by Issy Brooke
Penny paid up and added a tip. She wandered slowly home, mulling over what she’d learned.
Now she had a plan for Sunday. She needed to join the ramblers’ group and get to know this Edwin Montgomery a little better. She’d seen a poster in the window of the mini-market, and it even said that dogs were welcome.
Then she pictured Kali in the midst of walkers and other dogs.
She’d go alone.
Chapter Eight
Penny had a lazy Saturday. Finally, it felt like a treat to sit around and relax – like she really was enjoying a proper life-changing retirement. She did some more sketches of her back garden, and some of Kali when she stayed still for long enough, and she was pleasantly pleased with the results. She pottered into Lincoln at one point and bought some new drawing pencils, and joined the library so she could take out some books on dog behaviour and body language. She also arranged for an extravagant hamper of wine and chocolates to be delivered to Francine.
Late on Saturday evening she took Kali for an extra-long walk, and on Sunday morning she rose early just to give the dog a chance to stretch her legs and do her business. She still felt a little guilty as she closed the front door and left Kali alone while she went off to join the ramblers’ group.
It would be lovely to take her dog along. One day, she promised herself. One day soon I’ll be the owner that you deserve.
The ramblers met in the car park to the south of the town. She followed the road over the old bridge and towards the Spinney. The car parking area was between the trees and the town, and it led out onto grassed land. There was the town’s war memorial with its list of local names, and a children’s play area. Spring bulbs were making the green grass bright with colour. Beyond the swings and roundabouts was the Slipe, the meadow land beside the river.
Penny counted nine people as she approached the car park. They were dressed in brown, green and blue, except for one very round woman who had decided to accent her size with a bright red and white polka dotted jacket, and she looked utterly fabulous.
Everyone, including polka-dot-woman, was wearing serious-looking boots and gaiters, and a few happy dogs bounded around. Penny was jealous immediately. She wanted Kali to have that kind of fun.
She recognised Ed, but he was deep in earnest conversation with another man who was clothed entirely in beige, making him look older than he probably was. The amazingly-dressed polka dot woman approached her with a smile.
“Now then! Hi, there! You’re new! I’m Sheila.”
“Hi. I’m Penny.” She went through the usual rigmarole of explaining who she was, where she came from, and why she’d moved to Upper Glenfield. She noticed that everyone around them was listening in. She didn’t mind. It would hopefully save her from having to repeat herself later.
Ed nodded to her as he gathered the group around him, and began to outline where they would be walking that day.
And then they were off, heading in twos and threes away from the car park and along a bridleway. Sheila kept her company, chattering about birds and pesticides and Lincolnshire’s long history which seemed to involve hiding in marshes quite frequently, something about a rebel called Hereward, and an awful lot about bombers in world war two.
There was an over-excited cocker spaniel getting under everyone’s feet, and Penny couldn’t work out who he belonged to. Sheila laughed as he did three circuits of the whole group, barked at a tree and tried to get under a hedge, re-emerging backwards covered in twigs.
“Look at him. Bless. Daft thing.”
Dogs were an ideal conversation topic. Penny was starting to feel like she was a normal person again. “How sweet. Do you have any animals?”
Sheila shook her head. “This is my one day a week that I have free. I run the post office and I can’t afford to employ staff for as many hours as I’d like, so I work all the time. Well, me and my husband between us. It wouldn’t be fair to have a dog which we couldn’t spend time with. But I love them, dogs, all animals really. I love watching them. That Growler comes out with us every week.”
“Growler? Wow. The name isn’t quite…”
“No, not at all!” Sheila’s laugh was loud and scratchy, and infectious. “He ought to be called Slobberer or Daft-As-A-Brush or something. How about you? Do you have any pets?”
“I’ve got a new dog from the rescue centre up the road.” She felt a pang of sadness. “I wish she were here. But she hates other dogs and it’s a lot more difficult than I’d expected. I might have made a terrible mistake taking her on.” The sadness deepened. Admitting failure hurt.
“Oh dear. That does sound awkward. You can train her, though, can’t you? Don’t believe that nonsense about old dogs and new tricks. They can all learn, can’t they?”
“I hope so. I don’t know.”
A man a little way ahead of them dropped back and introduced himself as Kevin and the owner of Growler. “I hope you don’t mind me butting in…”
“Please, go ahead.”
“You wouldn’t think so from the horrific example that my Growler is showing, there … but I do know about dogs.” There followed an informative twenty minutes where Penny saw very little of the scenery but did learn an awful lot about dog training, although as Kevin advised, “Every Tom, Dick and Harry has their own opinion and let me just tell you never, ever to mention which method you think is best online unless you enjoy a nice flamewar. I have a cousin in Nottingham who no longer speaks to me because we differ on how to teach a solid recall.”
“Goodness.”
“Of course,” he added airily, “my own opinions are entirely correct. Just so you know.” He grinned and winked at her.
“Thank you so much.”
Sheila came puffing up alongside them as the path widened out again. “I knew Kev would put you right.”
“It’s great,” Penny said. “I’ve got so much to think about, and try. A lot of what you said about giving treats to desensitise her fear reaction is similar to what Drew said.”
“Oh, Drew, the blacksmith?” Sheila said. “Nice young man. Such a shame, really, isn’t it?”
“That it is,” agreed Kevin.
“What’s a shame?” Penny immediately imagined a dark history filled with woe and loss and possibly a mad woman in an attic, but the truth turned out to be far more prosaic, and met her existing suspicions.
“Oh, it’s his blacksmithing business,” Sheila explained. “I don’t reckon he makes a right lot of money. He ought to move somewhere bigger and make fancy gates for rich folks.”
“Mind you, it’s hard for everyone,” Kevin said. “Austerity and all that. People don’t know how to cut back anymore, though, do they? I was reading about rationing the other day. A tiny bit of butter to last you all week. Now me, I’d use that in one go on a slice of toast and think nothing of it.”
“True, true,” Sheila said.
“He’s doing field-craft courses now, though, isn’t he?” Penny said. “He seems enthusiastic about that.”
“Well, that’s dependent on folks at the conference centre, isn’t it?” Kevin said. “And they are odd folks. City folks. It’s all very well in the summer, I suppose. Very hit and miss, you mark my words.”
Penny got the impression that they didn’t consider field-craft to be a “proper” job, unlike blacksmithing which was all macho and tradesmanlike.
They tramped along a bridleway, easily wide enough for four people abreast. The group was strung out and straggling, and the pace was noticeably slower. Penny had brought a cheese sandwich with her and she was starting to think of it with longing. Her stomach growled.
“Now, take that Mary, for instance,” Kevin said. “If we’re talking money problems and so on. Have you heard about what happened to her car?”
“Now then, Kevin!” Sheila said. “You dreadful gossip! But go on, no, I haven’t heard…”
Penny listened eagerly to the conversation between Sheila and Kevin.
“Repossessed, it was,” Kevin sai
d. “Her car, not her house. Gone!”
Sheila gasped dramatically. “Never!”
“True as I stand here. I saw them turn up and take it away on a big old lorry. She must have got one of them log-book loans since losing her job and everything. Sharks, they are.”
“Oh my. How awful!” Sheila’s voice had lost the edge of glee and she sounded genuinely concerned. “Now what will she do? Lost her fella, lost her job, lost her car…”
“It’s a rum business all round. Still,” Kevin said, “it’s not like she was any good at her job. Any of her jobs. She was lucky to keep that last one as long as she did, what with her…”
“The exact same thing we’re doing now,” Sheila said, and brought the conversation to a firm close. “Now then. Ed. Ed! Where’s this pub we’re supposed to be stopping at? My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut, it does.”
Ed dropped back to join them. The group was fluid, and the smaller pockets broke and reformed as they went along. Kevin fell away with Growler, and Sheila went forward to talk with another woman who was carrying some hefty and technical-looking walking poles.
“How are you finding it? Do you do much walking?” Ed asked Penny. Outside, he didn’t seem as out of place as he had done in Agatha’s salon. His green army combat jacket was ragged and his corduroy trousers looked battered and comfortable. She imagined he was the sort of person who would dash out to sleep in a snow hole in winter, just because he could.
“I’m enjoying it,” she said with honesty. “I’ve been walking more these past few weeks anyway, and it’s a good way to get to know the area.”
“Great.”
They walked in silence for a while and she searched around for an opener to a profitable conversation. Eventually she said, “So, you’re an electrician?”
“Mm. A bit. I can’t do bathrooms. That needs a separate certificate which I don’t have. I do general household maintenance. Have you something needs doing? If I can’t do it, I can always put you in touch with someone who can help you.”
“I’ve just moved in so I might have,” she said vaguely. In truth, the cottage was in perfect condition. She considered breaking something so she’d have an excuse to get him to come over. But then what? Was she going to just ask him outright if he had killed David? No. She had to be more subtle. Tact, she told herself. I need to start learning it. What would Miss Marple do?
They were climbing up to a ridge and they joined a narrow single-track road. “Where are we?” she asked as they stomped along the ridged and patched tarmac.
“Heading towards the pub,” he said, loud enough for Sheila to hear. She whooped in reply.
“Whose land is all this?”
“That to the left is farmed by Dawson for a massive agribusiness based the other side of Lincoln. Down to the right … well, that’s Hart’s land.” Ed’s pace picked up and he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Penny scurried to keep up, choosing to ignore the obvious body language that he didn’t want to talk any more. Tact? There was a time and a place for it, and she decided now was not that time.
“Oh yes,” she said innocently. “That poor farmer who died.”
“Poor farmer?” Ed hissed. He didn’t look at her. “Poor farmer? People like that don’t value their place as stewards of the land. It’s all money, to them. Nothing but profits. Rip up the hedges and grow more crops. Kill all the wildlife with pesticides and monoculture. Last year, when I was …” He coughed and stamped hard on the ground. “Before here, I was in a place where there was a farmer just like him. Destroyed the land, he did. Fields with no boundaries, crop dusting by aeroplane, hundreds of acres and he only employed one man because it was so industrialised.”
“Where was that? It sounds awful.”
Ed growled. “Nowhere. There’s the pub up ahead.” He surged in front of her, trying to shake her off.
Penny thought, how rude! It’s not just me that needs to learn some politeness. She was determined not to let him get away from her. She stretched her legs to catch him up, but misjudged the ragged edge of the road where it met the scrubby grass, and her left ankle turned without warning, sending her tumbling to the ground with a stifled cry. She crumpled as she fell, landing on her bottom and her hip, but managed to catch her upper body with her outstretched arm.
“Ouch! Oh, blazes–”
Ed half-turned his head for a moment, but he kept on going, not even slowing down. Sheila and another woman were at her side instantly, leaning over her, and the rest of the group that were coming up behind soon gathered around. Everyone was asking if she was okay.
“My ankle…” It was red hot with bright pain.
Someone, a random man, pushed forward and knelt down to probe her leg. “Let’s get you to the pub, and strap you up,” he said. “There’s no bone sticking out and you probably won’t die. Likely it’s a strain. Come on, folks.”
She was lifted up by the kindness and strength of strangers and they carried her aloft to the pub. There was no sign of Ed ahead of them.
“He’ll have gone to organise some ice,” Sheila said charitably, and to Penny’s surprise, when they got to the pub she saw that Sheila was proved to be correct.
She became the centre of attention in the cosy village pub, and she didn’t particularly like it. It was one of those “I’m too English for my own good” places with a general theme of polished dark wood and horse brasses. She was installed on a padded bench seat, all deep red velour, and generally fussed over. Her sandwiches lay uneaten in her small rucksack, and instead everyone ordered enormous plates of chips with three token lettuce leaves called “salad” and a lot of different sauces.
One of the ramblers, the man who had probed her ankle when she’d first fallen, declared he had some medical knowledge and the others didn’t stop him or correct him, so Penny had to trust it was okay to let him take her boot off and have a good feel. He declared it thoroughly sprained and prescribed ice, elevation and rest.
It was clear she wouldn’t be continuing on the walk.
“Just let me call a taxi,” she said but Sheila was already on the phone to her husband, insisting that he drag himself away from the television. She ordered him to drive over and collect them both. “He can catch up with the sport anytime. My new boots are giving me blisters anyway,” she said to Penny. “You’re a wonderful excuse for me to go home.”
It was probably a lie but the deed was done. Penny had no choice but to sit in state, or at least sit in a state, her leg up on a stool, while people ferried drinks to her and reminisced about their own walking injuries. The tales grew more and more gruesome as the extended lunch hour dragged on. Penny remembered a time in Bolivia when she’d witnessed someone fracture an ankle. She kept it to herself. Her own ankle pain was putting her in a slightly bad mood.
Sheila’s husband turned out to be a man as small and round as she was, and though he glowered at his wife, he smiled warmly to Penny. The ramblers helped her out to the battered blue Volvo in the car park, and she was waved off as if she had been their long-lost friend.
“Now then,” Sheila said, patting her knee. They were both sitting in the back. “Have you got everything you need? Shall we call for some milk? Aspirin? Vodka? Bread? Gin? I’d recommend gin, personally. Do you want any…”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” In truth she was weary, and her ankle was throbbing, and she simply wanted a hot bath and some painkillers. And maybe a gin and tonic, later on.
Sheila’s husband helped her from the car to her front door; they could hear Kali attempting to bite her way through the wood and she winced in embarrassment. Sheila reminded her of Kevin’s help, and she promised to look after herself and the dog. The leave-taking was protracted and Penny was silently screaming for them to go.
Yet when she flopped down on her sofa in relief, painkillers ready and a gin on the table, a switch flicked on in her head. Now she was alone, Kali leaning against her, she could properly think about what she’d learned on the walk – apart
from the lesson that she needed to take more care.
She reached out for her mobile phone and called Cath.
* * * *
“No, you’re not disturbing me. The kids are playing computer games and I’m just looking at some gardening magazines,” Cath said.
“Are you a keen gardener?” Penny thought about her increasingly muddy back yard, with added holes courtesy of the dog.
“I’m a total dreamer, nothing more. I’ve got kids, remember. I fantasise about decking. What I’ve got is a wasteland and a broken football goal. Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“I’ve got news about the case. I’m sure it’s Edwin Montgomery. He’s the murderer.”
There was a silence. Penny waited, scratching behind Kali’s ear. The dog leaned harder and began to make a strange snoring noise, but with her eyes half-open.
Finally, Cath said, “You’re talking about the David Hart situation, aren’t you? I may have spoken unwisely when you came to the party. Alcohol … is not to be trusted.”
“No, not at all. I pressed you on it. It was my fault. But I feel I am involved, somehow. I did find the body, didn’t I?”
“That does not make you involved.”
“It was horrible. I’ve never seen a dead body before. Except that guy in Ruislip who was stuck in a cardboard box but that probably doesn’t count. I want closure. Or something. Anyway, listen.” She could hear herself sounding almost rude but she was so keen to get her thoughts out in the open. “I’ve worked it out. Ed’s a prime suspect. I’ve met him twice now. He was really angry about landowners like David Hart. I mean, he sounded furious. I think I upset him a bit. But there’s more. He’s also good with electrical stuff, you see. It could be him! It is him!”
“Oh, Penny. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but honestly, although he was electrocuted, it can’t have been the fence. It was a temporary one that ran off some batteries, remember? They’ve been down and checked and everything. It’s confirmed. The forensics boffins have categorically stated that the fence is absolutely fine and did not have the voltage, or the amperage, or the current, or whatever it is, to kill a man. They said something about the “volts that jolts, the mills that kills”, and then laughed, and said it wasn’t the fence.”