Authors: Kaye C. Hill
She rushed across to the newsagent’s, then, halfway in, she glimpsed something that chilled her to the marrow.
It was a tastefully designed poster displayed in the shop window.
CLOPWOLDE-ON-SEA ANTIQUES EXTRAVAGANZA!
A WEEK OF ANTIQUES FOR EVERYONE!
It explained the marquees.
But it wasn’t the prospect of a week-long antiques fair that had filled Lexy with so much horror.
No – it was the name of the resident host.
GERARD WARWICK-HOLMES.
Her estranged husband.
Not good. And there was her thinking earlier that a genteel Suffolk coastal village would be one of the last places he’d look for her. Well, she obviously hadn’t reckoned on
Clopwolde having an annual Antiques Extravaganza, and inviting Gerard, of all C-list celebrities, to host it.
And the worst of it was, whether he was working or not, Lexy’s husband would always be on the lookout for her. Went without saying. Not that he’d want her back or anything. Oh, no.
He’d just be missing the half-million quid she’d stolen from his safe three months ago.
It was actually the second time that the cash had been stolen, as Gerard himself hadn’t exactly earned it by the legal sweat of his brow. However, it had been the last straw in a long line
of last straws as far as Lexy was concerned. She had made it her personal mission to ensure that every penny was used as its rightful owner intended, even though she and Kinky had nearly been wiped
out in the process.
Lexy’s plan to hide out in Clopwolde and keep a low profile had been somewhat hampered when she became a suspect in a murder case on her second day in the area. But at least she’d
managed to avoid having her name splashed all over the newspapers.
However, trying to escape notice by her abandoned husband when he was spending a week in a marquee bang opposite her rather eye-catching, elevated home might be a little more problematic.
Ignoring an elderly woman who was trying to get out of the shop, Lexy checked the dates of the antiques jamboree. It was starting the following day. Christ, Gerard would probably be in Clopwolde
already.
She shot a glance up and down the high street.
“Looking for someone?”
Lexy jumped violently and twisted around. A tall, grave-faced man in a dark suit stood behind her. Not for the first time she wondered why Detective Inspector Bernard Milo hadn’t pursued a
career in undertaking.
“You have to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Creep up behind me.”
“I’ve been standing here patiently for ages, waiting to get into the shop, listening to you swearing. I was starting to think you were suffering from Tourette’s
Syndrome.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got an excuse. Look who’s coming to town.” Lexy jabbed a finger at the poster.
“Gerard Warwick-Holmes,” he read aloud. His ice-grey eyes flicked blankly back to Lexy.
“Warwick-Holmes?” she said significantly.
Recognition dawned. “Ah.”
“Yes. Ah. I think that just about sums it up. If he sees me, I’m dead meat. Especially if I tell him where the money went.”
“What money?”
DI Milo had always refused to acknowledge his part in helping Lexy off-load the stolen money. He was utterly dedicated to his career, and to the general upholding of the law. General, that is,
rather than specific.
“Let the people out of the shop,” he said, guiding Lexy away from the poster.
“I need a drink,” she told him.
Milo consulted his watch. “It’s ten-forty five in the morning.”
“And?”
“How about a coffee?” He turned firmly towards a gingham-themed café two doors down.
“Can’t go in there,” said Lexy. “I’m banned.”
“You’re banned from Kitty’s Kitchen?”
“Long story.” Lexy jerked her head at Kinky. “Involves him and... a cream horn.”
“Say no more. Please.”
Lexy trod warily along the high street, Milo and Kinky in tow, making for the Jolly Herring, one of Clopwolde’s main watering holes. But as soon as they were in, Lexy glimpsed the back of
a head that looked horribly familiar. Blond, bristly, might have been fashionable in the late eighties. She turned on her heel, almost cannoning into Milo. “Not here,” she muttered.
“What... ?”
A moment later Milo joined Lexy on the street. She was crouching low to avoid being seen through the pub window, with Kinky thrust under one arm.
“I think he’s in there,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Actually, I’m meant to be on duty and...”
Ignoring him, Lexy scuttled down an alley that led to a narrow, dark lane lined with terraced Victorian houses. She knew Milo would follow her. He had a habit of it, on duty or not.
“Let’s try here.” She dived into a pub that was barely advertised as such, having only the name The Dutchman painted in black letters over the door.
“I’d rather not...” Lexy heard Milo cursing under his breath as he followed her in.
“Who’s got Tourette’s now?” She was already ordering a vodka and tonic. The place was empty, apart from an unsavoury-looking character nursing a pint in the corner. He
scrambled half up at the sight of the policeman.
“Relax, Sidney,” said Milo. “I’m not here for you.”
The man sat down again, but he glared at Lexy.
“What’s his problem?” she snapped.
“One of my snouts,” Milo explained quietly when they were out of earshot. “I expect he thinks you’re muscling in on his territory.”
“Terrific. Just what I need. A jealous police informant waiting for me in a dark alleyway.”
“Don’t be ludicrous.”
“Just when I might need to spend a week lurking in a dark alleyway myself, hiding from a husband who’s after my blood.”
They took a seat in a dingy booth by the window. Kinky busied himself with the previous night’s dropped crisps.
“You’re being very melodramatic about this.” Milo took a sip of his orange juice. “All you have to do is stay out of Clopwolde for the next few days. Take a holiday or
something.”
“And how, exactly, do I pay for a holiday?”
“I was only suggesting.”
Was it then that Lexy felt herself fingering the key to Four Winds Cottage, tucked in her jeans pocket?
She examined Milo in the light filtering through from the greasy window. “Are you on a case at the moment?”
He nodded.
“Thought you looked distracted. Is it a juicy one?”
“Usual rape and pillage. Not so good for the victim.”
“Oh.”
“Are you on a case?” Milo asked, looking as if he sincerely hoped she wasn’t.
“Yeah, as it happens. Bit of a weird one, too.”
He shut his eyes. “Please don’t tell me there’s a suspicious death involved.” He clearly hadn’t recovered from the last murder case Lexy had accidentally stumbled
into.
“Well, actually...”
“I’m not joking here.”
She gave a forced laugh. “Relax. It’s just that this dippy kid has got it into her head that she killed someone by the force of magic.”
Milo narrowed his eyes.
“She wants me to check it out. I mean, y’ know, make sure this person definitely died by accident.”
“When you say ‘kid’?”
“Well, young girl. Young woman.” Lexy wasn’t sure she was allowed to be hired by a sixteen-year-old.
“When did the victim die?”
“Six weeks ago. I haven’t got the full story yet. Actually I’m meant to be going over to her cottage today. The dead woman’s, I mean. On Freshing Hill.” Sod it. Why
had she blabbed that?
“Freshing Hill?” Milo gave her a sharp look. Bugger.
“Yeah – a place called Four Winds.” Resignedly, Lexy watched his face change.
“Happened in mid-July,” he said. “Woman lived up there alone. Went backwards out of an upstairs window, straight over one of those little Juliet balconies on to a rockery. Died
of head injuries sustained on impact.”
They exchanged a glance.
“That’ll be my one, then.” Lexy took a nervous sip of her drink. “Were you...er... involved in the case?”
“Not personally. One of my lot was investigating officer. I looked over the case notes.”
“And... ?”
Milo hesitated.
“Go on – I won’t tell. Sounds like it was all cut and dried, anyway.”
“There were no suspicious circumstances. No sign of a struggle. No reason to think she’d topped herself. No letter, certainly. Conclusion was she either tripped, or went off balance.
When the coroner’s report comes out it will most likely return a verdict of accidental death.” With these last two words he gave her the benefit of his best steely look. Like an
approaching aircraft carrier.
“Fine. No problem.” Lexy twiddled a beer mat. “I just have to convince witch-girl and we can all go home happy. Or at least I can go home happy in a week’s
time.”
“Lexy,” said Milo. “Please don’t do anything that attracts the interest of Lowestoft CID again.”
“Goes without saying. Anyway, I’m more concerned at the moment about not doing anything that attracts the interest of my husband.”
Lexy noticed the snout called Sidney prick up his ears at that and look with lascivious interest between Milo and herself.
As if.
Some ten minutes later, Lexy turned into a rhododendron-lined gravel driveway, and pulled up beside a maroon Jaguar parked outside a substantial manor house.
She was greeted at the studded door by a well-groomed man with a devastatingly neat pencil moustache.
“Lexy, darling!” exclaimed Edward de Glenville. “You’ve been a positive stranger. How’s life in Captain Birdseye’s cabin?”
“Great. I love it, Edward,” she smiled. “How’s Princess?”
“Almost ready to pop. She’s in the west wing, lurking in a wardrobe. Come through. Peter and I are about to have lunch. We had rather a late one last night.”
“Drinking and fighting again?”
“No, sweetie, although,
entre nous
, I feel like killing him. He’s trying to get ready for this ruddy antiques fest tomorrow...”
Lexy felt a nervous spasm.
“... talked about nothing else for days. He’s got a stand in the main marquee, and he’s doing a little chat on Art Deco. Anyone would think he was doing the Queen’s
Speech.” He grinned. “Hey – if you open your front window at the cabin you’ll be able to hear him – the marquee’s right opposite...”
“Yes. I know,” Lexy said tightly.
“In fact, I’ll join you – we can get drunk and heckle him from across the river.”
“Yeah – that would be really funny, Edward.”
“What’s the matter, sweetie? You’re not your normal ebullient self.”
Lexy teetered on the verge of telling him about Gerard. Edward knew she had left her husband, but she’d never explained the circumstances, or indeed the identity of the obnoxious
ex-celebrity spouse. Generous and delightful friend though Edward was, he wasn’t exactly the soul of discretion. The only person in Clopwolde who knew her secret was Milo, and Lexy decided
she’d better keep it that way.
“New case. Sorry – it’s been making me distracted.”
“Ooh, I say – are we going to be relentlessly pursuing coldblooded murderers again?" Edward had somehow become entangled in Lexy’s first job, and had been immediately addicted
to the thrill of the chase. “Do let me know if you need my assistance for car chases or stake-outs.”
“I think this is going to be a quiet one. More a case of proving that someone didn’t do it.”
“How disappointing. But you will let me know if it hots up?”
“Naturally.”
Grinning, Lexy followed Edward up a large flight of stairs, through a grand living room and out on to a sunny balcony that overlooked miles of flat countryside. A hostess trolley bearing a large
coffee pot and some covered plates stood in one corner. In the other, a slightly-built, serious-looking man with a 1930s hairstyle and clothes to match was striking a pose. “.... and this inspired
him...” he declaimed.
“Inspired who?" Lexy asked.
“Bum. I’ve forgotten. Oh, yes – William Moorcroft, of course. God, I’m know I’m going to screw this up.”
“Peter – give it a rest," Edward sighed. "Have a break. Let’s talk about something else. Say hello to our guests."
“Yes, sorry. Hi, Lexy Lomax." He leaned over and kissed Lexy on both cheeks, then bent and plucked Kinky from the ground to give him a smothering hug which made the chihuahua’s eyes
bulge.
Edward, having distributed sparkling wine and hors d’oeuvres, was scanning the countryside with binoculars.
“All he needs now is a pair of net curtains,” said Peter.
“What’s he looking at, then?” Lexy bit into a warm tartlet.
“Well, it’s not the lesser-horned swamp tit, dear.”
“Aha!” Edward exclaimed. “I see that Pilgrim’s Farm is let at last!”
Squinting, Lexy followed Edward’s gaze down the coast. A distinctive wooded promontory rose, wedge-shaped, from the flat meadows. It had cliffs to its seaward side and she could just make
out a spread of buildings nestled at its neck.
“ To a single man of good fortune, by any chance?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Peter. “Only trouble is, he happens to be Bruce Gallimore, a crusty old farmer with an eye for a good scam. Rare breeds, to wit. Punters will pay silly money to see
odd-shaped mutton. Anyway, Gallimore’s been there for a while now, Eddie. That’s old news.”
“But what you don’t know is that he’s been joined by his two lusty sons,” said Edward.
“What? Let me see.” Peter grabbed the binoculars from Edward, half strangling him in the process.
“Look who needs net curtains now.”
“And a telescope. I can’t make out anything with these.”
“It is over a mile away, lovie.”
“That’s not Freshing Hill, is it?” Lexy asked.
“Correct. Do you know it?” Edward gave Lexy a searching glance.
She shook her head.
“It’s to do with your new case is, isn’t it?” he said, mischievously. “What’s old Gallimore been up to? Or is it one of his sons?”
“What’s this?” demanded Peter.
Lexy rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing to do with the farm. It’s just some people who’ve been left a cottage over there. One of them wants something looked into.”
“Ah – the old Mickey Spillane stuff again, is it? Well, if you’re involving Edward, try to give him back in one piece, will you? It took weeks of valium and aromatherapy
massage to calm him down after last time.”