events, Lexy nodded to herself. That would explain the vet’s earlier third degree about Kinky’s homicidal tendencies.

“Absolutely ridiculous, of course,” Guy Ellenger continued. “Every time they so much as glimpse her through a window they dive under the shed.”

“Big, is she?” Lexy tried to imagine a moggy that would make Kinky dive under a shed.

“No. But she is ugly.” The vet gave an apologetic shrug at Lexy’s expression. “Not her fault, of course, poor thing. She was the runt of a litter of farm cats, and unfortunately she came out rather… well, deformed, to put it bluntly. The farmer dumped her in a ditch when she was about three weeks old. Don’t you just love some people?” He shook his head despairingly. “Anyway, she was rescued by my next-door neighbour Tammy. Tammy heard her crying when she was out walking, found her, took her home, and she and her husband have had her there ever since. I’m surprised the cat pulled through, actually, but she seems perfectly healthy now. In fact, I think she’s turned into a bit of a handful. They don’t let her outside, but I quite often see her climbing the curtains, and running along the windowsills.” He grinned. “She adores Tammy. Sticks to her like Velcro when she’s allowed. Scares the life out of visitors when they knock on the door and Tammy answers with Princess Noo-Noo draped around her neck like the scarf from hell.”

“Princess Noo-Noo?”

“Yes – the names some people give their pets, eh?”

Lexy smiled weakly. “How’d she go missing, then?” She was interested in spite of herself.

The vet gave her an enigmatic look. He snipped the end of the thread, and Kinky stopped gritting his teeth. “I’ve got some thoughts on that,” he said. “I just need a bit of help in proving it.”

He flashed another of those white-toothed smiles at her, and reached into a box behind him.

“This’ll stop him scratching it, by the way.” He fitted a small plastic funnel around Kinky’s neck. The chihuahua stared at Lexy in outrage.

“And crush one of these up in his dinner. One a day for ten days.”

He stuck a label on to a brown plastic bottle.

“And… um…” He handed her a white tub. “Dab a bit of this gently round the wound every morning. Help it heal faster. We usually charge extra for this but you can have it for nothing.”