dictated that Carole should at least suggest the option of something other than ‘a cup of tea’. In Jude’s house she’d been offered wine, so when she returned from the kitchen to the sitting room, she said, “I’ve put the kettle on, but if you’d rather have a glass of wine…”
This had prompted a quick glance at her large watch-face from Jude and a, “No thanks, I don’t want anything. Bit early for me to start on the wine, anyway. But don’t let me stop you.”
The response had caught Carole on the back foot, seeming to imply that if anyone had an over-enthusiasm for alcohol it was her. But Jude’s brown eyes contained no censure or patronage. Carole was coming to the conclusion that her new neighbour was a very unusual person. Certainly in Fethering.
“We’ve got the knife,” said Carole, picking up from Jude’s question. “But whether that has any relevance to the body on the beach, we just don’t know, do we?”
“Let’s start from the other point of view,” said Jude. “If we assumed that the knife did have something to do with the body…would that help?”
“It depends what it had to do with the body.”
“All right. Well, your woman with the gun mentioned a knife, so that’s a start. But suppose it actually belonged to the dead man…that it dropped out of his pocket while he was hidden away in the boat?”
“We don’t know he was hidden away in the boat,” Carole objected.
“No, but let’s assume that too. Think about it. Where else could the body have been hidden where the police wouldn’t see it?”
“The boats are the obvious place, I agree. Or I suppose there are those chest things on the sea wall, where the fishermen keep their stuff. They’re kept padlocked, but if someone was prepared to break into a boat, they’d be equally ready to cut through a padlock.”
“Yes.”
“Surely, though, if the police were looking properly for the body I told them about, then they’d have gone up to the Yacht Club, wouldn’t they?”
“Ah, but were they looking properly? Or had they already marked you down as a hysterical fantasist before they got to the scene?”
Carole was affronted. “I don’t see how they could possibly have done that. When I rang them, I was extremely unemotional and controlled.”
“But you did say that you’d bathed Gulliver before calling them.”
“Yes. Yes, I think I did.”
Jude shrugged. “That was probably what did it.”
“How? But…” Carole didn’t pursue the objection. “All right, assuming the body was hidden in the boat after I found it, that does raise a few other questions, doesn’t it?”
“Like who hid it there?”
“Certainly.”
“And, more to the point, Carole, who removed it from the boat before we looked under the cover this afternoon?”
“Yes. And, still maintaining all the assumptions about there being a connection, the only clue we have to help us answer those questions is the Stanley knife…”
“Which might have belonged to the dead man…or might have belonged to the person who left the body there…”
“Or might have belonged to anyone else in the world,” Carole couldn’t help saying.
“Ssh. Ssh.” Jude spoke very soothingly, as if she were some kind of therapist. “We’re just letting our ideas flow. Hold back on the logic for a little bit longer.”
“All right.”
Jude’s brows wrinkled as her mind focused. “Anyway, the knife couldn’t have belonged to anyone else in the world. There are geographical limitations, logistical limitations…No, when you come right down to it, there are very few people to whom that Stanley knife could have belonged. Hm…” She twirled a tendril of blonde hair thoughtfully between finger and thumb. “I suppose in fact the most likely person to have dropped the knife – is the boat’s owner…”
“Who might be Rory Turnbull…assuming we go along with the theory that he would give the same name to his boat as his house.”
“Let’s go along with that for a moment.” As she concentrated, Jude seemed to go in an almost trance-like state.
“Well,” said Carole with no-nonsense practicality, “easy enough to find out who owns the boat. We simply ask our friend the Vice-Commodore.”
Jude dragged herself back to reality. “Alternatively, I haven’t registered with a dentist down here yet. Now I’ve met Barbara Turnbull and her mother, I’d like to know more about Rory.”
“All right. He’s a bit of a sad case, as you saw in the pub. Anyway, you pursue that line of inquiry.” Carole moved into the delegating mode which had served her so well during her Home Office career. “Meanwhile, I’ll find out about J.T. Carpets. Start with
“Good,” said Jude. “That sounds very good.” Then, with another look at the moon-face of her watch, she stood up. “I must be off.”
And within a minute she was out of the-house, leaving Carole to wonder why she had to be off so suddenly. And to realize that, after all her worries about Jude staying too long, she wouldn’t have minded her staying a little longer.
¦
The red light on the answering machine was flashing when Jude got back to Woodside Cottage. Just one message. From Brad, saying he hoped she’d settled in all right to her new home and lots of luck for the next stage of her life. And it’d be good to see her.
Yes, she thought, it’d be good to see Brad too. Been a while. She’d call him later. First, though, she dialled a local number.
“Hello?” The voice was politely deterrent.
“Barbara, it’s Jude.”
“Oh?”
“Jude from the coffee morning. New resident of Woodside Cottage.”
“Of course. How nice to hear from you.” The words were entirely automatic, invested with no element of sincerity.
“It was such a pleasure to meet you and your mother.” Jude’s words, though completely untrue, sounded sincere. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“We always like to make newcomers welcome here in Fethering…in the hope we’re going to swell the All Saints’ congregation.” The reproof in the voice, at Jude’s failure to espouse the Church of England, was hardly disguised.
“Well, I just wanted to say that I appreciated it, and thank you for going to all that trouble.” Jude knew she was being over the top. Providing coffee and biscuits for a dozen people was hardly the most onerous assignment since records began.
But apparently it had seemed so to Barbara Turnbull. “Yes, well, one likes to make an effort. And I’ve just about finished clearing it up now. I told you I’m completely without help, didn’t I?”
“Sorry?”
“Maggie, my” – Barbara had the usual middle–class difficulty with how one referred to staff – “my ‘lady who does’, didn’t come in today.”
“Oh yes, you did say.”
“And what’s more, I’ve just heard from her to say she won’t be in tomorrow either. Still some problem with her son. I don’t know, it’s so thoughtless. I told her, in no uncertain terms, that she couldn’t assume that the job at Brigadoon would stay open for ever. Have you found someone?”
The abrupt change of direction threw Jude. “Sorry? Found someone?”
“To do your cleaning.”
This prompted a peal of laughter. “Oh, really, Barbara! I’m not going to have a cleaner. Can’t afford to, apart from anything else. And I think I can probably manage myself. Woodside Cottage is absolutely tiny.”
