A Racing Murder (The Ham Hill Murder Mysteries) Page 5

  The others nodded. ‘Imogen, you’ve generously offered the hotel gardens and this delightful room, and Adam, whom I saw as I arrived, is joining us and has offered the services of his exotic chef from over the pond, to help feed us all. Barbecue for everyone, I hope. My favourite.’

  She stopped in mid flow. ‘Where is Adam, by the way? Has he got lost, like my list?’ She stopped to chuckle at her own joke.

  Imogen said, ‘He was waylaid. He’ll join us when he can.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, who else?’

  Steph said, ‘Me?’

  ‘Good grief, of course. Couldn’t do it without you, Steph. You’re our Communications Director. Vital role, vital. Now, Jenny Trevillian usually sits on the village committees, but this year, she’s sending Joe. She says he’s keen to get involved in the fair, since it’s in aid of fixing the village hall roof. She said he’ll be helpful with the heavy work of setting up the fair and he’ll be able to get a few other local farmers involved.’ Helen laughed again. ‘I don’t think he had any choice in the matter. Still, isn’t that wonderful? We never have enough men organising things. It’s almost as though they don’t enjoy village fairs. Imagine.’

  ‘Joe Trevillian?’ Imogen repeated, thoughtfully. Joe seemed to actively dislike Adam. She had no idea why, but he seemed to seize on the slightest opportunity to sneer at ‘the village’s new ex-plod’. Putting them together on the committee was – well – courageous.

  There was a wicked gleam in Helen’s eyes. ‘He’ll be with us once the morning milk’s been collected, or a fence mended, or something. Always on the go, is Joe. Never a dull moment when he’s around.’

  She continued to tick off the committee members on her fingers. ‘Edwina Topsham can’t be here this morning as she’s in the shop, but she sends her regards and wants to help. She’s bagged the cake stall unless anyone objects. Now, is that all?’

  Imogen hardly dared ask. ‘Maria Rostropova?’ she murmured.

  The force of Helen’s shout of laughter made the coffee cups rattle. ‘How could I forget? And, if I’m not mistaken, I think she’s on the way.’

  Sure enough, Maria’s perfume preceded her into the room. ‘My dear Mrs Pickles,’ she gushed. ‘I hope I’m not late. I wouldn’t want you all to wait for me.’

  Imogen said, ‘You’re not the last, but we’re very pleased to see you. Have a cake.’

  Maria’s eyes opened in horror. ‘My darling, I cannot eat cake. My poor figure…’ She smoothed her tight skirt and lowered herself gracefully into a vacant chair at the table, shifting it back a little so she could cross her legs to show off her expensive shoes. Four inch heels. How could she even walk?

  Steph said, ‘I’d like to propose we co-opt Daniel Freeman to the committee.’

  Heat rose from Imogen’s feet, all the way up her spine, to settle uncomfortably at the back of her neck. What was Steph up to?

  When the three of them had met for the first time in thirty years, at a school reunion, Imogen had thought Steph was in a relationship with Dan. At the time, Imogen had been preoccupied, trying with Adam to prove her innocence of her husband’s murder. Since then, she’d spent a lot of time with Dan and he’d denied any special bond with Steph, but the idea still rankled.

  ‘Don’t look so puzzled,’ Steph said. ‘I thought we could persuade him to do a painting of the fair. He’s already offered to donate one to sell. He’s very generous with his work.’

  Maria’s face lit up. ‘Daniel Freeman – that handsome man I see with you sometimes, Imogen. He’s rather Byronic, I think. Dramatic. Such a good idea to have him on our little committee.’

  She’d better not attempt to get her claws into Dan. Imogen pushed the savage thought away.

  Triumphant, Helen thumped the table. ‘Agreed, then. Just as well, because I already asked him and he’ll be here any minute now.’

  That would be the day. Dan had almost no sense of time.

  ‘So, let’s begin,’ Helen beamed.

  Imogen sneaked a glance at her watch. The meeting had been going on for almost an hour and they hadn’t decided anything beyond the committee membership. This was going to take some time.

  As she topped up coffee cups, Joe Trevillian arrived. He stopped in the doorway. ‘Morning, ladies. I hear you need some help…?’ His gaze fell on Maria. Her dress revealed more than a hint of cleavage, and his voice tailed away.

  ‘Darling,’ said Maria. ‘How wonderful to have a strong man helping us out. Things always go better when men are involved, don’t you think, Imogen?’

  Before Imogen had time to respond to this slur on the sisterhood, Adam arrived, having seen Diane Sandford safely off the premises. ‘So sorry, got held up.’

  Joe, choosing a chair directly opposite Maria where he could enjoy the full benefit of her embonpoint, glared at Adam. ‘Might have known you’d be involved, Hennessy. Good place to catch villains, you think, the village fete?’

  Adam, unruffled, nodded to everyone, sat down and helped himself to a brownie.

  ‘Actually,’ Steph said, ‘it’s a Spring Fair.’

  Joe’s upper lip twisted and he adopted a high-pitched, refined voice. ‘Oh, yes. So much nicer. Don’t want the common workers cluttering up the place.’

  Helen said, ‘Now then, Joe. The fair’s for everyone, as you know, it’s in aid of the village hall roof, and we’ll all benefit from that. We don’t want the playgroup being washed away, do we? I know your little one loves it there, so don’t tease.’

  ‘Well, that’s as maybe,’ Joe said, in his normal voice, ‘whatever we call it, we’re sure of a good turn-out. Nothing folk like more than the chance to poke around the gardens where a murder happened.’

  A shocked hush fell at the enormous gaffe. Most of the committee would die rather than mention what had happened to Imogen’s husband. Imogen longed to crawl under the table, out of sight.

  Adam said, mildly, ‘Absolutely. There’s no end to ill-informed, vindictive curiosity, is there, Joe? Especially about family tragedies.’

  Helen joined in. ‘And Imogen’s brave enough to put that terrible time behind her for the sake of the village. Heroic, I call it.’

  ‘And,’ Steph said, with the sweetest of smiles at Joe, ‘at least none of her workers has sued her for negligence.’

  Joe’s jaw dropped. ‘What are you talking about?’

  His cheeks collapsed like two burst balloons. He reddened. ‘That was years ago—’

  ‘It was. Ten years and five months, to be exact. Still, the hospital managed to reattach Mr Hanson’s finger and thumb, and I’m sure your equipment has fully functioning guards in place now, doesn’t it?’

  Imogen blessed her friend’s lively curiosity and encyclopaedic knowledge of local affairs.

  Joe stood up. ‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ he snapped. ‘You can stick your committee, and your posh Spring Fair, where the sun—’

  Maria interrupted. ‘Oh, Joe, I only agreed to help because I heard you’d be here. We need people who know how things work. Someone like you. You’ve run the most successful farm in the county for years. Don’t desert us, please.’

  Her eyes shining as though with unshed tears, she gazed up at him, her shoulders thrust back, showing off her chest to its best advantage.

  Joe was lost. He sank back into his seat.

  Adam said, ‘I think the past should stay there, don’t you? Everyone has unfortunate or embarrassing moments in their dim and distant. It’s all part of the human condition.’

  ‘And we can all be forgiven,’ Helen said, fingering her white clerical collar.

  Joe blinked. He rarely set foot in church, but his wife, Jenny, was an eager, if untalented, choir member. He cleared his throat. ‘No offence,’ he grunted.

  ‘And none taken.’ Imogen said.

  Adam, watching the interplay among the committee members, inwardly congratulated Helen on her cleverness. Bringing Joe onto the committee meant he couldn’t snipe from the outside about the fair. She
was quite the politician.

  Helen moved on to the next item on her agenda, the budget available for the fair’s expenses. ‘Minimal,’ she said, ‘as always. We want every penny we can spare to go towards the village hall.’

  As the committee argued over various suggestions for persuading local businesses to contribute, or, as Joe put it, ‘screwing money out of the local bigwigs,’ Adam was distracted by a spate of excited barking outside.

  Imogen’s head bobbed up. ‘That’s Harley,’ she said. ‘What’s he up to now? I thought he was here, with us.’

  Steph said, ‘He followed Michael downstairs.’

  As one, the committee rose and scrambled to reach the window. Down below, a series of jumps were scattered over a stretch of grass and Harley, under Michael’s instructions, was galloping and leaping, soaring higher at each fence, and barking furiously.

  A small crowd of guests had gathered to watch, applauding each jump.

  Imogen clapped a hand to her forehead. ‘I don’t know which is worse, Harley or Michael. Look at the grass – Oswald will have a fit.’

  Adam turned at a sudden, unfamiliar sound, like a creaking wheel.

  It was Joe, laughing. ‘Will you look at that animal…’ he chuckled.

  As they watched, Harley turned, skidded on the grass, gathered himself, accelerated and leapt, clean as a whistle over the tallest fence, a construction of planks balanced on towers of bins.

  ‘I think Oswald’s in on it,’ Imogen said. ‘Those bins come from the potting shed. They’re full of seeds.’

  Harley trotted indoors, tail aloft, for a reward while Michael dismantled the jumps.

  In the Hawthorn Room, Helen called the committee to order, a suspiciously self-satisfied smirk on her face. Under cover of the general movement back to the table, Adam whispered in her ear. ‘Did you know that little show was about to happen?’

  She winked. Her plot, designed with Michael’s cooperation to defuse Joe’s antagonism, had worked perfectly. ‘Joe’s crazy about dogs. I thought he’d enjoy it,’ she hissed.

  From that moment on, Joe couldn’t be helpful enough. At regular intervals, a grin spread across his heavy features and he chuckled. ‘Quite a dog, that one.’

  With hardly any more argument, the list of stalls for the fair was agreed and the committee members assigned to every task Helen could devise, from running the barbecue to serving in the beer tent. She even persuaded Joe to liaise with the head teacher at the local primary school. He had clout there, for the six Trevillian children, ranging in age from twenty to two years, had helped keep the school numbers high enough to see off the threat of government cuts.

  Steph agreed to write to the local papers. ‘Although, they’ll all be full of this affair at the racecourse.’

  At that, the meeting, on the verge of breaking up, became electric with interest.

  ‘My Jenny told me the girl who did it stayed here at your hotel, Mrs Bishop.’ Joe made it sound as though Imogen was responsible.

  Before anyone could respond, he was on his feet. ‘But I can’t stay around here all morning, gossiping. I have work to do.’

  ‘I have to go home, too. I have so much on my plate…’ Maria followed him out.

  Steph watched them go. ‘Am I imagining things, or—’

  Imogen started to laugh. ‘I do believe those two are up to something.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Helen said, sternly. ‘Pure coincidence. Maria’s a busy woman and Joe would never dare stray. Jenny would have something to say about that.’

  Adam leaned back in his chair, considering. When he’d first arrived in the village, Maria had cast some kind of spell over him. He would have done anything she asked. But now, the enchantment was broken. A weight shifted from his shoulders as he looked around the table at his three trusted female friends. What more could a man want?

  Even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. A simple friendship with Steph, although a privilege, would never be quite enough for him.

  ‘I hate to gossip,’ Steph was saying, ‘but I’ve spent my whole working life chasing stories and I’m dying to know more about the death at the racecourse.’

  A little shamefaced, she pulled her collection of newspapers out of her bag, and spread them across the table. ‘Imogen, since you had some of the racegoers staying in your hotel, I’m hoping for plenty of inside info. So, come on, what are the facts?’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint,’ Imogen said. ‘But I know little more than the writers of these columns. In fact, they seem to know several details that I don't.’

  Steph laughed. ‘Don’t take their accounts as gospel. They have word counts to meet, you know.’ She leaned forward and spoke in a stage whisper. ‘They make things up.’

  ‘Well,’ Imogen said, ‘the police were here on Saturday, talking to Belinda Sandford—’

  Adam said, ‘And the woman that collared me just now is her mother.’

  Just then, Imogen's phone rang. ‘It’s Dan.’ Tactfully, the others looked away as she fumbled with the phone.

  ‘Dan. Why aren’t you here?’ she asked.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m running late. Forgot the time. Am I still welcome?’

  8

  Plans

  Daniel Freeman arrived in the Hawthorn Room, flushed, his hair standing on end, a canvas clutched under one arm. Harley followed, tail wagging furiously. Dan – Adam supposed he should call him that, to be friendly – would look good if he’d just fallen in the river. Even Harley had a special soft spot for him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Helen,’ Dan said. ‘I promised I’d come and help with this fete.’

  ‘Spring Fair,’ Steph and Imogen corrected, in unison.

  Dan looked from one to the other. ‘Exactly. Is the meeting over?’

  Steph said, ‘You missed quite a show, but don’t worry. We’ve come up with plenty for you to do.’

  ‘Well, I brought this as a peace offering.’ Dan unwrapped the brown paper from his painting – a sunset view of Ham Hill – and leaned it against the wall. ‘I thought you might like to raffle it.’

  Helen, Imogen and Steph gathered around, exclaiming, as Adam scratched behind Harley’s ear.

  Helen straightened up. ‘Dan, I will forgive you anything. This is such a generous donation. I think we might have a special event – what do you call them, when people bid for things.’

  ‘An auction,’ Adam suggested.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Dan scratched his head. ‘That would be great – but I’m no auctioneer.’

  The women all turned to look at Adam.

  ‘Oh, no—‘ he said, a hand raised in protest.

  ‘Great idea,’ said Dan. Was that a malicious twinkle in those big brown eyes? Adam ground his teeth.

  Helen said, ‘You’d be perfect for the job. Do say you will.’

  ‘Go on, Adam,’ Imogen grinned.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Steph. ‘We’re counting on you.’

  Adam gave in. Wonderful, he thought. Now I have to big Dan up in front of the whole village. Serves me right, I suppose. I’d like the man if only he were slightly less handsome, or a bit less talented.

  Helen had to dash off, blaming another meeting. ‘This one’s with the Bishop, and it’s about plans for the Easter services, so I’d better not be late. Thank you all for your help. This year’s Spring Fair will be the best ever.’

  Imogen rang down for more coffee, and as the four of them waited for Michael to bring it, Imogen divided up the last brownie.

  As he arrived, Imogen said, ‘I see you’ve been training Harley.’

  Michael blushed and stammered, ‘I didn’t think you’d mind, Mrs Bishop…’

  She laughed. ‘Of course I don’t mind. You’ve done a good job. Well done.’

  Michael left, crimson with pleasure. Steph swallowed the last crumbs of cake and licked her fingers. ‘Now, what did Diane Sandford want with you, Adam, that kept you so long?’

  Adam hesitated. Should he tell them Di
ane’s business?

  Imogen nodded, encouragingly. ‘We’ll agree not to spread rumours. There were more than enough of those when my husband died.’

  Steph said slowly, ‘I imagine she wanted to talk to you about her daughter and this death at the racecourse. The press are already calling it a murder.’

  Adam half rose, about to object, as Steph went on hurriedly. ‘All right, I know there’s no evidence but the speculation’s already started and Belinda’s name has risen straight to the top of the papers’ suspect lists. So, if you’re thinking of doing a spot of investigating on behalf of her mother, maybe I can add something. I’m a journalist, and journalist equals nosy parker.’

  Imogen agreed. ‘Come on, Adam. Trust us to help. If two heads are better than one, look how useful four will be. I bet policemen don’t operate all alone; not even Columbo. We can be your back-up team.’

  ‘Actually,’ Adam pointed out, ‘Columbo’s a TV detective, not a real one.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Steph exclaimed, illogically. ‘You need a team.’

  Adam was tempted. Alex Deacon’s death might be murder, in which case the killer must be found and punished for her sake. If it were an accident or suicide, no harm would be done by a little gentle probing. Besides, how could he resist the temptation of working closely with Steph?

  His face must have given him away, because Imogen nudged him. ‘Good. I’ll vouch for Dan. You know he never chats, much, anyway. Do you, Dan?’

  Dan laughed. ‘I suppose not. I don’t know what I can add, though. I’ve never done any sleuthing, if that’s what you’re planning. But I do know how to keep my mouth shut.’

  Adam sighed and gave in, recounting the hour he’d spent with Diane, listening to her fears for her daughter. ‘She seems on the verge of hysteria, but I suppose that's normal. She's worried about her daughter, and it’s not long since her husband died.’

  Imogen thought about that. ‘Maybe she's not convinced Belinda is innocent. That would terrify a mother. She’d want to hide it from herself.’

  Steph shuddered. ‘I should say so. Imagine discovering your child’s done something really terrible. A crime, I mean. I've written about crime victims, and about the perpetrators, but the criminal’s family usually stay safely in the background.’