Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Bundle

by Hugo James King

  Charlie continued to rub his body against me as hard as he could. He knew what happened, as much as he was a pet, he was in tune with me.

  “They killed Don as well,” I said, looking Ruth in the eyes and shaking my head.

  “They’ve been arrested, Eve.”

  But it didn’t mean everything was okay again.

  Entering the church hall, I was greeted with applause. Faces smiled and people cried as I walked out. At first, I wondered who they were greeting, glancing to the coffin still on the stage, and then behind to Ruth.

  She clapped as well.

  Shivers rose from my back, curving my cheeks and down my neck. I pressed my lips together, I wasn’t going to cry.

  “Thank you,” Wendy said, grabbing me by the waist and hugging me tight. “Thank you.” She cried.

  I wrapped my arms around her. I wasn’t going to cry.

  They led me to the seat on the pew at the front row.

  I noticed Scott, standing with applause. How I was so wrong? He wasn’t the killer, he was just very strange—still.

  Sat between Wendy and Ruth, my body was warm but numb as I realised how I could’ve potentially been murdered through all of this. I could have potentially been part of the investigation, and they could’ve pinned that on Don as well.

  Wendy left her seat, pulling me back into the room as her absence caused me to move.

  She took the stage.

  Her shaking hand grabbed the small microphone.

  “I—I—I loved Gilbert,” she said, her throat throttling with a cough. “He’s always been part of my life, always. I wish I knew the future back then, I wish I fought for us. There are some amazing people among us today, and they’ve taught me that you can’t change the past, but you can—but you can make sure your future is better.”

  The future had to be better.

  A future without mindless murder.

  My handbag vibrated.

  Inside, I found Harriet’s eulogy in the illumination of my phone screen.

  NEW MESSAGE:

  Paul Green: Thank you, Eve. I hope you’re okay.

  It was better than nothing.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ONE WEEK LATER

  A written account of what had happened was published in a national paper. Right from my mouth, the story sold almost immediately. Everyone wanted to know what was going on in the small villages around the country, and unfortunately, I was the one telling people about a double homicide. It stopped before a third.

  Wednesday wasn’t the same in the office. I’d taken a few days off to write the article at home, and then a few extra keep my mind from spilling over with everything that had happened.

  Yvonne and Howard cornered me in the kitchen. I’d completely bypassed Jeannie and her one-hundred thousand questions, but of course, I had to speak with my colleagues.

  “So brave,” Yvonne said.

  “Can’t believe you got face-to-face with them,” Howard said, shuddering.

  They both smiled with full-tooth grins.

  “Thank you.”

  “You know, Suzanne’s been doing nothing but moan,” Yvonne chuckled. “Can’t believe you were front page.”

  Howard slapped his hands together. “Anything you left out? Anything they didn’t let you publish?”

  There wasn’t. They let me tell the story as it was. “Well, it was different from what I’m used to writing.”

  A loud scoff huffed from the door of the kitchenette. “Welcome back,” Suzanne said. “Wondered where everyone got to. Diane’s already paced the floor outside the desks twice. Think she’s looking for you.” She nodded at me.

  “Oh?”

  I hadn’t seen Diane since Sunday when she came by the house to visit and collect the article in person. It went to press the Monday, and everyone, including my mother and sister had their edition—I was getting mine framed.

  I approached my desk with a coffee in hand and a smile on my face. Charlie shuffled in his bed. He’d been taken for a lot of walks recently, and back in the office, he was taking his respite.

  Before I could sit, Diane snapped her fingers at me from her office door.

  Her unmoving face, the features set in stone from years of Botox.

  “Yes?” I asked, glancing around the office to see others watching the interaction.

  “Can I have a word?”

  I nodded, leaving my desk to join her.

  A wide smile greeted me once I closed the door in her office.

  “You’ve done it,” she said, sitting at her desk.

  “What?” I asked.

  Exhaling deeply, she broke eye contact and looked at a number of different papers on her desk, mixing them around. “I’ve had papers ringing me all morning,” she said. “They’re trying to poach you.”

  The smile on my face grew. There was no hiding the excitement. “Well, I’m loyal to the magazine.”

  “And I think you should take it,” she said

  “What?”

  She repeated what she’d said.

  And I reiterated my question.

  “Well, Patrick owns one of the national papers, and they’ve been looking for someone to take on the role of writing real hit pieces.”

  “Hit pieces?” I asked, lowering myself into the seat at the desk. “I’m a bit too old now to be going around writing hit pieces.”

  Her face turned, a scowl forming. “I thought you wanted more out of your career.”

  “I did,” I said. “I’ve had a successful career, and I enjoy what I do. I love writing about the experiences in the local area.”

  “It’s triple your current pay.”

  Stumped. A job where I earned more money.

  I didn’t need it.

  “You could work from home.”

  I liked coming into work.

  “And you’d get to write whatever you wanted, you’d get to explore your curiosities.”

  I liked that. I always wanted to investigate, it’s part of why I took to looking into who killed Gilbert. The strong fascination of it happening on my doorstep, mixed with curiosity.

  “So? What do you say?” she asked. “More money, more freedom. Will you take the job?”

  TO BE CONTINUED

  MURDER ON RED ROSE DRIVE

  A Silver Lake Cozy Mystery Novel

  HUGO JAMES KING

  JESSICA LANCASTER

  MURDER ON RED ROSE DRIVE

  Love is in the air. A body on the ground.

  The red rose dealer of Silver Lake is dead.

  Every Valentine’s Day, business blooms in the Cotswolds.

  And death is bad for business.

  An accident or murder?

  Will you come out smelling of roses?

  A cozy murder mystery novel set a fictional Cotswolds village, following female amateur sleuth, her rescue dog, and an entire ensemble of quirky small-town characters. Written in British English.

  ONE

  Thursday, January 31st

  In all my years working for Diane Von Rose, today, she tried to let me go.

  Granted, it was to another publication under her husband’s publishing company. It meant more money, more freedom, and an office at their headquarters in Bristol, making for a longer commute.

  “No,” I told her.

  “No?”

  Sat opposite Diane in her office, her eyes fixed on my face.

  If I was younger—much younger, it would’ve been a different matter. I was in my fifties, and I knew what the stress of a job like investigative journalist could do to someone my age.

  Diane combed a hand back through her hair. “You’re an unsuspecting candidate for such position,” she said. “It’s a fresh take on all the hungry university graduates breaking their backs to expose people.”

  A smirk formed across my lips. “Like Suzanne?”

  She was in her thirties, but I knew Suzanne Jenkins would’ve bitten Diane’s hand off as the opportunity presented itself.

  A suppressed
smile crossed Diane’s face for a brief moment. “It’s not a decision you can make in the instant, I guess.”

  “I mean, it’s a lovely offer.”

  “But?” Her eyes screwed into a squint, as if scrutinizing my face. “I’ll let you think about it. You don’t need to decide now. And you still have articles to write, so it could take a week or two.”

  “You want me to stay or—”

  With a finger snap, she cut me off. “It’s an opportunity. It’s going to put you in the fast lane, and I know, I know it’s not something you want to do forever, but if you don’t want to keep writing about local businesses and activities for couples, then I’m telling you to take the job.”

  My eyes shifted glance from Diane’s table to the wall of accolades behind her. I wanted to have my front-page headlines framed and put on display, but I couldn’t see myself leaving the magazine.

  “Like I said, I’ll give you a week.”

  My back pulled me upright in the chair, shifting my weight as I scooted forward with the chair. “The reason I do well here is because I know everyone. It’s because nobody has the relationships like I do.”

  “With?”

  “The people I interview, the people I write about. If you get some random person in—” I coughed into a fist, “like Suzanne.”

  Another smile she attempted to withhold. “That’s why Suzanne doesn’t go out.”

  “And because she’s a little hard-faced.”

  Diane tapped a pen against paperwork on her desk, she pushed the papers to me. “I’ve told most people about this promotion; they’re going to expect you to leave with a huge smile.”

  “Are you telling me I have to take it?”

  She waved a hand at me. “Definitely not. But I don’t want people to think I lied.”

  I nodded, pressing my arms on the chair to push myself. “I’m sure it will keep the office gossip going for a while,” I said. “But I’ll make sure to tell them all about the amazing offer.”

  “And it’s still on the table, for a week—let’s say a week.”

  “Next Thursday then.”

  “And what’s your plan for today?”

  “Today, I’m seeing Doreen Maidstone, a meeting which I pushed back twice already.” My eyes rolled as I let a huff out. I wasn’t someone who flaked.

  Diane’s back perked in her seat at the name.

  The name was synonymous was red roses in Silver Lake and Briarbury. Diane was an older woman, living to the left of the river running through Silver Lake. She ran and owned a red rose company from her home, her garden was occupied with greenhouses and filled with curated fertile soil.

  Each year, I would interview Diane, and I always took a list of requests.

  Today, we were two weeks away from Valentine’s Day, and it was prime ordering time. After New Year’s Day was the perfect time, but most people left their orders until the last week, so this was now the new perfect time.

  Clawing at a post-it on her desk, Diane gave me an all well-known smile. “I’m ordering on behalf of the husband, of course,” she said. “But they’re for me. If I left it to him, I wouldn’t have any roses, and neither would his mother.” She tapped the pen in her hand on paper, scribbling away notes before slipping the post-it across her desk.

  “Guess I should go around the office then.”

  “No, no,” Diane said, snapping her fingers to the words. “Send an e-mail, give them an hour, if they don’t reply, they can get their own roses.”

  Well, I did have an hour to kill before leaving; I still hadn’t yet written out my interview questions.

  “I best get out there,” I said, grabbing the note from her desk.

  She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Don’t forget to smile.”

  I didn’t. Leaving Diane’s office with her note in hand, I smiled—maniacally, all my teeth showing and every hope in the world my lipstick hadn’t transferred to them.

  Three faces stared, excitement in two of their eyes.

  Howard and Yvonne were happy, they thought I’d accepted a job for a national paper.

  Suzanne’s eyes were glazed and squinting. A death stare, it was dubbed.

  “So?” Yvonne asked, jumping to my side. She hooked an arm at my elbow. “What did you say?”

  “About?”

  “The job?” she squealed.

  More heads turned in the open work area.

  Everyone wanted to know what was going on, except for Charlie, he laid in his office bed, unphased by the goings-on around him. He had after all spent more time outside recently, I had exhausted him.

  “Well, I’m giving it some thought,” I told her. “I don’t want to make a quick decision.”

  Suzanne scoffed as we walked by her desk. “Happy for you.”

  She was not happy for anyone, it seemed.

  “Oh.” Yvonne tugged at the note in hand. “You’re going to see Doreen today?”

  “I am.”

  We walked a full circle back to my desk.

  I sat, tacking the note against the backboard.

  “Can I put my order in?”

  “Oh, could you send around a piece of paper?” I asked. “Make sure people put their names as well. Doreen will need to price everything up. But it shouldn’t be more than last year. Given the discount we get.”

  Yvonne nodded. “When are you leaving?”

  I looked at my wristwatch. “An hour.” I still had to see Ruth to get her order.

  Yvonne left my side and Howard appeared at the other side.

  Startled, I planted a hand at my chest and sucked in air. “Goodness,” I grumbled. “What happened?”

  “If you do take the job, Yvonne and I would happily take over whatever you’ve got on your plate.”

  I looked by him to see Suzanne. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said. “But I’m not leaving, at least not yet.”

  On my list, I had the article to write about Doreen, and more Valentine’s themed articles to conjure for the magazine. There were six days until the next print run. I had plenty of time, but after taking time to focus on the events of Gilbert Sodbury’s death, I had missed out on prime article pitches.

  I flipped the calendar to February. I was a day early, but I needed to pen the important dates.

  Circling print runs in blue pen. Wednesday the 6th of February, and Wednesday the 20th of February. The first run in March was going to be a special edition run, the fortieth year of printing. If it was a wedding, it would be a ruby wedding.

  Almost thirty minutes passed before Suzanne approached my desk, clearing her throat to make her presence known.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to order roses too,” she said. “My boyfriend would, but I know it’s cheaper if I do it.”

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  “Why is that a surprise?”

  “I’m not—I’m not surprised.” I was, and my rapid blinking eyes gave as much away.

  “Four years we’ve been in a relationship now,” she said. “I think he’s going to propose. Or—or—or at least I hope so.”

  Now I was interested. “It took my Harry less than a year to pop the question.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, will you, or won’t you?”

  “Yvonne has a form going around somewhere. Add your name and order before I leave with it.”

  I couldn’t say no. Not that I wanted to. If her boyfriend was going to propose, I’d like to think I played a part in it somehow.

  TWO

  An hour had passed. The order form was on my desk, filled with names and different floral specifications. I’d created my list of questions for Doreen, but often we’d have a conversation like the old friends we were.

  I doubled down on warmer clothing; a navy cardigan and a faux fur lined jacket. I hooked my handbag on my shoulder, and took a final look at my desk, making sure I wasn’t forgetting anything.

  “Come on, Charlie.” I slapped my thigh.

  His little head poked fr
om his bed. He wasn’t pleased with the sudden movement.

  He followed me as I walked to Jeannie at the reception desk. “I’ll be back in later,” I said to her. “Did you put your order down?”

  “Yvonne brought it straight over,” she said with a head nod. “And I heard from a little birdy there’s a big promotion on the line for you.”

  And that’s why Yvonne had taken the paper over. “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Do it after the company party,” she said.

  Diane wanted an answer immediately, it seemed, and the company party wasn’t for another month. “I don’t turn down free champagne.”

  Jeannie poked her head across the reception desk. “Bless. Looks tired.”

  She was right. Charlie was exhausted. I’d exhausted him, clearing my head every I had to force myself to sit and write about the ordeal Silver Lake had been through recently.

  “He’ll get plenty of sleep while I’m back at work,” I said.

  We left the converted barn of the magazine office space, out into the haphazard parking lot without any clearly marked bays; a park where you want and hope there’s space if you arrive late kind of deal.

  An overcast grey sky threatened to rain.

  “Come on, get in,” I said, opening the car door.

  Charlie propped both paws on the seat and kicked his back legs up into the car. He hopped into the passenger seat and dog bed I’d laid out for him.

  “Promise I’ll buy you a nice lamb bone or pig’s ear when I’m at the butcher’s next,” I mumbled to him as I threw my handbag into the back seat. “That’ll perk you up.”

  He nuzzled his head into the blanket, not paying me another thought.

  Our first stop was a visit to Ruth and Frank. Ruth would want roses, but Frank would have to order them and be guided by the information Ruth had told me. It was a complex process and I was their third party—as usual when it came to gifts.

  Parked outside the GP’s office, I encouraged Charlie to climb out. No movement, only a squint and a side eye at the notion of moving.