Read Online Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) by Kaye C. Hill - Free Book Online
Authors: Kaye C. Hill
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missing from the RSPCA collection tin on the reception desk? Or some scam involving…
“Find out who’s sending me poison pen letters,” whispered Hope.
“Poison pen letters?” That was a turn up. Despite herself, Lexy was interested. “What – nasty ones?”
“Is there any other sort?” Hope’s lips pulled tightly inwards in a way that told Lexy more tears were approaching.
“How long’s it been going on?”
“I got the first one six w…weeks ago.”
“How many have you had?”
“Three.”
Lexy considered, while Hope picked up a paper napkin and blew her nose. She and her folks often used to get anonymous letters shoved under the van door, or chucked through the window. Pretty unpleasant ones, too. Stuff you don’t forget.
“You told the police?”
Hope shook her head violently. “I want to keep this as low key as possible. It could have… implications. Anyway, I just couldn’t bear to have it raked up again.” She put her head in her hands, looking at Lexy through splayed fingers.
“You told anyone about them? Your brother?”
“No one. You’re the only person I’ve told. It would devastate Guy. He does a good impression of a grounded human being, but he’s really a mass of neuroses.”
Was that a fact? Lexy filed this unexpected piece of information away for later analysis.
“Any idea who’s sending them?”
“No. But it’s either someone who knew me and my family a long time ago, or someone who’s been deliberately doing some research. Either way, it’s someone who really wants to hurt me.”
“Can I ask what took place – you know, in your past?” Lexy eyed her steadily, expecting a rebuff.
Hope was silent for a moment, then, eyes cast down, she began speaking in a low voice. “We were brought up on a big old farm outside the village.”
Something in her voice gave Lexy a prickle of fear.
“Our f… father…” Hope swallowed hard. “He was a drunk, an alcoholic.” She closed her eyes. “He was abusive to our mother – violent. Accused her of all sorts of senseless things, from not cooking the dinner to his liking, to sleeping her way around the entire neighbourhood. Any excuse for him to lay into her with both fists.” She paused. “Basically, he was ill and needed help, but Guy and I were too young to understand that. We hated him. We kept telling mum to leave him. But she wouldn’t. She was too frightened of causing a scandal. Can you believe that?”
Lexy shook her head, saying nothing, just letting Hope get it out. She felt torn between sympathy, morbid fascination and guilt because the receptionist was only telling her all this because she thought she was talking to a real private detective.
“No one except us knew what he was like,” Hope went on, her voice now hoarse with emotion. “He only used to drink at home. He was never drunk in public. He was a respected man in the community. Can you imagine that? A pillar of the local Rotary Club, Farmers’ Union, you name it…”
She shook her head. “Anyway, to cut a long story short, one night, twenty-five years ago, when I was eight and Guy was ten, he got paralytic on a litre of whisky someone had given him, and started beating the hell out of mum.” Hope’s eyes went dark. “Then he dragged her upstairs by her hair like a bloody caveman, while she screamed the place down.”
She began shredding her napkin, her hands shaking. “I was hiding in Guy’s room. I always used to when he started drinking. We’d listen to music through a shared set of earphones so we didn’t have to… you know…”
“Yes,” said Lexy, thinking about her own father, a world away from this. And a world away from her, now.
“Well, this time Guy and I decided to call the police. I had got as far as dialling 999 on the upstairs phone, while all this screaming was going on. Guy was behind me… we suddenly heard this awful crashing, thumping sound.” Hope paused, her eyes wide, and unfocused. “The bastard
“Find out who’s sending me poison pen letters,” whispered Hope.
“Poison pen letters?” That was a turn up. Despite herself, Lexy was interested. “What – nasty ones?”
“Is there any other sort?” Hope’s lips pulled tightly inwards in a way that told Lexy more tears were approaching.
“How long’s it been going on?”
“I got the first one six w…weeks ago.”
“How many have you had?”
“Three.”
Lexy considered, while Hope picked up a paper napkin and blew her nose. She and her folks often used to get anonymous letters shoved under the van door, or chucked through the window. Pretty unpleasant ones, too. Stuff you don’t forget.
“You told the police?”
Hope shook her head violently. “I want to keep this as low key as possible. It could have… implications. Anyway, I just couldn’t bear to have it raked up again.” She put her head in her hands, looking at Lexy through splayed fingers.
“You told anyone about them? Your brother?”
“No one. You’re the only person I’ve told. It would devastate Guy. He does a good impression of a grounded human being, but he’s really a mass of neuroses.”
Was that a fact? Lexy filed this unexpected piece of information away for later analysis.
“Any idea who’s sending them?”
“No. But it’s either someone who knew me and my family a long time ago, or someone who’s been deliberately doing some research. Either way, it’s someone who really wants to hurt me.”
“Can I ask what took place – you know, in your past?” Lexy eyed her steadily, expecting a rebuff.
Hope was silent for a moment, then, eyes cast down, she began speaking in a low voice. “We were brought up on a big old farm outside the village.”
Something in her voice gave Lexy a prickle of fear.
“Our f… father…” Hope swallowed hard. “He was a drunk, an alcoholic.” She closed her eyes. “He was abusive to our mother – violent. Accused her of all sorts of senseless things, from not cooking the dinner to his liking, to sleeping her way around the entire neighbourhood. Any excuse for him to lay into her with both fists.” She paused. “Basically, he was ill and needed help, but Guy and I were too young to understand that. We hated him. We kept telling mum to leave him. But she wouldn’t. She was too frightened of causing a scandal. Can you believe that?”
Lexy shook her head, saying nothing, just letting Hope get it out. She felt torn between sympathy, morbid fascination and guilt because the receptionist was only telling her all this because she thought she was talking to a real private detective.
“No one except us knew what he was like,” Hope went on, her voice now hoarse with emotion. “He only used to drink at home. He was never drunk in public. He was a respected man in the community. Can you imagine that? A pillar of the local Rotary Club, Farmers’ Union, you name it…”
She shook her head. “Anyway, to cut a long story short, one night, twenty-five years ago, when I was eight and Guy was ten, he got paralytic on a litre of whisky someone had given him, and started beating the hell out of mum.” Hope’s eyes went dark. “Then he dragged her upstairs by her hair like a bloody caveman, while she screamed the place down.”
She began shredding her napkin, her hands shaking. “I was hiding in Guy’s room. I always used to when he started drinking. We’d listen to music through a shared set of earphones so we didn’t have to… you know…”
“Yes,” said Lexy, thinking about her own father, a world away from this. And a world away from her, now.
“Well, this time Guy and I decided to call the police. I had got as far as dialling 999 on the upstairs phone, while all this screaming was going on. Guy was behind me… we suddenly heard this awful crashing, thumping sound.” Hope paused, her eyes wide, and unfocused. “The bastard
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