Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (9 page)

“Oh…” Hope looked poised to ask an awkward question.

Lexy straightened up. “Right, better go and… get some provisions,” she said. If only. “I’ll… er… be in touch later about the other business. Try not to worry too much.”

Try not to worry too much? Who was she trying to kid?

7

Lexy made her way back to Otter’s End through a heath splashed vibrant yellow with flowering gorse. But she barely noticed this pleasing display as she marched along, forehead corrugated.

Poison pen letter writers were the pits, she thought. Gutless, spiteful, ignorant… she remembered a letter that got pushed under the van door when she was a kid and her parents were trying to find a place to stay for a while. Near Rochester, it was.

Piss off gypos. No one wants you in this town. Your worse than shit.

Angelica Lomax had taken one look, crumpled it up, yanked open the van door and leapt out, shouting and railing, black hair tumbling like a thundercloud.

Her father, however, retrieved the piece of paper, flattened it out and looked at it for a moment.

“It’s
You’re
worse than shit, actually,” he remarked, smiling at Lexy. “And of course, gyppos has two p’s.” He folded the letter and put it in his pocket. “If that’s the level of education in his town, I’d say we’re better off elsewhere.”

They moved on, but there were similar letters. Some with threats too – usually to torch the van. But those letters had been from strangers, people with built-in prejudice and fear of the unknown. People who thought that, because Lexy and her family were travellers, it naturally followed that they were thieves and swindlers. The letters had been written in malice, to keep them moving on.

But the anonymous letter Hope Ellenger had received was from someone who knew her. Someone acquainted with her past. Someone who wanted to hurt her. Or perhaps someone who, for reasons of their own, wanted her father’s death re-visited.

Her mind engaged on the matter, Lexy made and ate a sparse lunch back at the cabin. Afterwards, tucked in a shady corner of the bleached wood veranda, with Kinky at her side, she began to jot down a plan of action.

The obvious choice was to stake out the vet’s surgery, and try to catch someone delivering a fourth letter. But Hope wasn’t sure if there was any pattern to the timing of the deliveries. Lexy could be stuck outside there for days. No – that wouldn’t do. Perhaps she could try to find out if anyone had spent a significant amount of time on local history research at Clopwolde library? Maybe get talking to the librarian. Or some of Clopwolde’s elderly residents, see if anyone had been digging for past scandals. Perhaps…

Lexy suddenly laughed out loud at herself. For the first time in years she realised that her life had some purpose. She was wanted – needed. Busy. Even if she probably wasn’t going to get anything out of it. Her face screwed into a wry grimace. What was that Jung thing her dad used to say?
The least of things with a meaning is worth more in life than the greatest of things without it.
He wasn’t kidding. Pretty much her whole married life had been without meaning.

For years she had fooled herself that Gerard Warwick-Holmes was still the exciting, sophisticated, slightly dangerous man who had seduced and married her when she was still a teenager – even though it was blindingly obvious that he was actually a flaky, philandering shit who wouldn’t hesitate to use his charm and good looks to rip off his own grandmother. Lexy chose to live in denial, just going with the empty, hedonistic lifestyle. She had a stubborn streak running through her like Brighton rock. But she was desperately unhappy inside. She just hadn’t realised quite how unhappy until she stumbled across Gerard’s master plan.

For the last six months her husband had been out of regular work, following the final demise of
Heirlooms
. He did the odd private valuation, but they had to tighten their belts. He hated that. Hitting forty-five and no longer being top dog had been a severe blow to Gerard’s ego. Lexy tried to reassure him that another job offer was sure to come along soon, but she hadn’t been fully convinced. She wasn’t sure she even cared.

Then six weeks ago she’d seen the small, shiny black card tucked in the top pocket of his suit jacket as she handed it over to the dry cleaners. She initially assumed that it was from a producer or agent. Gerard had certainly been on some kind of high at breakfast that morning, as if something major had happened, but he went all coy when she asked. Perhaps, Lexy thought, he was planning to surprise her.

Well, he did that all right, but it wasn’t the surprise she expected. In fact, it turned out to be the last straw.

She examined the card before stowing it in her handbag. The name
Nico Van Steene, Dealer in Fine Arts
was embossed on it, with a Knightsbridge address.

Lexy had never heard of Nico Van Steene – he wasn’t one of Gerard’s usual art contacts. Had he offered Gerard some work? Could be interesting. She took a secret trip to Nico Van Steene’s, to check the place out. A note in the window of his studio cum art salon stated that all viewings were by appointment only. The single oil painting in the heavily protected window was priced at twenty-five thousand pounds.

Lexy returned home, deep in thought. Late the previous night she’d heard Gerard open his private wall safe, the one concealed behind his dressing room mirror. He usually only kept his will in there. For some time now, Lexy had known the combination, although her husband had never actually revealed it to her. It was easy enough to guess. 2210. Gerard’s birthday. He’d never had much imagination.

She sneaked a look, trying to get another clue to what Gerard was up to. Had he got a contract to source some paintings for Van Steene?

If he had, it was a hellish lucrative one. Inside the safe dozens of bundles of fifty-pound notes lay crammed together like so many illegal immigrants. Lexy reeled back. Her initial impulse was to call Gerard immediately to find out what was going on. She did a rough estimate of the cash, instinctively not touching it. The figure made her feel ill. She decided then that perhaps it would be better to let Gerard carry on thinking she didn’t know about it. Until she had found out exactly where the cash had come from herself, that was.

Except she’d gone one step further than just finding out.

Above Otter’s End a passing gull gave a sudden scream. Lexy jumped, automatically checking her watch. She pushed herself up from the veranda deck, and went back into the cabin. After a moment’s hesitation she went through to the bedroom. Just to check that this wasn’t all some mad dream. Leaning down, she pulled the battered suitcase from under the bed, flipped the rusty locks, and eased up the lid. Yup. They were still there, shoved in any old how, some bursting from their thin elastic bands. Ten thousand fifty pound notes. The sight of them still took her breath away. As did the unexpected call drifting in through the cabin.

“Coo-ee! Anyone home?” The voice was soft, almost feminine.

Lexy dropped the lid, and pushed the suitcase back under the bed, prickling with shock.

It’s not Gerard, a small, sane part of her reasoned. Gerard wouldn’t call ‘Coo-ee’ in that camp way if his life depended on it.

She tiptoed out of the bedroom, sneaked up the hall and peered around the corner of the living room. Kinky was back on the sofa again, sitting up alert, staring intently but not barking.

Lexy crept further into the living room. Through the open hatch she glimpsed a face at the kitchen window.

A long, tanned face, sporting a moustache.

Lexy exchanged a glance with Kinky, then made a decision. Crouching low to avoid being seen through the hatch, she nipped across to the front door, opened it and walked around the side of the veranda.

The man stooping at the kitchen window gave another call.

“Hello,” said Lexy, loudly.

The stranger jumped with a small shriek and swung round to face her. He did a theatrical double-take.

“Ooh – now, you’re not Glenda, are you?”

This could be awkward. Lexy had finally met someone who knew her alter-ego. And who didn’t, by the sound of it, know that she was dead.

Lexy spoke cautiously. “You mean Glenda Doyle?”

“That’s right,” prompted the man, comfortably. “Where’re you hiding the old bat?”

He was around fifty, well-maintained, exuding confidence. The heavy Rolex watch hanging loosely on his wrist looked like the real McCoy, as did the diamond pinkie ring.

Lexy sucked a long, awkward breath through her teeth. “Actually, I’m afraid she’s… passed away.”

“Passed away?” His round brown eyes goggled at her. “What? – you mean
died
? Not… not today?” He looked around wildly as if he expected to see an undertaker’s van or something.

Lexy fought back an inane urge to giggle. “It was a few weeks ago, actually.”

Her companion ran a neatly manicured hand through cropped brown hair. “I cannot believe this. I’ve been in the States. I mean, I literally just got back. I own the place along the way.” He waved limply through the trees. “Are you a relative? Do you know what happened to her? Did she have an accident?”

Lexy chose the second question. “Apparently it was her heart.”

“No!” he ejaculated. “I
told
her to take it easy. She was on tablets, you know. Well, no, you probably don’t know.”

“No – I didn’t know Glenda,” confirmed Lexy. “I’m not related or anything. I just moved here, actually.”

“Moved here?” He looked taken aback.

“Look, do you want a cup of tea or something?” Although her new neighbour was a bit startling, she wasn’t getting any life-threatening vibes from him, and Lexy thought he might even be able to fill in a few blanks for her. “My name’s Lexy, by the way.” She stuck her hand out.

Her companion grasped it, flashing the diamond ring.

“Edward.” He suddenly smiled apologetically, revealing a set of impossibly perfect white teeth. Lexy was reminded of the vet. Was there something in the water round here? “Tea would be just the ticket, sweetie.”

Once inside, Edward gazed around, his perfectly round brown eyes puzzled. “But it’s exactly the same as it was before. This awful furniture and everything.” He picked up a china police car bearing the legend
A Present from Hunstanton
from the mantelpiece and turned it over distastefully in his long, shapely hands.

“Yeah – I only moved in the night before last,” explained Lexy, going through to the kitchen, switching on the kettle and dropping teabags into a pair of chipped mugs. “Haven’t had much of a chance to do anything yet.”

“So Glenda’s nephew… what was his name? Oh, yes…Derek. He didn’t even turn the place out when she died?”

Lexy spoke through the open hatch. “Guess not. I don’t think there’s much of value in here. I got the impression that he wanted to be rid of the whole shebang as quickly as possible. He had it for sale on the Internet about a week after Glenda died.” She grimaced. “Well – he is a lawyer.”

“And we all know what they’re like, dear.” Edward continued his inspection of the living room. “I only met Derek once, but I took an instant dislike. Shifty-eyed, bloated little toad.”

“Yeah, he sounded like a shifty-eyed bloated toad on the phone. Still – it was handy for me having the place furnished.”

“Even if it does look like a sitcom set from the nineteen-seventies.”

They grinned at each other.

“Hey – who’s the little pooch?”

“Name’s Kinky.”

“Cute. Been in the wars, has he?”

“Yeah, kind of – he tore his ear on some thorns outside.”

Lexy wondered how Kinky would react at being referred to as cute. To her surprise, he allowed himself to be fussed over. He even managed to look as if he were enjoying it. Lexy felt a sudden stab of guilt. She was never one for cuddling.

“So what brought you here?” said Edward, looking up from his ministrations.

“Oh, just fancied a change of scene.”

He gave her a keen glance. “From London, are you?”

“Yup,” said Lexy, then abruptly changed the subject. “How long did you know Glenda for?”

She wanted to find out more about the woman whose work persona she had borrowed. Lexy wondered if Edward had any inkling that Glenda had been a private detective.

Edward sighed. “Oh – must be the best part of twenty years.” He stared into the middle distance. “Let’s see – she moved here in eighty-eight, I think it was. Took a while but we gradually got to know one another as neighbours. She was never one for mixing, Glenda, but she didn’t seem to mind me. Otherwise, she pretty much kept to herself. Kept some funny hours, too.” He gave a short laugh. “In fact, if she hadn’t looked like Attila the Hun on a bad hair day, I’d have sworn she was on the game.”

Lexy also laughed, rather too loudly. He didn’t know, then.

“We often used to sit in that little kitchen and verbally dissect the villagers,” Edward went on. “She knew quite a lot about them, too, for someone who was such a loner.”

“That a fact?” murmured Lexy.

“To tell the truth, I think I was probably the closest thing she had to a friend. Sad, really. I wonder how many turned up for the funeral?”

Lexy shook her head. “No idea. I think her son said it took place in Chelmsford or somewhere. Where the rest of her family live. Here’s your tea, by the way. I’m afraid I haven’t got any milk – sorry.” She passed it through the hatch.

Edward put Kinky down, and came over, taking the mug from the hatch.

“Marvellous – you’re very sweet.”

You haven’t tasted it yet, she thought, heading into the living room to join him.

Edward gave her a sideways look as she came in. “And have you met any of the charming residents of Clopwolde since your arrival?”

She gave a hollow laugh. “A couple.”

“Rum bunch, aren’t they? I’m afraid you need to be a fifteenth generation Clopwolder to be accepted in this place.”

“You an outsider too, then?”

Edward grinned, reminding Lexy of an irrepressible child.

“No – strangely enough I’m a fifteenth generation Clopwolder.”