Page 27 of Murder in the Winter Woods (Julia Bird Mysteries #8)

The snow continued gently but steadily overnight. Only when the weak winter sun rose lazily above the horizon did it pause, as if to give the other side a sporting chance.

Julia started the day with a flurry of messages from Kevin Moore.

He liked Julia’s slogans for the road safety campaign, but wanted to add some of his own.

‘People will die in pain’ was one example, and most of his ideas were on this theme.

Julia reminded him that they were taking a more constructive approach, and that slogans like his might be very upsetting for the families of the recently deceased.

Having handled this, Julia fed Jake his breakfast and left him outside to run around while she showered and dressed for the day.

The ground was sodden with melting snow, which meant that Jake’s feet were muddy and wet after his morning constitutional.

It was going to be chilly, and she didn’t want to leave him outside while she worked a make-up shift at Second Chances, because she had missed her shift on Wednesday when she accompanied the widows on their search for Anthony Ardmore.

If he was to stay in the kitchen, she would have to clean him up.

Ordinarily, this would mean using an old towel, or wet wipes, or getting him to walk about on yesterday’s newspaper, or some other dog-cleaning operation that he and she both disliked.

But today, Julia was excited – yes, excited!

– to clean Jake’s feet. She had purchased, online, something called the Perfect Paw Washer.

The reviews were five star – ‘My Choo Choo loves it!’ and ‘Pinky’s paws have never been so clean!

’ – and now Julia would see it in action herself.

The item had been delivered three days ago, just before this latest deluge, and it would be used for the first time today.

It was a large silicone cup, lined with flexible silicone bristles.

It came with a simple set of instructions:

Fill with warm water up to the mark as indicated.

Place the dogs’ paw into the cup.

She tried not to be annoyed by the misplaced apostrophe.

Swirl around gently for 1–2 minutes.

Remove the paw.

Do the same on the other feet.

Julia filled the cup with warm water. It was raining again, so she couldn’t do the operation outside, but she set up a chair and a towel next to the open kitchen door, and called Jake in the calmest of tones: ‘Come here, Jakey boy.’

Jake looked at her warily. Had he identified something suspicious in her too-calm voice? She had taken the precaution of bringing a pocketful of dog treats. She held one out towards him.

He came towards her slowly. She drew her hand back a little so that he was close to her. ‘Sit.’

He sat, and she stroked his ears and spoke soothingly.

‘There’s a good boy, now, let’s wash those feet, shall we?

’ Julia lifted his front left paw gently, being careful not to get mud on her clean grey trousers.

It struck her that she should probably have done this before getting dressed for work.

But Jake was calm, and she would be careful not to get any stray drops of water on her clothes.

She brought the cup up to enclose the filthy paw.

It was quite a snug fit, but it didn’t seem to bother Jake.

She imagined it was rather pleasant, like when you have a footbath before a pedicure.

He looked mildly surprised, rather than concerned, to find his paw enveloped in warm water.

Until Julia got to point 3 of the instructions: Swirl around gently for 1–2 minutes.

She took his foreleg firmly and gave it and the cup a few gentle rotations.

As the water sloshed around, Jake’s expression went from mildly surprised to alarmed.

He pulled away. Somehow, his leg slipped from her clutches, but the Perfect Paw Washer was still firmly attached to his foot.

He fell back on the kitchen floor in surprise, and then scrambled to his feet in a panic.

When he stood, the cup, still attached to his foot, skidded and clattered against the flagstone tiles. Now this , he didn’t really like.

‘Jake, sit! Calm down,’ said Julia, lunging for him.

But he was too quick. He made an awkward run for it, with the Perfect Paw Washer still remarkably well-lodged on his right front paw.

Jake made a clattering circuit of the kitchen table, showering the place – and his owner – liberally with muddy water, sliding and slipping as he went, before the device finally detached from his foot and skittered across the flagstones, dispersing the rest of the water across the entire area of the floor.

Relieved of the dastardly device, Jake bolted for the garden, into the lovely mud and the rain that had started to fall.

Julia surveyed the wet, muddy room, and sighed deeply.

What a bloody mess. She would have to clean up the kitchen, and then herself.

The grey trousers were unsalvageable, streaked with mud and water.

She would be late for her shift at Second Chances, and have to endure Wilma’s pointed checking of her watch as she arrived.

Bending down, she picked up the stupid silicone cup lying empty and innocent under the table. She tossed it angrily into the sink, then fetched the mop, closing the broom cupboard with a satisfying slam.

Why did Jake have to be so unrelentingly clumsy, she wondered, grumpily. Why couldn’t he be more like the docile Chihuahua of the five-star reviewer who loved the Perfect Paw Washer?

She sent Wilma a message saying she would be a little late, and set to work mopping up the mess.

It was astonishing how far half a cup of muddy water could disperse.

She had to get out the kitchen steps to climb up and wipe a splatter from about six feet up the wall.

Once she got over her irritation and accepted the situation, however, the cleaning action soothed her, and her cross mood dissipated as order was restored.

Outside the kitchen window, Jake was lumbering happily about, sniffing the morning smells, tail wagging, having quite forgotten his earlier trauma, and caring not a jot for the devastation he’d left in the kitchen.

She felt a rush of love for the silly chocolate chap.

She couldn’t blame him for the debacle. It was her fault, really.

She knew Jake’s ways, and should have known better than to attach a foreign object to his paw and expect him to sit quietly while she jiggled it about and sloshed water all over.

Despite her eventful morning, Julia was only twenty minutes late for her volunteer job at Second Chances.

She was a meticulously punctual person, who hated to be late, especially if someone else was inconvenienced by her tardiness.

Wilma had said that the Feel-Good Christmas campaign and the festive Christmas display was ‘pulling in the punters’, and it was ‘all hands on deck’ for the Christmas season.

Julia knew that the shop was seldom unmanageably busy, especially in the first hour or so, so Wilma and Diane wouldn’t be under excessive pressure.

She decided she could afford the extra five minutes required to stop on the way to buy mince pies for her co-workers, as a gesture of goodwill.

Spreading the Christmas spirit, and all that.

They had the desired effect, causing a chorus of ‘ooooh’s, and a discussion about whether to have the pies for elevenses, or save them for later.

They had yet to reach consensus on the matter when the ringing of the bell above the door alerted them to the arrival of the first customer.

The first of many. Julia had never seen the shop so busy as it became that day.

‘I saw the story in the Southern Times about Feel-Good Christmas and I thought, what a good idea,’ said Nicky. ‘It’s good that people are buying second-hand. Much better for the environment, isn’t it? The landfills and all that.’

‘That’s the idea,’ said Wilma brightly.

‘I wouldn’t buy second-hand clothes myself,’ Nicky said, with a little shiver. ‘I know all the young people are into vintage these days, but I just don’t like the thought of it. Someone else’s armpits.’

Wilma blinked at her, at a loss for words, and said weakly, ‘Well, you could wash them first, if you’re not sure.’

‘Nah, not for me. But I’ll see what you have for Sebastian,’ said Nicky, wittering on in her usual stream of consciousness, heading towards the children’s section.

‘Toys and so on. You know what kids are like, half the time you buy the fancy new thing and they don’t even look at it, too busy with a pinecone.

Or a snail. Last week, it was a snail he brought into his bedroom, into his actual bed, lord love me. ’

The bell rang with the arrival of another customer. ‘Good morning,’ said Diane cheerfully.

A mildly dishevelled-looking man of about sixty nodded in their direction and perused the shelves.

Mostly, people who came into the shop wandered about in what seemed to be a purposeless manner, waiting for something to catch their eye, but he seemed to be going systematically, as if in search of something particular.

‘Are you looking for anything specific?’ Diane asked.

‘Yes, I am, actually,’ he said. ‘A guitar.’

Wilma chipped in, from her position behind the till: ‘You know, I think I might have seen a guitar when I was looking for items for our Feel-Good Christmas display. Or maybe it was a banjo. Would a banjo do?’

‘No, I’m really looking for a guitar. A specific guitar. It would have been donated a while ago. I’m not sure if it was even to this charity shop. But it doesn’t look like you’ve got it – or if you had it, it’s been sold.’

‘Not necessarily…We do keep some larger items in the storeroom at the back and we rotate the stock from time to time,’ said Diane. ‘I’ll have a look out the back.’

‘Okay, thanks. I’d be much obliged.’

‘Look on the top shelf; it might be there,’ Wilma called after her.

Diane disappeared into the storeroom. There were a few grunts, a thump and a twang, and she emerged triumphant with a guitar in hand. ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’

‘It is! This here is my first guitar.’ The man’s face broke into a smile, revealing a snaggle of stained teeth. He took the instrument from Diane, and stroked it lovingly. ‘I got it when I was thirteen. We had plenty of adventures together, I can tell you.’

Julia could believe it. The guitar looked as weathered as its owner, its body peppered with scrapes and dings, and old stickers peeling off.

‘What a piece of luck! My cousin helped Mum clean out the attic when she got sick. He got rid of a lot of my mum’s old things, said they’d gone to a charity shop. I reckoned my old guitar must have gone with them. It was a very long shot, but here it is.’

‘You’re lucky it’s still here,’ said Diane. ‘Musical instruments are quite popular with the young. Guitars and drums, mostly. Everyone wants to be a rock star when they’re twelve.’

‘Lucky indeed.’ He held the guitar in a loose embrace, with a tenderness that made Julia feel a little sad, and then played a chord. ‘Needs new strings, of course. But I’ll get the old girl back into shape. New beginnings, hey? A fresh start and a good dollop of luck, that’s what we need.’

Wilma, who was still at the till, piped up: ‘If you don’t mind me asking, was your mum Mrs Payne?’

‘She was.’

‘My condolences. I knew her a little, she was a lovely lady.’

‘She was. I didn’t see her as much as I’d have liked these last years. I wish…’ He shrugged, letting his wish linger unexpressed, and then sighed as if to express the hopelessness of wishes.

‘Ah, well,’ said Julia, trying to be comforting. ‘It’s not easy keeping in touch. Everyone is so busy, and everyone is spread all over the country. The world, even. My daughter’s in Hong Kong.’

‘I wasn’t so far, but still, it’s quite a journey and I was either working on a job, or waiting for a job. And the train tickets these days, they cost a fortune. And with one thing and another…You know how it is.’

It sounded as if he’d had a rather precarious life, poor chap. Julia nodded. ‘I do know. It’s not easy to find the time or the money. I’m sure you did your best.’

‘Are you planning on staying in Berrywick, then?’ asked Diane. She was rather nosy, which could be handy, because she unearthed a lot of information Julia was interested in, without Julia having to be nosy herself.

‘I’ll be here for a while. It’s a pretty village, isn’t it?

Relaxing. Weather’s better than Scotland, too.

’ Julia’s ears pricked up at the word ‘Scotland’ as they all looked out the window, where the view didn’t exactly support his point.

It was raining again, and the occasional person scuttled by under an umbrella.

‘I’ve got Mum’s flat. It’s a nice, comfortable spot.

And her little car. I feel like I could make a fresh start here. ’

‘And do you have friends here, still?’ asked Diane.

‘I do, I looked up a couple of them, and it was good to reconnect, although sadly, two of them have passed away recently. You will have heard about the accidents, I’m sure.’ He frowned at the thought.

‘Lewis and Matthew were your friends? I’m so sorry for your loss, and so soon after your mum. Too terrible, what happened to them,’ said Wilma.

‘Terrible,’ said Julia, distractedly. She had a strong suspicion that she knew exactly who it was that was standing in Second Chances. ‘So sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you. Very sad. Our other mate’s still around, doing well. His brother, too. In fact, he’s got me in on the ground floor of a good investment.’

There was absolutely no doubt about it. This man was none other than Ken, the disappointed band member.

‘This investment requires vision, and it’s the early adopters who make the big returns,’ he continued.

That sentence sounded as if it had come straight out of Anthony Ardmore’s mouth.

Which presumably it had, when Anthony was punting his investment scheme.

‘So things are looking up on that score, at least.’

‘I hope it goes well for you,’ said Julia, who was less than certain of a positive outcome.

In fact, she felt sure that this investment was either completely bogus, or illegal.

She was tempted to say so, but decided against it.

That was the work of the police, once they had figured it all out.

Instead, she said, ‘I’m Julia, by the way. Julia Bird.’

‘Ken. Ken Payne,’ he said, confirming Julia’s suspicions. ‘How much is the guitar?’

‘Ah, there’s no charge,’ said Wilma, from her spot behind the counter. ‘After all, it’s yours. You enjoy it, now, you hear? It’s what your mum would’ve wanted.’