Rough And Deadly (A Much Winchmoor Mystery Book 2)

by Paula Williams

“You might as well tell me. You owe me that, at least. Why did you kill Tanya? What did she ever do to you?”

  “Now there was another really, really stupid woman. She threatened me and, as Maggie found to her cost, no one does that and lives to tell the tale. As you’re about to find out, too.”

  “But I’m not threatening you.”

  He gave a short laugh. “You reckon? You’re the biggest threat of the lot. What is it with you women that you can’t leave well alone?”

  What indeed? I thought with a gulp. A few years ago Tanya had worked in a busy city centre hairdressing salon in Bristol which, I imagined, was where she’d remembered ‘Margot’ from – only of course she hadn’t been Margot then, but Maggie.

  Once she discovered that ‘Margot’ was living here under a false name, she obviously began to see the potential in hanging around Much Winchmoor for a while, particularly once she found out how rich John Duckett-Trimble was. That would have been at about the same time that she decided Margot was a potential business partner. Did she blackmail Margot into agreeing to it? I wouldn’t have put it past her.

  “So what was it Tanya wouldn’t leave well alone?” I asked. “You might as well tell me.”

  “She claimed Margot had agreed to go in to business with her, some stupid story about how they were going to turn part of the Manor into a beauty salon, or some such nonsense. Told me the partnership could still go ahead, in spite of ‘darling Margot’s tragic death,’ was how she put it. Said it was what Margot would have wanted and the place would be a tribute to her. Oh yes, and she also said we would both make a fortune.”

  “But you didn’t want that.”

  “Own a bloody beauty salon? Too damn right I didn’t. I’ve spent a lot of money, not to say time, transferring funds from my various businesses to the Winchmoor Estate Limited, then setting up this deal with the Albanians. Why on earth would I throw that away? I’ve got enough money out of this deal to leave this damned country and go to a place with no extradition treaties.”

  “But you didn’t have to kill her.”

  He shrugged. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer. That was when she turned nasty. Said she knew who Maggie really was. How she’d recognised her because she used to work in the salon that Maggie used sometimes. Then she threatened to blow the whistle, unless I agreed to go ahead with Maggie’s plan for her stupid beauty salon.”

  “Heaven Scents Spa and Beauty,” I murmured.

  He shook his head. “Bloody nonsense. Anyway, I agreed to meet her to discuss location. I said it wouldn’t work in the Manor itself but that I had an old barn that could work very well, if she’d like to meet me there. Which she did.”

  “It was you she was going to see that Sunday afternoon, wasn’t it?” I thought how excited she’d been when I’d seen her getting into her car.

  “I made sure the barn door was open, then hid inside. I’d told her to wait outside for me but I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist having a nose around. And so she did.”

  “You killed her in the barn? Like you did with Maggie.”

  He nodded. “Different barn. Same MO. I whacked her over the head with the baseball bat I used on Maggie. That one over there, look. That’ll do for the dog. I’d rather not waste a shotgun cartridge on him. Nor you. I’d prefer they didn’t find traces of it among your remains. Although I will if I have to. It’s just the baseball bat will be so much more convenient, and will burn along with everything else.”

  I shuddered. “But why did you dump Tanya’s body in the rhine? Why not leave it in the barn?”

  “She put the idea of staging an accident into my head. Made a big thing of telling me how she didn’t think the barn would be suitable for her precious salon because of the state of the road. How she’d skidded on her way to meet me and almost ended up in the rhine. It seemed a shame to waste those skid marks. So I put her in her car, drove it to where the skid marks were, heaved her across to the driver’s seat and pushed the car into the rhine. With a bit of luck, the local plod would have put it down as an accident.”

  “But they didn’t,” I said.

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. Like I said, just need to do this last bit of tidying up, then I’m out of here. Now,” he picked up with baseball bat with his free hand and came towards me. “Bedtime story is over.”

  ***

  I’d like to say I resisted him. That I remembered the judo I’d learnt at college and hurled him to the floor.

  Only I didn’t. I froze. And whimpered. And cried when he tied Prescott to the doorpost. I cried, too, when the baler twine cut into my wrists and ankles. And when he poured petrol everywhere.

  I thought of Will, the way I felt when he kissed me, how his eyes crinkled up when he laughed and of the future we’d never have together. Because, of course, I’d always known we’d end up together. Deep in my heart. I was never going to leave Much Winchmoor as long as he was there, no matter how much I talked about doing so. Because he was all I needed. All I’d ever wanted. The man I’d thought I’d grow old with.

  But now, I’d never get the chance to tell him that. Never get the chance to tell him that I was sorry that the last words I’d exchanged with him had been harsh ones (even though he’d been the one in the wrong).

  And that he was, and always would be, the love of my life.

  I thought of my mum and dad and the big cartwheel wedding hat Mum would never get to wear, the over-the-top meringue wedding dress she’d never force me into. The grandchildren they’d never cluck and fuss over. I thought of poor little Prescott and how Elsie would miss him.

  Then I heard Prescott yelp and something inside me snapped. I jumped to my feet, screamed at John to leave him alone, and took a step towards him.

  Pain ripped through my body.

  I was falling. Falling.

  More pain. Searing. Blinding. Then everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When I opened my eyes, I was on one of those fairground rides where the floor suddenly starts to buck and weave beneath your feet. I hate those things and couldn’t work out what on earth I was doing on one. Any more than I could work out what the noise was. It was unlike any fairground music I’d ever heard.

  Lots of yelling, cursing, growling.

  Growling?

  I shook my head to try and shake down the cotton wool that was filling it. Growling meant dog. Dog meant Prescott. Growling dog meant Prescott was alive.

  And so was I.

  With a sudden whoosh the cotton wool disappeared as it all came rushing back. You wouldn’t think it was possible to forget you’re tied up, would you? And yet, when I’d thought John was hurting poor little Prescott, I was so desperate to defend him, that’s exactly what had happened.

  I’d pitched forward like a sack of King Edwards and, unable to use my hands to save myself, cracked my knees, shoulder and head on the stable’s concrete floor. Blood was oozing down my face from the cut on my temple.

  ‘Poor little Prescott,’ on the other hand, was doing just fine on his own. He’d slipped his lead again and his jaws were clamped so firmly around John’s lower leg, it was like he was welded on. And the more John struggled and cursed, the deeper Prescott’s razor-sharp teeth sank into John’s fleshy calf. He was screaming with rage and, hopefully, lots and lots of pain.

  I struggled to free my hands so I could call the police. But John might be rubbish at disentangling himself from a very cross, determined little terrier but he was sure good at tying people up.

  Then, like John Wayne leading the cavalry down into the canyon, the police arrived anyway.

  “Will someone deal with that blasted dog?” they yelled.

  ***

  “So, my little Prescott was the hero of the hour, was he?” Elsie said as she, her grandson Danny and I crowded into her wrecked kitchen and watched as Prescott tucked into a dish of his favourite sherry trifle.

  “He certainly was,” I smiled fondly and, without thinking, reached down
to pat him. Big mistake. Prescott was back to his usual snapping, snarling self. “But if the police hadn’t arrived when they did…” I shivered and didn’t complete the sentence.

  “And that was all thanks to me,” Elsie preened. “I knew they wouldn’t turn out for a dog so I made out it was you being held against your will at the Manor, thinking that when they showed up, you’d realise the game was up and let Prescott go.”

  Actually I’d heard the police say that Jenkins had been arrested at Bristol airport with John’s passport and they were on their way to the Manor to check it out when they got the call. But when they got there, there was no answer from the house, so they had a look around, and that’s when they heard John shouting at the dog and decided to go and investigate.

  But I let Elsie have her moment. It was her dog, after all, who’d saved me.

  “But why on earth did you think I’d dog-napped Prescott?” I asked. “Didn’t you see the note I left for you?”

  Elsie flushed. “Your writing’s terrible,” she muttered. “I don’t know what they teach you youngsters in schools these days. It’s certainly not how to write properly. Nor to respect their elders and betters.”

  “What Gran’s trying to say, in her sweet old-fashioned way, is that she didn’t have the right glasses on so she didn’t read your note properly,” said Danny. “She’d phoned you and then the police while I was parking the car. By the time I came in, it was too late to stop her. Thank goodness,” he added with a slow, lazy smile that gave me the same warm, fuzzy feeling I get when I drink a mug of hot chocolate – with marshmallows.

  I smiled back at him, enjoying the warmth and fuzziness. Until I remembered he was a rat. My smile faded abruptly.

  “So where’ve you been?” I asked Elsie. “Olive thought you’d been abducted, seeing as it was chiropodist day.”

  She gave me an indignant look. “My life doesn’t revolve around my bunions. As it happens, I had better things to do. My son Mark, that’s Danny’s dad, took me shopping at Cribbs Causeway. I’ve had lunch in John Lewis, tea in Marks and Sparks and I’ve bought a new fridge. Top of the range. And now,” she said, looking around the wreckage of her kitchen and beaming. “Now, it looks like I’m going to have to get a new kitchen to go with it.”

  “But I thought you were—” I stopped, not wanting them to know I’d accidentally overheard their conversation the other day.

  “Thought I was what? Broke?” She frowned at me. “Yes, Danny told me that’s what you thought. Where did you get that idea from? I might not be rolling in money. But I’m not broke.”

  “I’m not sure exactly…” I mumbled. Well, I wasn’t going to say ‘from inside your broom cupboard,’ was I?

  “Certainly I’ve been a bit strapped for cash recently,” she said. “But that’s all sorted now, thanks to young Danny here. When he was here last week he asked about the plot of land I’ve bought in the village and came up with this great idea to persuade Mark to release some of my capital. I think that was how you put it, Danny, wasn’t it?”

  Danny nodded. “I told Dad Gran was thinking of selling her plot as she needed the cash. And Dad, who has a thing about rising land values and capitalising your assets, came here at the weekend. He saw the plot of land by the church and got very excited. Reckoned it could well be worth a small fortune in a few years.”

  “He begged me not to sell,” Elsie chuckled. “Said he’d let me have all the money I needed and promised to transfer my money from his high interest don’t-touch-for-years account back into my current account.”

  “She even got him to take her to the Mall at Cribbs Causeway,” laughed Danny, giving his grandmother a look of pure admiration. “Absolutely priceless. Dad hates shopping.”

  “Good for you. But still, that piece of land down by the church,” I said. “It would be such a shame if that was built on. The apple trees…”

  “Are quite safe,” Danny said, with that smile again. “Go on, Gran, don’t tease her. Tell her where your plot of land really is.”

  “It is near the church, like I said. Row K, Plot twenty-nine.”

  I stared at her blankly, so she went on: “I bought a burial plot in the churchyard. Very nice it is, too, with a lovely view of the church clock. Only I haven’t quite got round to telling Mark that yet. He still thinks I’ve bought a building plot.”

  She was still cackling as I left. I started the walk home, wondering how on earth I was going to explain the big, sterile dressing that the paramedic had insisted on sticking on my forehead to Mum and Dad. Not to mention how much of what went on in John Duckett-Trimble’s stables to tell them. Then I heard someone call my name.

  “Katie?” It was Danny. “Look, for some reason we seem to have got off on the wrong foot. How about we start again? Like tonight, over dinner?”

  I looked at his Johnny Depp smile and chocolate brown eyes. He was still the best-looking thing to appear in Much Winchmoor since the church weather vane got a shiny new brass cockerel for the millennium. And I was tempted.

  Then I remembered Will, who’s more John Wayne than Johnny Depp – except he didn’t come charging into the canyon with the rest of the cavalry back there in the stables. But I know he would have done so without a moment’s hesitation, if I’d asked. Although he’d have moaned and grumbled at me for getting into the mess in the first place.

  Will’s one of the good guys. Solid and dependable. I remembered how I’d felt when I thought I’d never see him again. I tried to imagine what life would be like without him teasing me, bullying me and generally getting on my nerves. And I couldn’t.

  “Sorry, Danny,” I said, with genuine regret. “I’m spoken for. And so, according to your grandmother, are you.”

  Three months later

  Not much has changed in Not Much Winchmoor, except that spring has finally given way to summer, the apple trees near the church have blossomed and Elsie has got not only a new fridge but a new cooker as well. She’s also got a new coffee machine – that she has no idea how to work – even though she thinks coffee is the drink of the devil and it gives her ‘paltry-patians’.

  Her ankle is now completely healed, which means I don’t have a job with her any more. But I still walk Prescott every day. For free. He saved my life and I owe the little monster. Also, it means I get to see Elsie every day. And although I get on her nerves and she gets on mine, we both kind of like it that way.

  Mum and Dad are speaking to each other again. And that wasn’t because of what Adam told me about the way Tanya had set Mum up in Bournemouth. They’d already made up before I got the chance to tell them that. What really brought them together was when they learnt what happened between me and John Duckett-Trimble. I’d been hoping they need never find out. No chance. This is Much Winchmoor, after all.

  They were both furious with me and said it was a pity I wasn’t a few years younger as they’d have grounded me for life for behaving so irresponsibly. As for Will, he was worse than the pair of them put together and says I shouldn’t be allowed out on my own.

  I told him he was not my mother and he said, no, thank goodness.

  On a more positive note, my finances are slowly improving. Shane’s little scooter has made a mega difference and Mike at The Chronicle has extended my patch to villages within a fifteen mile radius. And I get to claim mileage allowance and now have several meetings a week to cover, while my weekends are taken up working in the pub.

  Even my secondary career as a dog walker is beginning to work out, and I now walk Shane’s Labrador, Rosie, while he’s out at work. And only last week, someone in the bar was moaning about the cost of doggy day care, which has got me thinking…

  Fiona Crabshaw took my advice and tackled Gerald about his efforts to get someone to stand against her in the parish council elections. After Margot’s death, she’d been going to withdraw, but once Gerald admitted what he’d done, she changed her mind and got herself elected unopposed. And at last month’s meeting she volunteered herself onto the
sub-committee responsible for the parish’s potholes. She is now often to be seen around the village with her clipboard and ruler, measuring and charting the potholes. Rumour has it that Gerald can be found most mornings in the kitchen of Winchmoor Mill guest house, cooking up sausages and bacon for the guests’ full English breakfasts.

  Jules is a lot happier since the baby started sleeping through the night and Ed got himself a half-decent job with a regular wage.

  On a less pleasant note, John Duckett-Trimble has been remanded in custody, awaiting trial for double murder. Jenkins is being called as a witness for the prosecution and has already provided the police with enough information about John’s shady business dealings to keep him in prison for a long, long time. The sale of the Manor fell through, as the purchasers weren’t as gullible as he’d thought and pulled out before anything was signed.

  The talk among the regulars at the pub is of the Manor being sold as a hotel. Or becoming headquarters of some hi-tech company that’s going to turn Much Winchmoor into Somerset’s own Silicon Valley. Or a rehab centre for injured footballers. Or maybe even a combination of all three. That’s the thing about the regulars of the Winchmoor Arms – if they don’t know something, they’ll make it up.

  Like the stuff they’ve been making up about me and Will. They all think we’re getting married – cartwheel hats, meringue wedding dresses, the lot – and are already planning Will’s stag do down to the last detail.

  And yes, I know what I said back there in the stable when John Duckett-Trimble was waving that shotgun in my face. About Will being my soul mate. The guy who I want to spend the rest of my life with. And, he is. Of course, he is.

  But. And it’s a big one.

  He’s as much a part of Much Winchmoor as the village pond. And his family have been here since forever. Whereas I’m – well, I don’t know what I’m part of, if I’m completely honest. For the first time since I was forced to come back here, more broke than broken-hearted, I am completely debt free and the bank owe me money rather than the other way around. It’s not a fortune. But it’s growing steadily and it’s already enough for my ticket out of here.