The Corpse's Tale (Trevor Joseph Detective series) by Katherine John

C H A P T E R O N E
     
    ‘H ERE ’ S TO A NNA H ARRIS . The next Catherine Zeta Jones to head for Hollywood from Wales.’ Bob Evans, the richest farmer in Llan, lifted his glass to an eye-catching blue-eyed blonde. Anna was sitting, surrounded by women at a corner table in the bar of the Angel Inn.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Evans.’ Anna lifted her glass in return and every customer in the bar did the same. ‘But I have three years in Drama School before I can think of Hollywood.’
    ‘ You’ll get there, love.’ Rita James, the l a n d l o r d ’s wife, bustled over and collected empty glasses from Anna’s table. ‘I was only saying the other day, Anna’s too pretty and talented to live out her life in a small village like Llan.’
    ‘You deserve your scholarship, Anna,’ Judy Oliver, the vicar’s wife, agreed. ‘Although I don’t know what I’m going to do for a leading lady in the dramatic society after September.’
    ‘Slap more greasepaint on the older members,’ her sister-in-law Angela George, a police officer’s wife, quipped. ‘That’s a stunning watch, Anna. It’s like yours isn’t it,
    Judy?’
    ‘Similar,’ Judy agreed.
    ‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’ Anna held out her hand so they could admire the gold and diamond bracelet watch.
    ‘Birthday present?’ Angela asked.
    Anna winked. ‘From a secret admirer.’
    ‘Say no more. I don’t like romantic stories – they make me realize what I’m missing.’ Rita carried the glasses into the kitchen where her plump, middle-aged husband, Tyrone, was refilling the ice bucket.
    ‘Bob Evans is a dirty old man.’ Rita dumped the tray on the draining board. ‘He watches every move Anna Harris makes.’
    ‘As does every man around here, love.’ Tyrone shook more cubes into the bucket. ‘There’s no harm in looking. Anna’s pretty enough to set any man’s hormones raging, even one on the brink of the grave.’
    ‘Which Bob Evans soon will be, if he carries on drinking at the rate he is.’
    ‘Be glad he decided to spend his retirement here. Half our weekly profits are down to him.’
    ‘Anna Harris is young enough to be his granddaughter.’
    ‘And she’ll be gone from here for good in a couple of weeks, more’s the pity.’ Ty r o n e returned to the bar.
    Anna finished her drink and draped her shawl around her shoulders.
    ‘You’re not going? I was just about to get in another round,’ Angela complained.
    ‘My parents are away at an antiques fair. I promised I’d open the shop in the morning.’
    ‘Let’s hope the fine weather brings out the tourists. The church fund could do with a boost.’ Judy set up a stall every Saturday outside the church gate and sold honey and donated local produce to raise money.
    ‘So could the shop. The more money Dad makes, the more generous he’ll be to his poor student daughter. Goodnight everyone.’
    Before Anna closed the door she heard Bob Evans say, ‘Nice girl, that one. Got a kind word for everyone.’
    She shuddered. She’d never liked Bob Evans. Even as a little girl she’d felt he was mentally undressing her.
    She walked through the car park. The night air was warm, still and scented with roses and lavender. Lights shone in the rows of cottages and shops that bordered the road, but the village square was deserted. The medieval market place was shrouded in darkness beneath its slate roof. She loved Llan, its picture-postcard prettiness and friendly neighbourliness. She’d been fortunate to have been born and brought up in the place but it was time to move on. July was almost over; another month and she’d be living a new life in a city. If she was successful, she’d never spend another summer here.
    Laughter from the Angel echoed behind her when she crossed the road. She rubbed a smudge from the corner of the glass in front of the church notice board and saw her mirrored reflection. Her long blonde hair shimmered silver in the moonlight and her pastel calf-length frock floated lightly