by Issy Brooke
Small Town Christmas
Some Very English Murders - Book Six
Issy Brooke
Text copyright 2015 Issy Brooke
All rights reserved
Cover credit: background vector illustration Denis Demidenko via 123rf.com adapted by Issy Brooke
Cover design and dog illustration by Issy Brooke
You can find out more about Lincolnshire and the characters in Glenfield at my website, http://www.issybrooke.com
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This book is written in British English. It’s like US English but with more vowels.
Chapter One
Penny stared at the LED screen on the back of her digital camera, and sighed.
“Another duff one?” Drew asked sympathetically.
Penny growled. “I don’t know how I’ve managed it, but the photo is both entirely black, and blurry, at the same time. There’s nothing in the shot to be blurry, but it’s still blurry. Maybe I’ve invented a new type of photography. Maybe I am, in fact, a trail-blazer, unaware of my talents, about to burst onto the international art scene to wild acclaim and–”
“No, dear,” said a sudden and entirely unwelcome female voice at Penny’s shoulder. A heavy cloying scent, reminiscent of a cheap version of Chanel, wrapped around the woman who was currently resting her claw-like hand on Penny’s arm.
It was Linda Osmond, and she apparently had no concept of personal space, nor, indeed, personal conversations and privacy.
“No, dear,” she repeated in a rasping voice, peering at the display screen on the camera in Penny’s hands. “That really won’t do, will it? It’s dreadful. It’s certainly not suitable for what we at the Planning Committee want.”
“I know, that’s why I’m–”
“We at the Planning Committee are hoping for quality. You did come recommended but then, in a small town like this, we are somewhat restricted as to our pool of talent.”
“Of course, and I–”
“Have another bash at it, dear. I am sure that Jared can help you out. He’s not much, I grant you, but he’s enough of a man to know about technology. I’ll send him your way. Bye, dear. Don’t let it get you down. Maybe baking is your forte.”
Linda released Penny from her grip and stalked away, probably to eat kittens or steal a bag of sweets from a child.
What a witch, Penny thought, throwing a glowering stare after her.
Linda and her ancient perfume disappeared into the crowds that were thronging the open market area. The people of the small English town of Upper Glenfield were out in force, in spite of the cold that gripped the November night. It was Friday, and the town’s Christmas lights were due to be switched on within the hour. Meanwhile, people wandered around, bought hot food from a handful of stalls, listened to various local choirs from the schools and churches, and tried to stay warm.
Linda was obviously staying warm by igniting fury in people.
Drew was grinning. He had recently made the shift from very close friend to actual real boyfriend, and Penny was still feeling gripped by a teenage headiness and excitement. She liked to look at him. Tonight he was wearing a dark grey fisherman’s jumper that seemed to have been knitted from actual fishermen’s beards, and had accessorised with a chunky orange hat and scarf. When Penny had first seen the hat and scarf ensemble, she had thought they were the most hideous things to have crawled off a loom. Now she was cold, and regretting her fashionable and thin lacy wrap, and thought that the hat and scarf were the best things she’d ever seen.
“What are you grinning at?” she demanded, still peeved at both the failure of her photographs and the unwarranted attack by Linda Osmond.
“Linda. I think she pushed all your buttons at the same time. To be fair, even I can’t quite believe she told you to ask a man because it was technology.”
“The sisterhood is not all high-fives and support, you know,” Penny said. She returned to stabbing at the controls on the back of her camera. She had studied the manual three times but kept forgetting what “AWB” meant, so she twiddled it on and off just in case it was important. “Some of these shots are not bad. But I do need to improve if any are to be used for the promotional material.”
“Have you taken on too much?” Drew said. “You’ve got a lot of responsibilities at the moment. I mean, with the health and safety role for the committee as well.”
“That’s more symbolic than anything else,” Penny said dismissively.
“Really?” Drew’s eyebrows shot up. “I am pretty sure that health and safety, when it comes to the Christmas market, is going to be important. I don’t want to be a party-pooper but are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Penny put on a mock-frown. Now they were officially “a couple”, or “dating”, or “an item” – Penny’s preferred term was “walking out together” as it seemed to smack of a more civilised past –this meant that they spent more time together, and consequently spent more time lightly bickering. And usually, they both enjoyed it.
“I would like to remind you,” Penny said, “that I was a high-powered, hard-faced, she-wolf when I was a professional woman and that part of my duties did include health and safety responsibilities.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “I’m teasing. That Linda has got your back up really easily, hasn’t she?”
“It’s lucky that there are quite a few people on the Christmas Planning Committee,” Penny admitted. “There are more people for her to annoy, so her venom gets diluted. Anyway, I don’t want to even think about that woman any longer. Also, I can’t feel my fingers.”
“Put your gloves back on,” Drew instructed. “Warm up a bit before the lights get turned on; I’m sure that you’ll be taking more photos then.”
Penny packed her camera into its bag, swung it over her shoulder, and pulled her thick gloves over her freezing fingers. “How long till the big switch on?”
“About fifteen minutes,” Drew said.
“And about two weeks and fifteen minutes too soon!” said a loud, angry voice. Another unwelcome butting-in to their conversation.
Everyone turned to see. Behind Drew and Penny, about ten yards away, was a tall, stocky man in his early sixties. He was powerfully built, but his muscles had seemed to slide to around his midriff and he was developing an impressive paunch. The weight was new, Penny surmised, because his beige winter coat was straining to meet across his girth. She felt vaguely pleased at her private Sherlockian deduction.
There was something familiar about the set of the man’s freckled features but she had no idea who he was. He folded his arms across his chest and sneered. Although he had seemed to be responding to Drew, he was addressing the whole crowd. “It’s November, for heaven’s sake! November! November!”
“It’s nearly December, and anyway, everywhere else is doing it this week, if they haven’t already,” a woman said. “So shut up, Clive. Stop being such a–”
The argumentative bystander didn’t get a chance to describe what she thought Clive was. He simply spoke over her, not even looking at her as he argued back. “It’s a waste of money, that’s what it is. A waste of money! An utter waste of money. What about the drains, eh?”
Drew put his arm across Penny’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. She still thrilled to feel him do that. He leaned to her ear and whispered, “I know who that curmudgeon is. That’s Clive Holdsworth. I heard he retired recently but I don’t really know much about him. He was some
kind of corporate guy. He likes to drive too fast because apparently speed limits are just for people with rubbish cars.”
Penny whispered back, “He sounds like a complete doofus. If he has such an issue about the lights, why on earth has he come to watch them being switched on?”
“Probably so that everyone knows his opinion. I always had the feeling he was one of those people who like to be heard. He lives down Cuthbert Road.”
“Of course.” Cuthbert Road was a leafy avenue by the river, to the south of Glenfield, and the large detached houses were mostly occupied by commuters.
There was a band playing on the stage, made up of an eclectic mix of ages and people from the community. They suddenly changed tempo, switching to some upbeat brass music, and that set Clive off on another rant. He moved closer to the stage, and thankfully his complaints about the choice of tune moved out of earshot.
Penny rolled her eyes at Drew. “What a horrible man. Honestly, between him and Linda, it’s hard work to keep hold of my festive cheer. I’m going to get another mulled wine.”
“Oh, well, if you’re offering…”
“Of course, I’ll get you one as well. I won’t be a moment.” She pulled her camera bag from her shoulder and passed it to him, and headed towards one of the drinks stands that ranged along the edge of the market place.
She found herself in a short queue. As she waited, she recognised various people who wandered past, and with each wave or “hello” or nod of greeting, she felt her warm and fuzzy feelings return.
This was community, she thought. Linda and Clive were sad and lonely, and not representative of the town at all.
She had just paid for her two drinks and was turning around when she was hailed by another familiar face, and this one was far more welcome. It was the awkward and angular Jared Boot, who was another member of the Christmas Planning Committee. He had started to become more active in local affairs when he began to help Reg Harris out with the town’s website a little while ago, and now he found himself offering all sorts of technical advice. He’d been supportive of Penny’s developing photography skills, and immediately spotted that she didn’t have her camera with her.
“I thought you were doing photos tonight?” he said. He was a youthful-looking man in his mid-thirties. Most men filled out to their shoulder-width but Jared had the frame of a teenager and his clothes seemed to hang from him, even when he was muffled in a large winter coat.
“Drew’s got my camera,” she said, nodding to where Drew was waiting patiently for his hot mulled wine. “I haven’t taken many decent shots yet, though. I think I have, but then I check the preview, it’s just all rubbish. Night photography is hard.”
“Don’t panic,” Jared said. He was always so upbeat and positive. “Don’t rely on what you see on the tiny display screen. When you get them home and uploaded to your computer, you’ll probably be pleasantly surprised, you know.”
“Do you want to come and see what I’ve done?” she said, taking a step towards Drew.
“Ah – no, like I say, you can’t see them properly till they’re on a bigger screen. The lights will be switched on soon. Catch you later!”
He wandered towards the stage, and Penny made her way back to Drew.
They were soon joined by Penny’s sister, Ariadne, and her kids. Penny downed her wine quickly before it cooled, and began to take more shots of the kids posing and messing around. She was getting into the spirit of things when the band stopped playing and a tall, skinny man came onto the stage with a microphone. He was, it was thought, a random local “celebrity” who had once appeared on television but no one was quite clear in what capacity. “Crimewatch” was one suggestion that made a few folks giggle. No one listened to what he said but everyone joined in enthusiastically for the countdown from ten.
“…three…”
“…two…”
“…ONE!”
The alleged celebrity pressed a dramatically large red button on a box that was not joined to anything else. Somewhere in the background was a man who was actually operating the switch, and when he saw the celebrity move, the hidden man flicked the switch, and the whole town centre was lit up. Multi-coloured bulbs were strung across the street in a high zig-zag pattern, and there was a large fir tree in the centre of the market place which was now glowing with tasteful silver lights and glitter and tinsel.
Everyone began to cheer and clap and grin like children. Surely even the hardest of hearts would be able to smile at this scene? As soon as she thought that, Penny began to look around to spot the miserable man from earlier.
There he was: Clive, and he seemed to be in a confrontation with another man. Penny nudged Drew, and they crept a little closer.
“Do you know who Clive is arguing with?” Penny whispered.
“Not a clue,” Drew said. “I know I’m local but I don’t know everyone in this town. I think I might have seen him around, but not regularly.”
“Huh.”
Penny and Drew weren’t the only ones watching the show. Clive was haranguing the younger man, who was half-turned away and quite red in the face. The other man was giving all the signals that he did not want to be involved. He was clutching a bottle of beer to his chest.
“…your responsibilities?” Clive shouted, jabbing his fingers towards the younger man.
The younger man muttered something. His face was very angry, and his hand was trembling.
“Speak up!” Clive said. “You’re not in a meeting now. You’re free to say what you like. But you still can’t face me, is that it? It’s all behind my back. But I’m not your manager any more. So what do you want to say to me, eh? To my face?”
This time Penny did hear what the other man muttered. He said, “Some people get promoted way beyond their competence.”
Clive heard it too. “Some people should never have been promoted at all, isn’t that right, Haydn? Tell us about that, why don’t you!”
The man now named as Haydn spun around to face Clive, but two men came up either side of him and took his arms, urging him to back down. “Come on, Haydn, mate, step away.”
Penny thought that although Haydn was making the right sort of threatening face, he seemed very willing to be led away from the fight.
Clive, however, was deflated. He shook his fist and threw a few more insults after the departing trio.
“Sort that house out! I’m telling you, I’ve already written to the council about it. Slum landlords like you ruin the whole community! Or do you lie to the council like you lied at work?”
Haydn whirled around but his two friends-cum-minders were ready for him. They grabbed him and hauled him away into the crowd, which parted to receive him and closed after them.
Clive threw his head back in triumph, shot one more filthy look up at the Christmas lights, and half-smiled.
Everyone around him looked away. No one wanted to be his next target.
“Come on,” Drew said, his arm around Penny’s shoulders once more. “There’s trouble in the air tonight.”
“I hope so,” she said, daringly cheeky, and he laughed.
He walked her home, and they chattered about inconsequential things, but her mind was picking away at the curious characters she’d encountered that evening. Linda was a pain, but she was a familiar pain, an inevitable bitter presence at the Christmas planning meetings. Clive and Haydn had some history between them, though, and she wondered what it was all about.
Chapter Two
The following day was a Saturday. Penny woke at a surprisingly reasonable hour, especially considering that she and Drew had stayed up late, watching films and talking about their respective pasts. He had left just after midnight, and she had fallen into a deep and happy sleep.
So she was remarkably refreshed when she bounded into the kitchen, surprising her lazy Rottweiler, Kali. The dog looked up from her basket under the table, but took her time about getting up, stretching, yawning and scratching.
Penny busied hers
elf with breakfast for Kali and herself, and planned out her day. Kali was a rescue dog that Penny had taken on when she moved to Lincolnshire, and she had entered Penny’s life with a disruptive set of unpleasant behaviours such as extreme panic when she saw anything she wasn’t sure of. Extreme panic, in many dogs, looks like aggression. So a Rottweiler having the canine equivalent of a panic attack because a leaf blew across the road was a severe problem in the first few months.
But Penny had been both lucky and stubborn. Lucky to meet others who could help her, with advice and training and gadgets like a headcollar. And stubborn enough to not give up on the crazy six-stone mess of teeth and muscle and paranoia.
Now, Kali was a much more relaxed animal. She had made doggy friends at the stray dogs’ home where Penny occasionally volunteered. Kali knew that people who came to the door usually brought treats. She had learned that she didn’t need to bark furiously when she saw other dogs, litter or invisible gnomes, and she was well-known in the area for being a friendly daft lump of a dog. She was always going to be cautious in new situations, but she rarely entered full melt-down and Penny knew how to spot the early warning signs.
So Penny decided that Kali could accompany her on her morning’s tasks, even though the first job of the day involved walking around the busy weekend streets of Upper Glenfield and putting up posters to advertise the forthcoming Christmas market.
* * * *
Penny soon regretted her decision, but not for the reasons she would have feared a few months previously.
No. Her task was made much lengthier because everyone wanted to stop her and chat about her dog, or pet her dog, or – in a few, rare cases – tell her that her dog was a “dangerous breed”.
“Not as dangerous as the owner,” was her stock reaction to that nonsense, usually accompanied by her bared teeth even as Kali rolled over to present her belly.
The morning was dragging on. Penny didn’t really mind talking to people and catching up on the gossip, but she had a heap of posters in her tote bag and she had promised the committee she would get them distributed around neighbouring villages as well.