The Old Bakehouse

by Daphne Neville

  Martha nodded. “Yes.”

  “That’s unnerving,” admitted Lottie, “because it suggests the thief might be a local person.”

  “When did your mother last wear the necklace?” Hetty asked.

  Martha shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve no idea.”

  “The reason I ask is because I’m wondering if someone saw her wearing it and thought it would be the ideal thing to plant in Biddy’s hand.”

  “Could be but I think it’s more likely he or she just looked for anything that might incriminate Mum.”

  “What a ghastly mess,” tutted Lottie, “There are some horrible people in the world.”

  “There are,” Hetty agreed, “and I can’t help but wonder now if the person I saw before I found Biddy was in fact the person responsible for Biddy’s attack.”

  “You saw someone. What did he look like?” Jack was on the edge of his seat.

  “Sadly I can’t say. It was a very windy night and I had my head bowed. I spoke to the person but he just grunted in response and the only thing I noticed were his feet and the flashy white trainers he wore.”

  “With blue squiggles down the sides,” Lottie added.

  “That’s interesting,” mused Jack, “because even though you’ve no idea who it was it does prove that there was someone else about that evening.”

  “You’ve obviously told the police,” quizzed Martha.

  “Yes I have.”

  “And as far as you know he or she wasn’t someone you knew?”

  “Correct and it certainly wasn’t your mother.”

  Martha smiled. “Yes, there’s no question about that because Mother doesn’t even own a pair of trainers.”

  Jack leaned back in his chair. “Oh well, our only hope now then is that Biddy will soon be able to talk to the police and tell them what really happened.”

  “In which case,” said Martha, “I pray that Biddy’s memory was not harmed by the trauma.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  On Thursday evening, Hetty and Lottie walked down to the Crown and Anchor to meet up with their friend, Debbie, where they planned to tell her of their meeting with Jack and Martha. However, before the subject was even broached, Lottie spotted someone they knew chatting at the bar to her son, Bill.

  “Norman’s back,” She beckoned the two men to join them.

  “You didn’t tell me Norman was back in Pentrillick, Bill,” admonished Lottie.

  “That’s because I didn’t know myself until I walked in here twenty minutes ago.”

  “I only arrived this afternoon,” Norman acknowledged, “I thought I better come down to see what’s going on. Aunt Alice rang me yesterday, you see, to say she’s heard on the local news that there had been an attempted murder in Pentrillick and it seemed to be connected with Joe, or should I say my late father.”

  “Yes, a rum do that,” tut-tutted Lottie, “We’re trying to make sense of it because we’re convinced the person they’ve arrested for the attack is completely innocent.”

  “So Bill’s been telling me.”

  Hetty looked around. “No Jackie?”

  “No, she couldn’t get the time off work at such short notice because they’ve got a big party on where she works this weekend but she hopes to get down for a few days next week. Thankfully I’ve a very understanding boss and he said to take as long off as I want.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it.” Hetty patted his hand affectionately, “and it’s good to see you back.”

  “Yes, I wish Jackie was here though because she makes me laugh and she’s longing to fathom out what’s going on here.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Bill sighed.

  “Sit down,” commanded Lottie, “you both look awkward standing there.”

  The two men did as they were told.

  “Are you staying at the hotel again?” Hetty asked.

  “Yes, I’m here for a whole fortnight this time and hopefully while I’m here we’ll be able to get to the bottom of all this. I’m not alone by the way. I’ve brought Mum with me.”

  Hetty and Lottie’s jaws dropped simultaneously.

  “But Eve…your mum…” muttered Lottie.

  “Oh yes, you are right she is dead. It’s her ashes I have with me. I had a word with your vicar when I was last here, you see, and I’m going to have them buried in your churchyard. Jackie and I decided it’d be a nice thing to do when we were down before.”

  “Quite right too,” Hetty concurred, “after all Eve’s family are all resting there now.”

  “All except for me,” chuckled Norman, “but I see no reason why I shouldn’t end up over there as well and back in the bosom of my family but I hope it won’t be for a good few years yet.”

  “Talking of family, I was just telling Norman about the boxes of Joe’s memorabilia that we’ve put aside for him,” said Bill, “and of course Joe’s paintings.”

  “I’m really looking forward to going through them. I’ve nothing from my past at the moment other than a few certificates and a handful of black and white photos taken of me as I was growing up.”

  “Well, there are several pictures amongst Joe’s stuff,” said Lottie, “and it’d be nice if you could put names to some of the faces.”

  Norman shook his head. “But I didn’t know any of them so I’ll only be able to recognise Mum. That’s not a problem though. I’ll take them down to Aunt Alice and see if she can help.”

  “Good idea,” Hetty agreed.

  “And if she can’t remember who’s who you must go along to the care home to see Charlie Pascoe and Nellie Gibson,” insisted Lottie, “Charlie’s the builder who bricked up the oven and Nellie has lived in the village all her life and used to be a midwife so both should be able to identify some of the faces. In fact Charlie was showing us his photograph album only the other day and some of them were of your mum and Aunt Alice.”

  “Really! I’ll try and get round to doing that then.”

  Hetty suddenly remembered the piano. “I’m glad you’re here, Norman because there’s a piano in the Old Bakehouse and we wondered who played, whether it was your mother or Joe.”

  “There are two now,” chuckled Bill.

  “Two?” repeated Norman.

  “We brought one with us. It used to belong to Auntie Het but she gave it to Kate when she and Mum moved down here.”

  “And I’m going to have it back,” Hetty added.

  “I see and it’s funny you should mention a piano because when I went to see Aunt Alice she asked me if I played. I don’t I might add but Mum did although not very well. Alice said it was quite handy for Mum because next door to the Old Bakehouse lived a piano tuner who also gave her lessons.”

  “Really! Perhaps he’s still there.” Hetty was very optimistic.

  “I doubt it,” laughed Lottie, “not after all these years.”

  “I wonder where that was then,” pondered Bill, “because on one side of us is the hairdressers and the other the road. Although I suppose she might have meant the house next to us in Goose Lane. It makes it a bit complicated living on a corner.”

  “Anyway, if he’s not there I must remember to ask Kitty if she knows of a good piano tuner which I suppose she must since she plays.”

  “Failing that you can ask Ashley or Alison because there’s a piano in here as well.” Lottie nodded towards the piano in the corner of the bar.

  The following morning, Kitty called round to Primrose Cottage with the news that Biddy had regained consciousness the previous evening and had been able to talk to the police.

  “Hurrah,” sang Lottie, as she showed Kitty into the sitting room, “now we’ll get to the truth and Irene should be released.”

  As she sat in a fireside chair, Kitty shook her head. “Sadly that’s not to be though because believe it or not, Biddy says the person who attacked her was wearing dark trousers and a light coloured jacket; had dark, shoulder length, curly hair and wore glasses with dark rims.”

  Hetty slumped down on the
sofa. “What! Surely not.”

  Kitty looked downcast. “That’s what I said when I heard. I mean, we all know that Irene often wears dark trousers and a light coloured jacket, has dark, shoulder length, curly hair and wears dark rimmed glasses.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Lottie sat down heavily on the sofa beside her sister, “Something’s wrong somewhere.”

  “Did she say what shoes she was wearing?” Hetty asked.

  “It wasn’t mentioned.”

  Lottie looked at Hetty. “You’re thinking of the person you saw that night near the alleyway.”

  “Yes, I am. No way was that person Irene because she would have spoken if it was.”

  “Did Biddy get a look at her attacker’s face?” Lottie asked.

  Kitty shook her head. “No, because it was dusk and it all happened so quickly. She just remembers sensing that someone was behind her, she turned around and then within seconds everything had gone black and she couldn’t breathe.”

  “And so it might not have been a woman and could just as easily have been a man.” Hetty was grasping at straws.

  “I suppose even that’s possible,” Lottie agreed, “but surely this description on top of the necklace being in Biddy’s hand and the fact that she’s entitled to a share of Joe’s legacy and might want a bigger share for herself will give the police reason enough to consider they have sufficient evidence to charge her now.”

  Kitty sighed deeply. “Yes, and that’s the other thing I was going to tell you. Irene was formally charged last night and is due to appear in court on Monday afternoon.”

  Hetty was so shocked that all thoughts of asking about a piano tuner slipped her mind.

  That same morning, Sandra walked a few yards down the street to the antiques shop where she hoped to make a few purchases of things to give the Old Bakehouse the final touch. Her main search was for a coal scuttle for although having a wood burner meant they would not be burning solid fuel, Sandra thought it would look nice and be somewhere to store brushes, matches, heat resistant gloves and other bits and bobs needed for a fire.

  Ginny was in the shop when she arrived; Alex she was informed was out in his part-time capacity as a driving instructor.

  “Ah, and that reminds me,” said Sandra, “After Christmas would Alex be able to give Zac some driving lessons? He started to learn a year ago but gave up after a while. He wants to start again now though and it’d be nice if he could get his test over and done with before the holiday season next summer.”

  “No problem. Let Alex know when he’s ready and we’ll take it from there.”

  “We’ll do that but what I actually came in for was a coal scuttle.”

  “A coal scuttle, now that we can do, in fact I’m pretty sure we have three.”

  Ginny led Sandra across the room to where several items relating to the hearth filled a corner.

  Sandra picked up the larger of the three coal scuttles and looked at it from all angles. “Perfect, and you have some bellows as well. We shouldn’t need them but I think they’d look nice on the opposite side to the coal scuttle to balance it out if you see what I mean.”

  “I do and I agree but then I suppose I would say that, wouldn’t I?”

  Sandra smiled. “Yes, anyway I’ll take both.”

  Ginny leaned back on a chest of drawers. “How’s the Old Bakehouse coming along?”

  “Very well, especially now we’re sleeping there. The downstairs rooms have yet to be finished but the upstairs is all done.” As she spoke she caught sight of a matching Victorian wash bowl and jug. “Oh, they are beautiful and would look perfect in our bathroom. I could stand them on the small chest and fill the jug with flowers. We’ve painted it all white so a bit of colour will brighten it up.”

  “You must like jugs then because a little bird told me that you intend to hang jugs and teacups from the beams.”

  “Teacups alongside their saucers in the sitting room and jugs in the kitchen, although the kitchen won’t be finished for a while yet.”

  “No, I suppose it was inevitable that the discovery of poor Geraldine Glover would hold things up.”

  Sandra smiled. “I bet you and Alex never imagined when you agreed to be the executors of Joe’s will that it would open up such a can of worms.”

  “We most certainly didn’t and now one of the beneficiaries has been assaulted as well. I have to confess I’ll not be sorry when we get to midnight on November the thirtieth and can wind this all up.”

  As Sandra cast her eyes over other items on display she caught sight of a small dog curled up and asleep in a basket beneath a dining table. “Oh, bless him. Is that Joe’s little dog?”

  “Yes, that’s him and his name is Crumpet.”

  On hearing his name, Crumpet pricked up his ears, stretched and stepped out onto the wooden floor.

  “What a sweetheart,” Sandra knelt down to stroke the little dog’s head, “What will become of him?”

  “I don’t know as it’s yet to be decided.”

  “Well, if there are no claims we’d be more than happy to give a home. The girls would love him. They said only the other day that they wanted a dog.”

  “That might be the best idea, after all he knows the Old Bakehouse having lived there since he was a puppy.”

  Sandra stood up and took her purse from her handbag. “Very true. Anyway, how much do I owe you?”

  Ginny totted up the total.

  Sandra paid with her debit card and gathered up her purchases. “Oh, and before I forget, do you know if anyone in the village tunes pianos? It’s just that we have two. One we brought with us and the other which belonged to Joe although it seems it was his wife who played it. They both need tuning anyway and then one of them needs to be shifted up to Primrose Cottage. We need it done pretty soon so that we get the sitting room carpet fitted.”

  Ginny nodded. “Do you know the two ladies who work in the charity shop?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen them a couple of times.”

  “Well one of them is called Daisy and her husband used to tune pianos and I think he still does. He’s retired now of course but I’m sure he’ll be able to help especially as you’re in the village.”

  “Was that his occupation then before he retired?”

  “No, no, he was an engineer but pianos are his passion and he did the tuning part time.”

  “Sounds ideal then, I’ll get Bill’s mum or his Aunt Het to have a word with Daisy as they like an excuse to go to the charity shop.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Inside the workshop at the back of the Old Bakehouse, Bill, happy to have a day off work, stood at an old work bench busily mending the broken bird table with pieces wood he’d found lying around. It didn’t take long and by mid-afternoon it looked as good as new and was back in the garden where it could be seen from the French doors in the sitting room. Satisfied with his workmanship, Bill returned indoors to tell his wife it was ready for any bird goodies she might have. Sandra, keen to see her robin back, crushed some peanuts and then scattered them, along with assorted seeds over the table; she and Bill sat down on the couch, cups of tea in hand ready to observe any birds which chose to dine on Bill’s handiwork. To their delight, the robin was the first to arrive.

  “So,” declared Hetty, as she sat at the table in Primrose Cottage with Debbie and Kitty the following morning, “we need to try and establish who might have a motive for killing Biddy so that we can get poor Irene released.”

  “Perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity,” reasoned Kitty.

  “You mean someone thought Biddy was someone else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm, it’s possible I suppose but why go to the trouble of making it look like the attacker was Irene?”

  “Perhaps they didn’t and the fact the attacked wore similar clothes to Irene is pure coincidence.” The thought had only just occurred to Lottie.

  Kitty shook her head. “No, you’ve forgotten about the necklace.”

  Lot
tie sighed deeply. “Yes I had, so it really does look as though Irene was framed.”

  “Exactly,” snapped Hetty, “So we need to urgently find someone with a strong motive who would want Biddy out the way and who was prepared to let Irene take the blame.”

  “Which takes us back to Joe’s will and the share out of his legacy.”

  Kitty frowned. “It just occurred to me. Would the fact that Irene might end up a convicted criminal prevent her from receiving her share of the inheritance?”

  “I don’t see why it should,” said Lottie.

  Hetty nodded her head. “I agree, and so why bother to frame her?”

  “Good point and so I think we ought to try and come up with a different motive because the Joe’s will theory makes no sense at all,” reasoned Debbie.

  “But what could it be? No-one in the village knew Biddy until she turned up here the other day and the same goes for Irene so it has to be connected to the legacy.” Kitty closed her eyes tightly as though expecting a vision.

  “I agree, so how about Norman? Might he have wanted all the money for himself?” Hetty suggested.

  “I hardly think so, Het,” snapped her sister, “after all he didn’t even know Joe was his real father until after his mother died. Besides he’s a really nice bloke.”

  “And he wasn’t here when Biddy was attacked anyway,” Debbie reminded them.

  “What’s more, he’s just inherited the house he lives in so is probably quite comfortably off anyway.” Lottie was still clearly annoyed by Hetty’s suggestion.

  “Okay, how about Lucky Jim?” Hetty didn’t like being called ‘guy’.

  Debbie frowned. “I don’t think so because I get the impression from Jim that he couldn’t care less about any inheritance and finds the whole thing rather sordid.”

  “I agree but what about his mother, Pamela?” said Lottie, “The woman’s very pushy and seems determined to get her hands on any money that might come their way.”