Charlotte Denver Cozy Mystery Box Set

by Sherri Bryan

  It occurred to Charlotte that, despite the gurgling baby, the woman looked a little uptight. She wondered if the man sitting beside her was her husband. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Engrossed in a broadsheet, he shook the paper out in front of him, immediately becoming an unwitting, and, evidently, unwilling, partner in little Zac’s latest game of grabbing at the pages to reveal the man’s face for a game of peek-a-boo.

  As the man turned away from the little boy with barely concealed irritation, he leaned over and spoke quietly to the young man sitting beside him. Seconds later, they had changed places, leaving the man to read his newspaper in peace and the younger man to deal with little Zac.

  Charlotte noticed the immediate change in the woman’s demeanour as she became noticeably relaxed. She guessed her to be in her late thirties, or thereabouts, and the older man anywhere between his mid-fifties and mid-sixties. Although they’d sat together, there was no other evidence of closeness, and Charlotte observed a palpable detachment between them. Together…but not quite.

  “I’m just going to check the board.” Nathan interrupted her thoughts. “And if there’s no gate number, I’m going for a quick walk. My backside’s gone to sleep.” He winced as he stood up and stretched out his back before folding his newspaper and handing it to the woman in the next seat, who accepted it with a smile.

  As he went off in search of gate information, Charlotte turned her attention back to the group of friends.

  Frankie had joined in the game of peek-a-boo now, pulling his beanie hat down over his eyes and then pulling it up again to boo Zac, making him squeal with delight. He took the hat off after a while and fanned his face with it. As he bent to retrieve his backpack from under the table, Charlotte did a double-take.

  The back of his shaved head was a canvas for a tattoo of a full-sized face, complete with piercing green eyes surrounded by bloodshot whites and thin lips curled sneeringly over teeth bared in a contemptuous snarl.

  “Look at that guy’s tattoo,” she whispered to Nathan, who had just reappeared. “That’s so creepy.”

  “Bloody hell. Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘eyes in the back of your head’, doesn’t it? Hey, isn’t that…yes, I’m sure it is.” He craned his neck as he squinted. “Yes, it’s definitely him.”

  “It’s definitely who?” Charlotte followed his gaze.

  “Adam Pitt. The guy reading the paper is Adam Pitt.”

  Charlotte suddenly realised why he’d looked familiar. Back in St. Eves, Adam Pitt was a minor celebrity.

  Not that celebrities were an unusual occurrence in St. Eves; quite often you couldn’t walk down the street without tripping over one who was holidaying at their weekend retreat. Actors, rock stars, politicians and TV personalities were flocking to put down roots in the town; some arriving with an entourage but others preferring to come and go, almost unnoticed and without any fuss. Adam Pitt was certainly one of the more guarded.

  A successful property tycoon, his considerable fortune had been significantly enhanced when he’d sold his lucrative construction company and made a series of incredibly impressive killings on the stock market by taking calculated risks while others were being overly cautious.

  Four years ago, before taking early retirement and relocating to St. Eves, he’d caused a sensation when he’d refused to renew his contract as business adviser on the prime-time financial affairs TV programme, ‘Your Money in Our Hands.’

  With his no-nonsense approach and shrewd eye for business, he had helped thousands of viewers to bring their financial problems under control, gaining an army of fans along the way.

  However, apart from the flurry of media interest pre and post his arrival in the town, he appeared to have shunned any subsequent attention, although this hadn’t stopped a devoted following of admirers from gaining in numbers since his arrival—a group of mainly middle-aged women who called themselves ‘The Pittettes’.

  Charlotte recalled there’d been a minor hullabaloo when he’d moved into a listed building on the edge of St. Eves but, as there’d been more serious matters on her mind at the time—a murder in the town that she’d become involved in helping to solve, for one—she’d paid little attention to it. She did recall hearing, though, that when he’d arrived he’d brought his ex-programme researcher with him, leaving behind an estranged wife with whom he’d had no contact for years. When his divorce had come through six months later on the grounds of irreconcilable differences, he’d married his ex-programme researcher and made Ruby Danvers the current Mrs Pitt.

  “Oh, right. I wondered why he looked familiar. So is that his wife, then? The woman with the dark hair?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Nathan. “It might be—I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before.”

  A crackle over the loudspeaker heralded the announcement they’d been waiting for.

  “This is an announcement for all passengers on flight UKLG421 to London Gatwick. At this time, we are inviting those passengers with small children, any passengers requiring special assistance, and passengers who are eligible for rapid boarding, to approach the gate. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready for inspection. Boarding of all remaining passengers will begin in approximately ten minutes’ time. Thank you.”

  ººººººº

  The hotel was grand, but not in the slightest bit pretentious.

  Elegant, comfortable, and luxurious, it was the perfect place to spend a honeymoon. Charlotte had felt herself relax immediately as she’d set foot on the canopied entrance walkway and stepped into the sumptuous foyer.

  As Nathan reclined on the bed, head resting in clasped fingers, Charlotte read off a lengthy ‘To Do’ list.

  “So, that’s Buckingham Palace, The Changing of the Guards, Trooping the Colour—I’m so happy we’re here for the Queen’s birthday. And then we’ve got Harvey Nichols, Oxford Street, The Marylebone Farmers Market, The Princess Di memorial fountain and the Peter Pan statue in Hyde Park, a boat trip along the Thames, lunch on one of those boat restaurants along Regents Canal, a sightseeing tour on an open-topped bus, The London Eye, Madame Tussauds, and St. Martin’s theatre. Oh, and tea at The Ritz.” Charlotte tapped her pen against her chin. “Yes, I think that’s everything.”

  Nathan opened an eye and arched a brow. “I see. Sure you haven’t missed anything?”

  Charlotte’s reviewed her list. “Ooh yes—all the museums and lunch at Kensington Palace.”

  Nathan shook his head in resignation. “You do realise we’re only here for two weeks?”

  “Course I do. Why?”

  “Because you should be relaxing, and that itinerary sounds anything but.”

  Charlotte flopped down on the bed. “Listen, you old grump.” She poked Nathan in the ribs with her pen. “I’m not ill—I’m pregnant. I just want to make the most of being here, and what better way to do that than sightseeing?”

  She grinned. “And you’d better get used to it because I’m going to buy a Union Jack t-shirt and a hat with ‘I Love London’ written on the front. While we’re here, I’m a tourist and I’m going to make the most of it. This is our capital city, Nathan, and it’s fantastic. I want to see everything I can.” She took his hand and dragged him onto the Juliet balcony. “Just look at it.”

  Everywhere they looked, the architecture spoke of centuries gone by. Not far away, the green dome of Madame Tussauds waxwork museum was clearly visible, the Serpentine River a long silver snake slithering through the green grass of Hyde Park, and the London Eye turned slowly, each of its pods filled with tourists eager for their bird’s-eye view of the capital city in all its glory.

  As if to reinforce Charlotte’s resolve, a red double-decker bus drove past and she suddenly felt wildly patriotic.

  “So, are you coming with me on this adventure or would you rather stay here and watch the shopping channel?” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. When she put her mind to it, she could sweet-talk Nathan into doing anything she wanted
.

  Nathan rolled his eyes. “Okay, Mrs Costello. You win.”

  ººººººº

  Almost a week into their honeymoon, in the hotel restaurant with its spacious white marble interior adorned with tasteful art, leafy palms, and a bevy of claret-waist-coated attentive servers for whom nothing was too much trouble, Charlotte added four kisses to the postcard she’d just written to Jess and Laura and stuck a stamp onto the top right-hand corner.

  A waiter holding aloft two plates, each bearing a piping hot selection from the breakfast menu, arrived at the table.

  “Scrambled eggs on maple syrup French toast, with cheddar cheese, mushrooms, and a side order of pickled baby beetroot for you, Madam and, for you, Sir, our full English breakfast. And would you care for more tea and coffee?”

  “Tea, please,” said Charlotte before sinking her teeth into a deep burgundy pickle. She was grateful that whatever her craving, the hotel kitchen catered to her bizarre breakfast requests without quibble.

  She took her list out of her pocket. “So, how about Madame Tussauds after breakfast and then Hyde Park? That okay with you?”

  Nathan nodded. “Suits me. When we’re ready for lunch we can grab a couple of sandwiches from the deli on the corner and eat them in the park, if you like?”

  “Deal!” Charlotte crossed two more items off her list and mopped up a pool of maple syrup from her plate with a triangle of French toast. “I love it when a plan comes together!”

  ººººººº

  The Princess Diana memorial fountain, fashioned from Cornish granite, had been just as beautiful as Charlotte had imagined it to be and, a busy morning of sightseeing over, she and Nathan were relaxing in deck chairs at the edge of the Serpentine River in Hyde Park.

  It was a glorious day and, all around, visitors to the park were taking advantage of the good weather; sunbathers recumbent on the warm grass, joggers pounding the footpaths, families ambling alongside the river, and gaggles of gossiping young nannies commandeering park benches, their gleeful charges delighted to be free from the confines of their pushchairs. Everyone seemed to be taking the opportunity to appreciate the park.

  Everyone apart from a smartly dressed man, fixated on his phone and completely oblivious to his beautiful surroundings.

  Nathan’s roast beef and mustard sandwich came to a halt mid-way to his mouth. “Look, it’s Adam Pitt.”

  Charlotte turned. “So it is. He looks awfully serious. Wonder what he’s up to?”

  Nathan laughed. “What do you mean you “wonder what he’s up to”? He’s on his phone, is what he’s up to. You’ve been involved in too many murders, that’s your problem—you think everyone’s up to no good these days. You’re worse than me.”

  Charlotte was about to answer when a young woman on a bicycle pulled up alongside Adam. Strands of blonde hair escaped from underneath the baseball cap she wore and Charlotte immediately recognised her as being Penny, the woman she’d spoken to at the airport.

  The couple spoke quietly for a while before the conversation appeared to become heated. It was impossible to hear what was being said but something had clearly upset Penny. Her raised voice attracting glances from passers-by, she shook Adam’s hand from her shoulder before cycling off in the opposite direction to where Nathan and Charlotte were sitting.

  “Wonder what that was all about?” Charlotte frowned as the man strode away.

  Nathan shrugged a shoulder and pushed an escaping piece of roast beef back into his mouth. “Who knows? Lovers’ tiff, maybe?”

  “D’you think so? He’s married, though.”

  “And? Married people have affairs all the time—you don’t know what might be going on.” Nathan washed down the last bite of his sandwich with a swig of mineral water and leaned back in his deckchair. “I’m just glad that, whatever it is, I don’t have to analyse anything anyone says or does because, for once, it’s absolutely none of my business.”

  As Charlotte watched Adam Pitt disappear out of sight, a familiar niggling worry overwhelmed her. As she tilted her face to the sun, she hoped her instincts were wrong.

  ººººººº

  Charlotte was about to cross a long-time ambition off her list.

  After an early dinner at a popular local restaurant, they were off to St. Martin’s theatre to see Agatha Christie’s, ‘The Mousetrap.’

  “You know they ask the audience to keep whodunit a secret?” she said as she attempted to pick up a Chinese pork dumpling with chopsticks.

  “Will you please let me help you?” said Nathan. “Or why don’t you just use a knife and fork? You’re not going to get anything to eat at this rate—I can’t bear to watch for much longer.”

  “No, thank you and I’m determined to master these flippin’ things so I won’t be resorting to cutlery. I nearly had it then…c’mere, you little…ah, got it! See, I told you I’d…ooops!” Charlotte froze as she lost her grip on the dumpling and it catapulted through the air, towards an elderly woman who looked as though she’d come straight from the hairdresser.

  “Got it!” a voice called out and, from nowhere, a figure jumped and caught the wayward dumpling mid-flight, to a ripple of applause.

  Immediately, Charlotte knew who it was. Who else had a tattoo of a face on the back of their head?

  “I believe this is yours?” The grinning tattoo artist from the airport placed the dumpling on the table in front of Charlotte.

  “Thank you. I’m very embarrassed and incredibly grateful.” Charlotte put down her chopsticks and picked up her knife and fork immediately. “Thank goodness you were here to catch it—it was heading straight for that woman’s shampoo and set.”

  “You’re welcome. I knew all that rugby training would come in handy sooner or later. Actually, we were just wondering if it was you.” He pointed to a table a little way behind them, at which sat Penny and the rest of the group from the airport.

  “Hi!” Penny waved frantically. “See, I told you we’d bump into each other! You want to join us? Owen’s cousin’s looking after Zac until tomorrow so we’re making the most of our night off!”

  “Thanks, but we’re off to the theatre in a while. We’ve got tickets for ‘The Mousetrap’—I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to see that play. Nathan reckons he’ll have the murderer figured out during the first act, but I’m not so sure he’ll be able to second-guess Agatha!”

  Penny laughed. “Well, I won’t tell you whodunit but I bet you’ll never guess. Anyway, as we’ve bumped into you, what better time to ask if you’d like to come to a small party we’re having tomorrow afternoon? Actually, it’s a victory party for Frankie—we’re so sure he’s going to win big at the awards tonight, it’s a good excuse for a celebration. If you’d like to come along, we’d love to see you. And you won’t have far to go because we’re in the street just behind your hotel—number 196. If you’re interested, just turn up any time after midday and before six. The weather’s going to be great so Owen’s doing a barbecue—come along if you can, it'll be fun.

  “Oh, and we’ll have the hot tub going for the first time this year if you want to get in or dangle your legs over the side. We keep loads of spare swimsuits and swimming shorts at the house if you haven’t brought anything with you and you’d like to borrow something.”

  "Okay, we'll see how we’re fixed. Number 196, did you say?”

  "Yeah. It’s the red-brick house with the black and white eaves and the post-box outside that says ‘Baker’—you can’t miss it. I hope you can make it.”

  "Okay, maybe see you tomorrow. Thanks for the invite. We’ll leave you to finish your meal in peace. Good luck for tonight, Frankie, and thanks for the save.”

  The young man made a Victory sign before expertly manipulating a piece of Kung Po Chicken into his mouth.

  ººººººº

  “Bet you didn’t see that coming, did you, Inspector Clouseau?”

  “Er, I think I prefer Inspector Poirot, if you don’t mind. And no, I didn’t. I must be l
osing my touch.” Nathan settled Charlotte’s jacket around her shoulders as they made their way out of the theatre.

  “Nice of Penny to invite us to her party. They seem like nice people, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, they seem harmless enough. Do you want to go?”

  Charlotte allowed herself a secret smile. It wasn't often that Nathan welcomed the company of strangers so readily. Years of being a policeman had made him instinctively wary but, over the past few days, Charlotte had seen a new side of him and she loved that he was so relaxed.

  “We can pop in for a while, I suppose. I mean, she’s been good enough to invite us so the least we can do is show our faces—we don’t have to stay for long if we don’t want to. By the way, did you notice that Adam Pitt bloke at the table? He looked really grumpy—and he was crotchety at the airport, too. I was thinking that maybe he doesn’t like the thought of strangers joining their little group. D’you know what I mean? He might feel uncomfortable with us being there, what with him being a minor celebrity and all.”

  Nathan shook his head. “No, I didn’t notice he was grumpy but we’re not all like Pollyanna, you know. Just because someone doesn’t have an ear to ear grin 24/7 doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with them. Maybe he was tired, or fed up. Who knows? And if he had an issue with being among strangers, I doubt he’d have come all the way to London for a tattoo awards ceremony.”

  “Or maybe he’s fed up because of the argument we saw him having with Penny.”

  “Or maybe…we should completely forget about Adam Pitt and his mood swings. And, incidentally, you’ve got that faraway look in your eyes. You know, the one you always get before you start meddling in something that’s none of your business.”

  “What look? I don’t have ‘a faraway look.’” Charlotte was indignant. “But if I did, why d’you suppose that is? I’ll tell you why, it’s because St. Eves has become the UK’s flippin’ murder hotspot over the past few years and I’ve had to become adept at solving mysteries.”

  “Actually,” Nathan pulled her towards him and kissed the top of her head, “you haven’t had to do anything, but that hasn’t stopped you turning into some amateur sleuth who won’t rest until justice is done, tearing around town on that bicycle of yours and channelling your inner Miss Marple.”