Page 3 of Murder in the Winter Woods (Julia Bird Mysteries #8)

The meeting of the Berrywick Residents’ Association was well attended.

Julia hadn’t done a head-count, but she suspected it was the biggest gathering of the Association since the referendum on whether to paint the park benches black or a very dark green.

That was a year ago – black had won the day.

The mood this time was a good deal more sombre, which was hardly surprising, given the circumstances.

Kevin Moore stood up. It was only his second meeting as Chairman of the Association, and he looked pale and serious, and somehow younger than his age, which Julia estimated to be about forty.

His wife, Nicky, smiled encouragingly at him and whispered to Julia, ‘Poor Kev, he’s nervous.

And I don’t blame him. It’s a sad time for Berrywick. ’

It was indeed.

Kevin cleared his throat, and thanked them all for coming.

He looked down at his hands and then raised his face to the room.

His eyes seemed to glisten with unshed tears when he spoke: ‘This is no ordinary meeting of the Residents’ Association, because it comes in the wake of a terrible tragedy.

First and foremost, I’d like to offer our sincere condolences to the family of Lewis Band.

Lewis was a well-known and respected member of our community, a trusted driver for many of us, and a regular participant at these meetings.

As you no doubt know, he was hit by a car on the road through the woods on Monday night, and died on the scene from his injuries. ’

There followed a quiet chorus of tuts and clicks and sighs, reminiscent of spring rainfall on a shed roof. The quiet observations from the audience gathered force.

‘Too sad.’

‘Bless his soul, dear Lewis.’

‘Ah, poor Coral, losing her husband like that. It’s a tragedy.’

‘It’s a crime, is what it is.’

That last statement was issued firmly and loudly by Will Adamson, and it was addressed in the direction of DI Hayley Gibson and Walter Farmer, who were attending to represent the police. Hayley didn’t respond.

Kevin interjected, trying to keep the meeting on course – and civil. ‘Now, I know that we’re all very distressed about what happened to Lewis, and concerned about road safety. And we will be looking at ways to?—’

Another voice piped up from the back: ‘Will’s right. It’s a crime, the way people drive around here.’

More voices joined in:

‘Everyone in Berrywick knows that bend. We know to slow down as we go through those woods. It must have been someone from out of town.’

‘Of course it was! It’s those tourists.’

‘True. You know what they’re like. They don’t know the roads, and they speed around like they own the place.’

‘Some maniac in a Range Rover nearly ran over my Rover on Ranger Road,’ said Yvonne.

This statement confused Julia, until she remembered that Yvonne’s Great Dane was indeed called Rover, and there was indeed a road in Berrywick called Ranger Road.

‘Came round that sharp bend near the school and the bumper actually touched his tail. If I hadn’t tugged him away, he wouldn’t be here, poor dear Rover.

’ She looked so sad, it was almost as if she’d forgotten that Rover was alive and well and chasing ducks at the Big Pond, which was where he’d been that very afternoon when Julia had taken her Jake for his walk.

‘Summer’s the worst,’ said Nicky. ‘You expect a lot of cars, and you know to be careful. But there’s been an influx this last couple of weeks, with the Christmas decorations and lights going up all over the region.

It’ll be busy for a bit, with people coming for the Christmas markets all over the Cotswolds.

There’s something on almost every day. We can expect a lot of visitors. ’

‘They’re a menace, that’s what they are,’ came an angry voice from somewhere behind Julia.

Flo, the proprietor of the Buttered Scone, held up her hands in a ‘hold on a moment’ gesture.

‘Well, not exactly. To be fair, the people that come to Berrywick are mostly very nice, and they do bring a lot of business into the village.’ At least half of Flo’s customers – the high-spending, salmon-eating half – were out-of-town visitors.

Some cross faces turned towards her and a low grumble could be heard.

‘I’m not supporting bad driving, and I’m not saying we do nothing about it,’ Flo said quickly. ‘We need to take action. We do. I’m just saying…let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need the tourists too.’

Without them, Julia knew Flo would be trying to make a living off the likes of Johnny Blunt occupying a prime table and eking out a coffee and a scone for two hours on a Tuesday morning.

Many of the other shopkeepers, likewise.

There were one or two heads bobbing in support of Flo’s point.

Kevin, whose job as manager of the Swan also depended in good part on the tourist pound (or dollar, or yen, or euro) stepped back into the fray.

‘I am recommending that we form a sub-committee to look at road safety and what we can do to encourage better driving.’

His suggestion calmed the crowd somewhat, and drew some approving grunts.

Kevin seized the moment and said, ‘I’m suggesting we ask a small number of residents, and a liaison from the local police, to come up with some suggestions to keep Berrywick’s roads safe.

Now, if everyone’s in agreement, I’ll need some volunteers, or some recommendations for people to serve on the committee. ’

Will Adamson’s hand went up. This was no surprise.

He was a man who sought power, status and influence, even in minor ways.

‘I am familiar with the bylaws and regulations, of course, being in the property business,’ he said.

‘My schedule is very full, and my daughter will probably kill me for volunteering…’ He gave a rueful smile, which drew some restrained tittering.

‘But this is an important issue, a life-and-death issue, and if you think I might be useful, I would be glad to be of service.’

There was a muttering of thanks and one or two claps. Will beamed modestly.

It’s not as if you’re about to donate a kidney, thought Julia, and immediately felt ashamed of herself for her bad grace.

‘Thank you, Will. I think I speak for everyone when I say you’d be very useful,’ said Kevin.

Julia thought Flo should be on the committee. She was smart, she knew what was what, and she had an eye on the tourist market as well as the locals’ welfare. Julia put up her hand to suggest it.

‘Hello, I…’

‘Thank you, Julia, we’d be pleased to have you on board.’

‘Oh, no. Actually Kevin, I was going to put Flo’s name forward.’

‘Excellent idea. You and Flo and Will, that sounds like a good team.’

‘Well, I meant instead of me…’

Julia’s explanation went unheard, as Kevin continued, ‘And DC Walter Farmer, will you be our police liaison?’

Walter nodded.

‘And you, of course, Kevin,’ said Will. ‘You’ll be on the sub-committee, I take it?’

Kevin agreed. ‘Right you are, that’s sorted. Thanks all. I have Tuesday off. Is Tuesday afternoon any good for you all for our first meeting? Shall we say three? We can meet at the Swan if you like. I can probably rustle us up a cup of tea.’

Murmurs of general assent rumbled from the other members of the road safety sub-committee.

There was a brief moment when Julia might have cleared up the misunderstanding, and resisted more forcefully.

She dithered. She did have the time and if she could be useful…

But did she want another responsibility on her plate?

‘Excellent. Now, let’s move on to the next order of business.’

Julia took her little pocket diary from her handbag and removed the pencil from its holder. She turned to the page for Tuesday and, with a small internal sigh, wrote:

Road Safety Committee, 3 p.m.