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

‘We’ve only had that knife a few weeks,’ muttered a large lady with pink hair. ‘And it was mighty expensive. I suppose she must have been slicing that cake of hers.’

‘Don’t be daft! How could she do that to herself just slicing the cake?’

Everyone’s eyes swivelled to the tabletop where Fenella’s beautiful cake had been arranged into tidy overlapping slices, ready to be served with the post-talk tea.

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ Betty Calder said as she stood up shakily, assisted by several others, and started heading towards the outside door.

‘Don’t go out there!’ someone shouted. ‘He could still be out there! Be sick in the loo! There might be a serial killer on the loose!’

Kate reckoned that this was about to become the most memorable – certainly the most sensational – evening ever experienced by the Tinworthy WI.

Five minutes later the wail of the police siren and the ambulance could only just be heard above the frenzied chatter in the kitchen and shortly afterwards several uniformed policemen burst through the door, accompanied by a non-uniformed older man.

‘Stand back!’ The older man examined Fenella. ‘Who found this lady?’

‘Betty Calder got to the door first,’ someone replied, ‘but she fainted and now she’s in the loo being sick. But it’s Nurse Kate over there who’s been in charge.’ They all pointed in her direction.

‘Detective Inspector Forrest,’ he said to Kate as he dug out his card. He had close-cropped dark hair, sprinkled liberally with grey, and kindly brown eyes. And there seemed to be unmistakeable traces of an American accent. ‘You’re a nurse?’

‘I’m Kate Palmer. And yes, I’m a nurse, working at the medical centre.’

Just then Dr Ross, the senior physician at the medical centre, arrived. The doctor, after a minute, turned to Kate and the detective. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that this woman’s dead.’

‘OK, Doctor, but we hoped you could give us more detail than that. What would you say was the time of death?’ asked the detective.

He leaned carefully over the body. ‘Not more than an hour ago.’

‘We could have told you that! She only introduced the guest speaker an hour or so ago,’ another woman shouted.

‘What about the cake then?’ A thin, elderly woman was gazing at the artistically arranged slices. ‘Shame to let it go to waste.’

The detective stepped forward. ‘This is now a crime scene. If all you ladies would be kind enough to go back into the hall and sit down,’ he said. He definitely had an American accent.

Kate went over to Angie, who’d been hovering in the doorway and who was visibly shaken.

‘Come on,’ she said, shepherding her sister back into the large draughty hall where everyone was now trying to find their seats.

‘My God!’ exclaimed Angie. ‘I thought we’d moved down to Cornwall to get away from knife crime! You look a bit shaky too, Kate.’

‘Are you really surprised? I came to this WI meeting for your sake, to try to integrate you into the area, and I thought I could have a nice little doze while you were educated in the delights of growing your own vegetables. Don’t forget I’ve been working all day.’

‘I don’t want to grow my own vegetables but I do need a bloody drink,’ Angie murmured, trawling in the depths of her shoulder-bag.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve sneaked in some gin?’

‘OK, I won’t tell you.’ Angie lifted out what appeared to be a bottle of Highland Spring Water, according to the label. ‘Nice drop of Bombay Sapphire and a splash of tonic. Nectar!’

Kate shook her head in despair at her incorrigible sister while at the same time wishing she herself had a shot of brandy or something to steady her nerves. She was used to keeping calm in a crisis but she was never going to be able to forget the sight of the knife stuck through Fenella’s heart, and all that blood.

The babble of conversation was deafening; most of the women were grouped and huddled in horrified conversation, panic still etched on their faces. Already there was a smell of fear and perspiration in the air. The military rows of hard, uncomfortable chairs had been hurriedly abandoned and were now completely out of alignment so nobody was sure where they’d been sitting. The guest speaker was packing up her vegetables and looked eager to escape.

How strange it was that Fenella should die in the very hall that her husband’s money had built! Seymour Barker-Jones was a great benefactor of the village. The village hall was an impressive and attractive stone-clad building with a steeply pitched roof, even if the interior was lined with cheap tongue-and-groove cladding, its grubby wooden floor only polished up for the children’s Christmas party (also paid for by Seymour) and the St Petroc’s Day celebrations and dance.

Angie swigged from her bottle and wiped her lips. ‘That detective inspector, or whatever he is, is rather dishy, don’t you think?’

‘I didn’t notice,’ Kate said truthfully. ‘I honestly could hardly take my eyes off Fenella.’

‘Poor woman,’ remarked Angie. ‘I wonder who she managed to upset?’

‘From what I’ve heard, she’s upset quite a few,’ Kate said. ‘I’ve seen her around, of course, but I’ve never had to deal with her so she was obviously quite healthy.’

‘Not so healthy now,’ said Angie, taking another swig just as the detective inspector entered the hall and headed towards the platform where the speaker was still frantically packing away the carrots and leeks.

‘Your attention, please!’ he bellowed. ‘As you’re well aware, a woman has been murdered this evening in the kitchen, right next door.’ He paused for effect. ‘My officers are combing the surrounding area looking for clues and will be here for quite some time. Now the first thing I need to know is if any of you were absent from this hall at the time Mrs Calder screamed – which was presumably shortly after the murder took place. I’m going to need all your names and contact numbers please. The