A Pasty In A Pear Tree

by Daphne Neville

  “True, but let’s make do with a sandwich because to cook anything would be a waste of precious time.”

  They arrived at Pentrillick House just after two and found they were not alone in their fascination with the death of Simeon Dupont for the Wonderland was already bustling with people and the organisers predicted it might well be the busiest day of the festive period so far. Several shoppers browsed the chalets, Father Christmas was surrounded by a group of small children, there was a long queue to hear words of wisdom from Psychic Sid and the sleigh which had concealed wheels inside the runners was slowly crossing the extensive lawns with the help of four reindeer.

  After wandering around and accepting the fact they were unable to get anywhere near to the lake, Hetty and Lottie likewise browsed the stalls where they were surprised to see that Nick the designer clothes seller was wearing a Leeds United football T-shirt.

  “Can’t make his mind up who to support,” said Hetty, waving to Nick after he had waved to her.

  “Or trying to keep all of his customers happy,” giggled Lottie.

  “Yes, maybe, but I think with his bulky build he’d be more suited to wearing an England rugby polo shirt than a football shirt.”

  “Why England? I mean, he might be Welsh, Scottish or even Irish.”

  Hetty shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. If you listen carefully you can hear the hint of a Brummie accent.”

  “I wish we could go down to the lake,” said Lottie, as she glanced across the grounds, “perhaps we ought to take another tour of the house then we’d be able to see it from the upstairs windows.”

  Hetty turned up her nose. “No, I don’t really think I could stomach listening to Cynthia prattling on again. She wasn’t a patch on Christopher who did the tours back in the summer and her voice really grated on my nerves.”

  “Okay, so how about going on the helter skelter instead, there’s bound to be a good view up there.”

  “Don’t you think we’re a bit too old?”

  “No, come on, it’ll be fun.”

  On arriving at the helter skelter they found quite a long queue as many no doubt had the same idea as the sisters. However, having all the time in the world they patiently waited their turn and then excitedly, with mats in hands, climbed up the spiral staircase.

  “Wow,” said Hetty when they reached the top, “look at that view although I can’t see much of the lake.”

  “Move along please,” said the attendant whose job it was to make sure riders were properly seated on their mats.

  Hetty groaned, dropped her mat down, sat on top of it and pushed herself off.

  The ride down the slide was quite exhilarating and Hetty found herself laughing when she reached the bottom.

  “Come on, Grandma, up you get,” said a young man who offered his hands to help her onto her feet.

  “Cheeky,” she chuckled and stepped out of the way just in time to prevent herself being hit by Lottie who came whizzing around the corner also laughing.

  After the helter skelter they decided to do something a little more seemly and so opted to take the maze challenge. To enter, each person paid two pounds and their time of entry was recorded. The task was to find a basket of coloured balls hanging from the arm of a statue in the middle of the maze. To prove they had reached the centre each entrant must obtain a ball and then find their way to the exit. Anyone who completed the task in less than thirty minutes received a mystery prize which they would select from a bran tub where items worth ten pounds or more were wrapped in Christmas paper. Only twenty people were allowed in the maze at the same time and according to a ‘winner’s board’ near to where the entry fees were paid, only seven people had mastered the challenge since Wonderland had opened at the end of November.

  After coming up against one dead end after another, Hetty suggested, in hushed tones, that they follow a couple who had just emerged from somewhere as they sounded very confident. To their delight, the plan worked and they all found themselves by the statue holding the basket of balls. The young couple each quickly grabbed a ball and then with haste walked away from the statue. Hetty and Lottie also took a ball each but to their dismay neither saw in which direction the young couple had gone. Nevertheless, with ten minutes to spare before their thirty minutes ran out, they were confident they would be able to find their own route to the exit.

  Five minutes later, they felt they were no nearer the way out than when they had left the statue, but still they persevered. However, luck was not on their side for as they quickly turned realising they were approaching yet another dead-end, Lottie’s ball slipped from her hands and rolled away beneath the hedge.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lottie,” hissed Hetty in exasperation, “we only have three minutes left. Pick it up quick.”

  Lottie bent down to pick up the ball but in haste lost her balance and fell down onto her bottom. Trying to suppress the desire to giggle and keen not to anger her sister further she quickly scrambled to her knees and reached out for the ball, but in doing so something inside the lower part of the hedge caught her eye. Intrigued to see what the something was she parted the foliage and gasped. “No way. Look, Het. Look what’s in here.”

  Hetty impatiently crossed to her sister. “Whatever it is it doesn’t matter. Come on, Lottie we’ve only one minute left.”

  “I don’t think you’ll care when you see what I’ve found,” Lottie looked smug.

  Hetty frowned and knelt down beside her sister. Inside the hedge were two empty bottles. One vodka and the other French red wine.

  The maze was promptly cordoned off by the police when they arrived at Pentrillick House and the couple whose job it was to take money for the challenge were questioned, as were the gardeners who were responsible for the maze’s upkeep. Lottie and Hetty, likewise were questioned and the police were very interested to hear the results of Psychic Sid’s fortune telling which Hetty felt duty-bound to mention even though by doing so she clearly annoyed Lottie who thought it purely coincidental. For the officers having questioned Sidney Moore on the Saturday afternoon following the discovery of Simeon Dupont’s body, knew that he was on the premises of Pentrillick House during the night on which the Frenchman had died. At the time he claimed to have heard nothing untoward as he had slept soundly throughout the night having felt unwell earlier in the evening. However, the fact that empty vodka and wine bottles had now been found in the maze which was very near to his caravan, gave them every reason to question him again.

  Psychic Sid told fortunes from eleven in the morning until five in the afternoon. He found it was not possible to do more hours than that for it was a strain on his voice and his imagination. As the last person left on Wednesday afternoon he changed from his elf outfit into his normal clothes, and removed the rosy cheeks painted on his face while looking forward to a mug of tea. However, having heard a police siren in the grounds of Pentrillick House earlier in the afternoon and the loud chatter of excited voices close to his caravan while he was telling a bumptious blonde she would meet a wealthy billionaire on her next holiday, he knew that something must have happened to have brought the boys in blue back to the Wonderland again. He assumed that meant there had been further developments in the case of Simeon Dupont. Therefore, before he put on the kettle to make a cup of tea, he glanced from the window above the sink to see if there was any obvious activity. To his surprise he saw that two officers were walking towards his caravan.

  Sid opened the door before the police had a chance to knock.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen, and what can I do for you?”

  “Mr Moore, we’d like to ask you a few questions regarding a recent fortune telling you did for a lady to whom you predicted a murder in Pentrillick before the festive season was over.”

  Sid groaned as his shoulders slumped.

  Jeremy Liddicott-Treen anxiously watched the activity outside the maze from the drawing room window of Pentrillick House. Two police cars had been there for some time and he could s
ee that the area was cordoned off. Several people had gathered to watch and a white van used by scenes of crime officers was parked alongside the police cars. Jeremy frowned as two of the police officers left the maze and walked towards the caravan belonging to Mr Moore the fortune teller. Why were they calling on Mr Moore? What had he done or what had he seen? Perhaps he was the owner of the lost glove and it was he that Jeremy had seen flashing the torch in the woodland in the early hours of Monday morning. Or worse still, perhaps Mr Moore was the person Jeremy had seen hiding beneath the trees when he had retrieved the glove and now he, Mr Moore, was about to report seeing Jeremy down by the lake on Monday afternoon.

  “Don’t panic,” he said to himself, “you have done nothing wrong.”

  “But I have, I have. I crossed a police cordon and removed possible evidence and I really should have known better.” He sat down. If only he had told his parents what he had seen then his conscience would now be clear. On the other hand, maybe he should do a little detective work of his own. After all he was not unfamiliar with police procedures because detective novels were his favourite genre of books and he read a lot of books.

  Jeremy left the drawing room and ran upstairs. From the bottom of a drawer in his bedroom he pulled out the glove and tucked it beneath the waistband of his jeans; he then left the house. After making sure that the police cars were still outside the maze, he walked across the grounds, still busy with people, and over towards the car park. After checking that no-one was around, he hooked the glove on top of railings. For he concluded that if it was still there in a few days’ time then he would know that it had probably been lost for some time and its owner was not looking out for it, meaning the fact that he had found it was of no consequence. On the other hand, if the glove disappeared quickly then the chances were that whoever had lost it would be glad to have it back and relieved that he’d not dropped it when on the wrong side of the police cordon in the middle of the night. And if that were the case then he, Jeremy Liddicott-Treen, would keep a watchful eye out for said person wearing the gloves which might then help him to fathom out why the mystery man had been in the woods in the first place. With a spring in his step, Jeremy happily returned to the house glad that the glove was no longer in his possession.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Thursday morning, the police were busy taking finger prints from all adults who lived in Pentrillick and visitors likewise but according to the village grapevine, none thus far had matched the prints on either wine or vodka bottles. It was, however, confirmed that because Simeon Dupont’s prints were on the wine bottle the police considered them to be an important piece of evidence. However, it was thought unlikely that they would ever be able to establish to whom any other prints on either bottle belonged for it was obvious that both would have been handled by several people before and after their purchase and for that reason it was impossible to take prints from all retailers and wholesalers. However, it was, they believed, evidence to suggest that Monsieur Dupont might not have been drinking alone on the night that he died and, because the weather that evening had been cold there was every good reason to assume that the person with whom Simeon drank the red wine vodka combination had worn gloves. This meant there was justification to suspect foul play regarding the patissier’s death as it was possible his wine had been spiked with vodka in order to get him inebriated. Consequently, the case was upgraded from unexplained to suspicious. This piece of information, leaked by someone who had heard the police talking, fired up the imaginations of many in the village, and especially so after villagers learned that licensees, Ashley and Alison Rowe had been questioned as to who amongst their clientèle were regular vodka drinkers. This latest piece of gossip was being discussed by several people in the post office and Miss Vickery, who was amongst them, passed on the news when she arrived at Primrose Cottage for coffee.

  “Goodness me, I should imagine sales of vodka will drop dramatically in the pub then,” said Hetty, as she placed a tray laden with a plate of chocolate biscuits and three steaming mugs of coffee on an occasional table. “After all most people will be keen to say they never touch the stuff and who can blame them.”

  Miss Vickery nodded as Hetty handed her a mug of coffee. “That is precisely what was said to Gail in the post office. Silly, I know but I’ve been racking my brains all morning trying to think of anyone I know who drinks vodka but I’ve drawn a blank. Not that I go in the pub very often. I’m not much of a drinker, you see, and often just drink tonic water.”

  “Very wise,” said Hetty, as she lifted the plate of biscuits, “far too many calories in alcohol.”

  “And in chocolate biscuits too,” said Miss Vickery, taking one from the plate offered by Hetty, “but they are my favourites.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Lottie, “because we were going to make mince pies this morning but then found we had forgotten to buy mincemeat. Needless to say, had we gone out and bought some we would not have had enough time to make them before you arrived.”

  Miss Vickery laughed. “Probably just as well because to be honest I find pastry gives me indigestion so I try to avoid it.”

  “Oh dear, that is a shame,” said Hetty, as she sat down on a chair by the window, “So I assume you weren’t able to sample any of Simeon’s delicacies.”

  “Oh but I did. I had macarons on two occasions. They were heavenly and melted in the mouth.”

  “Of course, silly me. I’d forgotten that not all of his wares are pastry based or should I say, were.”

  “Is that a gnome hanging on the tree?” Miss Vickery asked, as she squinted to adjust her vision.

  Lottie nodded. “Yes, I won him at the fair.”

  “How long has he been there?” Hetty’s mouth gaped open, “I hadn’t seen him until Miss Vickery pointed him out.”

  “Since the day I won him. I wondered how long it would take you to notice and that’s why I put him towards the back.” Lottie looked smug.

  “Humph, well I suppose since he’s part hidden he can stay there. Horrid little thing.”

  “Oh dear, I take it you don’t like gnomes,” said Miss Vickery.

  “No I don’t and I reckon whoever stole them from the gardens around here must be stark staring mad.”

  The sound of a horse clip-clopping along the lane caused all to look towards the window. Hetty, who was nearest, stood up and peeped out through the glass panes where she saw a horse and rider passing by. “I wonder who that is,” she said, “I’ve not seen horses in fields anywhere around here.”

  “That’ll be either Tristan or Samantha Liddicott-Treen,” said Miss Vickery, not bothering to stand. “Or it might be one of the children as I believe they came home from school at the weekend. The family often ride along here and then go over the fields and back to the house. I’ve always rather fancied the notion of riding but if the truth be known I’m a little afraid of horses. They’re so big and powerful yet so graceful too.”

  “I totally agree,” said Lottie, “I can never understand how such slim legs hold up their weight. And have you seen their teeth? They’re enormous.”

  “I take it there are stables at Pentrillick House then,” said Hetty, as she returned to her armchair. “I don’t recall seeing them anywhere.”

  Miss Vickery swallowed her last piece of biscuit. “No, you wouldn’t have seen them as they’re well away from the house in an area not open to the public. If I remember correctly they have four horses but I may be wrong as I’ve never really taken much notice of them and so they aren’t very high on my list of favourite things.”

  “So what is on your list of favourite things?” Lottie asked, “other than playing the church organ, that is.”

  “Knitting,” said Miss Vickery, without hesitation, “I love knitting.” She reached for a large bag that she had brought with her, opened it up and from it she took several knitted toys, owls, reindeer, black and white cows, snowmen, penguins and robins. “I knit these for Nancy and Neil to sell in their chalet at
Wonderland. They’re quite popular, I’m delighted to say.”

  “They’re really cute,” chuckled Lottie, amused by the face of a small owl. “I like to knit too but I’m not in the same league as you. I’m really impressed.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hetty’s mouth gaped open. “But surely you’re not going to walk all the way to Pentrillick House with them, it’s quite a long way from here even for someone such as yourself who likes walking and I see there are spots of rain on the window now so it must be drizzling.”

  Miss Vickery shook her head. “Not too far for me, but no, I’ll not be walking up there today as I have a key to Nancy and Neil’s house which is only about half a mile or so outside the village. Nancy is my niece, you see, and so that’s why I have a key.”

  “Oh that’s nice. So do you knit their umm, err festive jumpers as well?” Lottie asked.

  “Goodness me no. Much too time consuming. Nancy has a knitting machine to do them.” She gave a sudden laugh. “To be honest, I don’t think I’d be able to knit garments quite as gaudy as they are. Not much job satisfaction in something like that. Not for me anyway.”

  “I agree,” said Lottie, “although for a brief moment the other day Hetty and I were tempted, weren’t we, Het?”

  “Yes, but we agreed that such voluminous garments would definitely make us look fat, well, me anyway as I’m quite bulky enough already.”

  “You should take up walking,” said Miss Vickery, “I was rather chubby as a child but the pounds dropped off when I started walking and I’ve been lean ever since.”

  Hetty’s face lit up. “Really, now that is interesting.”

  “We often see you walking by here,” said Lottie. “Do you go out every day?”

  “Absolutely and whatever the weather. In fact I quite like walking in the rain as long as it’s not too heavy.” She looked towards the rain splashed window, “Today’s drizzle won’t bother me at all.”