by J New
“Ah, there you are. I thought you’d changed your mind about coming.” Inspector Monroe was standing at the front desk of the police station when Penny rushed in, soaking wet, carrying a bedraggled Fischer. “I’m glad I waited an extra five minutes.”
Penny grimaced. “Sorry. The traffic was mayhem. Saturday afternoon shoppers, and then the downpour…”
Inspector Monroe’s smile reached his eyes. There was no hint of irritation or impatience at her having taken thirty minutes longer to get there than she had expected. “Don’t apologise. It’s always great to see you, Penny. And Fischer too, of course. Come on through.” He led them down the corridor to an interview room, warmed by overhead heaters. Fischer was wriggling in Penny’s arms, trying to break free.
“I’m going to set him down now,” she warned the Inspector when they were inside the room. “You might want to stand back.”
They waited while Fischer shook the water off his coat, and then ran up to Inspector Monroe, rubbing against his ankles.
“I think he likes you,” Penny said.
Inspector Monroe grinned down at Fischer before looking back at Penny. “The feeling’s mutual. You should get your wet coat off as well, or you’ll catch a cold.”
Penny did so, and the Inspector pulled out a chair for her. He sat facing her across the desk, an unopened notebook and a pen beside him on the table, and her stomach flipped. She had forgotten quite how handsome he was. Her eyes were drawn to his strong hands, rugged in comparison to Edward’s manicured ones.
Inspector Monroe gazed at her in concern. “Is everything okay, Penny? I was worried in case you’re in some kind of trouble.”
Penny took a deep breath, and it all came tumbling out.
Inspector Monroe listened while Penny outlined her suspicions, taking notes and asking questions for clarification, and nodding his head now and then as she spoke.
“Well?” Penny was breathless by the time she had finished. “Do you see why I think Mrs Montague’s death wasn’t an accident?”
“Hmm.” The Inspector was non-committal, rubbing his chin. He scanned his notes again before addressing Penny. “Let me check I’ve got this straight. You think Mrs Montague may have been murdered because she was a good swimmer and also because of what Celia told you about Nick Staines. Is that right?”
“Yes.” It had taken Penny a lot longer to explain what the Inspector had just summarised in a couple of sentences. It didn’t sound quite so sinister when he said it. “And the library card, remember? I think Myrtle wanted me to investigate if her fears were realised and something happened to her. As Celia said, the timing of her death was very close to the incident last week with Nick Staines.”
The Inspector didn’t look convinced. If anything, she got the impression he was humouring her. The patient smile painted on his face was a giveaway. “I see. And, you want the police to investigate the incident further? Interview Celia Higgins and also speak to the neighbour, Nick Staines, is that correct?”
Penny nodded.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the case,” he replied at last. “It appears to have been a tragic accident. However, you know yourself that nothing can be ruled out until we have the results of the autopsy. The coroner’s report should be available at the start of the week. In the meantime, I have a few thoughts, if you’d like to hear them.”
“Go on.” This wasn’t going the way Penny had hoped.
“I’m not sure that Mrs Montague’s swimming ability or otherwise has a great deal of bearing, people have been known to drown in only a few inches of water, particularly if they have lost consciousness for any reason. It’s slippery around the duck pond in this weather, and it’s quite likely that if Mrs Montague slipped, she also hurt herself some way, either before or after submersion. An injury could have limited her swimming capability. The water was very cold, and the temperature was around freezing on the night in question. No one could have sustained a long period of time in the pond in those conditions, especially a woman of advancing years with very little body fat.”
With reluctance, Penny agreed.
“Regarding Mr Staines,” the Inspector continued, “his calling Mrs Montague names was vulgar, but it doesn’t necessarily make him a suspect in her death.”
“What about Mrs Montague saying he would be the death of her? Does that not count for something?”
The Inspector sighed. “You said Celia assumed Mrs Montague was talking about Mr Staines when she made that comment, but there’s no definitive proof that’s who she was referring to. It’s also a common phrase, which most people don’t mean in the literal sense.”
Penny bit her lip, trying to maintain her composure. Her hopes of finding an ally in Inspector Monroe were being dashed by the second. Not only that, she was beginning to feel foolish for having made such a fuss about insisting to speak to him urgently. For all she knew, she had kept him late for something important. Instead, here she was, wasting police time. “Why would she have left me the library card, in that case?” She was mumbling now, and realised herself she was clutching at straws.
“I have no answer to that one, except to say if Mrs Montague thought she was in danger, why didn’t she raise it with someone who could have helped her while she was still alive? It seems bizarre for her to wait until after her death to raise the alarm, if that was indeed the intention.”
There it was. Game, set and match to the Inspector. Not that he was trying to humiliate her, Penny was sure. His expression was still kind, his eyes soft, but his graciousness made her feel worse. Thoroughly embarrassed, she had an urge to get out of there as quickly as possible.
“You’re probably right,” she murmured. “I won’t take up any more of your time, Inspector. Please excuse me if I’ve acted out of turn. It’s just that Mrs Montague was such a nice old lady, and if she was the victim of foul play I’d like to see justice done on her behalf. I just thought it better to make you aware of everything, that’s all.”
“Absolutely, that was the right course of action and I appreciate it. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else you can do to help us.”
Standing, Penny pulled her coat from the back of the chair and slipped her arms through the still-wet sleeves. “Come on, Fischer, time to go.”
Inspector Monroe walked them to the front door of the building. “Thanks for coming in, Penny. I’m glad you did. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
“You too,” she said, her cheeks flaming.
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the last hour.” Edward sounded irate. “Did you not get my messages to call me?”
“Yes, I did. All five of them. I left my phone in the van, and I’ve just got back to the car park now.” She was still smarting from the embarrassing experience at the police station and didn’t feel like sharing it with him. “What’s wrong, is it an emergency?”
“Something has come up at work. I’m at the office now. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be late and not to put my steak on until I get to your place. I can’t eat it if it’s not pink.”
Penny silently counted to three before replying. She had run back to the van to try and get home quicker, and it transpired she needn’t have bothered. Brightening, she remembered what Celia had said about Edward taking her out somewhere and had an idea. “Why don’t I meet you in Winstoke later when you’re finished? I can get ready and leave Fischer with my parents. Then you don’t have to rush. We could try the new French bistro.”
“No need, if you’re cooking, Penny. You can always take me to the French bistro for my birthday.”
Something inside Penny snapped. For her last birthday, Edward had given her an egg-timer and a box of chocolates. “Actually, let’s leave it tonight, Edward. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” She could hear him splutter at the other end of the line, and she winked at Fischer, who was perched on her knee.
“Is something wrong? What have I done now?”
“Nothing, Edward.” Nothing. That was precisely the point. “Good night.”
Seven
Penny squinted in the early morning darkness, still groggy from just having woken up. Patting the wall to find the light switch beside the door, she peered at the empty dog bed beside the hearth.
“Fischer, where are you?”
She looked around the living room, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Is this some kind of game? Do you need to go out? Don’t worry, I’m coming now.”
Walking through the archway into the kitchen, she expected to see Fischer waiting by the back door to be let out into the small garden, but there was no sign of him there either. A low growl from the hallway startled her, and she paused to listen.
“Fischer?”
There it was again, then a series of barks, which caused Penny to spin on her heels and rush back the way she had come. She found the little terrier at the end of the hallway, still yapping.
“Ssh. This isn’t like you, Fish Face, what is it?”
At the sight of Penny, Fischer pawed the mat and emitted a soft whine.
“What’s that?”
She drew closer, it was only a piece of paper.
“It’s okay, Fischer. Someone’s just dropped something through the door. It’s probably a leaflet for something or other. I’ll get it later. Come on, it’s time for breakfast.”
It vaguely occurred to Penny that whoever had put it through the letterbox must have been out either very early that morning, or late the previous night. There had been nothing there when she locked up the night before, and who delivered promotional leaflets at the crack of dawn on a Sunday?
Fischer barked again.
“Fine, have it your way.” Penny crouched down to pick up the paper. Puzzled, she saw it was a lined white page that had been torn from a notebook. Straightening up, she unfolded it, and read words which set her heart pounding.
STOP POKING AROUND IN THINGS THAT DON’T CONCERN YOU OR YOU’LL BE SORRY.
Handwritten in blue ballpoint pen in slanted capitals, Penny was not surprised to see the note was unsigned.
She gazed down at Fischer, the paper fluttering in her trembling hand. “No wonder you were upset, Fischer. Clever boy! You know what this means, don’t you? We must be on to something.”
“Blimey!” Susie’s mouth gaped when she read the note. “This is scary stuff. Have you called the police?”
“Not yet. I came straight here after Fischer and I finished our walk. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to wake my parents, and they’d worry too much anyway.”
Susie munched her toast. “So, you thought you’d wake me up instead?”
“Nice try. You were already up, the lights were on,” Penny said.
“Yes, I know. The kids are going to their dad’s. Speaking of which, he’ll be here soon.” Susie got up and walked to the window, opening it before calling to her children who were playing outside with Fischer. “Billy, Ellen, have you got your things? Ellen, don’t spin around like that when you’re holding Fischer. He’ll get dizzy and sick. You will as well, come to think of it.” She walked back to the kitchen table and sat down. “By the way, aren’t you forgetting someone?”
Penny sipped her tea, ignoring Susie’s question.
“Stop pretending you didn’t hear me, Miss Finch.” Susie lifted the note again and waved it under Penny’s nose. “What does Edward make of this?”
“He doesn’t know anything about it.”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t told him yet.” Penny avoided eye-contact with Susie. She knew Edward was not her friend’s favourite person. Not that Susie had ever said anything bad about him, but she didn’t have to. “We had a slight falling out.”
“I’m sorry he upset you, but I’m not sorry you stood up to him,” Susie said, once Penny finished explaining what had happened. “Good for you. It will do him no harm to stew for a while.”
“That’s what I thought.” Penny gave her a rueful smile. “I’m still mad at him, but he probably won’t understand why. He was just being his usual selfish self. And because I’ve always tolerated his behaviour, he won’t see why it’s unacceptable.”
Susie raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let him off the hook that easily, Penny. Explain how it makes you feel when he treats you like that.”
“I’ll talk to him properly later to clear the air.”
“Good, then he can show you how much he loves you by protecting you from whoever wrote this creepy note.” Seeing the worry etched on Penny’s face, Susie added, “Until the person’s found, of course. Which they will be. Very soon.”
Penny twisted a strand of her hair, something she always did when she was nervous. “Easy for you to say. I don’t relish the thought of being the next victim. Whoever wrote the note must be Myrtle’s killer, and now they’re after me. What I don’t understand is, how does the person know I was poking around at all, as they put it? Of the people I’ve discussed it with, you and Inspector Monroe both nicely told me I was imagining things. And I doubt Celia’s the killer, so she must have mentioned our conversation to somebody else.”
Susie’s face fell. “Oh dear. I think that might have been me.”
Penny groaned. “Go on.”
“After I went to the solicitor’s office with you for that meeting, my boss asked me about it when I got back to work on Friday. He wanted to know how the piece on Mrs Montague was coming along. I joked if you had your way it would be another story of small-town murder and intrigue. I said if there was any mileage in that angle, we could count on you to deliver the scoop, and the murderer.”
“Need I remind you, your boss is probably the biggest loudmouth in The Downs?” As the editor of the Gazette, it was Archie Cryer’s business to know everyone else’s. Stirring the pot was how he ensured a never-ending stream of stories for the paper. “There won’t be a soul who doesn’t know I’m up to my neck in this by now.”
Susie chewed her lip. “I’m so sorry, Penny. I never thought for a minute anything like this would happen.”
“I know. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” Penny’s brow was creased. “All the more people to look out for me, hopefully.”
“Absolutely, that’s the spirit.” Susie swung into action, or as Penny called it, mum mode. “First things first. When Billy and Ellen have gone, I’ll come to the police station with you, and they can make a start on getting this lunatic off the streets. How does that sound?”
Penny mustered a smile. “Perfect. Could we go in your car? I don’t want to take the van just in case it’s been tampered with.” She had visions of the brakes not working and careering into the tree on the bend at the bottom of Sugar Hill. “Edward’s the very person to take a look at it later.”
“Crikey! What an awful thought. Of course I’ll drive. Hang on, there’s the doorbell.” Susie jumped up and rapped on the window pane again, gesturing for Billy and Ellen to come in. “Let me sort out the children and then we’ll go.”
Susie pulled the car to a stop outside Penny’s house.
“Won’t be a moment,” Penny said, opening her door. “Stay here with Fischer. I’ll just get my bag.” A thought occurred to her. “Actually, you’d better come in. I could probably do with making myself slightly more presentable. They might take me a bit more seriously at the police station if my hair is combed, for starters. I came out this morning with a lick and a promise.”
Susie switched off the engine. “That’s understandable, in the circumstances.” She glanced across at Penny and grinned. “But from what you’ve told me about your meeting with Inspector Monroe yesterday, I agree taming your hair is a good idea, if you want to add gravitas to the proceedings. Otherwise it makes you look a bit… scatty or something.”
�
�Nice choice of words. I’ll take scatty. Left to its own devices, my hair could be described as a lot worse. Come on then, I might need your help.”
Inside, Susie wandered into the living room, while Penny went upstairs. Fischer, spoilt for choice as to which one to follow, plumped for Penny, and trotted along behind her.
In her bedroom, Penny yanked off the baggy old sweatshirt she was wearing and replaced it with a chunky mustard knit. Her jeans were respectable, but even more so when she swapped her trainers for a pair of ankle boots she pulled out from under the bed.
Straightening up, she checked herself in the mirror. “What do you think, Fischer? Is that better?” She wanted to look nice, for the sake of her own confidence as much as anything, although perhaps there was an underlying reason she wasn’t quite ready to accept. And anyway, Inspector Monroe might not even be there.
Fischer, sitting in the doorway of her bedroom, woofed.
“Thank you, Little Man.”
Humming to herself, she sat at the dressing table and rooted through a small cosmetics bag, the contents of which she rarely used. Using a plump brush, she swept a hint of blusher across her pale cheeks to give them a warm glow. A sparing application of concealer served to hide the shadows under her blue eyes, and a couple of coats of mascara made them pop. Liking what she saw, she decided a subtle lipstick wouldn’t hurt either.
Her messy mop of hair was more of a challenge. When it was blow-dried, it was fairly presentable, but not having washed it that morning it was sticking up all over the place, and she looked as though she’d had a fight with a hedge, in a wind tunnel. In the end, she settled for tearing a comb through it, wincing as she did so.