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- Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Countryside Mysteries: A Cosy Shorts Series
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
The picturesque Cotswolds village of Bunburry has been rocked by a series of burglaries, with dark suspicions over who is responsible. A discovery at the scene of the crime in the home of Bunburry’s favourite senior citizens, Liz and Marge, leads amateur sleuth Alfie to fear the worst. He decides that this time, the matter should be left to the proper authorities. But with Constable Emma Hollis on sick leave, and Sergeant Harold Wilson as work-shy as ever, some of the villagers have other ideas...
Helena Marchmont is a pseudonym of Olga Wojtas, who was born and brought up in Edinburgh. She was encouraged to write by an inspirational English teacher, Iona M. Cameron. Olga won a Scottish Book Trust New Writers Award in 2015 and recently published her second book in the Miss Blaine mystery series.
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Seitenzahl: 161
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Contents
Bunburry – A Cosy Mystery Series
Miss Marple meets Oscar Wilde in this new series of cosy mysteries set in the picturesque Cotswolds village of Bunburry. In “Murderous Ride,” the second Bunburry book, Alfie discovers that he has not only inherited a cottage from his late Aunt Augusta but also a 1950s Jaguar. He is dismayed: for reasons of his own, he no longer drives. Aunt Augusta’s best friends, Liz and Marge, persuade him to get behind the wheel again – but that’s just the start of his troubles.
About the Book
The picturesque Cotswolds village of Bunburry has been rocked by a series of burglaries, with dark suspicions over who is responsible. A discovery at the scene of the crime in the home of Bunburry's favourite senior citizens, Liz and Marge, leads amateur sleuth Alfie to fear the worst. He decides that this time, the matter should be left to the proper authorities. But with Constable Emma Hollis on sick leave, and Sergeant Harold Wilson as work-shy as ever, some of the villagers have other ideas ...
The Author
Helena Marchmont is a pseudonym of Olga Wojtas, who was born and brought up in Edinburgh. She was encouraged to write by an inspirational English teacher, Iona M. Cameron. Olga won a Scottish Book Trust New Writers Award in 2015, has had more than 30 short stories published in magazines and anthologies and recently published her first mystery Miss Blaine’s Prefect and the Golden Samovar.
Cast
Alfie McAlister flees the hustle and bustle of London for the peace and quiet of the Cotswolds. Unfortunately, the “heart of England” turns out to be deadlier than expected …
Margaret “Marge” Redwood and Clarissa “Liz” Hopkins have lived in Bunburry their entire lives, where they are famous for their exceptional fudge-making skills. Between Afternoon Tea and Gin o’clock they relish a bit of sleuthing …
Emma Hollis loves her job as policewoman, the only thing she is tired of are her aunt Liz’s constant attempts at matchmaking.
Betty Thorndike is a fighter. Mostly for animal rights. She’s the sole member of Bunburry’s Green Party.
Oscar de Linnet lives in London and is Alfie’s best friend. He tries luring Alfie back to the City because: “anybody can be good in the country. There are no temptations there.”
Augusta Lytton is Alfie’s aunt. She’s dead. But still full of surprises …
Harold Wilson loves a pint (or two) more than his job as local police sergeant.
BUNBURRY is a picturesque Cotswolds village, where sinister secrets lurk beneath the perfect façade …
HELENA MARCHMONT
When Night falls
“Questions are never indiscreet - answers sometimes are.”
Oscar Wilde
1. Laura Hollis
It was a beautiful day in the Cotswolds. The honey-coloured stone of the cottages glowed in the sunshine, and the occasional scudding cloud sent a patch of dark green across the hills beyond Bunburry.
But Laura Hollis didn’t pause to admire her surroundings as she made her way through the cobbled streets of the village. She had too many bad memories of the place. She had left Bunburry more than three years ago, and had only come back because of the emergency. She was used to the anonymity of Birmingham now, and it was a shock to return and find she was public property.
Everyone she met wanted to know where she’d been, and what she’d been doing. She mumbled about working in one of the Birmingham hospitals, and they all nodded approvingly and said how useful that was under the circumstances. She didn’t tell them she was just an administrator.
Dorothy from the post office, never known for her tact, said: “It’s taken you long enough to come back. Your great-aunt isn’t getting any younger, you know.”
Dorothy made it sound as though Aunt Liz was on her last legs, but Laura was relieved to find her cuddly, sandy-haired great-aunt was as active as ever, if not more so.
But that first visit had been awkward. It wasn’t Aunt Liz who answered the door of Jasmine Cottage, but her friend Marge, petite and white-haired, peering at Laura accusingly through her oversized spectacles.
“Hello, Aunt Marge,” said Laura tentatively. “It’s lovely to see you.”
Aunt Marge gave a definite snort. “It can’t be that lovely, or you would have come to see me years ago. It’s taken a crisis to get you here.”
She was drawing breath to say more when Aunt Liz appeared behind her, and rushed to fling her arms round Laura, exclaiming in delight.
If anything, Aunt Liz’s effusive welcome made Laura feel worse than Aunt Marge’s reproach. It was like the return of the prodigal, Aunt Liz ushering her into the familiar parlour with its chintz three-piece suite and the china shepherd and shepherdess on the mantelpiece. Laura was given pride of place, tea and scones were fetched, and Aunt Liz didn’t once demand to know what had kept her away all this time.
Of course, Aunt Liz and Aunt Marge didn’t know the real reason why she had left in the first place, although they thought they did. There were only two people in Bunburry who knew the truth. Laura was staying with one of them, and now she was on her way to see the second.
She had reached the edge of the village and headed along the rough track that led to Betty Thorndike’s isolated cottage. She didn’t deserve Aunt Liz and she didn’t deserve Betty. She had been almost relieved when she arrived in Bunburry to find that Betty was away, doing something environmental somewhere. But now she was back, and Laura was bowing to the inevitable.
She reached the cottage and rapped on the scarlet door that seemed to have been freshly painted. The door opened, and for a second, the two women looked at one another hesitantly, almost warily. Then Betty hugged Laura as warmly as Aunt Liz had.
“Come in,” Betty said, her accent still unmistakeably American despite the number of years she had now spent in England. “The kettle’s on.”
Laura followed her into the small parlour and went straight to what used to be her usual place, the cushioned ledge at the window. It was all just as she remembered it: bright rugs on the flagstone tiled floor, folk art on the walls from Betty’s various travels, the small kitchen area at the back of the room.
“You’re looking great,” said Betty, as she set about making the coffee.
“You too,” said Laura, although she thought Betty looked thinner and more drawn. Did Betty see a similar change in her?
“Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,” Betty went on. “I was running some seminars in Manchester on what’s happening to traditional communities in the Amazon rainforest. The industrial logging and burning is terrifying.”
“Yes, Emma said you’d been there. Not Manchester, the Amazon. You’re so brave. It sounds terrifying.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” said Betty easily. “Except I got sick and had to stay until I was well enough to travel.”
That explained the change in her appearance.
“But never mind me,” said Betty, before Laura could ask her anything further. “It’s all good now. How’s the current invalid?”
“A nightmare,” groaned Laura. “Doesn’t understand the concept of taking it easy. And still sees me as her irritating big sister, which means she’s paying absolutely no attention to me. She’s probably taking advantage of my absence to rip off her sling and start weight-lifting.”
Betty laughed, coming over with two coffees. “When you get home, you’ll probably find Constable Hollis back on the beat.”
“She’s got to have a lot more physio before they’ll even consider letting her back to desk duties,” said Laura.
Betty sat down on a balance ball, the only other available seat, her expression serious now. “That’s rough. I can’t imagine what it was like for you when you heard. Bringing it all back about your dad.”
Laura wondered why she had ever been apprehensive about meeting Betty after all this time. Her friend was the same as she’d always been, understanding, sensitive.
“It was a shock,” she admitted. “Even though Aunt Liz assured me Emma was out of danger, just hearing that she’d been stabbed when she was trying to arrest someone was-” She stopped abruptly. “I can’t talk to Aunt Liz about it because it would upset her too much. But you understand. I’m sorry.”
Betty frowned. “Sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry for the way I behaved. You warned me about James Fry, told me he was no good for me, and I just wouldn’t listen. I was horrible to you.”
“All forgotten,” said Betty.
“Not by me,” said Laura. “And then afterwards – you were so supportive, and I just ran away. I was so ashamed of myself. I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your texts. I just couldn’t.”
Betty set down her mug and came to sit beside her, putting her arm round her shoulders.
“Then it’s good that you didn’t,” she said. “You’re here now, and that’s good too.”
Laura took a deep breath. “When I got to Birmingham, I had what they called an episode. A total meltdown. I ended up in hospital. They were so kind to me. Once I got better, I wanted to give something back, so I work there now. They’re still kind to me – they’ve let me take unpaid leave so that I can look after Emma.”
“Oh, honey,” said Betty. “You’re the one who’s brave, not me.”
“Don’t talk rubbish,” said Laura shakily.
Betty got to her feet, smiling. “I forgot about your stiff upper lip. You Brits don’t do feelings, do you?”
Laura found herself smiling too. Betty had lightened the mood by reverting to the banter they used to have before everything went wrong.
“Better being a buttoned-up Brit than a Yank like you, overemotional, oversharing and over here,” she retorted as Betty resumed her seat on the balance ball. “I’m surprised you haven’t told me about your boyfriend yet.”
“What?” Betty looked startled.
“No need to play the innocent. Edith told me all about you and Alfie McAlister.”
Betty shook her head impatiently. “That woman. She never gives up. I can assure you that Alfie McAlister is not my boyfriend.” She paused briefly. “Maybe I once thought it might work out, but no, that ship has sailed.”
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Laura.
Betty pondered this. “Nothing,” she said eventually. “We just weren’t right for one another. But he’s one of the good guys.”
“Yes, he seems to be,” said Laura. “I’ve met him a couple of times in the pub. So, if he’s not your boyfriend, is he unattached?”
Betty gave a slanting smile. “I think you should ask your sister. After all, she’s the one who’s engaged to him.”
*
Edith Simmons, mother of the landlord of The Drunken Horse Inn, put down the glass she had been polishing.
“Alfie McAlister and Emma Hollis engaged? First I’ve heard of it.”
“The first I heard of it was from Old Tom, a couple of hours ago,” said Dorothy from the post office. She noted Edith’s frown and added: “I came here as fast as I could. I had post to deliver. Including-” she lowered her voice. “-to Betty Thorndike.”
“Oh dear,” said Edith in the same tone, leaning forward across the bar. “How did she take the news?”
“Not a flicker. Just said, ‘Good to know,’ took the letter, and closed the door on me.”
“That’s all she said? ‘Good to know’?” Edith shook her head. “When it must have been the worst possible news for her. Putting on a brave face while inside, her heart was breaking.”
She began polishing the glass again. “I have to say, I’m very disappointed not to have heard the news from Liz.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know,” said Dorothy. “It could be one of those secret engagements.”
“It’s not very secret if Old Tom knows about it,” said Edith. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll ring Liz up to congratulate her on her great-niece’s engagement, see how she explains herself then.”
“Good idea,” said Dorothy. “Anyway, I should go to the beauty salon next. I haven’t actually got a delivery for Debbie, but I’ve always thought she had a bit of a fancy for Alfie.”
“Quite right,” said Edith. “It’s not fair to let her have false hope.”
*
Miss Radford-Jones, who had generously turned over part of her palatial mansion to be Bunburry’s community library, gave a smile of approval.
“I must say, that’s pleasant news. Constable Hollis is quite a bit younger than Mr McAlister, but she’s got a sensible head on her shoulders.”
There was no answering smile from Gwendolyn, the community librarian, who was relaying the news she had just heard from Ms Chesney. But then Gwendolyn was a Goth, and not inclined to smile.
*
“Hello, Tom,” called the Reverend Philip Brown, passing the garden of one of his older parishioners. “Fine day.”
The elderly man looked up from his pruning. “It certainly is, Vicar. Have they set a date for the wedding yet?”
“Who’s that, Tom?”
“Alfie McAlister and young Emma.”
“Good gracious, I had no idea they were even going out together. You think they’re engaged?”
“I know it,” said Old Tom with satisfaction. “I was at the hospital for a check-up yesterday – got a clean bill of health, I’m glad to say – and the nurses were all asking about them. Said what a lovely couple they make. If you ask me, he proposed when he saw her so close to death, and that’s what revived her.”
“I don’t think she was close to death, Tom,” said the vicar mildly. “Just a serious shoulder injury.”
Old Tom looked at him with pity. “Your trouble, Vicar, if you don’t mind me saying, is that being a man of God, you’ve got no romance in your soul.”
2. An Explanation
Alfie was enjoying a leisurely coffee on his new patio when his mobile rang.
“Morning, Marge. What can I do for you?”
“You can get yourself round here right now. Liz is busy with a fudge order, but I can’t keep her locked in the kitchen for ever.”
Alfie wasn’t sure what Marge was talking about. But he wasn’t unduly concerned since she sounded irritable rather than distressed.
“Sorry, Marge, I’m leaving shortly for my shift at the library. I’ll see you after that.”
“Alfie McAlister. When I say get yourself round here right now, I mean it.”
And with that, the call ended. A definite summons. Alfie checked his watch. If he walked briskly, he could spend a couple of minutes at Jasmine Cottage and still be on time at the library.
*
Marge must have been waiting for him, since she opened the front door as he was climbing up the steps to the sloping garden.
“You took your time,” she greeted him. “Hurry up. Liz is in her kitchen, clearing up.”
Liz’s kitchen, where she made her celebrated fudge, was sacrosanct, so Alfie knew he and Marge could speak privately.
“How can I help?” he asked as she led him into the parlour. “I really do have to get to the library—”
“You’ll stay until you’ve sorted this out,” Marge declared. “It’s all your fault.”
Alfie racked his brain but couldn’t think of anything that qualified as his fault and needed sorting out.
“I’m not following,” he said.
The small birdlike woman glared at him through her oversized spectacles. “I’ve just fielded a call for Liz from Edith. Congratulating her on your engagement to Emma.”
Alfie sat down abruptly on the chintz-covered sofa.
“How-?”
“I’ll tell you how,” said Marge grimly. “Edith heard it from Dorothy from the post office, and Dorothy heard it from Old Tom, and Old Tom heard it from the nurses at the hospital. And by now you can be pretty sure the entire village has heard it. Apart from Liz.”
They heard the kitchen door, and a moment later, Liz joined them, patting down her sandy-coloured hair now that it was free of the industrial hairnet.
“Alfie dear, how lovely to see you,” she said. “What brings you here? Not that you need a reason.”
“He’s got a reason all right,” said Marge. “He’s got something to tell you. Haven’t you, Alfie?”
Alfie nodded but couldn’t think of the right words.
Liz gave him an encouraging smile. “What is it, dear?”
“I…” Alfie began. “That is, I’m afraid I may have been a little economical with the truth.”
Liz sat down on her usual easy chair, while Marge stayed standing, apparently guarding the door in case Alfie made a run for it.
“I’m sure you had your reasons,” said Liz.
“I did,” said Alfie desperately. “It was when Emma was rushed into hospital after being stabbed. I didn’t know what had happened to her, and I wanted to see how she was.”
“Well, of course you did, dear,” said Liz. “It was dreadful enough for me hearing that she’d been injured. And at least by then we knew it was her shoulder and that she wasn’t in danger.”
“Exactly,” agreed Alfie, hoping this meant that Liz would be understanding. “I thought they might not let me see her since I wasn’t a relative, so I told the nurse I was her fiancé.”
He caught the sudden gleam in Liz’s eye. He had long suspected that Liz and Marge had hopes of a romance between him and Liz’s great-niece. What they didn’t seem to understand was that Emma would never be interested in someone like him. She considered him old and staid, and tolerated him; that was all.
“I’m not her fiancé,” he added hastily. “Obviously.”
The gleam faded. “Yes, I see. But I quite understand why you said it, dear, and I think we can call it a little white lie. You really didn’t have to tell me about it, you know.”
“Oh yes he did,” said Marge, her tone grim. “His so-called little white lie went all round the nurses’ station, and now it’s all round the village, thanks to Dorothy. So, the whole place is convinced there’s about to be an engagement party.”
Alfie couldn’t bear Liz’s look of reproach, so much worse than Marge’s exasperation.
“Perhaps you could have a word with Dorothy when you see her,” he said hastily, getting to his feet. “Sorry, I really must get to the library.”
“Don’t think we’re going to do your dirty work for you, my lad,” Marge called after him. “You got yourself into this mess and you can get yourself out.”
*
