Murder Cuts the Mustard Read online

  Books by Jessica Ellicott

  MURDER IN AN ENGLISH VILLAGE

  MURDER FLIES THE COOP

  MURDER CUTS THE MUSTARD

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Murder Cuts the Mustard

  Jessica Ellicott

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 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:

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

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1054-3

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: November 2019

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1055-0 (ebook)

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-1055-X (ebook)

  Chapter 1

  Edwina stood with her hand hovering above the door handle of the motorcar.

  “Are you quite certain this is a good idea, Beryl?” she asked.

  “There is no one I would trust more with my prized possession than you,” Beryl said. “Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?” She yanked open the passenger side door and slid across the smooth black leather seat. Edwina reluctantly eased open the driver’s side door and leaned her head inside.

  “I imagine that I could run us into a tree, crumple the bonnet, and permanently incapacitate us both,” Edwina said. Her stomach roiled at the thought of causing an accident. The news would be all over the village by teatime.

  “We are only taking it round the drive, Ed. There is very little trouble you can get us into if we confine your lesson to off the road,” Beryl said, patting the seat beside her encouragingly. “Besides, imagine how smart you will look in a new driving cap.”

  That decided things. There were many things in life Edwina loved, but very near the top of the list was a reason to purchase a fetching new hat. Edwina tipped her head to the side, imagining a trip to the milliner. She hoisted herself gingerly behind the wheel.

  “Now, you remember what we discussed during our practice run?” Beryl asked. “Keep your eyes sharp and both hands on the wheel.”

  “I can’t help but believe there is a good deal more to it than that,” Edwina said.

  Beryl leaned over and patted her arm. “That’s really all you need to think about for your first run round the drive.”

  Edwina nodded and adjusted her perfectly ordinary hat on her head. She grasped the steering wheel with two gloved hands. Within moments, and with only a few choking, sputtering false starts, Edwina managed to start the car and to begin creeping along the drive.

  “I think I might be getting the hang of it,” Edwina said, her voice quivering with excitement.

  “Give it a little more gas,” Beryl said. “Or, as you would say, petrol.” Obediently, Edwina pressed a bit more firmly down upon the accelerator and moved the motorcar along the drive at a speed approximating that of a pedestrian stroll.

  “How’s this?” Edwina asked.

  “You need to give it more gas, or it’s going to stall out,” Beryl said.

  Edwina most assuredly did not want to go through the ordeal of getting the motorcar started up again. She stomped on the accelerator, and the car lurched forward violently. Beryl began shouting something about the clutch and perhaps the gearbox, but Edwina’s attention was firmly fixed on a red squirrel that had appeared in the drive a few feet in front of her.

  She felt her normally impeccable posture stiffen to a painful degree. Her head and neck seemed to have lost the ability to turn. The animal stopped and stood stock-still in the middle of the drive then reared up on its hind legs to face her. She wrenched the wheel and swerved away from the creature, careening the motorcar off the drive and into a handsome stand of beeches, for which her house was named.

  The motorcar shuddered to a stop. Edwina heard a hissing noise issuing forth from somewhere under the bonnet. Through clouds of steam she watched as the squirrel raced up the side of one of the beeches and paused halfway up to chatter a vehement scolding at her. She could not bring herself to face Beryl.

  She knew she had not been ready to drive any motorcar and had been even less prepared to learn on Beryl’s pride and joy. She had suggested that if learning to drive were really so important, she ought to take lessons from the driving instructor at the local garage, but Beryl had insisted on providing both the vehicle and the lessons herself.

  “As first lessons go, I think you did rather well,” Beryl said.

  “How can you say that?” Edwina asked. “Your motorcar is ruined.” She turned with a heavy heart to face her friend. Beryl simply shook her head and waved one of her hands dismissively.

  “I did far more damage to it crashing into the pillar at the end of the drive the day I first arrived at the Beeches last autumn. If necessary the Blackburns will have it put to rights,” Beryl said.

  Edwina had no desire for news of her reckless driving to make the rounds in the village. While she wished Michael and Norah Blackburn every success with their garage and driving school business, she did not relish the notion of serving as an example of why it was unwise to attempt to learn the art of motoring without their assistance.

  “Must we tell them how the damage occurred?” Edwina asked. She valued honesty as much as the next person, but there were times when it did not seem necessary to tell all one knew. And Beryl was always willing to stretch the truth if it pleased her to do so.

  “We shall say that urgent business called me into the house and I forgot to set the hand brake, which caused the old bus to roll into the trees whilst my back was turned,” Beryl said magnanimously. “Why don’t you head back into the house and fix yourself a cup of tea. I’ll check the old bus over and join you soon.”

  Edwina nodded and extracted herself from behind the wheel. As relieved as she was to follow Beryl’s suggestion, she could not help but feel her friend had hurried her away. She couldn’t help but wonder if Beryl was more distressed than she wished to appear. Despite her misgivings, she hurried as quickly as her quaking legs would carry her to the back door le
ading into the scullery.

  * * *

  Beryl scrambled out of the automobile and held her breath as Edwina made a beeline for the house. After assuring that her automobile had sustained no real damage, she allowed herself to turn her full attention to the potting shed situated at the edge of the garden. Just before Edwina had yanked on the wheel, Beryl had unexpectedly spotted a figure through the shed’s window. Mercifully, Edwina had been far too concerned with preserving the local wildlife to notice any irregularities herself.

  The door of the shed opened, and Edwina’s disreputable and elderly jobbing gardener emerged. It was not one of his scheduled days to tend out on the Beeches. Simpkins, a man never interested in doing more work than he could absolutely get away with, was unlikely to be at his place of employment for any wholesome reason.

  Unless her eyes were deceiving her, it appeared that not only was Simpkins at the Beeches on the wrong date, but he was swathed in altogether the wrong sort of gear for the job. Beryl cast a glance over her shoulder, and after assuring herself that Edwina was not looking out the window, she took a few steps in his direction. Even at a distance there was no doubt about it. The man was clad in a dressing gown. She did not want to entertain a guess as to what purpose had urged him to wander out of sight around the back of the shed.

  As far as she was concerned, Edwina was altogether too inclined to be hard on Simpkins. While she loved her friend, she knew that Edwina struggled with class consciousness and the role a gardener was expected to play. Simpkins seemed to delight in thwarting his employer at every possible turn. He appeared at mealtimes, eager to stick his hobnailed boots beneath her dining room table. He disagreed with her on the subject of all gardening matters, and he made a habit of interrupting when guests came to call. All in all, their relationship was a contentious one.

  Beryl, on the other hand, found Simpkins to be a tonic. They shared a love of all manner of racing, card games, and high-proof spirits. He had even been instrumental in helping them to set up in business and in solving their first cases. She had done all that was in her power to shield Simpkins from Edwina’s wrath whenever possible. Beryl was not eager for him to be dismissed for appearing in the garden in a state of undress.

  There was only one thing for it. She would have to inform Simpkins that he had been discovered and encourage him to make himself scarce. Then she would make sure to keep Edwina occupied at the front side of the house whilst he did so. She crossed the lawn and met the elderly man as he made his way back to the front of the shed. He gave her a gap-toothed grin and raised a gnarled paw in the direction of the automobile.

  “I knew you shouldn’t have insisted on teaching Miss Edwina to drive,” he said. “With you as her instructor, it was bound to end in tears.”

  “So is your history of employment with her if she finds you lurking about the property, not as dressed as you ought to be,” Beryl said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. If there was one person in the world she felt qualified to speak on the finer points of piloting any form of conveyance, it was she. After all, Beryl was a celebrated adventuress who held a number of both land-speed and airspeed records. Simpkins’s assertion was preposterous. “If you do not wish to explain what you are doing here on your day off, wearing nothing but a bathrobe, you had best do a flit.”

  “I was just on my way to the pub, anyway. I expect you plan to be there yourself, don’t you?” he asked, casting a glance towards the house.

  “I wouldn’t miss it. Why don’t you hurry on ahead and save me a seat. As soon as I make sure Edwina has suffered no lasting effects from our adventure, I will join you.”

  “I’ll have them put the first round on your tab,” Simpkins said with a wink before slipping back into the shed.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you will be all right if I leave you on your own?” Beryl asked. “I’ll be gone for some time.”

  “I will be fine. Although, I’m still not sure it’s quite nice for you to spend the afternoon at the pub,” Edwina said.

  “Nonsense,” Beryl said. “Think of it not so much as spending time at the pub as participating in what will prove to be a historic event.”

  “And how do you figure that?” Edwina asked.

  Edwina was not one for the pub. In fact, Beryl had just barely introduced her to the value of strong drink in the face of a crisis. She was pleased to see that her friend had proven an apt pupil on the subject of gin fizzes. But gin fizzes or no gin fizzes, Edwina was not willing to hobnob with the locals in the pub. She much preferred to imbibe in the privacy of her own home or that of those she considered her equals.

  “It’s the first time the results of the Derby Stakes are being broadcast on the wireless,” Beryl said. “Even you have to admit that that’s quite an extraordinary event and worthy of attendance.”

  Edwina picked up her knitting from the side table next to her favourite spot on the sofa in the parlour. Beryl marveled at the amount of knitted output Edwina could produce in any given week. For a woman with only one pair of hands, one pair of feet, and one head, she seemed to be constantly creating hats, mittens, and socks for someone. Beryl squinted at the soft woolly item emerging on Edwina’s rapidly clicking needles. It appeared to be some sort of tiny pair of trousers. Beryl could not imagine spending her time in such a way.

  “I prefer the wireless to be used for more wholesome pursuits, like the agricultural report or the upcoming weather,” Edwina said. “I shudder to think what Marconi would think of his magnificent invention being used for such unsavory purposes.”

  “Having met Mr. Marconi, I assure you he would most definitely approve,” Beryl said. Her travels had taken her far and wide, and she had met many interesting and famous people along the way. She didn’t usually like to boast, but occasionally, she could not resist needling Edwina ever so slightly. After all, her friend was as interested as the next person in celebrities, even if she was loath to admit it.

  “I expect there will be no changing your mind,” Edwina said.

  “None whatsoever. Are you quite certain you won’t join me?” Beryl asked.

  Edwina looked up from her hands and gave Beryl a withering glance. “Driving around the grounds earlier was quite enough excitement for me for one day,” Edwina said. “I’m quite sure an outing to the pub to get the latest on a horse race would be the end of me. It would certainly be the end of my reputation.”

  “Suit yourself. But you will be glad I went if I find out that I won,” Beryl said. “I rather hope the wager that I laid brings in a tidy sum.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in races in which you are not a contestant,” Edwina said. “Besides, can’t you listen to the results of the race here?” Edwina pointed her empty knitting needle at the new wireless set Beryl had purchased from the winnings of her last bet. Edwina conveniently forgot about how strenuously she disapproved of gambling when it came time to listen to something on the wireless.

  “It’s just a very small flutter,” Beryl said. “Besides, I want to keep my hand in with Chester White. You never know when a bookie’s information will come in handy.”

  With that, Beryl headed out of the parlour and along the corridor. As she picked up her handbag from the hall table, she was quite certain she heard the opening music to one of Edwina’s own secret vices. Despite her genteel exterior and vigorous protestations to the contrary, Edwina possessed a thirst for adventure, at least so far as it extended to the realm of fiction. Many was the time Beryl had paused at the door to the parlour and eavesdropped on Edwina as she sat close by to the wireless set, listening to lurid radio programs. She smiled to herself as she let herself out the door and closed it behind her a little more loudly than was absolutely necessary. Why should Edwina not enjoy herself too?

  * * *

  Beryl pushed open the door of the Dove and Duck and looked around. The pub was unusually busy, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Beryl squeezed through the crowd, not an easy thing to do wit
h a figure as statuesque as her own, and stepped up to the bar. Bill Nevins, the publican and a somber man with a mustache like a push broom, gave her the nod and asked for her order.

  “A largish whisky, please, Bill,” Beryl said as she glanced about, looking to see if her favourite table was available. She was not at all surprised to see Simpkins in possession of it. He could frequently be found at the pub and had taken to occupying the table she preferred. Beryl was not sure if he liked being seen with a celebrity or if he thought her a soft touch where paying for drinks was concerned. It was even possible he enjoyed her company as much as she did his.

  She hoped to catch his eye to offer him another round, but his head was tipped towards another man, who was also seated at the table. The second man was significantly younger, with dark hair and a slightly disheveled appearance. Even from a distance, the conversation between the two did not look to be a pleasant one. She called for the publican again and ordered a second whisky for Simpkins. She could not imagine the old reprobate would deign to refuse it.

  Bill nodded, poured out a generous measure, and slid the glasses along the bar without a word. If Beryl had to guess, she would say the popularity of the Dove and Duck had a great deal to do with the owner’s ability to keep quiet about all that he saw. In the months she’d spent in Walmsley Parva, she’d barely heard more than a sentence at a time pass the man’s lips. Although it was possible he had a great deal to say but that the sound of his voice rarely made it past the barrier of his facial hair.

  She started a tab and made her way towards a table near the edge of the room. Beryl always liked to sit where she could keep her back to the wall and her eye on the exit. One never knew when hostilities would break out in an unfamiliar environment. Not that the pub was unfamiliar, mind you, but it was a habit of long practice, and she did not feel comfortable giving it up.