Death at the Duck Pond

by J New

  Two

  When Fischer turned to go right as they exited the garden gate a short while later, Penny hesitated, and tugged his lead. The usual route for their morning walk was across the green, halfway around the duck pond, and cutting out through the lane that led to the row of shops that served the village.

  The newsagent’s and the Bakewell bakery both opened at seven in the morning, the Evans’ baking their own bread rather than buying it in. And Penny could set her watch by Mr Jackson, the greengrocer, unloading his van when he returned from the fresh produce market in Winstoke every morning at seven-fifteen. The hairdressing salon, quirkily named The Lock Smith, and the butcher’s opened later, at nine o’clock. From the shops, Penny and Fischer would normally loop back to Penny’s house via Cherrytree Row, lined with the mature trees that gave the village its name. Every May when their blossom reached full bloom the village was illuminated by a riot of pink for several weeks.

  That morning however, there was no question of getting access to the green or the duck pond. The number of onlookers had grown to a small crowd, and what little traffic there was at that time of the morning had slowed to a halt as drivers rolled down their windows to find out the cause of the delay. Penny spotted Susie, notebook and pen in hand, talking to the man in shorts she had seen through the window earlier.

  “We’ll have to go the long way today, Fischer, not that you’ll mind in the slightest. There’s been a terrible accident.” She thought of Mrs Montague, standing in the very same spot outside her gate the evening before, and how excited she had been about heading out. A sociable woman, she had been widowed a couple of years earlier, and involved herself in village life to the full.

  “I like to keep busy,” she had confided to Penny one afternoon, when she had called in to the van for permission to leave flyers advertising a charity coffee morning she was hosting at the manor. “When you get to my age, every day is too precious a gift to waste. I miss dear old Daniel, of course, but he wouldn’t want me moping around. And I’m finding the book I’ve been reading about the Big Bang and black holes absolutely fascinating. Learning keeps the grey matter active, don’t you think?”

  “I think reading’s beneficial at any age,” Penny had replied. “It has so many benefits. For instance, if only more people would sit down with a good book to ease their stress instead of popping pills, the world would be happier place. Not to mention the resulting savings for the National Health Service. Unfortunately, many doctors are so stressed themselves, it’s quicker and makes their lives easier to keep writing prescriptions instead of discussing the alternatives with their patients.”

  Penny remembered how Mrs Montague had patted her arm, saying, “I can see you feel passionately about it, Penelope, and you must try not to be discouraged. You do a wonderful job in this little van of yours, and on a shoestring budget, it’s very much appreciated by everyone who uses the service. Long may it last.”

  Penny was brought back to the present by Fischer bouncing around at her feet, eager to be off. “Let’s go, Fish Face,” she whispered, her eyes smarting. “First stop, the bakery, I think. You don’t understand, little man, but I’m in need of some comfort food. There was a nice old lady who was very fond of you, and I don’t think we’ll be seeing her again.”

  At the Bakewell, any faint hope Penny was clinging to, that Susie was mistaken about the identity of the body was put to rest by Mrs Evans.

  “Hello, Penny. Did you hear about Mrs Montague?” Mrs Evans’ hair was tucked inside a net she wore in the bakery, giving her head a misshapen look. Outside work, her bottle blonde bouffant was her trademark feature.

  Penny nodded. “Susie phoned me earlier. She’s over at the green now, interviewing people for the newspaper.” Her voice faltered. “Are they positive it was Mrs Montague, and not someone else?”

  Mrs Evans’ look of sadness matched Penny’s. “I’m afraid so. It was Sam Dawson who found the body in the pond, when he was out jogging first thing. Actually, it was his dog, Rufus, who kicked up a commotion. The light from the lampposts just about reaches the duck pond in the dark. Rufus jumped into the water and Sam waded in after him and dragged poor Myrtle’s body out. He knows her from the church. He said she weighed like lead, even though she was such a petite woman.”

  Penny shuddered. “I’ll have a pain au chocolate, please, and a strong cup of tea, to sit in.” The bakery had a counter along the window with high stools, and pets were allowed.

  “You go on, love, I’ll bring it over. You’ve gone very pale.”

  “Thank you.” Penny gave her a grateful smile.

  The stream of customers coming in and out of the bakery and fussing over Fischer gave Penny the opportunity to nurse her tea and eat her pastry in silence, apart from exchanging quick greetings with those she knew. The talk on everyone’s lips was of Myrtle, and what a tragic accident to have befallen such a nice old lady, the general consensus being that she had tripped into the pond in the dark and drowned. Snippets of conversation drifted in and out of Penny’s hearing, but she did not engage in any of the gossip.

  “Saw her in the Pig and Fiddle last night, what a shame,” said one. “She gave our team one of the answers in the quiz.”

  “She probably had too much to drink,” said another. “Maybe she’d been at the cooking sherry before she came out.”

  “Celia raised the alarm when she went to wake her, and found her bed hadn’t been slept in.” This, from a voice Penny recognised, Dr Jones, the vet, who she had seen on the green earlier. She knew he was referring to Celia Higgins, Mrs Montague’s live-in housekeeper, who had worked at the manor for as long as Penny could remember. “Sam had already found the body by then. Poor Celia’s in a terrible state.”

  A niggling thought crossed Penny’s mind that she felt guilty for even dwelling upon, but the more she tried to push it out of her head, the more prominent it became. Was it terrible of her for trying to remember if Myrtle had any library books out on loan, and wondering, if so, whether they would ever be returned? Most books were never seen again after people died, and in the circumstances, it was Penny’s policy not to go looking for them. However, the lack of library funding was a serious issue, one which sometimes kept her awake at night. Considering the ageing local population, it was a theoretical possibility that at some point there would be no books left.

  Having debated the dilemma in the past with Edward, his input had been unhelpful. “An undertaking to retrieve the missing books is unlikely to be effective, since the culprits are dead.” After a pause, he continued, “Not to mention, the incurring expense to follow them up would not be cost effective. I’ve always said the fines for late books are much too low, there’s no incentive to returning them.” He loved to labour the fines point at any opportunity.

  Penny vacated her seat in the Bakewell when a queue formed, parents squeezing inside after dropping off their children at the primary school. The Friday morning buzz was familiar, but the topic of conversation too distressing for her to enjoy her pastry, which she did not finish.

  Outside, Fischer seemed to pick up on her mood, and he held back, walking alongside her rather than bolting ahead in his usual fashion. The school playground was empty and silent, the morning bell having already rung, and they walked the length of the black railings before turning into the street where her parents lived.

  Penny mustered a smile as Fischer’s pace quickened. “You recognise where we are, don’t you? Calm down, we’ll be there in a minute.” Even so, by the time she rang her parents’ doorbell she was out of breath, having had to jog most of the way in order to keep up with her exuberant little dog.

  Her mother answered the door, looking flustered. “I’m so glad you’re here. What terrible news.” She ushered Penny inside, but not before Fischer had squeezed in first. Penny dropped his lead and watched him bound down the hallway. “Your father’s in the kitchen, still not dressed. He can’t be
lieve it.”

  “Neither can I.” Penny followed her mother into the kitchen, taking off her coat as she went. She hung it on the back of a chair and sat down at the kitchen table beside her father. “Hi, Dad.”

  Albert Finch looked across at Penny whilst stroking Fischer, who was settled in his lap. “What’s the latest? Your mother saw the commotion when she was getting the paper earlier. Is it true about Mrs Montague?”

  Penny recounted what she had heard from Mrs Evans and the other customers at the Bakewell. “I spoke to her last night,” she said. “She was in great spirits. I never would have imagined it would be the last time I would see her alive.”

  Sheila Finch had been listening from where she was standing at the sink. She frowned. “And I saw her on Monday at Winstoke Leisure Centre, at the ladies’ swimming session in the morning. Which is why I think it strange that she should have drowned. She was a highly competent swimmer.”

  Albert adjusted his glasses. “That’s a good point. And the duck pond’s neither big nor deep. Maybe she hit her head or something. I don’t think she was much of a drinker, whatever anyone says. I know she was getting on in years, but she wasn’t that much older than me. I could probably work it out, but it’s too early in the morning.” He made a face at Fischer, who was hanging on to his every word.

  “She was still full of life, whatever her age,” Sheila said. “I suppose that means her son will be making an appearance shortly. He never visited his mother much, shame on him. What’s his name again?”

  “Milo,” Penny said. “I’d completely forgotten about him. You’re right, I haven’t seen him in years.” Older than Penny, she recalled Myrtle’s son had attended boarding school outside the area. Any time she had seen him when they were younger, he had been accompanied by loud upper crust types who had a tendency to mock the more down to earth locals.

  “He was at his father’s funeral, if I recall,” Albert said. “But he didn’t stick around and left straight afterwards. I don’t know the details, but I suspect there was a bit of a family fallout at some point over the years. Whatever Milo did to upset his parents, it wasn’t in his back yard, so to speak, and Myrtle and Daniel kept it under wraps. Might be nothing, but Myrtle was a fair woman. I’d say she wouldn’t be rattled easily, so it must have had some substance.”

  Sheila pulled the plug out of the sink and the dishwater made a gurgling sound as it swirled down the drain, causing Fischer’s head to perk up.

  “Why don’t you go and get dressed, Dad, and I’ll help Mum down here? Then we can go to Thistle Grange and take a walk in the woods. Fischer would like that, and it will get us away from here until all the commotion dies down. Seeing the green cordoned off with police tape is unsettling.”

  Albert’s face brightened. “That’s a marvellous idea. Won’t be long.” He got up and headed towards the stairs, Fischer at his heels.

  Penny jumped up and unclipped Fischer’s lead, before letting him run off again. “You sit down, Mum, and read the paper. I’ll make a fresh pot of tea and finish tidying up.”

  Her mother’s house was always immaculate, but Penny needed something to do. After she had made tea and wiped the already sparkling granite worktops, she went into the living room and removed non-existent dust from the china ornaments on the mantelpiece. She ran a vacuum cleaner around the room and into the hall, putting it away again in the cupboard under the stairs. Just when she was about to tackle the downstairs bathroom, she heard her mother call her from the kitchen. “Your phone’s ringing, Penny.”

  By the time Penny had located her phone in the pocket of her coat, which was no longer hanging on the chair because her mother had moved it, she had missed the call. She shoved the phone back in her pocket with a shrug. “I don’t recognise the number, it was probably a cold-call. If it’s important, they’ll call back.”

  They had just set off for Thistle Grange when Penny’s phone began ringing again, and this time she answered it. Sitting in the back seat of her parents’ car, she motioned to her mother to turn down the volume on the car radio. It was a brief one-way conversation with the caller doing all the talking and Penny listening, apart from when she thanked the person at the other end of the line before ending the call.

  Her mother turned around from the passenger’s seat. “Who was that, dear? Is everything all right?”

  Penny gazed at her with faint surprise. “It was Mrs Montague’s solicitor. He said she left an envelope for me in his care, only to be opened in the event of her death. I’ve to go to his office in Winstoke this afternoon to discuss it further.”

  For once, both of her parents were rendered speechless.

  Three

  “Thanks for coming with me, Susie. Am I suitably dressed for an appointment with a solicitor do you think?” Penny smoothed her skirt and buttoned up her smart black wool coat over the scarlet crew-neck jumper, which provided a spot of colour against her wavy chestnut hair. She locked the camper-van and checked her watch. They were ten minutes early, and the firm of solicitors had its own car park, but Penny liked having plenty of time to spare before important events. For her, ten minutes was cutting it fine. When she went on holiday, she always planned her arrival at the airport a little earlier than advised, just in case of an unexpected delay on the way. Ever since the time Edward had left his passport at home in his jacket and they’d had to go back for it, the two of them were in agreement on that one. Of course, Edward had blamed her for not putting his jacket in the car in the first place.

  Susie eyed her with amusement. “You look very nice, although I don’t see why you had to get dressed up. It’s not as though you’re going to court. It is intriguing, though. Which is why my boss let me out for the afternoon, just in case your meeting adds anything to the piece I’m writing. I wonder what the mysterious letter could be about?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since Mr Hawkins telephoned me this morning. It’s not as though I knew Mrs Montague all that well. Of course, I saw her when she came to the library van, but mostly we just talked about books.” Penny turned towards the old building which had a small brass plaque engraved with the words, Hawkins, Hawkins and Reid to the right of the entrance. “Shall we go in?”

  Susie nodded, and they walked towards the heavy oak door. “You said you and Fischer often passed her in the village on your evening walks, right? And, she was very fond of Fischer. Maybe she’s left him something in her will? I’m thinking of potential headlines already; Wealthy Widow Leaves Millions to Jack Russell Terrier. Can you imagine the uproar if that’s really the case?”

  “I think you’re jumping the gun a bit, don’t you?” Penny said, laughing. “We never really exchanged more than pleasantries, although she did have a treat for Fischer now and then. I don’t think she was quite that rich, either. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have sold part of her garden to raise funds after her husband died.”

  “That’s exactly my point, she got a fortune when Nick Staines bought the land and built that glass monstrosity next door,” Susie reminded her. “It wasn’t that long ago, only a couple of years. She probably still had a huge chunk of cash lying around.”

  Penny wrinkled her brow. “It won’t be anything like that. Her son is likely to inherit everything, I should think.” She pushed the door open. “Anyway, I guess we’ll soon find out.”

  A welcome blast of warm air hit them when they stepped inside, and Penny made her way to the reception desk while Susie took a seat in the waiting area, where she rifled through the magazine rack for something to read.

  “It’s Penny Finch, to see Mr Hawkins,” she said to the woman behind the counter, trying not to stare at her badly drawn-on eyebrows.

  “Please, take a seat,” the woman replied, her smile softening her face somewhat. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Susie was flicking through a country homes magazine, admiring a bespoke kitchen in a con
verted barn, when Penny joined her on the plush two-seater sofa. “A girl can dream, right? Although, I’ll take my old pine kitchen any day if it means I can hang on to the house.”

  “Any news on that front?” Penny knew Susie’s estranged husband wanted to sell the family home, but Susie was hoping to buy him out.

  “My parents have gifted me some money, and my promotion helped my mortgage prospects. It’s not a done deal, but I’m hopeful.”

  “I’m glad things have taken a turn for the better,” Penny said, proud of Susie’s tenacity. As well as being a loyal friend to her over the years, Susie would have given the coat off her back to help anyone in need. She had taken a huge knock when her marriage crumbled but had maintained her dignity throughout. Penny had been more worried about her than she liked to admit, and it was a relief to hear Susie sounding so upbeat again. She smiled, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to provide you with a juicy story this afternoon, but you’ll be the first to know if there’s anything newsworthy to report.”

  Before Susie could respond, they were interrupted by a bald man with a moustache whose footsteps echoed on the polished floor as he approached. “Miss Finch?” He looked at each of them in turn.

  “That’s me,” Penny said scrambling to her feet.

  “Antony Hawkins,” the man said, extending his hand and greeting her with a handshake so firm, her fingers ached afterwards. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Finch. Please, follow me.”

  Susie gave her a thumbs-up and Penny followed Mr Hawkins down the dimly-lit wood-panelled hallway into his office. He clicked the door shut and led her past a large oak desk to a small seating area with wingback leather chairs and a threadbare axminster rug on the parquet floor. The room smelled of lemon wax, coffee and old money.