‘Harley,’ he called, helplessly, squinting into the gloom, ‘Where are—’ A blow to his chest drove the words from his throat, and sent him tumbling backwards from the bench to the grass.
Harley rested a pair of muddy paws on his evening jacket, breathing gusts of doggy breath in his face.
Adam caressed Harley’s ears, muttering nonsense.
Imogen arrived close behind the dog, breathless, as Adam struggled to his feet, brushing grass and sticks from his trousers. ‘He’s all right,’ she gasped, ‘at least, I think so.’
‘The poison may take a while to work. We need to get him to the vet, fast—’
‘No need.’ She smiled, white teeth gleaming in the dusk. ‘As soon as I found he was safe, I doubled back to the staff entrance and asked in the kitchens. They haven’t had time to put the steak in the dish – they said they were too busy.’
Adam let out a shout of laughter, and Imogen joined in.
‘Too busy listening to the concert, I suppose. I won’t rely on them to feed him in future.’
In the lounge, Imogen’s old friends still sat in their circle, talking over each other, trying to understand the extent of Kate’s hatred.
They fell silent as Harley appeared, treading mud into the pale carpet.
In the silence, Toni said, ‘I never trusted her.’
Steph threw her arms round Imogen.
Daniel’s forehead was creased. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do, Mr Hennessy.’
Adam stroked Harley’s coat as the dog settled across his feet. To think he’d considered sending this loving creature to a home for strays.
He collected his thoughts. ‘As you’ve heard, your friend Kate hated Imogen for years, ever since your schooldays.’
‘But murder – I can hardly believe it,’ Steph said. ‘We thought Imogen was her best friend.’ She shook her head. ‘Teenage jealousy is one thing, but murder?’
‘Three murders,’ Adam pointed out. ‘Unfortunately, we don’t know exactly what turns a person into a killer. It’s a mix of personality traits and circumstances…’
Daniel joined in, speaking slowly, as though thinking through events. ‘Kate waited all these years. The hatred must have been like a slow burn inside her, while she did nothing about it.’
Imogen joined in, ‘Then, she met Greg again. They rekindled their affair and the hate boiled over into action.’
She shivered. Without a word, Daniel slipped off his jacket and wrapped it round her shoulders.
‘Typical Greg,’ Daniel said. ‘All looks and no brains.’
Adam continued, ‘He fought with Imogen, took her savings and left in a huff, but later, he realised he was making a mistake. That was probably his only decent impulse – to beg Imogen to take him back, but, like a fool, he signed his own death warrant; he told Kate his intentions.’
‘And she killed him.’ Steph’s mouth dropped open. ‘Just like that. The man she says she loved.’
‘What a pair,’ Toni said. ‘Greg was an untrustworthy idiot, even at school. I bet he was the one who got hold of the LSD for our drinks.’ She shivered. ‘I didn’t realise how lucky I was the day he left me for Kate.’
Imogen said, ‘More fool me, for marrying him.’ She was carefully avoiding eye contact with Daniel. ‘I’m sorry I brought all this on everyone,’ she said.
Steph said, ‘David, there’s one thing that bothers me, but I hardly dare ask.’
David smiled. ‘Carry on. Ask me anything.’
Steph said, ‘Was there really something between you and Julian? I mean, Kate told me you were a couple and that was why you killed him. We know she was lying now, but—’
David’s laugh rang out. ‘Were Julian and I a couple? You must be joking. Neither of us felt that way, and Julian only had eyes for Imogen.’
‘Like all of us,’ Daniel added.
Adam shot him a glance. Daniel had hurt Imogen once. He’d better not do it again.
Steph shook her head. ‘Kate said it to keep suspicion away. She must have been worried when we all agreed to meet up, so she set out to muddy the waters.’
‘She was an expert at causing confusion,’ Adam nodded.
‘She fooled us all,’ Steph said. ‘But, in the end, she was too clever for her own good.’
41
Future
Imogen and Adam strolled through the hotel grounds the next day, Harley bounding back and forth, chasing imaginary rabbits, retrieving enormous sticks and dropping them at Adam’s feet.
‘He really likes you,’ Imogen said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want him back?’
Adam accepted the dog’s latest offering. ‘He’s much better here with you. He needs space to run. You even have a stream for him to splash around in.’ He threw the stick, disappointed to see it fall only a few yards away. ‘I need to work on my muscles. Anyway,’ he beamed at Imogen over his shoulder, ‘have you decided what to do? Will you stay?’
He held his breath, surprised to find how much he wanted her to say yes.
‘I never thought I’d say it, but I’m starting to like owning a hotel,’ Imogen admitted, and Adam’s spirits rose. ‘Emily’s doing a great job as manager, and I’ve got used to her now I know she didn’t have an affair with either my husband or my father – all she did was work hard. She told me she was terrified when she realised she’d sent my father to his death that day, when Kate rang. We’ll build the hotel up again, together.’
‘Not giving up the landscape gardening, though?’
‘Haselbury House? Not likely. I can’t bear to go too long without getting my hands dirty. And when that contract’s finished, I can work on the hotel grounds. I have so many plans, I hardly know where to start.’
‘Good morning.’ Striding over the grass, eyebrows waggling, came Detective Chief Inspector Andrews. ‘Glad to see you both up and about, this morning. Whoa—’ as Harley charged towards him. ‘Nice dog,’ he muttered, keeping Harley at bay with one arm.
As Imogen tempted Harley away with a biscuit, Adam said, ‘What can we do for you?’ He’d never seen Andrews so animated.
‘Came to congratulate you. Fine piece of investigation. Very helpful.’ That was the nearest to an apology Adam would get for Andrews’ earlier attitude. ‘Nice work yesterday, too. Good plan.’
Imogen returned alone. Adam raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Harley’s with Emily,’ she said. ‘She’s in danger of killing him with kindness. She was in tears again this morning, remembering how close she came to feeding him with poison.’
‘Have you forgiven her?’
Imogen considered. ‘It shows she’s human.’
‘I think the two of you will make a great team, and The Streamside Hotel will go from strength to strength. I hope so, for purely selfish reasons. Your success will feed into my turnover in The Plough. Maybe we should try some joint advertising – two great places for food and drink in one village.’
The DCI coughed. ‘I thought you’d like to know the mayor confessed to blackmailing your father, Mrs Bishop. Something about stolen plants – couldn’t make head nor tail of it, myself. He’s going to plead guilty at trial for fraud and corruption over planning permission. There’s a string of bribes he wants taken into account, along with his crony, Councillor Smith.’ He chuckled. ‘Councillor Smith was relieved to get it all off his chest, I suspect. He’s more worried about what his wife is going to say.’ Andrews gave a hearty laugh. ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall in that house.’
Imogen asked, ‘Will people hear about my father? You know, the things he did?’
‘Well, it will all come out in court eventually, but I wouldn’t worry too much, Mrs Bishop. Receiving dodgy plants thirty years ago won’t be big news, and councillors taking kickbacks surprises nobody, these days. Kate Lyncombe’s murder trial, on the other hand, will be a huge story – I wouldn’t be surprised if it makes the national news.’
‘I suppose I can cope with that.’ Her voice faltered. ‘And G
reg?’
‘Your husband’s crimes were minor, small-time stuff. Not a very talented criminal, I’m afraid. That Joe Georgiou’s the one we want. Nasty piece of work, from what we’ve found so far. We’ll be going through his affairs with a fine-toothed comb, I can assure you, working with your old team, Adam.’
So, he was Adam, now, was he? Part of the old police officers’ network?
‘Seems the man had links with your last case.’ Andrews shook his head, as though saddened by the dishonesty in the world. ‘I’ll keep you informed.’ He turned to Imogen. ‘As for that silly lie you told…’
She blanched. ‘A lie?’
‘About your quarrel with your husband. You should have told us the two of you had split up. Police officers weren’t born yesterday. My young detective sergeant could tell you were lying; you gave yourself away, blinking and biting your lips. Don’t try to pull the wool over police eyes again – you’re extremely bad at it. We might have been on to your friend, Kate, sooner, if we’d known your husband had been cheating on you.’
Imogen’s face glowed red with mortification. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, like a naughty schoolgirl.
‘Well, that’s what I wanted to say.’ The eyebrows twitched again. ‘Time to get back to work. Plenty of paperwork for my boys.’ He chuckled. ‘Told them I want their reports on my desk by tonight. That’ll keep ’em busy today. Oh, and there’s Constable Stephen Jackson.’
‘Toni’s son?’
‘He’s in a spot of trouble – giving information to his mother. Stupid idiot. Still, he’s a good enough copper. Not too bright, not up for promotion, but steady enough. He’ll get over it.’
He sketched a vague salute and set off back to the hotel.
‘Have a good day, both of you. Oh, seems like you have more visitors.’ He pointed to a tall figure striding down the path. ‘You’re popular, today. Let me give you a word of advice. Watch out for that Steph Aldred. Knew her when she was a journalist. Once she had her teeth in a story, she’d never let go.’
Adam laughed. ‘If she hadn’t suggested the reunion, Imogen and her friends would probably never have met up, and there would have been no justice for Julian.’
Imogen said nothing, her gaze focused on the newcomer.
‘Hello, Daniel,’ she said.
Imogen ushered Daniel and Adam back to the hotel. ‘Would you like some cake? If the vicar left any on her last visit.’ She bustled about the lounge, clattering knives and plates from the sideboard, chattering inanely. ‘The best china – we used it for my father’s funeral…’
Daniel interrupted, ‘I came to get my jacket. I lent it to you…’
‘So you did.’ She’d forgotten. ‘I left it upstairs. I’ll get it—’
‘No hurry.’
Adam said, ‘I’ll let you have your sketches back, while you’re here. Give me a minute. I’ll nip across the road and fetch them.’
Alone with Daniel, Imogen forced a smile. ‘How’s Steph?’
Daniel stretched out on one of the sofas. ‘Fine, I imagine.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘I haven’t seen her, today.’
They didn’t live together, then.
A spark of hope ignited in Imogen’s chest. She took a breath. This was no time for misunderstandings. There had been far too many already.
She grasped the nettle. ‘Are you two an item?’
The slow smile she remembered from the past spread across Daniel’s face. ‘Not at all. She’s a grand woman, of course. We’re friends again, after all these years, which is good, but that’s all.’
‘At the reunion, I thought…’ Imogen could think of nothing sensible to say.
He said, ‘You and I have thirty years of catching up to do, don’t we? How about dinner tonight?’
She made up her mind. No longer an awkward schoolgirl, she would never again waste precious time. ‘I’d like that very much.’
Acknowledgments
Somerset is a well-kept secret. Holidaymakers zip through the country, hurrying down the M5 to Devon or Cornwall. Yet, hidden on either side of the motorway are a multitude of rural treasures: the sandy beaches of Burnham-on-Sea and Brean, the caves of Wookey Hole, Cheddar, where Britain’s oldest skeleton was found, and the charmingly named Burrow Mump. What better place for murder mysteries, than Somerset’s hidden gems?
I owe a debt to so many people for their help in writing these stories. From the National Trust volunteers who’ve shown me round Somerset’s castles and stately homes, to the vast array of tea rooms and coffee houses where I can sample proper West Country cream teas.
I’m excited to begin this new series of Ham Hill Mysteries, tremendously grateful to the whole team at Boldwood Books for working with me, and especially indebted to my editor, Caroline Ridding, for nursing A Village Murder into life, and to Jade Craddock and Rose Fox’s eagle eyes. Thank you so much, everyone.
Finally, a big thank you to my fellow members of the Romantic Novelists’ Association chapter in Devon, for their fellowship, understanding and general loveliness, and especially to Jak, an honorary member, for his brilliant ideas.
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CHAPTER ONE
Under the Lighthouse
The autumn high tide discarded Susie Bennett under the lighthouse, on the beach she'd avoided for twenty years.
A fierce autumn wind whipped across Exham beach, driving sand rain in Libby Forest's face. It tore at her hood as she trudged across the expanse of deserted beach. The locals knew better than to brave this morning's weather. Libby shivered. Newly arrived in Exham on Sea, she'd underestimated the strength of the storm. She tugged her hood closer, as the wind snapped strands of wet brown hair across her face.
No wonder Marina, one of the handful of people who'd welcomed her to the town, had jumped at her offer to walk Shipley, the Springer Spaniel. Excited by the storm, Shipley pulled at the lead, dragging Libby towards the lighthouse.
She'd never seen a building like it. White-painted, perched on the sand on nine wooden legs, the lighthouse looked hardly strong enough to withstand a breeze, never mind this gale.
The dog ran around Libby, wrapping the lead round her legs. She stepped out of the tangle and hesitated. The dog pulled harder and her arms ached. Marina had forgotten to mention the animal's lack of training.
Could Libby let him run off some of his energy? She didn't want to lose Marina's pet. It seemed hard enough to be accepted in a town like this, where everyone seemed to know other people's business, and Marina was chairman of music club and the history society. Her opinion counted in Exham.
‘I'll chance it,’ she told the dog. ‘You're pulling my arms out of their sockets.’
Free from his lead, the animal raced in excited circles, twirling and spinning, ears alternately flat against his head or standing at right angles, like aeroplane wings.
As Libby squinted into the wind, Shipley skidded to a halt, right by the lighthouse. She ran to catch up, and he barked, whiskers quivering, head pointing.
‘What's that?’ Libby gasped as she reached his side. ‘Looks like an old sack. Still, we'd better take a closer look.’ The tide had receded, almost out of sight, leaving a layer of mud surrounding the lighthouse. It stuck to Libby's boots, dragging her down, sucking at her feet as she picked her way to the shapeless bundle, testing every step
.
‘It's a person. A drunk, I suppose,’ Libby said. ‘We'd better wake him. He'll freeze, in this weather.’
The drunk lay awkwardly, half supported by one of the lighthouse legs.
Libby braced herself for a mouthful of abuse from the drunk, and shook one of the leather-jacketed arms.
The drunk slid noiselessly to the sand. The spaniel nosed it, whining. ‘Quiet, Shipley.’ Libby squatted beside the body, brushed sopping wet hair from an icy cheek, and searched the neck for a pulse. ‘It's not a man, it's a woman.’
Shipley howled into the gale. Rain beat down on Libby, sliding into her hood and slipping down her neck, but she hardly noticed. Her stomach felt hollow.
She staggered up, legs trembling. ‘It's a woman, and she's dead.’
She scanned the beach, but they were alone. Libby shivered. ‘We'd better tell the police.’ She tugged a mobile phone from an inside pocket and fumbled, jabbing 999, calling the emergency services.
‘Hello, do you need fire, police or ambulance?’
This was only the second corpse Libby had seen, and an image of the first floated into her head. She'd seen her dead husband, Trevor, laid out at the hospital. The memory triggered a painful mix of horror and guilty relief that he was dead and she was free at last.
She wiped her hand across her wet face. This was no time to think about Trevor. She looked closely at the body. Who could it be? A local? No one Libby recognised, but then, she hardly knew anyone here apart from Marina, a few members of the history society and Frank Brown, the owner of Brown the Bread, the bakery where she worked part-time.
Slim and tiny, about Libby's age, the dead woman wore skin-tight jeans. A brown ankle boot encased one foot, but the other was bare, the expensive footwear long gone. The woman's lips were fuller than nature intended. Cosmetic work in the recent past? Drenched hair half concealed a small, neat face with a turned up nose. A line of darker hair, along a parting on the side of the head, suggested highlights; a proper salon job, not a do-it-yourself.
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