Tea? Coffee? Murder! - Blue Poodle Blues E-Book

Ellen Barksdale

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A Cosy Crime Mystery Series with Nathalie Ames
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 170

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Scandal at the dog show! Sir Theodore’s three king poodles - until now the undisputed champions - have been dyed blue! Sir Theodore accuses the organiser Mason Mayfield of being the culprit. When Mayfield is found murdered a short time later, Sir Theodore is the prime suspect. But Nathalie is firmly convinced of his innocence and, together with Louise and the poodles, she sets out to uncover the real murderer.

About the series: There was nothing in the will about this ...

Cottages, English roses and rolling hills: that’s Earlsraven. In the middle of it all: the "Black Feather”. Not only does young Nathalie Ames unexpectedly inherit this cosy inn from her aunt, she also falls heir to her aunt’s secret double life! She solved criminal cases together with her cook Louise, a former agent of the British Crown. And while Nathalie is still trying to warm up to the quirky villagers, she discovers that sleuthing runs in the family.

About the author: Ellen Barksdale was born in the English seaside resort of Brighton, where her parents ran a small boarding house. From childhood she was a bookworm, and from a young age was interested in crime novels. Her first experience of crime fiction was with the Maigret novels by Georges Simenon. After years of reading crime fiction, she recently decided to take up writing herself. "Tea? Coffee? Murder!” is her first mystery series. Ellen Barksdale lives near Swansea with her partner Ian and their three dogs Billy, Bobby and Libby.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Tea? Coffee? Murder! — The series

About this episode

About the author

Title

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Copyright

Tea? Coffee? Murder! — The series

There was nothing about that in the will …

Cottages, English roses and gently rolling hills: that is Earlsraven. In the middle of it all: the “Black Feather”. Young Nathalie Ames unexpectedly inherits this cosy café from her aunt — and her aunt’s secret double life! She solved criminal cases together with her cook Louise, a former agent of the British Crown. And while Nathalie is still trying to warm up to the quirky villagers, she discovers that sleuthing runs in the family …

About this episode

Scandal at the dog show! Sir Theodore’s three king poodles — until now the undisputed champions — have been dyed blue! Sir Theodore accuses the organiser Mason Mayfield of being the culprit. When Mayfield is found murdered a short time later, Sir Theodore is the prime suspect. But Nathalie is firmly convinced of his innocence and, together with Louise and the poodles, she sets out to uncover the real murderer.

About the author

Ellen Barksdale was born in the English seaside resort of Brighton, where her parents ran a small boarding house. She was an avid reader from childhood, and also became interested in crime novels at an early age. Her first experience of crime fiction was with the Maigret novels by Georges Simenon (her mother is Belgian by birth). After years of reading crime novels, she recently decided to become an author herself. “Tea? Coffee? Murder!” is her first crime series.

Ellen Barksdale lives near Swansea with her partner Ian and their three dogs Billy, Bobby and Libby.

Ellen Barksdale

BLUE POODLE BLUES

Prologue, in which the preparations for an attack are made

“Come in.” The young woman opened the door to her small laboratory in the basement. “I was expecting you earlier.”

Her visitor walked past a row of glass cabinets in which brown glass bottles stood packed together on several tiers. Each one had been meticulously labelled with its contents and supplementary notes. Some also had small orange or red labels warning of a lethal or corrosive effect.

“Hm,” said the man, “chemistry has always been a closed book for me. At school, all those symbols for different elements were a mystery to me.”

“What a shame. It’s such an interesting subject … and so many uses in life,” the young woman said, and reached for a spray bottle.

“Really?”

“Like this, for example. This is your little magic formula to panic the ladies, as requested.”

He smiled. Let the young woman believe that it’s a harmless prank.

If she had known, whether she would have given him the spray was by no means certain.

“How does it work?”

The woman pulled the corners of her mouth down slightly.

“The layman’s version will do,” he continued, a little impatiently. He wanted to know what he had to watch out for.

“Okay. So, on the one hand, there’s the dye that colours the hair, but it’s also surrounded by an inhibitor that stops the dye from doing its actual job.” As she talked, she looked at the bottle in her hand, proudly. “To this is added a solvent which doesn’t do its work until it is exposed to oxygen for about ten to fifteen minutes. The solvent splits the inhibitor, so to speak, and then the dye comes into play. That’s putting it as simply as I can.”

The older man nodded with satisfaction. That was exactly what he wanted. “Very good, even I can understand that. Thank you very much.” He reached out his hand for the bottle.

“First the money,” she said.

“Here’s your fifty pounds,” he replied after taking the wallet out of his jacket.

“One hundred.”

“What?”

“We had agreed on one hundred,” she stressed.

“Really?”

“For the work I’ve had with it, I could charge far more,” she said. “Do you want it or not?”

“It’s all right — you’re right,” he replied. “I thought … well, never mind. Here, have the hundred.”

“Thank you.” The young woman studied the man’s expression, finally handing him the spray bottle. “Remember, no air must get to the contents or the mixture will turn into spray paint within minutes.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for your efforts,” he replied and turned to leave. She followed him to the door, which she had locked after he had come in, and unlocked it again.

“I’d love to help again,” she said. “Maybe next time you’ll have something really complicated for me.”

He nodded to her and went to his car. When he got in, he realised that she now knew the make and registration number of his car. He cursed himself for not thinking of parking somewhere else. The woman would probably never know what her little masterpiece was really for anyway. The incident would be too insignificant — or, at worst, not seem relevant.

So far, everything was going according to plan. Now he just had to wait for the right moment. Then he’d show them.

Chapter One, where Nathalie needs advice but doesn’t get it

“Next time, I’ll pick up the tab,” said Rob Hayle, as Nathalie walked him to his van, which was parked in front of the Black Feather.

“But not in my own pub,” she returned, amused. “What would that look like?”

“Pity. I tip well,” Rob said, laughing.

“Oh, you should have said that earlier.”

He rubbed his three-day beard. “Is there anywhere else around here where we can eat?”

“There’s the Comfy Chair in Earlsraven Market Square,” Nathalie ran her hand through her hair, which seemed far too long, even after only four weeks since her visit to the hairdresser in Liverpool. “It’s got a new owner. Wouldn’t mind checking it out. In a village like this, it’s not easy to try to offer something new.”

“It’s no different over in Penford,” said Rob. “Being vegetarian in this area isn’t easy. Six months ago, a vegan stall appeared at the market …”

“Let me guess — after four weeks, the stall was gone because you were pretty much the only customer.”

“Six weeks,” he said. “I order from them directly now — they deliver once a week. But I feel bad for them that no one local was more interested.”

He unlocked the driver’s door. “All right then, scan the photos and send them over to me, and when I’ve had a good look at everything, we’ll pick a date for me to take a look at that wall.”

He shook her hand, for what Nathalie felt was a little longer than necessary. Not that she minded. She liked him — with his stubbly beard and pitch-black hair that was a little too long. He was damn good-looking.

She caught herself. Rob was supposed to be doing a job for her. All that mattered was that he did it properly. Whether he was handsome was completely unimportant. Although …

“Stop it.”

She waved to Rob who was now driving away.

Write out a hundred lines, Nathalie Ames: Glenn is my boyfriend!

For how long though? a voice in the back of her head noted.

“Have you been spying on me?” said Nathalie when she saw her cook Louise leaning against the doorframe and grinning at her. “I suppose old habits die hard.”

“Cute guy,” Louise said when Nathalie finally arrived at the front door. “A secret date? Did you deliberately pick a time when you knew I’d be visiting Mrs Ealing in hospital?”

“No!”

“Odd that you didn’t mention it though. Eh?”

“He’s an interesting man, and not bad looking I suppose, but it wasn’t a date. It was work. That was Rob Hayle, a restorer from Penford,” she said.

“Ha! When did you arrange to meet him?”

“Last week, long before poor Mrs Ealing fell.”

“So, where did you meet him?”

Nathalie passed her and went inside to the pub, where now, at just after 2pm, only a few guests were present.

“Where else do you meet men these days? On the internet.”

Louise followed her into the corridor between the pub on one side and the café on the other. It ran through the whole house, connected all the rooms and led further back to the office and the flat where Nathalie’s Aunt Henrietta had lived until her death a few months ago.

She unlocked the door to her office. “I came across a shoebox full of old photos, and some of them show the pub around 1880, from the inside.” Nathalie reached for a thin stack of old photos and held them out to Louise. “Take a look at the walls.”

Louise held the photos under the desk lamp to see them better. “Are those murals?” she asked.

“The pictures are a bit dark,” Nathalie replied, taking a seat at the desk, “but I scanned two of them and played with the brightness and contrast. Looks like they were landscapes and, in at least one case, battle scenes. You can see there’s a painting on every surface between the supporting beams. Unfortunately, in the photos you can’t tell what they are. I decided to get a professional to check if the paintings are still there. It’s possible they’re hidden under layers of plaster or paint. We might find something precious. Could be a great story for the local papers.”

“And Hayle is an expert on this?”

“Well, put it this way, he was the only restorer who replied,” Nathalie replied. “He’s going to take a closer look at the photos and then carefully check in a hidden spot, to find out whether this painting still exists. Maybe none of the pictures are left.”

“And if he finds what you’re looking for?” Louise took a seat on the stool in front of the desk.

“Then it all depends on how much effort and cost is involved in the restoration.”

“He’s interested in you,” Louise said abruptly, without responding to Nathalie’s last statement.

Nathalie looked at her cook, puzzled. “What?”

“Hayle is interested in you,” she said.

“No, he’s interested in the job, that’s all.”

Louise shook her head. “He’s more interested in you than in the job. Didn’t you notice the way he looked at you? The way he held your hand?”

“That was nothing — just a handshake,” Nathalie protested, although she had, admittedly, noticed it.

The older woman grinned. “If you hadn’t liked him, that awkwardly long handshake would have bothered you.”

For a moment Nathalie sat there thinking about what to say. Just as she was about to say “um” to at least make a sound of some kind, Louise beat her to it.

“Besides, I’ve never seen you in a skirt and blouse,” the cook said with a grin.

“Well, I wanted to look businesslike,” Nathalie said, somewhat defensively.

“Mr Hayle even looks like the photo on his website.”

“Yes, he … wait a minute … How do you know about the photo on his website?”

“I didn’t know,” Louise returned triumphantly. “But now I do.” She tilted her head. “So, do you think he’s nice?”

“I have a feeling he’ll do a good job.”

“But … is he nice?” Louise insisted.

“As long as he does a good job to my satisfaction and the project doesn’t cost the earth, it doesn’t matter whether I think he’s nice or gorgeous or whatever. Have you forgotten that I’m still with—”

Her smartphone interrupted her.

She looked at the display and twisted her mouth into an ironic smile. “Talk of the devil …”

“Glenn?” asked Louise.

Nathalie nodded. “A tenner says he’ll cancel again.” She answered the call. “Hello?” She was trying to sound as if she hadn’t just been talking about him. “Oh … Glenn … yes, fine. How are you? Mhm … mhm … so early? That’s nice, then we … Yes, that’s right … and I’ve kept Saturday free for us, so we can both have a quiet … What?”

Louise was waving her hands and shaking her head. Nathalie turned so that she didn’t have to look at her antics.

“I don’t know … we can always figure that out when you get here … Yeah, right … okay, I’ll see you on Friday then.”

She hung up and turned back to Louise. “What is it?”

“You’re keeping next Saturday free for Glenn? Have you forgotten that the big dog show is on Saturday and that you’re part of the jury?”

“The dog show?” Nathalie repeated, startled. “Why didn’t you … oh, sorry. That’s exactly what you did. I just didn’t get it.” She stared at her phone, still in her hand. “I’ll have to call Glenn and give him a heads up.” She hesitated and looked at Louise. “Or … what do you think I should do?”

The cook raised her hands. “I’ll do as any good therapist does and ask what do you want to do?”

“That’s just it. I have no idea!”

“Nathalie, what I think isn’t important,” said Louise, “I just want you to be honest with yourself and listen to your heart. Your relationship is already quite strained. If you deal with this carelessly … You can only make the right decision if you’re honest with yourself and not by listening to the advice of old women.”

“Whenever I tell him, he’s going to know that I didn’t actually put time aside for him. So either I look bad today … or I look bad when he gets here. Maybe I can talk things through with him when he gets here.”

Chapter Two, in which Nathalie is confronted with unpleasant news

For the umpteenth time, Nathalie looked at her watch and scowled.

“Still no word from Glenn?” Louise asked, leaning through the hatch to glance into the busy pub.

“No, and I thought he wanted to leave early so we could still get something out of the day,” she murmured.

“If something had come up, I’m sure he would have contacted us by now,” the cook said soothingly. “Perhaps he wants to surprise you with something?”

“Yes, maybe,” Nathalie said, even though she didn’t really believe it.

If Glenn did have a surprise for her, she wasn’t so sure it would be a nice one. Too much had happened between them in the last few weeks for that. She sighed and reached for the next glass on the counter that needed polishing.

She started to daydream about the possibilities. What if he announced he was being transferred to his bank’s headquarters in New York next week? She wouldn’t have to make a decision about their relationship then. And she wouldn’t have to reproach herself later for perhaps having taken the wrong path — either clinging to the relationship, or not making enough effort to save it.

Fate, if you could intervene here, it would really be helpful. Ta.

However, she feared that fate would not intervene. Well, not in the way she wanted. Payback for being too cowardly to draw a line when it was needed.

She put the polished glass on the shelf behind the counter.

“How does it work exactly with the dog show?” she asked Louise, to take her mind off it.

“You want to go to the dog show?” said Harold Dean, the bartender at the Black Feather, who had just joined her from the other side of the bar. “It’s too late to sign up now. You should have done it at least six months ago, and … oh, wait … you weren’t here six months ago, and … um … you don’t have a dog either. Or have I missed something?”

“Then I guess you haven’t noticed my imaginary Saint Bernard yet,” Nathalie returned with a smile.

“Ah, of course,” the man said, deadpan. “That explains why the shrinkage of our imaginary brandy has increased so much.”

Nathalie laughed.

“Nathalie is on the jury,” Louise explained to the bartender. “She’s taken the place of her late aunt.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. Congratulations.” He nodded to Nathalie as he transferred a drink from the mixer into a cocktail glass, which he then decorated with cherries. “May I then hope that you will give my Richard Stenson III full marks?”

“Richard who?” she returned.

“Richard Stenson III is a Chihuahua,” Harold explained.

“So, not a real dog,” Louise interjected with a twinkle in her eye.

“He is very much a real dog!”

“If the tag on the dog’s collar’s bigger than the dog itself, it can’t be a real dog,” she said.

“Louise, I’m shocked that you’d be so size-ist,” he said, with feigned hurt.

“What did I say?”

“If we could get back to my original question, please,” said Nathalie, with a grin. “How does this show work?”

“So, the dogs are divided into different categories based on shoulder height. Within each category, two dogs and their owners compete against each other. The winner goes on to the next round,” Harold explained. “In the second round …”

“Here I am!”

Nathalie winced when she heard the loud, boisterous voice echoing through the pub, causing all the patrons to turn around.

“Glenn,” she said, after checking to see who was drawing attention to himself so loudly. This over-excited tone was not at all like Glenn. The “Glenn” that had crossed her lips at the sight of him hadn’t sounded very enthusiastic — more as if she’d said “Oh, it’s the postman”.

Glenn didn’t seem to notice, as he gleefully shot towards his girlfriend, leaned over the counter and gave Nathalie a kiss that, despite all his exuberance, seemed more like a sibling kiss to her.

“Hello, Lisa,” he said happily, taking no notice of the corrective “Louise” that came from Nathalie and the cook at the same time. “All right?” he said to Harold — no attempt to even remember his name.

He’d been there for less than two minutes and he’d already managed to irritate her. Was it so difficult to remember a few names? With his banking clients, he couldn’t afford to address filthy rich Mrs Maycott as Mrs Mayflower.

“I’ve got terrific news, Nathalie,” he continued impervious. “Come outside!”

This probably meant that he’d made good on his plan to swap the BMW SUV for a similar monster from Porsche.

“Okay, I’m coming,” she said, and walked around the bar, then they left the pub. In the car park in front of it, she spotted Glenn’s BMW after a few steps. She was taken aback. “I thought you were going to show me your new car.”

“My car? No, I have something much better.” He and took his smartphone out of his pocket, called up a photo and held it out to her.

It was a huge towerblock.

“And?” she asked.

“Don’t you recognise it?” he said.

“Hm … that would have to be Vermilion Tower,” she said.

“That is Vermilion Tower,” he confirmed enthusiastically. “And you know what? At the very top, on the fifteenth floor, a huge apartment has been vacant since last night! I had a chance to look at it this morning and it’s terrific!”

“The Vermilion Tower is down by the old harbour, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and you have a terrific view of the Mersey,” he continued. “You’ll be thrilled by it!” “

Nathalie stood there for a while, squinting her eyes as she took deep, steady breaths to calm down. She guessed — no, she knew — what Glenn had got into his head, and yet she didn’t want to believe it.

“Please tell me from the beginning what this is all about,” she asked him, slightly annoyed.

“Well, the previous owner, a Mr Graham, disappeared without a trace a while back,” Glenn reported gleefully, as if this circumstance was something thoroughly good. “He was finally discovered somewhere up in the Highlands, living in a dilapidated cottage without electricity or water.” Glenn shrugged his shoulders and made a throwing away gesture as if he didn’t care at all about the man’s fate. “Anyway, he’s been behind on his payments for so many months that my bank has now taken away his flat and is going to foreclose on it next week.”

“I see,” was all Nathalie said.

“But before that happens, all employees of our bank have a right of first refusal at a particularly favourable price,” he continued, “and that’s where we come in. Stephen, who’s in charge of the process, is a good friend of mine, as you know.”

“Stephen Ryder, isn’t it?” She replied, to show Glenn that she