Small Town Treason: Some Very English Murders, #5

By Issy Brooke

Sometimes it’s hard to like the ones that you love…

Julie Rose, a local dog-walker, was a saint. She was warm, generous and helped everyone around her. But when she’s found dead in a locked bathroom, darker secrets begin to creep into the light. The pleasant middle-aged woman was not all that she seemed to be.

Penny May wants nothing to do with the investigation - it’s not her business. She’s learned her lesson. And she is busy with her own pursuit of a love life.

The police quickly assemble their list of suspects. Soon she discovers one of the suspects is someone close to her, and then another comes begging for help, and Penny finds herself deeply involved … and very firmly on the wrong side of the law.

As the small British town gears up to the annual Bonfire Night celebrations, treason is on everyone’s mind. Guy Fawkes thought that the end justified the means - does Penny?

It is a question Penny has to face when she finds herself sitting alone in a police cell…

This is a clean read suitable for all; it’s a standalone novel with no cliffhanger, and the mystery is fair-play and solved.

“Some Very English Murders” can be enjoyed in any order but you may prefer to follow them chronologically. This is Book Five.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Issy Brooke
• Release date: May 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533792549

Book preview

Small Town Treason

Some Very English Murders - Book Five

Issy Brooke

Text copyright 2015 Issy Brooke

All rights reserved

Cover credit: background vector illustration Denis Demidenko via 123rf.com adapted by Issy Brooke

Cover design and dog illustration by Issy Brooke

You can find out more about Lincolnshire and the characters in Glenfield at my website, http://www.issybrooke.com

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This book is written in British English. It’s like US English but with more vowels.

Chapter One

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Penny May was pretty sure that gazpacho soup was supposed to be served cold. She stirred her spoon around the bowl and wondered whether to mention it.

She probably best not.

Francine had gone to so much effort with the dinner party. Had it just been Penny and Francine, old friends that they were, Penny would have not only told Francine of her mistake, but she would have mocked her mercilessly.

However, she didn’t want to start a food fight in the house of Francine’s new boyfriend, especially when that man was Inspector Bill Travis. He might be a typical British policeman, with no weapons to hand, but she was still sure he could take her down using only a napkin and a serving spoon.

So she sipped at the curiously warm starter and told herself it was just a rather special version of tomato soup.

It would have been an awkward triad but Francine’s bubbly enthusiasm could rustle up a line-dancing session at a wake. And, Penny’s cynicism aside, it was a perfectly nice way to spend an autumnal Thursday evening in deepest, darkest Lincolnshire.

Penny’s mobile phone was tucked into the pocket of her loose linen trousers, and it buzzed quietly with an incoming message. She ignored it; it would probably be from her sister Ariadne. It would be the seventh message that day.

It was Ariadne that Francine was asking about, now. Francine loved people – all people, all the time – and that meant she was incessantly interested in all of their day to day doings.

How is her new business going? Francine asked, in between hearty mouthfuls of soup.

Travis cocked his head and smiled but he was mostly concentrating on getting as many rounds of bread into his mouth as he could while the women were distracted and chatting.

Penny tried to turn her instinctive grimace into a pleasant smile. Ariadne’s dog-walking business? She’s broken off from that business partnership she went into with that other woman and now she’s going it alone. It’s hard work, though. She stresses out at the tiniest thing. I keep telling her, it’s going to take time to build up.

Oh, I am sure she will succeed! Francine said, her face all smiles and bright eyes. She had an angular jaw and severe black hair in a bob, and her enthusiasm for living made an angel of her otherwise harsh features. What do you think, Bill?

Bill Travis had butter smeared on his lower lip. He paused, before speaking carefully. I think that those dog walking businesses need to be regulated.

Francine slapped his forearm playfully. You’d regulate breathing if you could.

He shrugged, unrepentant. You see them barrelling along, ten dogs in tow. I don’t see how they can keep control effectively. It worries me. And then there’s the poo.

A responsible owner will clean up after them.

I have never seen one of them businesses yet, with the person in charge carrying ten plastic bags of poo with them, he said darkly. Is there any more soup?

Penny was struggling to finish her soup. It was strangely slimy as it cooled and she was suddenly grateful that it had been warmed up. Unlike unwanted vegetables, it was rather hard to hide leftover soup under one’s cutlery. She mopped up the rest with bread then left the bread on the side of the wide bowl.

Of course there is more soup! Francine said. I’ve made enough to last you all week.

Lucky Inspector Travis, thought Penny. Rather him than me. She waved Francine away with a smile when her friend offered her some more. I’m saving space for pudding, she explained.

Right you are! I won’t be long. Francine danced towards the kitchen door, but stopped before she opened it. She turned back to Travis and waggled her finger at him. But no checking your phone or your pager while I’m gone.

He thinned his lips. If I’m needed, I’m needed. Criminals never sleep. You know that.

Hm. She whirled away into the kitchen.

As soon as she was out of sight, both Travis and Penny delved into their respective pockets to dig out their phones; Penny had hers in her hand within seconds, but Travis began to fumble and mutter, eventually standing up to look under the chair.

Have you lost it? she asked.

What, the plot? he said. Pretty much. No, I suppose my phone is probably in the bathroom.

Penny grinned.

Travis tried to explain that. I, er, play games a lot. Anyway. My pager ought to be clipped to my belt, though.

Penny nodded sympathetically and bent to read her message. It was, as she suspected, from Ariadne.

It was the continuation of an ongoing argument.

But what if she is like this at school too? the message read.

Penny rolled her eyes. Ariadne was referring to her teenage daughter, Destiny. Destiny was not cut out for academic studies. She was, however, cut out for sulking, being moody, having screaming fits, and wild nail polish.

All these things were standard for a teenager. Didn’t Ariadne remember being young herself? There was such an age gap between them that Penny had left home before Ariadne hit her teenage years, but she remembered her younger sister being just as stroppy as anyone else.

Penny didn’t want to text back because it would only prolong the conversation. What else was there to say? But she knew her sister wanted reassurance that it was going to be all right. She tapped out, Sorry, am out at dinner but don’t worry. She’s got half term holiday next week. Chill. All will be ok.

When she looked up, Francine was standing at the doorway with the whole pan of soup held between her oven-mitted hands. Oops, she said unconvincingly.

Oh no. Travis spoke flatly.

What? What is it? Penny stared from one to the other.

Travis’s powers of deduction never took a day off. You’ve dropped my pager or my phone or something else important in the soup, haven’t you?

Francine had the decency to look very embarrassed. Er, yes, your pager sort of just kind of accidentally without me noticing ... slid from the shelf into the soup.

We don’t have a shelf near the hob.

Francine was bright red. She wisely stopped digging her hole. I’ll fish it out and dry it on a paper towel. I am sure it will be fine. They build pagers to withstand all sorts, don’t they?

Even soup?

She bit her lip. Earthquakes, tsunamis, gazpacho, it’s all roughly the same thing.

Travis shook his head slowly as she backed into the kitchen. Penny played with her wine glass for a moment. So, er, work is going well, is it?

Yes.

And, er ...

Hmm?

Yes.

Penny could think of nothing to say. Inspector Travis couldn’t talk about the confidential business of work, and the last time they’d really spoken, he’d referred to her as an ‘unofficial informer’ and that phrase still rankled. It was a relief when Francine came back in, carrying a new bowl of soup for Travis. She began to talk merrily about the progress of work on the house she’d bought, and Penny was interested in that.

Francine had moved from London not long after Penny herself had. Now they both lived in the small town of Upper Glenfield, in eastern England, where the flat Fens met the Lincolnshire Wolds. Penny lived in a small terraced cottage with her dog, Kali. Francine, however, had bought the isolated house that once belonged to a reclusive artist, and she was slowly updating it. It was an exciting, if expensive, project.

...but when I chiselled the tiles off, the whole wall came down too! she was now saying. Well, obviously, not the wall, as such. But great chunks of plaster! I near enough broke my toe. And then–

But they were not to discover what happened next, because a seventeenth century soldier turned up at the front door.

* * * *

It was Drew, but not in his usual outdoor-gear of cargo pants and fleece. Travis stared at him, with Penny and Francine crowding to either side to peer past at the bizarre sight.

The outdoor skills instructor was wearing a shapeless red woollen coat, baggy grey breeches, and a hat that looked like it had crawled onto his head and died.

He smiled. Hi!

He was shoved aside by the small, round and strong figure of Cath Pritchard. She lived in Glenfield and ruled her family with the same intensity that she ruled with in Lincoln police station when she was at work as a detective constable.

Bill! she said, apparently oblivious to the vision beside her. Why aren’t you answering your phone or your pager?

Francine took a step back and made a face. Bill sighed. It’s a long story. I don’t even know where my phone is.

Um, maybe check behind the pile of toilet rolls in the bathroom. Perhaps. Just as a guess, Francine muttered. It might have sort of slipped down there.

I see.

Enough of that, Cath said crossly. You’ve got to come down to Upper Glenfield. There’s been a ...

Murder! chorused Penny and Francine.

Cath glowered. "There’s been a suspicious death."

Chapter Two

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You might as well jump in with us, Francine said, holding open the rear door of Travis’s unmarked car which was parked on the driveway.

Us? Travis said, pausing as he was about to get into the driver’s seat.

It will save her getting a taxi home, Francine said, and pushed Penny into the back seat. And me.

That is not what I meant, Travis said.

But the unstoppable force that was Francine was taking no prisoners. This led to an uncomfortable and crowded ride down the busy main road that led south from Lincoln. Cath took the front passenger seat, and Drew was wedged in the centre of the back seats, book-ended by Francine and Penny. He clamped his legs and arms together, and tried not to be too large. It was the sort of position that always made big men look bigger.

There was a very strange odour of rotting eggs seeping through the car. No one mentioned it. Penny wondered if it were coming from her; she supposed that everyone would worry that they were the source of it, and be too afraid to say anything.

Okay, I have to ask, she said as they swooped through the night. Drew ... Why are you dressed up? Hallowe’en isn’t for another week yet.

That’s harsh, he said. I’m not trying to scare people. This is educational, this is. I’m a teaching experience.

You’re an experience, I’ll grant you that. But why? Penny was rather enjoying being pressed so close against the burly ex-blacksmith. She didn’t try to squirm away. He had been a good friend to her since she’d moved to the small town. He was like an enormous, dependable and predictable rock.

She wouldn’t have predicted his answer, however.

There’s a town history day coming up at the weekend. It’s usually just a small event but they are trying to broaden it out a bit. Way back, when I was a young buck, I used to take part in historical re-enactments so I thought I’d dig out the old clothing and volunteer my services. I’m a musketeer.

Ooh, with swords, like D’Artagnan? Francine exclaimed.

No, with muskets, like ... uh, roundheads and cavaliers.

And do you have a shotgun licence? Travis butted in from the front of the car.

Yes, I do.

Hmm. Good.

Penny could almost hear the inspector’s mind making a mental note to check. There was silence for a moment, which was suddenly broken by Francine being unable to contain herself any longer.

So who has been killed? she burst out. "And how?