Cherringham - In the Frame E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Cherringham: Mystery Shorts
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 162

Beschreibung

Facing boredom after his long-postponed knee surgery, Jack volunteers at Morton Manor to serve as steward, chatting with visitors about the long history of the house. And when the retired volunteer Cyril Roebuck is found dead in the Great Hall, one morning, it seems at first that the dear old man must have suffered a heart attack. But the room was locked from the inside - and it quickly becomes clear that Cyril could not have bolted it. Soon Jack and Sarah are confronting the odd mystery of the locked room...and what must be - in fact - a case of foul play.

Episode 43 will be available for pre-order soon and will be out November, 25th 2022.

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

The Authors

Title

Copyright

1. Down by the River

2. The Great Hall

3. Single Malt

4. Just a Spot of Blood

5. A Deal then Dinner

6. Meet the Staff

7. Secrets?

8. Soup, Sandwich and a Surprise

9. Family

10. Last Night at the Manor

11. A Busy Time Inside the Great Hall

12. A Tale of Two Paintings

13. The Game’s Up

14. Loose Ends

Next Episode

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

Facing boredom after his long-postponed knee surgery, Jack volunteers at Fitz Morton Manor to serve as steward, chatting with visitors about the long history of the house. And when the retired volunteer Cyril Roebuck is found dead in the Great Hall, one morning, it seems at first that the dear old man must have suffered a heart attack. But the room was locked from the inside — and it quickly becomes clear that Cyril could not have bolted it. Soon Jack and Sarah are confronting the odd mystery of the locked room …and what must be — in fact — a case of foul play.

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 …

The Authors

Matthew Costello (US-based) is the author of a number of successful novels, including Vacation (2011), Home (2014) and Beneath Still Waters (1989), which was adapted by Lionsgate as a major motion picture. He has written for The Disney Channel, BBC, SyFy and has also designed dozens of bestselling games including the critically acclaimed The 7th Guest, Doom 3, Rage and Pirates of the Caribbean.

Neil Richards has worked as a producer and writer in TV and film, creating scripts for BBC, Disney, and Channel 4, and earning numerous Bafta nominations along the way. He's also written script and story for over 20 video games including The Da Vinci Code and Starship Titanic, co-written with Douglas Adams, and consults around the world on digital storytelling.

His writing partnership with NYC-based Matt Costello goes back to the late 90's and the two have written many hours of TV together. Cherringham is their first crime fiction as co-writers.

Matthew CostelloNeil Richards

CHERRINGHAM

A COSY CRIME SERIES

In the Frame

Digital original edition

Bastei Lübbe AG

Copyright © 2022 by Neil Richards & Matthew Costello

Copyright for this editon © 2022 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany

Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards

Edited by Eleanor Abraham

Project management: Kathrin Kummer

Cover illustration: © Ihnatovich Maryia/shutetrstock; © Maria Jeffs/iStock/Getty Images Plus; Joan-van-Hurck/iStock/Getty Images Plus; Francesco Scatena/iStock/Getty Images Plus

Cover design: © Guter Punkt, Munich

eBook production: Jilzov Digital Publishing, Düsseldorf

ISBN 978-3-7517-1556-0

https://www.facebook.com/CherringhamMydworth

1. Down by the River

Sarah Edwards crossed the mediaeval bridge, and gave a wave to one of the Buckland twins in the tollbooth.

But with the identical twin sisters — always in matching clothes — which one was it?

She never could tell!

She then turned off the main road and headed down the rough track that led along the river, past all the old barges.

In winter the track was a muddy nightmare, a challenge for her Toyota. But on this already warm June morning the surface was hard and rutted.

It was still early, and she saw the barges springing to life as she passed: windows open, the smell of breakfast bacon in the air, radios playing news and music, and even the sound of hammering — the never-ending boat maintenance already under way on at least one old barge.

The Thames itself looked metallic, flowing with a brilliant sheen under a soft blue sky — just a couple of swans rippling the surface as if auditioning for a postcard.

Ahead, she saw Jack Brennan sitting on the deck of The Grey Goose, mug of coffee in hand, his dog Riley at his feet, and his day pack all ready to go.

Jack, in all these years she had known him, was never late. Always early. Always ready.

A habit, she knew, picked up from his twenty years as a cop in Brooklyn, as he explained when she’d first noticed it.

He gave her a gentle wave as she parked next to the boat and got out.

“Got you some provisions,” she said, taking out a couple of bags of shopping and carefully stepping onto the gangway. “With some very nice looking steaks buried in here somewhere.”

“You are too good to me. Owe you big time,” said Jack and she saw him put down his coffee, reach for his cane and begin to push himself up off the chair. “Here, let me help—”

“I’m fine, really,” she said, a hand on his shoulder, then she slipped down the steps into the galley. “I’ll just store what needs to go in the fridge and freezer, leave the rest for you on the counter here to sort.”

She took a moment to look around the galley and saloon: all ship-shape — good to see.

Since his long-awaited knee operation last month, Jack had, politely, refused all help apart from what she insisted upon. His stubbornness in that regard concerned her; she worried he wouldn’t be able to cope.

But, so far, it seemed he must have found ways to improvise — hobbling around the boat on crutches at first, and now using a metal walking stick.

“And don’t you worry,” she said, emerging back on deck in the sunshine. “I’m keeping an eye on the tab. Think you’ll owe me a dinner or two at the Spotted Pig!”

He laughed. “No problem,” he said, standing slowly. “And don’t forget — I’m covering the gas for all these car rides, too. No arguments, okay?”

Sarah laughed.

“When would I ever argue with you, Jack Brennan?”

“Oh, I seem to recall we’ve had our occasional differences of opinion — not that they lasted long.”

She waited while he stepped slowly across the deck to the wheelhouse and persuaded Riley down the steps.

“Sorry, old pal,” he said. “Another day cooped up. But Ray will be over, give you a good run later; I’ll be back usual time.”

Riley seemed almost to nod at that. Sarah knew that Ray — who lived on the next boat — had a soft spot for Riley and took him on long, meandering walks.

That is, when he finally surfaced to face the daylight.

She waited while Jack gently shut the door, then turned to her.

“Took him for a short stroll down the towpath this morning,” he said, slinging the pack over one shoulder and edging with his stick towards the gangway. “How about that? Every day a bit better.”

“A stroll, Jack? Really?” said Sarah, shaking her head and supporting him until they reached dry land. “Doctors told you not to push things, didn’t they?”

“Heck, I can’t just sit around, waiting to get fit. Got a life to lead, knee or no knee.”

“Yes, well, don’t tempt fate saying things like that. You be careful — give it time to heal.”

“What are you this morning — my chauffeur or my physician?” he said, then he grinned.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll stick to chauffeur,” said Sarah. “Must say, you can be a tad grumpy.”

“Me grumpy? Never,” he said. “Come on, or we’ll be late. And I hate—”

“—being late, I know,” said Sarah.

She watched as Jack, definitely seeming to be improving, shuffled over to the car and got in the passenger side … but then struggled to get both his bad leg and the stick in place.

She walked over and, with a smile, shut the door for him, then went round and climbed in.

“You still insisting on doing a three-point turn here?” he said, as she started up the engine. “We’ll end up in the river one day.”

“Did I say a ‘tad grumpy’? I hope you won’t be like this all the way to the manor?”

“Touché,” he said, then he turned to her and smiled. “In my defence, your honour, damn leg kept me awake near all night.”

“I forgive you, Jack. Now, stick a CD in the player and let’s enjoy this beautiful morning.”

And as the glorious sound of Mozart’s 5th violin concerto filled the car, she drove back down the track, heading for the countryside and Jack Brennan’s new part-time job …

Designed to give him something to do while he recuperated.

*

While Sarah drove, Jack sat back and concentrated on bending and stretching his leg. It was a month since the operation to fix his knee — which he knew he should have had done years ago.

And only now was the pain finally beginning to subside.

Since the op, he’d stayed off the potent painkillers — too many times he’d heard from friends back home about how those damn pills could just take over your life.

But it wasn’t the pain that had bothered him most. It was the boredom. Just sitting with Riley on the deck of the Goose, watching the world go by. Sure, he loved catching up on his reading …

But … a long day was a long day.

So, when Will Goodchild had called him from the Cherringham Historical Society and said he’d heard they were looking for a volunteer steward for a few weeks at Morton Manor, just a couple of miles downriver from the village, he’d said yes immediately.

The whole thing had fallen into place quickly. An interview with Justin Forbes, the manager of the historic house, which Jack knew he’d sailed through.

Then Sarah had offered to drive him there and back, morning and evening. And just a couple of days later, he’d been installed in the Great Hall of the magnificent old manor, sitting in a nice comfy chair chatting to visitors about the house, its history and its artefacts.

All of which totally fascinated him.

It was perfect.

Two weeks into the job and he was already considering making it permanent — though with a clause allowing him the freedom to join Sarah in their little investigations whenever they might arise.

“You still enjoying being a steward, Jack?” said Sarah.

“Wow. Let’s add mind reader to your list of skills,” he said. “Was just thinking I might stick with it for a while.”

“Interesting. Think Will knew it would be right up your alley. What are the other people like?”

“The other stewards? Ha! How long you got? Let’s just say they’re a curious bunch.”

“I can imagine,” said Sarah, laughing.

“It’s really the visitors who make it worthwhile. The questions they have, what interests them. All of that — so good.”

“I bet. It’s perfect for you. Meeting people all day long. Talking history. Maybe you should do a history degree too?”

“You kidding? Somehow don’t see myself sitting with a bunch of undergrads.”

“Why not?”

Jack looked out of the window at the fields and woods rolling by. He’d never thought of himself as the academic type, though he did, as a step towards his detective shield, get a degree in criminology from Brooklyn College.

But that was decades ago.

“Only real ‘history’ I ever did was cold cases,” he said. “You think there’s a university desperate enough to let me in?”

“I’d bet you now know more about Cherringham’s past than most of the members of the Historical Society.”

“Hmm. Doubt that. Some pretty sharp cookies in that lot.”

Though I do hold up pretty well, thought Jack.

“Anyway, here we are,” said Sarah, turning off the road and through the tall pillared gates of Morton Manor.

As they passed the gatehouse where the young handyman lived, Jack noticed that the lights were still on — which seemed odd on such a bright morning.

They carried on into the estate grounds, with grand rolling lawns on either side — and just ahead, on a small rise, the imposing mansion that was Morton Manor.

“I tell you — never tire of this view,” he said as they sped down the drive. “Absolutely classic.”

Then he noticed something else not quite right.

“Funny,” he said. “The visitors’ car park gates are still padlocked.”

“That somebody’s job to open up?”

“Yup. Nice old fella called Cyril Roebuck. A steward — been doing it for years, snow, rain or shine.”

“Guess everyone misses a day eventually?” said Sarah.

But then Jack saw that the wooden sandwich board sign that usually stood at the side of the drive, informing visitors where to park, had also not been put out.

“Okay … well … looks like old Cyril didn’t make it this morning,” he said. “Should be direction signs for the parking, right out here on the grass. Funny thing is, he was on night duty last night. So he should have been here already.”

As they neared the house, he could now see that the downstairs lights were still on in the hallway and the main door stood slightly ajar. He looked at Sarah, that first flicker of unease in the pit of his stomach.

Something definitely wrong here.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s not go to the staff parking lot. Pull in right out front, would you?”

Sarah parked, then came round to Jack’s side to help him out.

He stood, leaning on his stick, looking at the house, taking it all in.

Another odd thing: the curtains in the Great Hall — a room that Jack now knew so well — were tightly drawn. He only ever remembered seeing them open.

“You got time to hang around for a few minutes — help me out here?” he said, not turning to her, but listening to the unnatural silence from the house.

“What is it, Jack?”

“Not sure. But maybe … we’re about to find out.”

The place should have been noisily springing to life.

Butthe only sound out here now was the chirping of birds in the great wisteria bushes that grew up the front of the old building.

“Sure, I can stay,” she said. “Chloe’s holding the fort at the office. There a problem?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack, getting concerned for the old steward. “But all this … doesn’t feel right. Not right at all.”

He set off slowly across the gravel towards the house, Sarah at his side. As they neared the front door, Jack heard a shout.

“Jack! Thank goodness you’re here!”

He turned, to see Justin Forbes appear from around the side of the house, marching quickly towards them.

“I can’t find Cyril anywhere,” he said in a rush. “And just look at the place! Doors open! Lights on! I think something’s happened. Something bad …”

Jack stood quietly, waiting for Justin to get his breath back.

“All right,” Jack said. “I guess we should go in and find out, right? Oh, Sarah, this is Justin Forbes, the manager here. Justin — Sarah Edwards. Old friend of mine. And colleague.”

Jack saw Justin nod to Sarah impatiently.

“Yes, of course, pleasure,” said Justin. “Perhaps, um, you should stay out here? I mean, whatever’s happened, might not be nice, and—”

Jack caught Sarah’s eye and stepped in fast before Justin discovered just who he was dealing with.

“Sarah’s coming along with us,” said Jack, in a tone intended to make it clear Justin shouldn’t argue.

He stepped up to the front door and — out of habit to preserve evidence — used just his shoulder to nudge it gently open.

And together the three of them entered Morton Manor, the air inside noticeably more chill — the silence even deeper.

2. The Great Hall

Sarah took in this familiar space, with its smell of dust and floor polish.

She’d been here countless times while the kids were growing up — and, as they’d got older, their interests had moved on from the manor’s Christmas Santa Trail to the drawing classes, then the costume displays, the guns, the paintings and the books.

The heart of the building, she knew, was six hundred years old.

But over those centuries so many additions and adaptations had been made that the end result now looked more eighteenth-century than Tudor.

And, strange, the lights were on throughout the house as far as she could see — corridors all lit up, stretching to either side, their walls lined with endless portraits.

Sarah saw Forbes march onwards, then stop and turn — clearly remembering Jack’s mobility problem.

In his tweed jacket, twill trousers and check shirt, Justin looked every inch the country gentleman.

But Sarah wasn’t fooled: this guy was sporting the hipster version, not the genuine article. She suspected that if he’d been managing an art gallery the uniform would have been black polo and jeans.

“Jack told me Cyril was on night duty,” she said. “Is that right, Mr Forbes?”

“Yes,” said Justin. “I left the house yesterday evening, as I do normally, and handed things over to him for the night.”

“So, he should be here? And you’ve looked?”

“Yes. That’s right,” said Justin, then he turned quickly to Jack. “I tried to get into the Great Hall, just now. But the damn door is stuck!”

“Let’s go see,” said Jack, setting off, his stick tapping on the wooden floor.

She followed Jack and Justin through the graceful entrance hall, down a wide corridor that led past open public rooms — salons, library, studies, dining room, drawing rooms.

Justin’s shiny brogues squeaked on the polished floor.

“I assume you checked in all these rooms here?” said Jack, as they passed.

“Yes,” said Justin. “Not a thing out of place. Nothing disturbed or missing. Least, as far as I can tell.”

Sarah could see that Justin was anxious.

“Are you worried there might have been a break-in?” she said, as they moved down the corridor.

“Well, it’s entirely possible,” said Justin. “There are some very fine pieces in the house.”

“I guess, though, what’s more important for now is what’s happened to Cyril,” said Sarah.

“Um, what?” said Justin. “Yes. Of course.”