Free Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) by Kaye C. Hill Page B

Enter Detective Inspector Peculiar. Sounded as if Avril Todd had made a little visit to the police, too.
    “And it’s not only that,” went on Hope, her eyes sparking angrily. “When they moved here, she and her husband bought two beautiful little cottages in Windmill Hill and knocked them into one. Sacrilege! And they’ve put in PVC replacement doors and windows. They’ve ruined two homes which should have gone to local families instead, except the Todds paid an inflated price for them, of course.”
    Lexy opened her mouth to speak.
    “And even worse,” Hope continued, “Avril’s joined the am-dram group. She came for an audition, and made a hell of a fuss when Maurice, that’s the director, didn’t select her. In the end he gave her a job helping out backstage, and the next thing we knew she was props manager. Then she did a couple of walk-on parts, and before we knew it, she’d joined the cast.”
    Hope shook her head disbelievingly. “She’s one of those people who deliberately set out to make themselves indispensable. As well as the props and bit parts she does all the running around, gives us lifts when we’re playing at other venues so people can have a drink after the show, bullies local businesses into giving sponsorships and God knows what else.” She expelled a long breath, and Lexy managed to get a word in.
    “What’s her husband like?”
    “Rod Todd? He’s a wuss. A doormat. She’s got him right under her thumb.” No surprise there, then.
    “And is Avril the flirtatious type?” Lexy quickly continued. She might as well take the opportunity to make some enquiries about her forthcoming surveillance job.
    Hope regarded her in astonishment. “Good grief, no. She’s Margaret Thatcher’s evil twin.” She paused. “You saw her.”
    True.
    “Anyway,” Hope continued, “I was already uptight when you turned up. Then as soon as I looked at you I thought you were a visitor from this holiday camp over at Marshlands. It attracts the sort of people who…” She paused, awkwardly.
    “Have tattoos, ripped jeans and close crops?”
    Hope looked apologetic. “Hence my request for the money up front.”
    “Bet you were surprised to see I had a chihuahua, instead of a pit bull.”
    “Yes, I really lost the plot at that point. Especially when you told me you’d moved to Clopwolde. I thought you must be some kind of inverted snob.”
    Lexy grinned. “If it’s any comfort, all I own of Clopwolde is a decaying log cabin.”
    “Must be one of the last ones left up Cliff Lane,” said Hope. “There used to be about ten of them up there – all built in the seventies, I think, by a local landowner hoping to make a few quid from the holiday trade.”
    “What happened to the others?” Lexy asked.
    Hope shot her a quick look. “Haven’t you been to this part of the world before?”
    “Nah. All this happened in a bit of a hurry,” Lexy explained. “But,” she forged on, seeing a certain curiosity alight on Hope’s face, “I’m probably only here for a short while. Have to see how it goes.”
    “Oh…” Hope looked poised to ask an awkward question.
    Lexy straightened up. “Right, better go and… get some provisions,” she said. If only. “I’ll… er… be in touch later about the other business. Try not to worry too much.”
    Try not to worry too much? Who was she trying to kid?

 
    7
    Lexy made her way back to Otter’s End through a heath splashed vibrant yellow with flowering gorse. But she barely noticed this pleasing display as she marched along, forehead corrugated.
    Poison pen letter writers were the pits, she thought. Gutless, spiteful, ignorant… she remembered a letter that got pushed under the van door when she was a kid and her parents were trying to find a place to stay for a while. Near Rochester, it was.
    Piss off gypos. No one wants you in this town. Your worse than shit.
    Angelica Lomax had taken one look, crumpled it up, yanked open the van door and leapt out,