*
That market day in Berryton turned out to be Alice’s best yet. The green money tin was overflowing with notes and coins. That lot would easily see her through to the end of the month. She was still debating whether she would get that new television set. Everybody had seemed to enjoy the honey samples she had put out, whether or not they noticed the flavour had changed, and nobody had quibbled at the higher price. She threw the empty boxes into the back of the van and put the cash tin on the passenger seat in the front.
“See you next month, my love,” Derek said.
I’m not your love and you’re not even from Cornwall originally.
“See you next month, Derek. I’m going to see if Milly’s all right.”
“Maybe she just forgot. None of us are getting any younger.”
“Perhaps.” Alice got in the van and started the engine.
Milly Lancaster’s house was two doors down from Alice’s. It was a small cottage desperately in need of some work. The white paint had turned an off-yellow colour and was flaking off. Weeds had taken over the garden. Her husband Graham had maintained it when he was alive. After his death from a stroke a few years ago, the house and garden had gone to ruin.
Alice opened the rusty garden gate and pushed her way through the huge dock leaves that blocked the path. She rang the bell. There was no sound. It was obviously broken. She knocked harder and the door opened slightly. It was unlocked.
“Milly,” she shouted, “Are you all right?”
There was no sound from inside. Alice pushed the door open and went in. The familiar smell of baking hung in the air. Milly’s cakes, shortbreads and biscuits were famous for miles around. In the kitchen, rows of biscuits lay on cooling racks next to the open window. Three chocolate cakes stood on the table, ready to be sliced. Milly was nowhere to be seen.
“Milly,” Alice shouted again.
There was only one bedroom in the small cottage. Alice went in. The bed was made and the window was open. No Milly. Alice checked the bathroom. Milly’s toothbrush was in a glass next to the sink and nothing looked disturbed.
Milly Lancaster had got up and made her bed. Her baking was laid out ready to be packed for market. Alice felt queasy. She sat down at the table in the kitchen. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. All she knew was that Milly was gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alice phoned the police, as she’d promised Milly. However, when she was finally put through to a rather grumpy-sounding constable in Trotterdown, she didn’t mention Stanley’s finger. She was more concerned about reporting Milly’s disappearance, even though PC Wood tried his best to assure her that her friend would turn up soon enough. A few hours’ absence didn’t justify opening a missing person’s case.
“But it’s not like Milly,” Alice argued. “She never misses the market. Her door was unlocked and her cakes were ready. Something’s wrong.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Mrs Lancashire will turn up in the end.”
“Lancaster.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mrs Lancaster,” Alice said. “Her name is Milly Lancaster. How are you going to find her when you can’t even get her name right?”
She hung up.
“Idiot,” the jackdaw screamed. “Idiot. Idiot.”
“You’re not wrong there, my boy,” Alice told him. “This isn’t like Milly. It isn’t like her at all.”
She needed something to take her mind off things. She opened up the green cash tin and took out £250. A new television set and a bottle of fine port would do the trick. She checked on the bees before setting off for Trotterdown. Normally, she wore protective gloves to open the hives when the sun was so high in the sky, but today she didn’t even think about it. She lifted the lid off one of the hives and slid out one of the frames. There was much more honey on the frame than yesterday. The bees were performing magnificently.
A sharp pain on the back of her hand reminded her of the downside of beekeeping. She pulled the bee off, but its sting remained in her skin. “Why did you do that?” She dropped it on the ground and watched as it writhed on the floor, turning circles on its back. It was doomed. When she could take it no longer, she stepped on the poor creature.
The initial sharp pain on her hand had been replaced with a dull itch. She went back into her kitchen, and took a pair of tiny tweezers out of the drawer, along with a bottle of a baking soda solution she had made up for stings. She tweezed out the sting and applied a small amount of the baking soda. She tried to remember the last time she had been stung. It had been August last year, during a particularly nasty heatwave. As she’d told Milly, her bees were Italian, generally docile and not prone to sting on a whim.
*
Alice parked her van in the car park of the main shopping centre in Trotterdown. The itchiness from the sting had gone completely. She locked the van and patted her pocket. The money for a television set was safely there. The set she’d been eyeing in the second-hand shop for weeks was gone, but they had a perfectly good alternative for £20 less. By the time she drove back towards Polgarrow, she had almost forgotten about Milly. She was looking forward to watching her favourite quiz shows on the huge television. She wouldn’t have to sit so close anymore to read the questions on the screen. And she was able to set it up. She’d learned to do all those things for herself over the past ten years on her own.
Alice was enjoying a rewarding glass of port and contemplating the evening’s viewing when she heard a knock at the door. Only Milly would visit at this time of day and she never knocked. Alice sighed. She put the glass of port on the coffee table next to her armchair and got up to answer. Maybe it was something to do with Milly?
Eddie Sedgwick, the man who lived between Alice and Milly, was standing in the doorway wearing the most ridiculous sweater Alice had ever seen. It was bright green and it had a crudely embroidered white sheep in the centre.
“Eddie,” Alice said. “What can I do for you?”
“Sorry to bother you, Alice, but the wife is moaning about the bees again. She reckons they’re coming in our garden. Acting all aggressive, she says.”
Alice couldn’t help laughing at the idea of the bees “acting all aggressive.” She pictured them buzzing around next door, getting up to no good and threatening the Sedgwicks with God knows what.
“Sorry, Eddie,” she managed, composing herself at last. “I’ll have a word with them. They’re not normally aggressive. They’re Italian bees.”
“To be honest, they don’t bother me in the slightest, but my Barbara reckons she’s allergic.”
“Tell Barbara not to worry. I’ll sort them out.” She closed the door in Eddie Sedgwick’s face before he had a chance to say anything else.
“Idiot,” the jackdaw screamed as Alice sat back down in the living room.
“All men are idiots,” Alice said.
She leaned back in her chair to watch a new quiz show, glass of port back in her hand. Perhaps she ought to check to see if Milly was home — but maybe she’d leave it for now.
The quiz show was a huge disappointment. It was one of those contests where so-called celebrities tried their best to show off their wit. Alice had never even heard of any of the contestants. She changed the channel. The weather forecast had just started. A high-pressure front was arriving from the south. Warm temperatures were promised for the next few days.
“The bees are going to love that,” Alice said to herself.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following morning, after checking on the bees, Alice went to Milly’s cottage. The curtains were open, but then Alice knew Milly was an early riser. She always had been. She went in without knocking and realised straight away that her friend wasn’t there.
Everything was exactly as it had been the day before, but flies were now buzzing around the biscuits and cakes in the kitchen. And again, Milly was nowhere to be seen.
Alice picked up Milly’s telephone and called the police. Surely they hav
e to take things seriously now. She was put through to a young-sounding woman with a peculiar accent. Definitely not Cornish.
“I wish to report a missing person,” Alice said emphatically.
“Name?” the woman asked.
“Mine or hers?”
“Yours,” the woman said. “Please could I have your name?”
“My name’s Alice Green. My friend Milly Lancaster hasn’t been seen since Friday evening. It’s not like Milly. Something’s happened to her. I reported it yesterday, but the man I spoke to didn’t seem to give a damn.”
“I’m sorry about that, Mrs Green,” the woman said. She asked for the address and told Alice that someone would be along to see her “in the course of the morning.”
Finally. Finally somebody is taking this seriously. People got away with murder these days. She went back to her own house. The bees were starting to surface as the temperature rose. Alice watched as they lazily left the hives, sunned their wings and flew off in search of nectar. None of them appeared to show any interest in the garden next door. Barbara Sedgwick and her allergies were safe for the time being. The bees were concentrating all their attention on the hollyhock bushes. More flowers had opened and the bees were enjoying them. It was all very peaceful.
Alice suddenly realised what was really happening. She had to think fast. The police were on their way to her house — and there was a body buried in her garden. Whether or not it was attracting the bees, she had to make sure they didn’t check any further. She checked the soil round the hollyhocks. It was starting to harden in the sun and there was no sign of anything untoward.
“Mrs Green?” a man called out, making Alice jump. She turned to see a man and a woman standing a few metres from the hives. The man looked nervous.
“We did knock,” the woman said. “The door was open so we came straight in. Are you Mrs Green?”
Alice recognised the woman’s accent from the phone.
“Call me Alice.”
“DS Duncan,” the man said. “And this is my colleague, DC Taylor. Are those things dangerous?” He pointed to the beehives.
“Not at all,” Alice said, “they’re Italian. Have you ever known the Italians to be dangerous? Since the Romans, I mean.”
The joke appeared lost on the middle-aged detective sergeant, but DC Taylor smiled. “What beautiful hollyhocks,” she said, taking one of the flowers in her hand and smelling it. Alice could feel her heart starting to beat more quickly. The woman was standing just a few feet from her dead husband.
“The bees seem to like them,” Alice said, moving towards the house. “Would you like some tea?” She went inside without waiting for an answer and they had no alternative but to follow her.
“When did you last see Mrs …” DS Duncan fumbled in his pocket for his notebook.
“Lancaster.” Alice saved him the effort. “Milly Lancaster. I last saw her on Friday evening. She helped me pack the honey to take to the market.”
“Market?” DS Duncan wrote it in his notebook.
“The market in Berryton. Milly and I have had stalls there for donkeys’ years.”
“I see.” Duncan looked up. “What do you sell there?”
“I sell my honey and Milly takes her baking. Cakes, biscuits, that sort of thing. What’s this got to do with it?”
“I’m just trying to get all the facts, Mrs Green.” Duncan scribbled something in his notebook.
Alice heard the jackdaw’s cage rattle and she flinched. She had a terrible feeling about what was coming next. She cast the bird a stern glance and he kept quiet.
“Right,” Duncan read through his notes, “you say Mrs Lancaster helped you pack the honey on Friday evening? What time was this?”
“Around seven.”
“And you haven’t seen her since?”
“No.” Alice was starting to get annoyed. “She didn’t show up for the market and it doesn’t look like she’s been home. Something’s happened to her.”
“Let’s not be premature here. I know it’s worrying, but we know that most people who are reported missing turn up in the end. And there’s often a perfectly reasonable explanation for their disappearance.”
“What about the ones who don’t?”
“Does Mrs Lancaster have any family?” Duncan ignored her question. “Friends she may have gone to visit without you knowing?”
“Her husband died a good few years ago. She has no children and, as far as I’m aware, I’m her only friend.”
DC Taylor looked as if she was itching to say something. Alice nodded to her, pleading. She was getting a headache from DS Duncan’s stupid questions.
“I think it might be an idea to check Mrs Lancaster’s house, even so. This lady’s clearly worried,” Taylor suggested.
“All in good time,” Duncan replied. Alice and DC Taylor both sighed at the same time.
*
After twenty minutes of irrelevant questioning DS Duncan stood up and told Alice — as if he’d thought of it for himself — that it would be a good idea to have a look inside Milly’s house.
“Have you got a licence for that thing?” He pointed to the jackdaw.
“He can’t fly anymore,” Alice said. “He would’ve died if I hadn’t taken him in.”
“That’s neither here nor there. If I’m not mistaken, you need a licence to keep wild birds. I’ll be sure to check.”
Alice, DS Duncan and DC Taylor had barely reached the front door when the jackdaw let rip.
“Idiot,” the jackdaw squawked. “Idiot.” Alice saw DC Taylor was trying hard not to laugh.
“He doesn’t like men,” she whispered to the detective constable. Taylor smiled and followed Alice outside to Milly’s house.
DS Duncan insisted on taking the lead. Even more annoyingly, he spotted the biscuits on the tray in the kitchen and decided it was OK to try one. “Not bad,” he said, spraying crumbs everywhere.
“I checked the house yesterday,” Alice said. “And again this morning. Milly isn’t here.”
“Please just let us do our job.” Duncan marched through the small cottage to the bathroom. “We’ve been specially trained in matters such as these.”
I bet you have. When was the last time anyone went missing round here?
Duncan returned a few seconds later with a toothbrush and a triumphant look. “She’s not here,” he said. “I reckon if she was planning on going away for a few days she’d have taken her toothbrush with her. I think something is wrong.”
Alice gritted her teeth.
“Let’s start the ball rolling then, shall we?” Duncan put the toothbrush down on the table and picked up another biscuit. “Taylor, you stay here and get a statement from Mrs Green. Make sure you capture the whole chain of events. I’m going back to Trotterdown. I’ll arrange for someone to check the local hospitals.”
He looked at Alice and clearly felt he should try to sound sympathetic. “Just routine,” he said, “like I said, she’s almost certainly OK.”
“Let’s get started then, Sarge.”
“If you need me,” Duncan replied, “I’ll be in the Unicorn in Trotterdown. I promised the wife a Sunday lunch out.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Let’s start from the very beginning, then,” DC Harriet Taylor said.
“I don’t mean to sound rude,” Alice said, not particularly caring whether she did, “but that Duncan bloke isn’t all there, is he?”
“DS Duncan is just very meticulous.” Taylor took out a sheet of paper from a black file and started to write.
“Mrs Green,” she said.
“Please call me Alice. Nobody calls me Mrs Green. Especially since my Stanley did a runner. If you don’t mind me asking, dear, you’re not from around here, are you? That accent. It’s Scottish, isn’t it?”
“Edinburgh. I transferred to Trotterdown six months ago. You last saw Milly Lancaster at around seven on Friday. Is that correct?”
“Round about then. What with the long days at this time
of year, it’s hard to say.”
“And Mrs Lancaster seemed fine to you?”
“Yes. She always does.”
“Do you know if anything was bothering her?”
“No,” Alice said again. “She seemed fine to me.”
“And she didn’t mention anything about going away for a few days?”
“Nothing. And she’d have told me, I can promise you that. Like I said, we were planning on meeting up at the market the next day. Milly had her biscuits and cakes laid out ready to pack. You saw them yourself.”
“Sorry, but I have to go through all these questions. We’d rather repeat ourselves than miss something. So — there was definitely nothing troubling her? Nothing’s happened in the past few days that you can think of? Even something minor? ”
Apart from seeing my dead husband’s hand sticking up under my hollyhocks? “No,” she repeated. “She seemed fine. How many times are you going to ask me the same question?”
“Sorry. I just need to make absolutely sure. You were right to let us know,” Taylor said, “I don’t normally like to sound alarmist, but it is a bit odd, particularly at her age. Could you read through this statement and sign it, please?”
Taylor had been very thorough and she’d got everything in order, but there wasn’t anything irrelevant either. “Everything seems fine.” She signed her name at the bottom of the page. “What happens next?”
“We follow the usual procedures.” Taylor put the statement back in the file. “We see what we find from the hospitals, speak with the neighbours, all that. We’ll look for anything out of the ordinary that might explain Mrs Lancaster’s sudden disappearance.”
“Such as?”
“You’d be surprised. In Edinburgh last year a seventy-two-year-old man went missing. Disappeared into thin air. When we dug further, we found out from his bank accounts that he’d won the lottery. He didn’t want his wife finding out. We tracked him down to the south of Spain. He’s back home with his wife now, funnily enough — he couldn’t cope on his own.”
“Men,” Alice said. “They’re all the same.”
THE BEEKEEPER a gripping crime mystery with a dark twist Page 2