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

a sleek black sports car slowing down as it passed. At the wheel was Sandra Miller and, for a brief second, they made eye contact.

Kate shivered as she watched Sandra’s car disappear from sight in her rear-view mirror. But then, much to her relief, a blue Audi appeared and turned into the Paynes’ driveway. She waited for another few minutes before getting out of her car and heading towards the front door.

‘Ah, Nurse Palmer!’ Dickie Payne exclaimed as he opened the door. ‘I thought it was your red car I saw parked along the road! What can I do for you?’

Not for the first time Kate decided that, when she eventually replaced the Fiat, she’d be wiser to settle for silver or black.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ she said, trying to avoid looking straight at his feet, ‘but I wondered if I may have left some scissors behind when I was attending to Mrs Payne. I can’t find them anywhere.’

‘You’d better come in then,’ he said, holding the door wide open.

She forced a smile. ‘I really didn’t want them incorporated into your impressive collection!’

As he led her into the large sitting room, she allowed herself to look down at his feet which, at first glance, seemed to be of normal size.

‘If you wait for a moment I’ll check with Clare and the home help,’ he said.

Kate seated herself on an extremely uncomfortable but expensively upholstered ottoman and looked round at the immaculate room. Did these two spend their time in this vast formal space? Or did they have a cosy snug somewhere? She hoped they did.

‘No scissors have been found,’ Dickie Payne announced as he re-entered the room a couple of minutes later.

‘Well, thank you for checking,’ Kate said as she stood up to go. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you.’

‘And,’ he added, as he escorted her to the door, ‘you may be interested to know that the police have finally located the cashier who served me in the supermarket the night that Fenella Barker-Jones was murdered. She remembered me because we’d met before – when she thought her son had chicken pox.’

‘I’m really delighted that’s been cleared up,’ Kate said truthfully as she walked down the drive. He, or someone, had left a pair of bright green rubber gardening gloves lying on the side of a flowerbed. Gloves… suddenly, something clicked into place.

‘Likewise,’ said the doctor with a trace of a smile.

She glanced again at his feet. They looked to be normal man-sized feet, possibly a size ten or eleven.

Dickie Payne wasn’t the killer. Nor was he the note-writer.

Kate was now convinced that the person who left the note wasn’t the murderer. She could cross Dickie off her list but she needed to see Seymour Barker-Jones as soon as possible. She was certain Seymour wasn’t the killer either, but needed to find out for sure if he’d left the note, and why.

And she was certain she now knew who the killer was.

Twenty-Six

When Kate got home she found the dog, as always, hysterically pleased to see her, and a man standing in the kitchen. It was a man she vaguely recognised and it took her a few seconds to work out who he was. Then she remembered – the kind Irishman who’d helped her when Angie had drunk herself semiconscious over the Luke business. She hadn’t had a chance to study him at the time, but she studied him now. In fact, he looked rather nice and – judging by the expression on her sister’s face – Angie thought so too. It was then Kate realised that Angie was sitting with her foot up on a stool while the man was asking, ‘Where did you say the teabags were?’

‘They’re in the box marked “Cornish Biscuits”, Fergal,’ said Angie. ‘One of these days we’ll get coffee, tea and sugar jars like everyone else. Oh, hi, Kate! This is Fergal. Fergal this is the sister I was telling you about.’

The man called Fergal turned round and beamed at Kate. He had mischievous blue eyes and black hair greying at the temples. ‘Hello, sister she’s been telling me about!’ He held out his hand. ‘Fergal Connolly. I have a feeling we met briefly a couple of days ago.’ And he gave Kate a deliberate wink.

Kate, feeling ashamed, shook his hand, looking from one to the other in astonishment, noting that Angie was blissfully unaware of this earlier encounter.

‘So now you’re going to be asking me what on earth I’m doing in your kitchen,’ said Fergal, triumphantly waving some teabags in the air, ‘and Angela there is about to be telling you!’

Angela indeed! Kate waited, on edge. How soon could she go out without appearing rude?

‘Well, I took Barney for a walk down to the village,’ Angie said, ‘and it started to rain.’

‘Oh, it did,’ Fergal agreed. ‘It just poured.’

Kate sighed, took off her coat and sat down.

‘And I suppose, because it’s been so dry for a while, that it made the pavement very slippery,’ Angie went on.

‘Oh, it was,’ Fergal confirmed.

‘And so I went arse over tit,’ Angie said. ‘I think I might have tripped over Barney’s lead, but I hit the pavement and then slid along for quite a bit with my ankle buckled under me.’ She shook her head sadly at the memory of it.

‘Just look how swollen it is,’ Fergal said, pointing at the ankle.

Kate couldn’t actually see much swelling.

‘And Fergal was just coming out of the gift shop,’ Angie continued, ‘and helped me onto my feet.’

‘I did. I have this talent for helping ladies to their feet. Now, can I make you a cup of tea?’ he asked Kate.

‘Well, that’s very kind of you, Fergal, but––’

The rain was now lashing against the window. Would Seymour be there?

‘Oh, no problem, Kate. Don’t suppose you have a box marked “Biscuits”, do you?’ This remark caused both he and Angie to dissolve into gales of mirth.

Kate stood up. ‘Really, that’s so nice of you but you must sit down and let