by Helena Lamb
A Move to Murder
A Bride’s Bay Mystery
Helena Lamb
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Bride’s Bay does not exist, nor does Monkton. But Portsmouth, Southampton, Portchester, Fareham and Gosport can all be found in the county of Hampshire in southern England.
A Move to Murder Copyright © 2015 Helena Lamb
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Beth’s eyes sprang open; her heart thudding as she stared into the darkness, straining her eyes as wide as they could go to peer into the blackness. No, not complete blackness; rather dark shapes against a darker background. Something heavy was pressing against her side and soft snuffling sounds penetrated her consciousness. Her throat closed as she simultaneously opened her mouth to cry out, muscles tensing, lungs tightening and head dizzy with fear. The room swayed. She was spinning round, blurred images flashing past, on a roundabout. Then the roundabout slowed. Stopped. The black on black began to fade; cracks of light began to show around a door, a window, and shapes became apparent. Relief flooded her whole body as she made sense of her surroundings and realised she was in her bed, in her safe haven of a bedroom and had been dreaming. The black shapes were furniture; the weight was Charlie, boldly curled up asleep next to her rather than in his basket in the kitchen, snoring gently in his sleep and twitching as he also dreamt. Nicer dreams than mine though, thought Beth, as her heart rate slowed and the tension started to leave her body, leaving her with a dry mouth and a sick stone of dread in her stomach. Pushing Charlie aside, she rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp, transforming the scene of her nightmare back into her bedroom; the large pine wardrobe and chest of drawers, the matching pine desk she used as a dressing table, the armchair in the corner strewn with clothes and the pretty sage green and white curtains at the windows, not quite pulled together and allowing chinks of light through the gaps from the street lamp outside. She sat up slowly, being careful not to disturb Charlie, though why shouldn’t she wake him? He was supposed to be in the kitchen anyway. Swung her legs out of bed and made her way down the steep stairs, through the hall and into the kitchen, feeling for the light switch and flooding the room with warm, reassuring, safe light. Put the kettle on, she told herself, the cure for all life’s dramas and crises. While the kettle boiled she took out a mug and teabag and turned to the fridge for the carton of milk. Moments later, she sat at the wooden kitchen table hugging a mug of steaming, comforting tea, absorbing the familiar sights and sounds of the room; the quiet rhythmic ticking of the wall clock, the photo on the dresser of Nell, suntanned and gorgeous in shorts and a skimpy top, her hair the colour of dark honey, tangled and tousled, her teeth white and straight in a huge grin, laughter and joy in her eyes; the photo of Louise with the same hair, the same teeth, but with a faint smile, a cautious look on her eyes as though she already knew of the tragedy that lay ahead; the jug of flowers on the table, deep crimson tulip petals studded with yellow and black scattered around it. She should have thrown them out a couple of days before, when they started to wilt, but had wanted another day or two of their vibrant beauty. Gradually the knot of fear and dread in her stomach dissolved and faded away and her grip on the mug eased. A soft padding sound from the stairs and Charlie appeared in the doorway, wagging his tail and eyeing her quizzically, his head on one side. “No Charlie, it’s not food time, or walk time” Beth leaned forward to scratch the little Scottie dog behind his ears and with a sigh; Charlie wandered over to his basket and sat down in it with a thump. Beth sipped her tea and thought back to the dream, no….. nightmare, flashback, whatever it had been. She hadn’t had flashbacks for months now; what had caused it tonight? It didn’t take much, she knew; maybe a news item, a throwaway remark someone made, a fleeting glimpse of someone who looked like.... there, now she had done it, brought the memories floating back to the surface when she tried so hard to keep them submerged, locked up, in the past where they belonged. Well, be positive, she chided herself, you haven’t thought about the past for months now; life is good, so many things to enjoy and look forward to. Concentrate on those and put the past back in its box, turn the key, lock it away. Think about dinner tomorrow with the girls, about Nell visiting on Saturday for lunch. She was bringing Will too. It would be the first time he and Beth had met. What would he be like? Should she cook or take them out for a meal? Decided she would cook; she’d do Nell’s favourite pasta bake and a Pavlova to follow. Too early for strawberries but maybe raspberries and kiwi? Though maybe Will was more of an apple crumble and custard man so maybe two desserts? No, that would be overdoing it. She rinsed the mug, placed it on the draining board and smiled down at Charlie, already asleep again, twitching; probably chasing waves or seagulls, then clicked off the light and went back to bed. An anxious moment as she got into bed. Would she be able to sleep? Yes, she thought, but the lamp can stay on, what does it matter?
The next morning brought sun streaming through the curtains and the promise of a warm, sunny day. And a good job too, thought Beth, as she locked the front door and started the short walk to the school, where fifteen three and four year olds would soon also be heading for the nursery classroom where Beth was the morning nursery nurse, working alongside the teacher Helen. The previous weekend and the beginning of the week had been wet and windy and the days of enforced indoor play had made the children fractious. At least they could play outside today and relieve some of that energy. Well, today should be good; Wednesday meant a music session with Tim, always good fun; then this afternoon was her stint in the charity shop and a chance to catch up with Gina then this evening she was calling round to Carol’s to help her with a dress her friend was trying, and failing, to make. A job she loved, good friends, Nell, and a lovely place to live, thought Beth as she glanced down the road towards the beach, where the sun sparkled on the sea and the island was clear in the bright morning light, before turning in through the school gates.
“So, have you met either of them yet?” Gina asked as she passed a fragile tea set to Beth, one cup at a time, to arrange in the charity shop window. “No, not there, you need that big space for the tea pot”.
Beth obeyed and rearranged the cups to make space for the errant tea pot.
“There, how’s that looking? And who are you talking about? Who am I supposed to have met? Or is that whom?” Gina was a stickler for correct grammar.
“Your two newcomers; Carol said there are two people who have just moved here, one to Addison Crescent and one to Bay Road East.” Gina handed up the last piece of the set and stood back to gather up paper and boxes.
“Why two houses? Don’t they live together?” Beth stepped carefully off the step. It was only one small step but she didn’t like heights, not even thirty centimetres.
Gina frowned, turning back to Beth, her blonde hair swinging in a perfect arc.
“Why would they live together?”
“You said there were two people” Beth explained patiently.
“Yes, but I didn’t say they were together! He is a retired lecturer from Reading University apparently and she has moved from Bristol. They’re not a couple!”
“
Ah, I see. But no, I haven’t met them yet. Tell me more about them. I assume Carol knows about them through Ken?”
Gina and Beth moved back into the stock room at the rear of the shop to resume emptying boxes and wash the crockery and glassware they contained, ready to display.
“Yes, the man can’t remember his name, has just completed on that big house at the end of your road, your main road at least, on the corner. What’s it called?”
“Alma House? I didn’t realise it had been sold, I know it was on the market for a while after Mr Simons died but I didn’t know anyone had moved in.”
“Well, he moved in on Monday apparently. I’m surprised you didn’t see the removal van.”
“We’re not all as nosey as you!” Beth grinned, knowing how untrue it was of her friend, who was actually very discreet and sensitive to people’s privacy. Now, if it had been Carol...
“But I know the woman’s name, Melissa, and according to Carol she is as glamorous as her name. Tall, fabulous figure, glossy dark hair. Amazing bone structure. Carol said she’s a Nigella Lawson lookalike. Designer clothes, stunning jewellery.”
“So she only got a quick look then!”
Gina smiled. “She’s rented the Thomson’s house for a year, while they are in Brussels.”
“How old is she? What does she do?”
“Late forties Carol thought, and I don’t know about her work, Carol hasn’t found out yet but...”
“Beth? Could you come and serve please?” Gina was interrupted by the call from the shop and Beth hurried through to where April Turner, the manageress, was dealing with a queue of people waiting to pay.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and business was good; although it usually was, thanks mainly to the double act that was April and her assistant, Sue Carter. Both women were extrovert and friendly; Sue in particular knowing most people who came through the door and if she didn’t, she had an innate ability to gauge their personality and hone in on their likes and dislikes. Before they knew it, customers were presented with items accompanied by the words “the perfect colour for you ,Madam” or “ this would look stunning on you” and minutes later would be leaving the shop, clutching a carrier bag containing a purchase they hadn’t realised they wanted or needed. April was more subtle; finding out what the customer was looking for and patiently helping them to find it. She also knew who was in genuine need and discreetly ensured they received what they needed, for what they could afford. Between them, the two women ran the shop efficiently and happily, along with a band of volunteers. Again, April and Sue knew their volunteers’ strengths and weaknesses and made sure the lonely felt befriended and the low had support. Beth always finished her stint feeling tired but happy and upbeat and knew the other volunteers did too. As she and Gina walked down the High Street, leaving April and Sue to lock up, Gina again started to discuss the newcomers.
“Anyway, you’ll meet Melissa on Friday because Carol has roped her in to come along to flower arranging to see if she wants to volunteer.”
“Carol has? What will Frances have to say about that?” queried Beth. “She will want to vet her first and make sure she is up to the job! I’m always amazed she lets me arrange the flowers, I belong to the “bung ‘em in a vase” school of flower arranging.”
Gina laughed. “No you don’t, you always arrange them beautifully. Stop putting yourself down.”
She touched Beth’s arm briefly and gave her a quick hug before kissing her on the cheek. “Anyway, bye for now. See you tomorrow evening?”
“Of course. Have fun this evening.” Gina was going to a concert in nearby Southampton with a neighbour.
Beth walked down the High Street and stopped suddenly as a figure rushed out of the Co-op and collided with her.
“Oh! Sorry! Oh Beth, sorry, sorry.” A small blonde woman pulled herself up short and gave Beth a harassed smile. “I’m in a hurry as usual”.
“It’s okay” Beth looked at the woman. “Are you okay Barbara? You look a bit fraught.”
“No, I’m fine, just hurrying to get some milk before they close. Matthew was supposed to get some, but he’s helping James and Joe. And Robert is not pleased” a grimace “he’s supposed to be helping him.”
“Oh.” Beth wasn’t sure what to say. This particular battle had been going on for some months now, seventeen year old Matthew doing odd jobs for James Lamb and his building company after school, rather than helping his father in his butcher’s shop.
“I don’t want him to be working for either of them; I’d rather he was at home doing his homework….”
Barbara’s voice trailed off and she pushed her blonde curls out of her eyes as she spotted her husband beckoning to her from his shop across the road. With a hurried goodbye she was off, dodging a cyclist as she ran across the road.
Beth strolled on down to the end of the High Street and across to George Road, looking ahead at the splash of colour in the small front garden of her little terraced cottage. Even from here she could see the rich red and sunshine yellow of the tulips and the splash of mauve of the grape hyacinths underneath them. She had moved to this cottage with Nell mainly to provide the young girl with a garden. Nell had loved growing things, from sunflowers to herbs and vegetables. When other young girls had been saving up to buy clothes and make up, Nell had been saving for plants and seeds. The flat they had lived in when Beth had first moved to Bride’s Bay had been spacious and comfortable but had no private outdoor space. Beth had bought this cottage mainly for its garden; although the front had been a small, paved area full of weeds and cracked slabs; the back had been over 100 feet long, mainly lawn with a central path running down it to a shed and greenhouse at the end. When she had first brought Nell to see it, the young girl’s eyes had lit up with delight; she had run down the path and had excitedly started making plans for the garden before she had even seen inside the house. It was the first spark of happiness Beth had seen since the young girl’s mother had died and she vowed to afford the little cottage somehow. Over the years she and Beth had worked hard until now both gardens bore no resemblance to their original appearances; the front had been gravelled and filled with seasonal tubs, planters and hanging baskets, ablaze with seasonal colour, while the back garden had been transformed into a series of “rooms” with seating areas; a terrace for meals, a secret garden through a willow arch, a mill stone water feature and a small vegetable patch hidden behind a trellis fence over which tumbled a clematis and winter jasmine. The shed and greenhouse remained but an arbour with a swing seat had also been added and Nell and Beth had both spent many a contented hour chatting and swinging, a glass of juice in Nell’s hand and a glass of wine in Beth’s. Buying this little cottage had been the right thing to do, reflected Beth, as she let herself into the hall and greeted Charlie. It had provided the teenage Nell with security and a focus and the cosy home and miracle of nature transforming the garden had helped heal the young girl after the death of her mother when she was only twelve. It had also helped to heal her, reflected Beth, as she sat on the garden swing with a mug of coffee before taking Charlie for a walk. Moving to Bride’s Bay to care for Nell had changed her life dramatically; but the years here by the ever changing sea, in her own little house, with her work and friends, had also helped her to recover from the shock of Louise’s accident and she was proud of the beautiful young woman her niece had become and the lives they had both made. Every time she spoke to Nell, she was bubbling with excitement over her job in the nursery of a large horticultural firm near Winchester, her rented flat near the centre of the city and, more recently, Will, a young man she worked with and who now seemed to be mentioned more than the job or the flat. Beth suppressed a pang of anxiety at the thought of meeting the young man. She just had to trust in Nell’s judgement. Surely if Nell liked him, so would Beth? Stop worrying, Beth reproached herself; Nell has sound judgement, stop looking for problems!
Beth kept Charlie on his lead while they strolled down to the beach and glance
d at Alma House as she walked past. Signs of life were apparent, windows were open upstairs and downstairs and the sound of a power drill drifted out. On the driveway was an old estate car, in need of a clean. So he has a dog, Beth thought, registering a dog guard in the back of the car, then smiled to herself at the thought she was turning into Carol, hunting for clues. He must also be about sixty, if he was retired. Gina had not mentioned a wife or partner. Divorced, widowed? mused Beth. Or maybe just single? Though it was a large house for one person; maybe someone was following him down? His house certainly had stunning views, straight across the Solent to the Isle of Wight and round the bay to Portsmouth, the Spinnaker tower shining white in the sun. The house itself was also a treasure, Beth knew, never having been inside but having seen the photographs when it had first been marketed by Ken, Carol’s estate agent husband. An impressive late Victorian detached house, it had most of its original features and succeeded in being spacious and full of character as well as comfortable, thanks to its previous owners, Mr and Mrs Simons, who had installed secondary glazing, a new heating system and good quality bathrooms and kitchen. Harry Simons had also been a keen gardener and Beth knew Frances Dobinson, in charge of the church flowers, had greatly admired his garden and the variety of plants he had grown. Harry had generously allowed Frances to cut flowers and foliage from his garden to use in church and since his death, Frances had frequently bemoaned the fact she could no longer visit his garden, even going so far as to ask Ken Baker if he could let her into the garden to cut them. Ken had told her bluntly she could not trespass but it grieved Frances to know the flowers were there but unattainable. Perhaps the new owner would let her pick them? Frances lived in a similar cottage to Beth’s, but with a much smaller back garden. Despite the size, Beth knew her garden was a riot of plants and flowers, Frances having no time or inclination for grass or vegetables. Beth had the time to tend her small vegetable patch, but grew more than she could eat these days, since Nell had moved out. She frequently found herself giving produce away, but enjoyed seeing the plants grow and picking them, so maybe she would keep it a bit longer. Perhaps she would think about it over the winter and possibly reduce it in size, just grow a few tomatoes, salad leaves, that sort of thing.