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

by AG Barnett

  “Are you OK?” the voice said, as a strong hand took her arm and helped her to sit up.

  She looked up into a pair of large brown eyes, which stared out from beneath a mop of curly hair the same colour. They were soft, kind eyes with a mischievous twinkle to them and laughter lines that instantly warmed her to him.

  “I’m fine,” she said, leaning down and rubbing her foot. “I just stubbed my toe on something.” She looked around and saw a large lump of curved stone lying in the grass. “This whole bloody place should come with a health warning,” she muttered as she got up, wincing as she put weight on her toe.

  The man’s arm reached around her waist to steady her.

  “Thank you, I’m fine,” Mary said rather more sternly than she had meant to. He retracted his arm and instead offered his hand.

  “I’m Inspector Corrigan.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, taking his hand. “Mary Blake.”

  “Don’t worry, I know who you are, Miss Blake.”

  “I think that would be unlikely, bearing in mind we haven’t met,” she answered. “Maybe you just know of me.”

  “OK, fair point,” he said, nodding. He studied her for a moment before turning and looking up towards the window as she had done just a few minutes before.

  “So, you wondered if someone could have got up there as well, did you?”

  “Yes, it’s impossible,” She answered, adjusting her feet to place her weight on her left foot as the toe on her right still throbbed.

  “Nothing’s impossible Miss Blake, but I admit it seems implausible.”

  He had a northern twang to his deep voice that made his speech almost lyrical and was certainly pleasant on the ear.

  “I find it interesting that you are out here, though?” he said, turning back to her.

  “Oh, why?”

  “On your show, you play someone who solves crimes, do you not?”

  “Yes,” she answered slowly.

  “And here you are, trying to solve another one.”

  “Well, not really. I just wanted to…”

  “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that there is quite a difference between the fictional world of policing and the real one?”

  “Inspector,” Mary said testily. “I have this morning discovered a dead body and unsurprisingly needed some air. I stepped around the back as I was curious how someone could have climbed up to the window, yes, but that is all.”

  “I see,” he smiled, “and when you discovered the body, did you notice anything?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I assume you noticed that the victim had sustained a head injury?”

  “Yes, that part was rather obvious,” Mary said sarcastically.

  “And presumably you saw that the window was open and so you came around here?”

  “Yes, what exactly is your point, Inspector?”

  “Well, I’m just wondering why you didn’t assume she hadn’t just fallen and hit her head.”

  Mary felt the prickle of heat running up the back of her neck. She knew the chain of events was obvious, but she didn’t want to believe it because it might have meant that her prank had had something to do with another person’s death. No matter how vile Melanie Shaw had been in life, no one deserved that. There was no way, though, that she wanted to convey this to the inspector.

  “When we saw her she seemed to be lying with her head in the middle of the floor and I thought it was strange that she wouldn’t be next to whatever she hit her head on,” she said, desperate to give any reason other than the true one in the face of these searching brown eyes of the law.

  “A very good observation.” Corrigan nodded. “Of course, she may have crawled into the middle of the room from where she hit her head?” he said, looking at her questioningly.

  “I couldn’t see any trail of blood, it looked like she had died just where she had fallen.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t think those years of solving crimes on TV were wasted on you, Miss Blake. I had exactly the same thoughts, and that was before I had looked over all the furniture with edges that might be able to cause a wound like that and found no obvious sign of any blood, hair or skull fragments. Of course, the crime scene folks might turn up something, but it looks unlikely.”

  Mary looked from his face, up to the window and back again.

  “But what on earth do you think happened to her, then?”

  “At the moment, I don’t know,” he said in a low, serious voice, “but you can be damn sure I’m going to find out. Can I walk you back to the sitting room? I’d like to get going on witness statements and I’d prefer everyone in one place.”

  “Of course,” Mary said in a daze. She set off back to the house hobbling.

  “Please, allow me,” he said, offering his left arm to her. She gratefully took it and with him taking her weight, they headed back around the outside of the house towards the front entrance in silence.

  Chapter Nine

  “What on earth possessed you to go around the back and start looking at the window?” Dot said in an admonishing tone. “You’re not actually Susan Law, you know, out there to solve crimes.”

  “Oh, bloody hell!” Mary said, rolling her eyes. “Not you too. I told you, I just wanted some fresh air and ended up around the back of the house and then thought I’d see if I could work out how someone might have got up there.”

  “She must have just banged her head,” Pea said.

  “I’m not so sure,” Mary said slowly.

  “Why’s that?” Dot said, square eyebrows arching.

  The three of them were standing in a huddle at the far end of the sitting room by the tall windows that looked out across the grounds.

  “Did you see where she was when Pea opened the door?” Mary said, turning to Dot, again desperate to find any other narrative than that of Melanie being affected by the pills she had given her. “She was nowhere near any of the furniture, and I didn’t see any blood anywhere around the body.”

  “Mary,” Dot said in a shocked whisper. “Think about what you’re saying: last night we were all sitting around having drinks with her and now you’re referring to her as ‘the body.’ What’s got into you?”

  “Nothing,” Mary said defensively, “just slipping into language from the show, I guess. Anyway, Inspector Corrigan has told me that it doesn’t look like there’s any trace of blood on any of the furniture, so where exactly do you think she hit her head?”

  “But no one could have climbed that wall, could they?” Pea asked.

  “I don’t think so, no,” Mary admitted.

  “So, what exactly are you saying?” Dot asked, looking at her curiously. “That someone floated through the door into that bedroom, hit her over the head and then floated back out again?”

  Mary’s reply was unheard as an officer called out from the doorway to the hall.

  “We’re ready for you, Miss Blake,” the young man said, smiling in a way that Mary guessed was meant to be reassuring.

  “Back in a bit!” she said to her friends, hoping to sound jovial and light-hearted, though the truth was that she felt anything but.

  Everyone else had already given their statements—Mary had been saved for last. Was this because she had already spoken to Inspector Corrigan? Or was it because somehow they already suspected that she had something to do with it? Surely, they couldn’t have found the laxatives in Melanie’s system that quickly?

  She was led across the hall to a door on the opposite side, which led to the dark, book-lined study that had been her father’s domain for so many years. She knew Pea used it now, but to her, it would always be her father’s room. And the last place she would want to be. A shiver ran down her spine as she stepped into the gloomy space. What little light there was came from a glass-shaded lamp, which was positioned on the large leather-topped desk to the left. Inspector Corrigan sat behind it scribbling in a black notebook.

  “Ah, Miss Blake, please take a seat.”
He gestured to the seat opposite him and Mary took it, as the officer closed the door behind her and stood with his back against it. “Your brother has been kind enough to allow us to set up in here for the time being, but I realise this was your family home too, so please tell me if you have any objections.”

  Mary shrugged.

  “So,” Corrigan continued, “would you like to take us through what happened last night and this morning?”

  Mary nodded and began.

  She described everything as it had happened during the evening, leaving out only her own indiscretions with the laxatives and the secret meeting between Dot and Pea she had witnessed, deciding that there were some things best left unsaid, even in a murder enquiry.

  “And what do you think Mr Flintock was doing wandering the house so late at night?” Corrigan asked when she reached the point where she had met the agent in the kitchen.

  “I’ve no idea, but he made it pretty clear what he wanted to do,” she said with disgust. “I slapped him, kneed him in the groin and went back to bed.”

  Corrigan stifled a laugh with a cough and pretended to look intently at his notes.

  Mary smiled. Clearly the inspector had not enjoyed his time with Dave Flintock either.

  For Mary, men had either been friends or lovers, but rarely both. There had only ever been one man she had become close to, but his career had taken him to America and after a few transatlantic trips, the fire had fizzled out. She had found solace in shallow encounters with younger men, of which there were plenty in the acting scene of London. Lately, though, she had felt the years weighing more on her, and companionship beyond that of the fussing Dot seemed to have some appeal.

  “And you didn’t see anyone else on your way?” he continued.

  “I did, actually. I saw Emily Hanchurch going into Steve Benz’s room, and Freddie Hale was knocking on Melanie’s door.”

  Corrigan showed no reaction, and Mary guessed the other guests had already mentioned their whereabouts to him.

  “And can you think of anyone who might have had reason to harm Melanie Shaw?”

  He stared at her straight-faced, but there was that twinkle in his eye again which suggested he knew exactly what he was saying.

  “You’re joking, surely?”

  He shrugged and gestured with both palms facing upwards.

  “Well, I think most people would have had some reason to hate Melanie Shaw. If they’d met her, that is.”

  “And that would include you, would it, Miss Blake?”

  Mary took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s any secret that Melanie has replaced me on the show Her Law.”

  “It’s not,” he said, watching her. He had a way of staring at her so intently that she felt as though he was boring through into her mind and reading it as clearly as if it were spray-painted on the wall. “My mother, for one, was very disappointed. And what about the others here tonight?”

  Mary opened her mouth at this reference of his mother’s fandom, but then decided against responding and instead shrugged. “Melanie wasn’t exactly an easy person to like,” she said diplomatically.

  “But you didn’t notice anything in particular that stood out to you?”

  She thought of the strange hurried arguments between Freddie and Melanie, of Dave Flintock’s fury at the young actress, and of Steve Benz’s strange behaviour towards the victim and Emily’s silent staring eyes.

  “No, I don’t think so,” she lied.

  Corrigan took a deep breath and leaned forward on the desk.

  “The press hasn’t got wind of this yet, but when they do, I’m expecting this place to be crawling with reporters. In particular, I think they’ll be after you, Miss Blake.”

  “Me…? Oh.” She suddenly realised how this would look to the outside world. Mary Blake spends the weekend at a secluded country house with the woman who had replaced her, Melanie Shaw, who had now died from a blow to the head in the night. The British press would try, convict and sentence Mary by the end of the day.

  “For that reason, I think it’s best that the guests at the hall stay here for the time being until we can shed some more light on what’s happened here.”

  Mary nodded. “And there will be a full investigation, will there?”

  Corrigan looked at her curiously. “A young woman has died, Miss Blake.”

  “Yes, yes of course,” Mary said hurriedly. “I was just wondering if you were treating the situation as suspicious or an accident.”

  Corrigan returned her gaze with interest. Mary felt as though she was wilting under it, as though he could read the guilt in her eyes.

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me about the night that Miss Shaw died?”

  Mary thought about the hushed conversation between her friends and about her own indiscretion with the laxative pills and looked him straight in the eye.

  “Nothing at all,” she said, her chin held high.

  “Well, if anything should suddenly occur to you,” he paused, as though he was convinced something had already occurred to her but was giving her the chance to say so, “please feel free to come and see me.”

  “Of course,” Mary said stiffly, rising and leaving the room slowly, fighting the urge to run.

  The rest of the group turned to her as she arrived back in the sitting room.

  “They want us to all stay here a while, they think the press is going to turn up any minute.”

  “I should bloody well hope so,” Flintock grumbled, looking at his phone. “I called them twenty minutes ago.”

  “You did what?!” Freddie Hale asked, incredulous.

  “Look, I know this is a tragic time and all that,” Flintock said, sounding like he had heard of the concept of grief, but didn’t really believe in it. “But we’ve got to think of the future Freddie, that’s what you pay me for, isn’t it? To make the tough calls when they’re needed?”

  “And what on earth has that got to do with you calling the press in like vultures to pick over Melanie?!” Freddie raged, jumping up from the sofa and looming over his rotund agent.

  “It’s good publicity!” Flintock cried, jumping up as well. “You’re the grieving boyfriend now, we can use that!”

  Freddie swung his fist violently at his agent, catching him on the nose and sending him sprawling back across the sofa, before turning and storming towards the French doors which led out onto the garden and wrenching them open. He marched away across the grounds without looking back.

  “Let me get you a tissue,” Emily said, pulling a packet from her pocket and leaning across to hand it to Flintock, who was holding his nose and gasping with a shocked expression.

  “He bloody hit me!” Flintock said, as the tissue that he had pressed against his nose turned crimson.

  “You deserved it,” Mary said. “He’s upset and all you can do is see the marketing opportunity.”

  “That’s what he pays me for!” Flintock said, waving his arms in exasperation. “Anyway, it’s not as though he’s lost the love of his life or anything, he wouldn’t have even bloody known her if it wasn’t for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Flintock sighed. “Freddie and Melanie weren’t really together, I made the whole thing happen for exposure. I met Melanie about six months ago at a club in London and I clocked her number straight away. The only thing she was ever interested in was furthering her own career, and she didn’t care who she stepped on to get there.”

  “That’s a bit rich coming from you,” Mary countered.

  “I didn’t say I was any different, did I?” he snapped. “No, I’d have bloody loved to have her as a client, she has… had, what it takes to get to the top in this business. She wouldn’t have it though. She always wanted to do her own thing and get her own way. So, I worked out how I could use her anyway. I suggested that we could create a fake relationship between her and Freddie that would get the papers frothing at the mouth, and it worked.” He grinned, still dabbing at his nose. “It’s early
days, we’ve just been feeding them little rumours, being pictured together and that kind of thing, but the two have them have never been more popular.” He turned to Mary and laughed. “I reckon that might have been why she got your job, you know.”

  Mary’s teeth clenched involuntarily.

  “So, they weren’t really together?” asked Steve Benz, who had been watching all of this with his usual quiet countenance.

  Mary noticed Emily’s eyes flash towards him.

  “Of course not!” Flintock laughed. “But Melanie was a clever little sod and she was trying to fill Freddie’s head with all sorts of nonsense.”

  “Like what?” Pea asked.

  “Oh, you know, saying he’d be better off taking a leaf out of her book and managing things himself.”

  “Getting rid of you, you mean?” Mary said with an accusatory tone.

  “He wasn’t taking any notice of her, of course,” Flintock added hastily. “He’s a clever boy is Freddie, he knows what’s best for him. That Melanie could be poison though.”

  “Sounds like you might have had a pretty good reason for getting Melanie out of the way?” Mary immediately regretted her words, which were born from annoyance at this vile man. She felt the eyes of the room swivel to her, and then to Flintock.

  “Don’t be crazy,” Flintock said, breaking the silence. “This had nothing to do with me! Anyway, she was locked in her room, wasn’t she?”

  “The window was open,” Emily added quietly.

  “And you think I climbed up there and smashed her over the head?” Flintock laughed. “I can barely make it up the stairs, love.”

  “I thought Melanie had fallen and hit her head?” Steve asked, looking at Mary questioningly.

  “She might have done, I was just saying.” Mary got up from the sofa and walked over to the French windows.

  What a bloody mess this was! Soon the police would find traces of those pills in Melanie’s system, and then they would conduct a search and she would…

  Her train of thought derailed for a moment as she realised with a jolt that it wouldn’t be her that the police suspected, it would be Dot. She was the one with the pills in her handbag. She was also the best friend of someone whose whole career had been thrown in the gutter while being replaced by the victim.