Jane Hetherington's Adventures In Detection

by Nina Jon

  She admits she went crazy. There’s hardly any money left, you know. She’s spent nearly all of it. The little***! When I think of what we could have done with it! She’s given us what’s left, but that’s not much, not compared to how much there was. We’ll never see the rest. She says she’ll repay us, but that’s all pie in the sky. My husband still can’t bear to be in the same room as her. I had to talk him out of going to the police. He wants to sue her, but like I said, what’s the point? She’s spent the money. Besides, she’s still my kid sister and I love her despite everything she’s done.

  The only consolation is that she’s back in our lives. Mum and dad can’t believe what she’s done either, but at least she’s not avoiding them in the street any more. I asked her if it was worth it, and she said it wasn’t: “I missed you so much, Jode, and mum and dad. Not being able to talk to you was hateful. It was like part of my life wasn’t there.” She even said it was a relief everything was out in the open, and we can try getting back to being a normal family, although I think that will take some time.’ sister thanking Jane for all her help and asking her to e-mail over her invoice.

  Jane replied: ‘From my observation of your little sister, I do genuinely believe her remorse is heartfelt, and she is contrite for her actions. I wish you and your family all the best.

  Jane Hetherington.’

  When a case was over, Jane always liked to make a summary of its nature and outcome for her records and place a tick under the ‘Case Solved’ column, if at all possible. In this case it was, and with a tick in the box completed, Jane considered the case closed.

  She sat back in her seat. All in all, she’d had a good month. She’d solved all her cases, saved a young couple from the Dark Eye, and finally rid herself of her rodent lodger. More importantly, she’d helped to bring some closure to Johnny’s life, which would hopefully allow him to move on with the rest of it. All in all, she’d had a good month.

  Now there was just Charlie Moon’s funeral left.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Shine On Charlie Moon!

  Charlie Moon’s funeral was held at a crematorium close to Greenfields. Charlie’s whole family were in attendance, including its latest addition – six-month-old Daisy – Charlie Moon’s great-granddaughter. Also present were some of the residents from Greenfields, including Ted and Betsy Cully, and Bea Applegate. Dean and his mother met the mourners at the door.

  “Thank you for coming, Mrs Hetherington,” Dean said to Jane when she arrived. “Mum, this is the lady who went to Greenfields for us, to check up on Granddad.”

  While Dean’s mother greeted other mourners, Dean took Jane to one side. With a quick glance to make sure no one else was listening, he whispered, “They found him dead in someone else’s bed, you know?”

  “Really! I thought that only happened to Nelson Rockefeller?”

  “She was a sixty-six-year old widow. He’d told her he was only sixty-nine!” Dean said with a laugh. “She couldn’t believe it when we told her how old he really was. Randy old bugger.”

  When Jane finally took her seat for Charlie’s funeral, she could honestly say she was glad she’d met him, but was even gladder she hadn’t known him any better than she had.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  An Ode to an Unwanted Lodger: AKA The Artful Dodger

  There once was a field mouse called Aleckski, who thought the outdoors rather dicey.

  Nature was far too red in tooth and claw, for our friendly little herbivore.

  Not wishing his to be a death foretold, he scurried in from the cold.

  When asked to leave, he got peeved, demanding instead lots of cheese!

  Mousetraps they came, and mousetraps they went, but Aleckski he was adamant.

  The grass on the other side wasn’t greener – it was just a whole lot meaner.

  He could not be persuaded to change his mind, oh no, not our miniature mastermind.

  Quarry and hunter were at daggers drawn, with one about to reach for the Warfarin.

  When suddenly there was an answer, why not call in a spirit-omancer?

  To the spirits our witch made a plea – please remove the mouse humanely.

  The effect could not than less astound – our friend became disinclined to hang around.

  And so our tale did not end tragically, in fact it finished rather magically.

  And so concluded our game of cat and mouse, and the unlawful occupation of a summerhouse!

  A new poem by Stanman.

  _____

  To learn more about the author and the series please visit:

  www.ninajonbooks.com

  Now available from Nina Jon –

  Jane Hetherington's Adventures in Detection: 4

  April

  APRIL

  Jane Hetherington's Adventures in Detection: 4

  __________

  CHAPTER ONE

  Paul Morder

  I

  In his late father’s study, Paul Morder began packing up his dad’s belongings. He was being helped in this by his cousin, Julian Carruthers. Julian had volunteered his services for the day, partly because clearing out the effects of the recently departed was such a sorry business, and partly because he had something of importance to discuss with cousin Paul. Something so confidential that he’d surreptitiously locked the front door behind them and pushed the study door closed, even though they were the only two in the house. Julian Carruthers didn’t wish to be overheard.

  “I’ll miss your old dad, Paul,” Julian said, studying a picture he’d just taken down from the wall.

  “I’m not sure I will,” Paul replied as he took the picture to bubble wrap.

  “No – you weren’t ever that close, were you?”

  “No, not really.”

  From the study window, Julian looked out onto the garden where he’d spend many a happy day, both as man and boy. The spring sunlight glimmered off silvery trunks of the apple and pear trees, and a bird darted by the window, some twigs in its beak. That the garden had been left uncared for these last few months was evident. Spring blossom covered the fruit trees’ branches, but instead of the neatly mown lawn of yesteryear, a mass of tall cow parsley and dandelions now carpeted their feet. Julian noticed a dead bumblebee on the outside windowsill. The cycle of life and death continues remorselessly, he thought. Julian drew the curtains, causing his cousin to look up from his bubble wrapping to ask him what he was doing.

  “Do you remember Frances Gilbey?” Julian said. “I went out with her for a few months at Oxford.”

  Paul did remember Frances. He remembered her leaving Julian for Guy Longhurst, the future Duke of Hornshire, and the tears and the bottles of whiskey which followed the breakup. She too had recently passed away. He’d seen her death announced in the obituary pages. Was this why his cousin suddenly wanted to talk about something which happened over thirty years earlier? “The girl who left you for Guy Longhurst?” he asked.

  “I bore her no hard feelings. Debs and I met at her wedding, if you remember,” Julian remarked, leaving Paul wondering when his cousin was going to get to the point.

  “Another untimely death,” Paul said. “It was a car crash which killed him, wasn’t it?”

  “Only five years into their marriage, leaving Frances, Britain’s youngest Dowager Duchess and the mother of two young children.”

  “Hasn’t she just passed away?”

  “Her funeral is on Thursday,” Julian said sharply.

  “Did you want me to attend?” Paul asked.

  “I want you to shut up and listen,” Julian said. “When I heard Guy had been killed, I immediately rang Frances. What else could I do?” Julian hesitated. “One thing led to another and we began an affair. Debs and I were going through a rocky stage. Frances broke it off after about a year. I agreed with the decision, but somehow the relationship reignited again.”

  “How long did the affair last, Julian?” Paul asked.

  “Until the end of Frances’s life.”


  “The end of her life?” Paul repeated in astonishment. He’d had no idea. “But she’s only just…”

  “I love Debs but I loved Frances…”

  Paul put his hands on his cousin’s shoulders. “Julian if you need to unburden yourself, I’m here for you, but you don’t have anything to explain.”

  “But I do. There’s more. Frances knew there wasn’t any possibility of my leaving Debs, nor would she have wanted me to, but there was this bond between us. More than sex.” Julian stopped speaking abruptly. “It will be easier, if I just show you.” For reasons Paul Morder couldn’t quite fathom, his cousin Julian began fiddling around with the old desk in the study corner. Eventually a concealed panel swung open. “Did your dad ever show you this?” Julian asked.

  Paul moved closer. Behind the panel was some kind of secret drawer. Something else he knew nothing about. He knelt down in front of it to examine it in more detail. “Good Lord!” was all he could think to say.

  “When your dad made this desk, he gave it a secret drawer,” Julian said.

  “How do you know about it?” Paul said.

  Julian appeared uncomfortable. “Because your dad told me.”

  “But not me!” Paul said, more hurt than angry. “I hadn’t realised what a poor relationship I had with him.”

  “I think the idea was…” Julian began.

  “To keep things from mum,” Paul interrupted sharply.

  “Was to tell you at some stage.”

  “Shame he never found the right moment in forty years,” Paul said tersely.

  “I don’t know why he didn’t tell you, but I am. I have something else I need to show you,” Julian said, unlocking and opening the drawer. Paul peered inside. Now he got it. In the drawer, lay a pile of letters. For how many years had his cousin hidden them there, Paul speculated.

  “We sustained our relationship through correspondence,” Julian said. “These letters are her letters to me.” He teared up at these words.

  “Dad knew?” Paul said.

  “I had no choice but to confide in him. He suggested I kept them here,” Julian patted the drawer. “That’s when he told me about the drawer.”

  How similar you and my father are, Paul thought to himself. Not a bit of wonder you were so close. “Mum knew nothing about this?” he asked.

  Julian vigourously shook his head. “I don’t think she’d have approved, do you?”

  Paul wasn’t certain he approved. He couldn’t imagine his cousin’s wife, Debs, cheating on Julian, but kept his counsel. “Did you write to her?” he asked. He wanted the answer to be no, but of course it wasn’t.

  “Many times,” his cousin replied. “Frances’s sister has them. She took possession of them when Frances became ill. She didn’t want the children to find out. Still doesn’t. I’m due to collect them from her this coming Thursday. The day of your drinks party as a matter of fact,” Julian said. “I take it, you’re keeping the desk?”

  “It’s virtually the only thing of dads I actually like. Although I’m rapidly going off it.”

  Julian put the letters back in the drawer, closed and locked it, returning the key to its hiding place. “I’d like to keep our letters together,” he said. “Can I bring my letters to Frances with me on Thursday and put them here?” He tapped the drawer. “They’ll be safe there. I’m not ready to destroy them. Not yet. But I can’t risk…”

  “I understand Julian.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “I can hardly say no, can I?

  “When is the desk being collected?” Julian asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Paul said. “But we’re rehearsing for the show Thursday afternoon, remember. The house will be crawling with people, including Debs.”

  “I’ll arrive after rehearsals but before the party gets into full swing,” Julian said, adding, “Please promise me you won’t tell a living soul about this? Not even Sarah.”

  “I promise Julian.”

  “Not about Frances, nor the letters, nor the drawer?”

  “Definitely not the drawer. That may well come in useful one day,” Paul joked.

  “Good man,” Julian said, patting his cousin on the back. “Now let’s start packing this place up before your sister arrives and asks us what the hell we’ve been doing all morning!”

  * * *

  To learn more about the author and the series please visit:

  www.ninajonbooks.com