Rough And Deadly (A Much Winchmoor Mystery Book 2)

by Paula Williams

  As for Prescott, he, too, was even stroppier than usual, and I was heartily glad to be shot of the pair of them when I took him back after his walk.

  I was on my way home past the pub when I heard someone calling after me. It was Shane Freeman.

  “Katie, hang on,” he called.

  I sighed. My bad day was about to get a whole heap worse. Uncle Richard’s car was still in the car park and Shane probably wanted to know the full story.

  “Blimey, girl, where’s the fire?’ he panted as he hurried after me.

  “Sorry, Shane. I didn’t hear you,” I said, which wasn’t quite true. The incumbents of the church graveyard had probably heard him bellowing after me. “What did you want?”

  “I’ve got some good news for you,” he announced, a beaming smile on his large round face. “At least, I may well have.”

  “Jeez, I could sure as hell do with some of that. What is it?”

  “First off, I’ve got a deal you won’t want to miss.”

  “Want to bet?” I knew from past experience that Shane’s unmissable deals could turn out very costly to the unwary.

  “You know how you were admiring my scooter the other day?”

  Admiring it was one way of putting it. Wondering how on earth he managed to balance his huge body on that tiny thing was another.

  “Y-e-e-e-s,” I said, slowly and carefully.

  “Well, it’s for sale and I’m letting you have first refusal, knowing how you need wheels. And this is as cheap a means of transport as you can get.”

  “You’re kidding?” For the first time in I don’t know how long, I felt my spirits lift. Just slightly. I remained cautious though because, knowing Shane as I did, there was usually a catch. “And what is it going to cost me?”

  He named a sum that was way beyond my reach. Nevertheless, it might be worth asking Mum or Dad for a loan. And it would mean that I could get myself to Little Chantling tomorrow night.

  “But what about you?” I asked. “Don’t you need it? Or,” I added as I realised this could well be the catch. “Have you broken it?”

  “Of course I haven’t. I wouldn’t be offering it to you if I had, would I?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  He beamed. “I’m getting rid of it because I don’t need it any more. Because that’s the other bit of good news. I’ve got me a job. A proper job that pays proper money. And wheels to go with it.”

  “Oh, wow, that’s brilliant.” I felt genuinely pleased for him. “Good for you. A company car, eh?”

  “Well, not so much a company car as a van. But that’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. I’m giving up my shifts in the pub. I shan’t need the extra money now and I’ve recommended you to Mary. And she wants to see you. As soon as you can.”

  I could have hugged him, only I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. But a tiny little scooter and regular weekend shifts at the pub could change everything for me.

  At one time I’d have turned my nose up at both. But not now. Now I couldn’t wait to grab them with open arms.

  “Well, are you interested?”

  “Course I am. You’re a star. I owe you one.”

  He grinned. “You sure do. I’ll have to give that some thought. Anyway, do you want to give the scooter a try?”

  “What, now?”

  “Later on this afternoon. My sister has a helmet that will fit you. Hardly been worn. And I can put you on my insurance temporarily, until you can sort your own out. Go and see Mary, and then come round to mine.”

  ***

  Fast forward a couple of hours and I was not only the new weekend barmaid at the Winchmoor Arms, starting at 11.30am Saturday prompt with a ‘don’t you dare be late, young lady!’ but also the owner of a set of very small wheels. Plus a pair of L-plates and an extremely pink and glittery helmet that would have gone very well with young Kylie’s pink sparkly shoes and could probably be seen from space.

  Shane’s sister had never really grown out of the Disney Princess stage, but I supposed I should be thankful it didn’t have a unicorn horn sticking out of the top of it.

  Of course, in the interests of accuracy, I’d better point out that my mum was the owner of the scooter, seeing as she was the one who’d agreed, somewhat grudgingly, to lend me the money.

  Shane showed me how everything worked and asked if I’d like to drive it around for a bit, just to get the feel of it.

  I would like – and I knew exactly where I wanted to go for my first outing.

  I was a bit wobbly going down the lane but I soon got into the hang of it and took the narrow road known as Long Moor Drove that led out of the village across the moors.

  I was intrigued by the scribbled comment in Tanya’s notebook. ‘Old barn?’ she had written. There were lots of old barns around the village, quite a few of them on Will’s farm. But the one out on Long Moor Drove was the nearest to Winchmoor Manor land. In fact, when I checked it out on the ordnance survey map, I could see that Longmoor Drove actually went along the estate’s boundary, which was clearly delineated by an old but freshly-painted black metal fence.

  As I drove along the narrow road I had a bit of a wobble when I passed the spot where Tanya’s car had gone into the rhine. It was hard to miss. The narrow grass verge was churned up, no doubt from the wheels of the recovery vehicle. I gripped the handlebars fiercely and drove on, not daring to look down into the steep-sided rhine, filled almost to the brim with brackish water and looking horribly close to the road.

  A bit further on down the lane, I saw the barn. It was, as Elsie had said, in a very sorry state. The roofline dipped like an overstretched washing line and a buddleia bush grew from one of the upper windows. A large wooden door sagged on broken hinges.

  I parked the scooter in the gateway and made my way along the stony track that led to the front of the barn. I pulled the door and it shifted enough for me to peer inside.

  At first, it was difficult to see anything. The only window was almost completely blocked by the bush. But as my eyes gradually became accustomed to the dim interior, I could just about make out that the barn was empty.

  Of course it was. What was I expecting? Architects’ drawings pinned to the walls? More of Tanya’s scribbled notes? Wherever she had been planning to create her Heaven Scents Spa and Beauty Salon, it certainly couldn’t have been in this run-down old ruin, where the scents were anything but heavenly.

  As I turned to go, something struck me. Obviously it had been used as shelter by various animals, but there was something else. An odour I couldn’t quite identify, although I was pretty sure I’d smelt it somewhere before.

  It certainly wasn’t the cannabis from the barn’s previous owner. The police would have cleared every last trace of that. But there was something tantalisingly familiar. Something…

  I turned round at the sound of a car pulling up. It was a highly-polished dark blue car with those blacked-out windows that always made me think there was a posse of gangsters hiding inside. The driver got out and stood by the gate.

  “What are you doing?” he called across to me. “This place is private. Didn’t you see the sign?”

  “What? No, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t. I was – I was just looking for somewhere to… um… to…” I looked wildly around me, at the flat open fields that stretched towards Glastonbury Tor in the distance. And I said the first thing that came into my head.

  “I was looking for somewhere quiet to meditate.” I waved my hand in the direction of the Tor. “This whole place has such wonderful vibes. Ley lines and all that. And round here they are especially strong. The energy force is amazing.”

  He made no attempt to hide his scorn. “You bloody hippies and your damn stupid nonsense,” he growled. “There are no vibes around here. And this is private land. So clear off.”

  “No worries. That’s cool. Peace, brother,” I said, playing the part for all I was worth. “Peace and harmony to you.”

  I got back on my scooter. He w
as watching me, with arms folded, a forbidding expression on his face. So instead of heading back to the village, I drove towards Glastonbury.

  He may not have recognised me as coming from the village, especially in my Disney Princess helmet. But I’d recognised him. It was John Duckett-Trimble’s gardener-cum-handyman-cum-driver. I remembered Jules saying he was a surly so-and-so, by the name of Jenkins.

  What was he doing still around? Wouldn’t he have left the area when John had?

  Perhaps John had retained him as caretaker until the sale went through, which would explain why he was so edgy about me being on Winchmoor Manor land. Now I came to think of it, this was the most likely explanation.

  I didn’t fancy going all the way in to Glastonbury so, when I thought I’d gone far enough for Jenkins to have left, I turned round and drove back across the moor. But, to my dismay, as I approached the barn, I could see his car was still parked in the gateway to the barn.

  And Jenkins was just getting into it.

  He scowled, and I hoped he wouldn’t recognise me. But how many people drive around in a pink, glittery helmet? I could see from the way he was frowning that he’d clocked me.

  I gave him a cheery wave and drove past. A few minutes later, I heard the car start up and come in my direction. He got closer and closer. I pulled in as far as I could to let him pass, but he made no attempt to do so. Instead, if anything, he got even closer.

  I speeded up. He speeded up. I slowed down. He slowed down. I was beginning to panic. I looked back – which was a mistake. I went into such a wobble that I was waiting for the splash as I toppled into the dark, brackish water of the rhine.

  But somehow, the scooter and I remained upright and on the road – a triumph of hope over gravity. I hung on tighter than ever and kept going. Jaw clenched. Hands in a death grip on the handlebars.

  He was still there. I could hear him. Feel him. So close now that I could have reached back and touched the front bumper of his car. Or I could have, if my balance had been better.

  I tried to think if there were any gateways up ahead so that I could pull in. There were none. But then, if I stopped and got off, what would he do? I didn’t fancy finding out. My only thought now was just to keep going.

  I glanced back again. He was so close that I could see his black-gloved hands gripping the steering wheel, his expression grim. Threatening, even.

  I speeded up. He moved closer. I glanced from one side of the road to the other. To the black sludgy rhines. The steep sides. The narrow verge.

  Ahead, an empty road. Behind me, the car which kept on coming.

  Then, to my relief, I saw a vehicle coming along the ruler-straight road towards me. Jenkins stopped and began to reverse back to the closest passing place which was, in fact, the barn.

  I stopped and manoeuvred myself and the scooter off onto the verge, to allow the car to pass me. He tooted his horn in thanks. But I should have been the one to thank him.

  As soon as the car had gone, I got back on the scooter and headed for the village. My pulse rate didn’t return to normal until I pulled up outside my parents’ home.

  ***

  “For pity’s sake, Katie,” Mum shouted up the stairs. “Will you answer your wretched phone? It’s been ringing for ages.”

  “Sorry, I was in the shower.” I’d come back after the encounter with Jenkins, shaken and anxious. But after a long hot shower and a change of clothes, I was beginning to feel a little foolish, and had come to the conclusion that I’d imagined the whole thing. Or at least blown it into something it clearly was not.

  I picked up my phone and didn’t recognise the number on the screen.

  “This is Olive Shrewton here.” She spoke in a very formal, half-shouting way that reminded me of Gran Latcham. “Is that you, Katie?”

  “Olive? Is something wrong?”

  “It’s Elsie. She’s gone missing – and that dog of hers is going mad in there. I’d go in and sort him out but you’ve got the only spare key. I remember Elsie saying she’d let you have it.”

  “But what makes you think she’s gone missing? She’s probably just gone out for the afternoon.”

  “She wouldn’t do that. Not with the chir – not with the foot lady coming. She’s a really nice girl, by all accounts. Elsie would never miss that. Not with her bunions.”

  “Which have been giving her gyp,” I completed the sentence for her.

  “Then there was this shifty-looking bloke hanging around. I didn’t like the look of him. Neither did Prescott.”

  “Prescott doesn’t like the look of anyone,” I tried to sound reassuring even though, like Olive, I was worried. “I’ll be round straight away.”

  “Would you, dear?” Olive sounded relieved. “What with those horrible murders, and now poor Elsie going missing. It makes you wonder who’s going to be next, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter Twenty

  As I let myself into Elsie’s bungalow, Prescott’s manic barking rose to ear-perforating levels. He’d been shut in the kitchen and, by the sound of it, was intent on demolishing the door that stood between him and freedom.

  “It’s all right, Prescott,” I called out in my most soothing voice. “You know me, don’t you? It’s Kat.”

  But that sent him into warp drive. “Ok, ok,” I called through the door. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned the c-a-t word in your hearing. Let’s start again. It’s Katie, Prescott. You know me, I’m the one who takes you for walkies.”

  But far from being soothed by that, his barking reached a crescendo so I tried a new tactic.

  “Prescott! You little hooligan!” I yelled as loudly as Elsie had the first time we’d met. “Stop that now. I’m coming in.”

  What do you know? It worked. The barking subsided to a muted grumble and I began to see a whole new career ahead of me. If not exactly as a Dog Whisperer then maybe a Dog Bellower.

  I pushed open the door with difficulty and stared in horror at the wreckage of Elsie’s kitchen. Everything that could have been trashed had been. The floor was ankle-deep in debris and in the middle of it all stood Prescott, the tattered remnants of Elsie’s favourite tea towel dangling from his mouth like spaghetti.

  I started to clear up the mess. I was on my third trip to the dustbin with the sad remains of two of her favourite bone china cups, a Busy Lizzie and the tea towel which was now reduced to ‘….eetings fro…. Super-Mare,’ when Olive appeared.

  “Oh, my life! What’s been going on here?”

  “Prescott was shut in the kitchen and he’s been on the rampage.”

  “So I see. Well, at least you’ve managed to quieten him, that’s something. But what to do with him now? I can’t have him. My poor Jasper would leave home permanently if that dog set foot over the threshold. I’m due up our Millie’s, I said I’d be there half an hour ago. But we can’t leave him here.” She rubbed her face wearily. “Millie’s taken to her bed with the worry of everything and you know what? For two pins and a ha’penny, I’d join her.”

  “But surely Abe isn’t still helping the police with their enquiries?” I said, as I picked up a black bin bag and scooped into it the wreckage of a wooden spoon, a mangled egg whisk and a heap of shredded twigs which was all that remained of a wicker basket.

  “No, they’ve let him go,” Olive said. “The old fool finally admitted where he was the night Lady Duckface was killed.”

  “And where was that?”

  “Ferret racing with a load of his no-good mates, who vouched for him.”

  “Then why on earth didn’t he come out and say that straight away?” I asked. “Ferret racing’s a pretty weird thing to do, but it’s hardly a criminal offence.”

  “Not as far as the police are concerned, no. But our Millie’s another matter. Because it’s not the actual racing that’s the problem. It’s the gambling that goes on at the same time.”

  “Gambling on ferret racing? You’re kidding.”

  “That man would gamble on two raindrops runnin
g down a window pane,” she sniffed, dropping a piece of pink plastic that was so well chewed it was impossible to guess what it had once been into the almost-full bin bag. “He’d promised her he wouldn’t do it any more, not after he lost the money she’d put by for the Women’s Institute’s outing to Wookey Hole Caves last year.”

  “Well, at least Millie doesn’t have to worry about him being arrested any more.”

  Olive tutted. “That’s as maybe, but now he reckons he’s going to claim compensation. Says he’s the victim of a crime.”

  “How does he work that one out?”

  “He reckons he’s lost a complete vat of cider, half his entire stock, and it were going to be a vintage year, or so he says. His best yet. He was even thinking of approaching poor Mr Duckett-Trimble for it, if you ever heard anything so terrible. I tell you, Katie, he’s driving my poor sister – and me – mad with his nonsense.”

  “Well, at least I can put your mind at rest on one thing. Elsie’s coat’s missing from the hallstand and her Homer Simpsons are in the sitting room.”

  Olive looked bewildered. “Her home whats?”

  “Those slippers she always wears, in the shape of Homer Simpson’s head.” Olive looked at me so blankly that I decided against trying to explain any further. “She’s obviously off on a jaunt somewhere – shoes, best coat and all. Her grandson, Danny was here on Friday. Chances are she’s with him.”

  Her face cleared. “Happen you’re right, lovely. I don’t know, all these murders have got me jumping at shadows. Even so, it’s not like her to miss her appointment with the new foot lady. Not with…”

  “Her bunions,” I couldn’t resist a smirk as I finished the sentence for her.

  “And that’s where you’re wrong, Miss Clever-Clogs,” she said archly. “Not without telling someone was what I was actually going to say.”

  I was relieved to see a smile replace the worry lines on her face. I promised to take Prescott with me when I’d cleared up as much as I could.

  “If Elsie’s not back in time for Countdown, I’ll phone her son,” I reassured her.

  I left Elsie a note, explaining what I’d done, then took Prescott away from the scene of his crime before he could do any more damage.