Free The Stabbing in the Stables by Simon Brett

could be little harmed by the supermarket’s erratic buying policy.
    Carole put a four-pack of each into her basket and then, in a fit of wild spontaneity, added a bottle of fizzy spring water. It wasn’t a brand she had heard of, but it was commensurately cheap.
    Identifying Hilary Potton was not too challenging a task. Only two of the tills were manned, and there was no way the spotty teenager with variegated hair and a nose stud had given birth to Imogen. So, even though the girl’s queue was shorter, Carole deliberately took her basket to the other one. Once there, the polite middle-class tones she heard as totals were announced left her in no doubt that she was on the right track.
    Hilary Potton was strong-featured with thick, carefully shaped eyebrows and black hair cut fashionably short, the kind of woman to whom the words “striking” and “handsome” rather than “beautiful” would be applied. The blue Allinstore tabard didn’t do her any favours, but in a suit or well-cut leisurewear she would have looked very good.
    There was only one customer in front of her before Carole, angling herself awkwardly around a pillar, had a little moment of panic. What was she going to say to this woman? What possible advance in her tenuous murder investigation did she hope she was going to achieve? Jude should have come; she’d be much better at creating a conversational bond. Why on earth had Carole decided to come to Allinstore in the first place?
    Of course it didn’t matter. If she made her purchases without a word being exchanged, nobody would think anything odd. That was why people went into supermarkets. On the other hand, she wouldn’t have any trophy of information to take back in triumph to Jude. And Carole’s hypersensitive nature was beginning to think that Jude was already having the lion’s share of this investigation.
    The other customer had left. Carole placed her basket in the bay designed for it and said fatuously, “Just essentials.”
    â€œAh, but those are the very things that are essential,” Hilary Potton responded.
    This was promising. Not only a response, but one with an element of levity in it. Must build on this start.
    â€œMind you, I can never find all the essentials I need in here.”
    The words came out stilted, and Carole regretted them as soon as they were spoken. Criticising the supermarket was probably not the best way of engaging in conversation with one of its employees.
    Serendipitously, however, she had managed to say exactly the right thing. “Tell me about it,” said Hilary Potton, raising her eyes to heaven as she scanned Carole’s purchases. “I’m afraid I hardly ever shop here—can never find the stuff I want.”
    â€œNo, I’d got the impression Allinstore wasn’t the greatest supermarket on the planet.”
    â€œThat is an understatement.”
    â€œAnd what are they like as employers?”
    A shrug. “Probably no worse than most. Anyway, beggars can’t be choosers.”
    â€œOh?”
    But the prompt was not needed. “Hard to find part-time work round here. You know, that’ll fit in with the demands of a teenage daughter.”
    â€œYes, I’m sure it must be.”
    â€œStill, if your husband walks out on you, what choice do you have?”
    There was an impatient shuffling sound from someone lurking behind the pillar. Further extension of the conversation was impossible. Carole was told the total for her purchases and paid in exact change.
    But she didn’t think the exercise had been wasted. If nothing else, it had confirmed Jude’s conjecture about Hilary Potton setting herself up as a public martyr. The readiness with which she had started denigrating her husband had been striking. And Carole felt sure there was a lot more where that came from.
    Â 
    When she relayed the information she had obtained to Jude back in Woodside