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

She
had always made reality fit what she wanted to see. “I know that, but even so,
it’s true.”
    “It is not.”
    “You’ve got to find out who did it!”
    “I have not.”
    Francine sat back, and said, somewhat smugly, “Well – what
else are you doing with your time?”
     
    * * * *
     
    Francine left in the mid-morning. She had warmly embraced
Penny, as if they were long-lost friends, and Penny patted her in return.
Francine even gave Kali a cuddle, and apologised to the dog for calling her
dangerous. Kali sneezed.
    “I think too much,” Penny told Kali once they were alone. “It
was lovely of her to come and see me. I really hated working with her but she
means well. It’s a person’s intentions that are important, isn’t it? I didn’t
see that side of her before. My perception was all skewed.”
    Kali cocked her head.
    “No, you don’t understand, do you?” she said sadly, feeling
the house was suddenly empty. “Come on. Let me get dressed. I suppose I should
take you for a walk…”
    She didn’t leave the house until midday and she felt
reluctant to face the possibility of meeting other dogs. However, she had to
take responsibility. “Why are you so reactive?” she grumbled to Kali as they
made their way out of the cottage. “Why are you so aggressive?”
    Suddenly Penny stopped dead, and Kali lurched against the
lead. Perception. It was all about perception. “ Are you aggressive?” she
asked the dog.
    Kali sniffed the ground.
    “Maybe, maybe not.” They continued on. “Maybe you’re just
scared.”
     
    * * * *
     
    “Right. I can do this. Francine told me to, after all,”
Penny muttered to herself. Francine had, indeed, insisted that Penny attend the
kitchenware party. It would be “a blast” and “a scream”, apparently. She stood
outside Cath’s detached house, still feeling the lingering effects of the
previous night’s drinking clouding her tender head. The house stood in a remote
spot halfway between Upper Glenfield and Lincoln, set back from the main road
and hidden by tall cypress trees and conifers. Lincolnshire seemed littered
with square, boxy houses, standing alone and isolated and surrounded by fields
and dark, intimidating hedges, just like this.
    There were half a dozen cars on the wide gravel driveway,
and all the windows were lit and welcoming.
    She’d had agonies about what to wear and had changed her
clothes four times until she’d had a severe word with herself and settled on
black trousers and a patterned blouse. Her bony knees meant she would never
wear short skirts, and long skirts made her feel alarmingly hippy-like. The
black trousers reminded her of her confident, corporate days. Still she felt a
little nervous as she pressed the bell. In London, she could flounce into a
room and charm everyone. Here it seemed different. This was not her familiar
territory.
    Cath flung the door open and her wide smile instantly made
everything all right. “Come in! Now then! I’m so glad you came. Please. This
way. Oh, don’t worry about taking your shoes off. I’ve got kids. For your own
sake, you’ll want to keep them on. Plasticine, ugh. Shoes are the least of my
worries – here we are. Can I get you a drink?”
    “I’m driving. A softie, please. Do you have any lemonade?”
She was never, ever drinking again, anyway, she promised herself and her liver.
Never.
    She found herself in a long lounge, with a table at one end
that bristled with bottles and plates of nibbles. There were two overstuffed
three-seater sofas, two matching armchairs that seemed to have been inflated
and then smothered with cushions, and a selection of chairs brought in from the
kitchen, the dining room, and possibly from outside on the patio if the plastic
ones were any clue.
    She recognised the beehive-wearing woman from the gossip in
the bakery aisle at the mini-market. There were four other women there, all
clutching drinks and smiling with open, friendly faces, and plenty of