Murderous Mayhem at Honeychurch Hall

by Hannah Dennison

  I’d never seen Eric so flustered. I wasn’t blind, nor was I stupid. They obviously knew each other.

  “Well!” said Jess. “I really must go. I’ve got to stop by the barn. Happy belated birthday, again.” And so she left.

  Eric still stood there, beanie in hand. Neither of us spoke until we heard Jess’s car drive away.

  “Are you alright, Eric?”

  “So…” He hesitated. “Is she a customer?”

  “That’s Mrs. Carew—or should I say Lady Carew.”

  Eric’s jaw dropped. “Carew’s wife? I never heard that Piers got married?”

  “Not Piers,” I said. “The earl. Jess is Lavinia’s stepmother.”

  “She married the old man? But … he’s—” Eric seemed upset. “When did this happen?”

  I shrugged. “I think they’ve only been married a few weeks.”

  “Weeks?” Eric’s frown deepened and so did his pallor. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “The … I don’t bloody believe it.”

  Now I was really intrigued. “Why did you call her Maureen?”

  Eric’s head snapped up. “She’s not the Maureen I remember. I must have been mistaken after all.” He cast about the room, scowling. “Where’s the ladder?”

  “In the other gatehouse.” I opened the desk drawer and handed him a key. “I locked it in there. Here, help yourself.”

  Mum suddenly burst through the door. Eric sprang aside.

  “Good heavens,” I said. “It’s like Piccadilly Circus in here this morning! You are my fourth visitor, Mum.”

  Eric nodded a greeting. “I’ll get the ladder,” he said, and vanished.

  “You look annoyed,” I said mildly.

  “Annoyed? Whatever gave you that idea?” Mum stood arms akimbo, eyes blazing. “You will never believe this, but Muriel must have had my manuscript all the time!”

  “They found it?” I said. “That’s good news.”

  “Is it?” Mum shouted. “Is it?”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “There are five pages missing!” she shrieked. “And a lot of pages are covered in strawberry jam!”

  “Oh.”

  “And it wasn’t my jam,” said Mum. “I am very careful with my manuscript. And besides, you checked the pages, didn’t you?”

  “Twice.” I agreed. “So what do you think happened?”

  In between bursts of indignation and the most colorful language I had ever heard my mother utter aloud, she told me that Goldfinch Publishing had indeed called to tell her they had found the missing manuscript.

  “It was stamped Next Day delivery!” Mum raged on. “I knew she went through the post. Didn’t I tell you? I knew it!”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “You do realize what this means, don’t you?”

  “Muriel sent it yesterday after I paid her a visit,” I said calmly.

  “But don’t you see?” Mum’s nostrils were actually flaring. “Muriel must know that I am Krystalle Storm. She knows and if she knows everyone in the village will know. And if they know … it won’t take long for HM Revenue & Customs to know. And if they know they’ll find out I haven’t paid taxes for years and have been stashing my loot in the Channel Islands, and when they find that out—oh! It’s all too much.” She collapsed into the Knole sofa.

  “Oh, dear,” was all I said. I wasn’t that hard-hearted to say, “I told you so.”

  “What should I do? Give her hush money?” said Mum.

  “What for?”

  “No.” Mum shook her head vigorously. “That won’t do. Won’t do at all. It’ll open me up to blackmail.” She frowned, then brightened. “I know. I’ll get Alfred to threaten her. Tell her to keep quiet or else … or else … or else—”

  “Or else what?”

  “She’ll end up meeting her husband in heaven sooner than she thinks.”

  “Whilst you languish in prison not just for tax evasion but for murder, too?” I said. “Perhaps you should invite Muriel into your confidence? Tell her she’s the only one who knows the truth—”

  “Are you mad?” Mum exclaimed.

  “Well, I think you’re missing a much more important issue.”

  Mum looked blank.

  “The pages?” I said.

  “Oh God, yes,” said Mum.

  “So you might have to come clean so you can ask her where they are. They have to be in the post office or her cottage.” Which was probably where she had had the manuscript all the time.

  “There’s a small sitting room and kitchen behind the post office and two bedrooms upstairs,” said Mum. “And that Clara St. James called me unprofessional. She said how disappointed she was to receive a manuscript in such poor condition from one of her top authors.”

  “But at least she acknowledges that you are one of her top authors.”

  “Not for much longer if I don’t find those pages.” All the wind seemed to have gone out of my mother’s sails. She seemed defeated. “They want the missing pages first thing Monday morning.”

  “Oh dear,” I said again. “I don’t suppose your editor told you exactly what pages were missing?”

  “Of course not,” said Mum.

  “Then we have no choice,” I said. “Today is Friday. We will go to the post office and confront Muriel right now.”

  “My life is over.”

  “Don’t be dramatic.”

  “She wants a four-page summary of the next book. Also by Monday.”

  “Then you’d better get busy,” I said. “Let me handle Muriel, okay?”

  “I’m coming with you. I’m too upset.” Mum spotted Jess’s gift bag. “A birthday present? Who from? Shawn?”

  “No. Jess Carew.”

  Mum’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  “Exactly. Why indeed.”

  “Let me see.” Mum grabbed the bag before I could protest. “There’s a birthday card in here. You didn’t open it.”

  “You can if you like.”

  Mum showed me the card. “You seemed to have made an impression. I’m excited we’ll soon be neighbors. Looking forward to getting to know you better. Love, Jess. At least I think that’s what it says. Her writing is atrocious. Is that a heart over the letter i?”

  “Oh dear,” I said, yet again.

  Mum unwrapped the bangle. “This was expensive.”

  “I know!”

  “Is she trying to buy your friendship?” Mum regarded the bangle. “This will never fit you. Your wrists are too thick. You’ve got big bones.”

  “Thanks, Mum. You really know how to make a girl feel attractive.”

  “And she’s so dainty. Like a little elf, but all the same, it’s very nice of her. You always found it difficult to make friends.”

  “Actually, I’m a private person and I am very particular about who I want to let into my life, thanks.” I was beginning to get irritated. “I’m going to talk to Muriel.”

  Mum glowered. I locked the gatehouse and we headed for my car.

  “I suppose you can always change it for a much bigger size.”

  “There!” I exclaimed. “You’re doing it again!”

  “Unless you don’t plan on wearing it,” said Mum. “I would.”

  “Actually, I like it. So yes, I do. I don’t have much jewelry anymore.”

  “I told you not to get rid of all that stuff that David bought you.”

  It was true. I had. I had put everything he had ever given me into an estate auction and then donated the proceeds to the RSPCA.

  “I knew you’d regret it,” said Mum. “What on earth made you do that?”

  “Every piece I owned reminded me of him,” I said simply. “Can we change the subject?”

  “You’re so snippy today.”

  I bit back the obvious retort. I had been in quite a good mood until my mother had mentioned the size of my bones.

  We drove on in silence for what remained of the short trip to Little Dipperton.

  As we turned into the village a panda car
and the familiar sight of Dick-the-forensic—I never knew his last name—were parked outside the post office, making it very difficult to squeeze by. I could see the large figure of DC Clive Banks moving a few bystanders away from the front door.

  “That’s just my luck,” Mum declared.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Muriel’s dead then I’ll never get my pages back.”

  “Mother! Why would you say such a thing?” At that moment, Pippa emerged from the post office with Muriel on her arm.

  “Luckily for you, Muriel seems very much alive,” I said. “Stop the car. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  I opened my window as the pair drew alongside us. Muriel looked as white as a sheet.

  “Whatever’s happened?” I said.

  “Muriel has been robbed again,” Pippa declared.

  “Robbed! Again?” Mum exclaimed. “What rotten luck.”

  “Well, not exactly again,” said Muriel. “I just realized that other things had been stolen, after all.”

  “Poor you,” I said. “I am sorry.”

  Muriel nodded. “All the jewelry that Fred bought me.”

  “Are you insured?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” said Muriel. “But if I am, how long do you have to wait until you get compensation?”

  “Why don’t you let me help you,” I said. “Obviously the pieces are of great sentimental value. If you give me detailed descriptions of what was taken, I might be able to help you find them again.”

  “Oh. Really. I don’t want to put you out.”

  “In fact, there is a website called It’s Been NICKED—”

  “I don’t have the Internet—”

  “All I’m saying is that we should explore unclaimed property websites first.”

  “It must have been stolen at the same time as the money for the Skirmish,” Muriel went on. “I bet it was the same people. But I was so upset when Fred died, I couldn’t face looking for anything that reminded me of him.”

  “Really?” Mum said with ill-disguised disbelief.

  Muriel shot my mother a mutinous look. “It was only when Detective Inspector Cropper asked me if anything else had gone missing that I thought to check my jewelry.”

  “And where did you keep that?” said Mum. “In a shoe box at the bottom of your wardrobe?”

  Muriel looked astonished. “Yes. Yes I did.” Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?”

  “It’s one of the first places burglars look, Muriel,” said Mum. “And the other place is in a tea caddy or a biscuit tin that’s on a shelf in the kitchen.”

  “The biscuit tin was not on a shelf in the kitchen. It was in the saucepan drawer.” Muriel broke down. “I don’t think I can go on. First Fred. Then the money and now this.” She shook her head. “And I’m quite certain his lordship might evict me as well.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Pippa said in a soothing voice. “Why would he do that?”

  “He’s let me live rent-free ever since Fred died,” she said. “But now … with all this kerfuffle—”

  “There does seem to have been a lot of shoplifting going on,” Mum declared. “Are you sure that nothing else was taken?”

  “Like what?”

  “Letters? Papers? You are a post office, after all.”

  “Not that I am aware of,” said Muriel. “Did you read in the papers about that man who escaped from prison?”

  Mum and I exchanged blank looks and then I remembered. “The one who masterminded some elaborate car theft ring?”

  “That’s the one,” said Muriel. “I think it was him who stole my car.”

  Mum pulled a face. “The canary-yellow Kia? Hardly an easy car to sell on the black market.”

  “It was a special edition,” said Muriel. “Fred chose the color.”

  Pippa rolled her eyes. “I doubt it, dear,” she said. “What would he be doing down here and why would he be targeting your post office if he’s a car thief?”

  “Speaking about the post office,” said Mum. “I really need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone anymore,” Muriel wailed. “My bunions hurt. I have a headache. I don’t feel very well.”

  “Let’s go and make you a nice cup of chamomile tea,” said Pippa.

  “Don’t you have PG tips?” Muriel whined.

  Paarp! Paarp! Paarp! Three insistent blares of the horn made us all jump.

  “Oh dear,” said Pippa. “It’s Violet.” She gave a mischievous grin. “Looks like she’ll have to park behind the churchyard.”

  I closed my window and we drove on.

  “For someone who has just moved into the village,” said Mum, “that Pippa Carmichael seems to have got her feet under the table pretty quickly.”

  “I think when you actually live right in the middle of the village it’s hard to avoid it. Plus she’s opened that rival tearoom. I’m disappointed in her, Mum. She’s nothing like I thought she was at all.”

  “No one ever is,” said Mum gloomily. “I happened to like Muriel until she stabbed me in the back.”

  “Maybe just for once you can enlist Shawn’s help,” I said. “After all, he knows who you are. I’m sure he’d understand.”

  “Alright,” said Mum. “Let’s park and go and find out.”

  We followed the lane around the churchyard and into an oblong-shaped area of hardened mud with a sign that optimistically said: CAR PARK. There was just enough space for half a dozen cars, and this morning that’s exactly how many cars were there.

  “How infuriating,” my mother said.

  But just fifty yards farther on was the entrance to Jess’s barn.

  A flurry of signs covered the five-bar gate. There was a notice from the Devon County Council stating that there was planning permission to build a house; another sign said: NO PARKING AND THAT MEANS YOU in large red letters and a third was in pale green and beige that read: DELUGE CONSTRUCTION. And next to that was a brand-new American-styled mailbox—just as Muriel had said.

  “How odd,” Mum said. “Fancy having a mailbox and no house.”

  The thought had crossed my mind, too.

  “Let’s park there,” said Mum.

  “You mean next to the NO PARKING AND THAT MEANS YOU sign?”

  “Your new best friend won’t mind.” Mum gave a snort of derision. “DeLuge Construction? That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, does it? Who names their company deluge?”

  We left the MINI as close to the hedge as possible, but just as we got out Jess roared around the corner and had to hit the brakes. She opened the window. “Sorry! I’ll never get used to these narrow lanes.”

  “Do you mind if we park here for a minute or two?”

  “Please do. I saw the police cars in the village,” said Jess. “What’s going on? Has there been another burglary?”

  “Apparently, Muriel remembered she had a load of jewelry,” said Mum with a sneer. “So now the police are taking a proper look and trying to see if anything else has been stolen.”

  “Aubrey told me about the missing funds for the re-enactment,” said Jess. “Awful. Do they have any idea who it might be? It sounds like it could be someone who knew where to find the money. Poor Muriel. First her husband dies and now this.”

  “And that hideous car of hers was stolen, apparently,” said Mum. “Who would want to drive a canary-yellow Kia?”

  “A canary-yellow Kia?” Jess frowned. “Stolen? When?”

  “Last Friday. In broad daylight—didn’t you say, Kat?” Mum went on. “Right outside Tesco.”

  “But I saw it!” Jess exclaimed. “I was in Dartmouth last Friday and I saw a canary-yellow Kia being towed away from Tesco.”

  “You should tell Shawn,” I said.

  “Good idea. Do you have his phone number?”

  “It’s on my iPhone. I’ll give it to you.” I took out my mobile and scrolled through the numbers as Jess rummaged in her handbag.

  “Ready?”


  “Yes—” She produced a cheap pay-as-you-go phone—“Wait, sorry”—and quickly put it back and pulled out an iPhone instead. “I’ll program it into my mobile right now.”

  “If you knew Muriel like I know Muriel,” said Mum darkly, “you’d be singing a different tune.”

  “Mum,” I protested. “That’s not fair.”

  “I know you make excuses for her, Kat,” Mum went on. “But I’m afraid I’ve seen Muriel’s true colors.”

  “Why? What has she done?” said Jess.

  Mum pointed to Jess’s brand-new American mailbox. “You’d better be careful.”

  Jess looked to me, but I just shrugged.

  “Muriel Jarvis goes through everybody’s post,” Mum declared.

  “But … but that’s illegal!!” Jess exclaimed. “I don’t believe you!”

  “We don’t know for sure, Mother,” I said, adding hastily, “we don’t have proof.”

  “Oh yes we do,” Mum cried.

  “But that’s terrible!” Jess said again.

  “I always knew she was a busybody,” Mum went on. “Always knew it. How else can she know all the gossip in the village?”

  “It’s not just Muriel who gossips,” I said. “You do, too. You’re doing it now.”

  “I do no such thing!”

  “Well … she won’t find anything interesting out about me,” Jess said lightly.

  “I’m just warning you, that’s all.”

  “So what are you doing now?” Jess demanded.

  “Going to talk to the police officer about some missing letters,” Mum lied. “That’s what.” She pointed to the American mailbox again. “And if you’re expecting something and it hasn’t arrived, I suggest you come with us, too.”

  Jess looked at her watch. “Gosh, is that the time? I had no idea. I must get back in time to make Aubrey’s lunch.”

  And with that, she closed her window and drove away.

  It was then that I remembered she’d already made Aubrey’s lunch. He was going to have a curried chicken sandwich.

  I thought back to earlier that morning when Eric had stepped into the gatehouse. He had definitely known her before. I was sure of it. He had called her Maureen.

  “There’s something not quite right about that woman,” Mum mused.

  I was inclined to agree.