The Old Bakehouse

by Daphne Neville

  Kitty gasped. “What’s more, she has dark curly hair.”

  “And she also has a light coloured jacket,” squealed Hetty.

  “She doesn’t wear dark rimmed glasses though, does she?” stressed Debbie, “In fact I’ve never seen her wearing glasses at all.”

  “Ah, but they might have been magnifying reading glasses.” Lottie reasoned they could be purchased anywhere in all styles, shapes and sizes.

  Hetty’s face lit up. “And the money would definitely be her motive so that sounds good to me.”

  “In which case she must have broken into Sea View Cottage and stolen Irene’s necklace,” shrieked Debbie, “and that’s more than feasible since she’s here in the village at the moment. I mean, she’s no doubt sussed out where people are staying.”

  “Does she have an alibi for the night Biddy was attacked?” Kitty wondered.

  “If she does it’ll most likely be Jim, in which case we need to establish how sound it is. Meanwhile, Pamela goes to the top of the suspect list.” Hetty took the crumpled piece of paper from her cardigan pocket and rearranged the suspect’s names.

  Lottie looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Does the charity shop close for lunch?”

  “Yes,” said Kitty, “between one and two.”

  “I thought so. It’s just we need to go and see Daisy about her husband tuning the two pianos at the Old Bakehouse. Sandra rang last night to say Ginny had recommended him so we need to book him as soon as possible. That’s assuming he still tunes pianos. Do you know if he does, Kitty?”

  “Yes, and very good he is too. He’s been tuning mine for years and does the one in the pub as well.”

  “Excellent,” Lottie looked out of the window where she saw a small patch of blue sky amongst the grey, “but I think we’ll not go down to the village until after lunch because hopefully it should have brightened up by then.”

  Early in the evening, Kate, on her way to the kitchenette walked through the room in the Old Bakehouse that at one time would have been the baker’s shop. As she passed the door she saw five envelopes lying on the doormat. Surprised by the amount of post and the lateness of its delivery she leaned forward to pick the envelopes up but then instinct caused her to hesitate. Two of the envelopes were face-down and when she looked closer she observed that the three face-up could not have been delivered by the postman because there was no address written on the envelopes nor were there any stamps. On looking closer still she saw that the names on the envelopes were not written in ink but were made up with individual letters cut from magazines or newspapers. Feeling a tinge of excitement and realising the envelopes should not be touched she went into the kitchenette and took a pair of rubber gloves from the drawer. She then lifted the envelopes from the mat and laid them down on the dining table. She was puzzled; none of the envelopes were for occupants of the Old Bakehouse but were for – Norman Williams, John Hewitt, Jeff Barnes, Jim Bray, and Harry and Barry. Confused she gathered up the envelopes, took them into the living room and spread them out on the coffee table.

  “Early Christmas cards?” Bill chuckled.

  Kate shook her head. “I don’t know what they are. It doesn’t make sense because none of them are for us.”

  Sandra stood up and reached down for one of the envelopes.

  “No, don’t touch,” shrieked Kate, “the police might want to examine them for fingerprints.”

  “What,” laughed Bill, “why would the police want to see them?”

  “Come and see,” said Sandra, “then you’ll know.”

  Bill scratched his head. “They appear to all be for the people who are in for a share of Joe’s legacy but why leave them here?”

  “And why are the names in cuttings from newspapers and stuff,” questioned Zac.

  “Spooky,” giggled Vicki.

  “Shall we open one?” Sandra asked.

  Kate shook her head. “No, I don’t think we should because they’re clearly not for any of us. I think we ought to get Norman round here. Do you have his number, Dad?”

  “It just so happens, I do. We exchanged numbers when Norman came back the other day.”

  Bill rang Norman who was in his hotel room having just taken a shower; he was at the door of the Old Bakehouse in less than ten minutes.

  “I don’t like the look of this,” he muttered on seeing the envelopes.

  Kate handed him the rubber gloves. “Put these on before you open yours.”

  Norman’s hands shook as he tore open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. On it was a message also in letters cut from a magazine and newspapers.

  Bill sat down on the arm of the sofa. “Read it out to us, Norm.”

  “There’s not much to read, it simply says: Sling your hook, guys. Greed is one of the 7 deadly sins. If you stay you will be punished.”

  Vicki laughed.

  Sandra didn’t think it was funny. “I’m ringing the police.”

  But Bill beat her to it and already had the number of the local police typed into his phone.

  In due course two officers arrived and thanked the family for not having touched the envelopes without wearing gloves.

  “I think we’ll deliver these to their intended recipients to see if they contain the same message,” said the older of the two police officers, “and then we’ll take it from there.”

  “But who on earth is John Hewitt?” Vicki asked.

  “I assume it should say Jack Hewitt,” said Sandra, “and the person who sent it has simply got the name wrong. Jack is Irene’s husband.”

  “Likewise they’ve spelled Geoff’s name as Jeff,” laughed Bill, “and written Barry and Harry when it should be Larry and Harry. It also looks like the sender didn’t know the twin’s surname.”

  “So whoever sent them clearly isn’t very familiar with the set up,” concluded Sandra, “and because they dropped them all here it looks like they don’t know where they’re all staying either.”

  “Or is that the impression they want to give,” reasoned Kate, “and in reality they know very well who everyone is and where to find them.”

  Norman re-read his note again. “It’s a pity they didn’t drop mine off at the hotel because if they had they’d have been spotted on CCTV.”

  “Which is probably why they were left here,” tutted Bill, “meaning whoever sent them obviously isn’t daft.”

  Because the police officers insisted on taking away all of the envelopes for forensics to look at, Bill asked if he might be permitted to take a picture of Norman’s message on his phone. The officers agreed and so after they left and drove away, Bill promptly rang the ladies at Primrose Cottage to tell them the latest news.

  Hetty and Lottie knocked on the door of the Old Bakehouse in less than five minutes after Bill rang them. To save time they had arrived by car both having agreed that to walk would have taken far too long and wasted valuable time. After they had heard how Kate found the envelopes on the doormat and had read the message sent to Norman on Bill’s phone, they sat down on the settee, brows knitted and lost in thought.

  “I don’t know what to say. Whatever can this mean?” Hetty was clearly miffed by the situation.

  “Well, that’s what I’m expecting you to find out,” Bill’s tongue was firmly in cheek, “I mean, why else would I have rung you?”

  Hetty cast Bill an admonishing look as she peered over the top of her reading glasses.

  “Well, for a start we can rule out Jim,” Lottie concluded.

  “Why?” Sandra asked.

  “Because he calls everyone guys.”

  Hetty removed her reading glasses and returned them to their case. “That’s a good point, Lottie.”

  Bill nodded. “It is because if it were him he would never address people that way as it would be a sure way of identifying himself.”

  “So,” said Kate, “it looks as though someone is now trying to frame Jim for sending the messages the same as they framed Irene for the attempted murder.”

>   “Good point,” pondered Sandra, “So, I wonder, does this let Irene off the hook? I mean, she couldn’t have sent the messages, could she? Because she’s locked up.”

  “Sadly I fear it won’t make any difference because it doesn’t mean she didn’t attack Biddy, does it? Even though we know she didn’t.” Hetty hoped her statement made sense.

  Lottie groaned. “This is getting a bit too intense for me. One mystery is bad enough but three is really pushing my poor old brain cells.”

  “Three?” Norman queried.

  Lottie nodded. “Yes, the attempted murder of Biddy, the body in the oven and now the messages.”

  Sandra sat down on the arm of the sofa. “Well, I don’t think there’s any question as to who put Geraldine’s body in the oven. It was clearly Joe. Sorry, Norman, I know he was your father and all that.”

  “Please don’t apologise because as much as it goes against the grain, I have to agree.”

  Hetty stood up. “My thoughts entirely and you’re right, Lottie, there are problems to solve and for that reason I suggest we go and see Jack and Martha without delay to see what they have to say.”

  “Whoa, hold on there,” laughed Bill, “at least give the police a chance to visit them first or they won’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Hetty sat back down. “Yes, you’re quite right. I’m too impetuous and always have been.”

  “I think you ought to leave it ‘til tomorrow, after all it’s gone seven now and I know I don’t like it when people knock on our door after dark.” Sandra shuddered at the thought.

  “Hmm, I must admit I don’t either,” conceded Hetty, “so we’ll go to the pub instead and see if anyone there has any updates.”

  “Now that sounds a very good idea,” Bill agreed, “Fancy a pint, Norman?”

  “Yep, always got room for a pint.”

  “And what about me?” Sandra was indignant.”

  “Well, you can tag along if you want.”

  “Tag along!” Bill ducked to avoid the cushion that hurtled in his direction.

  “Quiet in here tonight,” observed Hetty, as she walked into the Crown and Anchor with Lottie, Sandra, Bill and Norman.

  Bill looked at his watch. “Well, it’s still quite early so I daresay it’ll be busier later.”

  After Bill bought a round of drinks, he and Norman sat down on bar stools. Hetty, Lottie and Sandra who preferred to have something to lean on sat on chairs at a table quite near to the bar.

  “There’s Jim and Pamela,” Lottie spotted mother and son sitting near the piano where they appeared to be finishing a meal, “I wonder if they’ve had a visit from the police yet.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Seeing that Jim had laid down both knife and fork on his empty plate, Hetty beckoned him over.

  “Ah, and that reminds me,” Lottie waved her hand towards the piano, “Daisy rang just before you did Bill, and her husband is coming to tune the pianos tomorrow. Sorry I didn’t mention it earlier but with this latest development it had completely slipped my mind.”

  “Mine too,” admitted Hetty.

  “Excellent. What’s his name?” Sandra removed her scarf and gloves.

  “Eric,” said Lottie, “We’ve met him on a few occasions and he’s a really nice chap.”

  Clutching a glass of beer, Jim approached the table where the ladies sat. “Hi guys, has something happened?”

  “In a way, yes.” When Hetty told him of the notes he looked shocked.

  “Wow! Well, we’ve not had a visit from the old Bill yet but then I suppose they’d go to our home address if they didn’t know we’re staying at Tuzzy-Muzzy. Having said that they probably don’t know our home address either.”

  “They would have gone to Tuzzy-Muzzy,” Lottie assured him, “because we told them you were staying there but as you’re in here I suppose you’ll have missed them.”

  Hairdressers, Nicki and Karen who were sitting at the next table heard what was said and turned round. “Sorry for being nosy but what time did you find the envelopes?” Karen asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Hetty, “because I wasn’t there. What time was it, Bill?”

  “Well Kate found them a little after six. I remember that because the news had just begun. I don’t think they could have been there long though because they certainly weren’t there when I got home from work and that was about ten past five.”

  “Why do you ask, Karen?” Hetty was curious.

  “Because there was someone lurking around outside the Old Bakehouse when we locked up the hairdressing salon this evening.”

  “And they behaved in suspicious manner,” added Nicki, “We both commented on it.”

  “In what way?” Norman asked.

  “Well, the bloke pulled up the hood of his top when he saw us and scuttled off really quickly.”

  “He,” questioned Hetty, “Are you sure it was a man?”

  Nicki frowned. “Well, no I’m not but I assume it was a bloke because he had short hair, wore a baseball cap and a hooded top but on reflection it could just as easily have been a woman, I suppose.”

  “And to be fair the hair could have been long and tucked in the top so it would look short at a glance,” Karen added.

  “Did you see the colour of his or her hair and how tall do you reckon he or she was?” Hetty asked.

  “We only got a glimpse because as I said, when he saw us he quickly pulled up the hood of his top over his cap and ran off. I’d say the hair was light but then again it’s difficult to say because most of it was covered with the baseball cap,” Nicki looked at Karen, “How tall would you say he was?”

  Karen shrugged her shoulders. “Impossible to say but at a guess I reckon no more than five eight, if that.”

  “So it could have been a woman.”

  “Yes, I suppose so, but whoever they moved pretty quickly because they were out of sight in minutes.”

  “A woman with light hair so it’s not the same person who attacked Biddy then,” reflected Bill.

  “It might be because Nicki only thinks his hair was light, so it might be the same person. Especially as it would have been dark by then.” Lottie tried to visualise the person in question.

  “Yes, it was dark and the nearest street lamp is several yards away so don’t take my word for it because I’d never be able to swear his hair was light, dark or whatever in a court of law, it all happened so quick.”

  On a high stool at the bar sat Douglas Bell who listened carefully to what was being said. Before the subject was changed he joined in.

  “Sorry to butt in but I’ve couldn’t help but hear what you’ve been saying. You see, a few days ago, well, actually it was a Wednesday because I was at the church to give the old bells a tinkle and it wasn’t this week it was last. Anyway, that night as I was walking up the church path I saw someone who fits the description you’ve just given lurking behind one of the gravestones. He didn’t see me because he seemed to have his eyes transfixed on something or other out towards the street but I’ve no idea what.”

  “Perhaps he was hiding from someone,” Karen suggested.

  Douglas nodded. “Hmm, good point, he might have been.”

  “But who would he be hiding from and why?” Lottie tried to think.

  “More to the point who is this person?” Hetty asked.

  “Could have been a child playing hide and seek,” Norman suggested.

  Douglas screwed up his face. “I don’t think it was a child. A teenager maybe but not a child.”

  “And I’m not even sure youngsters play things like hide and seek nowadays,” sighed Lottie, “Not with all the electronic gadgets and stuff.”

  Norman chuckled. “He’s probably a peeping Tom and was watching some lady in her boudoir. Which house is opposite the church?”

  “Sea View Cottage would be the nearest,” answered Lottie.

  Norman’s face dropped. “You mean where Irene and Martha are staying?”

  “Oh, my goodness,
yes,” Lottie gasped.

  Hetty opened her mouth to comment but closed it as her eyes were drawn to Douglas’ feet. He was wearing flashy white trainers with blue squiggles down the sides.

  “So do you think Douglas made up the story of someone being in the churchyard so we’d not suspect him?” Lottie was trying to make sense of Hetty’s observation of which she had learned as they left the pub.

  “Could be. I mean we know very little about him. He has longish dark hair and no doubt some light coloured tops. Although I have to admit most people probably have light coloured tops in their wardrobe.”

  “Yes, even I have but none of my tops have hoods.”

  Hetty laughed. “Good, we can rule you out then.”

  They crossed the road and began to walk up Long Lane.

  “But seriously, if it was Douglas who attacked Biddy, what would have been his motive? He has nothing to do with Joe’s will or anything like that as far as I can see.”

  “True.” Hetty stepped aside to avoid treading in a puddle.

  “And if it was him you saw that night it stands to reason he wouldn’t have spoken because he hardly knows you?”

  Hetty nodded. “Yes, you’re quite right and so for now we’ll just assume it was him I saw but that he’s completely innocent.”

  Lottie frowned. “But then if it was him why didn’t he go the police when they asked the squiggly shoe person to come forward and be eliminated from the enquiry?”

  “Perhaps he didn’t see or hear anything about it,” reasoned Hetty, “I really don’t know.”

  “Okay, so for now we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt but keep an eye on him all the same.”

  “Yes, and we’ll keep an eye on Pamela as well.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Inside the Old Bakehouse on Saturday morning, Daisy’s husband, Eric was busily tuning Hetty’s old piano which she was looking forward to playing again once it was installed at Primrose Cottage. The job didn’t take long for its tuning was not far out, unlike the other which he anticipated would be hopelessly out of tune if it had not been played since Eve left in 1958. Once the task was finished, Sandra rang Basil who had previously offered to move the piano in his van.