Five Six Pick Up Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns)
Page 14
'He’s my friend,' Edge repeated helplessly and the policewoman smiled at her.
'A very good friend,' she agreed. 'I never thought to hear such shouting from a fellow officer, when Kirsty realized Nick must somehow have got one of our terminals and started calling us individually to get over here. And it turns out your friend had him all wrapped up like a Christmas parcel. Now, are you quite sure you don’t want an ambulance? You don’t want to be taken to the hospital?' Edge had shaken her head wearily and said in a small voice she would wait for Kirsty, and the kind policewoman had left. It was very quiet and dark after they went.
'You’re such a good friend, Donald. I can’t believe you and Brian were giving up your time to protect me. Cheryl must be furious.'
'Cheryl’s a climbing buddy. Brian’s fairly keen on you, you know, has been for months. He’s cadged a ride with William, but the bridge was completely gridlocked by that accident you say Nick caused. They’re looping round to take the Kincardine Bridge instead, like Iain and Kirsty. He’ll be here pretty soon, though.'
She opened her eyes to look at him, puzzled.
'So if he likes me, why did he send flowers to Sylvia? Is he romancing every woman at the Lawns?'
Donald’s face was shadowed, but she saw the gleam of teeth as he smiled. 'Atta girl, you must be feeling better! That was a mistake. He used a company called Secret Admirer, but they screwed up somehow, and Sylvia got the roses.'
'Only half of them. Oh Donald, what a mix-up!'
Once again the shadows of the quiet little close were sliced by blazing headlamps and flickering blue lights as the Onderness police car pulled in and Kirsty, white-faced, burst out of the passenger side to run over towards them.
It was over.
Aftermath
More to placate her friends than from any real expectations, Edge has pulled together a script synopsis based on her dating experiences and some of the stories she’d been given, and has been invited to submit a detailed outline for a possible TV series. The working title is Pick Up Sticks.
La Traviata sold out every performance for its planned three-night run, with standing room only on the third night, and excellent reviews. Both Vivian and Donald plan to be involved again next year. The Chronicle declared she had the voice to become the next Susan Boyle, making itself briefly the favourite daily paper at the Lawns, at least for some of the residents.
Sylvia didn’t attend any of the performances, as she was away on the show dog circuit. With her return to the circuit, she’s also been asked to handle two dogs and isn’t at the Lawns very often. Brian is hoping she’ll forget about the roses eventually.
He enthusiastically joined Cheryl’s support crew for the Caledonian Challenge, and invited Edge along to see how much fun it was, and how very beautiful the route. He and Cheryl are now in training for the Three Peaks.
To Miss P’s delight, the man who has taken over Godfrey Crossley’s apartment is an old acquaintance from her Wiccan days. They are planning a Solstice celebration.
A bit more about the books, and some specials for mailing list subscribers
If you enjoyed this Grasshopper Lawns book, please review it on Amazon, it is the best way a book can hope to grow a following and a review can be as short as twenty words. When you say what you liked about a book (and even what you didn’t) you are telling hundreds, even thousands, of other readers whether or not they should read it, and a positive review makes more of a difference to a writer than you might believe possible. The clickable link is http://mybook.to/FiveSix or Amazon itself will have a link at the end of this book.
This is a special edition on free promotion, with samples from the others, not only because I want to get readers for the series but also to promote the imminent release of Nine Ten Begin Again, in July 2014. It will be published at a lower introductory price for the first week, but I’m also currently running a special in that any of the series can be claimed for free as thanks for a review (yes, reviews are that important!) for any of the individual ebooks up to and including Nine Ten Begin Again.
The best way to claim a book in return for your review is via my website: There’s a mailing list at the top of the sidebar, if you sign up you get an immediate free story from the series, and I’ll keep you up to date with any special offers, freebies and promotions as they come up (you can unsubscribe at any time). There is also have an intermittent blog. The website is definitely casual, http://elegsabiff.com, about life, the universe, and the occasionally alarming learning curves involved in being a writer. Going on the mailing list puts us in email contact, or you can email me direct on elizabeth.lamprey@yahoo.co.uk - attach the link to your review, and tell me which book you want (details of all the books coming up) and I will email you the mobi by return. You then forward the email direct to your Kindle address (which you will find under your Settings) and Bob’s your uncle.
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In One Two Buckle My Shoe, the murder of an unpopular resident sparks off an investigation. The police could use some inside information— fortunately, Sergeant Kirsty Campbell’s slightly eccentric aunt is right on the spot. The investigation really starts picking up speed when Edge and Vivian make friends with bon vivant William and the sardonic new resident Donald. It wasn’t that the friends set out to solve it themselves. They are keenly interested, of course—and they do keep coming across clues that no-one is giving to the police ..
In Three Four Knock On My Door, it is Sylvia’s handsome devoted nephew Simon, and the enigmatic Dallas from Louisiana, with life-changing news for Vivian, who come knocking. The amateur sleuths of the retirement village combine to solve murder in between unexpected family, winter picnics, a new resident dog causing havoc at the Lawns and Englishmen. Well, Australians.
In Seven Eight Play It Straight Edge’s actress stepdaughter is performing in a successful Fringe show during the Edinburgh Festival. Long-standing hostilities are set aside when a violent and bloody killing strikes all too close to home, but the temporary truce doesn’t last after Fiona accuses Edge of the murder.
In Nine Ten Begin Again there are, unsurprisingly, murky goings-on at the Grasshopper Lawns retirement village, but for once they’re not getting the attention they deserve. There’s some exciting progress on Edge’s potential TV series Pick Up Sticks, Donald takes her along to his slightly dubious social club (which, it turns out, sails nearer than he had ever intended to the extremely dodgy world of leather fetishism and BDSM), and Vivian upsets the apple-cart by nearly dying of pneumonia. One way and another the four friends are definitely distracted, and even wondering whether they are so used to intrigue that they are making mountains out of molehills.
Glossary –
(Scottish unless specified otherwise)
Bampot – lunatic
Bawbag – scrotum (and pungent slang)
Bidey-in – a live-in romantic partner
Birl – to twist or twirl around
Blether – to have a talk, chatter, gossip.
Ceilidh – (pronounced kay-lee) – a social gathering, usually including country dancing
Chap – knock (as in knock on the door)
CHS – Criminal History System (previously SCRO – Scottish Criminal Record Office)
Dinna fash – don’t worry
Dram – a tot (usually of whisky)
Eejit – idiot (also Irish)
Elevenses – sociable tea or coffee break, at around eleven o’clock
ESPC – Edinburgh Solicitors Property Centre (estate agents, or realtors)
Gie it laldy – give it your all
, don’t hold back
Girning – complaining
Glasgow kiss – a nose-breaking headbutt
Greet – cry
Haud – hold
Haud your whisht – Be quiet, pipe down. Literal meaning, hold your breath.
Hen – the closest equivalent is probably honey, or Missus. Used to women of all ages.
HOLMES – Home Office Large Major Enquiry System - a search engine for crime records. Yes, named for Sherlock.
Jag – an injection
Ja-well-no-fine is peculiarly South African. The closest equivalent might be the UK vague 'whatever'.
Ken – means variously know, I know, do you know. It’s one of the most versatile Scots words!
Koeksuster – a plaited or twisted, rather than round, doughnut (South African)
Phwoar – appreciative description of someone sexually attractive (UK general usage)
Piskies – Episcopalians, or Anglicans
Polos – peppermints with a hole in the middle. Wikipedia calculates 150 are eaten every second in the UK (many by ponies).
Rondavel – pronounced RonDARvill – is the South African term for a round dwelling (as bungalow is an Indian word for a single-storey house)
Scunner – a rotter, a nasty piece of work
Skinner – a gossipy blether (South African)
Stookie – an orthopedic cast to immobilize broken bones
Stramash – fight, scuffle
Swithering – similar to dithering, to be unable to decide
Tablet – slabs of fudge-liked baked sugar, melted over puddings or eaten as a sweet
Taken the huff – offended.
Yin, and wan, are different pronunciations of one.
The new moon dates quoted were checked on the following websites - http://www.light-weaver.com/calendar/2009.html, http://lunaf.com/english/moon-phases/lunar-calendar-2012/ and http://www.moongiant.com/Full_Moon_New_Moon_Calendar.php
One Two Buckle My Shoe – sample chapter
THE PURPLE HAT
There’s an old story about the ages of women, which goes something like this
Age 5: She looks in the mirror and sees a princess.
Age 15: She looks at herself and sees an Ugly Sister (Mom, I can't go to school looking like this!)
Age 25: She looks at herself and agonizes 'too fat/too thin, too short/too tall, too straight/too curly'
Age 40: She looks at herself and sees 'too fat/too thin, too short/too tall, too straight/too curly' but tells herself at least she looks tidy.
Age 50: She looks at herself and sees lines and the first grey hairs, but also wisdom, laughter and ability.
After 60: Doesn't bother to look. Just puts on a purple hat and goes out to have fun with the world.
Who can say when a story starts? You join this one on the second Thursday in December, some twenty miles north of Edinburgh …
The caller was very deaf – after twice exhorting the duty officer to speak up, she gave up and merely repeated herself.
'This is Elizabeth Campbell, from number one at Grasshopper Lawns. There’s been a murder done. My dear woman, I can’t hear you. Just send a polisman and I’ll tell him all about it.' She hung up with a decisive click.
'If this is that DJ doing a wind-up call I’ll have him on a charge, so I will,' the duty officer muttered under her breath, but logged the call and passed it on, adding that it wasn’t a cry for help, the caller had sounded more annoyed than alarmed. For that matter it wasn’t the first call from the retirement village, although the usual cry was of missing treasures, which turned out not to be missing at all, only misplaced. Any real cause for alarm would be phoned in by one of the Trust’s staff, so it was close on an hour before DI McLuskie and Sergeant Cameron from the small local division, who had just ended their surveillance of a store owner suspected of selling alcohol to minors, were free to call on the old lady.
Iain McLuskie, a genial and very competent officer in his forties who was new to the Onderness posting, asked the controller to repeat the address and still didn’t look confident, but Kirsty Cameron touched his arm reassuringly.
'I ken where it is, Iain, got an aunt living there. Just head towards Linlithgow and turn left after the motorway.'
'Oh aye, that’s what she said.' McLuskie put the car into gear. 'You’re telling me they’re living on that campsite, then.'
Kirsty giggled. 'Grasshopper Lawns is opposite. In fact the campsite is for their visitors, but opens to the public as well.'
'I didn’t know there was another retirement place in these parts – that big place near Linlithgow, aye, but nothing local. Keep themselves to themselves, do they?'
'The purple hatters;' Kirsty shot him a mischievous glance, 'started as a joke, but they like it, you MUST have seen them on Thursdays in Onderness, that’s the day they come through here to shop and go to the library.'
McLuskie started to laugh. 'I have, then. One old fellow in a purple balaclava, just the other day. He was walking along the road with another old ‘un in a purple tweed cap and a woman in a kind of purple and red turban. Very good!'
Grasshopper Lawns certainly didn’t flaunt its status. The rural road off the A904 was flanked on either side by sturdy stone-built farm walls. On the Grasshopper Lawns side there was a further screening of wintery ornamental hedge with a few rebel twigs poking above its well-pruned even six feet. The first break in the wall had a closed five-bar gate, with a small notice directing callers further down the road to the main house, but when McLuskie did pull into the main entrance and draw up with a brisk scattering of gravel he was impressed.
The building before them was built on classic lines, either of stone or stone-faced, and perfectly proportioned to its three levels, well furnished with windows, and fronted with a flourish of stone steps. In view of its purpose, curving sturdy hand-rails flanked the stairs and a discreet ramp inclined gently to one side. To either side of the parking area at the front of the house, a paved and well-maintained service road was tucked away against the original farm walls. On the inner side of the service road there were long low blocks of bungalow units surrounding a park-like attractive garden of generous proportions, to judge by the glimpse through the gap between the house and the first block.
The two police officers strode into the large entrance hall, greeted with raised brows by Megan, the front-of-house receptionist, and watched with interest by three elderly people reading newspapers in the sofas scattered about the space, and two equally elderly Labradors in large dog beds. Megan, an attractively rounded woman in her late forties, greeted Kirsty by name with a smile, then turned her attention fully back to McLuskie, who explained that they wanted to see Mrs Campbell.
'Miss Campbell.' Megan corrected gently. 'But I didn’t know Betsy needed the police? If you’ll wait just a moment I’ll give her a ring.' Her brows drew together as she held the house-phone to her ear. 'She’s not answering –'
'The controller did say she was very deaf.' Iain McLuskie offered, and Megan nodded, looking worried.
'She is, but her phone has a flashing light system all round her apartment. Oh dear – Jamie, do you think –'
'Oh aye, I’ll tek the polis to her.' Jamie relinquished his newspaper with alacrity and heaved himself to his feet with the aid of a particularly fine silver-ornamented mahogany walking stick. The December day was mild, and he contented himself with facing the elements in a tweed cap and a well-worn tweed jacket, leaving a scarf and greatcoat still draped over the back of the sofa. He led the way briskly down the ramp and plunged through a gap in the winter-thin rhododendrons onto a covered walkway.
'You’ll be a regular visitor then, missus?' he asked Kirsty, who explained about her aunt. He shot her a look that saw past her stern uniform to the lively young woman under the checked hatband, and chuckled.
'Oh aye, Edge is a card, so she is. Actually, you look like her, now’s I’m looking. It’s right here.'
The door of number one was shut, but Jamie played
a jaunty flourish on the bell, then cracked the door ajar, peered inside, and pushed it open. They followed him into a spotlessly tidy kitchen, leading to a short passageway. Doors opened either side to a bathroom and walk-in closet, and the door ahead stood half open. He knocked again, peered round the door, nodded over his shoulder to the police and mouthed ‘sleeping’ before turning back to roar in a voice unsuspected in one of his slender frame, 'Betsy, hen, here’s the polis to see you.'
McLuskie, peering past him, saw a large woman in a comfortable armchair, her head to one side and her mouth open as she slept on. Or not – gently putting Jamie to one side he entered the room and hunkered down next to the woman, touching her arm. 'Miz Campbell?' He moved his hand to lay the length of his palm on her arm, then turned his head to Kirsty. 'Can you get Jamie out of here?' he asked quietly, but Jamie was having none of it.
'Is she deid?' he demanded and when McLuskie lifted his shoulders in a faint shrug that was nonetheless confirmation, his old face flickered into new lines. 'Ach, puir old Betsy. She made grand scones, so she did.'
'Normally we wouldn’t assume the worst.' McLuskie told the administrator, who nodded in understanding.
'Oh, I do agree. She phoned you, she said she had a murder to report, and she herself was dead when you arrived. I completely understand, of course. I only hope it doesn’t get into the papers, that sort of thing is so bad for a place like this.'