Authors: Kaye C. Hill
“Bizarre accident, though,” said Lexy. “Falling backward over a balcony isn’t something that occurs all over the place, is it?”
“It ’appens.”
“Do you think she tripped, then?”
He gave her a hard stare. “It don’t matter what I think. Fact was, it were an accident. I won’t keep you, any road.” With that, Bruce turned and unlatched the gate,
pulling it open for Lexy.
He thought different then, did he?
She drove through and stopped next to him.
“I met your sons earlier,” she said. “Up at the cottage.”
Bruce frowned, pulled a mobile from his pocket, and turned it on. It rang immediately, a jangle of hideous electronic noise.
“Mind you don’t frighten the sheep with that.”
But he was already talking. “Aye. Well, I know now. I’m on my way.”
“See you, then.” Lexy drove away, slowly enough to catch Bruce saying, “... and she’s coming up there now. So you make sure Tyman’s...”
Tyman’s what?
She cruised along the tarmac lane, past the fancy sheep.
The Gallimore family had something to hide. Something to do with the cottage. Maybe something linked to Elizabeth’s death.
Lexy turned up the path through the trees, puzzling over Bruce’s phone call. He had been warning someone, presumably Ward, that Lexy was on her way up. And telling him to
make sure Tyman... what? Kept out of the way? Got out of the cottage? At the thought of this, Lexy suddenly put her foot down and the Panda lurched forward, propelling Kinky into the footwell.
“Better stay there, pal,” she said. “Rough ride coming up.”
The car bounced over potholes and through puddles. It took all her strength to hold on to the steering wheel. She strained her eyes for a first view of the cottage. If she saw Tyman sneaking
out...
But Four Winds stood serene and empty in its clearing. Not a hint of a Gallimore.
Nevertheless, as soon as the Panda had shuddered to a halt Lexy was out, running all the way around the place checking windows and doors.
She unlocked the front door, dashed down the hall and checked every room, her blood inexplicably up. But there was no sign of any disturbance. She slowed, taking deep breaths.
Perhaps what Bruce had actually been about to say was make sure Tyman sorts those sheep out. Or make sure Tyman gets back down to the farm, and doesn’t spend any more time exchanging
pleasantries with the unwelcome newcomer.
Shaking her head, Lexy went back to the car. Poor Kinky was still sitting in the passenger footwell. He didn’t look best pleased to be back at Four Winds Cottage. He got out slowly,
sniffing the air. No doubt he could smell the lingering aroma of Django, the German Shepherd.
Lexy went in, plugged in the fridge, and put the food away.
The bread and soup would have to wait. She had a far more pressing task. She needed to search Four Winds Cottage from top to bottom for whatever it was the Gallimores wanted to get their hands
on.
Lexy started upstairs, in the fateful front bedroom. She’d already checked the patio and windows. Now she carefully went through the dark wooden wardrobe, tallboy and
dressing table. Kinky sat in the doorway, watching her solemnly.
All contained clothes, good quality, nothing flashy. Lexy went through all the pockets she came across. All empty. No shopping lists, receipts, jotted down phone numbers, suicide notes...
Even the underwear drawer, that most obvious place of all for a woman to keep secrets, contained... underwear. Mostly the serviceable type, but there were, Lexy noticed, a couple of black lace
numbers. Looked like Elizabeth still had her moments. And why not? Although it wasn’t the
why?
that interested Lexy so much as the
with whom?
She checked out the photo of the stern-looking young man in army desert fatigues on the tallboy. Took it out of the frame. Nothing written on the back. No date. Looked a little faded. Lexy got
the feeling it hadn’t been taken during one of Britain’s current desert conflicts. She replaced it, wondering who this soldier might be. He seemed out of place in this laid-back,
feminine house.
Lexy pulled back the quilt on the bed, and looked under the pillows. Nothing. She got down on her hands and knees and peered under it. Nothing.
“What do you reckon, pal?” she asked the chihuahua. Again, he was sniffing the bedroom carpet with peculiar concentration, tail well down.
It couldn’t have been vacuumed for at least six weeks, ever since Elizabeth’s fall, in fact. Here and there lay tiny scraps of dried grass, and a couple of those little goose-grass
burrs that stick resolutely to clothing, shoes and hair, hitching a hopeful ride to the next growing spot. At first Lexy assumed she’d brought them in the day before. Then it struck her that
goose-grass would have pollinated a good month or more ago. These barbed seed heads had dried and turned brown – meaning they’d been there for a while.
She collected them up, noting their position, then searched the landing and stairs. She found two more burrs, and several pieces of grass. The trail led through the living room, which yielded
another three burrs, tangled in a furry rug by the patio door.
Lexy considered. Someone had come in from outside, having first brushed up against goose-grass growing along the footpath. The burrs had attached themselves, with their usual blind hope, to
trouser bottoms or shoe laces. Had this unwitting carrier then made his way up to Elizabeth’s bedroom?
Could have been Elizabeth, of course, although judging by the clean state of the house, she didn’t seem the type to walk through it in outdoor shoes.
Or it could have been her killer.
Lexy felt a thrill of fear, mixed with exhilaration.
Of course, she thought, plummeting back to earth again, it might just have been Milo’s police colleagues who had been there carrying out their investigation. But they would have approached
the house from the front, and were unlikely to be garnished with burrs of goose-grass.
“Let’s work on the assumption that someone planned to do away with Elizabeth,” she said to Kinky. “Someone who’s been secretly observing her routine for a while. He
gets into the cottage on the morning in question, sneaking in through the patio doors while Elizabeth is in the kitchen.”
She traced the imagined footsteps, talking all the while. “He nips upstairs to the front bedroom, slips on some gloves...” She mimed this. “Quietly opens the windows wide...
” She unlocked and pulled them open. “Then waits behind the door, here.” She stood in position. “When he hears her come up the stairs, he makes some kind of sound to lure
her into the room...” She cast around. There was a book on the bedside table. Lexy slid it across the carpet so it hit the opposite skirting board with a thud.
“Elizabeth comes hurrying in to see what the noise is. She goes straight over to the window, puzzled because it’s open, hears a sound behind her, turns to see a figure advancing on
her, then before she’s had a chance to draw breath, let alone scream – quick shove, over she goes.”
Kinky was unable to comment on this theory.
“Say,” Lexy pressed on regardless, “for argument’s sake, it was one of the Gallimore sons who sneaked in that morning...” Why did an image of Ward pop into her
mind? “... and shoved Elizabeth over the balcony for reasons of his own. Who could know it was anything other than an accident? There wouldn’t be a murder weapon. Unlikely to be any
witnesses. Could almost be a perfect crime.”
She fell into silent thought, picking up the binoculars from the dressing table. What were they doing here, so out of place in a bedroom? Then Lexy remembered Tyman mentioning the barn owl
Elizabeth had pointed out to him. She must have been a bird-watcher. Lexy took a squint through them.
Forget the birds – they showed Pilgrim’s Farm in unexpectedly good detail. Lexy had a clear view of the front door, the stables in the yard, and an open hayrick, in and around which
cows were munching. Perhaps Elizabeth had still been keeping an eye on the animals, despite the misunderstanding over the pigs.
Perhaps she had discovered something going on down there.
Lexy frowned. All roads of speculation seemed to lead to the Gallimores. But then their behaviour at the mention of Elizabeth had been almost a caricature of guilt. No wonder the people in the
village were talking.
She went into the guest bedroom and repeated her search. The blanket chest contained... blankets. The chest of drawers contained winter woollens, and in one lower drawer she found a couple of
swimming costumes.
Lexy removed all the clothing and checked the drawers inside and out. Nothing. She replaced everything with a sigh.
She went over the carpet on her hands and knees. No goose-grass burrs in here, or any other scraps of vegetation. Whoever had tramped it up here had only brought it into the front bedroom. Lent
further weight to her ambush theory.
It was a similar story in the two back rooms. The sofa bed in the third bedroom yielded no secrets, nor did the clothing on the rail in the boxroom.
Thoughtfully, Lexy returned downstairs. She wondered whether she dared confide in Milo about her theory of a murderous intruder. He wouldn’t be best pleased that she was querying the
official investigation. Lexy didn’t doubt that the police had done all they thought necessary in a case like this, but she knew how busy Lowestoft CID had been during the summer. Milo had
told her himself. Trouble was, when the investigation had taken place, Elizabeth’s bequest hadn’t come to light.
She yawned. The day had turned into a real scorcher. She still had the studio to go through, and she ought to do a proper job on the living room, to say nothing of the kitchen.
She opened the back door and breathed in the enticing scent of the hillside. What was the rush? She was going to be here for a couple more days. Plenty of time to investigate to her
heart’s content.
“Why don’t we cut ourselves some slack, Kinkster?”
The dog gazed anxiously up at her.
“R&R, mate. You look like you need it, and I certainly do.”
Lexy nipped back upstairs and helped herself to one of the swimming costumes. She grabbed a towel from the bathroom, made sure she had locked up everywhere, and minutes later she and Kinky were
heading up the forbidden hill.
She might be trespassing but what the hell, she was good at keeping a low profile. Just have to make sure Kinky didn’t take off after any sheep. Not that she’d seen any up there yet.
Probably keeping in the shade on a day like this. Lexy followed the track up the hill, then carefully descended the steps to the beach.
It was a particularly deserted stretch – too far from Clopwolde for people to lug beach paraphernalia and kids. Good-o – all the more peace and quiet for her.
In the shelter of the cliff, Lexy quickly changed into the swimming costume. Bit tight, but no one was there to point and laugh.
She waded into the waves, enjoying the gradual acclimatisation. The sun had managed to warm the normally icy North Sea to a bearable temperature, and Lexy swam strongly, relishing the
sensation.
Back on land Kinky was digging in the soft sand at the base of the cliff, directly under a large sign that said No Digging. It was good to see him enjoying himself.
After a quarter of an hour Lexy emerged from the waves, trying with difficulty to keep her footing on shifting pebbles. Not exactly the Birth of Venus, more like a contestant in a log-rolling
contest.
She lay down on the towel and closed her eyes. Just for a minute.
Lexy woke up three hours later on the hard shingle, numb, sunburnt and encrusted with sea-salt.
Kinky, his whole body stiff with sand, had dug enough holes to destabilise the entire cliff.
Painfully, they trudged back together.
Lexy hosed the chihuahua down outside the back door, then stripped off her damp clothes in the kitchen, threw them in the washing machine and headed for the bath.
At seven-thirty, wearing clean jeans and a t-shirt, her denim jacket tied around her waist, Lexy set off. A brisk half-hour walk should get her to the pub in time. There was no
question of driving; she needed a drink.
She followed a well-trodden, steep footpath that led straight down through the trees towards Pilgrim’s Farm. It opened out into a meadow halfway down and Lexy couldn’t help but
notice goose-grass growing at the side of the path in a tangled hedgerow. Another tick in the box for her hidden assassin theory. She just wondered what Milo would make of it.
The Unicorn was a dark and ancient hostelry, full of low beams and hidden alcoves. Two elderly men playing cribbage in a corner looked up briefly and dismissively as she
entered.
The only other customer was a man who sat at the far end of the bar, pint at hand, whisky chaser waiting ready, head bent towards the busty, attentive barmaid leaning on the counter talking to
him. A man Lexy recognised. The one from the thatched cottage. The chap Elizabeth had painted.
Lexy took two steps towards him, and he glanced up with those decadent black eyes that Elizabeth had captured so well. Up close, she saw that his face was ravaged by hard living.
The barmaid gave Lexy an enquiring look.
She was about to slip on to one of the bar stools and order a drink when she felt a light touch on her shoulder.
“Jumpy,” said Milo. He had materialised from one of the alcoves.
“Sunburn.”
“What would you like?”
“Pint of cider, please.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You driving?”
“No, I walked.”
“I could have picked you up.”
“It’s OK. Didn’t take long.”
Milo turned to the barmaid, and Lexy’s eyes slid back to Elizabeth’s oil painting subject again. He was still looking her over, amused now. Lexy quickly turned away before he leapt
to the wrong conclusion about her interest in him. He seemed like a man who would very swiftly leap to wrong conclusions.
Milo led the way back to the alcove carrying the drinks. He’d got himself a modest half of cider. Lexy could almost feel the man at the bar smirk before he turned back to the intimate chat
he’d been enjoying with the barmaid.