Murder in an English Village Read online

  Murder in an English Village

  Jessica Ellicott

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Jessie Crockett

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2017944856

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1050-5

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: November 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1051-2

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-1051-7

  Kensington Electronic Edition: November 2017

  Acknowledgments

  Every new book is an exercise in faith. It helps to have someone standing nearby, whispering encouraging words in your ear, and allowing you to firmly grip their hand. This book was no exception.

  I’d like to thank my agent, John Talbot, for placing this series in front of the right editor. Thanks goes out to John Scognamiglio for being just such an editor. I’d also like to thank all of the marketing, sales, and art department staff at Kensington for all they do to shepherd a book from the manuscript stage to bookstore shelf.

  Also, I’d like to thank my extraordinary blog mates, The Wicked Cozy Authors: Sherry Harris, Julie Hennrikus, Edith Maxwell, Liz Mugavero, and Barbara Ross. It would hardly seem worth doing without all of you to share the journey!

  I’m exceedingly lucky to be surrounded by a supportive family. I’d like to thank my sisters, Barb Shaffer and Larissa Crockett, and my mother, Sandy Crockett, for their support and patience when I never seem to answer the phone. My children, Will, Max, Theo, and Ari have all unflaggingly cheered me on during this project. Thanks, guys!

  My last thank you goes out to my husband, Elias Estevao, who believed in my writing long before I ever did.

  Chapter 1

  Beryl Helliwell read the advertisement for a third time, not quite believing her good fortune.

  Well-bred lady with spacious home seeks genteel lodger. Reasonable rates. Breakfast and tea included. Kindly direct enquiries in care of Miss Edwina Davenport, The Beeches, Walmsley Parva.

  The sign she’d been seeking stared up at her from the evening edition of the newspaper. Beryl circled the advertisement with her fountain pen and sat back to consider. Winter was fast approaching and she had no desire whatsoever to return to America just in time for the cold and the damp.

  To the casual acquaintance Beryl appeared a good ten years younger than her age, an admirable state of affairs she attributed to a love of quality gin and an adamant refusal to bear children to any of her ex-husbands. Despite her appearance, the cold had started to fiddle with her joints. Add to the weather the fact that the recently enacted Prohibition was putting a crimp on the supply of quality gin. No, remaining in England was by far the best choice. And now she knew just where she would like to stay.

  Beryl hadn’t felt so alive in weeks. With little fuss and even less time she settled her bill and determined to set out at first light. Her new automobile, won during a feverish night of card playing the week before, sat tucked up in a garage behind the hotel and would likely be itching for a run out to the country. A vehicle like that deserved to be taken out on the open road and run at full tilt.

  The next morning the sun was still deciding if it wanted to get out of bed when Beryl tugged her kid driving gloves up over her broad hands and double-checked that the porter did indeed know how to strap a suitcase to the trunk. Miles of road stretched in front of her and Beryl was determined to be amongst the first to respond to the notice in the paper. As the early morning chill seeped into her joints she was even more determined not to return home to the States for the winter.

  * * *

  Edwina Davenport awoke with a vague sense of disquiet. She lay motionless under her chenille bedspread and ran quickly through the list of worries that plagued her of late, the most pressing of which were financial. She mentally checked off the coal bill, the greengrocer’s account, and the disturbing smell of damp issuing from the back hall. All of these worries were faithful and familiar companions. The source of her unease was not amongst them. She opened her eyes and spotted the peeling chunk of wallpaper along the north wall. Which is how she remembered. Honestly, her memory had become shocking of late.

  The paper. There had been nothing else for it but to swallow her pride and to place the notice in the newspaper. While America’s economy galloped along at a steady clip, that of England was sharply in decline. The post-war boom had busted and Edwina had found herself amongst the many who had felt the pinch.

  Advertising for a lodger was a distressing enough proposition, but the parade of unsuitable people who appeared in front of her and demanded consideration was quite shocking. Why was it so very difficult to attract a tenant with even minimal standards of personal hygiene and a firm grasp of the English language?

  Edwina may have been short on funds but her imagination was a rich one. It had taken very little to convince her the majority of the respondents were up to no good. Those applicants who didn’t shed great clods of earth on her carpets looked like they were sizing up the place for a possible break-in at a later date. Each time she answered the door to another unsuitable applicant she envisioned a web of criminal activity wrapping its sticky string round the village, her own beloved home the centre of the operations. It was times like these Edwina longed for a sister with whom to share her concerns.

  Still, there was no use grieving over what was never to be. That was hardly the way to get things done. Edwina slid from beneath the bedspread and tucked her bony feet into her threadbare carpet slippers. Crumpet darted from his basket and appeared at her side ready for a morning outing and a hearty breakfast. Chiding herself for her late start to the day, she almost tripped over her little dog in her hurry to dress. The evening post had brought a whole new slate of candidates requesting appointments to view her spare room today and she couldn’t very well meet them in her dressing gown.

  She made due with a dish of gherkins and a slightly stale roll left over from tea the day before. Crumpet seemed to look at her askance as he rose up on his hind legs to beg for a bit of her breakfast. But prepar
ing meals never seemed worth the bother. If Edwina were to be utterly truthful she would have to admit she was not only in dire financial straits but also desperately lonely as well. In the secret little room of small dreams tucked deep in her heart she held out hope that the right person would see her advertisement and be the answer to both her most pressing troubles.

  But she didn’t admit such a thing even to herself because that would be greedy. With so many troubles in the world a bit of solitude was nothing to complain about. And while it was bothersome, like the twinge of rheumatism in her left elbow, it was endurable. One simply ignored such things and soldiered on.

  Crumpet pranced eagerly next to the door as she plucked her thick wool jumper from the hall tree and slipped it over her head. She grabbed her gardening gloves and the sturdy old basket she used for weeding, then stuffed a brimmed hat on her head to ward off the chill. She could at least get a few minutes in the garden while the dog had a good romp round the grounds. She wrested the door open, thinking as she always did that its difficulty in opening was another source of concern. Crumpet shot through the door and dashed ahead of her down the drive, a black and white flash through the dense greenery.

  As she made her way down the drive she paused to view the yews flanking either side. Long gone were the days when a head gardener and two boys for the rough work kept the shrubbery in trim. Now Edwina made due with the halfhearted ministrations of an antiquated jobbing gardener named Simpkins as well as her own passionate but insufficient efforts. Shaggy green growth stuck up above the shrubs and gave the hedge a neglected air. If the shrubs could have clucked their collective tongues at her she was certain they would have done so. And she couldn’t very well blame them.

  She pulled her shears from the basket, determined to make amends when she heard the squeal of tires and then a tremendous crash that vibrated up through her feet. She dropped the basket and ran down the drive towards the lane. There, at the end of her driveway sat a dazzling red beauty of a motorcar, its magnificent bonnet crumpled against one of the stone pillars flanking the drive. Her heart lurched as she forced herself to look down at the wheels for signs of black and white fur. Her heart thumped to life again when Crumpet raced towards her from the other side of the road.

  Turning her attention to the motorcar once more she felt her fear returning. Hissing clouds of steam issued forth from beneath the motor’s damaged bonnet. A tall figure slumped in the driver’s seat, its forehead pressed against the steering wheel. Edwina stared at the back of the driver’s head of platinum blond hair peeking from beneath a cloche as red as the motorcar. She knew better than to move a patient without being sure it wouldn’t do more damage than good. She just wasn’t sure how one figured that part out without medical training. Should she run back to the house to use the telephone? What if the woman came to her senses all on her own and wandered off into the hedgerows to die of exposure?

  Before she could decide how to proceed, the driver stirred and groaned ever so slightly. One hand, clad in an elegant glove, reached up and patted the fashionable hat back into place then straightened back against the seat. The woman turned to Edwina and smiled.

  “Hello, Ed. Remember me?”

  Chapter 2

  “Do stop fussing, Ed. I’ve told you I’m fine.” Beryl Helliwell pressed back into the depths of the threadbare wingback and assessed the situation. It was even worse than she had suspected. Shelves in the bric-a-brac cabinets were more empty than full. The velvet draperies were faded and frayed along the edges. Worst of all, the fire in the grate sputtered and fizzed the best it could with only a single log to fuel it. Beryl had feared finances were at the heart of Edwina’s advertisement and now she was sure of it.

  “I’d still feel better if you’d let me send for the doctor.” Edwina leaned forward and her spectacles slid down the bridge of her nose just as they had when she’d been a schoolgirl. Beryl’s heart gave a squeeze at the thought of all the years since then and felt the ennui of the past months slipping away.

  “I’ve no confidence in modern medicine. I’ll only allow you to bring in the village witch with a basket of vile-smelling tinctures and poultices. You must have one of those tucked up round here somewhere.”

  “Honestly, you haven’t changed a bit.” Edwina shook her head. “What are you doing here? According to the papers you were last seen in a hot air balloon over the Kalahari.”

  “You’ve read about me then?”

  “It would be impossible not to with the way news of your exploits have been splashed across every paper in the English-speaking world. But what are you doing here in Walmsley Parva?”

  “The truth is I’m feeling a bit at loose ends.”

  “Loose ends?”

  “Yes. Loose ends.” Beryl wished she had thought of some other reason for her visit than the truth. But now that it was out in the open she might as well continue. “I’m desperate for a change.”

  “From all accounts, you do nothing but change. You’re always dashing from one thing to the next trying your hand at one lark or another.”

  “But that’s just it, you see. I’m all dashed out. I feel a great need of a bit of peace and quiet. A spot of serenity, if you will.” At this, Edwina released a most unladylike snort as she poured a cup of tea for her guest.

  “I would hardly describe your arrival as serene. What does bring you to my little village?”

  “I shouldn’t like it become common knowledge but I feel in desperate need of a rest, Ed.” Beryl took the offered cup of tea, declining a dusty cube of sugar with a firm shake of her head. Beryl paused for dramatic effect and returned her teacup to the table beside her, hoping to give the impression that holding it had become a bit too much for her.

  “I shouldn’t wonder, after what was reported concerning the hot air balloon incident.”

  “That did take it out of me a bit.” Beryl had been sorry to discover the crash landing in the middle of the desert had not delighted her, as it once would undoubtedly have done. Even the handsome Bedouin wielding a curved sword who appeared from nowhere and had cut away the layers of silk collapsed atop her had not set her blood fomenting as usual.

  “At our age I should think it would have.” Edwina whisked a lace-edged handkerchief from inside her cardigan sleeve and gently blew her nose.

  “Age is a state of mind, Ed. Nothing more or less.”

  “I’ve tried telling that to my joints but it doesn’t seem to make the slightest difference.” Edwina sipped at her tea. “Are you telling me you are in Walmsley Parva for a rest cure? There are no sanatoriums here, Beryl. It’s hardly the sort of place that would attract a woman like you.”

  “You’ve put your finger on it exactly, Ed. I am looking for a place with absolutely no excitement whatsoever. I find myself in the odd predicament of being bored by excitement. If you live at a fever pitch for too long even that feels dull.”

  “I’m certain you are pulling my leg.”

  “I’m not. Gallivanting from one end of the globe to the other can be just as monotonous as living one’s whole life in one quiet, out of the way village. After too long, one camel caravan is very much like another. And the tips of daggers are all more alike than you’d think, even when they’re pressed against your neck.”

  “Tips of daggers, indeed.” Edwina put down her cup. “Surely you haven’t had a knife held to your throat even once, let alone enough times for the experience to leave you unimpressed.”

  “Not all places share the same rules of conduct. You’d be surprised at all the ways a body can get itself into trouble. There seems to be quite a mania about women’s hair and having it covered in many parts of the world. I remember a tall man with remarkably white teeth in Damascus kicking up quite a lot of dust about it.”

  “Not many ladies run round hatless in Walmsley Parva either.”

  “Nevertheless, I shall soon adapt.”

  “You don’t mean you intend to stay?”

  “Of course, I do. I’m here about
your ad in the paper. ”

  “I expect it was too much to hope no one I knew would see it,” Edwina said.

  “That seems at odds with the point of an advertisement.”

  “I was rather hoping that no one of my acquaintance would be in need of a place to stay and so would not be reading the rooms to let section.”

  “Well, I need a place to stay until I feel quite like myself again and I am delighted to have discovered your ad. Shall we consider the matter settled?”

  “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have in my home.” Edwina’s cheeks flushed. “All the previous applicants have been entirely unsuitable. Would you believe the vast majority of them have been men?”

  “Any good-looking ones?” Beryl couldn’t resist teasing her old school friend just a bit.

  “That isn’t the point and you know it. I hardly knew where to look when the first one came to the door. And now I can’t show my face in the village. That’s why the larder is so bereft. It’s not just that my budget’s tighter than an old-fashioned corset. It’s that I can’t bring myself to face the flood of rumors. Every time I pop down to the post office or to the greengrocer I’m beset by twittering giggles and cackling whispers. ” Edwina lifted her rumpled handkerchief to her nose and gently honked. Beryl noted the sheen of tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand it was meanspirited gossip.

  “There’s only one way to deal with a mess like this, my friend.”

  “What do you plan to do?” Edwina gulped down the dregs of her tea and rattled the cup back onto the rickety table beside her.

  “A rumor can never truly be quashed. It can only be displaced by an even more interesting one,” Beryl said. “So tell me, who’s the most vicious gossip in the village?”

  * * *