Page 5 of Murder in the Winter Woods (Julia Bird Mysteries #8)

Wilma pulled a dusty box from the depths of the storeroom at Second Chances. XMAS! was written on the top in large capital letters in green felt-tip pen. Someone had sketched a Christmas tree underneath the word.

‘Brace yourselves ladies, it’s that time of year again,’ she said, dragging the box across the floor.

‘Time for decking the halls, is it?’ Julia bent down to help her. The box slid more easily with two.

‘Fa-la-la-la-la, la la la la,’ said Diane. She gave a little jump and made jazz hands, for reasons that were inexplicable to Julia.

Wilma straightened up with a big smile. ‘I want to have a look at what we’ve got, and start our Christmas display,’ she said.

‘I do love Christmas.’ This was not news to her colleagues.

They had both had first-hand experience of Wilma’s Christmas Fever.

It had taken Julia until March to get rid of the Christmas carol earworms, and to find and remove the last bits of glitter from about her clothes and person.

‘It’s so cheerful,’ Wilma continued. ‘So good-spirited.’

‘Also, there’s cake,’ said Diane. ‘And mince pies.’

‘Oooh, here’s an idea. How about we give the first three customers of the day a free mince pie?’ said Wilma. ‘I’ll supply them. My treat.’

Diane’s eyebrows raised imperceptibly, along with Julia’s own. Wilma didn’t eat sweet things, on account of always watching her figure, and she was not known to give something for nothing. She had clearly been touched by the Christmas spirit.

‘I love that. I’ve got another idea,’ said Diane. ‘How about we curate a special arrangement of Christmas gifts for different categories of people? Presents for kids. For dads. For teachers. For foodies. And so on. To help people do their Christmas shopping.’

Wilma looked delighted. ‘Excellent idea. We can get working on that this week. It’s only five weeks until Christmas. People are shopping already.’

‘Nice idea, Diane,’ said Julia. ‘I was thinking we could spread the message that pre-loved gifts from places like Second Chances are the most cost-effective and environmentally responsible gifts you can buy. Buying used means cutting down on packaging waste, and the money they spend in the shop goes to the charity.’

‘That’s a very good idea. But how do we spread the message?’ said Diane. ‘We could just tell people, of course. But maybe put up a notice outside the shop?’

‘We could call it “Feel-Good Christmas”,’ said Julia, who was getting very enthused by her idea.

‘Excellent idea!’ said Wilma. ‘Why don’t we see if one of the local papers or radio stations can run something for us?’

‘I could ask Jim McEnroe from the Southern Times . He’d be a good place to start.’

Their planning chatter was interrupted by the tinkle of the bell on the front door of the shop. They turned to look, and all three women started to laugh.

‘What’s up?’ said Jim, looking rather unnerved to find himself the unwitting provider of such mirth.

‘Speak of the devil,’ said Wilma.

‘We were just talking about you,’ said Julia. ‘Literally, before you walked in.’

‘Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good.’

‘Don’t worry, there was no scurrilous gossip, Jim,’ Julia reassured him. ‘I was wondering if you might be interested in writing something about having a greener Christmas? Buying pre-used gifts, and so on. We’ve got some ideas, and it would help us too.’

‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea. To be honest, it’s a slow time of year news-wise.

Other than the accident, of course. Every year, I interview the fellow who plays Father Christmas in the village.

Every year. Same bloke. Bill Jenkins. Same questions.

’ He held out his hand as if clutching a microphone, ‘“So, tell me, Bill. How did you get started as Father Christmas…?” “Well, it was back in 2003. Ho ho ho…”’ He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

‘So yeah. I’m always keen to talk if you’ve got an idea for something different at this time of year. ’

‘Julia’s the one to talk to; it was her idea,’ said Wilma.

‘Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about too, Julia,’ said Jim. ‘Can you take a break? Coffee at the Buttered Scone? We can kill two birds with one stone.’

‘Now?’ Julia looked at Wilma. There was a lot to do in the shop.

‘Go, go,’ said Wilma, making shooing motions with her hands. ‘Diane and I can hold the fort.’

‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Julia said, already lifting her handbag to her shoulder.

Ten minutes later they were seated at a table with a coffee, waiting for their cheese toasties. ‘Might as well. It’s pretty much lunchtime,’ Julia had said, not entirely accurately. It was 11.15, but Jim seemed quite happy to go along with the toastie plan.

Jim sipped his coffee while Julia told him her Feel-Good Christmas idea – the pre-loved presents, the environmental advantages, the money saved, and the proceeds going to good causes.

‘So Jim, what do you think?’

‘Well, it’s a win-win for sure,’ said Jim. ‘Great idea.’

‘Would you be able to help us promote the idea? Not just for Second Chances. The principles apply everywhere.’

‘I like it. As I said, we’re always on the lookout for seasonal stories at Southern Times . Second Chances would have to be the focus though, being local. We’d interview you and take some pics of you in the store.’

‘Wilma would be the one to take a picture of – she’s the boss,’ said Julia quickly. She didn’t fancy the idea of having her face splashed all over the media, even if it was just a regional newspaper.

‘Whoever. We’ll take some pics. Human interest stuff, you know.’

‘Perfect! Thanks, Jim.’

With impeccable timing, Flo arrived with their toasties, which were golden and glistening and oozing with cheese.

Jim beckoned dramatically: ‘Come to me, best toastie in all the Cotswolds!’

Flo laughed, putting the plates down first in front of Julia, then Jim.

‘Ah well, you’re not the first to say it, I won’t lie.

It’s all in the cheese, you know. We use only the finest local Double Gloucester.

Well, and the butter, of course. You have to butter both sides of the bread.

Inside and out. Don’t skimp! That’s how you get that lovely crispy toast.’

Julia felt fleetingly worried about how much dairy fat she’d be ingesting with all that cheese and butter, but she wasn’t one to let such thoughts ruin a good lunch.

‘They are absolutely the best,’ she said, taking up her knife and fork.

‘While we’re here, maybe you can help me with something,’ Jim said, when Flo was out of earshot.

‘With pleasure. What do you need?’

‘I’m writing a piece about Lewis Band, the taxi driver who was killed in the hit-and-run.’

‘Poor Lewis. Terrible story.’

‘It is. Did you know him?’

‘Just a little. I’d used his services once or twice, and saw him about the village. He was very reliable. He seemed like a good chap. Are you doing a news story about the circumstances of his death?’

‘No. There’s another piece going in about the standard of driving on the country roads – which, as you know, is an issue.’

Julia nodded.

‘News-wise there’s not much to say, other than the fact that some bastard hit a pedestrian and drove off without stopping.’

Julia noted that he didn’t seem to know that the driver had stopped, and in fact, got out of the car.

After accidentally reversing over him. Interesting that the police hadn’t released that piece of information.

Jim also didn’t seem to know that Julia herself had found the body.

She knew he would love that detail, and her first-hand account, but she decided to keep it to herself.

Jim continued: ‘I’m looking at a soft piece. More of a longish obituary, giving a sense of the man, him being well-known in these parts. I’m gathering anecdotes and quotes from people who knew him.’

‘I’d be happy to help, but I’m sure there are better people to speak to than me. As I said, we didn’t have much to do with each other.’

‘Right, well. No worries. I’ve asked a few people and I’ve got a few quotes. It’s probably enough. I was just hoping for something meatier, more specific. And I know that you’re good at noticing things about people.’

Jim turned his attention back to his lunch.

He seemed lost in thought, sawing through the sandwich with a great deal more concentration than one would have thought was required to create a bite-sized triangle.

He popped the piece into his mouth and chewed contemplatively.

Julia was about to enquire after Moxy, Jim’s Schnauzer-poodle cross, when he spoke.

‘There was actually a bit of a funny vibe when I asked some people about him.’

Julia frowned. ‘About Lewis?’

‘Yes.’

‘Really?’ She waited for Jim to say more.

‘Yes. Look, there’s no doubt, he was a popular guy. Lots of people knew him and used his services. They sang his praises. But I’ve had a couple of weirdly lukewarm responses to my inquiries.’

‘That’s surprising. From who?’

‘Dora, for one.’

‘Dora from the sweet shop?’ Dora looked like an illustration from a children’s book about a perfect sweet shop owner or an ideal granny. It was hard to imagine her saying anything lukewarm about anybody.

‘Yes. She’d known him her whole life. Her grandfather and his father were second cousins or something, I believe.’

‘She’s a sweetheart – I can’t imagine her being mean about anyone, let alone the recently deceased. What did she say?’

‘It’s more what she didn’t say. It was as if she was holding something back.

Reticent, might be the word. She said she knew him better when they were younger, but it was long ago, and she didn’t remember much about him and they’d rather lost touch, and she’d prefer not to be quoted about “that man”.

That’s what she called him – that man .’

‘Slightly odd, seeing as they lived in the same village their whole lives,’ Julia mused.

She took a bite of her oozing toastie, and chewed it while she thought.

‘It sounds to me like they had some kind of falling out. Not uncommon in families, is it? Or in small villages. People have their disagreements.’

‘I suppose so. Who knows, maybe he stole her parking space in 1985.’

‘Trod on her toe at the school dance.’

They laughed, and stopped talking to pay due attention to the best toasties in the Cotswolds. After a few more bites, Jim said: ‘Ah well, I guess it could be that he just wasn’t such a great chap.’

‘Well, nobody’s perfect, Jim.’

‘You’re right, no one is universally adored and admired, are they?

I suppose I’m just irritated because it’s made my life difficult.

I thought I’d whip the article together in an afternoon, but I’m a bit short.

I can’t use the lukewarm comments for this sort of piece.

All I’ve got really is a lot of people saying he was a good chap, never late to fetch you, and he didn’t talk too much in the taxi or play the radio loudly or smoke or anything.

That’s why I asked you when I saw you. Thought you might have an anecdote or some such.

No worries, though, I’ll ask around, see what I can find out about old Lewis. ’

Flo arrived soundlessly and made them both jump, saying: ‘Poor Lewis. He was a good chap.’

Jim looked up with a grin. ‘Tell me more, Flo. Tell me more.’ Julia had to bite back a laugh. Flo never had to be encouraged to tell anyone more about anything.

‘Well, I met him, what, ten or fifteen years ago, I’d say? I had a bad ankle sprain and couldn’t drive. Quite reliable he was, and gave me a special rate. Now, who’s for something sweet?’

They demurred and waved her away, having each eaten sufficient calories to sustain them on an Everest ascent. Julia leaned back in her chair. ‘That was fantastic.’

‘I could do with another one,’ said Jim. ‘Like, next week maybe.’

Their laughter was interrupted by the arrival of Pippa at the table next to them.

‘Hello, Pippa. No puppies today?’ said Julia.

She thought Pippa actually looked slightly strange without them.

Herself but not herself, in a way that reminded Julia of the time Peter had shaved his moustache off after ten years of facial hair.

When he’d come home, she’d known there was something wrong, but it had taken her a good few minutes to see what it was.

‘Sadly not. I am on my way back from a visit to my Aunt Margaret, who’s not well. I left them at home. I didn’t think it sensible to bring a brace of wild half-grown Labradors to visit a frail older lady.’

‘I’m sorry to hear about your aunt, Pippa.’

‘Ah well, it’s sad. It’s not easy. She’s not even that old, but she has a brain tumour and they’re not sure what they can do. Inoperable, is what the specialist said. I suppose it comes to us all eventually.’

The two women sat silent for a moment, contemplating their own brisk forward march in that direction. Julia, herself, was, inexplicably, in her sixties. And not sixty-one, either. Pippa was a good deal younger, but not so young that she could be oblivious as to what lay ahead.

Jim, who was decades away from his sixties, had no such worries. In fact, he had his own, more immediate, agenda. ‘Now, Pippa,’ he said, leaning across to her. ‘Tell me. Did you know Lewis Band?’