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

Apart from her evening out at The Edge of the Moor with him, she hadn’t been out with any man in the last couple of years. Yes, Woody was extremely ‘fanciable’, as Angie put it and, best of all, he seemed to be as taken with her as she was with him. When this case was over and he was retired from the CID perhaps they could finally have a proper relationship? Of course he might only regard it as a platonic friendship – and it wasn’t as if she was looking for a partner, and certainly not a husband! Never again!

Angie appeared at half past ten, in her dressing gown, yawning. ‘I love Saturday mornings,’ she said as she filled up the kettle.

‘I can’t see why Saturday mornings are different from any other mornings for you,’ Kate remarked. ‘It’s not as if you have to go out to work.’

‘It’s psychological then, I expect,’ said Angie, ‘remembering how it used to be.’

Kate decided not to remind her that during her acting career Saturdays had been the busiest day of the week with a matinee as well as an evening performance.

‘How did you get on with Luke?’ she asked instead.

‘Good, very good,’ Angie replied. ‘He showed me all round The Gallery and he’s got some lovely artwork, plus fabulous pottery and jewellery. At the moment he’s only open weekends, but he’ll be open every day from Easter onwards. Which is only a week away, I see.’ She studied the calendar on the wall.

‘That’ll keep him busy then,’ Kate remarked. ‘So, what else did you do? Go for a meal?’

‘He lives in the flat above The Gallery, so we went up there because he’d made us a vegetable chilli, which was delicious.’

‘A vegetable chilli, eh? Is he––’

‘Yeah, he’s vegetarian,’ Angie interrupted. ‘Says you have to travel miles to find decent veggie food in a restaurant, so he doesn’t bother. And of course meat’s expensive and don’t forget he hardly earns any money all winter.’

‘And then what did you do?’

‘And then we went to The Gull for a nightcap or two. It was a lovely evening. And later he’s coming over to the studio to see my canvases. I’m so excited! I hope to God he likes them.’

‘Well, good luck with that,’ Kate said. ‘You’ve worked hard so I hope he’ll be impressed.’ She didn’t know anything about modern art so perhaps they really were masterpieces.

As Angie sat down with her mug of tea she said, ‘I might help him out in The Gallery during the summer sometimes when it’s busy.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Selling stuff, chatting to customers, all that sort of thing. It’ll be easy because everything’s price-tagged and he’ll show me how to work the till because it’s all computerised these days, you know.’

‘And what’s he planning to pay you?’

‘Oh, it’s vulgar to talk about money with a friend. It’s not important anyway,’ Angie said airily. ‘It’ll just be so lovely to be part of the art world and surrounded by beautiful things.’

‘Including yours?’

‘Hopefully. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?’

Kate hadn’t seen her sister look so bright-eyed or excited in years. Angie had always been gullible, but if this arrangement made her happy, so be it. It might even keep her off the gin because – if she remembered correctly – most establishments in Lower Tinworthy stayed open until late into the evening during the summer.

‘Anyway,’ said Angie, plunging her mug into the sink, ‘I must go now as I have lots to do before Luke gets here this evening. Must tart up the art!’ she guffawed. ‘Hopefully he’ll like one of them sufficiently to display it, maybe even sell it!’

Oh, he’ll certainly display it, Kate thought, because he’ll want you to be running the shop, probably unpaid, any time he fancies a day off. And, if he does pay anything at all, it’ll be peanuts.

It was late evening before Luke appeared and the two of them disappeared into the ‘studio’ before heading towards The Greedy Gull.

The following morning Angie came bounding down the stairs. ‘Luke loves my work,’ she said triumphantly to Kate, ‘and he’s going to stock one of my large canvases. Probably the Indian Summer one.’

Kate was mystified. ‘Indian Summer? Since when did your pictures have names?’

‘Since last night,’ Angie replied. ‘There’s Cornish Spring, and Midwinter Blues, and I’ve still to think up some names for the others. Indian Summer is the one that’s predominantly reds and golds.’

‘Oh,’ said Kate.

‘He may even display it in the window,’ said Angie. ‘And I’m going to be helping him in The Gallery right over the Easter weekend and then – once I’ve got the hang of everything – I’ll be able to do the occasional day there on my own.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Kate, ‘and has he said yet what’s he planning to pay you?’

‘Oh God, Kate, I keep telling you it’s so vulgar to talk about money. I’ve no doubt we’ll come to some arrangement eventually. Any word from the dishy detective?’

‘Until this case is completely wound up we mustn’t be seeing each other.’ Kate sighed.

‘So that’s why you’re so intent on solving these murders!’ Angie snorted.

Perhaps she’s right, Kate thought.

Sixteen

Wednesday afternoon was clear and sunny with not a cloud in the sky. After Kate got home, changed and downed a cup of tea, she decided it was a perfect day for viewing the coastline from the clifftops. Barney was definitely taken with the idea when he saw Kate go to fetch his lead, barking enthusiastically and manically tail-wagging.

Even the normally fuzzy outline of Lundy Island, twelve miles off the North Devon coast, was crystal clear in the afternoon sunshine and the coastline and cliffs in both directions were so sharply defined that Kate thought she could see gulls perched on their ledges more than a mile away.

As she walked up and along the coastal path, she spotted Seymour on that seat again, gazing out to sea.

‘Clear as a bell today,’ he greeted her.

She sat down on the far end of the seat, glad to