Rough And Deadly (A Much Winchmoor Mystery Book 2)

by Paula Williams

  “I couldn’t lie to the police,” he said stiffly.

  “No. But did you tell them about the row you’d had with Tanya? In the pub? I heard it got so heated, the barman was getting ready to ask you to leave. So where exactly were you at the time Tanya was killed?”

  He glared at me. “On my way back to Bristol, of course.”

  “And do you have proof of that?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Katie, you’re being ridiculous. And, if I may say so, extremely insensitive.” His voice shook with barely suppressed anger as he pushed his half-finished cup of tea to one side and stood up. There was a hardness in his eyes I’d never seen before. “This isn’t a game of Cluedo, you know, young lady.”

  I flushed at his patronising tone.

  “Of course I know. My mother’s just been interrogated by an extremely unpleasant detective,” I said, my voice as sharp as his.

  We stood and glared at each other for what seemed like ages. He was the first to look away.

  “Thank you for the tea,” he said stiffly. “I’ll be off now. I just wanted to let your parents know how things stood.”

  Suddenly, I felt bad about letting him go off like that. The poor guy had, after all, just lost his wife in horrific circumstances. And here I was, making him feel even worse. Nice one, Kat.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Uncle Richard, I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said, my voice conciliatory. “Of course I don’t think you could have done it, any more than I think Mum did. I just wanted to point out to you that, as things stand, you and Mum are in a similar position. You both had rows with Tanya and you were both in your cars driving at the time of the murder. With, I’m assuming, no witnesses. And of course I don’t see this as a game. I’m as upset and shaken by the whole thing as anyone else.”

  His face softened. “Yes, you’re right. It’s a sorry mess, isn’t it?”

  “It certainly it. So what are you going to do now? Are you going back to Bristol?”

  “Good Lord, no. I’ve never really thought of that place as home. Even less so, now. And I will tell the police about that woman, threatening Tanya the way she did. Even though it’s going to bring all that nastiness about her affair out in the open. Well, thank you for the tea.”

  “But you didn’t finish it.”

  He gave a wintry smile. “I think a tot of Mary’s best malt will go down better at the moment.”

  “I’m sure if they were here, Mum and Dad would say for you to stay here. You can have my room and I’ll have the spare room. It’s what we did when Tanya was staying.”

  “I don’t think that would work, do you? Terry and I didn’t exactly part the best of friends the last time we saw each other.”

  “He’s calmed down now,” I said, crossing my fingers against the lie.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve already made arrangements. I’m going to stay in the pub overnight and see what’s what in the morning. I wish now I’d never let Tanya talk me into selling Mum’s cottage.”

  Don’t we all, I thought, as I saw him to the door. But I kept it to myself. I’d upset him enough for one day.

  Yet, as he drove away, I couldn’t help thinking that Tanya’s death had come at the right time for him. If he was as broke as he said he was, there’d have been precious little left for his beloved pig farm once Tanya had dragged him through the divorce courts.

  And if they’d decided to give their marriage another go, there was no way on earth Tanya would have agreed to become the wife of a pig farmer in the depths of a Yorkshire dale, particularly one where there was no mobile phone signal.

  So, when you sat down and thought about it, my Uncle Richard had more to gain from his wife’s death than anyone else I could think of. And wasn’t that what the police did in a murder investigation? Look to see who had the most to gain?

  ***

  I sat for ages after Richard had left, staring at his half-empty cup and thinking about the man Tanya had been having an affair with. And his fiery-tempered wife. Was it him Tanya had been going to meet that afternoon? Or her?

  But no, it wouldn’t have been a woman. Tanya had looked excited – as if she was going to meet her lover.

  She’d said something about her personal trainer the day she’d first arrived. I racked my brain, trying to remember if she’d said his name or where he worked. But it was no good. It wouldn’t come.

  “Has Richard gone, then?” Mum asked as she came back a few minutes later.

  “He’s staying in the pub for the night. Did you see Dad?”

  “I didn’t try. I just went to the church and sat there quietly for a bit while I tried to sort my head out.” She took her coat off. “Not that it did any good. I’d best get dinner going. Although I don’t suppose any of us have much of an appetite.”

  “Mum, what was the name of Tanya’s guy, do you remember?”

  She flushed. “Are you going to keep dragging that up every five minutes?”

  “No. But I should have told the police that I saw Tanya on Sunday afternoon, after Richard had left. She was arranging to meet someone. And she looked like a woman going to meet her lover.”

  Mum stared at me, her eyes wide. “And you think…?”

  “I don’t know. Richard said the affair was over, that the guy’s wife made him break it off. But you never know. Perhaps Tanya didn’t want to break it off and was blackmailing him. Like she was blackmailing you.”

  Mum thought for a moment. “You could be right,” she said slowly. “To be honest, I didn’t see that much of him. He only had eyes for Tanya. But I think his name was Adam.”

  “Did she mention his surname?”

  Mum shook her head. “Definitely not.”

  “I suppose if I started with all the gyms within reach of their house in Bristol…”

  “No, Katie. No. I absolutely forbid it,” Mum said fiercely. “I will not have you chasing around, tracking down someone who may or may not be a murderer. Look what happened last time you did that. Goodness knows, if Will hadn’t come along when he did…”

  “I’d have been fine. I had everything under control,” I said.

  “So you say. Even so, just tell the police and let them handle it. They’ll not thank you for interfering. Now, what do you want for dinner? I thought I’d make your dad something really special. What do you think?”

  “Steak and kidney pie is his favourite,” I said, without much hope.

  “I care about the state of his arteries even if he doesn’t,” Mum said dismissively. “I’m going to have a cup of tea before I start on dinner. Do you want one?”

  “I’ll take it up to my room with me, if that’s ok?” I said. “I’ve got some work to do for The Chronicle.”

  Mum frowned. “You’re not going to be writing anything about Tanya, are you?”

  “Of course not.” I didn’t tell her that, after the exchange with Mike earlier, there probably wouldn’t be any more jobs from the paper coming my way. “Just a parish council meeting. The usual boring stuff.”

  Only, of course, I didn’t have any meetings, boring or otherwise, to write up. Once I was in my room and away from her all-seeing eyes, I started trawling the Internet looking for leisure clubs in and around Richard and Tanya’s part of Bristol.

  The people of Bristol must be incredibly health conscious as there were hundreds of them. Or that’s how it felt as I tried one number after another. But eventually I struck it lucky.

  Yes, they did have a personal trainer called Adam. But no, he was not on duty until tomorrow. And no, they could not give out his number, ‘data protection and all that,’ but if I cared to leave my number and a message, they’d be happy to give it to him.

  Could it be him? There was only one way to find out.

  I left a message, asking him to call me. I said it was personal and urgent but didn’t go into details, except to say that it concerned Tanya. I finished the call, and, feeling I was getting somewhere at last, punched the air. As I did so, my hand caught the mug of tea which s
at untouched on my bedside table.

  Before I could stop it, the entire contents of the mug spread across my bedclothes, soaking everything right through to the bottom sheet.

  I cursed. There was nothing for it. I’d have to change the lot. As I tugged at the fitted sheet, the mattress lifted a little and there was a slithering sound as something fell down between the bed and the wall.

  I scrabbled around among the dust bunnies under the bed, looking for whatever it was. Eventually, the torch on my phone picked out a small, bright pink, spiral-bound notebook that certainly wasn’t mine.

  It had to be Tanya’s. My heart leapt. Was it a diary? Would I find an entry that would maybe tell us who she was going to meet yesterday afternoon?

  Chapter Nineteen

  My hand shook with excitement as I blew the dust off the notebook, sneezed and made a silent promise to Mum that I’d clean my room properly next time.

  Most of it was deadly dull. Page after page of what she’d eaten. For heaven’s sake, who eats half a banana? And, if they do, what happens to the other half? Then she’d listed how many calories she’d burned, her daily weight gain or loss (recorded to three decimal points of an ounce) and so on. It was all very Bridget Jones’s Diary, but without the funny bits. And there was no mention at all of Colin Firth, or any other man’s name as far as I could see, which was disappointing.

  However, towards the end of the book, things changed. Instead of the neatly written pages, these were filled with scribbled notes and rough sketches. It was obviously plans for her beauty salon. Heaven Scents Spa and Beauty Salon, in big fancy letters at the top of one page, was a bit of a giveaway. Very ambitious plans they were, too, by the look of it. The rough sketches included labels like reception, nail bar, treatment room, spa, all with arrows pointing to the morning room, drawing room, orangery and even library.

  Orangery? I didn’t even know what an orangery was. And library? Tanya must have been indulging in a bit of day-dreaming when she wrote this. Our maybe she was writing a cosmic wish list. But then I remembered the way she’d laughed when I’d joked about putting the spa in the old stone shed at the bottom of The Old Forge’s garden.

  What if she wasn’t talking about the Old Forge at all? As far as I knew, there was hardly room on the ground floor for a book shelf, much less a library.

  My brain was reeling as one what if followed another, swirling around inside my head like leaves in an autumn gale.

  What if the business partner Tanya had been hinting at, the day she’d first told me about her plans, had been Margot?

  What if Heaven Scents Spa and Beauty Salon wasn’t in The Old Forge at all, but in Winchmoor Manor? What if Margot saw it as a good fit for her upmarket holidaymakers, in her trendy Farrow & Ball cottages?

  What if the reason Tanya had been skulking around the entrance to the Manor, after Margot’s death, was because she’d been taking one last look at what might have been? No wonder she’d been so upset by the news of Margot’s murder.

  I looked more closely at her notes. There were a few numbers jotted around. Big numbers, with lots of zeros after them. As well as cryptic notes like… ‘car park? Old barn? Swimming pool? Stable block?’

  Then came the what if that chilled me to the bone. What if both women were killed by the same person? What if Tanya hadn’t made a mistake when she’d thought she’d recognised Margot, that day in the salon, and the two women were connected in some way?

  She’d told Mary about finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. So where was this pot of gold coming from? Could it be Richard? Yet, according to him, she knew he was almost broke. It was, he’d said, the reason she’d wanted a divorce.

  And yet, although Richard said he was broke, he had enough money left in the kitty to buy a farm. Now I’ve never gone shopping for a farm, but I’m willing to bet you won’t find one in the ‘tenner and under’ section in The Chronicle’s classified ads.

  At least now there was no chance of Tanya getting her grasping little hands on Richard’s pig farm fund.

  So, what if she’d been she blackmailing him as well? I only had his word about the fall-out with this personal trainer Adam and his wife. From the way she’d treated Mum, I knew Tanya wouldn’t hesitate to use a bit of blackmail to get what she wanted.

  I called Jules, to see if she’d heard Margot talking about plans for a beauty salon. It rang and rang and I was about to give up when she answered. She sounded totally stressed and out of breath.

  “Sorry, Jules. Is this a bad time?”

  “Just a bit,” she said. “Kylie’s having a total meltdown because I said she couldn’t wear her new pink sparkly shoes to school tomorrow. And now the baby’s joining in.”

  I could hardly hear what she was saying above what sounded like a dozen screaming children, not just two. “Don’t worry. I’ll call tomorrow. Ok?”

  “Thanks. Catch you later.”

  As she rang off I made a silent vow to myself that I would never, ever have children.

  It sounded like hell on earth.

  ***

  Having said that, there was a time later on that evening when I’d have gladly changed places with Jules. The atmosphere between Mum and Dad was so frosty it would have had penguins queuing up for hot water bottles.

  Then there was the soya mince ‘moussaka’ she served up. Dad took one mouthful, pushed it away and got his coat.

  “Where are you going?” Mum asked.

  “To the pub.”

  “You do know Richard’s staying there, don’t you?” Mum said.

  Dad paused, his coat half on. “I’ll take that chance,” he said curtly. “I’ll go in the public bar. I dare say he won’t lower himself to drink in there.”

  “Dad, please…” I started, but I was talking to a closed door.

  Mum sighed and looked down at the unappetising mess in front of us.

  “Do you know, Katie, I think I might have been better off taking your advice and serving up steak and kidney pie? If he doesn’t care about his arteries, why should I?”

  I was almost tempted to join him at the pub. Mary didn’t do cooked food on a Monday night but a packet of cheese and onion crisps and a pickled egg would taste a whole load better than Mum’s pretend moussaka.

  But then I remembered the promise I made to myself when I’d realised the body in the rhine wasn’t Mum.

  “It’s very nice, Mum,” I lied as I began to eat it.

  A couple of times during the evening, I picked up the phone to speak to Will. But put it down again because I just couldn’t think what to say to him and, to be honest, I was still smarting from the fact that he thought I would exploit Tanya’s death by writing about it. And at his ‘out of my league’ comment.

  Eventually, I gave up and went to bed early. Mum followed soon after.

  We hadn’t been in bed very long when Dad came back but, instead of going into the room he shared with Mum, he went into the spare room. Of all the stubborn idiots, I thought. How on earth were they going to put things right between them when they were in different rooms? I felt like going in and having a go at him but I knew that would probably only make things worse.

  But one good thing might come from his self-imposed banishment to the spare room. At least now, I hoped, he’d finally get around to mending the legs on that bed, after spending the night in it.

  In the morning, things between them were no better. No surprise there. Dad took himself off to work and Mum opened up the salon as usual.

  I phoned Mike to see if there were any jobs going, but he was not very encouraging.

  “I’m sorry, Kat,” he said. “There’s not much at the moment. I’ve got to leave plenty of space for the murders so everything else is getting squeezed out. But there’s a meeting over at Little Chantling tomorrow evening which the organisers would like us to cover. A developer wants to demolish the village pub and build a housing estate on the site. And the locals are getting together and talking of forming a co-operative to buy
it.”

  “Sounds a good story.”

  “Sure. But that’s ten miles or so away from you, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  He sighed. “How are you getting on with fixing up some transport? You said the other day you were getting closer?”

  “I’m working on it.” I figured he didn’t need to know that in my mother’s current mood, there was no way she’d even let me clean her precious car, least of all drive it. And that the balance of my savings account was £2.51p.

  “Pity. But I accept your reasons for not wanting to work on your aunt’s story. I’ve got one of the staff reporters to cover it. I’ve given her your number and said you’d be happy to help with any background stuff. It’s all covered. So you don’t have to worry.”

  The thought of a staff reporter nosing around on my patch wasn’t just worrying, it was infuriating.

  ***

  Elsie was even crankier than usual that morning. Her bunions, she complained before I was even through the door, were ‘giving her gyp’ and when something gave Elsie ‘gyp,’ she believed in sharing the misery with those around her.

  And, moreover, she grumbled on, there was a new ‘chirrupist’ coming this afternoon and it was a woman. Elsie didn’t hold with ‘women chirrupists,’ and what had happened to Clint, who’d had such a magic touch with a callus file, she wanted to know?

  I could have told her he’d hopped off to Torquay with Sandra, but that it had all ended in tears and Sandra was now back in the salon, a sadder and wiser woman. Fickle Clint had found other toes to tickle and was staying on in Torquay, leaving poor Sandra to limp back to her husband and to Chez Cheryl. But I was my mother’s daughter and didn’t pass on gossip – at least, not always.

  In the mood Elsie was in, it wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. Everything I did that morning was wrong and, even when I made a pretty good job (though I say it myself) of mending her fridge door, she grumpily reminded me that it was my fault it had got broken in the first place.