Death at the Duck Pond

by J New

  Even Fischer had stopped in his tracks, ears cocked, as if waiting to hear what Celia would say next. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut as if suddenly realising she had spoken out of turn.

  Penny made a mental note to try and find out what had happened to Milo in the years since. Celia had revealed plenty to be going on with for one night. And, with Mr Kelly having agreed to meet her at the manor to help with the books the following evening, she was confident their unofficial investigation was about to get off to a good start.

  The man Celia introduced as Milo Montague to Penny and Mr Kelly the following evening, was so far removed from Penny’s expectations that she hoped the shock was not obvious on her face. Slim and bearded, his physical appearance may have matched the handful of images she had found on-line from the limited research she had carried out so far, but that was where the similarity ended. Her father had always warned her of the folly of making judgments about people before meeting them and this was a prime example of how right he was.

  The unassuming figure facing her in faded jeans and a scruffy shirt was at odds with the brash character she had imagined. Having uncovered Milo’s penchant over the years for spending his trust fund drinking cocktails at the type of parties frequented by minor royals and covered by society magazines, she had expected him to exude confidence and charm, with a superior attitude to match.

  In real life, Milo was softly-spoken and well-mannered. “Pleased to meet you both,” he said, extending a friendly handshake. Surveying the books which they had begun to pack into the boxes provided by Celia, he continued, “I’d like to thank you for all of your fine work here. Both of my parents set a lot of store by the importance of reading, both for learning and enjoyment. My father said he sometimes preferred books to people, because they couldn’t talk back.” A wry smile stretched across his face. “I think that was one of the reasons we didn’t always get along. I talked back rather a lot in my youth.”

  “It’s a wonderful collection of books. It was very benevolent of your mother,” Penny said.

  “My mother was generous to a fault,” Milo answered. “Material possessions meant little to her. She tried to teach me that money could bring great joy or untold heartache, but I never fully understood what she meant until it was too late.” He paused, a veil of sadness shrouding his eyes. “If her legacy brings joy to others, that’s all she would have wanted. I’m glad you can help fulfil her wishes.” He picked up a dusty tome and opened it, reading aloud the inscription in the front. “’To Milo. The future holds such promise, that all the past pales in comparison. Daniel.’” He set it down again as though it were the most precious thing in the world. “Anyway, enough of my reminiscing. I hope to see you again.”

  The short meeting left Penny with a palpable sense of Milo’s grief. He made his way out of the library with Celia as if he were carrying an invisible weight on his shoulders.

  After checking the door was shut tight and the pair were out of earshot, Mr Kelly turned to Penny with a raised eyebrow. “He seems like a pleasant chap, considering what you told me about his past. Minor brushes with the law as a student are one thing, but he seems to have made unwise choices a habit ever since. It’s clear he loved his mother though, whatever may have gone on.”

  Penny gave him a sorrowful nod. “True. He looked broken.”

  It was a guess which of Milo’s actions had caused the family rift, or perhaps it was a culmination of all of them. Penny had discovered that after being dismissed from a prestigious university for possession of drugs (which Milo denied were his), the Montagues’ only child had enjoyed a chequered employment history. The professional networking website Penny had visited indicated stints as a banker, manager of an art gallery and a wine importer. His current occupation was listed as historical researcher.

  Milo’s personal life was also somewhat of a roller-coaster. Having married a burlesque dancer in Las Vegas after a two-day romance, his parents did not attend the celebration when the happy couple returned to England. His wife was an occasional guest on a reality television show featuring rich housewives and had a love for the high life. It appeared the family lived in an exclusive part of north London, in a sprawling house that was most likely far too big for two adults whose brood of five children were away at school. Two of those children were not Milo’s, but his stepchildren from his wife’s former relationships. Last, but by no means least, his fondness for casinos and drunken partying over the years had led to a stint in a private hospital for ‘exhaustion,’ which Penny knew was usually code for something else.

  Of one thing she was confident. Milo and his wife would be glad of any money he was due to inherit from his mother. The effort of funding their extravagant lifestyle would have exhausted anyone.

  Eleven

  Although she preferred to sit-in, Penny decided it would be wise to order her tea and cake from the Pot and Kettle cafe in Thistle Grange to take out. Fischer was off playing with his pals, the black lab puppies Daisy and Gatsby, and she had agreed to allow a group of ladies from the knitting group to take cover in the van from the rain in her absence. The wool shop, Spin a Yarn, was beside the Post Office where the van was parked and even though it was still her lunch-break, they had pleaded with her to take pity on them.

  “The bus isn’t for another twenty minutes, and we know you’re too kind to leave us exposed to the elements,” Mrs Wilkins had wheedled. “Please, Penny? Spin a Yarn and the Post Office are both closed for lunch. We promise not to touch a thing.”

  Having left Mrs Potter in charge, Penny hoped there would be no trouble while she was gone. The women’s friendly bickering could turn nasty in the blink of an eye, and she didn’t want any stock getting damaged in temper. Mildred Birch’s hissy fit the previous summer had seen the library lose several books to a muddy puddle, and left Mrs Templeton with a bump on her head. When PC Bolton arrived to break up the ruckus, each had blamed the other for starting the argument even though neither of them could remember what it was about.

  All was calm on her return, apart from a lost property issue. Penny had recovered all manner of personal effects in the van in her time, including a set of teeth, so she was used to it.

  “I can’t find my glasses,” Mrs Wilkins moaned, running her hand the length of her nose. She scowled at her companion, Mrs Potter. “Look what you’ve done. It’s your fault, making me go into the Post Office with you to buy stamps. Why don’t you buy them at the newsagent’s, like everyone else? I’m going to have to go back when Mrs Dodds opens up again, and I’ll probably miss the bus.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs Potter said, squinting at her friend. “They’re hanging around your neck, dear, on that chain I bought you for Christmas.”

  Mrs Wilkins raised her hand to her chest with a goofy smile and grabbed her bright red spectacles. “Oops, so they are.” She placed them on the end of her nose. “Show me that book again, the one by the British explorer who’s also a writer and a poet. Did you really meet him on a train?”

  Penny smiled as the two women, old enough to know better, whispered and giggled about Mrs Potter’s brief encounter with the brave and rugged man of her dreams. The humdrum routine of Penny’s work at the mobile library had sustained her through the week to the point where she was no longer living in constant fear of a crazed stalker deciding to teach her a lesson.

  She took comfort in the fact that Fischer had remained calm and was his usual playful self. She trusted him to sense any danger, and there was no indication anything out of the ordinary was bothering him. He still did tricks for treats and sulked if she scolded him, which was very rare, so there was no change there. Susie’s son’s golf club, although never far away, wasn’t such a prominent fixture as it had been several days before.

  “Hello, Mrs Nelson,” she said to the stocky woman carrying a bag of knitting in one hand and a couple of paperback books in the other.

  Mrs Nelson shoved the books to
wards her. “Here you are. I brought them with me as I’ll be busy tomorrow, so I might not get to the van when it’s in Cherrytree Downs. Wouldn’t want them to be late so you can fine me again.”

  Ignoring the snide comment, Penny accepted the books. “Thank you. Don’t forget, any time you need to renew books that’s no problem. I’m here to help, not to make your life difficult.”

  “You could have fooled me,” Mrs Nelson replied, not bothering to lower her voice. Penny noticed Mrs Potter and Mrs Wilkins had stopped their conversation and were listening keenly to the exchange. “Anyway, I’m going away to a warmer climate for a while, I can’t stand this cold weather, so an extension won’t be necessary. I have a lot to do before I leave.”

  Mrs Potter piped up. “Oh, when are you leaving?”

  “Not until Sunday morning,” Mrs Nelson said, peering outside. “Well, would you look who’s here? None other than PC Bolton. Come to visit his little helper, no doubt.” She gave Penny a withering look.

  “Excuse me,” Penny muttered, breathing in to squeeze past Mrs Nelson, who made no attempt to stand aside. After she had spoken to PC Bolton outside and assured him she was in no imminent danger that she knew of, she returned to the van, where Mrs Nelson was still staring daggers at her.

  “Filed your snitch report for today, have you?”

  Penny was taken aback. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mrs Nelson.”

  “I’ve heard you, asking everyone where they were the night Myrtle Montague died and if anyone saw her before she took her little swim. You think you’re so smart, don’t you, trying to find out if someone was out to get her?”

  “Not really.” Confrontations were not Penny’s style, but the way Mrs Nelson was acting was making her feel very uncomfortable. “Where were you that evening, by the way, Mrs Nelson?”

  “I was at the cinema, if you must know, at the schmaltzy Hollywood musical everyone’s been raving about.”

  “I don’t suppose you kept your ticket did you?” Penny said, feeling a little belligerent.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I threw it away like any normal person would. One hardly keeps every scrap of paper on the off chance one might need an alibi! Besides, I was seen. Isn’t that right, Mrs Potter?”

  All eyes turned to Mrs Potter, who nodded. “Yes, Penny. I spoke to her in the foyer myself.”

  Penny felt a wave of regret at having fallen for Mrs Nelson’s attempt at getting a rise out of her. It had almost worked. She knew people who had problems sometimes took their frustrations out on others, whatever the excuse might be. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself. “Mrs Nelson, for some reason I think we may have got off on the wrong foot, and I’d like to rectify that. I don’t need to explain why PC Bolton was here, but I’d like to. Someone has threatened me, and he was making sure I’m safe.”

  A look of genuine surprise passed across Mrs Nelson’s face, and behind her, Mrs Potter and Mrs Wilkins both gasped in shock.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mrs Nelson mumbled, a tad begrudgingly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d best be off.”

  “When it comes to finding out what happened to Mrs Montague after she left the Pig and Fiddle, it looks like we’ve drawn a blank,” Penny said with a sigh. She and Mr Kelly were in the library at the manor, finishing up after another evening’s work. “We know she spoke to several people in the pub, but she wasn’t accompanied by anyone in particular. She left alone. Then, apart from her speaking to an unidentified man wearing a green waxed coat at the end of the lane to the duck pond, there were no further sightings of her until her body was found the following morning.”

  “If we could identify the man in the waxed coat, that would be helpful,” Mr Kelly said. “Also, I was thinking it would be useful to take a walk around the duck pond in the dark, to establish exactly what the visibility was like in relation to Mrs Montague’s route and where her body was found. I’m wondering if anyone may have been lying in wait for her, out of sight in the bushes.”

  Fischer woofed, and spun around Mr Kelly’s feet, wagging his tail.

  Penny laughed at his reaction. “I think that’s Fischer’s way of saying you might be on to something, Mr Kelly. Either that or he misses his walks around the pond. I agree, following Mrs Montague’s footsteps at a similar time of night is a great idea.” A thought struck her. “The duck pond is still taped off, although I’m not sure why. There’s no police presence now. I wonder if it’s simply a case of them not having got around to removing the tape yet. I can ask PC Bolton about it tomorrow.”

  “He’s probably the very person who would be responsible for removing it, so a reminder wouldn’t go amiss.” Mr Kelly straightened up and rolled his shoulders prior to tapping a cardboard box with his foot. “These are what we think are the valuable items, most likely to be of interest to the British Library,” he said, peeling a white sticky label off a roll and writing on it. He slapped it on the top of the box. “I’ve got a list of its contents and will contact them in the morning. There may be a few more works to add, but we may as well check if they want them as we go along. That way, if they don’t we can move those items into one of the other boxes.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Penny said, thanking her lucky stars for Mr Kelly’s help. As well as being good company, she valued his opinion on what books would be popular with the mobile library customers. And, with his retired-head-teacher hat on, he was able to categorise the educational books better than she was into each of the key stages of the curriculum, and identify which college-level texts were out of date.

  Without warning, they were interrupted by Fischer emitting an angry growl in the direction of the door. He ran towards it, growling again, his agitation increasing as he got closer.

  Penny looked sideways at Mr Kelly. “I’ve no idea what that’s about. Did you notice anything??”

  The old gentleman shook his head.

  “Calm down, Fischer,” Penny said, walking over to the door and turning the handle. “There’s nothing there, see?”

  She peered out and was startled when she spotted James carrying an antique chair down the hallway. “Actually, it’s James,” she said to Fischer, remembering her four-legged friend’s dislike for him ever since their first encounter.

  James turned around and challenged her, a sheen of sweat illuminating his brow. “Is there a problem?” His grainy voice was rough from years of smoking. By way of explanation, he added, “I’m taking the reproduction dining chairs to the auction house. Master Milo’s orders.”

  “No problem,” Penny said. “You startled Fischer, that’s all. Sorry for interrupting you.”

  James grunted and lifted the chair again, and back inside the library, Penny closed the door with a click. “I don’t think he likes us, Fischer. Don’t take it personally.”

  She turned to Mr Kelly, who was pulling on his heavy wool overcoat. “Can I give you a lift home?”

  “No need. My daughter is on her way. We’re going to the pictures, to see…”

  “…the Hollywood musical everyone’s talking about, by any chance?” Penny completed his sentence with a grin.

  “How did you know?”

  “I think I’m the only one who hasn’t seen it,” Penny said. “Susie went last week. Edward and I sometimes go to the cinema on a Tuesday, but we didn’t last night, as I was here. Not that he would have agreed to see that movie, come to think of it. He hates anything with singing or dancing in it.” She hadn’t heard from Edward since the weekend, which was unusual, but she guessed he was still in a bit of a huff after their argument. Edward’s memory was longer than an elephant’s, especially if anyone had ever slighted him. He still refused to give any custom to the Bakewell, after they had accidentally shortchanged him one busy Saturday afternoon. Although he pointed it out at the time and they rectified it along with an apology and a cream cake on the house, the damage was done. From that day
forward, in Edward’s opinion, the Evans’ were a bunch of crooks.

  “In that case, you must come with us,” Mr Kelly said. “I insist.”

  Penny shook her head. “Thanks, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not. I’m pretty tired, and Fischer needs walking. It’s our version of quiet time before turning in.”

  Mr Kelly hesitated, seemingly unsure whether or not to try and persuade her.

  “Please, off you go,” Penny insisted. “I’ll be done here in a few minutes. Celia’s visiting a friend, so I’ll see myself out.”

  A car horn beeped outside. “Very well. That’ll be Laura,” Mr Kelly said. “See you tomorrow. Same time?”

  “Yes, see you then,” Penny said with a smile, reaching for her hat and scarf. “And I hope you enjoy the film.”

  “Come back here, Fischer Finch,” Penny hissed, but her four-legged friend paid no heed. Tearing along the corridors of the manor, she struggled to keep up with him, and eventually gave up. “I know you’re keen to get outside, but I’ll be there in a minute,” she muttered to herself. “Another few seconds isn’t going to make much difference.”

  When she reached the wide-open space at the front of the house with a grand sweeping staircase as its centrepiece, Fischer was nowhere to be seen. An open door and a crack of light indicated he had probably gone exploring in one of the reception rooms. Approaching the door ready to tell him off, Penny froze when she heard voices coming from inside. She could not see the person speaking, but she recognised the voice as Milo’s.

  “I’m not surprised my mother wouldn’t sell the place to you, Nick. You epitomise everything she despised about the nouveau riche. It wasn’t your money she resented as much as how you spent it, I imagine.”

  Creeping closer to the doorway, she peered through the crack. She still could not see Milo, but a second male figure was visible, lounging on the Chesterfield sofa. There, floppy hair falling across his face and his right ankle resting casually across his left knee, was Nick Staines. His aftershave was so strong Penny could not only smell it from where she was standing, it caught in the back of her throat. She swallowed, desperately trying not to cough.