Authors: Kaye C. Hill
The Fall Girl
Kaye C Hill
There is something in omens.
– Ovid
Praise for
Dead Woman’s Shoes
, Kaye C Hill’s first Lexy Lomax mystery:
I just love Lexy – and Kinky. She is so gutsy, bright and indomitable. She is such fun, irrepressible, bounces back no matter what happens. I hope I’m going to
meet her again.
– Jean Currie, The New Writer
What a delightful read! ...a lot of suspense and great characters... There are twists and turns, capers – many threads woven into a completely captivating
tale.
– Bear Mountain Books
Crisp prose and a plot laced with animal tomfoolery will keep readers amused and eager for a sequel.
– Publishing Weekly, USA
a delightful romp with an admirable pair of protagonists, a human with a mysterious past and a chihuahua with an attitude who, happily, remains doggish throughout the book.
HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.
– Carol Howell, I Love a Mystery Newsletter
... it is good to see a publisher investing in fresh work that, although definitely contemporary in mood and content, falls four-square within the
genre’s traditions.
– Martin Edwards, author of the highly acclaimed Harry Devlin Mysteries
Crème de la Crime... so far have not put a foot wrong.
– Reviewing the Evidence
First published in 2009
by Crème de la Crime
P O Box 523, Chesterfield, S40 9AT
Copyright © 2009 Kaye C Hill
The moral right of Kaye C Hill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any
information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is
published.
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Except Old Shuck, of course. Everybody knows
he’s real.
Typesetting by Yvette Warren
Cover design by Yvette Warren
Front cover image by Peter Roman
ISBN 978-0-9557078-9-6
A CIP catalogue reference for this book is available from the British Library
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire
About the author:
Kaye C Hill lives in Guildford. A career involving steel-capped boots, chainsaws and railway embankments somehow inspired her to start writing crime fiction.
Thanks to Lynne, Jeff and all at Creme de la Crime for unstinting support and shared pasta; thanks to my family for always being there; thanks to Jane,
Gail, Roy, Rosemary, Cathy and Mary for laughing in the right places and thanks to all my other friends for putting up with me.
For Nick
This was a tricky one.
Lexy Lomax studied the teenage girl sitting opposite her. Heart-shaped face, earnest eyes, black glossy hair that swept across her face like a swallow’s wing. Polite. Well-spoken. The type
of kid a parent would be proud of.
But if Lexy had understood her right, this clean-cut paragon of virtue had just confessed to a murder.
Rowana Paterson had phoned earlier that afternoon. She’d seen Lexy’s advert in the local paper and wanted to make an urgent appointment. She couldn’t say what it was about over
the phone. It wasn’t until she had turned up, an hour later, at the front door of the elevated fisherman’s cabin that served as Lexy’s office and home in the prim Suffolk village
of Clopwolde-on-Sea, that Lexy realised she was little more than a schoolgirl.
She was wearing the typical teenage uniform of black jeans, black trainers and a black pullover, which in her case was slipping off one slim shoulder.
Lexy tried to back-pedal straightaway.
“You’re a bit younger than my usual clients. Are you sure it’s a private detective you’re after?” She didn’t want to play mother confessor to some insecure
adolescent with boyfriend problems.
“Yes.”
“So you actually want something discreetly investigated?”
“Yes.” The girl nodded as she replied this time, as if Lexy were slightly dense.
“OK. You’d better come up.” Well, what else could she say?
They tramped up the wooden stairs to the octagonal living room that looked out over the bank and quay of the river Younge and the silver line of the North Sea beyond.
A scarred, caramel-coloured chihuahua was sitting on the arm of a sofa by a window. A silver disc hanging from his collar was inscribed with the name Kinky.
Despite her obvious distraction, Rowana Paterson managed to smile at the sight of the dog. Most people did, except the ones who screamed, ‘Rat!’ and ran for the hills.
“So, how do you think can I help you?” Lexy asked when they were seated.
The girl drew a deep breath. “Six weeks ago a woman died – here in Suffolk. Elizabeth Cassall, her name was.”
“Someone you knew?”
Rowana hesitated. “Not exactly.”
“OK.” Good. Lexy didn’t want the kid blubbing over her desk. “So... how did she die?”
“There was an accident. She... fell from an upstairs window. Over a balcony. Backwards.”
Bummer. “How awful!”
“Yes, it was, actually. I feel terrible about it.” Rowana’s dark lashes were lowered. “The thing is, I didn’t know her. I mean, I didn’t even know she existed
at that point. I was living with my family in London – we’d never even been to Suffolk.” Her voice had risen.
“OK. So, what you’re saying is, although you didn’t know this Elizabeth Cassall, you were very upset when you got the news she’d died?” Lexy attempted to
clarify.
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Why?”
“I... don’t think her death was accidental.”
“How do you mean, not accidental? You think she committed suicide?” Backwards?
“No. I think she was killed.”
“What, murdered? Who by?”
Rowana regarded her gravely. “Me, actually.” Lexy quelled an impulse to laugh. “Steady on. Didn’t you say you were in London when Elizabeth Cassall died?”
“Yes. I was.”
“So... how did you do it? By magic?”
The girl blanched, her hand going to her mouth. “How... how did you know?”
Lexy shoved her chair back. “Are you taking the mick? Because if you are, I’ve got better things to do.”
“No. I really mean it.” Tears were sparkling on those dark lashes now. “I found this book on the occult and I carried out a magic ceremony. A proper one.”
Oh boy. She’d been gathering herbs by the light of a waxing moon and dancing around circles waving incense – and now she’d convinced herself she’d magically offed this
Cassall woman. Lexy clenched her teeth. Perhaps she had. When were people going to learn that they shouldn’t mess with this stuff?
She ran a hand through her spiky black crop. “OK, Rowana – so how do you think a private detective can help you with this?”
“Well, I want you to find out for certain.”
“Find out what?”
“Whether it was an accident, or whether I did it.”
Lexy tipped her chair back, eyeing the enticing silver sway of the Younge through the window beyond Rowana’s shoulder. She’d take the mutt for a nice, relaxing walk as soon as
she’d broken the news to this aspiring acolyte that she didn’t deal with the esoteric. As she worked out a polite way of putting it, something hove into view. The tip of a large white
marquee. It was being erected on the other side of the river, bang opposite her cabin. Why?
She brought the chair back down with a sharp clack, and screwed her face into a look of apology. “Rowana – it’s not that I don’t want to help you, but...”
“I’ve got money,” the girl said. “How much do you charge?”
It was an interesting question. Lexy was keen – no, frantic–for a healthy dose of cash. Private eye work, as she was discovering, didn’t exactly bring in a regular income, and
the debts were mounting. Unfortunately, her only significant payment so far had been in the form of a cat, albeit a very rare and pregnant one called Princess. Princess Noo-Noo, to be precise. The
intention had been that Lexy should benefit from the sale of her very rare and valuable kittens. Lexy chewed her lip, glancing involuntarily at her desk calendar. Kittens that would be appearing
any time now. Although she’d have to wait another couple of months after the birth before any money could actually change hands. A person could get very hungry in two months. And it
wasn’t as if she could ask her landlord to hang on for the rent. She had some pride. Edward de Glenville had already done Lexy more than her fair share of favours, and on top of everything
else he had agreed to put up Princess at his ancestral home until the kittens were grown enough to sell. Repaying him was going to be tough.
Lexy hauled her mind with difficulty from this problem and back to the whey-faced girl sitting in front of her. However hard up she was, she couldn’t justify taking candy from this deluded
baby.
“I charge two hundred a day, plus expenses,” she said. “Seventy-five up front.” That should settle it. There was no way the girl would...
Rowana didn’t flinch. She reached for her bag, a camouflage back-pack with badges on it, and brought out a blue fluffy pencil case. It was stuffed full of notes. She counted out seven tens
and a fiver and held them out to Lexy. “OK. When can you start?”
Lexy’s mouth twitched. “How old are you, Rowana?”
“Sixteen. Nearly seventeen.” Lexy was surprised – she would have put her a year younger.
“Where’d you get that money, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“From my savings account.” Rowana gave Lexy a sideways glance. “But it’s not like I can’t pay it back, because I’ve just had an inheritance, haven’t
I?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well – from Elizabeth Cassall.”
“She left you money?”
“Yes – thirty thousand. And the cottage, of course.”
“Thirty... ?” Lexy felt her eyes glazing. “And the... ?”
“See my problem?”
“Yeah. I think I’m starting to.”
“I mean, can you imagine how I feel? Two months ago we lose the family business and everything we own, and we’re, like, desperate for a miracle. So I turned to magic. Then a woman
I’ve never heard of dies and leaves everything to me.”
She flipped compulsively through the bundle of notes in her hand. “And, to make things worse, my dad’s acting really weird about it.”
Lexy folded her arms on the desk in front of her and stared intently at Rowana Paterson.
Things were beginning to assume a very different complexion.
“Was there a coroner’s report on Elizabeth’s death?”
“They’re waiting for the official one to come out – it takes weeks – but everything is pointing to a verdict of accidental death.” Rowana eyed Lexy. “Not that
that makes me feel any better. Because I know what I did.”
“Well, let’s not jump to any conclusions.” Especially not mad ones involving the forces of darkness. “Let’s try to look at this logically. Where did Elizabeth
live?”
“In a cottage called Four Winds, about two miles from here, out on Freshing Hill.”