Cherringham - Killer Pitch E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 164

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

When a major network offers a TV deal to a group of new writers, the stakes couldn't be higher. They’ll have a workshop in Cherringham to shape their show ideas - and win the prized contract. But when the writers get ominous threats, it seems their lives are in danger. Can Jack and Sarah find the culprit in time ... before there’s a real ‘killer pitch’?

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

Contents

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

About the Book

Main Characters

The Authors

Title

1. Welcome to Cherringham

2. Meet the Mentors

3. Night Moves

4. On the Case

5. The Room in Question

6. Tea with the Boss

7. Where’s Nigel?

8. Digging Deeper

9. Kylie Time

10. Back on Track?

11. More Lies

12. A Sudden Showstopper

13. Time Out

14. Lies and More Lies

15. Yet More Discoveries

16. Truth at the Cottage

17. Tea Time

18. New Friends

[Cherringham Feedback-Seite]

Copyright

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 a major network offers a TV deal to a group of new writers, the stakes couldn’t be higher. The finalists are invited to a workshop in Cherringham to develop their show ideas — and compete for the coveted contract. But when threatening messages start arriving, it’s clear someone will do anything to win. Can Jack and Sarah find the culprit in time … before there’s a real ‘killer pitch’?

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

Killer Pitch

1. Welcome to Cherringham

Emma Clarke gulped down the last of her coffee, shoved her laptop into her shoulder bag and stood up from the breakfast table of the Bell Hotel.

No time to finish those delicious warm croissants, but hey, that kind of sacrifice went with the job.

And what a job.

Her dream job, in fact.

Running a workshop — a competition, really — to find the next big hit for Global, the world’s most famous TV streamer!

Rubbing shoulders with big league producers, directors, writers — actors too!

And all because her boss Celine had broken her ankle skiing at the weekend.

Emma couldn’t quite believe it: straight out of uni, barely three months into her internship with the Head of Drama (UK), and here she was in the cute Cotswold village of Cherringham running a mega-important event.

Excited? Oh yes. Scared? Definitely! But Celine had insisted she was a shoo-in.

“You got this, babe,” Celine had said on the phone from Verbier. “You’ll love the mentoring team — so talented. And the writers — all new to this. Hey, they’re always such sweet little puppies. Just enjoy!”

And that was what Emma was determined to do. She checked her watch. Just time for one last tour of the venue before the first arrivals from London.

Out of the breakfast room now — a quick smile and a wave to Charlotte on the front desk (got to keep the hotel staff on your side!) — then out of the side door of the Bell into the gardens.

What a glorious morning! Sun shining across the frosty lawn, ducks on the little hotel lake (in truth barely more than a pond), the village church bells ringing through the crisp October air.

Certainly chilly — she was glad of her puffer jacket.

Across the lawn now, to the big medieval barn that had only just been converted into a conference venue, then in through the double doors, the place lovely and warm.

“Morning Emma!” came a voice ringing from the far end of the barn. She spotted Ryan Davies, the chipper hotel tech support guy, up on a ladder with some cables.

Shouldn’t all this have been done by now? she thought.

“We got a problem?” said Emma, concerned, hurrying over, past the rows of chairs lined up for the day’s first presentation.

“No, no — not at all. Just thought I’d run some last-minute Ethernet cables to the laptop hub,” said Ryan. “Wi-Fi’s fine, but — you know — just in case.”

“Brilliant! You’re the best,” said Emma.

“No worries,” said Ryan, coming down the ladder with a big grin. “These kind of things — workshops — stuff always goes wrong, right? But you just gotta go with the flow.”

“True fact! Don’t sweat the little things, that’s what my boss told me,” said Emma.

“You got that right,” said Ryan, packing away the ladder.

She smiled at him, for a moment more confident. She knew he’d only been working here for a few weeks, but it seemed he’d set up plenty of these kind of residential workshops before and, over the weekend, she’d really come to depend on him.

And maybe … more than just “like” him?

She brushed that thought away quickly.

“Everything all working in here then?” she said.

“Tested and double tested,” he said, turning and pointing to the low stage at one end of the hall. “Big screen, speakers, mikes, laptops — all ready.”

“What about the break-out rooms?” said Emma, knowing that these private spaces — where the different teams would be doing the real work — needed to be super comfy. “Do I need to—?”

“Don’t you worry, Emma. Already on it. Tech, heating, lights all tested and fine there as well. Kitchen staff have set up their tea and coffee flasks. Snacks pretty good too. Huffington’s, you know.”

“Ah. They good?”

“The best, according to the guys in the kitchen here.”

“Don’t know what I’d have done without you, Ryan,” said Emma.

“Hey, what’s the worst that can happen?” said Ryan, grinning. “I mean, at the end of the day, it’s only TV, right?”

“Sure,” said Emma, though she knew her job could be on the line here. To her, this was super important.

“How long until the ‘bigshots’ arrive?” said Ryan.

“Twenty minutes,” said Emma. “There’s a limo picking them up from the station.”

“Well then, if I were you,” said Ryan, picking up his ladder to head off, “I’d grab a coffee from the table over there, pick out the very best chocolate biscuit on the plate, and enjoy a bit of peace while you still can.”

“Now that’s a very good idea,” said Emma, realising that right now there really wasn’t anything else she could do.

But then she heard her phone ping. She swiped the screen.

“Uh-oh,” she said. “Looks like I’m not getting that biscuit.”

“Here already?”

“Car just pulled up.”

For a moment, she just froze.

Can I really do this? she thought. Surely they’ll all see through me!

“Emma Clarke,” said Ryan. “Listen.I’ve only known you for a couple of days, but I can tell you now — yes — you got this. You’re going to be great.”

“Oh Ryan,” said Emma, suddenly feeling so, so, grateful for this support. “Wednesday night, when this is all over? I’m going to buy you one mega cocktail in that posh bar across the High Street!”

“Ha. Pint at the Ploughman’s is more my thing,” said Ryan.

“Ploughman’s it is,” said Emma. “Wherever that is!”

Then she turned and headed for reception and whatever fate this workshop would bring her.

2. Meet the Mentors

Emma flew out of the hotel main entrance, nearly slipping on the icy flagstones, frost early this year, just as the limo pulled away and headed back down the drive.

“Oops, nearly went head over heels!” she said to the two men and a woman she saw standing by a stack of suitcases. “What a welcome that would have been!”

She grinned at the arrivals then realised in an instant that they were in no mood to grin back.

“Frankly,” said the woman, ominously dressed head to toe in black, matching her hair, cut super short, “any welcome at all would have been better than nothing. Stuck out here, freezing our—”

“So sorry!” said Emma, now taking in the three mentors and guessing from her accent that this woman was the famous American producer running the workshop. “It’s Barbara, isn’t it?”

“Mrs Wade, if you don’t mind,” said the woman. “And what are you? The bellhop?”

Emma froze, grappling for a way to deal with this icy first meeting. She’d heard through the grapevine that Barbara Wade could be a little tricky … but this?

Then she saw the younger of the two men step forward.

“Hey, ignore my grumpy producer friend here,” he said. “Her bark’s way worse than her bite, I promise.”

“I’d keep your character notes to yourself if I were you, Jez,” said Mrs Wade. “You’ve experienced neither my full-on bark nor my bite. Yet.”

“Ouch!” said Jez with a smile and a little comic wink to Emma. “Looks like that’s the end of another beautiful relationship.”

So, this is Jez Cody, the “rogue” up-and-coming director, Emma realised.

“You’ll be Emma, yes?” said Jez, ignoring Mrs Wade and shaking Emma’s hand. “Running this show?”

“That’s right. Emma Clarke. I’m admin for Global …”

“Well, obviously,” said Mrs Wade. “No Celine? Really?”

“She had an accident. Skiing.”

A shake of the producer’s head. “Typical.”

Silence. Emma gulped. This was not going at all how she’d hoped.

“I saw the email that said you were going to be looking after all of us,” said Jez, stepping closer. “Great to have you aboard the good ship Global.”

“Thank you,” said Emma, so grateful to have someone treat her just normally. “Sorry about this, I thought the train was later, I’ll get reception to look after your bags.”

“Oh, we can manage that, can’t we, Jez?” said the other man, who she now figured must be the writer, Julian Travers. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about that.”

Emma was too surprised by Julian’s words to react. A quick glance to Jez and she saw him roll his eyes in sympathy.

“Gotta say, I’m looking forward to the next three days,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun.”

“Fun?” said Mrs Wade, frowning. “Heaven’s sake, Jez. This isn’t about fun. It’s about finding the next big hit for Global.”

Then she turned to Emma. “Okay, I assume you have our morning schedule? Arranged things appropriately?”

“Yes,” said Emma, trying to sound as efficient as she could. “Planning meeting at ten in the mentors’ room, then a quick coffee break to brief our two actors who are due at any minute—”

“No. Jez and Julian will handle that,” said Mrs Wade. “Last thing I want to do is sit around drinking coffee with actors.”

“Okay …” said Emma. “Anyway, um, one o’clock the writers you will mentor arrive for lunch in the barn and then I believe you, um, take over for the first session. That right, Mrs Wade?”

“Cor-rect,” said Mrs Wade. “Now, I assume my room is ready?”

“Yes,” said Emma.

“Well then — what on earth are we waiting for?” said Mrs Wade, turning and strolling imperiously away into the hotel.

“Shall we just leave Her Majesty’s bag here?” said Jez, nodding to the producer’s enormous case.

Emma couldn’t help laughing.

“You trying to get me fired on my first day running this?” she said.

Then she strode over to Mrs Wade’s bag, took hold of the handle and tugged the thing to get it rolling.

What the heck’s in here? she thought. A body?

And then, as she watched Jez and Julian pull their own suitcases into the Bell Hotel, she also thought:

“Watch your pretty head”? What century is that Julian Travers living in?

*

Emma quickly scanned the side-table buffet, checking that nothing on the lunch menu had been forgotten: vegetarian, vegan, pescetarian, gluten-free — yes, all there and all clearly labelled.

Phew!

It was only lunchtime and already she felt exhausted. All morning she’d been dashing about, servicing the mentors’ demands: everything from special teas to sample scripts needing printing, asap. And, oh, the moans about the rooms, complaints about the heating, disagreements about the schedule that required re-writing three times.

She heard the barn doors open and looked up: there were the two recently arrived actors, Ben and Samantha, deep in conversation.

At least they’d been lovely! So chatty and just, well … just like normal people! She’d recognised Ben from a soap she loved, where he played a handsome young nurse. Samantha — ‘oh just call me Sam, babe’ — was American and seemed so chill.

Emma didn’t think she had seen any of her TV shows, but, as Sam said, that wasn’t surprising at all, as so many of the best US shows never even made it to Britain.

She gave the actors a friendly wave. But then she saw them coming straight for the buffet.

“Oh, sorry!” she said. “Afraid we’re not supposed to start lunch until everybody’s here. Sorry again! But do grab a drink while you wait.”

“No problem,” said Sam, reaching for one of the water jugs.

“Hey, look!” said Ben, and Emma saw him pluck an unopened bottle of wine from one of the cases that had been hidden under the table. “Gewürztraminer! My fave!”

“Oh, um, sorry again. I’ve been, er, told that there’s a no-alcohol rule at lunch,” said Emma, not sure how to handle this. “That’s for this evening’s party.”

“Haha, what are we, kids on summer camp?” said Ben, twisting open the screw top on the bottle and pouring himself a big glass. He raised it to her: “Cheers!”

Emma waited for the two actors to move away across the barn to the sofa corner, then swiftly put the bottle back in the case, got down on her knees and shoved it out of sight under the table.

“Need a hand?” came a male voice, and she backed out, banging her head.

“What?” she said, rubbing her head. She stood up and saw a guy in aviator shades, leather bag over shoulder.

“You in charge of drinks?” said the guy.

“I’m Emma,” she said. “From Global.”

What’s wrong with everybody today? she thought.

“Oh yes. Saw the email about you running things, last minute, right?” said the guy, then he took off his shades and held out his fist. “Craig Tanner. TV writer.”

Emma took a moment to realise he actually wanted a fist-bump not a handshake, then responded rather gingerly likewise.

“Cool,” he said.

She took him in. Mid-forties maybe? Double denim. Cowboy boots poking out from under the jeans. That thick neck that comes from too many hours in the gym. And with what she guessed was a thick Manchester accent — all quite the combination.

From her notes she remembered his project: hardcore thriller.

“Are the other writers with you?” said Emma, looking over his shoulder.

“Dunno. They decided to walk from the station. I took a cab. Got here first so I could pick out the best room. Gotta stay ahead of the game? Know what I mean?”

“Oh yes, totally,” she said, not knowing at all. The guy stared at her, as if sizing her up. An awkward silence — then a babble of voices at the door made her look over.

Two women — one maybe in her thirties and the other barely out of her teens — and another man, clearly older, a full beard, tortoiseshell glasses. The other three writers, she guessed. She walked over.

“I’m Emma, from Global, here to represent the company and look after you,” she said, hoping to make her role clear from the start.

“Cassie Blythe,” said the older woman, giving Emma a cursory nod.

Ah, right, thought Emma. The sit-com about a group of political activists.

“When do our mentors get here?” said Cassie.

“Oh, um, we’ll all be having lunch together in just a few minutes,” said Emma.

“Okay,” said Cassie, appraising the long table laid for lunch. “Where’s the producer and director sitting?”

“Um, I think it’s a kind of free-for-all.”

She saw Cassie nod, not pleased, then peel away to stand by the table. Emma turned to look at the remaining two writers, and smiled at the young woman.

“You … must be Kylie,” said Emma, noting her arms covered in richly coloured tattoos of surreal vegetation and even stranger creatures. “Wow, love those!”

Kylie mumbled a response that Emma couldn’t quite hear, then took out her phone and shuffled off to the corner of the room.

“She’s a sweet kid,” said the final writer, reaching out and shaking Emma’s hand. “But painfully shy. Sat next to her on the train. Barely said a word, at first.”

“She’s the fantasy-meets-aliens writer, yes?”

“That’s the one. Eventually I coaxed her story out of her — and, I must say, I rather like the sound of it!”

“You’re Nigel, I’m guessing?” said Emma.

“Last one — story of my life!” he said, smiling.

Emma laughed. Here at last was somebody else who seemed normal!

“Well, maybe this week will become part of that story,” she said. “A successful part.”

“Oh, I do hope so,” said Nigel.

At that, the doors to the barn opened and the mentors entered, clearly mid-argument, voices raised.

Emma saw Nigel turn to look at the door. And as he did, she saw him take a sudden step back, reaching out to the table to steady himself.

“Nigel — you all right?” she said, concerned, her hand instinctively going to his shoulder. After a moment he turned back and she saw his face had drained of colour.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, never having used the expression for real but now fully understanding it.

“Wh-what?” said Nigel. Then he put his hand to his temple. “Sorry,” he said, almost as if blinking himself awake from sleep. “So sorry I alarmed you. Migraines. Damn things come from nowhere.”

“Oh dear,” said Emma, seriously concerned. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, no, nothing. It’ll pass, they always do — just need some fresh air,” he said, and she watched him edge over to the side of the barn where a window was barely open.

Emma was confused. Her mother suffered from migraine attacks, so she knew … that didn’t look like any migraine. They don’t come, and go, so quickly.

Nigel was clearly lying.

But why?