Small Town Christmas (Some Very English Murders Book 6)

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

Cover design and dog illustration by Issy Brooke

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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.

Penny stared at the LED
screen on the back of her digital camera, and sighed.

“Another duff one?” Drew
asked sympathetically.

Penny growled. “I don’t know
how I’ve managed it, but the photo is both entirely black,
and
blurry,
at the same time. There’s nothing in the shot to be blurry, but it’s still
blurry. Maybe I’ve invented a new type of photography. Maybe I am, in fact, a
trail-blazer, unaware of my talents, about to burst onto the international art
scene to wild acclaim and–”

“No, dear,” said a sudden
and entirely unwelcome female voice at Penny’s shoulder. A heavy cloying scent,
reminiscent of a cheap version of Chanel, wrapped around the woman who was
currently resting her claw-like hand on Penny’s arm.

It was Linda Osmond, and she
apparently had no concept of personal space, nor, indeed, personal
conversations and privacy.

“No, dear,” she repeated in
a rasping voice, peering at the display screen on the camera in Penny’s hands.
“That really won’t do, will it? It’s dreadful. It’s certainly not suitable for
what we at the Planning Committee want.”

“I know, that’s why I’m–”

“We at the Planning
Committee are hoping for quality. You did come recommended but then, in a small
town like this, we are somewhat restricted as to our pool of talent.”

“Of course, and I–”

“Have another bash at it,
dear. I am sure that Jared can help you out. He’s not much, I grant you, but
he’s enough of a man to know about technology. I’ll send him your way. Bye,
dear. Don’t let it get you down. Maybe baking is your forte.”

Linda released Penny from
her grip and stalked away, probably to eat kittens or steal a bag of sweets
from a child.

What a witch
, Penny thought, throwing a glowering stare after her.

Linda and her ancient
perfume disappeared into the crowds that were thronging the open market area.
The people of the small English town of Upper Glenfield were out in force, in
spite of the cold that gripped the November night. It was Friday, and the
town’s Christmas lights were due to be switched on within the hour. Meanwhile,
people wandered around, bought hot food from a handful of stalls, listened to
various local choirs from the schools and churches, and tried to stay warm.

Linda was obviously staying
warm by igniting fury in people.

Drew was grinning. He had
recently made the shift from very close friend to actual real boyfriend, and
Penny was still feeling gripped by a teenage headiness and excitement. She
liked to look at him. Tonight he was wearing a dark grey fisherman’s jumper
that seemed to have been knitted from actual fishermen’s beards, and had
accessorised with a chunky orange hat and scarf. When Penny had first seen the
hat and scarf ensemble, she had thought they were the most hideous things to
have crawled off a loom. Now she was cold, and regretting her fashionable and
thin lacy wrap, and thought that the hat and scarf were the best things she’d
ever seen.

“What are you grinning at?”
she demanded, still peeved at both the failure of her photographs and the unwarranted
attack by Linda Osmond.

“Linda. I think she pushed
all your buttons at the same time. To be fair, even
I
can’t quite
believe she told you to ask a man because it was technology.”

“The sisterhood is not all
high-fives and support, you know,” Penny said. She returned to stabbing at the
controls on the back of her camera. She had studied the manual three times but
kept forgetting what “AWB” meant, so she twiddled it on and off just in case it
was important. “Some of these shots are not bad. But I do need to improve if
any are to be used for the promotional material.”

“Have you taken on too
much?” Drew said. “You’ve got a lot of responsibilities at the moment. I mean,
with the health and safety role for the committee as well.”

“That’s more symbolic than
anything else,” Penny said dismissively.

“Really?” Drew’s eyebrows
shot up. “I am pretty sure that health and safety, when it comes to the
Christmas market, is going to be important. I don’t want to be a party-pooper
but are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Penny put on a mock-frown. Now
they were officially “a couple”, or “dating”, or “an item” – Penny’s preferred
term was “walking out together” as it seemed to smack of a more civilised past
–this meant that they spent more time together, and consequently spent more
time lightly bickering. And usually, they both enjoyed it.

“I would like to remind
you,” Penny said, “that I was a high-powered, hard-faced, she-wolf when I was a
professional woman and that part of my duties did include health and safety
responsibilities.”

“I know, I know,” he said.
“I’m teasing. That Linda has got your back up really easily, hasn’t she?”

“It’s lucky that there are
quite a few people on the Christmas Planning Committee,” Penny admitted. “There
are more people for her to annoy, so her venom gets diluted. Anyway, I don’t
want to even think about that woman any longer. Also, I can’t feel my fingers.”

“Put your gloves back on,”
Drew instructed. “Warm up a bit before the lights get turned on; I’m sure that you’ll
be taking more photos then.”

Penny packed her camera into
its bag, swung it over her shoulder, and pulled her thick gloves over her
freezing fingers. “How long till the big switch on?”

“About fifteen minutes,”
Drew said.

“And about two weeks and
fifteen minutes too soon!” said a loud, angry voice. Another unwelcome
butting-in to their conversation.

Everyone turned to see.
Behind Drew and Penny, about ten yards away, was a tall, stocky man in his
early sixties. He was powerfully built, but his muscles had seemed to slide to
around his midriff and he was developing an impressive paunch. The weight was
new, Penny surmised, because his beige winter coat was straining to meet across
his girth. She felt vaguely pleased at her private Sherlockian deduction.

There was something familiar
about the set of the man’s freckled features but she had no idea who he was. He
folded his arms across his chest and sneered. Although he had seemed to be
responding to Drew, he was addressing the whole crowd. “It’s November, for
heaven’s sake! November! November!”

“It’s nearly December, and
anyway, everywhere else is doing it this week, if they haven’t already,” a
woman said. “So shut up, Clive. Stop being such a–”

The argumentative bystander
didn’t get a chance to describe what she thought Clive was. He simply spoke
over her, not even looking at her as he argued back. “It’s a waste of money,
that’s what it is. A waste of money! An utter waste of money. What about the
drains, eh?”

Drew put his arm across
Penny’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. She still thrilled to feel him
do that. He leaned to her ear and whispered, “I know who that curmudgeon is.
That’s Clive Holdsworth. I heard he retired recently but I don’t really know
much about him. He was some kind of corporate guy. He likes to drive too fast
because apparently speed limits are just for people with rubbish cars.”

Penny whispered back, “He
sounds like a complete doofus. If he has such an issue about the lights, why on
earth has he come to watch them being switched on?”

“Probably so that everyone
knows his opinion. I always had the feeling he was one of those people who like
to be heard. He lives down Cuthbert Road.”

“Of course.” Cuthbert Road
was a leafy avenue by the river, to the south of Glenfield, and the large
detached houses were mostly occupied by commuters.

There was a band playing on
the stage, made up of an eclectic mix of ages and people from the community.
They suddenly changed tempo, switching to some upbeat brass music, and that set
Clive off on another rant. He moved closer to the stage, and thankfully his
complaints about the choice of tune moved out of earshot.

Penny rolled her eyes at
Drew. “What a horrible man. Honestly, between him and Linda, it’s hard work to
keep hold of my festive cheer. I’m going to get another mulled wine.”

“Oh, well, if you’re
offering…”

“Of course, I’ll get you one
as well. I won’t be a moment.” She pulled her camera bag from her shoulder and
passed it to him, and headed towards one of the drinks stands that ranged along
the edge of the market place.

She found herself in a short
queue. As she waited, she recognised various people who wandered past, and with
each wave or “hello” or nod of greeting, she felt her warm and fuzzy feelings
return.

This was community
, she thought.
Linda and Clive were sad and lonely,
and not representative of the town at all.

She had just paid for her
two drinks and was turning around when she was hailed by another familiar face,
and this one was far more welcome. It was the awkward and angular Jared Boot,
who was another member of the Christmas Planning Committee. He had started to
become more active in local affairs when he began to help Reg Harris out with
the town’s website a little while ago, and now he found himself offering all
sorts of technical advice. He’d been supportive of Penny’s developing
photography skills, and immediately spotted that she didn’t have her camera
with her.

“I thought you were doing
photos tonight?” he said. He was a youthful-looking man in his mid-thirties.
Most men filled out to their shoulder-width but Jared had the frame of a
teenager and his clothes seemed to hang from him, even when he was muffled in a
large winter coat.

“Drew’s got my camera,” she
said, nodding to where Drew was waiting patiently for his hot mulled wine. “I
haven’t taken many decent shots yet, though. I think I have, but then I check
the preview, it’s just all rubbish. Night photography is hard.”

“Don’t panic,” Jared said.
He was always so upbeat and positive. “Don’t rely on what you see on the tiny
display screen. When you get them home and uploaded to your computer, you’ll
probably be pleasantly surprised, you know.”

“Do you want to come and see
what I’ve done?” she said, taking a step towards Drew.

“Ah – no, like I say, you
can’t see them properly till they’re on a bigger screen. The lights will be
switched on soon. Catch you later!”

He wandered towards the
stage, and Penny made her way back to Drew.

They were soon joined by
Penny’s sister, Ariadne, and her kids. Penny downed her wine quickly before it
cooled, and began to take more shots of the kids posing and messing around. She
was getting into the spirit of things when the band stopped playing and a tall,
skinny man came onto the stage with a microphone. He was, it was thought, a
random local “celebrity” who had once appeared on television but no one was
quite clear in what capacity. “Crimewatch” was one suggestion that made a few
folks giggle. No one listened to what he said but everyone joined in
enthusiastically for the countdown from ten.

“…three…”

“…two…”

“…ONE!”

The alleged celebrity
pressed a dramatically large red button on a box that was not joined to
anything else. Somewhere in the background was a man who was actually operating
the switch, and when he saw the celebrity move, the hidden man flicked the
switch, and the whole town centre was lit up. Multi-coloured bulbs were strung
across the street in a high zig-zag pattern, and there was a large fir tree in
the centre of the market place which was now glowing with tasteful silver
lights and glitter and tinsel.