Strictly Murder (25 page)

Well-muscled arms reached down to grasp mine and hauled me over the side of the boat where I lay for a moment doing my best impression of a freshly caught trout.

"Thank you,” I managed, as I staggered to my feet feeling like a drowned rat. I probably looked like one, too. I shivered with shock as much as with cold as the man led me down the steps and inside.

"Welcome to
The Mermaid's Lair
. I'm Ned, Ned Oldfield, and this good lady is my wife, Alice.
"

"Verity Long," I replied in a shaky voice as Ned wrapped a blanket round my shoulders and settled me on a chair.

His wife put a mug of hot, sweet tea in my hands and I hunched over it, sipping the dark brown liquid, warming my hands as well as my insides.

“
How on earth did you come to end up in the canal, gal?" Ned asked having brushed aside my thanks.

“
I was pushed in, I think. Well, thrown in, really,” I amended, remembering the arms around my legs.

“
Thrown in?”

“
Yes. It was probably somebody's idea of a prank.” I tried to make light of it.

“
Harrumph. Not much of a prank in my estimation,” said Ned.

Nor in mine either but I didn't want to admit to this kind stranger that someone was trying to kill me. I hadn't truly acknowledged it to myself, yet. I shrugged my shoulders, ignoring the look of concern on the boatman's face.

Alice, who having supplied both the blanket and the drink had left us and gone further down the boat, now returned with a pile of clothing and a large towel.

“
I've looked you out some clothes. They're only old ones, I'm afraid” she added apologetically, “but they are dry.”

I opened my mouth.

“
No, no,” she stopped what would have been a churlish attempt to refuse this kindness and I took them from her gratefully.

“
Now I think you'd better have a shower, there's plenty of hot water and sitting around in wet clothes after a dip in a stinking canal is not a good idea”

“
You have a shower?” I asked, overlooking the implication that I was starting to smell.

Both of them laughed.

“
Oh, we've got just about everything in here,” said Ned, proudly. “She may be narrow but she's perfectly formed.”

Realising he was talking about the boat and not his wife - no one could honestly describe her as narrow - I followed Alice along the companionway.

“
You'll find everything you need in there.”

She pointed to a door on my right and left me to it.

Showering in a narrowboat is obviously an art form all of itself and one I didn't have time to master. I managed to bang my leg, my bottom and both elbows before emerging clean, sweet smelling and fully dressed, into the corridor.

"Pass me your wet clothes, I'll rinse them though before you go."

I demurred at this kindness but Alice insisted. While she did my laundry Ned showed me the boat, his obvious pride in it well merited.

"Do you live on the canals permanently?" I asked when we returned to the cabin.

"Yes, we do, and travel the length and breadth of the country. At the moment we're heading to the festival at Stoke Bruerne."

"Oh, yes."

I knew it; a pretty little village on the Grand Union Canal with a waterways museum, some twee and expensive shops and a couple of decent canal-side pubs.

"How are you getting home lass?" Ned asked, as Alice handed me a bag containing my dry clothes. I explained about the taxi.

"Come on then, I'll walk you round there."

"Thank you. You've both been very kind."

"That's all right, love. Drop in again, soon," said Alice with a wicked grin and a wink.

I relaxed in the back of the taxi, waving goodbye to Ned who'd insisted on seeing me safely on my way, trying in vain to forget the whole incident. But I had to face it. Somebody wanted me dead.

Chapter 11

"You could have been killed!"

"Yes. I rather think that was the intention," I pointed out.

“
You mark my words," KD carried on as if I hadn't spoken. "Someone is definitely trying to kill you.”

It was the morning after my late-night swim in the canal and I'd just filled her in on what had happened. Now we sat in the office drinking freshly brewed coffee, I needed the caffeine, having arrived for work after a poor night's sleep but without any time for breakfast.

“
Face it, Verity, it can't be coincidence. Two attempts in two days? You should have gone to the police.”

I shrugged.

“
It was nearly midnight when I got home. I just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.”

“
Even so, you should have told them. Someone is trying to kill you.”

“
Yes. I know they are! Or it's certainly beginning to look that way,” I admitted. “The question is, why?”

She swivelled from side to side on her chair, balancing a pencil between her fingertips, as she considered this.

“
Well, I can think of quite a few reasons.”

“
You can?” I was aghast. I prided myself on being friendly to everyone, though I'll admit I don't suffer fools gladly and have a waspish tongue at times but that was no reason to kill me. Was it?

“
Maybe you're getting too close on the Jaynee Johnson case.”

“
Close, Pfuii!” I dismissed this with a wave of my hand. “KD, I'm not close. I'm miles away from the truth. I've no idea who killed the wretched woman.”

“
No, but you'd like to find out,” she responded sharply, “and you've been asking an awful lot of questions.”

I shook my head at this.

“
Come on, Verity, whoever murdered JayJay is a pretty dangerous person. They're not going to take kindly to you waltzing in, in your size nines, poking your big nose in where it's not wanted.”

“
Seven,” I muttered.

“
What?”

“
I only take size seven,” I snapped, resenting the suggestion that I had big feet. Or a big nose, for that matter. I ran a thumb and forefinger down the front of my face, just to confirm my mirror wasn't lying to me.

“
Whatever. The point is, you should leave it to the police.”

I shrugged again.

“
That's not going to be easy. I feel involved now. I especially feel involved since some bastard tipped me into the Crofterton arm of the Grand Union Canal.”

“
And you've no idea who it was?” KD stopped swivelling and leaned forward over the desk.

“
No.” I shook my head again, trying to remember if I'd seen anyone around as I'd walked towards the bridge and the car park.

KD pushed back her chair and started to pace up and down behind the desk. I recognised the signs. She was in what she referred to as 'noveling mode'. Any minute she would say, “What would Agnes Merryweather do?”

She steepled the well manicured fingers, nails painted orange this morning, under her chin.

“
What would Agnes Merryweather do?”

I smiled to myself at this demonstration of my psychic powers.

“
OK, so let's go back.”

She continued to pace and to ponder and I knew better than to interrupt. Her books were always plotted out this way, for her it was a necessary part of the process, but I wasn't best pleased to be considered as merely a character in one of her stories. What had happened to me was real. Somebody had intended me to take a dive - whether headlong into traffic or head first into the canal was immaterial. Somebody wanted me dead.

KD nodded to herself a couple of times and turned to face me.

Before she could say anything, I burst out, “This is for real, you know. I'm not sure I like you turning it into a story with me as the victim.”

She gave a grin.

“
'Agnes Merryweather and the PA in the Canal'? Sorry, Verity.” For a moment she looked shamefaced. “You're right, of course, but fiction can be a useful tool in helping us find the truth, you know.”

Great! Kathleen Davenport as philosopher I could well do without. I held my tongue. All I said was, “And what has Agnes told you?”

“
Well, as I said, let's go back.” She sat down again at the desk. “When did these attacks on you start?”

“
Saturday. No, it can't have been. It must have been Friday. I was heading for the car to come back here after my trip to Darrington.”

“
So you were in Darrington immediately before?”

“
No, I was at Val's place. I'd popped into the ABC for a late lunch.”

“
OK. Who did you see in Val's? What did you talk about?”

I could see where she was heading and I gave the questions some thought before I answered.

“
I got to the ABC at about half past one. There were still plenty of customers finishing lunch in the front section but the only one I recognised was that bloke from Knight's. The oily manager chappie, I mean, not Tom Powell. Tom Powell probably can't afford Val's.”

“
Did you speak to him?”

“
No. He didn't even notice me and if he had he wouldn't have remembered me. The only person I spoke to was Val.”

She raised an eyebrow and then shook her head.

“
I can't see Val involved. Can you?”

“
No. Val's my friend and besides he was on the phone when I left. Although …”

“
Yes?”

“
Well, it's only just occurred to me that both attacks happened after leaving the ABC. The first on Friday lunchtime and the second one last night.”

“
Hmm. Well, leaving aside the fact that you seem to spend an awful lot of time in that wine bar, let's concentrate on the first attempt. What did you talk about with Val?”

”
Whether I should go for the rillettes or the ham. Whether I could risk a glass of wine before I drove here,” I could sense KD's growing impatience as I counted these riveting conversational points off on my fingers. “How the job was going.”

“
Ah,” she pounced, “what did you tell him?”