A Body in the Village Hall by Dee MacDonald (best business books of all time .txt) 📗

The Greedy Gull was as far as Angie went most days. Des, of course, knew a good customer when he saw one, so consequently had done nothing to discourage her. In fact, they’d become quite chummy and Kate reckoned he probably fancied her because he kept giving her free drinks.

Both of Kate’s sons had approved of the move to Cornwall in general, but had questioned her going with Angie. ‘You know what Aunt Angie’s like, Mum!’ Yes, she did know what her older sister was like but she couldn’t help feeling responsible for her. Their mother had always worried about Angie. ‘She’s got that gene your father had,’ she’d informed Kate. ‘Alcoholic.’

Now here they were in the bar – which was crowded this evening – and Angie had pushed her way through to where Des was already pouring her a gin.

He leaned across the bar towards them both. ‘Look over there,’ he ordered, wagging his head towards the inglenook.

‘At what?’ asked Angie, taking a sip of her neat gin before pouring the tonic in.

‘Kevin Barry! Over there in the blue jacket, talkin’ to Jess Davey, her with the black curly hair. The cheek of him! Wandering around like he hadn’t just killed someone!’

‘But I heard earlier that he’d been arrested,’ Kate remarked, turning round to have a look.

‘Remember I told you Kevin was chattin’ to Seymour at The Tinners, that night?’ Des leaned in a bit closer. ‘But The Tinners is only a dozen yards away from the village hall so he could easily have nipped in there, shoved the knife in and been back in the bar in the time it would have taken to nip out for a fag! Now we got all them press and TV people comin’ down, but where are they? Tell me that! How come they’re all up in the bloody Tinners and not down here?’

‘Perhaps the beer’s cheaper?’ Angie suggested.

‘Not much cheaper it ain’t. No, it’s cos it’s close to the village hall, scene of the murder and all that. Pity her didn’t get murdered down here, no disrespect and all that…’ Des sighed.

Kate stared hard at the man in the inglenook. From what she could see Kevin Barry appeared to be of average height, with short dark hair and a long nose. His most distinguishing feature was the deep scar that ran down his right cheek. He seemed completely unaware that several pairs of eyes were staring in his direction. The woman, Jess, had a dark complexion, with a selection of piercings and some sort of tattoo decorating her right arm.

‘Well,’ said Kate, ‘he hasn’t wasted any time in getting back with his girlfriend.’

‘Ah well,’ said Des, ‘they was an item long before he went to prison and her stayed devoted to him all the time he was in there. I’ll say that much for her, her went to visit him every month, regular as the new moon! God only knows why her stuck by him when he was havin’ his evil way with Fenella. Mind you, they do say Jess was putting it about a bit herself.’

Was it something in the water down here? Kate wondered. How come everybody was having it away with everyone else? For a small village it certainly had more than its share of goings-on. Not to mention a murder.

‘So how come he’s drinking in here?’ Angie asked, taking a gulp of her gin.

‘Well, I suppose there’s no reason why he shouldn’t,’ Des said, staring openly at him. ‘His money’s as good as anyone else’s. Innocent until proved guilty and all that. And I do think that bugger’s going to be found guilty, alibi or no alibi. Otherwise why would Woody Forrest be in here keeping such a close eye on him?’

‘Yes, you’re right!’ Angie was now nudging Kate fiercely. ‘Look, look!’

‘What?’

‘The lovely detective! Over there near the door!’

Kate picked up her glass of wine and turned round to look towards the door. And there he was, Detective Inspector Forrest, talking to a younger, shorter man. At that exact moment he looked up, his eyes met Kate’s, and he smiled. She smiled back.

‘Hey, what’s he smiling at you for?’ Angie asked.

‘Must be for my outstanding beauty and personality,’ Kate said, sipping her wine.

‘He’s got nice teeth,’ Angie muttered. ‘Hope they’re his own.’

As Angie turned to talk to the man next to her, Kate cast a surreptitious glance in the detective’s direction – at the exact moment he was having a surreptitious glance in hers. Again he smiled and she wondered if he could see her blushing furiously. I shan’t look at him again, she thought, wondering why she was acting like an overgrown adolescent.

She turned back to Angie who was chatting to someone called Luke who appeared to be in his forties and apparently owned The Gallery down by the river.

‘Well, I’d certainly be interested in seeing your work,’ said Luke sniffily, ‘but of course I can’t guarantee being able to stock it at the moment because I’m inundated with stuff.’

‘This is my sister, Kate,’ Angie said. ‘Kate, this is Luke.’

‘Hello, sister Kate,’ said Luke, sweeping his luxuriant blond locks away from his eyes to behind his ears and exposing a collection of metalwork attached to his earlobe. Then, sotto voce: ‘What about this murder, then?’

‘It’s certainly the main topic of conversation,’ Kate said.

‘Not a lot of that sort of thing happens around here as a rule,’ Luke said. ‘Certainly beats discussing Plymouth Argyle’s chances of winning on Saturday!’ He guffawed and looked at Angie’s rapidly emptying glass. ‘Can I get you another of those?’

‘Most kind,’ murmured Angie, handing him her glass. ‘So who do you think did it?’

‘Without a doubt, Sandra Miller,’ he said, getting some cash out of his pocket. ‘I’d put money on it. A woman scorned, and all that. Her husband’s been having it off with a woman ten years older than he is and her French chef