An Invitation to Murder: An amateur sleuth murder mystery (A Mary Blake Mystery Book 1)

by AG Barnett

  Dave Flintock appeared from his room as they reached the landing to see what the commotion was and was soon persuaded by Pea to join the procession as he pretended to blow a trumpet using his hands and shouted: “Follow me!”

  Although a terrible actor, there was something theatrical about Pea when he was on form like this, Mary mused.

  “He’s had too much to drink,” muttered Dot from Mary’s side as they followed him along the landing hallway to the far right-hand side, where a door led into a winding stone staircase set into a narrow turret.

  “Haven’t we all?” Mary smiled wanly.

  The roof of Blancham Hall had been a favourite play place when they had been children. It had been a fort, a princess’s tower and often just a spot to escape from the world of adults.

  As she emerged onto the familiar flat space, she felt a pang of nostalgia, which she forced down and tried to ignore as she always did with echoes of the past. She was suddenly aware of why she avoided coming back here as much as she should. These days it just reminded her of her mother, who was long gone, and her father, who might as well be. His mind lost in mist and his body becoming frail.

  Pea led the group along the flagstone pathway between gravelled areas, and towards the central patio before spreading out to wind around the perimeter of the roof.

  “I set a fire this afternoon and Hetty’s made up a plug-in vat of mulled cider, which should be all ready,” Pea said, fussing around the round black barrel that steamed gently in the dim light from yellow uprights dotted around the low wall at the edge of the roof.

  There were murmurs of approval from the group as they gathered around the centre of the space, where old iron furniture had been arranged in a circle around a large fire pit which Pea squatted next to. He fiddled with a lighter that refused to work until Dave Flintock lit a cigar and handed his lighter to Pea.

  Mary moved away to stand at the edge of the roof, looking out over the grounds and down to the river as she had done so many times before.

  “You OK?” Dot said, arriving next to her.

  “Oh yes, just reminiscing.” Mary sighed. “No! Dot, don’t!” Mary shouted as her friend leaned forward on the battered stone parapet that ran along the top of the short wall. Dot jumped backwards as a stone tumbled down into the blackness beyond, with a puff of stone dust.

  “Bloody hell, Dot, look what you’re doing!”

  “Everyone all right?” Pea shouted from behind them.

  “Fine,” Mary called back.

  “I did mean to mention,” Pea continued, “the parapet is a bit dodgy I’m afraid, best to stay in the middle.”

  “Unlike you to not pay attention,” Mary said to Dot as they turned back towards the group.

  “Oh, sorry. My mind was just elsewhere.”

  “Like where?” Mary asked with a certain curiosity.

  In the three years she had known Dot, she could count the times when she had been confided in on one hand. Dot was an excellent listener but was the queen of bottling up her own emotions.

  “Oh, ignore me,” Dot said, shaking her head. “Just a bit tired, probably.”

  “Still no movement down there?” Mary asked, glancing at Dot’s midriff.

  “No,” Dot sighed. “I’ll take the pills tomorrow.

  “Come on, let’s have a last drink before we turn in.” She put her arm around her friend and guided her back towards the firelight, where Pea was handing out hot mugs of cider. They took two seats as they realised that the argument from earlier had now resumed.

  “And tell me, Dave,” Melanie said, “what exactly is it you’re providing Freddie for this big fee of yours?” Her eyes glinted with malice in the firelight. She was sitting on a two-seater iron bench with Freddie Hale, while Dave Flintock, Steve Benz and Emily Hanchurch took individual seats in a circle around the fire pit.

  “What do I provide?” Flintock snarled. “Only his whole bloody career! Before I came along, he was washing dishes in some rotten little pub!”

  “Stop it, Dave,” Freddie said, his voice low.

  “Can you not see what she’s bloody doing?!” Flintock moaned, spittle flying from his snarling lips. “She’s playing games with you!”

  “I rather thought that the game playing was your idea?” Melanie laughed.

  Flintock snorted and leaned back in his chair, taking a large swig from the cider he clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

  “So,” Pea said, in a voice that was clearly to imply that they should move on from whatever conversation had led them to this disagreement. “Steve, I hear you might have some new, exciting show in the pipeline?”

  Steve Benz’s eyes remained fixed on his drink as he answered.

  “There’s no new project.”

  “Oh,” Mary said, frowning. “What happened?”

  “It just didn’t work out,” Steve answered with finality to his voice that made it clear the subject was closed.

  Mary noticed as Emily’s hand moved across to rest on Steve’s, but he pulled away, leaving her cheeks draining of colour as she sipped at her cider.

  Mary thought back to a couple of months ago when she had bumped into Steve Benz at a charity auction where he had enthused about a new prime-time TV show he was going to be working on. He had been excited, energised and had seemed a different man to the morose one before her now.

  “It just didn’t work out,” parroted Melanie. “That could be the story of your life, Steve, couldn’t it? Maybe they could write that on your gravestone.” She laughed with her grating, high-pitched laugh. The rest of the party looked around in an awkward silence.

  “I think you should mind your manners,” Emily Hanchurch said in a mouse-like voice.

  “Ha!” Melanie roared. “So, she speaks, does she? I thought you were going to go the whole evening saying nothing other than the sweet nothings you’ve whispered to Steve there.”

  Emily’s pale face flushed as she looked down at her lap. “I don’t think you’re a very nice person, Melanie,” she said softly.

  “Oh, darling!” Melanie laughed again. “There aren’t any nice people, didn’t you know that?”

  “Oh, look!” Pea shouted in relief more than excitement. His right hand pointed to the sky and they all turned their heads towards the inky blackness. “There’s a shooting star, I think the shower is starting!”

  They all stared up in silence as one, then two, then a whole range of bursts of light shot across the sky.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mary said in wonder.

  “Not as beautiful as a top-up would be,” Melanie said. “Be a love, would you, Mary?” She waggled her glass towards her, a sickly smile on her bright red lips.

  Mary resisted the urge to tell her where to stick it, and instead snatched the glass from her, turned and bent down to where the large, heated barrel of cider was positioned on the ground.

  She had to be the bigger person here. Melanie was the type of person who thrived on getting under people’s skins, but Mary wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

  As she watched the golden liquid trickle slowly from the tap on the side of the barrel, she noticed Dot’s bag had toppled over behind her, spilling some of the contents onto the floor. She began putting the odd items back in, notepad, biro, compact mirror, pills. Her hand froze as she moved the pills towards the back and turned them over to see the label. These were the laxatives Dot was taking for her constipation. Before she even knew what she was doing, she pulled the silver foil tray from the packet and popped four into Melanie’s cider before stuffing the packet back in the bag. Her heart pounding, she got up and turned back towards the group, leaning across and handling Melanie her drink.

  “Can I get anyone else a top-up?” she asked, feeling slightly giddy. There was a chorus of affirmatives and she got to work as a distraction from her childish act of revenge.

  Chapter Five

  It was only twenty minutes later when Mary noticed the first signs that her impulsive act was havi
ng an effect.

  Melanie had become quiet. The snide comments and remarks that she had been firing in all directions throughout the evening were suddenly halted. She had sunk back into her chair, her hands lightly resting on her stomach.

  A few minutes later there was a whispered conversation between Melanie and Freddie, which resulted in his twinkling eyes turning to Pea.

  “Percy, I think we’re going to turn in for the night. Melanie’s not feeling well.”

  “Oh! Of course.” Pea jumped up from his seat, ready to escort his guests.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Freddie,” Melanie croaked. She got up unsteadily and turned towards Pea. “We’ve got separate rooms, remember. I just want to go to bed.”

  “Right, well I hope you feel better in the morning,” Pea said, awkwardly glancing over her shoulder at Freddie, who was looking as though someone had slapped him across the face.

  Mary watched her leave with Pea escorting her. Rather than feeling the pang of guilt she had expected, she had to reach her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  “What’s got into you?” Dot said quietly next to her.

  “Oh, nothing,” Mary said, sipping at her cider in order to give her lips something to do other than grin.

  “Freddie, you need to wake up to that woman,” Dave growled, leaning towards his client, elbows on knees.

  “Just leave it, will you, Dave.” Freddie slumped back in his seat, looking for all the world like a moody teenager.

  “Well,” Emily said, smoothing her skirt down with one hand. “I hope she feels better in the morning.”

  “You might just be the only one, love,” Flintock muttered darkly.

  Freddie huffed and strode off across the rooftop.

  “I don’t know how he puts up with her,” Mary said, watching him go.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Flintock said. There was a pause from the rest of them, but he said no more.

  “I think that’s it for the meteor shower,” Pea said as he emerged back onto the roof from the door into the house.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Mary said. “I think we’ve had enough fireworks here to keep us entertained even without the meteor shower, to be honest.”

  “That woman,” Steve Benz said in a low voice that instantly caught the attention of everyone, “has grown up to be the devil.”

  There were a few moments of silence before Pea chimed in.

  “Right, I think I might call it a night.”

  “Good idea,” Mary said, yawning. She suddenly felt thick exhaustion fall on her like a blanket, as though Pea’s words had been a trigger for unconsciousness.

  “Me too,” Dot said, “it’s getting late.”

  Mary watched Pea look around the group expectantly, but no one else replied.

  “OK, well, there’s more mulled cider if you want it and plenty more wine and spirits downstairs.”

  “Good,” grunted Flintock as he rose and moved to the mulled cider barrel once again.

  Mary, Pea and Dot said their goodnights and headed back down the stairs.

  “Well, Pea,” Mary said. “I wouldn’t say that was one of your finest social gatherings.”

  “No.” He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about all this. Thought it was going to be good for you.”

  “You mean you thought you could fix everything for me by just throwing some horrible people together?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “His heart was in the right place, Mary—it’s not his fault that Melanie turned up,” Dot said next to them.

  “Oh, I know,” she replied, sagging with a sudden exhaustion. “Thanks anyway, Pea.” She squeezed his arm as she kissed him on the cheek. “Anyway, I’m shattered, night.”

  They both bid her goodnight as she headed into her room. She realised she had meant to ask Pea whether Hetty was coming back in the morning to make breakfast for everyone and turned back towards the corridor.

  She opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall to see Dot and Pea talking at the other end as they entered Pea’s room.

  What on earth were those two up to? Surely not…

  She moved down the landing, without thinking what she would do when she caught up with them. As she reached the far end, she slowed as something in the voices she could hear through the open door gave her pause to think. Their hushed tones, their urgency, filled her with a nervousness that took her by surprise. Whether it was the dim light, the old and creaky house, or just the time of night, she found herself not walking towards the voices of old friends with a light heart. Instead, she crept forwards secretively, ears straining to hear what they were saying.

  “We’re going to have to say something,” she heard Dot say, her voice floating through the opening of the door. “I don’t like lying to her.”

  “You’re not lying to her, you’re just not telling her everything,” Pea replied. “Look, I just want to look into things a bit first. There’s no point upsetting her over nothing.”

  “And you still have no idea what he meant about this fool’s bottom business?”

  “Not a clue, no. It could just be a load of nonsense.”

  “Sometimes these things can have a grain of truth though, and she’d never forgive you if she found out you’d lied later. I think we should talk to her tomorrow,” Dot said firmly.

  Mary heard Pea sigh.

  “Fine, I’ll talk to her.”

  “Good.”

  A cold shiver ran down Mary’s spine. How could this be? Dot and Pea were acquaintances, nothing more. Now they had secret meetings where they discussed keeping something from her?

  She tried to ignore the pounding of her heart and focus on what they were saying.

  “Tonight was obviously a disaster,” Dot continued. “But I appreciate the effort. I’m not sure what’s going to happen if she doesn’t get back into something soon.”

  There was a moment of silence from the other side before she heard movement, turned and scurried back along the corridor. As she reached her room, no one had emerged from the door at the other end, but she decided not to go back and eavesdrop again.

  A few minutes later and Mary was in her childhood bed, tucked up under a heavy duvet and feeling again like a child whose parents were off deciding what was best for her.

  She was grateful to Pea for trying to get her back into the TV game so soon, but it had made her realise something that had taken her by surprise. Instead of seeing these people as an opportunity, they had only reminded her of all the things she hated about the industry she had spent so much of her life in.

  Instead of viewing Dave Flintock as an agent who could maybe offer her more than her current one, she saw him as a shark. Only in it for himself and treating his clients like dirt.

  She didn’t see Emily Hanchurch as a successful writer who might be persuaded to pen something with her in mind; rather she had observed her as a mousy, quiet woman who had obviously been walked all over by producers and actors alike for her whole career, and had now had any fight or spirit she had ever had knocked out of her.

  And Steve Benz, who had looked so alive and full of excitement when she had last seen him, had been cynical and sour. Was he sullen and sulky because his dream project was in ashes, or was there something else going on there?

  Then there was Freddie Hale and Melanie Shaw. Melanie was the spoilt and manipulative person she had always imagined her to be, which was something of a comfort. It would have been far worse if she had actually turned out to be nice. Mary wasn’t sure she could have handled that.

  Freddie Hale seemed to fit right in alongside her, though their relationship was odd at best. He seemed to be the doting boyfriend, but she seemed to enjoy keeping him at arm’s length.

  Mary sighed in the dark. Maybe she had had enough of the whole TV game, maybe it was time for something new, but what on earth would that be? She had no skills other than pretending to be someone else.

  And then there was that conversation betw
een Dot and Pea. What on earth were they keeping from her? And why did they think she couldn’t handle it?

  As her mind tumbled and turned over, the rising wind whistled through the loose and ancient windows, gently lulling her into sleep.

  Chapter Six

  Mary woke with a start and looked around the room in a panic. There was nothing there, but she strained her ears as she heard a faint tapping noise, noticeable even above the wind that still whined outside. She swung her legs from the bed and cocked her head, trying to determine the direction it was coming from, but it promptly stopped.

  A thin layer of sweat covered her body despite the cool air of the room. Her mouth was so dry it felt as though it might catch fire from friction with every movement of her jaw.

  She really shouldn’t have drunk so much.

  She turned, flicked on the bedside lamp and rubbed her eyes. Eventually, she focussed on the dark oak surface and realised with annoyance that she had failed to bring water to bed and there were no glasses in the room to fetch any from the bathroom.

  Mary lay back down, picturing just how far away the kitchen was, and groaned inwardly when she heard a new noise, this time like a soft thump. This bloody old creaking house, she thought bitterly, pulling the covers over her head. She closed her eyes and tried to prevent her mind from again filling with questions over her future when a noise from the corridor outside made her eyes snap back open. The noise was the creak of a floorboard, possibly someone with more drive to reach the kitchen than she had.

  She lay back and stared up at the ceiling, just visible from the light that bled under the door. She realised with a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t get back to sleep now without getting some water, and so pulled back the heavy duvet and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Grabbing her dressing gown from the back of the door, she headed out into the corridor. Her eyes flicked towards Pea’s room at the other end of the hall, but the door was now closed. Dot had clearly returned to her room and there was no sign of anyone else.