Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (5 page)

“Thanks,” she mumbled. She wasn’t going to ask why he was handing out the freebies, but as he was in the mood…

“He’s started to be a terribly fussy eater.” She nodded at Kinky. “Is there anything you can recommend?”

“Let’s see.” The vet rummaged in a cupboard. “Thought so. One of our suppliers, Doggy Chomps, has brought out a new range of all-singing biscuits – you know, the sort that provide all the nutritional needs. Would you like a sample or two?”

“Yes, please.” She smirked at Kinky. “Better take one of each flavour, knowing what he’s like.”

As Lexy was dropping four packets of dog biscuits into her bag, the door to the surgery suddenly clicked open. A tall, unsmiling teenage girl shimmied in, pulling on a white coat over her cropped top and designer jeans. Lexy glimpsed an expanse of taut tanned stomach and a glittering belly-button jewel. A shiny silver badge pinned to the girl’s white coat identified her as Sheri-Anne Davis, Trainee Veterinary Nurse.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, tonelessly. Her blank, leonine face was deeply shadowed under expressionless dark eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in a month.

“Don’t worry.” Guy Ellenger turned to a computer on the table behind the examination bench. “There have only been three so far and…” He gave a sudden exclamation. “Aw, look at this stupid machine. It’s doing that thing again.”

He pointed to a small flashing icon in the corner of the screen. “Look…”

“S’all right. I’ll do it,” the girl replied nudging him away. She probed at the keyboard with fingernails that had been beautifully manicured, but looked as if they had recently been chewed at the ends. Like Mr Todd’s.

Throwing Lexy a complicit grin, the vet took a disinfectant wipe from a box and started to clean the bench around Kinky.

“Three customers?” Sheri-Anne Davis looked up briefly and dismissively at Lexy. “Who were the other two?”

Guy Ellenger, Lexy noted, seemed unfazed by his trainee nurse’s abrupt, familiar manner.

“Man called Milo. Had a rabbit with an eating problem. Gave him some of our tonic.”

The girl continued to look at him.

“And, er…” Guy Ellenger’s voice tightened. “Avril’s been in. Horace has developed a rash.” Sheri-Anne Davis was silent, but Lexy had noted her lip curl with distaste at the mention of Avril Todd. She gave the keyboard a final prod. “Right, it’s sorted.” She moved away and Lexy saw her own details appear on the screen. The receptionist must have entered them already from her application form.

“You angel,” exclaimed Guy. “Oh – and if you’re going out the back now, can you bung this in the fridge, please.” He handed her a foil-wrapped package. “Preferably not next to the urine samples this time. Oops!” This last was directed at Lexy. “Don’t let anyone know I keep my sarnies in the surgery fridge.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Lexy smiled. Actually, it wasn’t. The foil-wrapped package was a forcible reminder of her growing hunger. She was practically salivating looking at it.

She was suddenly aware of the veterinary nurse’s long-lashed, expressionless appraisal.

“Er – can you make a start on the drug inventory, please, Sheri?” Guy Ellenger bent down to open a cupboard.

“No problem.” The girl headed into a small annexe leading off from the consultation room. Lexy watched the foil package disappear with her, heard a fridge door open and close, then saw Sheri-Anne collecting bottles from a shelf, grabbing at one that almost fell. Despite her inscrutable face, the girl emanated nervous tension.

“Tell you what,” she heard Guy Ellenger say. “Why don’t you bring this fellow round to my place on Saturday afternoon to meet the boys? About two o’clock, say?”

Lexy almost heard Sheri-Anne’s ears snap to attention.

“You could look for clues,” he added.

Clues? “Are you hiring me then?” she said in an undertone. Surely this wasn’t happening to her. Not twice in one morning.

“If that cat isn’t found before Saturday I think I’ll have to. What are your rates?”

Lexy thought fast. “Waive your bill if I find it.” She was aware that she was talking out of the side of her mouth.

“Done,” said the vet, without hesitation. “Well worth it to get the Caradocs off my back.”

Lexy wished he wouldn’t talk quite so loudly. She also wished she’d had this conversation with the vet before she’d handed his sister ninety-eight pounds. It wasn’t like she could go and ask for it back. Not straight away.

She scooped Kinky from the examination bench, aware of how still the veterinary nurse had become.

“Er – where do you live, by the way, Mr Ellenger?” she murmured,
sotto voce.

“Guy. Call me Guy,” he said, resonantly.

“Lexy,” she returned.

“Gorse Rise – it’s a private road off the south end of the high street, by the church. Backs on to the heath. My place is about halfway along. Kittiwake, it’s called.”

He opened the surgery door for her.

“OK. See you Saturday afternoon, then,” she mumbled, passing into the waiting room.

“Look forward to it, Lexy,” he sang, closing the door.

“My brother isn’t on duty on Saturday afternoon,” snapped Hope Ellenger as Lexy approached the counter. She had obviously overheard their last exchange.

“I know,” said Lexy. “Mr Ellenger… er… Guy and I are meeting… socially.”

The receptionist stared at her with an expression that seemed to combine incredulity and loathing. It was a look that went way beyond simple native distrust.

She’s jealous, Lexy thought with a sudden rush of insight. She doesn’t want to share her precious brother with anyone else, even for an afternoon.

“I see you have some additional medication.” Hope was looking at the tub of cream that Lexy was holding. “That’ll be…” She glared down at the screen.“Wait – Guy hasn’t entered that item.”

Before Lexy could explain, the receptionist had stomped towards the surgery.

Lexy hung on nervously, hoping that Guy Ellenger wasn’t going into detail with his sister about deals made with private investigators. At this rate the whole village would know.

But Hope reappeared almost immediately and said through clenched teeth, “I understand there will be a settlement when you bring your dog back next week for a check-up.” She returned to the counter and rattled at the computer keyboard venomously.

“Fine. Bye, then.” Lexy made a dive for the door.

She paused outside, aware of Kinky glaring at her accusingly from inside the plastic funnel.

“It’ll be OK,” she said bracingly. “I’ll get the money back. Hey – all I have to do is find a missing pussy cat. How hard can that be?”

4

As Lexy approached the end of the alley, followed grumpily by the chihuahua, she saw that their way was obstructed by the tall, pale man she had seen earlier. He was standing beside a white estate car, examining a plastic bottle with a label similar to the one on the tub of cream the vet had given Lexy.

The rabbit was sitting upright, peering pensively out of the back window of the car. A small growl emanated from inside Kinky’s funnel.

The man stiffened as he saw Lexy approaching, and put the bottle on the car bonnet.

“Mind if I just squeeze past?” she said.

He gazed at her for a long moment, almost hungrily. Oh, great. A weirdo. With a rabbit. And he had definitely recognised her, in spite of her disguise.

“OK, what do you want?” she asked, wearily.

“Er…” He groped inside his jacket.

Lexy heaved an internal sigh. He was a bit old for this sort of thing, but anything to make him go away.

“Look, I’ll give you an autograph, right,” she said, “but you have to pretend you haven’t seen me. I’m down here on a secret project.”

Her companion raised an eyebrow.

Lexy found herself looking at an identity card, embossed with a silver crest.

“DI Bernard Milo, Lowestoft CID. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions, madam?”

Lexy felt her face redden, then blanch, then turn a sickly yellow, like a chameleon trying to blend into a trifle.

“Er – what’s the problem?” she enquired.

“No problem. Just carrying out some enquiries.”

“W… what sort of enquiries?” She could already guess. The sort that would involve him asking her if she knew the where-abouts of a suitcase containing a significant sum of money. She tensed, glancing behind her. The alley was a dead end.

DI Milo pressed his fingers against his forehead, as if he was trying to push a headache away. Lexy stared at him in agonised anticipation.

“I need to confirm what treatment your dog received from Mr Ellenger,” he said at last.

What treatment Kinky had received? Lexy almost yelped out loud with relief. She didn’t know what in hell this was about, but it wasn’t about her.

“He had a cut stitched up.” She indicated the chihuahua’s neatly sutured ear with a flourish and smiled at DI Milo.

The look of approbation that met her was almost like a physical blow. There was an awkward silence. Lexy tried to ease the tension. “So what was the matter with Floppy?”

“Eh?” The policeman’s expression changed to one of alarm.

“Your rabbit?” she reminded him.

“Oh. Yes. Him.” He hesitated. “Eating problems.”

They looked over at Floppy, who stared back in mid-chomp, a lettuce leaf dangling from his mouth.

“That bag of tricks worked quickly, then.” Lexy indicated the plastic bottle on the bonnet, giving the policeman a challenging stare, but his head was now bent over his notebook.

“Have you been registered with this veterinary practice for long?”

“About half an hour. Why are you asking?”

“Can I take your name?”

“Why?” This was so not what she needed.

“Just tell me your name,” he said.

Lexy struggled with her conscience. How much of a good idea would it be to lie to the police?

“Lexy Lomax.” Only one way to find out.

“Address?”

Lexy’s eyes narrowed. That was going a bit far. For a moment, she considered making up an address, but her wits had temporarily flown.

“Otter’s End, Cliff Lane,” she mumbled, reluctantly.

As he wrote down the address, his pale forehead slowly wrinkled into a perplexed frown. Lexy stared at him apprehensively. Now what?

She cleared her throat loudly. “Right, I guess I should get on now, if that’s OK?” She began to edge past the car.

“Hang on. How much were you charged for that?” He pointed at the tub of cream Lexy was holding.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just answer the question, please.”

“All right. Nothing. I agreed to do Mr Ellenger a small favour in lieu of payment.”

The ice-grey eyes opened a shade wider.

“Not that sort of favour,” she snapped. “I’m helping him out with a cat problem.”

“Are you a pet psychologist, or something?” he enquired, making it sound like ‘con-woman’.

“Something like that. Look, I really have to go now.”

Determinedly, she squeezed past him. “Come on, Kinky.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My dog. I’m calling my dog,” she said through gritted teeth, stooping to pick up the chihuahua.

“Oh. Well, thanks for your help. I may see you again.” He handed her a business card.

Not if I see you first, mate, Lexy thought. She shoved the card into her jeans pocket, feeling the policeman’s unfathomable eyes boring into her back all the way down the high street.

As she hurried on, Lexy started wondering if it had just been coincidence that Avril Todd had been kicking up about the herbal cream she’d been given for her cat’s rash, and a police officer had started making enquiries too. A high-ranking one, at that. The rabbit had obviously been a cover. Lexy squinted at the tub the vet had given her. The label just said
For soothing inflammation – apply three times daily.

She paused in the doorway of a bookshop that appeared only to sell books about Clopwolde, twisted the lid and sniffed at the cream, rubbing it between her forefinger and thumb. Aloe vera, obviously, and something else… smelt like chamomile. Lexy gave another sniff, and nodded. Cloves, too – no mistaking that. It all figured. Aloe vera to soothe, chamomile to reduce inflammation and cloves as an antiseptic and pain-killer, all mixed up in a cream base. The kind of stuff she and her dad used to make. Homemade, in other words.

Lexy shrugged as she replaced the lid. If the Ellengers were selling it for eighteen pounds a go, good on them. They were probably making a tidy little profit. No law against that, as long as it was all legit. She returned the medication to the bag and continued along the high street, examining every shop carefully. When she reached the Co-op, which was housed in a tastefully converted chapel, she produced a small chain and attached one end to Kinky’s collar and the other to a convenient low bar outside the shop.

“Right, I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t… start… any… trouble.”

A gnarled old man gaped at her. “He ain’t a fighting dog, is he?”

“I had to pull him off a stag earlier.”

The pensioner hurried by, giving several looks behind him.

Lexy pushed open the door, mentally prioritising what she could buy for two quid and a handful of coppers. Brown rice and lentils came to mind. That sort of thing. Bit of a contrast to her champagne and ciabatta lifestyle in London.

She picked up a copy of the
Clopwolde Herald
and quickly scanned the Personals column.

Although she was expecting to find it there, it still gave Lexy a strange jolt to see the advert actually written out in black and white.

Private Investigations

Discreet Service – Anything Considered

The Otter’s End telephone number was printed underneath.

So Glenda Doyle really had been a bona fide Sherlock.

When they arrived back at Otter’s End and Lexy opened the door, it felt like she was entering Death Valley. She fanned the air in front of her and began throwing open windows. Would have been nice to have a cold drink waiting in the fridge.

She checked the answerphone. No new messages. With some misgivings, Lexy picked up the receiver and called the advertising department of the
Clopwolde Herald.