A Body in Seaview Grange by Dee MacDonald (jenna bush book club TXT) 📗

‘I’d love to talk to you,’ Kate said truthfully, ‘but I really need to be getting home, and so does the dog. Could I come back tomorrow?’

‘Yes please. I need to talk to someone not connected to here.’ She looked up at Kate with tears in her eyes. ‘Edina was my best friend. I can’t believe anyone would do this to her, and I can’t forgive myself for being away when she died.’

‘I’ll come tomorrow,’ Kate promised.

Eighteen

During the summer Angie had bought herself a second-hand Mercedes Smart car. It was tiny and it was practical; Angie was neither. Nonetheless she loved it.

‘I’m fed up of car-sharing,’ she’d said to Kate, ‘because you’ve always got it.’

‘Well, it is my car,’ Kate had replied reasonably enough, ‘and I do have to go to work.’

Angie of course promised never to go near the car if she’d as much as sniffed at the gin bottle.

When she got home from the Starkeys’ there was no sign of Angie or the Smart. Since her cereal bowl was still lying in the sink Kate assumed she’d been out for most of the day.

As she was filling the kettle to make some tea, Kate reckoned she’d now met all the residents of Seaview Grange, however briefly. She would meet Hetty Patterson again properly tomorrow. When she dug out The List she remembered that she’d placed the Potter sisters and Hetty right at the bottom as very unlikely suspects, but suspects nevertheless. She somehow doubted that the Starkeys should be on her list either because she couldn’t imagine what their motive might have been. Still, better leave them on there for the time being.

As Kate drank her tea she heard the sound of a car drawing up outside and minutes later Angie came in via the kitchen door while Barney barked his usual enthusiastic welcome.

‘Phew!’ said Angie as she removed her coat. ‘What a day!’

‘Why? Where have you been?’

‘I’ve been to Plymouth,’ Angie replied, ‘and I’m now in dire need of some liquid refreshment.’ With that she headed straight for the gin.

‘Were you shopping?’ Kate asked.

‘No, I was doing what you’re always doing – investigating.’

‘Investigating what?’ Kate asked.

‘Investigating Fergal, that’s what. I had to know why he never takes me to his place in Plymouth. And he never seems to have much money.’

‘And are you any the wiser?’

‘Oh yes,’ Angie said as she sat down and poured tonic into her gin.

Kate waited. ‘Well? And what did you find out?’

‘I’ve found out that he does not have a flat in the Barbican, Raleigh Park he called it. I went to the Barbican, had a good snoop round, asked everybody I met, but nobody had ever heard of Raleigh Park.’

‘So?’

‘So I spoke to an old boy who was selling newspapers and he said, “Raleigh Park? That’s not round here, that’s on the other side of Saltash.” I thought he was talking rubbish but, as it was on my way home, I thought there was no harm in having a look, and guess what?’

Kate shook her head. ‘No idea. What?’

‘It’s a caravan park! And a shabby one at that. But there was a little office so I went and asked this ancient toothless old crone if they had a Fergal Connolly living there.’ She took a large slug of gin. ‘And they did. Number 26, she said, but she doubted he’d be there because he’d be doing one of his jobs.’

‘One of his jobs?’ Kate echoed.

‘That’s what she said. So off I went in search of number 26. Although it was a scruffy site there were some big vans there, mobile homes or whatever, but number 26 was tiny.’

‘Was he there?’

‘No, he wasn’t, and all the blinds were down so I couldn’t see in the windows. But I got talking to a neighbour who said he’d got about three different jobs and today was the day he normally went minicab driving. No word at all about flogging postcards and stuff.’

Kate sighed. She’d had doubts about Fergal ever since they’d had the conversation about the proposed holiday, and she knew Angie had too. ‘Oh, Angie, I really don’t know what to say except that, for some reason, he may have fallen on hard times and perhaps he’s trying to get his life back together? He was obviously ashamed of his little caravan and that’s why he never took you to Plymouth.’

Angie took another large gulp of her drink. ‘What do I do now?’

‘You don’t do anything,’ Kate replied, ‘You just ask him what it’s all about. I mean he’s a really nice guy and you’re obviously fond of him, so give him the benefit of the doubt. But tread carefully.’

‘Do you think there’s anything else he’s not telling me?’

‘I’ve no idea, Angie. You’ll have to ask. And you’ll have to decide if it matters if he’s as poor as a church mouse.’

Angie thought for a moment. ‘I just wish he’d been honest with me.’

‘Well, don’t torture yourself about it, ask him,’ Kate said, ‘and don’t go booking holidays if he hasn’t got any money. When are you seeing him again?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow is another day, to quote Scarlett O’Hara.’

There was now a chill to the early morning air but no frost as yet. Frost didn’t usually hit the far South-West until November or December and, occasionally, even later. The closer you were to the sea the less likely you were to see frost or snow, which got melted by the salty air. Back in February Kate had been amazed to find the ground white in Middle and Higher Tinworthy when there was none down by the sea in their village.

No time had been arranged for her meeting with Hetty. She had seemed so distressed and desperate to talk about her dead friend and Kate hoped she could offer some small measure of comfort. She also hoped to glean some information about Hetty’s friendship with Edina, but knew she had to tread