A Body in the Village Hall by Dee MacDonald (non fiction books to read TXT) 📕

head of the bed was directly under the window. She liked fresh air and this new arrangement gave her a lot more space in the rest of the room.

By mid-afternoon Kate decided that she and Barney needed their daily walk and some fresh air. This time she chose the coastal path, although it was a cloudy day and the views wouldn’t be as spectacular as usual.

A few people, presumably tourists, were meandering along the beach, either unaware of last night’s tragedy or else exploring the area in lurid fascination for that very reason. Kate herself felt a little weird as she strolled across the sand, past the rocks where she’d found Kevin’s body, and along to the path that led up to Penhallion Cliff on the north side of the beach. The gulls wheeled overhead and the rollers crashed on the rocks beneath. It had begun to drizzle and, looking out to sea, she could see curtains of rain coming in from the horizon, which was rapidly obliterating the hazy outline of Lundy Island and the jagged coastline of Hartland Point to the north. To the south, the dramatic bays and inlets towards Trevose Head were already obscured by the falling rain. Regardless of the weather, Kate thought, we’re so lucky to live here, murders or no murders.

She’d walked quite some way – Barney running frantically hither and thither, sniffing the heather and the coarse grass that grew up here – when she spotted him again. Seymour Barker-Jones. This time he was sitting on a wooden bench, the one which had been erected in memory of Jonas Prendergast, a one-time local councillor, and which had been securely anchored onto a concrete base to prevent it from flying off to the Americas in the frequent gales.

Seymour was gazing out to sea, his dogs running around nearby.

As Kate approached, he looked up.

‘Good afternoon,’ Kate said politely.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘I’ve been watching a container ship out on the horizon, but I can’t see it now with the rain. I often wonder what they’re carrying – probably cars, heading to Avonmouth.’

‘Probably,’ Kate agreed.

‘I sat on this very seat with Fenella once,’ he said, still staring out at the misty sea. ‘Only once.’ He turned around to look at her and she saw his eyes were full of tears. She wondered if she should sit down beside him, pat his hand, or what.

‘It was a rare occurrence,’ he continued, ‘because she preferred to ride everywhere. She loved riding. Do you ride, Mrs Palmer?’

Kate sat down near, but not too near, him. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never really had the opportunity.’ Or the time, or the money, or the courage for that matter, she thought.

‘Pity,’ he said. ‘There’s a wonderful riding school at Trebarrow, just a couple of miles along the coast.’ He pointed vaguely northwards. ‘Thing is, Fenella’s horse needs some exercising and there’s no one to do it at the moment. The little mare’s rather lively, so probably not suited to a novice.’ He looked doubtfully at Kate.

‘Probably not,’ Kate agreed. Did he think she was about to take riding lessons? ‘I think I’ll stick to walking – not so far to fall!’ For a brief moment she imagined herself on a galloping steed, toppling out of the saddle and hitting the ground at goodness-knows-how-many-miles-per-hour.

‘Meg, Bella, come!’ He stood up and called to the dogs. They came, wagging their tails and lay down obediently at his feet.

With that he raised his cap and headed off down another stony path, which Kate knew led to a small car park where he’d obviously left his Land Rover or whatever it was he drove, Meg and Bella still barking at his heels. Barney was set to follow them and she had to call him back and hang on to his collar until they’d disappeared.

Kate continued sitting and looking out to sea for a few minutes. She wondered if she was foolhardy wandering along the clifftops alone. She’d heard that most of the Tinworthy women were too terrified to open their doors or to leave their homes. There must surely be some personal local history involved in these tragedies, she reckoned, and so, hopefully, she wasn’t on the killer’s list, having only been here a few weeks. Nevertheless, she shivered and had a good look around as she stood up, before setting off back the way she’d come.

Kate found Angie, alive and well, unpacking four bottles of gin, having survived her trip to the supermarket.

Seeing Kate’s face, Angie said, ‘Well, it was such a good offer!’

Kate sighed. ‘Obviously. Think I’ll settle for a coffee though.’

‘Enjoy your walk?’

‘Yes, and I saw Seymour Barker-Jones again. He was sitting up there on that old wooden seat. He looked sad.’

Angie placed the bottles carefully into the cupboard. ‘Well, he will be, I expect.’

‘He’s certainly not particularly chatty.’ Kate sat down with her coffee. ‘But, do you know what? I wouldn’t know where to begin to solve this one. I mean, Kevin Barry was the main suspect, so where do they go from here? I suppose Kevin could have murdered Fenella before someone else murdered him. Then there’s this old doctor, and the hotel owner’s wife. And Seymour, I suppose. Not to mention Maureen Grey and her dodgy husband who’s appeared out of the blue after ten years God-knows-where. And Kevin had a long-term girlfriend who he’d been staying with apparently. Perhaps they had a quarrel? Perhaps she was heartily sick of his carrying on with Fenella years ago and decided to kill them both?’

‘Blimey, Kate, you’ve given this a lot of thought!’ Angie said. ‘But don’t you forget my roaming serial killer. It doesn’t have to be one of the locals, does it?’

‘No, but I have a distinct feeling it is. And what I don’t understand is why anyone would kill Kevin with a blow to the head and then chuck him into the sea.’

‘To make sure any incriminating evidence is washed away, I expect,’ Angie said. ‘Like fingerprints. Anyway, it