Pudding, Poison & Pie (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Sigrid Vansandt

Martha got up and brought them over to meet Kate and James. Polly gave Kate a warm hug and asked if she had the same fiery personality as her mother, while surreptitiously giving James, the boyfriend, a critical eye.

  “Oh, most definitely, I have my Mother’s no-nonsense attitude. That’s what I love about her.” Kate gave her mom a squeeze.

  “I hear you have your constabulary back,” Martha said to Johns, handing him a glass of wine.

  “Yes, Knells is back at Leeds. I’m reinstated. Solving two murders and catching Brickstone put Knells in his place. It was a joy to see him off.”

  “Everyone, if I may have your attention, please. I’d like to make a toast,” Piers said happily, gesturing for his guests to come in closer.

  Once everyone was holding a glass and standing together near the fireplace, Piers raised his glass.

  “I want to thank each and every one of you for sharing your Christmas Eve with us. Helen and I want you to know what you mean to us and that as long as this is our home, there’s always a warm welcome for all of you.”

  Turning to Helen, he said gently, “Helen, I love you. Thank you for making me the happiest man alive by agreeing to marry me. I’ve learned the value of love, friendship and family from you, so with that in mind, I’d like to give you something special for Christmas.”

  Piers’ eyes lifted and he nodded his head at Señor Agosto, who stood resolutely at the tall, sliding doors of the dining room. With Piers’ signal, Agosto pulled back the doors and out came the remainder of Helen’s children, Peter and Timothy, and their families. Helen was completely overwhelmed with joy. They descended on her with words of greeting, hugs, and loving kisses. Tears of happiness appeared on many faces, both young and old.

  As family and friends were introduced, people found topics in common, laughed, talked and nibbled on Christmas treats. Helen and Martha sat together, surrounded by those they loved best and later, if things went well, they’d enjoy a fun game of hide and seek.

  Thank you for reading!

  Read on for an excerpt from Helen and Martha’s first adventure, Two Birds with One Stone, which is also available to borrow with Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program.

  Excerpt from

  Two Birds with One Stone

  WAYFORD AND MARSDEN-LACEY WERE only fifteen minutes apart. The day had been extremely long and both Helen and Martha were ready for a glass of wine, soft beds and sweet dreams. However, they had one last errand to run.

  As they drove along the quiet English countryside, the evening air was tinged with a coolness that helped to clear their brains of any dullness or fatigue. Crickets and frogs sang soft lullabies in the hedgerow while moonlight gave the rounded haystacks, still drying in the fields, a ghostly luminescence. The Mini Cooper meandered along the peaceful country road bordered by ancient stone walls, with the occasional pretty cottage tucked into a grove of oaks or yew trees.

  Pulling into the parking area to the west of The Grange, Helen turned off the car’s motor and headlamps. She slumped a bit, leaned over and hugged the steering wheel, resting her chin on its top curve. Without the drone of the car’s engine, the growing darkness and the deep silence of the night settled on the girls. The silhouette of the old Elizabethan building, backlit by a bright crescent moon hanging above its chimneys rose up in front of their car. For a moment both girls were aware of their hesitation to get out and enter the dark, empty building.

  “You know what?” Helen asked studying the scene through the windshield.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to go in. This whole situation seems to be getting edgy.”

  “No kidding. I’m wishing I had a big stick,” Martha said. “Fortunately, I know how to use my hands as lethal weapons.”

  Helen gave Martha’s hands a cursory glance but didn’t seem impressed. “Yeah, right. We probably ought to go get Chief Johns before we start looking around.”

  “Nah, my instincts say it’ll be okay. Remind me again of why we’re going in there.”

  “I need to get my briefcase. I’ve got my calendar and my phone charger in it.”

  Martha dug around in the car’s floorboard under her feet. Something was lodged halfway under the seat. Reaching down, she pulled a bulky envelope out of its tight spot.

  “Hey. Look what I found.” She held up a good-sized, yellow envelope.

  “Where was it?” Helen asked.

  “It must have fallen out of the bag Mrs. Thyme gave us and my foot pushed it back under the seat.” Martha smiled knowingly at Helen and arched one eyebrow. “What does this remind you of?”

  In less than a second, Helen remembered. “The envelope in the video. It looks like the one Louis Devry took out of the satchel. This must be the book of poetry Sir Carstons was trying to steal.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not waiting for you at The Grange, is it? It’s been hidden for some reason in a linen closet at Healy.” Martha plopped the envelope down on her lap and squeezed the metal bracket which kept the envelope closed.

  She pulled out the contents. It appeared to be many pages of paper bound together. The writing was in someone’s natural hand but in an antique style. Helen’s curatorial instincts were flashing red. She always got a funny feeling when she was near something exceptional.

  “Turn the overhead light on. May I look at it?” Helen asked.

  Martha, with a perplexed expression, handed Helen what looked like a bunch of paper bound together and neatly enclosed in a plastic bag. Helen riffled around in her purse and pulled out some small glasses. Putting them on, she studied the front cover of the carefully hand-bound manuscript.

  “Martha, this isn’t a book of poetry. In fact it isn't a published volume at all. It’s a handwritten manuscript. I won’t take it out of the mylar bag until I have the right equipment and gloves. Something isn’t right about this. Let’s go get my briefcase and a few other things I need to examine this more closely.”

  “Okay, we should hide it again don’t you think? Under the seat would be good. I’ll take my flashlight with us.” Martha dug in the glovebox and unearthed a small silver flashlight.

  They gently put the manuscript back into the envelope and tenderly maneuvered it under the passenger seat. Martha put a few things around it to hide it from view. Once out of the car, they locked the doors and walked in the dark with the flashlight towards a side entrance.

  The garden walkway was easy to traverse because the moonlight illuminated the white gravel. A thoroughly modern metal door, half-hidden by two flanking cypress shrubs, told Helen she had found the right place. She waved her badge in front of the security pad and where a red light once flashed, a solid green light was displayed. The door made a click sound and Helen gave it a firm push.

  Once both women were inside with the door shut, they found themselves in a dark hallway eerily lit by a security light which gave off a red glow. Helen felt for the light switch and flipped it on. They sighed in relief.

  “Glad you found it,” Martha said. “The red light was definitely not giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling.”

  “Follow me. I want to see if there are any other manila envelopes on Devry’s desk.”

  “Good idea. I’m right behind you.”

  Louis Devry’s office was down the hallway from the reception area, close to the library where Helen had been working. Devry’s office door was unlocked. Helen reached into the room and flipped on the light. From the doorway they could see how tidy he kept his office but not one manila envelope could be seen anywhere.

  “Hmm? What do you think, Helen? Should we maybe poke around a bit? Lift papers up and look under them?” Martha flicked a pile of papers on Devry’s desk so she could see what was under them.

  “Maybe we could also open a desk drawer or a file cabinet.”

  With nothing to hold them back, they perused the room with an efficiency the CIA would have found admirable but they still did not find a single manila envelope.

  “I think our work here is done,” Martha said
then pursing her lips and settling her hands on her hips. “If he’s got the book somewhere, then it has got to be on him. The manuscript we have is definitely not poetry.”

  “Or it wasn’t ever a poetry book in the first place. Maybe it was what is inside the manila envelope in your car. Let’s get my stuff and go to your house,” Helen said. “I want to get a better look at that manuscript. My briefcase is in the library. Follow me.”

  Tidying up after themselves in Devry’s office, they made their way to the library. Helen found her briefcase and her laptop, and checked to make sure she had cotton gloves and her phone charger.

  “My tools are all here. We should be able to get some information about the manuscript tonight,” Helen said while packing up her things.

  “My question is why was it found in a linen cupboard at Healy? Odd, don’t you think?”

  “Someone was hiding it, I guess. It’s as if they were in a hurry. Who knows though? It could be something someone laid there years ago.”

  “Gotcha there, my dear. The envelope wasn’t made in the UK. It had a ‘Made in Exton, PA’ along the fold and it had a bubble wrap liner. Couldn’t be too old,” Martha noted.

  “You’re good.” Helen was delighted with Martha’s observational powers. “We would make a great detective team.”

  Without warning, the lights in the library went out. Martha and Helen could feel their hearts leap into their throats. The meager light filtering into the huge room came from the signs designating the exits.

  “Get under the table,” Helen said.

  The old library table was made of oak. If someone had wanted to do a jig on it, it wouldn’t have made a creak. Along one side of its length were short shelves full of books and along its short length was a desk which Helen had been using for her work. As they quickly hid themselves under the table, the door to the library slowly opened. A flashlight beam scanned the room.

  Martha and Helen dared not breathe. From their position under the table, they watched the beam of light flip around then stop right above their heads on the tabletop. Light footsteps approached the desk but because of the darkness, it was impossible to see who it was.

  Instinctually, it dawned on them they were being stalked. Martha and Helen could hear the blood banging in their ears.

  Footsteps stopped and an unnatural voice pierced the darkness, sounding metallic, crazed and false. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

  Martha flinched and Helen wrapped herself around her briefcase.

  Fear made Martha act. With all her might she pushed one of the bookshelves laying up against the table. The shelves were linked together. If one went over, they all went. Shelves crashed one after the other against the wooden floor, making a noise so tremendous it could have waked the dead.

  Martha, forgetting her flashlight, scrambled out from under the desk with Helen in tow. Then like two agile rabbits, they crawled towards an exit at the back of the room.

  The spotlight frantically flitted around the room searching for its prey. Waiting until the beam of light crossed over the door where they crouched, Helen pushed the door open. They scuttled through and allowed the door to soundlessly close on its own.

  “What do we do?” Martha asked breathlessly. “Where does this lead?”

  Helen shook her head, indicating she didn’t know where they were, then took out her phone and dialed the police station.

  “Helen, I hear someone coming.”

  Quickly getting up off the floor, they maneuvered the best they could in the dark.

  A woman answered. “Marsden-Lacey Constabulary. Constable Waters speaking. Hold please.”

  Helen grimaced at the phone and with a flash of brilliance used the phone as a flashlight until they found their way back to the reception area. The huge entry doors had a bulky chain intertwined through the brass handles making the main entrance an impossible escape route.

  Unsure what to do or where to go next, they began to panic. Then Helen saw the storage closet for the janitorial staff. Grabbing Martha, she dragged her inside. With cat-like quietness, Martha and Helen concealed themselves in between the mops, brooms and paper towels.

  The phone came to life. “Yes? How may we be of help?” the female voice came back on the phone.

  Helen said as quietly as possible into the phone, “Get DCI Johns to come over to The Grange.”

  “I’m sorry Madam but you will need to speak louder,” the voice on the other end said loudly.

  Helen covered the phone for fear the noise would give them away. Cupping the phone, she persisted, “Listen. I am hiding in a broom closet and being stalked by a homicidal killer. Get DCI Johns over to The Grange right now.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Back on hold, Helen heard a Carly Simon song. Appropriately, it was “Anticipation” and it was in its third stanza. Helen held out the phone for Martha to listen. “And these are the good old days” finished up and the chorus began again.

  Right then they heard the faint sound of a footstep outside the doorway.

  “Madam, are you still there? Madam?” The policewoman’s voice sounded like a train horn blaring their location to the crazy person in the corridor.

  Martha grabbed the phone and turned the volume all the way to mute. They waited, not daring to move a muscle. Helen’s phone flashed a call coming in from the police station.

  She hit ‘accept’ but didn’t speak. Muffling her mouth with her hands, she said, being careful to draw out her words. “H—e—l—p. The G—r—a—n—g—e,” and then hung up.

  Martha reached for Helen’s arm and found it. She pulled Helen towards her and like a second grade schoolgirl, cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered as softly as possible, “Grab a mop or a broom and something to throw. If it opens the door, throw something and rush it with your mop.”

  A beam of light flashed through the door crack. Holding whatever cleaning utensils they had managed to grab, they waited for the inevitable. The delicate sound of a turning latch signaled that someone was twisting the door knob. With every fiber of their bodies tuned and ready to attack, the girls watched as the door inched open.

  With a jab to Helen’s side, Martha went first, screaming, “Ahhh!”

  Helen plunged forward yelling, “Ahhh!”

  If you’d like to enjoy the beginning of Helen and Martha’s journey, check out

  Two Birds with One Stone available in Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program.

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  About the Author

  Sigrid Vansandt lives with her husband, daughter and small maltipoo, Amos, in the Ozarks of Arkansas.

  She always wanted to write and with the encouragement of her family finally gave it a try. An avid reader of all things British and the American South, she enjoyed combining the two cultures into her first cozy mystery series.

  Thank you for reading!

  Email Sigrid at: sigridvansandt@gmail.com

  Sign up to her email list at: http://eepurl.com/baKFLj

  Copyright Information

  Pudding, Poison & Pie copyright © 2015 Sigrid Vansandt, all rights reserved.

  Cover images copyright © Shutterstock.com LLaszlo, Lesya Dolyuk

  Interior graphics copyright © depositphoto.com/Natuska

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places and events are invented by the author or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, organizations, places and events, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This e-book may not be reproduced, scanned, stored or distributed in any form without prior written permission of the author. It is intended for the purchaser’s use only.

 

 

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