The Fete of Death

by Vanessa Fletcher

  "And that's why you put the pie on a paper plate? So you could bend it easily to get what was left of the pie, inside the hat?"

  "You worked that out did you? Clever girl. Yes, Mavis had put the pie on an expensive porcelain plate. I couldn't get that into the hat. I’d tried several plates beforehand at home during a trial run. Only paper plates worked, so I took a paper plate with me, folded into quarters in my hat till I needed it."

  "And you fed him Mavis's pie?"

  "Yes, he didn't need asking twice, either! I told him Mavis had won - which on an ordinary day, I believe she would have done. He was proud as punch for her and he started to eat it. He said it wasn't her usual standard, she'd been a bit heavy handed with the almond essence, but he ate a good quarter of it - not as much as Samantha Inkler had eaten though, so it took a bit longer for him to die. He staggered out into the yard, and I was afraid he might try to get help. So, I sat him down in the chair whilst I went for help – or so I told him anyway. It was a lot easier than having to drag him there myself once he'd died. Whilst I waited for him to die, I wrote the note. I was a bit worried Cheryl would get back before I'd staged the crime scene, but luckily she didn't. I couldn't keep his head up once he'd died, so I got the wide pitchfork, sunk it deep into the soft soil and rested his chin on it so he could see his beloved field one last time. I thought it was quite a poetic thought, so I put it in the note. More authentic then, I thought. It's getting a bit warm in here, isn't it? Are you still with us, Tara?" She asked, wiping her own forehead with a napkin.

  "I'm not dead yet," said Tara.

  "Well, feel free to leave us at any time. I've said all I need to say."

  "So basically, Adam Pinder, was killed by Josh Matthews, because you were having an affair with him and he'd found out. Samantha Inkler, because of her plans for the field and Simon Salter, because far from being your scapegoat, he’d pulled the rug from under you and you'd killed Samantha Inkler and poor Mr Simmons, for nothing?"

  "Not quite. Adam Pinder, wasn't actually my original target - or Josh Matthews either. I'd actually planned on killing that stupid Susan Smythe if you must know. I made up the beer cans laced with sedatives just for her. She's an alcoholic, she'll drink anything, or so I’d thought. I left the six-pack on her doorstep and rang her doorbell the night before the fete. I thought she'd guzzle the lot that same night. I had a bad night hanging around in the freezing fog, but she didn't even take the cans inside! She left them there."

  "Not as desperate for a drink as you thought she was, then?"

  "Apparently not. Anyway, I traipsed over to Adam's caravan at about 5 am, fed up of waiting for her to take the cans inside so I could deal with her once and for all. See, without her, Adam would be all mine."

  "What about Josh Matthews?"

  "He said he wasn't planning on staying in Tarndale for much longer, and he hadn't asked me to go with him," she shrugged.

  "And then?"

  "And then Adam Pinder, made the worst mistake of his life - he finished with me. Just like that. Said he loved Susan, and I was a mistake. Can you believe that? He chose her over me."

  "So you gave the cans to Adam instead?"

  "No. By the time I got back to Susan's flat, she'd taken the cans inside. I hung around till she came out, carrying five cans. She was drinking one when she left the flat but I don't think she liked it very much. She left the can behind. Once she'd gone out of sight, I checked the can. She'd drunk less than a quarter of it. She took the other five cans to Adam who drank a few cans a little later on."

  "That explains why Susan Smythe was all over the place that morning. It also explains why your eyes were red and puffy in the cake tent - you'd been crying over Adam finishing the affair."

  "You noticed that?"

  "I did, but I didn't put it all together till now."

  "Staring death in the face does tend to clarify the mind. It's certainly starting to clarify mine,"

  "So you failed to kill Susan Smythe, but you succeeded in killing Adam Pinder. Susan Smythe also escaped Josh Matthew's clutches too."

  "That woman's got nine lives! If anyone should be dead, it's her! If I couldn't have Adam Pinder, she certainly wasn't going to have him. So, did I fail? Erm, not really, it's just that my original plan didn't stick to the plan I’d set out with. But, it's all good. All's fair in love and war," she said, as she put her hand to her throbbing temple.

  "What's the matter, Annabel? Feeling unwell?"

  "It's all this talking. It's making me have a dry mouth and a headache. I think that hysteria thing is still on my mind because watching you die has made me feel like death warmed up, in sympathy. Now listen, you're going to have to die real soon, because the customers will be starting to come in and I can't have you still talking when they do."

  "How will you explain a dead body in here?"

  "I've thought of that. I'm going to tell the police you killed yourself, trying to frame me. I'm going to say that everything you'd threatened to do on the phone to me - the blackmail, saying we were poisoning customers; you actually acted it all out - using yourself as the poison victim in a desperate attempt to frame me. I'm going to tell them you took some poison, came here, had a coffee under false pretences saying you knew who the murderer was and you died here just so you could put all of the blame onto me. It'll erase any thoughts the police might be harbouring that I'm involved with anything. Even if Josh says anything, I can pin it all back onto him, including the library books. There's nothing concrete to connect me to any of it - only you, and you won't be around much longer to tell any tales."

  "Hopefully not. I'll be home in time for dinner, with any luck."

  "Graveyard humour - I like it."

  "It's a fact. I'm not dying, Annabel. You are," said Tara, sitting up.

  "What are you doing? You can't sit up! The poison should have started to kick in by now!"

  "It has done - but in you, not me."

  "I don't...understand," she said, looking at the empty glasses on the table.

  "I had a feeling you'd try to poison me. I just hoped you hadn't poisoned the first coffee as well. I wasn’t sure, but I doubted it, as I knew you hadn't told me anything significant by that point and I’d watched you make it in front of me. When you made the second coffee, I noticed that you turned your back on me after you'd made them, so I suspected you'd added poison to it. What else could you have been adding to the coffee? I also noticed you'd put a spoon on your saucer, but my spoon was on the tray. Was that so you knew which glass had the poison in it?"

  "Well, yes, but..."

  "I dropped that piece of paper on purpose. I needed a distraction, so I could switch the glasses. You weren't for picking it up though, not till I said it was 'new evidence', then you picked it up thank goodness, and I switched the glasses."

  "Clever. I should have seen that coming."

  "Yes, and by now I'm sure Nancy will have woken up and seen your note I left for her and any second now I'm expecting her to come bouncing through that door like she usually does. I'm sure that girl's got springs in her heels. Annabel? What poison is it? I'll ring for an ambulance, where's your phone?"

  "There’s no antidote...I didn't want you to have any chance...of surviving," she said, as she slumped heavily to the tiled floor.

  The doorbell chimed and Nancy ran in, breathing heavily.

  "Tara! Are you okay? What happened to Annabel?" She asked, seeing Annabel lying on the floor.

  "She's had a taste of her own medicine,"

  Chapter Fourteen

  It had taken quite some time to explain why Annabel Thompson was lying dead in the coffee shop to the police, once Nancy had rung them. They suspected Tara had something to do with it at first, but after she'd explained everything that Annabel had told her and found that only Annabel's fingerprints were on the poisoned glass of coffee and all of the coffee making equipment, they believed her version of events. Nancy's husband also relayed everything Nancy had told him to the Tarndale force - til
l they got fed up of hearing him. They let Tara go just to stop him ringing them constantly. Dennis Parker was a very dogged, determined detective. Back home in Nithercott, if he had a suspect, he'd hound them into giving themselves up. In fact, in Nithercott, the police didn't usually need to chase their suspects. They had a habit of turning up at the station on their own accord. Anything was better, even sitting in a cell, to being hounded by the notorious detective Parker.

  The twins of course, had been shocked when they found out how close Tara had come to being murdered herself that morning. The identity of the murderer was also a bit of a surprise to them.

  "And to think, she reminded us of how we used to be in our late teens," said Sally, shaking her head.

  "Yes, fancy that. The Professor’s going to be livid when he finds out everything that's happened. He'll never let us forget that we didn't take his advice or heeded the tea leaves," said Nancy.

  "Right, that's the last of the bags now, we didn't have any when we first arrived. It's amazing what you can accumulate in just a couple of days. I'd just like to say that I'm not at all keen on entering any more cake or pie contests in strange villages - so don't ask," said Tara, picking up their bags from outside the bed-and-breakfast where Dana Felchar had thrown them.

  Dana Felchar, watched their every move out from of one of the upstairs windows.

  "Molly, you see to Sally and we'll carry the bags to the car. We'll just take our time," said Nancy, pushing several carrier bag handles over her wrists like bracelets.

  "We'll put our stuff in the car then try to find someone who can pull it out of the mud," said Tara.

  They walked the short distance back to Tara's car which hadn't moved since she'd parked it and gotten stuck on the morning of the fete. Apart from it needing a good wash, it looked okay. Someone had written 'clean me', in the dust and dirt on the back window. Their bags were finally loaded in the boot, ready for the short journey home. It looked like it was going to rain.

  "Now what? Sally can't stand for long, and I doubt anyone's just going to turn up to help us, do you?" Asked Nancy, impatient to get back home.

  "Let's leave the twins in the car and we’ll go and see if Cheryl Trellan's at the stables. You never know, she might know someone in the village who can drive the tractor," said Tara, hoping that she did.

  Cheryl Trellan was at the stables, busy mucking out the stables. She looked pleased to see them.

  "I'm sorry about your friend," said Tara.

  "That's okay, I'm not sure I can class her as being a friend anymore. She tried to frame me for murder, after all. At least I don't have to leave the field now, the tenancy has gone to me but I've also gained all these horses - Simon's and Annabel's as well as my own mare to look after. I don't mind though, it's not the horses’ fault, all of this. I'm thinking of setting up a trekking centre, to help pay for their feed and vet bills. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about grazing though. I might have to rent another field for their summer turnout till this field recovers," she said, forking dirty straw into her already buckling wheelbarrow.

  "Are you accepting donations?" Asked Tara.

  "Donations?"

  "Yes, towards their keep?"

  "No one's me offered any," she smiled, leaning on the fork.

  "Well, let me be the first," Tara said, taking out her cheque book. She wrote out a cheque for a couple of thousand pounds and handed it to the shocked Cheryl Trellan.

  "I can't accept this... It's too much!"

  "It's not enough really, but it'll start you off. Like you said, it's not the horses’ fault. Now, I need a favour - do you know anyone who can drive that tractor over there?"

  Cheryl beamed. "You're looking at them."

  Less than 20 minutes later, Tara's car was on solid ground.

  After saying goodbye and good luck to Cheryl Trellan, they decided as it was only 11 am, they'd go for a final afternoon cream tea at the tearoom they'd found before leaving Tarndale for good. Nancy said she couldn’t travel on an empty stomach.

  They all ordered the same as their last visit - but not as much of it.

  A weary looking Mavis Poole walked past the tearoom, and did a limp wave at them through the window.

  "She's lost more than anyone, poor Mavis has. I know we didn't like her very much at first, but I reckon she's okay once you get to know her and her prickly little ways. She's lost Simon Salter and being part of a little group involved with saving the field. She must have felt important, finding out information for their cause. She’s lost Annabel - she'll miss her company, and she's also, I'm sure, lost a degree of her trust in people too. All she has now is her job," said Tara.

  "She's still got Cheryl Trellan though. I'm sure she'll pop round for cakes now she's going to be spending lots more time at the field," said Molly, wanting to know how much the cheque was made out for, but not wanting to ask.

  "Right, we'd best set off. We’ve got to leave here by 12 and its twenty-to. We've no excuse not to leave now the car’s out," said Tara standing up.

  It felt like they'd been in Tarndale for a month, not just a couple of days. Tara for one, would be glad to reach the cosy cocoon of her cottage, put her pyjamas on and finish reading her 'Fiona Tipple' book.

  The twins were grumbling about missing their knitting circle meeting and how they'd have to wait a full week to tell the group all about their adventure.

  Nancy was worried about what her husband, Dennis, would say about it all when he saw her. Knowing him, he'd be waiting for them somewhere along the short route back to Nithercott, and give them an escort home. She felt sure he wouldn't be keen on her having any more days out to strange villages, even if it was just to go swimming.

  But at least, thought Tara, they'd finished the dreadful experience with a lovely cream tea, rather than them all focusing on the horrific events since they had arrived in Tarndale, innocently enough, on a day trip.

  They all piled into the car, chattering about how they were going to bake their own clotted cream scones and re-create the delicate sandwiches back at home. Nancy didn't entertain any thoughts of DIY baking though, she said she’d eat Tara's - and the twin’s, instead.

  As they set off for home, Susan Smythe, waved them off, on the high street. She was dressed up, obviously still in her 'posh lady' persona, and it looked like she was on her way to the tearoom but they'd never know for sure.

  Tara liked to think that was where she was going and that she had some sense of worth in her life now. Maybe she'd swap alcohol for cream teas? Tara hoped so. Susan Smythe certainly looked different dressed up with make up on.

  The rest of the journey home, was a quiet one as no one spoke a word. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts about Susan Smythe, and how she'd saved their lives, the murders, Tara almost being murdered, Sally being injured..all of it.

  Sure enough, just as Nancy had suspected, Dennis Parker met them just before they got to the village of Nithercott and gave them an escort back home. Nancy was embarrassed, but everyone else especially the twins, thought it was a lovely gesture.

  Tara dropped the twins off at their cottage first and Nancy went to join her husband. It was only when Tara walked through her own front door, she felt lonely. She hadn't felt lonely for years. It was like the ticking of a clock with no fingers, a crushing emptiness that she couldn't escape from no matter which room she went into. Every room felt empty, just as she did. She had no one to greet her, no one to miss her. She had no one to tell all about her adventures, no one to hold her and tell her she was safe.

  She stifled a sob, put her pyjamas on and lit the open fire in the front room. She decided to bake some strawberry Eton mess muffins to take her mind off how she felt. 'A busy bee knows no sorrow', she told herself as she weighed out ingredients with her pink vintage style scales.

  Once the muffins were done, she carefully placed them on the wire cooling tray, put the kettle on to boil and counted -

  5-4-3-2-1

  The doorbell rang.

&
nbsp; She knew it would be Nancy before she even opened the door.

  "Made anything?" She asked, sniffing something freshly baked in the air.

  "Yes, and the kettle's just boiled. You know, I've been thinking, I might get a dog, for company."

  "A dog?"

  "Even Fiona Tipple's got a cat. A small dog would be nice. Dogs make a house a home after all."

  "Okay, we'll look into it, dog breeds and stuff. Now, where's the cakes? I'm starving."

  Epilogue

  A month later, everyone in the village of Nithercott, had been told, several times, what had happened to them all on their trip to Tarndale. The group, especially the twins, never tired of launching into an ever increasingly exciting version of events to anyone who'd listen.

  Their adventure had been big news in the local papers in the first few days after they arrived back home and all four had several interviews booked. Tara only agreed as long as they changed her name and didn’t take her photograph. The last thing she wanted was for her ex-boyfriend to get a whiff of her whereabouts.

  The twin's knitting circle called an emergency meeting on the Friday, under the circumstances. They wanted to hear everything in gory detail. Quite a few stitches were dropped, that day.

  Sally's ankle was healing nicely and Tara's bruises had faded, even if the memories hadn't.

  The police told Tara that Josh Matthews, was wanted by several police forces in the country for unsolved murders. Apparently, Tarndale wasn't the only place he'd settled and strangled women in. He'd vowed to get his revenge on them all once he was released, but he wasn't going to be getting a 'get out of jail' card, any time soon.

  Nancy Parker, continued her daily cleaning rounds as usual, picking up morsels of gossip around the village as she did so.

  In the village of Tarndale, Cheryl Trellan, had set up a charity, using Tara's generous donation. She had called it the 'Simon Salter tough times program'. Troubled teens were selected by youth workers and social workers and sent to Cheryl to work with the horses. Grooming, handling and caring for the horses helped the unfocused teenagers who often struggled to express their feelings in a calm and responsible way. Also, actually riding the horses focused their energies into something positive, rather than getting involved with crime. It was an unusual form of therapy which was helping to turn their lives around. As a registered charity, Cheryl was starting to attract funding, so the horse’s and field’s future were safe. Cheryl loved her new job, running the charity, and she was happy she’d found a way to keep Simon's dream and memory alive. She had sent some photos and a letter to Tara, telling her all about the charity and who she had helped so far. Tara planned on sending her another cheque at Christmas.