The Shooting in the Shop by Simon Brett Page B

wife to keep her occupied
and to stop her nosing into his business. He never
expected to make any money out of it.’
    ‘But is he still loaded? I know he has made a lot of
money at times but—’
    ‘Ricky will never have any money worries. That’s
one thing of which I’m absolutely certain.’ The
woman’s conviction was as strong as Flora Le Bonnier’s
had been on the same subject. ‘He’s just one of
those very blessed, very charismatic people for whom
everything always goes right.’ Her admiration for him
seemed as strong as Flora’s, too.
    ‘Well, whatever did cause the fire,’ said Carole, ‘I’m
sure the police investigations will discover it.’
    ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was a police matter.
There was no criminal involvement. And no one got
hurt.’
    It was Carole’s turn to look incredulous, before the
realization came to her that Anna did not actually know about the death in the inferno of Gallimaufry.
The murder.
    They had now arrived at the top of the beach,
where the straggling grass of the dunes gave way to
the stretch of pavement which was rather grandly
known as ‘the Promenade’. Anna was busying herself
with reattaching the lead to her Black-Watched
Westie. They had nearly reached the parting of the
ways.
    Carole wished desperately she could suggest they
go somewhere for a cup of coffee, but she couldn’t
have chosen a worse time to put that idea into practice.
At eight o’clock on Boxing Day morning there
would be very little open in the entire British Isles,
certainly nothing in Fethering.
    But the Promenade did feature some glass-walled
shelters with rusty metal frames. So terrified was she
of her recurrent image of an elderly person sitting in
one that in normal circumstances Carole kept well
clear of them. But these weren’t normal circumstances.
With uncharacteristic boldness, she took
Anna’s arm and led her to sit down. ‘There’s something
I must tell you. I’m afraid it’s not very good
news.’
    Gulliver had wandered off down to the shoreline.
Perhaps he’d seen the other dog being put back on
its lead and was trying to postpone his own similar
fate. Anna looked a little surprised at being led into
the shelter, but she didn’t say anything. Carole asked
if she had heard any news on the radio or television
the previous couple of days.
    ‘No, I try to avoid the media. It’s all bloody Christmas
stuff, everyone full of bonhomie, comedians
dressed up as Santa Claus. I can’t stand it.’
    Here was further confirmation of the isolation in
which Anna had spent the holiday, but Carole didn’t
comment. She simply passed on the information
about the discovery of Polly’s body in the wreckage of
Gallimaufry, and the subsequent revelation that the
girl had been shot.
    There was no doubting that this was all news to
Anna. She went very white, accentuating the bright
redness of her lipstick, and it was a moment or two
before she could reply. Finally she managed to say,
‘How ghastly.’
    ‘Yes. Did you know Polly?’
    ‘I knew of her. I’ve never met her. Ricky talked
about her sometimes. Did you really say she’d been
shot?’ Carole nodded grimly. ‘Ricky must be in a
terrible state.’ Anna said that almost as though the
thought gave her comfort.
    ‘I don’t know how he’s taking it. My friend Jude –
she’s the one I was in the shop with last week – she’s
spoken to Lola, but that was just when we’d heard
that Polly’s body had been found in the shop. Before
we knew she’d been shot.’
    ‘It’s ghastly,’ Anna repeated, shaking her head as
if she could dislodge the unsettling image of the
murder.
    ‘What’s odd is why Polly came back to Fethering.
Ricky had apparently taken her to Fedborough Station to catch a train back to London. You don’t have any
idea why she might have changed her plans?’
    ‘I told you, Carole, I never met her. All I know is
that Ricky had a child from one