‘Marjorie’s coming to see me in a bit, to talk about her plans for your cottage.’
‘Well, don’t do anything till you’ve spoken to me; she’ll no doubt have some very fancy ideas. Your priority is to make a start on Drake’s new home.’ Hattie flung the rest of the cake on the ground.
Quack, quack! Woof!
‘See you all later,’ Hattie said and set off to find Penny.
On her way through the village, she stopped at the shop where Joan was positioned behind the counter. Dressed in a colourful kimono-style gown and fluffy slippers, she beamed when she saw Hattie.
‘Now, here’s a pleasure on a sunny morning,’ Joan said. ‘I was about to put the kettle on, have you time for a cuppa?’ Joan fiddled with the back of her hair and two curlers bounced over the pork pie display.
Hattie sensed that Joan was after a tittle-tattle. She smelt gossip and Hattie wondered if the shopkeeper had wind of Reggie’s nocturnal visit.
‘No, but thanks anyway,’ Hattie said. ‘What cakes have you got in?’ No one in the village seemed to move out of their homes without carrying cake, on the off chance that they called on a neighbour.
The first rule of village life. Have cake will visit.
‘There’s a nice fruit slab on the counter.’ Joan pointed to a display of cakes.
Hattie studied the sell-by dates and noted that they were fresh in. ‘Perfect,’ she said and popped one in her bag.
‘Off visiting?’ Joan rang the sale in the till.
‘Just having a stroll.’
‘The vicar likes a slice of fruit cake, if you’re heading that way.’
Hattie was reluctant to tell Joan where she was going but it seemed inevitable that via the village hotline, Joan would soon know. ‘I want to see Penny again; she’s called on me several times and I haven’t been at home.’
‘She’s taken the kids to the woods for a picnic; you’ll catch up with them if you hurry.’ Joan reached for a brush and ran it through her straggly hair.
Grateful for a chance to escape without further cross-examination, Hattie hastened out of the shop. She stood on the green and wondered which route Penny had taken to the woods. The most direct was via the path beside the pond.
Hattie set off, walking quickly. Soon, she’d caught up with Penny and her offspring. The little group meandered ahead, the children stopping to study wildflowers and throw a ball to Bertie.
‘Hello,’ Penny said as Hattie approached. ‘Are you out for a hike?’ She carried a basket over her arm and reminded Hattie of a fairy-tale character, tripping off into the big bad woods.
‘Aye, just stretching my legs, I was on my way to see you. I’ve been meaning to call in. Joan at the shop said you might be in the woods.’
‘We’re having a picnic, if you’d like to join us?’
‘Cracking,’ Hattie replied. Penny wore an old floral smock and well-worn cardigan and Hattie wondered if the young mum had raided the church jumble.
They soon arrived at what appeared to be the children’s favourite spot. It was a sheltered area by a stream and, with whoops of joy, Josh and Hannah flung their socks and sandals to one side and began to paddle about in the shallow water. A canopy of trees cast shade onto the woodland floor, but Penny had found a sunny spot and placed a blanket on the ground, where dogrose and honeysuckle climbed over holly bushes. Hattie shrugged off her duffle coat and helped Penny unpack the basket. The contents looked dubious and, as they both sat down, Hattie recognised leftovers from the previous evening.
‘Tuck in,’ Penny said as she poured juice from a bottle.
Hattie couldn’t face Joan’s stale fancies and Penny’s rock-hard cakes. She dug into her handbag to find the fruit cake and, cutting a slice, offered it to Penny.
‘This is nice, did you make it?’ Penny’s hazel eyes lit up as she took a bite. As she munched, she tucked her unruly brown hair, as wild as the woods, behind her ears.
‘No, I bought it in the shop. Joan told me fruit cake was the vicar’s favourite.’
‘We like to exchange recipes; there’s a folder in the vestry if you have anything that’s worth passing on.’
‘Joan seems to know a great deal about everyone in the village.’
‘She has a caring nature.’ Penny licked crumbs from her lips. ‘They both worked in a busy hospital before they moved to the village.’
‘Joan and Arnie?’ Hattie asked. ‘What did they do?’
‘I don’t know, they never talk about their past, but village gossips say they moved here for a less stressful life.’
Hattie wondered if the couple had worked in administration, or perhaps they’d been health care assistants. Running a shop would certainly be a change for them both.
Penny took another slice of cake and together they watched the children as Josh scooped mud from the stream and threw it at Hannah’s head. The wet earth clung to her long curly locks and Hattie thought that the child looked like a mini Medusa.
‘Have you settled in the village?’ Penny asked, oblivious to Bertie who’d abandoned the ball and had plunged into the stream. The elderly Labrador flipped onto his side and sprayed water, soaking the children.
‘Yes, it’s a grand place,’ Hattie said. ‘What about you?’
‘Me?’ Penny turned and stared at Hattie.
‘Have you never wanted to leave the village?’
‘Well, I thought about it at school and later at college, but when I married Roger, I found myself back here for good.’
‘Do you know Barry Delaney’s daughter, Camilla?’ Hattie picked up a beaker of juice and took a sip.
‘Yes, we’re friends but I haven’t seen her for a while; I’m terribly busy with the children and being a vicar’s wife.’
‘It must be very time-consuming.’ Hattie nodded sympathetically. ‘Camilla’s step-mum lives next door to me.’
‘I know, that’s when I last saw her, at her dad’s funeral. We didn’t have time to talk. Camilla never liked Marjorie and didn’t linger after the service.’
Hattie wondered if her questioning was too obvious, but Penny seemed happy to chat.
‘Camilla is an accountant?’
‘Yes, a company accountant; she has a very good job.’
‘For Castle Care Communities?’
‘Yes, as I remember; John Hargreaves sponsored her through the exams.’
‘Not unusual, a lot of companies offer that,’ Hattie said.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Penny yawned. ‘The company pay her rent too, they own her house.’
‘That’s useful.’
‘I’ll say, she has a lovely house in the road leading up to Butterly Castle where Castle Care Communities have their head offices.’
‘Did you go to school with her?’
‘Yes, I didn’t do very well but Camilla passed all her exams, amazing really.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Camilla was man mad, especially older men; I always thought it would get her into trouble one day.’
She’s not the only one slightly off her trolley, Hattie thought and stared at Penny, the young woman who had hooked up with an older husband and responsibilities beyond her capabilities as a vicar’s wife. There must have been something in the water at whatever school the girls went to.
‘Is she happy?’
‘How would I know?’ Penny looked at Hattie. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, I’m just trying to get to know my neighbours and I’m curious.’
‘You’ll soon know more about them than you probably want to, village life can be claustrophobic at times.’ Penny held out her hands as Josh and Hannah stumbled onto the rug and began to tuck into the picnic. ‘You’re all wet and muddy.’ She smiled dreamily and patted the rise on her tummy.
‘When are you due?’ Hattie asked.
‘Four months to go; it’ll be an autumn baby.’
‘Have you been married long?’ Hattie watched Penny pass food to the children. ‘Seven years; it’s flo
wn by.’
‘How did you meet Roger?’
‘I used to sing in the choir. When Mary died, we fell in love.’
‘Mary was his first wife?’
‘Yes, but they’d never had children. It was my calling to bring these blessed children into his life.’ She stroked Hannah’s hair and picked at bits of twig. ‘I was a lost soul before I met Roger.’
Hattie thought that Penny had lost her mind, never mind her soul. A young girl marrying into the church before she had time to experience life.
‘Was Mary ill?’
‘She was mentally ill; Roger had a difficult time with her.’
‘Did Mary suffer?’
‘No, it was very quick.’
Hattie watched Penny lay back on the blanket. Josh and Hannah snuggled sleepily by her side and Bertie flopped at their feet, his blonde fur wet and muddy. Light shone through the trees, shrouding the family group in a honey-coloured halo of sunshine. Penny closed her eyes then wrapped her arms around the little ones and as Hattie stared at the pale freckled face, she saw that her lips were moving.
Penny, not wanting the children to hear, was whispering something and Hattie moved closer to catch her words.
‘Mary was very fond of the church, she always said that it was a safe place to truly find your god.’ Penny gently stroked her stomach. ‘It was no surprise, when Roger found her hanging from a beam in the vestry.’
Hattie’s head shot up and she was wide-eyed as she stared at Penny. She was about to ask the girl to repeat her words but as she stared at Penny’s tranquil, smiling face, she realised that the young woman was sound asleep.
10
Alf sat in the office and watched Hattie as she stood by the window and stared out at the garden. She seemed to be studying the area where he’d staked out Drake’s new pond.
‘It’ll need a digger,’ Alf said. He sat on the chair opposite the desk and nursed a mug of tea. ‘Going to be costly. I’ll need more than one pair of hands.’
But Hattie wasn’t listening. She was preoccupied and, despite nodding as Alf spoke, she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
‘I’ll factor in a three-tier diving board at one end and luxury changing rooms for Drake’s guests; shall we have a tiled mosaic floor too?’
‘Whatever,’ Hattie said and turned from the window.
‘What’s on tha’ mind?’ Alf sat up and placed his mug on the desk. ‘You’re very distracted.’
‘I don’t get it.’ Hattie frowned. ‘Three suicides and no one seems to think that it’s the least bit unusual.’
‘Neither did the police; they reckoned there was nothing mysterious about the deaths.’ Alf searched in the pocket of his plaid shirt and found his tobacco tin. ‘Just sad, if you ask me. But they will all have had their reasons.’ He rolled a cigarette.
‘I’m going to have a word with Harry,’ Hattie said. Harry was an old friend, an officer at Marland police station, known as Harry the Helmet to his colleagues.
‘I hear he’s been promoted.’
‘Aye, he’s come up in the world.’
Alf nodded. He knew that Hattie had known Harry for many years and their trysts, both on and off duty, had been a source of gossip when Hattie was running the hotel. Alf understood that Harry might be helpful to Hattie. As the local bobby, he knew about everything that went on in his patch, including the suicides in Hollywood. Alf rubbed a paper between his fingers and carefully rolled tobacco as he watched Hattie scribble a list on a pad. She was no doubt making a note to ask Harry over when he was next in the area.
‘Not making much progress with your case?’ Alf asked, dragging heavily.
Hattie stood up and opened the window then walked over to the door to create a draught. Smoke from Alf’s cigarette hung in the air, clouding like ethereal shadows, making Hattie shiver. ‘I’m not making any progress,’ she said, rubbing the chill from her arms. She fanned her face with her fingers, wafting smoke away as Alf puffed. ‘I need to find out more about John Hargreaves and Castle Care Communities; he looks a sly beggar and I’m sure he’s much to hide.’ She perched on the edge of the desk and they sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
‘Go and talk to Camilla,’ Alf said and flicked the cigarette butt through the window as Drake waddled past. The duck stopped to inspect the flying object but, finding nothing of interest, continued his journey around the soon-to-be pond.
‘Good idea, I’ll see if I can get Marjorie to set something up. It’ll look too obvious if I turn up and start asking questions.’
‘I thought that mother and daughter didn’t speak to each other?’
‘They don’t and they’re currently arguing over the will. But Marjorie could call Camilla on some pretext. I could say I was in Butterly and drop something off at Camilla’s. There must be something in Barry’s personal possessions that Marjorie would part with.’
‘Don’t forget to have a word with our Grace,’ Alf said. ‘She’s worked at Marland Manor for years.’ ‘Your sister?’ Hattie asked.
‘Aye.’
‘Yes, Judy told me to contact her.’
‘I’ll give you her number, I don’t see much of her myself, but she might be of use.’ Alf watched Hattie add another note to her list. ‘I’ll get a digger sorted for the pond too.’ Alf stood up. Ness, who was lying by his feet, thumped her tail. ‘Marjorie’s contacting conservatory companies to do a site visit; you’ll have to say what you want soon.’
‘I’ll let her know when I’ve seen what she proposes. I don’t want anything elaborate; a little sun-room overlooking the garden would be nice.’
Alf nodded. He knew that Marjorie would re-build the whole property given half a chance and Hattie was going to have a shock when she saw the plans for the new garden room, that would run along the back of the cottage with a patio leading down to the pond. ‘I’ll see tha’ later,’ he said and, together with Ness, headed back to work.
But Hattie had already picked up the phone and barely registered Alf’s departure.
IT WAS market day in Butterly and the town was busy with locals and tourists. Stalls set up along the main street offered shoppers a variety of goods from homemade cakes and cheeses to artisan pottery, crafts and bric-a-brac. Colourful bunting hung in the heat and ruddy-faced stallholders called out to attract customers. The day was hot. The sweet smell of flowers, tumbling over the steps of the florist, mixed with a tempting aroma from the bakery.
Hattie smelt freshly-baked bread and fanned her face with a newspaper. She decided to buy a loaf and stepped off the pavement to cross the road.
‘Hot enough for you?’ a voice called out and Hattie looked up to see the craggy face of Dick Littlefair, the proprietor of Littlefair’s Finest Grocers. He grinned and waved as he arranged a display of oranges in wooden crates stacked on the steps of his shop. ‘Not seen you in these parts for a long time,’ he said, straightening his back with a groan. He took a penknife out of his pocket and selected a fruit. With a deft movement of his calloused fingers, he peeled carefully then cut a slice and handed it to Hattie. ‘This’ll refresh your parts.’
‘Thought you’d retired?’ Hattie replied and bit into the orange. It was delicious and she licked the sweet juice from her lips.
‘Nay, the lad does the bulk of the work, but I like to keep going.’ Dick nodded towards the lad, his son, who by the look of his weathered face, wouldn’t see forty again. ‘Doesn’t pay to be putting your feet up.’ He sat down on of a pile of boxes and placed his heavy boots on an upturned crate. ‘Bad business, you being a widow so soon.’ He settled himself and studied Hattie.
‘I had fun while it lasted.’
News travelled fast in these parts and even in the far-flung villages, Hugo’s death and Hattie’s return would be dissected during local chit-chat.
‘Have you settled in Hollywood?’
‘Not yet but I will in time, the cottage needs a bit of TLC.’
‘Aye, Alf said it were a shite-hole.’ Dick folde
d his penknife and put it back in a pocket.
Hattie wondered what other tit-bits Alf had shared with his cronies, over a pint in the pub. She wished that he’d keep her business out of the gossip pot.
‘Don’t be a stranger, the missus will be asking after you when she hears that you’re back.’ Dick stood up. ‘We can deliver to Hollywood.’
‘I’ll let you know.’ Hattie said goodbye and went on her way. She had no intention of having the lad call twice weekly, with a Littlefair’s Box of Locally Grown Produce. News of her renovations and nocturnal activities would supplement Alf’s mouthy comments and keep Butterly residents going for days on end, at a time when Hattie felt privacy must be a priority in her movements. She glanced at her watch and decided to give the bakery a miss as the morning was flying by. She was meeting Camilla shortly and needed to get up the hill.
Hattie had explained to Marjorie that she wanted to speak to Camilla and a meeting had been arranged. Marjorie had told Camilla that her new neighbour was visiting Butterly and was able to drop by with some personal items that had belonged to Barry, items that Marjorie had come across when sorting through Barry’s possessions. She thought that Camilla might like them, but they were too big and bulky to post. This arrangement would provide an opportunity for Hattie to make Camilla’s acquaintance and, if possible, sound her out. Camilla, reluctant to speak to Marjorie but keen to have Barry’s property, had told her stepmother that she would be at home for lunch that day and Hattie could call by and drop the items off.
Earlier that morning, Marjorie had handed Hattie an enormous bag. Now, as Hattie lugged the bag up the hill, she wished that Marjorie had chosen smaller objects. With the busy market stalls and tourist traffic cluttering the main street, she’d had to park in the town’s carpark. It was a walk of some distance to the house where Camilla lived. The bag was heavy and, with the summer heat pressing, Hattie’s clothes clung like a damp blanket. She cursed as she trudged past shops and edged through the flow of visitors then crossed the road where the sun beat down, baking the tarmac.
Finally, Hattie reached Camilla’s house.
Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series! Page 9