Free Small Town Shock (Some Very English Murders Book 1) by Issy Brooke Page A

wasn’t dark; patches of blue shone brightly through grey clouds. As well as
the grey slabs, there were occasional white fluffy bundles, moving quite
quickly up above their heads. The fields were already carpeted with green and
yellow. She could almost imagine the rain being sucked up into the stems of the
crops, growing and blooming visibly before her eyes.
    By the river, the land was muddy but Drew seemed to avoid
ever sinking into the bogs, whereas Penny was constantly up to her ankles. “Are
you some kind of earth wizard?” she complained.
    He looked back and laughed when he saw her, stuck as she
was in an unexpected pool of water. “Don’t step in the boggy bits,” he said.
    “It’s all boggy bits,” she replied crossly. “Apart
from the bits you magically know to step on.”
    He pointed at the dark green spears of foliage. “See those
rushes? They like water. It’s a clue. That clump of yellower grass there, that
will be fine to walk on. Take a leap onto it.”
    She jumped to the patch of grass and found her feet land on
soft but solid ground. They continued on, Penny watching carefully, and
learning where to walk. She felt like some kind of old-world tracker. She
wanted to go on one of his field-craft courses now.
    “Speaking of clues,” she said to Drew’s back. “What do you
think to the death of David Hart?”
    “A tragic accident, for sure. And a horrible way to go.
They say he was electrocuted by his fence!”
    “It wasn’t an accident and it probably wasn’t his fence. I
happen to know that he was murdered.”
    “No. Really?” Drew stopped dead and turned. “How do you
know?”
    “I was told by … a police officer,” she said cautiously.
    “Oh, that Cath blabbed, did she? Get a drink inside her and
she’s anybody’s. So to speak. Well, well. So, who did it?”
    “That’s the thing,” Penny said. “They don’t know! Perhaps a
serial killer is on the loose!”
    “Not here in Upper Glenfield. Anyway, most murders are
accidental, aren’t they? Like, manslaughter stuff. The situation is usually
that one bloke pushes another bloke in a pub, he falls down and hits his head, and
boom – dead. The bloke that pushed him is then liable for manslaughter.”
    “Maybe. Or maybe this was premeditated. You are a
proper local. Who would want David Hart dead, do you think? You know all my
business, apparently.”
    “Are you a part time police officer, now?”
    “No,” she said. “I want something to do and I did find the
body, so I’m linked. I’m connected. And I thought perhaps an outsider like
myself could bring a fresh eye…”
    “You’re having crime investigation fantasies, aren’t you?”
    She shook her head stubbornly, but had to agree. It was all
Francine’s fault for encouraging her. Now the idea was in her head, she
couldn’t shift it. “No. Yes. Maybe. There was one time in Dusseldorf where
someone was stealing from the canteen truck and I worked out who it was… maybe
I have a gift for it.”
    He rolled his eyes. “You’ll get into trouble.”
    She shrugged. “I know I’m being facetious but really, I’m
just using it as a way to get to know people and the community. It’s a great
conversation opener. I was at a kitchenware party last night and they were all talking
about it.”
    “A kitchenware party?” he said. “Is that a cover-up for
something else? No, don’t answer that, let me live in ignorance. Look, my
advice is, don’t listen to gossip and rumour. It’s got more than one person
into bother here in Glenfield. Someone lost their job over it not so long
back.”
    “Did they? Oh dear.” They continued walking, side by side.
“But listen. You told me about the ramblers and that guy called Ed. He’s a
prime suspect, isn’t he?”
    “No one would kill over the question of access to a
footpath! Would they?”
    “Maybe, maybe not,” she said. “I’ve seen footage on the
news of protestors. People get really angry about local issues. I was