Murder at Maple House

by Hugo James King

  MURDER AT MAPLE HOUSE

  A Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Novel

  HUGO JAMES KING

  JESSICA LANCASTER

  Copyright © 2019 Hugo James King, Jessica Lancaster

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your respect and support of the author is appreciated.

  All characters, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are used fictionally and without intent of slander. Any resemblance to actual people are purely coincidental.

  NOTE: Written in British English, utilising the grammar rules of British English. Example; Mr and Mrs - instead of Mr. and Mrs.

  Silver Lake Cozy Mysteries

  MURDER ON SILVER LAKE (Book 1)

  MURDER ON RED ROSE DRIVE (Book 2)

  MURDER AT MAPLE HOUSE (Book 3)

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  MURDER AT MAPLE HOUSE

  A prestigious event hosting wealthy businesspeople,

  And fuelled by free-flowing champagne arrives in Briarbury.

  But when a dead man becomes the centrepiece,

  The fun festivities go south, and the champagne turns sour.

  With the identity of the body revealed,

  People speculate it could’ve been anyone.

  The race is on to prove your innocence,

  Or let people think you committed murder.

  A cozy murder mystery novel set a fictional Cotswolds village, following female amateur sleuth, her rescue dog, and an entire ensemble of quirky small-town characters. Written in British English.

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  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  From Hugo James King

  The Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Series

  About HUGO JAMES KING

  ONE

  Saturday 2nd March 2019

  How badly could an event which had taken a month to plan go? If I’d been asked the question during the morning, I would’ve laughed. Giddy with excitement about staying the night in such a fancy manor house with the promise of pedicures and massages in the morning.

  But the answer, very bad.

  Celebrating ‘Inside the Cotswolds’ fortieth anniversary, a magazine with over five-hundred editions and a readership eclipsing many publications from the parent company; Hastings Powell Publishing. It was a landmark of success, and still, I was leaving.

  There was another reason why they were holding the party at such a prestigious manor, and it was because the editor-in-chief, Diane Von Rose, was turning sixty-five. Little was known about how old Diane was to anyone else, but I knew, and she knew I knew.

  Perhaps she figured we were similar ages, but quite far from the truth, she was considered eligible for retirement, and I was considered eligible to work for at least another thirteen years.

  Maple House was a large manor outside Briarbury, and from the records I’d looked over while helping Diane prepare, I knew it was an expensive place to hire. She’d invited seventy-eight people, a joint celebration between her birthday and the company, while in conversation she had stressed to me the importance of it being her birthday.

  The event was scheduled as an overnight affair, but only for a handful of people, mainly the magazine staff and close friends, but definitely not her husband’s business contacts.

  Inside the ballroom of the manor, a stage with a jazz band, over ten tables, and deep orange hue lights hanging low. It amazed me how well it all came together.

  “I think they’re serving starters!” Ruth said, slapping my knee.

  I’d brought Ruth along as my guest.

  We were seated on table two, close to the stage by soft jazz.

  I wore a peach dress and a faux fur shawl draped over my shoulders. My hair was lightly curled and decorated with a white floral hair comb clip pushed toward the back of my head. I had Charlie dressed in a miniature dog bowtie; it was all he’d wear without attempting to chew it off.

  Ruth wore a green pantsuit, her favourite colour. It went well with her white complexion and symmetrical black bob. Unfortunately, there wasn’t an additional invite for her husband, Frank.

  There were six people to a table, and thirteen tables laid out in the large ballroom turned dining area of the manor house. I was seated alongside the other feature’s writer, Howard Sterling, and his wife, Monica, as well as Yvonne Kelly and her husband, the other editor at the magazine, Earl.

  On the first table, there was Diane and Patrick, a seat reserved, and three more seats filled with either close friends or investors, possibly both; I hadn’t seen any of them before. They were dressed in three-piece suits, ties, and polished black shoes. Maybe they’d gotten lost looking for something fancier.

  “I hope they’re not small servings,” Yvonne said, gasped and clutching at her neckline, where a silver drip pendant laid around her neck. “Diane promised.”

  “I came on the promise of bottomless champagne,” Ruth chimed in.

  Charlie brushed by my ankle as he settled on the floor at my feet. He seemed unphased by the loud noise of people around him or the lighting. I had a small bowl of water placed near a leg of the table, hopefully somewhere I wouldn’t accidentally kick. Charlie had already been fed before we came over, but knowing the menu, I knew I could hand feed him from my plate.

  Static feedback echoed from the microphone on stage, followed by a deafening screech. All eyes were on Diane as she waved. The band cut their music.

  The orange lights cut to purple as the light on stage turned white.

  She wore a white gown, and the lights did her justice, sparkles and shimmers glistened, shedding their reflections out across the room. Perhaps this was a fancy party after all. Her gown had a small train running behind it and was beaded in shining silver jewels.

  “Everyone,” she said, tapping her knuckle and a ring against the microphone. “Take your seats, they’re serving food,” she said. “You’ll have plenty of time to network once we’ve all eaten.”

  I turned in my seat to see who she aimed her comments at.

  I didn’t need to ask, it was obvious, there was a man stood at the end of the hall near the exit and entrance of the kitchen staff doors, holding two glasses of champagne in his hands.

  “Finley,” Diane said, tapping the mic once again. “That means you too, dear.”

  A gorgeous woman, half his age wrapped an arm around his elbow. Guiding him through the tables. She must’ve been his hired help for the evening. That much the entire ballroom knew.

  The jazz band played once again.

  Diane placed the microphone on the stand and stepped off the stage to her seat.

  The lights changed again.

  I continued watching Diane as she squeezed her husband’s shoulder and dipped her head to his, whispering something in his ear.

  I knew as much as she’d told me; nobody wanted Finley Carson at the event, but he was an investor—or something, and it seemed rude not to invite him.

  My starter for the three-course meal before the real party began were chicken satay skewers. Everyone knew these events weren’t for th
e meals, they were for networking and bonding which came after the fact.

  And I’d been told, by a little birdie about some people who would be working with me at the newspaper I was starting on Monday. It had been a few weeks since I accepted the offer, and since then, I was still writing articles for the magazine, my final pieces were in the upcoming edition, marked for the 40th-anniversary edition.

  ‘The Investigator’ was a national newspaper, with a much larger readership across the nation than the travel magazine. It wasn’t the fame I wanted, but I knew some people craved; it was because my interests had changed and I wanted to write for something I could do good through.

  After writing about the murder, death, and uncovering secrets, I knew this is what I wanted to do, this is what got my heart pumping and the excitement inside me drilling. It’s why I wanted to join the newspaper, and not for more money; that was the bonus. I figured this was the natural progression in my profession.

  Once the food was eaten, and the drinks were flowing, it would be a matter of time before I would meet my new bosses and work colleagues, and it thrilled me; I was nervous and apprehensive; I was going from the big fish in a small pond, to the open sea as a small flounder.

  “How’re you feeling?” Ruth asked.

  “Uh?” I mumbled, glancing around the table and back to Ruth as she wiped her lips on a napkin.

  “You’ve not touched your starter yet, they’ll be coming around with mains soon.”

  Everyone had finished, and it hadn’t even registered my food had arrived. Perhaps I was more nervous than my brain was telling me.

  The servers were all young men, dressed in white shirts and black bowties. I raised a hand to one as he passed me.

  “How can I help?” he asked, almost immediately.

  “Can I—” I nodded to the champagne glass on the table.

  Ruth nodded to hers too.

  “Second guessing yourself,” Yvonne chuckled.

  “You know, you don’t have to leave,” Howard added.

  “Well, we’re going to be two down now,” Yvonne continued, sighing into her champagne glass before chugging it.

  “I mean, gives us more work,” Howard laughed, clinking glasses with his wife.

  “I’ll bring a new bottle,” the waiter said.

  I tucked into the chicken satay, although it wasn’t anything I savoured, the food portions were small, as suspected, and they were gone within two bites.

  I held my hand high once again. The same waiter arrived with a green bottle on his arm, wrapped in a white cloth, collecting the condensation moisture. He also wore matching cloth white gloves.

  After filling my glass, he filled the others.

  Crash.

  Duh-duh.

  The jazz band came to a halt, this time pulling attention to the waiter who’d tripped and fallen, the bottle smashed into pieces on the hardwood ballroom flooring.

  “Stupid!” a voice roared, drawing more eyes in its direction.

  Finley. The waiter had smashed the glass inches from Finley’s table.

  He jumped from his seat as the waiter flitted to his feet nervously.

  “What’s he getting angry about?” Ruth grumbled. “Boy didn’t even hit him.”

  “It would’ve given him a reason to leave early,” Earl laughed.

  .

  TWO

  My main course was a lamb chop on mashed potatoes with vegetables, and then dessert followed soon after, crème brûlée. I hadn’t wanted anything too heavy when I placed my order during the week, but after cleaning my plates, I knew I needed seconds, my stomach wasn’t full, and the champagne bubbles weren’t helping.

  “Don’t look now, but—” Yvonne began.

  I watched as Earl’s eyes widened at something approaching from behind. I turned, in time to see a redhead in an equally burnt red dress. Making a beeline in our direction, the first time I’d seen a huge smile splashed across the face.

  Suzanne Jenkins.

  “Heard the big news?” she said, brushing her hair back as if she had a fiery lion’s mane.

  “News?” I asked, looking away to the rest of the table.

  “I’m going to be working for The Investigator as well.” Her continued smiling had me worried, it was the longest I’d seen her smile without it turning into a scowl. “So, we’re going to be working together.”

  “What?” I muttered, my eyes blinking rapidly as I looked to Ruth, the only other person I knew to be confused by the information.

  “We thought you knew,” Yvonne said, glancing to Howard, the two of which had seemed to be in the know, probably from Yvonne’s husband, Earl.

  I pushed out from beneath the table, disturbing Charlie. He perked, standing and shaking, most likely in an attempt to shake the bow tie around his collar.

  “When did you—”

  “Last week,” she said.

  I grabbed my shawl from the back of the chair and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Diane didn’t tell me,” I said, my brows knit together. Although she didn’t owe me the knowledge, it was certainly something she should’ve told me, given how much we’d been talking.

  I locked eyes with Diane from her table, she picked her chin and looked over, squinting in my direction. Her gaze moving to Suzanne before a noticeable clench appeared in her jawline.

  “I’m going to ask.” I headed straight to her.

  “Eve,” Patrick said, pulling out from the table, intervening my approach to his wife, Diane. “How are you enjoying your evening?”

  I turned and noticed, Suzanne smirking behind me.

  “I figured, me leaving would give Suzanne some room to grow in the company,” I said, my teeth tapping together. I pressed my tongue behind my teeth. “But now she’s coming to the same newspaper with me?”

  Diane chuckled, sweeping back a hand through her hair. “It wasn’t my decision,” she said.

  Patrick waved a hand at me. “Suzanne applied directly to me, and she had some pretty good pieces in her portfolio,” he said. “I didn’t know about her work for the magazine, well, until I told Diane.”

  “And I told you to take her,” she chuckled, grabbing the champagne flute. “So, let’s cheers to that.”

  Patrick grabbed a glass and clinked it with his wife. He raised his brows at me. “Don’t worry, the newspaper is quite large with different areas and departments, so I doubt you’ll be bumping into her much.”

  “Or at all,” Diane said behind the glug of champagne. “In fact, I thought you wanted the job because it gives you more space and freedom to investigate outside. You know, independent investigation hours and all that.”

  Patrick hummed and nodded. “I don’t go into the newspaper offices often, but those I do, people go in on Mondays, get their assignments, and then they can come and go as they wish to use the resources.”

  Suzanne joined us. “The newspaper feels like a much better fit as well,” she said. “Definitely able to put my talents to better use.”

  I clocked Diane as she rolled her eyes, readily not entertaining Suzanne, unlike Suzanne who was busy entertaining herself with what she thought she was worth.

  “Well, thank you for telling me,” I said, nodding before I moved from their table, joining Ruth as she held Charlie in her arms.

  “He was going to run after you,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” I said, stroking a hand at Charlie’s snout. “You’re gonna have to promise me you’re not going to run off tonight. This place is too big to go searching for you.”

  There were a few people I was avoiding, Suzanne, mainly, I didn’t want her faux bonding over the shared experiences we’d had at the magazine, and the future we had at the newspaper, although I had two large scale pieces under my belt already, from the two reports I’d made. Others to avoid were anyone my husband had any business dealings with, it wasn’t in my interests to have my ears talked off about what a great businessman he was, or how he had helped them in one way or another.<
br />
  Ruth and I walked around with champagne in our hands. I’d placed my purse in front of Charlie at the table, letting him sit on the chair like a guard dog on patrol, watching over our belongings.

  The jazz band paused, pulling attention to the front.

  Diane tapped the microphone for what seemed like the seventh time in the evening. The feedback ran through the audio stereos around the room. “Attention, attention,” she said. “I want to make a speech.”

  People shuffled around.

  “No, no,” she said. “Stay standing, or seated, it’s not going to be long, but you might want to get yourself some champagne. It’s a toast.”

  Wait staff walked around with their silver trays in hand. They gave champagne flutes filled with crystal yellow liquid.

  I accepted a glass, although I’d had plenty, and wasn’t attempting to fall out of my heels.

  “Thank you, everyone,” Diane said.

  Another tap came to the microphone as Patrick made everyone aware of him on the stage by his wife. “And a thank you from me as well.”

  “As many of you know, I started working at this company before marrying Patrick, and it’s been an absolute whirlwind,” Diane said. “Our fortieth edition of the magazine has meant we’ve been through a lot of writers, and a lot of people in that time, and this month, we’ll be losing two of our writers, fortunately for Hastings Powell Publishing, they’re staying within the family.”

  “And I know my wife is too humble to mention it, but we’re also here to celebrate her birthday. She turns—” Patrick’s microphone was yanked from his hand.

  She cleared her throat into her “That’s between me and my doctor,” she said, speaking into both microphones at once. “But I’m sure what my lovely husband was about to say, is how I am the light of his life, and how our marriage has no bearing on my position here at the magazine.”

  Patrick took the microphone back. “Well, let’s bring those two writers out, the two leaving and starting their new jobs and new journeys in the coming weeks. Evelyn Green and Suzanne Jenkins.”