Cherringham - Bad Neighbours E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Cherringham: Mystery Shorts
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 179

Beschreibung

When Brian Foley is charged with the murder of his next-door neighbour, the fastidious Arthur Cranham, it seems the case against the blustering showman is cut and dried: prints, DNA, CCTV footage - there can’t be any doubt. After all - Brian and Arthur have famously been at war for years. But Jack and Sarah are convinced that the police have it wrong. With time running out, can they prove Brian’s innocence and find the real killer?

Set in the sleepy English village of Cherringham, the detective series brings together an unlikely sleuthing duo: English web designer Sarah and American ex-cop Jack. Thrilling and deadly - but with a spot of tea - it's like Rosamunde Pilcher meets Inspector Barnaby. Each of the self-contained episodes is a quick read for the morning commute, while waiting for the doctor, or when curling up with a hot cuppa.

Co-authors Neil Richards (based in the UK) and Matthew Costello (based in the US), have been writing together since the mid-90s, creating innovative content and working on major projects for the BBC, Disney Channel, Sony, ABC, Eidos, and Nintendo to name but a few. Their transatlantic collaboration has underpinned scores of TV drama scripts, computer games, radio shows, and the best-selling mystery series Cherringham. Their latest series project is called Mydworth Mysteries.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

About the Book

Main Characters

Title

1. Party Time

2. Crossed Wires

3. A Visitor

4. The CCTV

5. The Prisoner

6. Amanda Cranham

7. The Other Wife

8. All in the Detail

9. Return to FunLand

10. A Little Chat with Brian

11. Truth Will Out

12. Hot Tub Pressure

13. A Risky Plan

14. Break-in

The Authors

Copyright

Reading Sample TEA? COFFEE? MURDER!

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

“Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series” is a series made up of self-contained stories. The series is published in English as well as in German; and is only available in e-book form.

About the Book

When Brian Foley is charged with the murder of his next-door neighbour, the fastidious Arthur Cranham, it seems the case against the blustering showman is cut and dried: prints, DNA, CCTV footage — there can’t be any doubt. After all — Brian and Arthur have famously been at war for years. But Jack and Sarah are convinced that the police have it wrong. With time running out, can they prove Brian’s innocence and find the real killer?

Main Characters

Jack Brennan is a former NYPD homicide detective who lost his wife a few years ago. Being retired, all he wants is peace and quiet. Which is what he hopes to find in the quiet town of Cherringham, UK. Living on a canal boat, he enjoys his solitude. But soon enough he discovers that something is missing — the challenge of solving crimes. Surprisingly, Cherringham can help him with that.

Sarah Edwards is a web designer who was living in London with her husband and two kids. Before the series starts, he ran off with his sexy American boss, and Sarah’s world fell apart. With her children she moved back to her home town, laid-back Cherringham. But the small-town atmosphere is killing her all over again — nothing ever happens. At least, that’s what she thinks until Jack enters her life and changes it for good or worse …

Matthew CostelloNeil Richards

CHERRINGHAM

A COSY CRIME SERIES

Bad Neighbours

1. Party Time

Arthur Cranham stepped off his immaculate lawn, carefully pushed through the disciplined ranks of red and pink hollyhocks (what a fine show this year!), and pressed his face against the tall wooden fence.

A small knot-hole in the wood allowed a limited view of his neighbour’s garden, and now he peered through with one eye, trying to get a glimpse of what the hell Brian Foley was up to this time.

All morning he’d heard Foley and his wife — hidden by this tall fence and a high hedge — going back and forth, out to their garden, back inside. And then there’d been a non-stop procession of delivery drivers, banging on doors, ringing bells.

Followed by the tell-tale clink of bottles and glasses. And now there were even more voices.

“To me, to me! Over this way! Okay. Now down a bit your side! Steady now, steady …”

Something was going on — but what?

Arthur pressed his eye even tighter to the tiny hole, looking left down the garden towards the little orchard of fruit trees, then right towards the Foley’s showy glass kitchen extension — and then he saw it, shuffling towards him!

A grotesque garden bar being manhandled into place by two burly workmen! A monstrously tasteless thing with a plastic straw roof and a glittery front — the words “Tiki Time!” emblazoned on a picture of Hawaiian dancing girls.

What a revolting thing to see, right there! And then … the realisation …

Oh God, no. They’re having a party!

He pulled back from the fence, carefully rearranging the hollyhocks in front of the knot-hole, then stepped back onto the pristine lawn, and hurried towards his house.

*

“A party!” said Arthur, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching his wife Amanda stirring a concoction on the stove. “And today of all days!”

“What? But Arthur, we didn’t have anything planned today, did we?” said Amanda, turning to him. “So, a party’s not going to ruin anything—”

“Oh, yes, it is!” said Arthur. “Today is going to be sunny — the first proper summer’s day! Why, we could even eat out on the terrace: some real family time, nice chilled glass of Chablis …”

“But Arthur, you always say you don’t like eating out on the terrace, the mosquitoes—”

“That’s beside the point, dammit,” said Arthur. “You’re missing the real point here. They’ve given us absolutely no warning, and, from what I’ve seen, it’s going to be dreadful. Tacky! Loud. A true horror coming from that lot!”

“Well, I’m sure it won’t be that loud, just a party after all. And they do have every right to—”

But Arthur shook his head in despair — his wife did not understand at all, as usual! Anyway, he wasn’t interested in listening to Amanda’s opinion about any of this. He turned and headed for the stairs.

“Soup will be ready in a minute,” he heard Amanda call after him. “Tell Olli, will you?”

But Arthur didn’t reply, as he hurried up the stairs. Soup? he thought. That concoction smells more like she’s boiling dishcloths.

He strode into Amanda’s room and went round the double bed and straight to the windows. Ah yes! From here he had a good view of their own garden, but also an angled glimpse of the Foleys’.

He paused for a moment, reflecting on the perfectly mown lines of his own lawn, the crisp edges to the borders, the newly painted shed, the cluster of precious rose bushes — his pride and joy.

All old varieties — damask, gallica, alba — and this year for the first time — in glorious bloom! Their scents so rich and heady, so … traditional.

Splendid, he thought, splendid.

Then he peered across the fence and the hedge to what passed for the Foley’s garden.

Yes, there it was! What an eyesore! The Hawaiian bar halfway down the garden! Shoved up against the sprawling hedge on a patch of dirt-brown grass that, Arthur knew, was usually occupied with an old football goal. Lawn be damned!

Not that the Foleys had young children to play in it.

Oh, no, this was just for Brian Foley and his bovine pals to whack footballs into on a Sunday afternoon — their beer-guts spilling out over the belts of their jeans, bottles in hand.

Arthur stood on tiptoe, pulling himself up against the window sill. And now — more carnival nonsense! — he could see strings of party lights running along Foley’s hedge on both sides and in the fruit trees. And as he watched, the workmen dragged a massive box up the garden towards the house.

What monstrous device is in there? thought Arthur, for the moment stumped. But no matter how much he stretched, he couldn’t see.

He headed out of the bedroom and tapped on his son’s bedroom door.

“Olli?” he said. Then without waiting for an answer, he stepped inside.

The curtains were still tightly drawn — but he could see Olli in his boxers sitting at the computer, headphones on, the glow from two large screens lighting the room.

“Dad! You mind not just bursting in?” said Olli, quickly turning off one of the screens and spinning round.

Just as well I didn’t catch what horrors were on there, thought Arthur, as Olli swivelled back to his keyboard.

On the remaining screen, Arthur watched for a few seconds as Olli’s virtual machine gun strafed a battle-scarred pill-box, enemy soldiers dying dramatically as he raked the battlefield with merciless fire.

Arthur briefly imagined himself, heavily armed, storming the Foley redoubt next door, hurling hand grenades, Foley surrendering, hands held high …

“One o’clock,” he said, striding past Olli towards the windows. “Lunch is ready and it’s a glorious summer’s day — not that you’d know in this pit!”

He pulled the curtains open and the bright sunshine spilled in — revealing piles of clothes, magazines, games strewn across the floor.

But Arthur wasn’t interested in those. He kicked some pants out of the way and stepped up to the glass. Better view of the neighbours’ garden from here, that was for sure.

Down below, on the broad patio deck, next to the Foley’s barbeque and swing seat, Arthur could see the workmen laying out the contents of the crate.

And supervising — of course! — was Brian Foley himself, in pink shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, that ever-present beer in hand.

“Oh no,” said Arthur to himself, shaking his head. “Surely not.”

“What’s the problem now?” said Olli, headphones tipped off one ear but still engrossed in his game, not turning.

“The problem?” said Arthur, turning to him. “I’ll tell you what the problem is, lad. Brian Foley’s got himself a hot tub!”

“Cool,” said Olli.

“What? No! Not cool!”

“See if you can get an invite.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to the window, peering down at his neighbour.

He saw Brian Foley look straight up at him, raise his beer and grin. Then he turned towards the house and shouted something. Jennifer Foley now emerged: shorts and bikini top, flip-flops.

She grinned at Arthur and gave him a wave. Brian nudged the workmen and they looked up and laughed too.

Arthur stepped back from the window quickly. This “joke” … clearly on him!

“Idiots,” he said. Then he walked out of the room past Olli, saying as he left, “Like I said, lunch is ready. Bit of respect for your mother’s cooking wouldn’t go amiss.”

*

Brian Foley worked his way through the partying crowd, garden disco lights flashing: a bottle of bubbly in each hand, topping up glasses as they were proffered to him.

“Livin’ la vida loca!” he shouted, as everyone jumped up and down to the chorus. So, the music was loud — who cared? This lot were having fun and the DJ was rocking the place!

Finally he reached the deck at the back of the house — party lights all lovely colours in the evening light. Time to check the hot tub again — got to have it tip-top for later!

He slid back the lid and checked the water temperature, then picked up the remote and turned on the bubbles. The tub whizzed and gurgled.

Awesome!

Lid back on, he walked round the hot tub, making sure the skin was tight, properly inflated, all ship-shape.

The MegaBubble Pro — one of his top models, used to sell like hot cakes before … well, before everything.

First time he’d tried one out at home, but he reckoned it would be just the job: room for eight to sit comfortably, 200-gallon capacity, cocktail shelves in each corner, three bubble levels and a wireless controller.

Very cool!

“Looking forward to some hot stuff later?” came a familiar voice behind him. He turned to see Chayleen, amazing in a grass skirt, a ruby in her belly button, her long blonde hair doing a bit of a teasing number as it flowed over her bikini top.

Instinctively he glanced around to see if his wife was there, but he couldn’t see her.

“Sorry darling,” said Brian, giving her a wink. “’Fraid the tub’s VIP invites only.”

“Oooh, what does a girl have to do to get one of those, then?” said Chayleen, sucking on the straw of her mai tai.

“Just keep doing what she’s doing,” said Brian grinning, stepping past her on the deck, his hand trailing so it just — for a moment — caught hers. He gave it a quick squeeze.

“Later it is, then,” said Chayleen, plucking the pineapple chunk from the umbrella in her drink and stepping down to join the dancing, heaving throng.

Brian watched her go, that Hawaiian skirt … mesmerising.

Then he turned to take in his packed garden. Must be fifty people at least! he thought, most of them in Hawaiian outfits, grass skirts, the lot!

Not a bad turnout, considering he and Jennifer had only moved to Cherringham a couple of years ago.

But hey … everyone knows that Brian Foley — the proprietor of FunLand — throws a good birthday bash!

Right at the end of the garden by his apple trees, he could see the Tiki cocktail bar was jammed, guests slinging mai tais and pina coladas down their throats faster than the barman could mix them. To one side, the spit roast had its own queue — but he’d expected that. A whole fat pig with a big wedge of pineapple in its mouth had to be a winner: big juicy slabs of pork in a giant bun — yummy!

Fact, he thought, giving his big old tummy a bit of a rub, time I had another one.

He was about to head back through the crowd — but then he felt a hand on his back and turned — this time — to see Jennifer, his wife.

She leaned into him, cupped hand to his ear.

“Brian. Police are here,” she said. “Want a word.”

“What the hell for?” shouted Brian over the music. Jennifer shrugged.

But he could guess.

“You stay here, love. Keep people happy,” he said. “I’ll sort it.”

He left his wife on the deck and walked into the house and through to the front door, where he could see Alan Rivers –Cherringham’s one and only cop — standing on the doorstep, the blue light of his car flashing behind him.

“Evening Mr Foley,” said Rivers. “Afraid we’ve had a—”

“Let me guess. A complaint? Yeah, you don’t need to tell me. But — jeez officer — it’s not even ten o’clock!”

“I know,” said Rivers. “But you have to admit — it is a bit loud, sir.”

“Just people having fun, that’s all it is. Fun in some hard times. Nothing wrong with a bit of fun, is there?”

But Alan Rivers didn’t respond. Brian sighed. Then he looked at the house on the other side of the fence.

“Bet it’s ‘Cranky Cranham’ next door, isn’t it?”

“Afraid we can’t reveal—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sure. Been here before, haven’t we?” said Brian. “All right, I’ll turn it down.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” said Rivers. “Have a nice evening.”

“That’s all we’re trying to do. Goodnight.”

Brian shut the door and walked back through the house and onto the deck.

He looked across at the Cranhams’ house.

The curtains of the main bedroom at the back were drawn open and the light was on.

And yes, he could see Arthur Cranham standing in the window staring down at him. In his hand he held a glass, and, as Brian watched, Cranham raised the glass in some kind of sneery toast to him — then drained it and disappeared from view.

The message was clear. You want to know who called the cops? I did.

You bastard, thought Brian.

He felt a wave of anger rise up from his stomach, a fierce hatred for this annoying man who seemed to enjoy taunting him.

Then he stepped down from the deck and pushed through the crowd until he reached the DJ.

“Turn it the hell up,” he said.

The DJ slipped his headphones from his ears and mouthed, “What?”

Brian ignored him. He knew exactly which slider on the big deck was the master volume. (Sold enough of these in my time, he thought.)

He reached across, grabbed the slider — the big speakers almost rocked as the music blasted out even louder across the gardens.

“You want something to complain about?” shouted Brian, turning and looking over at the Cranham house. “Complain about that!”

2. Crossed Wires

Arthur slid open his patio doors and stepped out onto the small stone terrace at the back of the house.

He pulled his dressing gown tight over his pyjamas. There was a chill in the air — hardly surprising, nearly three in the morning!

It should have been a blissfully quiet summer’s night. The sweet scent from his roses drifting across the lawn. The hoot of a distant owl maybe …

But not tonight, oh no.

Instead, the pulsing, insistent thrum of loud music from next door, the raucous shouting of males and females thrashing around in that damn hot tub, disgusting shrieks and cackles, tuneless caterwauling echoing round the gardens.

And those flashing lights! So bright that even his own shed at the bottom of the garden was lit up red and green and white!

No sign of Tiddles the family cat tonight — probably hiding somewhere from all this row!

Damn Brian Foley and Jennifer Foley and all those low-life friends of theirs!

He felt his anger rising again, and then … he couldn’t stop himself: “For God’s sake!” he shouted, in the general direction of the Foley’s deck. “It’s three in the morning! Turn that damn music off!”

He should have expected the response that followed. Loud jeers and cheers, then some ridiculous football-style chant they had clearly practised: “It’s all gone cranky over there! Yes, it’s all gone cranky over there! Oh, it’s all gone cranky, Cranham’s gone cranky, it’s all gone cranky over there!”

Followed by more whooping and laughter.

Arthur huffed and went over to the hollyhocks and the little hole in the fence.

Just so I know exactly what’s going on for tomorrow’s report to the police, he thought. How many people are in that hot tub? Probably even need a permit for that!

He pressed tight against the hole and his right eye scanned Foley’s garden.

What a mess! Bottles, glasses, plastic, popped balloons, strewn all over what passed for a lawn. Rubbish piled up against the Tiki bar, the remnants of the barbecue smoking away, what remained of the pig on its side!

But he couldn’t see what was left of the guests — not from his secret peep hole here.

And now — it had gone strangely quiet.

He pressed his eye even tighter to the hole in the fence, squinting to try to see the back of the Foley house. And that is when he heard a whispered voice, alarmingly close to him on the other side of the fence.

“Now! Now! Do it!”

He realised something was amiss and stepped back — but not quickly enough.

As a torrent of water, ice, rubbish, chunks of fruit and who knew what other despicable liquids rained down upon him — hurled over the fence by unseen hands from the next garden.

He staggered back, spluttering, cursing too — as gleeful shouts rang out.

“That’ll teach you! Mr Peeper! Watching us! Peeping Cranham!”

And as he rushed back to the house to shower away all this foul-smelling dredge that had smothered him, he thought of only one thing:

Revenge.

*

Brian Foley leaned back against the curved side of the MegaBubble Pro, cigar in one hand, Jim Beam neat in the other, gold rings twinkling, the foamy waters washing over the chunky medallion on his chest, his fave chill-out playlist pumping out from his Bose deck system, and thought:

Ah. This is the life.

Nice house in the poshest part of Cherringham. His best mates — good laugh, the lot of them — all turning up for his birthday, making the party rock. Tasty looking wives and girlfriends they got too, he thought, looking at the remaining couples now all sharing the steaming waters. Nope. You can’t beat a hot tub for getting people all nice and cosy.

And of course, cute Chayleen — right now playing footsie with him under the bubbles — always a pleasant distraction, at work, and now here.

The only fly in the ointment: that pain in the backside Cranham. But what a laugh that was tonight — him and the lads seeing off the nosy neighbour with a dirty dunking! He’ll never get rid of the smell of that gunk!

Hmm. There was, of course, one other downside — the fact that Jennifer had gone to bed early in one of her huffs.

Just because she’d caught him having a smoochy dance with Chayleen!

I mean — what’s a bloke to do? Alpha male like me … course the ladies are going to find me attractive. Can’t spend the whole night fighting them off, now, can I?

For some reason, Jennifer hadn’t agreed with his defence of the situation.

Ah well, he thought, she’ll thaw out, she always does … Eventually!

Maybe take her out for a meal at that posh place in the village — the Spotted Pig or whatever it was called — get himself a nice steak.

But just as Brian was savouring the thought of that rare steak, he saw a figure emerge from the darkness of the garden, a running figure all in black, heading straight for the hot tub on the deck, coming straight for them … with … a long garden knife in his hand! More like a machete!

And Brian realised the figure was Arthur Cranham — gone completely crazy!

“What the—”

Brian shoved his glass of whisky to one side, pushed back on the hot tub to try and raise himself up. But the damn thing was so slippery he lost his balance and nearly went under.

And now everybody in the hot tub was trying to see what was going on, and the tub was a maelstrom of legs and arms and people going under, water splashing, as the man approached and Brian feared for everybody’s lives as that glinting blade slashed in the air.

But Cranham — it seemed — wasn’t aiming at Brian or his party guests. Oh no.