A Body in the Village Hall Dee MacDonald (the best e book reader .txt) 📖

Kate’s mind was still going round in circles and she knew she needed to unwind. She poured herself a large glass of Shiraz and she’d only taken one sip when the phone rang. Was it Maureen? What could have happened now?

It wasn’t Maureen. It was Des from The Greedy Gull.

‘Could you please come and help your sister home?’ he asked. ‘She’s smashed as a rat and looks like she could pass out at any minute.’

‘What?’ Kate’s heart was thumping again. ‘Where’s Luke?’

‘No idea,’ said Des. ‘Sorry to bother you an’ that.’

‘I’ll be along shortly.’ Kate was furious. She did not need this. What on earth had possessed Angie to get so drunk? And where was that wretched Luke?

Pulling on her jacket she patted an excited Barney on the head. ‘No, we’re not going for a walk,’ she said firmly.

She stomped along the lane to the pub which, being Saturday night, was crowded, with drinkers spilling out onto the outside furniture probably for the first time since last year. She prayed Woody wouldn’t be there to see her having to drag her drunken sister home. What on earth had got into her – apart from the gin, of course?

Kate pushed her way through the throng towards the bar, looking right and left as she went. She finally got to the front and caught Des’s eye. ‘She’s over on that seat by the window,’ he bellowed as he pulled pints.

Pushing her way through the chatting, laughing crowd Kate finally found Angie, slumped on a seat, half asleep and having dropped her glass on the floor. It hadn’t broken but its contents had long ago soaked into the carpet and all that remained was a sad slice of lemon.

‘Angie!’ Kate shook her. ‘What the hell are you playing at? Come on, wake up!’

Angie half opened her eyes but was having trouble focusing. ‘Kate,’ she mumbled, ‘wanna drink?’

‘I do not want a drink!’ Kate snapped. ‘You have to come home – get up!’

‘Don’t wanna…’

‘Get up!’ Kate shouted, and then looked round in embarrassment as several people had turned with interest to see what was going on. A man she’d never seen before came forward and said in a strong Irish accent, ‘Would you like me to help you get her to her feet?’

Kate was humiliated but she needed assistance. ‘Yes please,’ she said and, between them, they got Angie balanced in an upright position.

‘Thanks so much,’ Kate said. ‘She really doesn’t make a habit of this.’

‘Ah, we all need to let our hair down sometimes. Are you sure you can manage?’

Kate nodded, thanked the man again, put her arm round Angie to support her and half dragged her out of the door and into the cool air, which seemed to wake her up a little.

‘Where we going?’

‘We’re going home,’ Kate replied, fervently hoping Angie would stay on her feet until they got to Lavender Cottage. With a great deal of heaving, groaning and muttering, Kate managed to manoeuvre her sister into the sitting room and dumped her onto the armchair like a sack of potatoes.

‘You’re a bloody disgrace! I’ve had a long hard day and then I come back to find you completely hammered and making an exhibition of yourself. Where’s the wonderful Luke? Has he had enough of you?’ Kate was beyond being furious, not to mention being stressed all over and highly embarrassed.

Angie hiccupped. ‘Water.’

Kate brought her a glass of water and watched carefully to make sure Angie didn’t spill it all over the place.

‘So where is he?’ Kate persisted. ‘And why were you in that state?’

‘He’s at home,’ Angie mumbled, ‘with Brett.’

‘Who’s Brett?’

Angie gulped some more water. ‘And he’s only eighteen.’

‘Who’s only eighteen?’

‘Brett.’

‘Eighteen what? Years? Stones?’

‘Eighteen years old. Are you deaf?’

Kate took a deep breath and counted to ten. ‘So who is eighteen-year-old Brett then?’ she asked, having put two and two together and arrived at the conclusion she’d always suspected.

‘A boy,’ Angie said, letting her head fall back and within a couple of minutes she was fast asleep.

Kate found a blanket, covered her over and climbed wearily up the stairs to bed.

In spite of being exhausted Kate slept badly, unable to wind down, and aware that she still had little idea who the killer might be. She didn’t know either how Woody was likely to react to her so-called investigations, not to mention her trip to London. Then she worried about Angie who’d been behaving remarkably well recently due, in all probability, to her friendship with Luke and working in The Gallery. Had Angie not realised that Luke might be gay? Surely she couldn’t have thought that a man who was a good twenty years her junior was likely to have romance in mind? These thoughts went round and round in her head like a never-ending whirlpool.

Kate had tied her window shut with a piece of string, which she attached to the bedpost. It wasn’t much of a deterrent but at least she’d wake up if anyone tried to open it. All in all it didn’t make for a great night’s sleep.

When she staggered down to the kitchen at seven o’clock, she found the armchair empty, so Angie had obviously woken up at some point and taken herself to bed. Thank goodness for that, Kate thought, because I really couldn’t cope with a miserable hungover Angie as well as everything else.

She buttered some toast and wondered when she should phone Woody, then decided to leave it until later in the morning. She would dearly love to call at his house but didn’t dare. Tongues were already wagging and they were meant to be keeping their friendship low-key.

She finally called Woody on his mobile at half past ten.

‘Hi, Kate! Good to hear from you!’

‘Are you at home or in the office?’

‘I’m still at home,’ he said, ‘but I should really call in at the station for an hour or two later.’ She heard him yawn. ‘But until this