Murder at the Gorge (The Exham-on-Sea Murder Mysteries)

by Frances Evesham

  ‘Sorry, Shipley, I think you’ll find they’re all tucked up for the winter.’

  She watched the excitable little dog. He’d been carefully trained, and had impressed his trainers with his heightened sense of smell and ability to follow trails, even though he remained too volatile for police work. Libby was sure there was a place for him with Forest and Ramshore, but she didn’t know what that place might be. Perhaps the vet would have an idea.

  She took breakfast up to Max, who’d woken and was padding around in his dressing gown, hair standing up on his head in spikes. ‘You look like Tin Tin,’ Libby said.

  ‘Sorry I fell asleep last night.’

  ‘The moment your head touched the pillow. It’s just like being an old married couple, already.’ Libby tucked into her waffles and maple syrup. ‘I’m planning a quick trip to the bakery. It’s not one of my days. Mandy’s in today, along with Annabel. She’s going to be working in the new café when it opens, and she’s keen to get started. Angela’s planning to drop in as well.’

  ‘So you’re heading for a grand gossip session.’

  ‘That’s right. I can’t wait for the café to open. It will be so much bigger than the bakery, and there’ll be space for us all to sit down.’

  ‘Not during the summer. The place will be crammed and you’ll all be snowed under.’

  ‘True, but it’ll be quiet between Christmas and Easter. There’ll be time for the business to get on its feet before the season begins.’

  Max spooned sugar into his coffee. ‘I’d come in with you, but I promised the dogs a trip to the vet.’

  ‘Good idea. Tanya hears almost as many secrets as we do in the bakery. Now, I’ll get going. It’s almost time for elevenses, so people will be buying their pastries.’

  As Libby expected, Brown’s Bakery was buzzing.

  ‘Mrs F,’ Mandy shrieked as she entered. ‘Wait ’til you hear this.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Libby squeezed near to the counter, between Angela and Joanna.

  A babble of voices overwhelmed her.

  She waved them down. ‘Sorry, I can’t hear a word you’re saying.’

  ‘There are more emails – at least three,’ Mandy’s voice was high-pitched with excitement. ‘They all arrived last night, and they’re all nursery rhymes.’

  ‘Really?’

  Joanna said, ‘I had one.’ Judging by the gleam in her eyes, the email had pleased rather than upset her. ‘Jack and the Beanstalk. Total nonsense, of course.’ An earnest young woman, she always looked as though she’d dressed in a hurry, despite her expensive haircut and well-chosen clothes. It was, Libby supposed, something to do with the pair of energetic children at home, and a busy, doctor husband. Today, her nail varnish was chipped. Joanna jerked her head towards Annabel, on the other side of the counter, who was conscientiously filling rolls with ham and tomato. ‘She had one, too. The Queen of Hearts.’

  ‘Sounds more like a compliment than a threat,’ Libby smiled.

  Joanna grunted.

  Libby asked, ‘Who had the third?’

  Mandy whooped with delight. ‘I did! Little Red Riding Hood. That’s me.’

  They were all focused on the nursery rhymes. Had they not made the link to Carys Evans’ death? Libby’s heartbeat, though, had quickened. There seemed to be emails everywhere – here in Exham, as well as the ones sent to Stella. Was it just some kind of internet craze, unconnected to Carys Evans, or was it something more sinister?

  ‘I wonder who’s sending them,’ Mandy said.

  Freddy from the estate agent’s office smirked. ‘Don’t look at me.’

  ‘We weren’t.’ Mandy’s tone was withering.

  Angela said, ‘I looked up poison-pen letters, last night. They used to be quite common, but since the internet arrived, they’ve died out.’

  ‘Too mean to shell out for a stamp, I suppose,’ Freddy suggested.

  Libby said, ‘What about bullying online – through Twitter and – what’s that thing you young people use – Snapchat? And trolling?’

  Freddy made a show of rolling his eyes. ‘You’re out of date, Mrs Forest. It’s all YouTube and TicToc now. No one under forty sends emails any longer.’

  Frank, the baker, had been standing in the doorway to the back kitchen. He made his only contribution to the debate, ‘Whatever next,’ and disappeared to pull pastries from the oven.

  Angela said, ‘Does that mean our rhymer is someone older? Even texting feels awkward for my generation.’

  Freddy snorted. ‘You need flexible thumbs. Maybe they seize up in old age.’

  ‘Don’t be so rude.’ Mandy was always fierce in her defence of Libby and Steve’s aunt, Angela.

  Just as the debate seemed about to get out of hand, Gladys pushed the door open. ‘Oh, my goodness. There’s hardly room to swing a cat in here, today. What are you all talking about?’

  Her eyes were pink, with dark circles underneath, but she’d made an effort, applying mascara and a dash of lipstick.

  The babble in the room fell away. Libby could almost hear brains whirring, as people wondered silently whether Carys Evans’ death and the emails were linked. No one was laughing, now.

  In the awkward silence, Mandy said, ‘Your usual pastries?’ while Annabel slid filled rolls into a bag and passed them across to Freddy. He edged towards the door, elbowed it open and made his escape.

  Joanna looked at Gladys and confronted the elephant in the room. ‘Did you know more of us have had emails?’

  Gladys shook her head. ‘Copycats, I suppose. Whoever’s sending them should be ashamed of themselves, making fun of my poor sister’s death.’ Her eyes filled with tears, but she lifted her chin. ‘And I’ll have an extra sausage roll, today, please. I can’t seem to find the energy to cook lunch.’

  Angela said, ‘I don’t want to speak out of turn, but since Libby’s here, and we all know she’s an ace private investigator, why don’t we ask her to find out who’s bombarding us all with these emails?’

  Annabel opened her mouth to speak, but Angela raised her voice.

  ‘I haven’t had one yet, but I bet it’s only a matter of time. If someone in town’s trying to frighten us, or if they’re just playing nasty tricks, we should stop them.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Gladys enthused. ‘Go on, Libby. Sort it out for us.’

  12

  Little Red Riding Hood

  Shipley seemed about to explode with excitement. The vet’s surgery was carefully divided into dog areas and ‘other’ spaces for smaller, less boisterous animals in baskets and cages. This morning, the place was full of the dogs Max knew from his walks on the beach.

  Despite the constant stream of treats Max pulled from his pocket, Shipley couldn’t – or wouldn’t – sit still. He paced back and forth, as far as the lead would allow, sniffing the floor and whining. Too many different smells, Max supposed. To a dog with such a sensitive nose, the overwhelm must be as bad as spending an hour in Exham’s tiny, pier-end casino, full of flashing lights and raucous noise.

  Bear set a wonderful example. He lay down, huge and benevolent, his head on his paws, and watched Shipley’s antics through bored eyes. A small boy approached, standing a little way away, fascinated.

  Max said, ‘You can stroke him, if you like. He loves people.’

  The boy stretched out a tentative hand to touch Bear’s head and, rewarded by a satisfied grunt, ran his fingers over Bear’s ruff of soft fur.

  ‘Is one of these dogs yours?’ Max asked.

  The boy – around seven years old, Max guessed – shook his head and pointed to a woman who sat nearby, shrugged into a bulky parka, clutching a cage on her knees. ‘My gerbil’s having babies,’ the boy whispered. ‘Mum says we have to give them away.’

  Shipley, intrigued, came closer to investigate the boy. Max blocked his progress. Shipley’s bouncing would frighten this shy child.

  Thwarted, Shipley turned to look at the cage on the mother’s lap and stood still, rigid, in his ‘po
inter’ stance.

  ‘My dog’s fascinated by your gerbil,’ Max said.

  The woman set the cage down on the seat next to her, but Shipley didn’t move.

  The boy said, ‘He’s not going to eat her is he?’

  Max looked into the worried face. ‘Absolutely, not.’

  ‘Mum,’ the boy called. ‘Can we have a dog?’

  ‘No.’ His mother shifted in her seat. ‘I have enough trouble with you and your sisters, and these blessed gerbils. I should have listened to your dad. He said I was storing up trouble for myself, letting you have them in the first place, and he was right.’

  Max called Shipley away. After a moment, he came and sat on the floor at Max’s feet.

  Before Max could talk further with the boy, Tanya, the vet, waved for him to bring the dogs into her consulting room. ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.

  Max pointed to Bear. ‘We think he may have rheumatism, and he seems to be going deaf.’

  Tanya watched as Bear walked inside. ‘I’ll syringe his ears, I bet that’s the problem. Rheumatism may be more difficult. He looks as though that off hind leg is causing the trouble. Look, he’s resting it.’

  They lifted Bear onto the examination table and Tanya gently manipulated his leg. He lay still, only a sharp grunt indicating pain.

  ‘You’re such a darling,’ Tanya cooed. ‘Some dogs get snappy when I touch the bit that hurts, but you’re just a gentle giant.’ She looked up at Max. ‘The most likely problem is osteoarthritis. Just like in people, it can affect dogs as they get older, and Bear must be getting on for thirteen or fourteen?’

  ‘Something like that. Mrs Thomson – his owner – never told me his age…’

  ‘And she died suddenly, didn’t she? Not uncommon around here.’ Tanya washed her hands. ‘The nurse can take some X-rays – we have a machine just across the hall – and we’ll be able to see. First, I’ll take some blood and we can send it off to the labs, make sure it’s not something more serious, such as rheumatoid arthritis, but I doubt that. That’s a long-term disease that’s far more common in younger dogs.’

  Bear grunted again.

  ‘Sorry, Bear, didn’t mean to be rude. Honestly, Max, you’d think he understood every word I say.’

  ‘Libby would agree. She’s convinced he’s super-intelligent. But don’t say it too loud – Shipley gets jealous.’

  Tanya opened the door and called for the nurse. ‘Laura, can you do an X-ray?’

  Laura had scarlet streaks in her black hair and holes in her nose, presumably for face jewellery. She avoided his eyes.

  ‘We haven’t met,’ Max said.

  ‘I just started work here, a month ago.’ Her mouth turned down at the corners.

  ‘You don’t happen to know Mandy, do you? She’s – er – about your age?’ He’d just stopped himself calling her a Goth.

  She looked him in the eye for the first time. ‘We go to the same club. We met in the bakery the first week I arrived in Exham, and she took me along.’

  Max smiled at the young girl. Maybe Exham would turn into a magnet for Goths in the way Brighton had for skinheads in Max’s youth. Without the fights on Saturdays, perhaps. More Goths would make some of the older residents wake up.

  While they waited, Tanya weighed and measured Shipley and took a good look in his mouth, ears and eyes. ‘The picture of health, Shipley, and aren’t you turning into a well-behaved creature. That obedience training’s made quite a difference.’

  ‘Shipley’s intelligence is different from Bear’s,’ Max said. ‘When he’s following a scent, he’s like a changed animal. I wish we could find a way for him to use it. At the moment, it’s more of a nuisance. In the waiting room, he latched on to a gerbil belonging to a very polite little boy.’

  Max described the child and his mother.

  ‘Oh, that’s Mary Atkins and Joseph. At least, I think that’s Joseph. She has a proper brood of children, that one. Three girls and two boys.’

  Shipley, who’d clearly had enough of sitting or standing quietly, jumped up and whined at the door as Bear arrived back with Laura.

  The two women flipped the X-ray up on a translucent screen with a light behind it. ‘Look – there it is.’ Tanya pointed to an area of bone. ‘It’s as I suspected – osteoarthritis. I’ll prescribe some daily medication and we’ll see how he goes.’

  ‘Don’t tell me he’ll need a new joint…’

  ‘It’s possible, but the damage isn’t that bad, so far. We should be able to make him comfortable with tablets.’

  With a smile, Laura left the room.

  Tanya tidied away the X-ray in a file. ‘You’ve cheered Laura up, anyway. She’s been as miserable as sin since she arrived here. She’s great with our animal clients, but less so with the humans, unfortunately, but I’m glad to hear she’s made friends with Mandy. She couldn’t have a better role model. Maybe she’ll stay here, after all.’

  And yet, not so long ago, Mandy had been labelled a bolshy teenager. ‘I guess the Goth thing puts people off a little.’

  ‘Small minds, some folk. Now, keep Bear warm. This cold weather’s no good for joints, no good at all, but he still needs some exercise, especially when the tablets relieve the pain. Dogs that are bred to work – and Carpathian sheepdogs like Bear can herd sheep over miles in the hills of Romania – decline fast if they’re kept indoors.’

  Max rubbed his chin. ‘Not sure how to reconcile both those things. Maybe he needs a treadmill in the garage.’

  ‘Regular short walks. That’s the answer. Take your cue from Bear. If he’s reluctant, don’t force him. You may need to exercise these two separately. Shipley needs to work off all his energy.’

  ‘You’re telling me.’

  ‘Now, let’s deal with Bear’s ears.’

  Ten minutes later, they left the surgery, Bear looking alert, and swinging round at every sound. Mrs Atkins and Joseph were nowhere to be seen; they were probably in with Laura.

  Max patted both dogs, and congratulated Shipley. ‘Not bad behaviour at all, Ships. You’re learning fast.’

  Later that day, Max listened as Libby described the emails with their nursery rhymes. ‘We’re in a brave new world,’ she said, ‘with poison emails instead of letters, and Facebook friends that aren’t really friends, or even acquaintances. There’s plenty there for us to get our investigative teeth into, so let’s make a plan.’

  Max tapped his fingers on the table, beating out a rhythm as he pondered. ‘I’ve been reviewing all Stella’s online friends. I suspect that, as the stalking’s been online, it’s probably someone she’s been in touch with, even if she doesn’t know them. I’ve asked her to go through the list and decide who she trusts, who she knows personally, and who’s managed to get on the list through mutual friends.’

  Libby nodded. ‘The Exham emails are different, because of the rhymes. “Lucy Locket lost her pocket.” Do you know it?’

  ‘I vaguely remember hearing it, but no idea what it means.’

  Libby explained the reference to prostitution.

  Max chuckled. ‘So, poor Carys had a reputation for enjoying men.’

  ‘And discarding them at regular intervals. That makes for a useful list of people to investigate, so we can eliminate them.’

  ‘We should take your findings to the police. There’s no proof yet that Carys was murdered, although burying the body is powerful circumstantial evidence. DCI Morrison and his team aren’t the lead investigators at the moment, but in light of the rash of similar online activity in Exham, and Carys’ Exham connection, that may change. I suspect Morrison is already pulling strings, and the Bristol teams are always hectically busy.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. Gemma Humberstone would do a great job of researching the backgrounds of Carys’ men friends.’ Detective Constable Humberstone had worked with Libby on the recent murder at Dunster Castle, and after a shaky start, they’d enjoyed their collaboration.

  ‘They’re going to need a full team. Morrison�
�s already mentioned he might call us in,’ Max said.

  ‘There’s one big worry we haven’t mentioned.’

  ‘There is. The fact that Carys received an anonymous, unpleasant email before she died. It’s hard to believe those two events are unconnected.’

  ‘And in Exham, three more people have also opened rhyming emails. Mandy, Annabel Pearson, and Joanna Sheffield. I don’t think you’ve met those two, Max. They both arrived in Exham in the past six months.’

  ‘Isn’t Annabel Pearson one of the volunteers at Dunster Castle?’

  ‘That’s right. She seems to have got on the wrong side of one or two locals.’

  ‘Just because she’s new in town?’

  ‘Not only that, she’s also an attractive widow of about forty.’

  ‘Ah.’ Max laughed. ‘A femme fatale. That explains it. Some of the wives in town might well see her as a threat. What about Joanna Sheffield?’

  ‘Hard to know her. She’s about the same age as Annabel, and the two of them seem to be in some kind of competition with each other, although I don’t know why. Joanna talks constantly about her two children.’

  ‘Well, we have plenty to get our teeth into.’

  Libby said, ‘I thought I’d start with Joanna Sheffield. Go and see her tomorrow?’

  ‘Good idea. Try not to frighten her, but make sure she’s taking care. Anyone with an email could be in danger.’

  Libby was silent.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘We haven’t mentioned Mandy. She had an email, too. Little Red Riding Hood.’

  ‘Then, we’ll have to take special care of her. Knowing Mandy, she’ll already have put two and two together.’

  Libby said, ‘I don’t like this at all. It feels as though someone’s threatening the town. None of us is going to feel safe until we get to the bottom of this.’

  Max’s phone buzzed. ‘That new constable at the police station,’ he told Libby. ‘Passing on a message from DCI Morrison. He wants us at the station tomorrow morning, officially, for a team meeting at nine. It’s time for Forest and Ramshore to leap into action again, as civilian investigators.’