‘If you say so.’ Hattie yawned and stood up. She tugged at her crumpled shorts. ‘Now, I need to get on; you’ll be wanting a progress report on Barry’s death and I have to collect my thoughts, I’ve been busy these last few days.’
‘Might I suggest you come over for coffee in the morning and give me a full update.’
‘I’ll need something stronger than a coffee.’
‘You’ve got news?’
‘Not as such, but I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Marjorie said and, closing her designer bag, side-stepped Ness and Drake and made her way out of the garden. ‘Keep up the good work,’ Marjorie called out to Alf. ‘You can make a start on the footings for the conservatory.’
As Hattie watched Marjorie leave, she gave Alf a nod of her head. ‘Just remember who’s paying the bills here - I don’t want anything too fancy.’
Hattie turned away from the pond and went into her office. She opened the fridge and reached for a bottle of water, which she placed on the desk. With a sigh, she took off her hat and glasses, pulled out a chair and flopped down. Her hair felt clammy and she ran her fingers through the damp locks sticking to her head. Drake waddled across the rug to make himself comfortable on the stone-flagged floor, in a cool corner of the room. Hattie ignored the duck and pulled her notebook towards her, then, reaching for a pen, began to read through her jottings to make some sense of it all.
In truth, Hattie hadn’t a clue what to do next.
Barry’s death was as clear as mud and she needed to gather her thoughts before she could give Marjorie an update. She reached for her water, the bottle cold in her hands. She closed her eyes and took a long drink.
Voices sounded in the garden and, irritated, Hattie looked up. She stared out of the open window to see Alf talking to another visitor.
‘Who on earth is this now?’ Hattie said to Drake. The duck raised his head and quacked. ‘Do folk not realise that there’s work to be done around here?’ Hattie grabbed her sunglasses and squinted in the sunshine, curious to see who’d arrived. ‘Bleedin’ hell, it’s one of the Beach Boys.’ She shook her head as the figure approached. ‘Got your surfboard?’ Hattie called out as Harry the Helmet came into view. He wore a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt and a pair of khaki baggies as he flip-flopped across the garden.
‘Aloha,’ Hattie said as Harry stepped into her office. ‘You’re a long way from California.’
Harry smiled. ‘Just looking for some laid back vibes and fun in the sun.’
‘Well, you’ve come to the wrong place.’
‘Nice outfit,’ Harry said as he took a seat opposite Hattie’s desk and studied her creased shorts and rumpled vest.
‘Pot calling the kettle,’ Hattie retorted. She opened the fridge and took out two bottles of beer. Flicking the tops of both with an opener, she handed one to Harry. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?’
‘Whatever pleasure you like.’ Harry took a swig of his beer and winked.
‘Is this a social call?’
‘I’ve got a day off and I thought I’d come and see what a mess you’re making of moving into Hollywood.’ Harry took another drink. ‘But from the looks of things, the old place is shaping up nicely.’
‘Aye, give it a while, there’s a fancy new conservatory on its way that’ll eat into my bank account.’
‘I heard,’ Harry said. ‘Alf told me that prising your purse open was an Olympian sport.’
Hattie glowered and wondered what else Alf the Mouth had said.
‘How are you getting on at playing Miss Marple?’ ‘I wish people wouldn’t call me that,’ Hattie said. ‘I’m just helping out where the likes of the local police can’t be bothered.’ She sipped her beer.
‘So, what have you got?’ Harry sat forward to have a nose at the notes on Hattie’s desk.
‘Well, seeing as you’re here, you can make yourself useful.’ Hattie decided to put Harry’s policing skills to the test and began to update him with her findings surrounding Barry’s suicide.
‘There’s been three suicides in this village, which my gut feeling tells me are all connected,’ she began. ‘None of the deceased left a note, which seems strange.’
‘Not really,’ Harry said, ‘but go on.’
‘Well, Barry is my investigation, so if we start with him. Barry must have known that his life insurance wouldn’t pay out on a suicide, so why would he leave her in a bad state financially?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Reggie at the pub says Barry was in a good state of mind two days before he died.’
‘I heard that too.’
‘Camilla blames Marjorie for driving both her mum and dad to their graves.’
‘She could have a point.’ Harry nodded. ‘Helen, the distraught ex-wife, can’t take the humiliation of being ousted by Marjorie, and Barry, Marjorie’s husband, is up the financial creek without a paddle, so to speak. Perhaps he had money burdens he couldn’t cope with? Marjorie certainly spent his dosh like there was an endless supply, if village gossip is true.’
‘Is this the best the local bobby can come up with?’ Hattie finished her beer. ‘So, what about Mary?’
‘The vicar’s wife? Why on earth a good churchgoing soul would top herself is a mystery to me.’ Harry was thoughtful. ‘I asked that question over and over again at the time of her death but never came up with any answers. Roger told me that Mary was depressed about her father, who was in residential care; it seems he was deteriorating for no apparent reason. I concluded that she must have felt helpless that she could do nothing to make him better.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He died, of course.’ Harry sighed. ‘Roger said she never got over it.’
‘Where was he in care?’
‘Marland Manor, I believe.’
Hattie sat up. Marland Manor? Was it too coincidental? Barry was an employee there, what was going on?
‘Is John Hargreaves in debt?’ Hattie asked.
‘He owns a shed-load of properties. I’d be surprised if he was, his assets must outweigh his borrowings.’
‘Did you know that he thinks of himself as a bit of a playboy?’
‘That’s common knowledge to everyone but his wife.’
‘Well, it’s all very confusing to me.’
‘Why don’t we wander over to the pub, have a bite to eat and mull over this with a pint?’ Harry drained his beer.
‘That’s the best idea you’ve come up with.’ Hattie stood up and pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll need to get changed.’
‘I wouldn’t bother.’ Harry opened the fridge and helped himself to another beer. ‘The allotments need a scarecrow, we can wander past that way.’
‘Bugger off.’ Hattie swiped at Harry’s head with her hat. ‘Go and keep Alf company, while I sort myself out.’
‘I’ll have a few more of these.’ Harry grabbed several bottles. ‘Alf is probably parched.’
‘As long as you don’t stop him working,’ Hattie called out as she swept out of the office with Drake hot on her heels.
‘Quack, quack, take your time.’ Harry smiled and, with his arms full of beer, went into the garden to find Alf.
HATTIE STEPPED out of her shorts and threw her vest on a chair in her bedroom. She looked out of the window to see Harry and Alf settled on the bench by the pond, guzzling beer. The pond was already half full and where Alf had been planting, the water lapped at the swaying fronds. Waterlilies floated on the surface. The pond looked as though it had been there forever, and Hattie acknowledged that it complemented the garden perfectly. She was pleased that she’d decided to build it.
Hattie was about to turn away, but a flash of iridescent blue feathers caught her eye. Drake had climbed onto the edge of the pond and was shaking his body, wings batting furiously. Hattie felt a moment of panic as she wondered what the hell the daft duck was up to, but in moments her frown turned to a smile as Drake dipped his s
leek green head and plunged deep into the water. He emerged with ease to sit on the surface, webbed feet paddling happily as he floated around his new home.
‘That’s my duck,’ Hattie said to herself with a grin, ‘home sweet home.’ She grabbed a towel from a pile on her bed and went into the bathroom.
Half an hour later, Hattie stepped out of the cottage and crossed the path to the bench where Alf and Harry still sat. She looked radiant in a pretty, flowing sundress. The multicoloured gown had shoestring straps and a handkerchief hem and Hattie carried a tote bag in which she’d placed a smart straw hat. She wore her sparkly trainers and her hair, still slightly damp, shone with shades of titian and gold, curling around her shoulders.
‘Are you ready?’ Hattie asked.
‘Who is this vision of loveliness?’ Harry held a hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun. ‘What’s happened to Hattie?’
‘Very funny,’ Hattie said as she eyed the line of empty bottles beside the bench. There would be little sense out of Alf, nor any work, for the rest of the afternoon. ‘You may as well move your bones and come with us, bring the mongrel too,’ she said and the little party, followed by Drake, stepped into Lover’s Lane and set off for the pub.
14
On that hot summer’s afternoon everyone in the village had the same idea as Hattie.
Accompanied by Alf, Harry, Ness and Drake she’d arrived at The Holly Bush to find bodies hot and tempers frayed, as folk queued in an over-packed bar to get a drink.
Reggie, who’d underestimated the weather forecast and hadn’t planned for such a busy afternoon, was understaffed and overwhelmed.
In the pub garden every table was taken. People sat or lay on the grass, perched on the wall and spilled out onto the village green.
‘Bloody hell, Reggie’s got his hands full,’ Hattie said as she elbowed her way through the throng. ‘Look lively you two and start collecting glasses and washing empties, I’ll give Reggie a hand.’ She squeezed past the punters, packed tight in their mission to get a drink.
‘Mayday! Move over!’ Hattie called out as she edged her way forward then lifted a hatch to the bar, where a hot and harassed Reggie was pouring pints.
‘Oh my, am I pleased to see you,’ Reggie said as Hattie threw down her bag and took her first order. Her fingers fondled the beer pump with a familiarity built on years of bar work at the hotel.
‘Soon have this lot satisfied,’ Hattie called back as she took an order for a round of drinks. ‘I’ve got Starsky and Crutch on glasses, so you can stay put here.’
‘You’re a life-saver,’ Reggie whispered in Hattie’s ear as he leaned across to thrust a glass under an optic. ‘I’ll make it up to you later.’ Reggie’s free hand gave Hattie’s hip a squeeze.
‘Aye, we’ll see about that.’
Hattie smiled at the waiting drinkers and in no time at all had whizzed her way around the bar, pumping and pouring until the crowd had eased. Alf had control of the glasswasher and Harry re-stocked the shelves.
Wedged on a chair in the snug, Joan sat beside Arnie who was crushed beside his wife, sipping a cider. Joan guzzled a pint of lager and fanned her perspiring face with a menu.
‘You’re a dab hand,’ Joan said as Hattie leaned across their table to replace the coasters under their drinks. ‘I was just saying to Arnie that I’ve never seen the pub so full as it gets these days, Reggie could do with you in here full-time.’
Arnie was silent. He drank his cider and ignored his wife as he watched Hattie clear away the debris from Joan’s many crisp bags.
‘Me and Arnie think you should come and work here, a friendly female would give the place a bit of a lift and give you something to do. You must have lots of time on your hands, in that little cottage.’
Hattie stopped and looked at Joan. The woman was digging for gossip. She probably knew that the cottage was about to double in size with the addition of a garden room and the rumour mill would be grinding with talk of Reggie having his eye on Hattie.
‘Is that what you think?’ Hattie stared at Arnie and raised her brow. Her question fell on deaf ears as Arnie’s eyes slid to one side, ignoring Hattie as he watched the people on the next table.
‘Oh, he’s away with the fairies,’ Joan said and ripped open another bag of crisps. ‘Not one for talking, my Arnie.’
Hattie realised that she’d never heard Arnie speak and wondered if Joan’s constant prattle had knocked the will to respond out of him. He was a strange one, Hattie thought, as she left the shopkeepers and moved through the bar to step into the garden.
It was with some surprise that she saw John and Venetia sitting at a table in the sunshine. Venetia was partly shaded by a brightly coloured umbrella, but Hattie could see that the woman was wearing a sleeveless cotton dress in an animal print pattern and pretty white sandals - the image of cool sophistication. Hattie decided that she would introduce herself but as she was about to step over, she saw Marjorie appear and join them. John stood as he welcomed Marjorie and Venetia rose slightly to frostily peck Marjorie on each cheek. Sensing an opportunity, Hattie stepped in.
‘Hello, Marjorie, what can I get you?’ Hattie said as she idled by their table.
‘Goodness, Hattie, I didn’t know you worked here.’ Marjorie looked surprised.
‘Just helping out, Reggie is run off his feet.’
‘Well, in that case, a white wine would be welcome.’ Marjorie turned to John. She didn’t smile. ‘Meet my neighbour, Hattie, she’s living in the cottage next door.’
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance.’ John stood up and offered a hand. ‘This is my wife, Venetia.’ Venetia nodded as she eyed Hattie, her gaze travelling from Hattie’s glittery trainers to the thin straps of her flowing dress.
Hattie was about to remind John that they’d met before on the steps of Marland Manor, but as he’d completely ignored her on that occasion, decided not to mention it.
‘We’ll have a bottle of chilled Chablis, when you’re ready,’ John said, inappropriately gripping Hattie’s hand. He smiled as he looked into her eyes and rubbed his thumb suggestively across her skin.
‘Coming up.’ Hattie eased her hand away. He’s certainly one for the ladies, she thought as she headed back to the pub to get their drinks, passing Alf, who was nattering to a group of locals, perched on the wall. ‘Nothing to do?’ Hattie asked and gave him a poke in the side. ‘There’s six tables that need clearing in the garden.’
Reggie was still busy at the bar, where Harry had stepped in to help. Hattie found a bottle of Chablis in the fridge and as she reached for three glasses asked,
‘Has John Hargreaves got a tab?’
‘He has, and I’ll add that wine to it.’
‘Add a drink on for me for molestation.’
‘What?’ Reggie was angry. ‘I’ll double his bill.’ ‘Shall I arrest him?’ Harry looked cross.
‘Don’t be so daft, nowt I can’t deal with, but he has a wandering thumb.’ Hattie grabbed a tray and a wine cooler and returned to the garden. As she approached John’s table she nearly fell over Drake. ‘Shoo!’ Hattie side-stepped the duck.
‘Keep that horrible creature away!’ Venetia said and crossed her legs.
Ness was loitering behind Drake, both searching for crumbs or the promise of a treat from diners enjoying a bar snack.
‘Animals should be banned from the pub garden.’ Venetia waved her hands at Ness.
Hattie opened the wine and leaned in to pour. ‘Like to try it?’ She looked at John.
‘Just pour,’ John said gazing at Hattie’s cleavage. ‘I’m sure it will be delicious.’
Hattie did as instructed then placed the wine in the cooler and, taking the tray, turned away. She’d noticed the vicar and his family sitting on the grass. Bertie was beside them, thumping his tail. The vicar lifted a pint of beer and took a long drink. His skin was tanned, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal muscular arms. For a moment, as Hattie watched Roger relax, she recognised
that there was a certain attraction about the man that some women might find appealing.
‘Are you all set for the village fete?’ Roger called out as he saw Hattie.
‘Oh, bugger,’ Hattie said to herself. She’d forgotten all about the fete. ‘Absolutely, vicar, don’t worry about Marjorie and me, we’re almost there with the tombola prizes.’ She patted Bertie on the head.
‘That’s grand, we need to keep on top of things.’ Roger had a gleam in his eye and a playful grin. ‘The fete comes around quickly and there’s a lot to do.’
Drake had followed Hattie and Ness was taking an avid interest in Bertie, who was happy to cock his leg in the air and let the collie sniff around.
‘Come away, Ness,’ Hattie said sharply and reached out to grab the dog’s collar.
‘They’re only playing,’ Penny said. She had a dreamy expression as she lay on a tartan rug, beside Roger, rubbing the mound of her tummy, which was covered in a faded patchwork dress. It rode dangerously high up Penny’s thin gangly legs.
A jumble sale cast-off, Hattie thought. Did Penny have anything decent in her wardrobe? Josh and Hannah were some distance away, throwing sticks into the pond and Hattie considered that as parents, Roger and Penny would be better employed watching over their kids, than lounging in the afternoon sun, seemingly without a care in the world.
‘Another pint?’ Hattie asked Roger.
‘If you don’t mind fetching it.’ Roger drained his drink and handed the glass to Hattie. He stretched lazily. ‘And a lemonade for the good lady too,’ he added.
Hattie moved away.
‘Another bottle of wine over here!’ John called out and Hattie nodded as she busied herself collecting empties then, returning to the bar, handed her loaded tray to Harry. ‘Sort this lot out while I pour the vicar a pint. And another bottle for the Hargreaves.’
As Hattie went back into the garden with drinks for Roger and Penny, she heard voices raised. The angry sound was coming from John and Venetia’s table.
Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series! Page 12