A Move to Murder: A Bride's Bay Mystery Page 6

“Perhaps Hannah will go into the business?”

  “I don’t think so! Last I heard, she and Amy were undecided as to become human rights lawyers or open a nail bar together!”

  At least Barbara was smiling and Beth left as another customer came in.

  Wednesday afternoon was no better. A Chinese whisper went around school that someone knew someone who claimed one of James’s workers did know something about the burglaries. Then conversation in the charity shop grew heated when a customer was firmly told by Sue to keep her offensive opinions to herself, retaliating there was no smoke without fire as she flounced out, indignation in every muscle.

  Wednesday evening. Beth felt tired and uptight as she walked over the road to call for Tom. The day had been fraught, everyone irritable, gossipy, nervous. Even the children seemed to have picked up on the tension and were loud and argumentative. But the scent of honeysuckle washed over her as she walked up the path and Tom came out of his house, eyes crinkling as he smiled at her, hazel eyes warm and friendly, put his hand under her elbow as they crossed the road, his fingers warm and firm. They walked along the beach, sat down by the water’s edge in the evening sunshine. The air was warm and still, white frills rolled over the shingle and yachts sailed quietly past. The Isle of Wight ferry could be seen in the distance and a large cruise ship was making its stately way out of Southampton.

  Charlie was chasing seagulls and Tess curled up by Tom, calmly watching Charlie.

  For the first time all day Beth felt her tenseness ease as the sights and sounds around her soothed and calmed. She kicked off her sandals and stretched out her legs, noticing white stripes on her small feet where straps had been. She gave a contented sigh and closed her eyes to relax. Tom looked at her quizzically. “Bad day?”

  “Mmmm. Everyone gossiping about the burglaries, about James and Joe. Even the children are talking about it.”

  Tom was quiet. “Are you worried about the break ins? Your house is quite secure, isn’t it?”

  Beth nodded. “Yes. But don’t they say anyone can get in of they are determined to?”

  “I’ll come round and put some extra locks on for you, if you want.” Tom offered.

  “I think I’ve got plenty. But thank you.” Beth was quiet, hugged her knees and gazed out to sea.

  Tom changed the subject, began to tell Beth about his progress with the garden. He had plans for it, wanted to replace some of the borders that held annuals with perennials, plant more shrubs. But needed to go carefully, this said ruefully. Frances liked the annuals, kept telling him he needed a balance between annuals, perennials, evergreen shrubs. “I wonder whose garden it is sometimes! But there’s no point upsetting her, she knows her stuff and is keen to advise.” Frances had convinced him, no; make that ordered him, to leave well alone for the rest of the year so he could see what flowered where. Sensible, really. At least she showed no interest in the house and he was ready to go ahead with some alterations.

  Beth was still gazing out to sea, half listening to his deep voice explaining about the garden, the alterations, half dreaming, when she registered a name.

  “So I was going to get a quote from James Lamb, everyone seems to use him. But is that wise, do you think, with the current situation?”

  “The current situation? What current situation?” Beth shook herself to full consciousness, turned to look at him.

  “Well, all the talk about his firm being involved somehow with the burglaries.” Tom hesitated, seeing Beth tense. She sat up straight, stared at him in astonishment, her eyes wide.

  “Don’t say you believe all the tittle tattle too? Poor James, he would never be involved in anything like that but the poor man is considered guilty already.”

  To her dismay her voice shook and her eyes filled; she turned her head away to hide it.

  “Whoa! Stop! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to sound as though I think he’s guilty. I don’t know any of these people, remember. But I’m sorry I’ve upset you.” Tom moved to put a warm hand on hers. “Please, let’s start again.”

  Beth shuddered, looked down, pulled her hand away, swallowed and blinked hard.

  “I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I overreacted. It’s just been such a horrid week; everyone talking about it and convinced they know. But I’ve known James and Becky for years, and Joe, and they would do anything for anyone. James has done work for lots of people I know and hasn’t even charged them the going rate, to help them out. There’s no way he would ever rob anyone. When I first moved here with Nell he was so helpful, he did work for me, waited until I could afford to pay him, never rushed me. I trust him completely...” Beth’s voice shook and she stopped to compose herself, pushed her hair back behind her ears, staring intently out to sea and willing her eyes not to fill up again.

  “Then I really am sorry.” Tom’s voice was quiet. “I shouldn’t have been so suspicious. I’ll phone him tomorrow and ask him to come and quote.”

  Beth swallowed and blinked. Forced herself to breathe slowly and reminded herself Tom was right, he didn’t know any of these people like she did. Began to feel in control again.

  She got to her feet and called Charlie; the air was getting humid and muggy; maybe a storm was brewing after the fine weather. That would be about right, stormy weather to match the stormy atmosphere in town.

  She started walking along the beach, up to the road, Tom registering her tense back and silence. As they crossed and approached his house, he put a hand under her elbow again.

  “Come in for a coffee? Please? So I know I’m forgiven?” His voice was quiet, gentle. His sunglasses had lightened to clear lenses and Beth looked up at warm, concerned hazel eyes, fringed by thick lashes, a slight frown on his forehead. His sandy hair flopped down and she felt a sudden urge to push it back, out of his eyes.

  The knot in her stomach eased a little and she found herself nodding. “Alright. But I prefer tea.”

  “Tea it is.”

  He led the way through the hall and into the kitchen at the back. Beth had calmed down and looked around with interest. The previous owners had replaced the kitchen a couple of years before with modern units but in a warm solid wood. Granite worktops flecked with greens and golds were mixed with wood worktops. An island in the centre had the hob on it with stools facing and Tom gestured her to one of these before turning to fill the kettle. Tess padded quietly over to her basket by the French doors and Charlie followed, climbing in with her. Beth wasn’t keen on bar stools, her legs were too short to climb on as easily as Gina or Melissa could do, but Tom was facing the sink and didn’t see her lack of grace. “Did you want to sit here or there?” motioning to a sofa on the side wall.

  “The sofa, please.” Beth climbed gratefully down and perched on the edge of the sofa, tugging her skirt down over her knees. Tom put the tray down on a side table, asking her if she took milk and sugar.

  “I am sorry, you know. I wouldn’t have upset you for the world.”

  He still looked so concerned, Beth knew he was genuinely apologetic and felt silly and guilty at her outburst. “I’m sorry too; I shouldn’t have had a go. It wasn’t just you. I’ve been anxious about it all week and that was just the final straw. Let’s forget about it.”

  Beth gazed around the kitchen. “This is a nice room. Have you any plans for in here?”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s a really lovely room. I love the fact I can eat in here, look out at the garden. The living room is good too. But when you’ve finished your tea I’ll show you the dining room; I want to make it into a library and study. I kept wondering which room was best as a study, but it has to be the dining room. I would never get any work done if it was in the living room.”

  It was obvious why. The living room windows were high and wide, with the original shutters. The view through them was stunning; framing the island and out to sea, past the Spinnaker tower and Gunwharf Quays, the three forts visible in the distance.

  “See.” Tom grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. �
��How would I ever concentrate enough to do any work, looking at that view all the time?”

  “But surely you’ve got a nice view from the dining room?”

  “Yes, but not as distracting as this, come and see.”

  The dining room had doors on to the garden, framing a view of greenery and splashes of colour, mature trees and shrubs; but as Tom said, although it was pleasant it lacked the movement and constant change of the view of the sea.

  “I want bookshelves put in both these alcoves” Tom explained, “And cupboards built underneath, then I can keep all my files and so on in them. Then my desk will go here and an armchair and reading lamp here.”

  Piles of books balanced precariously on the floor and Beth twisted her head to read some of the titles. There were reference books, autobiographies, travel books. And piles and piles of fiction, mostly psychological thrillers and crime. Many were by authors Beth liked and she craned her neck more to read the titles.

  “What sort of books do you read?” Tom asked curiously.

  “These” sweeping an arm towards the pile of Elizabeth George, Reginald Hill, Jo Nesbo. “Though nothing too gory, Jo Nesbo can make me cringe a bit.”

  Tom laughed. “That one with the spiked apple thing was particularly gruesome.”

  “I haven’t read this one, Ian Rankin, The Beat Goes On.”

  “Ah yes. I love his books. That one is short stories. I thought I’d feel a bit cheated by it, not being a full length novel, but I was engrossed.”

  He crouched down to ease it from the pile without causing an avalanche of books.

  “I was so scared Rebus would be no more, after Exit Music, but thank goodness he came back.”

  “That was a great book, though, wasn’t it?” Tom straightened up. “There’s a new Rebus coming out later this year, in November, Even Dogs in the Wild. I’ve pre ordered it. But do you want to borrow this?” He held it out to her. “Now, another cup of tea?”

  They discussed books and authors while they had a fresh drink, then Beth stood up to go, patting Charlie awake.

  “Thanks for the tea. And the book. I must be going.”

  “And I’m forgiven?” an eyebrow was raised as Tom followed her to the door.

  “You’re forgiven!” Beth laughed. “And I’m feeling much better now, thanks to the restorative powers of tea!”

  “Good.” Tom looked down at her, hesitating as though to add something, but simply raising his hand in farewell. “Beach at seven tomorrow then?”

  Beth nodded her agreement and walked down the path, down to the corner and over the road to her own house. She felt exhausted. And low. Maybe a good night’s sleep was what she needed and things would be better in the morning.

  No thunder storm but Beth woke on Thursday morning to dark, oppressive clouds. By lunchtime it was raining and six hours later it showed no sign of abating. Beth phoned Tom to check he wasn’t expecting to meet up for a walk but his phone went straight to the answer machine. Unreasonably relieved that she wouldn’t have to chat, despite the truce reached the night before, Beth left a brief message to say she would see him the following evening, weather permitting. She changed into one of her new dresses, mint green cotton with a fitted waist and flared skirt that emphasised her waist and the soft curves of her hips. The narrow straps were perfect for a warm evening, but not for tonight. She slipped on an off white crochet shrug Gina had picked out and slipped her feet into a pair of smart cream sandals with low heels. Gina had tried to persuade her to buy some higher ones but she had resisted, knowing she would totter round on them feeling self-conscious. Ironic really; Melissa and Gina who already had the height could glide gracefully in 5 inch heels while she, all 5 ft. 4 INS of her, could only manage a medium one.

  Usually she would walk to the wine bar after walking Charlie, to meet Gina and Carol for dinner, but tonight transport was called for and she drove the short distance in her old blue Golf. Gina was already seated at a table by the window, watching the rain streaming down the glass.

  “Summer’s over!” Beth dumped her bag on the floor and slid onto the bench opposite Gina. She had only walked from the car park into the restaurant but her hair felt flat and damp. Gina’s hair was immaculate as usual, a golden bell swinging around her perfect oval face. She wore a mid-blue linen tunic that perfectly matched her eyes, over white linen trousers. White gold jewellery with diamonds and sapphires flashed at her ears and on her long fingers. Beth knew her husband had bought her beautiful jewellery and would bet that all Gina’s earrings were in pairs, none going missing as hers frequently did.

  Gina smiled at her. “It’s not supposed to last, sun again tomorrow”.

  “Good. No Carol yet? Not like her to be late.” Beth looked around but there was no sign of her and it wasn’t until both women had ordered drinks and caught up with news that Carol came through the door, shrugging off her raincoat. It was obvious something was wrong. Her short, layered hair needed brushing and her grey eyes were anxious, her mouth tense.

  “Carol? Carol, are you alright?” Beth started to stand up but Carol waved her down and sank onto the bench next to her.

  “Don’t take any notice, I’ll be alright.” She picked up the bottle of wine and poured herself a large glass, drinking half in one gulp.

  “No you’re not.” Gina frowned. “Come on, what’s happened?”

  Carol was silent, putting down the glass then picking it up again, her eyes strained and her mouth tense.

  “Well, do you want to know about me first, or Ken?”

  “Either! Just tell us, what’s happened?” Beth was starting to feel alarmed, a knot of tension tightening in her stomach.

  “Okay, Ken first” Carol took a deep breath. “The good news is the suspicion should be off James Lamb now. The bad news is, it’s now on Ken.”

  A shocked silence.

  “But why? How?” Gina leaned across; clasping Carol’s hand but Carol shrugged it away.

  “No, no. No sympathy or I really will fall apart.”

  Now Beth really was worried. Carol was the sensible one, always calm, always rational. To see her like this was dreadful.

  The waitress arrived to take their orders. She left and there was silence until Carol looked up and broke it, her usually composed face ravaged with worry.

  “It seems that Ken’s estate agents handled all three house sales. So the police are investigating wrong doing at the agency, keys kept, that sort of thing.”

  “What?” Beth was incredulous. “But the Wrens’ have lived there for thirty years! Is he supposed to have kept the key for thirty years?!”

  “No, but a year ago they thought of moving to a retirement apartment and put it on the market. Ken did the marketing and there were some viewings but then they changed their minds, altered the garden, did up the bathroom and so on. And the Deans’ only bought the house less than two years ago, through the agency. Ken handled the sale for the people who used to live there. Then the Davis’s bought their house ten months ago, again through Ken. So you see, now Ken is the common denominator.” A wobbly smile.

  Gina poured her more wine. “But Ken’s had his agency for over thirty years, it’s ridiculous!”

  “It will be alright Carol; they’ll find they’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Another thought occurred to Beth.

  “But you said you and Ken. What about you?”

  “Oh I’m sure it’s something and nothing” Carol paused, to be prompted by Gina.

  “What is? Come on, tell us.”

  “Only... oh I’ve had a bit of bleeding, well quite a lot actually, and I’m through the menopause, I haven’t had a period for over two years. But it happens, doesn’t it?” looking at the two women “Doesn’t it?”

  Beth nodded her head. “Yes, it happens, but it shouldn’t. You need to get it checked out, Carol.”

  Carol looked tearful again. “But I can’t, not while poor Ken is so stressed...”

  “He’ll be even more stressed if he think
s there’s something wrong with you and you’re not doing anything about it.”

  There was silence while the waitress brought their food. Carol composed herself.

  “I know, I know. I’ll make an appointment with Doctor Clarke tomorrow.”

  None of the women had much appetite. Carol picked at her food and Gina and Beth ate but with no enjoyment. I need another drink, thought Beth, but had to order tonic water, remembering her car outside. Poor Carol and Ken. How on earth would he prove he had no connection with it all? And Carol, there could be an innocent explanation or... no, stop, don’t start thinking like that. It would all get sorted out and life could get back to normal. But she felt sick, thinking of Carol’s face, the worry in her eyes, the tears. She had never known Carol cry, which made this evening’s behaviour even more alarming. Carol was always so strong, such a rock. But she was human, worried sick about Ken and about herself, no wonder she was tearful and anxious. The three women finished their meal in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It was still raining when they left, Carol accepting a lift in Beth’s car and sitting silently beside her for the short drive to her house. She gave Beth a brief hug, looking anxiously at her house where the lights shone out from the living room.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the lift.” And she was gone, hurrying up the path. Beth drove slowly home, windscreen wipers on full, her heart heavy.

  One more person in Brides Bay was also worried. Ali Soames sat googling holiday cottages in Cornwall, her face intent on her task. But the images flashed by on the screen without her seeing them; her greyish blue eyes stared at the idyllic stone cottages, the sandy beaches, turquoise sea and crashing waves, but her ears were sharply attuned to the phone conversation going on behind her. She could only hear one side but it was enough to know her husband was talking to Melissa and arranging to show her the Historic Dockyard in Portsmouth. Julian was animated and loud; no, he was saying, Ali wouldn’t want to go with them, she had been many times before. Yes of course he would drive, or they could get the ferry over to Gunwharf Quays, Ali would take them to Gosport. They’d make a day of it. Ali would watch the gallery, and there were good places to eat, what did she like? Thai, Italian? Julian paced as he talked, limbs loose and relaxed, dark curls flopping over his forehead, a smile evident in his voice which was teasing and deep. Ali clenched her fists and clicked off the travel website. Somehow, she wasn’t in the mood to plan holidays with Julian. Her head ached and her eyes stung. A feeling of dread flooded her stomach. It was happening all over again.