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

‘I’m sorry, I don’t see how I can help you,’ she said at last.

‘We just wondered how it must have felt, finding the body of a murdered man?’ Wally persisted. There was a visible shiver of excitement rippling through the entire group.

‘Naturally, I was shocked; I contacted the police, and that’s about it,’ Kate said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

‘What sort of state was the body in?’ someone near the back asked eagerly.

‘Very dead,’ Kate replied drily. ‘Now, really, there’s nothing more to say.’

‘The media said that he was killed by a blow to the head before he ended up in the sea,’ Wally continued. ‘Can you confirm that?’

‘I can confirm nothing,’ Kate said as she began to close the door. ‘You must talk to the police. Thank you.’ With that she shut the door firmly, feeling quite shaken. What sort of people would get a kick from visiting murder sites and asking daft questions like that? She’d peer through the side window in future before opening the door.

She experimented by looking out straight away and was relieved to see them all heading back down the lane, led by Wally. None of them looked a day under sixty.

Was this to be the pattern for the months ahead?

Easter Sunday didn’t go quite as planned. Kate had bought a leg of lamb to roast for lunch for the two of them, and then Angie decided it was only right that she should be able to invite Luke for lunch.

‘Do you really think you should?’ Kate asked. ‘Doesn’t he have any family around?’

‘No, he hasn’t,’ Angie went on, ‘and I live here too. It would be a lovely way to thank Luke for all he’s done. And why haven’t you asked the dishy detective too?’

‘The dishy detective’s visiting his daughter in London.’ Kate was determined not to be sidetracked. ‘I thought you said that you had to man The Gallery all day and every day over Easter.’

‘Oh, we can shut shop for an hour or so and put a notice on the door saying “Back at 2 p.m.” or something. Tell you what,’ Angie continued, ‘I’ll do the dessert. Something lemony, perhaps? No, no, it must be chocolate seeing as it’s Easter. I’ll tell him about one o’clock then, shall I? Thanks, Kate, I knew you’d agree!’

‘But I thought you said he was vegetarian? He won’t be able to eat the lamb, will he?’

‘Oh, we’ll do him some extra vegetables or something. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’

With that Angie – clad in her smock and with her hair carefully tousled again – set off for The Gallery.

When Angie appeared at quarter past one with Luke in tow on Easter Sunday, Kate managed not to do a double-take, because Luke had added some green streaks to his long, bleached-blond hair. Had Angie been chucking paint at him or was it a professional job? He’d swept it back behind his left ear to display a number of ear piercings and several earrings. He too wore an artist’s smock in navy blue, artfully splashed with red and white here and there, above which two gold chains could be seen adorning his neck.

‘Smells great!’ he said, sniffing the air and plonking himself down on the sofa.

‘How’s The Gallery’s doing, Luke? You got many visitors?’ Kate asked politely, handing him a glass of wine.

‘A few who are really interested,’ Luke replied. ‘We had loads of them yesterday but I fear they’d only come in to shelter from the rain.’

‘So, did anyone buy anything?’ Kate asked.

‘Just some silver earrings,’ Angie said. ‘Lovely they were.’

Lunch went without a hitch. The lamb was delicious, the roast potatoes golden, the vegetables crisp. Luke seemed content with his plateful of vegetables, and Angie’s chocolate pudding, decorated with tiny Easter eggs, went down a storm. The wine and the conversation flowed, the latter mainly dominated by Luke’s long-winded and left-leaning opinion on just about everything, while Angie looked adoringly at him.

‘Well,’ he concluded, ‘at least we can all relax now that the killer’s in jail. Mind you, Angie here is still convinced there’s a mass murderer on the loose, and I think she’s quite disappointed now they’ve got Grey under lock and key.’

‘I’m not sure that they have any real proof though,’ Kate said, ‘other than his confession.’

‘Why would anyone confess if they hadn’t done it?’ Luke looked at her as if she was mad.

‘Perhaps he had his reasons.’ Kate hadn’t confided to Angie the details of her conversation with Maureen.

‘Well, he’d be bloody barmy if he confessed to two murders he hadn’t done!’ Luke exclaimed. ‘Barmy! He’ll get life but they’ll likely let him out early if he behaves himself. They’ll sympathise with him, see, because he was avenging the death of his daughter. It wasn’t just because he had the urge to kill someone.’

It was half past three before Angie and Luke made their unsteady way back to The Gallery.

So much for the ‘Back at 2 p.m.’ sign on the door, Kate thought as she collapsed wearily onto the sofa. Luke certainly wouldn’t be her choice but nevertheless she felt a little jealous that Angie and he seemed to get on so well. She wished too that Woody had been here today. Maybe next year?

Kate filled the dishwasher and decided both she and Barney had need of some fresh air.

After yesterday’s rain, it was sunny as she set off with the dog on the less-favoured route to the cliffs above Lavender Cottage. It was a tougher climb and a rougher terrain, stony and undulating, up to Bugalow Point. They met only an occasional walker, clad in anorak, boots and backpack, and a few groups of tourists. Down below she could see some wetsuit-clad hopefuls struggling with their newly bought bodyboards in the gentle waves. The beach was crowded and the little parade of shops buzzing with tourists. Kate wondered briefly if Angie had managed to sell her painting. Then she wondered how Woody was