Lindsey smiled in a girlish manner. ‘What’s age got to do with it? Anyway, having a baby brother or sister might be quite fun.’
Honey shook her head. ‘Not for the parents it isn’t.’
‘I approve of whatever you two want to do. It’s OK by me. Honest.’
The fact that Lindsey was being so reassuring made Honey feel warm inside, though her attitude to having a half-brother or sister was a little disconcerting. Plus there was Rachel of course, Doherty’s daughter by his first marriage.
She toasted her daughter. ‘Never a dull moment in this game – even at Christmas, though I must admit I’m glad things have calmed down. Everything is going to be smooth as custard for the rest of the holiday.’
Lindsey raised her glass. ‘Amen to that.’
Unfortunately, it was her head chef who burst that particular bubble.
‘We have a problem.’
He looked really worried. His mouth was moving from side to side as though he couldn’t find the words he was searching for.
‘Are you ill?’ Honey asked. Panic loomed like a black cloud on her sunny horizon. The last thing she wanted over the rest of the holiday and New Year was for her head chef to be ill. He could be drunk, and no doubt would be soon – she’d seen him whirling around in a tartan kilt on past New Year’s Eves. This year would be no exception.
‘Spill it,’ she said, half inclined to shove her fingers in her ears, convinced that this was something that she didn’t want to hear.
‘Clint is stuck to his chair.’
Their washer-up had taken a break from helping with the preparations for the buffet. He’d decided to wait for Smudger to change and sat himself down on a chair. Unfortunately, he’d secreted a tube of super glue into the back pocket of his stonewashed jeans. Even more unfortunately, the tube hadn’t been sealed properly. The glue had come out. Clint, or at least his jeans, was stuck to the chair. Worse still, a stash of red plastic noses, left over from the BBC’s Comic Relief event, had been found in the cold store. They didn’t belong to the Green River Hotel. Clint admitted to them having been purloined from the Zodiac Club.
‘It keeps them stiff,’ he explained when asked why they were in the cold store.
‘I’d prefer not to know that,’ said Honey. Folding her arms, she pinned Clint with an accusing glare. ‘The noses and the glue say it all. Worse still, you’ve implicated the Green River Hotel in your prank. I am not happy.’
Clint hung his head and groaned.
She showed no mercy. ‘I don’t think we want Doherty to know about this, otherwise you could be spending some time in the cells. It won’t reflect well on the rest of us. Whatever possessed you to do it?’
When Clint wrinkled his face, the spider tattoo on his forehead fell forward over his eyes as though his skin had worked loose over his skull.
‘It was just a joke. I reckoned they looked all the better for it. More festive. Don’t you think?’
She sighed. ‘Get out of those trousers. I’ve got a spare pair that will fit you.’
Whilst he slid away from his jeans and the chair to which they were attached, Honey fetched the pair of clown’s trousers from the laundry room. An entertainer they’d hired for a children’s party had left them behind. Honey had contacted him, but he’d declined to collect them. He’d decided to accept a job on the deli counter at one of the big supermarkets.
There were other trousers she could have given him, but Clint deserved to be taught a lesson.
The trousers were made from alternate diamonds of green and red material that shimmered in the light. A pair of overlarge black shoes made of stiff felt was attached to the legs of the trousers. The shoes were large – very large. ‘Put these on.’
Clint stared at them as though she were offering to clothe him in an iron maiden – complete with nails and cast iron belt.
‘I’m not wearing them! Not unless you cut the feet off.’
Honey shook her head. ‘We can’t do that. The feet are joined onto the trousers and I don’t want to ruin them in case the clown comes back for them. You wear these or your shorts. Go on. You’re the clown. You make the choice.’
‘Them jeans are brand new.’
His voice was full of protest, but she saw the look in his eyes. He had no choice. Tonight he’d planned to visit Anna. He had to wear something, at least until he could get home and change.
Casper popped in for an evening drink; recognising him as being of a certain age, Gloria Cross, Honey’s mother, homed in on him.
‘Have you heard about my new dating website for the over sixties? As a friend of my daughter’s I can give you a discounted rate.’
Drink clasped tightly in hand, he was pinned up against the wall between the window and the Christmas tree.
‘I could fix you up with a widow from Shepton Mallet. She’s got a private income, owns quite a bit of property, and still has a waistline.’
Honey caught a glimpse of Casper’s face. His expression was as icy as an Eskimo’s backside. The man was terrified.
Leaving a discussion with a woman from Trowbridge who’d been telling her all about her operation, she escaped to help Casper escape too.
‘Mother, I don’t think Casper’s interested in this woman – or any woman come to that.’
‘I know that, dear.’ Her mother sounded quite indignant. ‘The fact is that Evelyn isn’t always Evelyn. Sometimes she’s Edward. In fact, Edward was her given name. You may recall I told you all about her – or rather, him.’
Honey raised her eyes to heaven. ‘I’ll go tell Casper. Oh,’ she said pretending to look surprised. ‘He’s gone.’
She was right. As swiftly and silently as Elvis after a performance, Casper had left the building.
Death of a Diva
Selling the Green River Hotel and relocating to the country seems a good idea at the time – that is until Honey is given a guided tour of a country mansion suitable for conversion. Old houses are usually better without bodies stuffed up the chimney. The fact that she comes this close to a murder is quite off-putting. So, should she press ahead, or stick to the job in hand? Doherty is on hand of course as the world of a TV diva and upmarket estate agents is laid bare
Blood and Broomsticks
An old friend of Honey Driver's is unfortunate enough to have their birthday at Hallowe’en, and can't resist making it a fancy dress party. Honey had planned for DCI Doherty, her policeman boyfriend, to go with her; he might have done if he wasn’t more than a bit peeved that she smashed up his sports car.
Dressed appropriately, Honey attends the party at Moss End Hotel alone. The food is awful, the booze practically non-existent, and the complaints are loud and clear. The owners, Mr and Mrs Crook – amateurs who think themselves better than the professionals – are nowhere to be found and all the doors are locked. Once the revellers manage to open the doors, the Crooks are found, but are in no condition to deal with complaints. They're dead – murdered – and Honey and Doherty team up once more to investigate.
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The Ghost of Christmas Past
A Honey Driver Mystery
Published by Accent Press Ltd 2014
ISBN 9781909520240
Copyright © Jean G Goodhind 2014
The right of Jean G Goodhind to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electron
ic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN
Printed and bound in the UK
Cover design by Joelle Brindley
The Ghost of Christmas Past: A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries Book 8) Page 25