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

‘I’m not kidding. And he’d been murdered.’

‘Oh my God!’ Angie laid down the gin bottle and bent down to put her arms round Kate. ‘Tell me!’

Kate related the details of her discovery as Angie got up and then produced a large goblet of brandy. ‘Drink this!’ she ordered.

Angie came into her own on the rare occasion that she – the big sister – could look after Kate. Where alcohol was the medicine of choice, Angie was on safe ground. Nevertheless Kate was very grateful and felt the warmth flow back into her body after a couple of sips.

‘Who would murder Kevin Barry?’ Angie asked no one in particular.

‘That,’ Kate replied, ‘is the million-dollar question.’

Kate found it impossible to get to sleep burdened with the image of Kevin Barry’s body lying on the beach and the still-strong smell of paint in her bedroom. Then she recalled seeing the detective in that wetsuit with his nice firm body and his lovely brown eyes – such a sharp contrast to poor Kevin with that awful mark on the side of his head. What was even more terrifying was the fact that there must still be at least one murderer at large.

Then, desperate to divert her thoughts, she wondered what Woody’s real name was. He was American; Californian. A beach boy! But he was almost certainly married. Although he had offered to buy her a drink so, perhaps, he wasn’t.

In a further effort to obliterate the image of Kevin’s body, she tried to think about other things. How unpredictable life can be! She reminded herself yet again that you should enjoy every moment and take no one or nothing for granted. Her thoughts wandered to Angie.

Kate desperately wanted to wean her sister off alcohol or at least persuade her to cut down. Because – from the time she got up in the morning until she fell into bed at night – Angie’s mission in life was to dull her senses. Why? Was it genetic, as their mother had thought? Surely Kate had the same blood coursing around in her veins so how come she rarely felt depressed? Kate knew that her mother would have been relieved to know that she, Kate – the sensible younger sister – was here to look after her unfortunate sibling.

Then, as she continued to lie sleepless, she thought about her two sons. Tom, now a civil engineer up in Edinburgh, was married to Jane, who was expecting a baby boy in mid-August. Kate hoped that her first grandson might be born on her own birthday, which was the sixteenth.

And there was Jack, out there in Australia, so far away. From the time he was a boy and had seen some programme on television about the wide-open spaces, the sport and the lifestyle, he’d been determined to go there. He’d worked his way up in the building trade to become a project manager and, the moment he discovered that project managers were required in Australia, he was off like a bullet. Kate had cried her eyes out but she knew it was best for him; he’d have the life he wanted out there in Brisbane. Two years ago she’d flown out for a month’s visit to find Jack loving his job, swimming in the sea every day and living with a beautiful girl called Eva.

Kate wanted to go back and once they’d paid off the central heating and the floorboards and got the window locking properly, she’d get saving again.

Alex, her ex-husband, had, of course, been out there a couple of times, the first time with his newish wife and the second time without her because she’d wisely absconded (no bad judge). Alex worked for an airline as an aircraft engineer and got cheap trips. Kate’s cheap trips had ended with the divorce, but it had been worth it to be rid of him and his endless womanising.

That had begun in Singapore where they’d spent the first two years of their married life and where Tom was born. Kate had enjoyed Singapore; the luxury flat, the live-in help, the social life and the friendships formed. At least she’d made friends with her own sex, which was more than she could say for Alex. She hadn’t liked the constant heat and humidity and swore then that she’d never complain about the British climate again. But she did, of course, and Singapore was now a dim memory.

Cornwall suited her fine. She’d go up to Edinburgh for a long weekend after the grandson was born and she’d save up for another trip to Australia. She could look forward to both trips and that was helping to take her mind off things.

The image of Kevin had faded very slightly.

She finally got to sleep at half past three.

Dr Ross rang at eight o’clock.

‘You’re not coming in today,’ he said to Kate. ‘Not after what you’ve been through. I don’t imagine you got much sleep?’

‘I think I dozed on and off for about three hours,’ Kate admitted.

‘Well, take it easy if you can today. I think Detective Inspector Forrest will want a statement from you, but otherwise I’d stay at home because there’s press absolutely everywhere. I should lock the door and keep out of sight.’

‘Thanks, Andrew. I will.’

Kate felt exhausted but knew she probably wouldn’t even be able to catnap today; her mind refused to switch off. Instead, she sat down in front of the television in the hope of finding a programme that would take her mind off things. And found herself watching a repeat of Morse, which, of course, got her thinking about murders again. She’d have to take a sleeping pill tonight.

And now, more than ever, Angie was convinced there was a serial killer roaming free.

‘I told you so,’ she said, ‘but nobody listened. Everyone had it in for poor Kevin, didn’t they? Well, they were wrong. I’m going back to my studio, with the saucepan.’

Kate couldn’t argue with any of that.

At ten o’clock there was a knock at