Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (8 page)

“I need to know every last detail if I’m going to make a plan.”

“A plan, eh?” A sudden fruity, jovial voice made Lexy and Hope jump violently. “The plan’s the thing!”

A floridly handsome man had materialised at their table. He had a shock of rich chestnut hair which he now flicked from his eyes with what seemed like a practised gesture. Lexy was aware of the rapid appraisal he gave her.

“Bloody hell, Tristan,” Hope put her hand to her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Guilty conscience, obviously,” he purred. “Anyway, who’s this you’re conspiring with?”

“I’m Alexandra Lomax,” said Lexy coldly, annoyed at this intrusion. Hope seemed temporarily fazed by the man’s arrival. Lexy wondered how much of the conversation he’d heard. “I’ve just moved to Clopwolde,” she added.

“And you are a most welcome addition,” said the new arrival, turning the full force of his copper-coloured eyes on her.

Lexy gave him a weary smile. A tea-shop Lothario. All they needed.

“Er… Lexy, this is Tristan Caradoc,” said Hope, recovering herself. “He and his wife Tammy live next door to my brother.”

Oho. The couple with the deformed cat. Or rather, without the deformed cat.

“That’s right, Hopeless. Ruin any chance I might have had of sweeping this girl off her feet by telling her I’m already married.” He was almost maniacally cheerful.

“And I thought it was me you were trying to sweep.”

“Oh, that was last week, darling. A man can only take so much rejection.” He turned to Lexy. “Don’t mind us, we’re always like this. How are you finding our little village?”

“Bit by bit and slowly,” said Lexy. “I only arrived yesterday.”

“Then you must let me show you around,” he said, throatily. “I do a marvellous ghost walk.” He waggled his fingers next to his face. “Very scary.”

Hope cleared her throat.

“Tammy and I moved here ourselves about ten years ago,” he went on, quickly. “Got rather jaded with the city theatre scene.”

Lexy saw a look of despair pass across Hope Ellenger’s face that she sensed had nothing to do with anonymous letters.

“Tammy was actually rather a well-known actress,” Tristan continued. “You may have heard of her… she’s been in
Lovejoy
, and
Bergerac
and numerous Beeb dramas. And… ahem… I’ve been known to tread the boards a bit, too.”

“Really?” said Lexy politely.

“Do you try your hand at all?” he continued, appearing not to realise that she didn’t know him from Adam. “We could do with some new life in our little am-dram group here in Clopwolde. We’re doing
South Pacific
this season. Perhaps you should come along for an audition.”

Lexy had a sudden insane vision of herself singing
I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair
.

“We’re a very small group,” Tristan went on. “But perfectly formed. We have to rope in the local school kids for the crowd scenes.”

“Maybe when I’ve settled in a bit,” Lexy demurred. Or when hell freezes over.

He gave a mock-pout, and turned his attention to Hope. “So, are you ready for the annual bun-fight tonight?”

Hope’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Triss, I’d forgotten. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make it.”

He cast up his eyes. “It’s going to be a very poor showing at this rate, because Tammy won’t go anywhere at the moment, of course, and she won’t allow me out socialising either.” He preened himself. “Not unescorted anyway, with my reputation – ha-ha! So I thought to myself – Tristan, you might as well do your ghost walk and earn a few quid instead. I mean,” he went on quickly, “I’m just as cut up as Tammy about poor little Princess. But we all have our different ways of dealing with it, don’t we?”

Lexy pricked up her ears.

“There’s no news, then?” Hope gave him an anxious glance.

Tristan looked grave. “We’ve searched everywhere. Tammy’s frantic.”

“I’ll keep on asking people,” said Hope. “Guy’s been looking everywhere too – he’s ever so upset about this, you know.”

Tristan gave her an awkward look. “It was Tammy who got the idea about the dogs into her head, you know. Obviously,
I
don’t seriously think they…”

“Well, I wish you’d convince her,” Hope cut in.

Lexy watched Tristan with interest. Guy Ellenger had given her the impression that the Caradocs were united in thinking that his chihuahua collective had murdered their beloved moggy.

“I’ll try, but you know what she’s like when she gets a bee in her bonnet.” Tristan flicked his chestnut hair again, and turned back to Lexy. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come for that audition?”

“Quite sure, thanks,” affirmed Lexy.

“Nothing I can do to persuade you? You’d make a perfect principal boy with that lovely little crop.
Dick Whittington
here we come, eh?”

“Oh, shut up, Tristan.” Hope pushed herself up with a loud scrape of her chair.

Tristan shut up. He gave Lexy a quick shrug and a wry smile. “Nice to have met…”

“Excuse me.” Kitty suddenly popped up like an aggrieved Judy in a puppet show. “Do you have an… animal with you?” The query, delivered with some force, was directed at Lexy.

“Only a very small one,” said Lexy, apologetically, using her thumb and forefinger to indicate Kinky’s size. “He’s under the table.”

“Oh, no he isn’t.” The manageress pointed.

Kinky was over by the cake trolley, awkwardly but determinedly wolfing down a cream horn. There was also a ravaged chocolate éclair beside him on the floor, and he had very clearly licked the side of a frosted carrot cake. The other customers in the café had started laughing and pointing.

“Oh, crap,” said Lexy.

“That’s not one of Guy’s little bas…?” Tristan looked confused.

“No, it’s mine. Kinky,” Lexy breathed despairingly.

Tristan Caradoc instantly gave her an appreciative glance.

“Kinky, eh?” he murmured.

Lexy closed her eyes. She was going to have to give that dog a different name. She strode over to the chihuahua.

“Can’t take him anywhere,” she apologised to Kitty, grabbing him up. Globules of cream dropped from his funnel on to the oak floor.

“He’s not supposed to be here in the first place,” the manageress reminded her. “For reasons of hygiene.”

“Yeah, I know – and I’m sorry about the cakes,” said Lexy. “I’ll… er… pay for them, of course.” And how would she do that, exactly?

“No, it’s all right, put it on my bill,” said Hope.

“I couldn’t let…”

“Now, now – allow me to sort this out, ladies.” Tristan produced a wallet and peeled off a couple of ten pound notes. Ordinarily Lexy would have rather walked over hot coals than let strangers bail her out, but if they were actually going to argue over it…

She gave Tristan a quick smile of thanks.

“Ghost walk – ten o’clock, tonight,” he murmured. “Special one, just for you.” He thrust a small leaflet at her.

“Lovely.” She nodded weakly, slipping it into her back pocket. “Is he for real?” Lexy said a few moments later, outside the café.

“Oh, yes,” said Hope. “In fact, that’s the problem. He’s been the archetypal ham for so long that he’s actually started living it.”

They grinned at each other, and by common consent set off along the high street towards the sea front. Ahead of them a heat haze sprang up from the road, making everything shimmer.

“Think he overheard much?”

Hope shook her head. “Even if he did, he won’t remember. His only real interest is himself.”

They walked on in silence for a while.

“So, will you do it?” Hope asked, looking straight ahead.

Lexy bit her lip. “Listen, I do really want to help you, but whoever wrote those letters must be pretty sick. If you don’t tell the police, they might send something equally vile to someone else. Anything could happen.”

Hope’s shoulders slumped. “Just for a couple of weeks, then?” she pleaded. “Investigate for a fortnight, and if you don’t find anything I’ll hand the letters in to the police.”

Lexy considered. It wouldn’t hurt, she supposed, just to make some brief enquiries. “All right,” she said, slowly.

Hope broke into a grateful smile and started thanking her profusely. Lexy waved her away. “Listen, it would help if I had a starting place. Are you quite sure you can’t think of anyone here who might have a grudge against you?”

“No,” said Hope. “I keep myself to myself. I don’t think I’ve ever made an enemy of anyone.” But her eyes were carefully blank, Lexy noted.

“Any indication that someone else you know might have got one of these letters?”

Hope shook her head. “If it was anything like mine, they probably wouldn’t want to shout about it anyway, would they? That’s the whole point.”

“Guess so. OK, I’ll try to think of another angle. But you have to show me those other two letters.” The letters that would hold the clue to whatever Hope was hiding.

“I’ll dig them out,” Hope said, reluctantly. “By the way, how much do you…?”

Lexy steeled herself. Go on, say it. Say, Two hundred and fifty pounds, please, with a deposit of fifty pounds payable now.

“If I find out anything worth knowing, we can settle up then,” she found herself saying, without quite knowing why. Talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth. She could almost hear Kinky’s heavy sigh.

“Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” Hope looked tearful again, but composed her face quickly to greet an elderly couple approaching from the other direction.

“I guess you know everyone around here,” said Lexy, when the pair had passed on.

“Oh, yes. There’s not many Clopwolders I wouldn’t be able to name. That’s why I don’t want my past becoming public property again…”

They reached the promenade, and leaned on the pastel green railings. The small beach was beginning to fill with holiday-makers, staking out their patch of sand and shingle with towels, deckchairs, wind-breaks and other fortifications. The shrieks of children mingled with those of gulls.

“So why were you so upset yesterday morning?” Lexy enquired, with studied indifference. “Was it me?”

Hope looked sheepish. “Partly. I was tense anyway, because of these letters. Then one of our customers, Avril Todd, came in. She’s such a bitch.” Hope gripped the railing, making her knuckles stand out as white as shells. “She’s been complaining about our complementary medicine. It’s all so petty. We’ve been selling alternative remedies alongside our conventional medicine for ages now and whatever profit we make from them goes towards helping people on low incomes pay for treatment for their pets.”

“Bit like Robin Hood?” Lexy suggested, remembering the freebie Guy had given her, and wondering if she looked that much like a charity case.

“Well, we don’t exactly rob the rich, but we do make a point of suggesting to our well-heeled customers that their pekes and shi-tzus and Persian cats would benefit from something from our alternative range. Trouble is, Guy made the mistake of recommending the stuff to Avril Todd. She reckoned it didn’t work, probably because she hadn’t been using it properly, so she’s trotting around the village broadcasting the fact, and now she’s threatening to go to the Trading Standards people.” Hope made a noise of disgust.

Lexy nodded. Enter Detective Inspector Peculiar. Sounded as if Avril Todd had made a little visit to the police, too.

“And it’s not only that,” went on Hope, her eyes sparking angrily. “When they moved here, she and her husband bought two beautiful little cottages in Windmill Hill and knocked them into one. Sacrilege! And they’ve put in PVC replacement doors and windows. They’ve ruined two homes which should have gone to local families instead, except the Todds paid an inflated price for them, of course.”

Lexy opened her mouth to speak.

“And even worse,” Hope continued, “Avril’s joined the am-dram group. She came for an audition, and made a hell of a fuss when Maurice, that’s the director, didn’t select her. In the end he gave her a job helping out backstage, and the next thing we knew she was props manager. Then she did a couple of walk-on parts, and before we knew it, she’d joined the cast.”

Hope shook her head disbelievingly. “She’s one of those people who deliberately set out to make themselves indispensable. As well as the props and bit parts she does all the running around, gives us lifts when we’re playing at other venues so people can have a drink after the show, bullies local businesses into giving sponsorships and God knows what else.” She expelled a long breath, and Lexy managed to get a word in.

“What’s her husband like?”

“Rod Todd? He’s a wuss. A doormat. She’s got him right under her thumb.” No surprise there, then.

“And is Avril the flirtatious type?” Lexy quickly continued. She might as well take the opportunity to make some enquiries about her forthcoming surveillance job.

Hope regarded her in astonishment. “Good grief, no. She’s Margaret Thatcher’s evil twin.” She paused. “You saw her.”

True.

“Anyway,” Hope continued, “I was already uptight when you turned up. Then as soon as I looked at you I thought you were a visitor from this holiday camp over at Marshlands. It attracts the sort of people who…” She paused, awkwardly.

“Have tattoos, ripped jeans and close crops?”

Hope looked apologetic. “Hence my request for the money up front.”

“Bet you were surprised to see I had a chihuahua, instead of a pit bull.”

“Yes, I really lost the plot at that point. Especially when you told me you’d moved to Clopwolde. I thought you must be some kind of inverted snob.”

Lexy grinned. “If it’s any comfort, all I own of Clopwolde is a decaying log cabin.”

“Must be one of the last ones left up Cliff Lane,” said Hope. “There used to be about ten of them up there – all built in the seventies, I think, by a local landowner hoping to make a few quid from the holiday trade.”

“What happened to the others?” Lexy asked.

Hope shot her a quick look. “Haven’t you been to this part of the world before?”

“Nah. All this happened in a bit of a hurry,” Lexy explained. “But,” she forged on, seeing a certain curiosity alight on Hope’s face, “I’m probably only here for a short while. Have to see how it goes.”