Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (17 page)

The vision of dinner with DI Milo the following night rose unbidden again in her mind’s eye, and she let it. Green curry, red curry, fragrant rice, tempura, stir-fried noodles… she almost moaned out loud.

The only problem was what might be for dessert.

Gritting her teeth, Lexy took out her notebook.

A number of things about Avril’s death had been bothering her, especially since speaking to Roderick Todd that morning.

Why had Avril driven out to a remote field last night if not to meet someone? She began to jot.

Avril had clearly known exactly where the field was, and when she arrived, had probably got into it through the gap in the hedge, as Lexy hadn’t noticed her climb over the stile. Perhaps she got whoever she was blackmailing to drop the money somewhere in the field, and she’d gone to collect it. Might even be her usual
modus operandi
.

But someone had either followed Avril through the gap or was already waiting in the field.

The killer had breached the etiquette of the game. But why had Avril invited trouble by choosing such a remote location for the drop? Not advisable if you were a lone female blackmailer, albeit a large, meaty one.

Lexy wished she’d had the presence of mind to ask Mr Todd how Avril had picked up her payments in the past, if indeed he had known. She looked at her watch. He must have arrived home by now, and might even be on his way to Fenmere police station to make a statement. She felt a little surge of anxiety at the thought, and swiftly turned her mind to another peculiarity of the previous night.

What had Avril meant by her cry of “
W… what the hell is that
?” just before she uttered her final scream? Had she seen something she didn’t understand? Something that didn’t make sense?

Or could she have been referring to the murder weapon?

A long, heavy object.

That’s what the police surgeon had said yesterday. His initial impression of the cause of death was ‘a blow to the left temple with a long, heavy object, probably blunt-edged, like a baseball bat’.

Lexy imagined the scene. Avril, believing herself to be alone, heading straight to the hidey-hole where she expected to find her money. Then, perhaps hearing a movement, turning around and finding herself face to face with her armed killer. Her initial reaction would be surprise and indignation, hence the weak, slightly querulous cry.

“I don’t understand…what’s happening? Are you mad?”

She thought for a moment. She could understand the cry being querulous, but why weak? From what she’d gathered about Avril, Lexy thought she’d be letting out a strident holler at that point.

Then Avril had seen the murder weapon, raised.

Lexy realised she had been living this scenario so deeply in her imagination that she had taken the part of the murderer; her right arm was raised threateningly above Kinky, her expression one of violent rage.

A family of four had come to a halt nearby and were watching her silently. Lexy hastily lowered her hand to pat Kinky’s head, and simpered at the onlookers.

But the exercise had taught her something valuable. The killer would probably be right-handed, if he’d given Avril a blow to the left temple.

And, as Mr Todd had confirmed that morning, the killer was likely to be a member of the Clopwolde Amateur Dramatics Society.

While these were all probabilities, rather than certainties, they at least gave Lexy something to go on.

So far, she had established that at least two members of the society, Hope Ellenger and Edward de Glenville, had received poison pen letters. Both, she mused, were right-handed. She remembered how Edward had stood as he twisted the lid from the gin bottle, and how Hope had held her coffee cup. But Edward had an alibi – she’d already established that, although it needed checking. Frankly, it was hard to imagine either him or Hope in the role of murderer, but she couldn’t afford to rule anyone out because she instinctively liked them. Which brought her neatly to her next visit of the day.

Kittiwake was, as Guy Ellenger had described, halfway along a meandering lane called Gorse Rise, facing out over the vibrant purple heathland that surrounded Clopwolde. It was an old-style green and cream bungalow, rather in need of a coat of paint, like the vet’s surgery. It was made to look even shabbier by the pristine bungalow next door, called Amalfi, which was brilliant white, painful to look at in the burning sun.

Lexy pushed open the wooden gate to Kittiwake. Two black and white cats, one sleek and slim, one fat and fluffy, were sunning themselves on the tiled porch. They blinked up benignly at Lexy’s approach, until a snorting bark from Kinky sent them scattering.

He gave her an insouciant look.

“Right, that’s your last warning,” she snapped, picking him up and gripping him tightly.

She pressed the doorbell. Immediately she heard a familiar sound. The bark of a chihuahua, magnified fourfold.

She glared down at Kinky, daring him to bare his teeth. The last thing she needed was for Guy Ellenger to have to spend the afternoon carrying out surgery on his own dogs.

But he was quiet, his bat ears pricked and his large dark eyes full of interest.

Lexy heard a muffled voice and the door opened.

A turbulent confusion of small dogs hurtled out.

“Hi,” said Guy Ellenger, giving her his wholesome smile.

“Hello,” said Lexy, wobbling slightly in the maelstrom.

“How’s the ear?”

“Eh? Oh –
his
ear.” She looked at Kinky. “Yeah. It’s er… getting better.” She realised she had forgotten to put Kinky’s plastic funnel on.

Guy Ellenger was inspecting his stitching. “That healing cream’s pretty good, isn’t it?” he said. “Expensive, but worth it. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Lexy gave him a sharp look. Avril’s threat to his Robin Hood act had obviously got to him. Not that he needed to worry about that any more.

“It does work really well. Thanks for donating it to me,” she said quietly.

“Well, you know – he’s a deserving cause,” said Guy, ruffling Kinky’s head. “It’s all right, you can put him down to play with the others,” he added.

Lexy grasped Kinky even more firmly. Play?

“Go on – it’s fine. They’ll be gentle with him.”

He had no idea.

Gingerly, Lexy unloosed her grip on Kinky, and lowered him into the swirl of tiny dogs, her eyes tightly shut in prayer.

But the expected frenzy of snarling, snapping and flying fur didn’t happen. When Lexy opened her eyes the chihuahuas were doing the unseemly sniffing thing that dogs always feel the need to do. Then, compulsory greeting over, they scampered into the house like kids at a birthday party, and disappeared from sight.

“Blimey,” she said.

“Chihuahuas always like their own kind,” remarked Guy. Lexy wished he’d shared this little gem of information earlier.

“Fancy a cuppa?”

She nodded fervently. He led her through to a homely-looking kitchen, crammed with the apparatus of cooking – a multitude of pots and pans, jars, bottles, utensils, recipe books. Her eyes locked on what looked and smelt like a freshly baked malt loaf, sitting on a rack.

“I expect you’ve had lunch,” he said, organising two mugs, and switching on a red electric kettle.

“No!” she stated with some force. She wasn’t going to let this chance pass her by.

He looked slightly taken aback. “Oh, well – in that case, let’s christen this.” He picked up a bread knife, and placed the loaf on a wooden cutting board. “Don’t mind it still warm, do you?”

In a voice hoarse with emotion, Lexy made some kind of incoherent affirmative.

She watched him cut several generous slices, subconsciously noting that he was right-handed. “Did you cook it yourself?” There just had to be a wife or girlfriend somewhere in the equation.

“Yup. Made the dough earlier this morning with fresh yeast. Rises really well in this weather.”

Carrying a laden plate, and wearing a reverential look, Lexy followed the vet through to a shaded patio that gave out on to an overgrown lawn. Chihuahua tails were visible now and again.

“I don’t garden too well though,” he admitted, apologetically. “But I do try.”

“You should see mine.” Lexy settled herself in a rusting wrought iron chair and took a bite out of the malt loaf. It tasted like a moist piece of heaven. She savoured it, eyes closed.

Right. She needed to tell him she couldn’t do the lost cat thing. Strike while the iron was hot.

“Um… this cat…”

Inside the bungalow a phone rang.

Guy Ellenger rolled his eyes. “Won’t be a moment.”

Lexy helped herself to another slice of the loaf, and idly watched the dogs tumble on to the patio, one by one, and flop down in the shade of a large pot. Kinky peeled off from the crowd to sit next to her. At least she thought it was Kinky – he was almost indistinguishable from the others. She drummed her fingers quietly on the table.

Guy Ellenger reappeared. “Man about a dog. Not urgent, luckily.” He glanced at the table. “Malt loaf OK?”

“Best I’ve ever tasted,” Lexy assured him truthfully, popping another piece into her mouth.

“Excellent.” He settled down beside her. It was now or never.

“So, this cat…” she mumbled.

“Oh, yes – this cat,” snorted the vet. He threw a dark look in the direction of the immaculate bungalow next door. “Unbelievable that they’ve accused my lot of savaging it! As if they’d do a thing like that. They’re chihuahuas, not Rottweilers, for heaven’s sake…”

Lexy gave him a feeble smile.

“…anyway, they’re used to cats, I’ve got two of my own, and they’ve never so much as touched them. But,” he added, “If by some unfortunate misunderstanding they had attacked Princess, there would be some kind of evidence, wouldn’t there? Or are they seriously suggesting that the dogs ate the thing whole?”

“Do you think they can hear us?” asked Lexy.

“What, the dogs?”

“No, the neighbours.”

Guy Ellenger shook his head. “They’ve gone out. There’s a mini-rehearsal in Clopwolde village hall. Am-dram stuff.”

Lexy nodded. Not for Tammy there wasn’t, now Sheri-Anne Davis had taken over the lead role.

“I mean, aside from anything else,” Guy continued, returning abruptly to the subject in hand, “can you imagine what it would do to my business if these allegations about the cat got out?” He frowned. “Things are difficult enough at the moment.”

“The thing is…” said Lexy.

“Nothing I can’t handle, of course. Just some local woman causing trouble. First of all she made a song and dance about our complementary medicines. Got my sister in a right state. In fact, I’ve never seen her so… anyway… would you believe this, the other night this bloody woman dropped an anonymous letter through the surgery door.”

Lexy swallowed the remains of the slice and coughed, spraying crumbs across the table.

“Very unpleasant it was too,” he continued, passing her a paper napkin. “She’d somehow found out about something that happened in our past, years ago.”

“Really?” It was hard to know what to say.

He gave her a defiant look. “Fact is, my father died from a fall, and then my mother drowned herself.”

“I’m sorry,” murmured Lexy, trying to look suitably shocked.

“But it was almost as if she was taunting us with it,” he went on. “Asking us
why
our mother had drowned herself.” A dark shadow passed over his face. “Well, I say us; I wouldn’t dream of showing this letter to Hope. The way she is at the moment, it would send her right over the edge.”

“D… did you go to the police?” Lexy managed to ask.

He frowned. “No, I went over to her house yesterday afternoon and had it out with the woman. She won’t be doing that sort of thing again in a hurry.”

Lexy closed her eyes briefly. “We’re talking about Avril Todd, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” He stared at her. “How do you know?”

“She’s sent letters to other people.”

“What? Like some kind of serial poison pen writer? Lucky I caught her at it. Perhaps now I’ve had it out with her she’ll stop plaguing other poor…”

“She’s been murdered,” blurted Lexy.

“What?”

“Avril Todd. Last night.” Lexy couldn’t believe she was telling Guy Ellenger this. DI Milo would crucify her.

“Murdered? How do you…?”

“I found her body. Soon after it happened.”

His eyes flicked uncertainly. “Where was this?”

“In a field. Near a place called Nudging. Off the A12. I just happened to be driving around there yesterday evening. It’s nice countryside.” At least, it had been nice until she got over the stile.

“In a field? Avril?” He looked confused. “What was she doing?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What sort of time was this?”

“Some time after eight.”

She could almost see his thoughts falling over one another. “So – I take it someone else got an anonymous letter and decided to take more drastic action than I did?”

“It’s looking that way.”

“I suppose you called the police?”

“Yeah, course. That’s how I know who Avril was.” She gave him a half-smile. “I was there what seemed like half the night giving a statement. I was lucky they didn’t try to pin the thing on me.”

But the vet didn’t smile back. “How did it happen?”

“She was hit on the head.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Guy Ellenger stared into the middle distance, a rose-red bloom suffusing each of his smooth cheeks.

He’d picked the wrong day to confront Avril about a poison pen letter, thought Lexy. And he knew it.

“It’s all right,” she said. “You went to see her in the afternoon. No one’s going to think you did it.”

“Of course not,” he said, sharply.

“How do you think Avril found out about this thing in your past?” Lexy asked.

The vet shook his head. “Who knows? I imagine she either came across it in a back edition of a local paper, or someone who remembered told her. It was all over the village at the time.”

“Must have been tough,” said Lexy.

“Yes, well – long time ago. If the police want to see me about yesterday afternoon, they know where I am. I haven’t got anything to hide – Avril was fine when I left her, if a little shaken, because she’d been rumbled.” He cleared his throat. “Right. I suppose we should get on with the matter in hand.”