Small Town Shock (Some Very English Murders Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

first
paintings that she’d been so pleased with that she had had it professionally
framed.
    She stepped back and considered it. Yes, she still liked
it. It was calm but the mountain had an air of potential menace; in the winter
it would be deadly.
    She remembered the art student she had been. She’d been
lively and yet relaxed, curious and confident, eager to grab life and run with
it. Of course, younger folk never really thought they’d ever get old and that
time would run out. She’d fallen into the television production world through
the design side of things, proved herself a good and capable organiser, and
somehow … somehow her career had taken over, and she had pursued it, thinking
that’s what she had wanted all along.
    But when she’d achieved everything, the status and the
money and the swanky flat in central London and the car – and the overpriced
parking space to go with it – she felt oddly bereft. Now what?
    She was startled from her reverie by the ringing of her
phone and she darted through to the kitchen to fumble around in her bag. She
retrieved it while it was still ringing but shoved it to her ear before she
really registered who was calling.
    “Hey, Penelope. How’s country life?”
    Francine? What was Francine Black doing, calling
her? Penny had hoped she’d been left behind in London. Francine was the one of
the few people Penny hadn’t given her phone number to. The ditzy woman meant
well, but goodness, she seemed to see the world as a place of brightly coloured
flowers and fluffy kittens. Penny couldn’t help but say, quite bluntly, “Oh. What
do you want, Francine?”
    “I couldn’t wait to hear from you! How are you doing? Oh my
gosh, it’s all so exciting! Leaving the rat race, wow. I’m so pleased for you. What
is your cottage like?”
    Penny rolled her eyes at Francine’s stream of childlike
enthusiasm. She had been a rival television producer and they had sometimes
worked together and sometimes in opposition. While Penny had embraced corporate
life and culture with studied seriousness, Francine had blithely drifted
through her career, giggling and bouncing and being everyone’s friend. And
somehow, it hadn’t done her any harm. She was the least professional person
Penny knew.
    Maybe, Penny acknowledged, she resented Francine’s natural
exuberance.
    But good heavens, the woman was like an over-excited
teenage girl with a new set of sparkly shoes. Pink ones, obviously.
    Penny leaned on the small kitchen table and gazed out of
the window, the phone clamped to her ear. “My cottage is small and sweet and
quiet. Er, so how did you get my number?”
    Francine tutted and laughed with delight. “Bob Channings
who was dating that ferocious Liza woman, no, wait, Lisa, Liselle, I can’t
remember. The one with the ears.”
    “Everyone has ears.”
    “No. The ears . Different sizes. Once you saw it, you
couldn’t unsee it.”
    “Lisbeth,” Penny said with a sigh. Oh yes. Those ears.
    “Yes, Lisbeth! She had your number. I knew you’d moved.
Leicestershire, is it? Nice cheese. Have you had the cheese?”
    “Lincolnshire. They have bread with plums in, and some
strange ham with bits in called haslet, and sausages … also with bits in.
Basically, Lincolnshire food is normal food but with extra bits in it.”
    “It sounds yummy!” said Francine. In a more serious voice,
she said, “But who on earth moves to Lincolnshire? It’s the sort of place you
come from, not go to.”
    “That’s exactly why I’m here. So people don’t bother me,”
Penny added pointedly.
    “What are you doing with your time? Have you joined masses
of clubs? Are you bored? Have you learned to knit?”
    Penny thought if she rolled her eyes much more, they’d roll
right out. “No, I am not bored. I have a dog and a cottage and I’m getting
involved with local activities…”
    “Such as? Women’s Institute, that sort of thing? You,
making jam, how wonderful. I’d love to make jam. I tried once