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

did he die?”
    “Electrocuted.”
    “No. Never!”
    “But not by his electric fence.”
    “Murdered!” That thought sobered Francine up quickly.
“There’s a murderer here?” She looked around as if someone was about to burst through
the door wearing a balaclava.
    “Yes, there possibly is. Unless it was a strange suicide.
Or an accident.”
    “Oh … so, what are you going to do about it?”
    “Lock my doors at night, and stay off private land. More
wine?”
    “I could really murder a cheese toastie. Oh, Penny, can I
stay over tonight please?”
    “I kind of assumed that you were.”
    Francine grinned sappily. “Thank you!”
     
    * * * *
     
    It was an evening of conversations started and aborted,
circular arguments and random observations. But the next morning, as they both
hunched over the kitchen table with narrowed eyes and tried to eat some dry
toast and painkillers, the question of the murder resurfaced.
    Francine had come prepared to stay overnight, and was
wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe that made her hung-over pallid skin look even
more deathly pale. She clutched a cup of hot coffee and whimpered. “Penny,
aren’t you worried that there’s a killer on the loose?”
    “Not really. I think, if he was murdered, it was a targeted
attack. It must have been someone he knew, who had a reason for it. I don’t
believe that anyone else has to worry.”
    “I’d worry.” Francine’s eyes were slits against the light
but she blinked rapidly in excitement. “What are you going to do?”
    “Ah, yes, well, I do have a plan.” In spite of her thumping
head, furry mouth and queasy stomach, Penny was feeling upbeat and chipper. She
was actually enjoying spending time with Francine. She’d been awful to work
with – her relentless enthusiasm had been tiring – but socially? She was a
delight. Now Penny was away from London, she was starting to see what an
unpleasant person she had been becoming. Thank goodness she escaped when she
did. She said, “It gives me something to follow. I’m going to buy the local
newspaper and study it and find out about the area, and make an effort to talk
with people and learn who is who.”
    Francine furrowed her brow. “No, that’s not what I meant at
all. How are you going to find the murderer?”
    Penny snorted a laugh most inelegantly. “How can I find a
murderer? I could go and knock on doors, I suppose. ‘Hi, I’m new here. Did you
kill David Hart?’ Yes, I am sure that would endear me to the locals.”
    “You found the body! You have a duty. You always stood up
for what was right. That’s why I liked working with you.”
    “I think I mostly stood up for my own interests. Francine,
how are you still so lovely? London life was making me nasty.”
    Francine shrugged. “Oh, people are people. Everyone loves
someone, don’t they? I just look for that love in them. Hey, do you remember
when we were in Berlin?”
    “I remember that rather startling club. Why?”
    “You stood up to that man, then, who was bullying the poor
make-up girl. You were fantastic.”
    Penny thought back. Yes, she did remember. He’d accused her
of spilling his pint. She hadn’t. It was obvious. But no one spoke out except
Penny. “I did what I had to do.”
    “You see!” Francine declared in triumph. “And it’s the same
with this murder. Anyway, you’re up to your neck in events already.”
    Penny remembered, then, some of the reasons that she’d disliked
working with Francine. Her enthusiasm was so smothering. She rolled her itchy
eyes. “It is absolutely nothing to do with me, and I need to leave it to the
professionals.”
    “Rubbish! Everyone knows that amateur detectives are far
more effective.”
    “Such as?”
    “Er … Miss Marple?”
    “Francine, I’ve got some really bad news and I know this is
hard to take, but Miss Marple isn’t real. Oh, and there’s something I need to
tell you about Santa Claus…”
    Francine waved her right hand in the air dismissively.