Filigrees, Fortunes and Foul Play

by Emily Selby

  Emily Selby

  Filigrees, Fortunes, and Foul Play

  Emily Selby

  Copyright © 2018 by Emily Selby

  ISBN: 9781980488569

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Disclaimer:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book and the entire series is set in England and written using British English spelling, punctuation and some vocabulary.

  Contents

  Filigrees, Fortunes, and Foul Play

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Also by Emily Selby

  Filigrees, Fortunes, and Foul Play

  1

  Katie Redford finished sketching the layout of the craft stall for the upcoming church fete and stepped back from the whiteboard. She glanced at her drawing, taking a deep breath. The air vibrated in her lungs. Neat, uncluttered and presenting all items in the best possible way. But would others agree with her? 'I believe, this is the best way to arrange our crafts, given the limited space. What do you think?' She looked attentively at three fellow Sunnyvale Paper Crafts Society members sitting around the table.

  The Club president, Miriam Fischer, studied the drawing. 'That's very smart, Katie. You've managed to fit it all on this tabletop, like a big jigsaw puzzle. Thank you.'

  Katie released her breath. Miriam could be quite demanding.

  Miriam continued. 'The stall is sorted, let's talk through who's doing what before we finish.'

  Katie put the whiteboard marker on the table just as her phone rang. She waited, wishing the caller gave up quickly. But whoever was trying to get hold of her must have been determined. After the seventh signal, Miriam said, 'I think you need to answer this, Katie. This person is desperate.'

  Her cheeks burning, Katie reached into her handbag, hoping it was someone she could talk to quickly. She didn't have much time left before she had to dash off to her afternoon job. But her heart sank as she read the screen ID.

  Oh Lord, can’t she give me a moment’s peace?

  Katie hit the 'Answer' button.

  'Hello, Mrs Dunbar,' she said cheerfully, keen to keep control of the conversation. 'I haven’t forgotten our appointment. I won’t be late.'

  'Hello, Katie, luv. No need to rush.' Mrs Dunbar sounded a little slurred, but anxious. 'I'm calling to ask you to come thirty minutes late. Alright, luv? I've just had an unexpected visitor and need to discuss something urgent with my... eh...' The voice trailed off.

  Katie waited a couple of seconds struck by an unusual vibe in her client's voice. But Mrs Dunbar didn't finish her sentence. Then Katie heard a yawn.

  'Not a problem, Mrs Dunbar,' Katie said hastily, fully aware of the tense silence in the room and three pairs of eyes burning holes in her t-shirt. She steadied her breath. 'Will you be okay?'

  'Of course, luv. There’s plenty of time. You should be able to finish here just before teatime. I really need the house clean for tonight. I have an important visitor, you know.'

  She let out another yawn.

  Katie stifled a sigh. She needed to finish her work well before teatime or she’d miss the shops.

  'I know, Mrs Dunbar. And are you okay? You sound a little ... tired.'

  'Ah, yes. I'm fine. Just a bit...' There was another pause and the same sense of hesitation. 'Just a bit in a hurry. So, don't you rush, and I shall see you in forty-seven minutes.'

  'Yes, forty-seven minutes exactly, at quarter past three, Mrs Dunbar. Bye.'

  Katie disconnected and dropped the phone into her bag.

  Miriam broke the brief silence. 'That's our Phyllis, always so precise with her timekeeping and fussing about her schedule, like it was the holiest thing in town. What is it this time?' she asked, her eyes piercing through Katie like a pair of steel drills.

  Torn between her frustration at Phyllis Dunbar changing the plans at the last minute and the risk of sharing her emotional state with one of the biggest gossips in Sunnyvale, Katie scrambled for a safe option.

  'She wants me to come later this afternoon.'

  'But your cleaning day at Phyllis' is normally Thursday, isn't it?' Miriam asked, observing Katie carefully.

  Katie bit her upper lip. Miriam Fischer knew a lot, and she never hesitated over calling people's bluff.

  'This is an extra gig. She needed help with something... or other.'

  Katie waved her hand. The exact reason why Phyllis Dunbar needed extra cleaning was none of her, or anyone else's business.

  Miriam's round face twitched.

  'Katie, dear, you shouldn't let Phyllis boss you around,' she said. Katie wondered what made Miriam abandon her inquisition.

  'She bosses everyone,' Linda McKay, a retired teacher and one of the long-term Club members cut in. 'Did you see that poor nephew of hers? She made the man mow her lawns in the rain the other week!'

  Miriam tutted and shook her head. 'Honestly, is she really that incapacitated? I thought she was still in good nick, despite her age.'

  'It's the arthritis,' Katie explained. 'She’s quite capable, but her hands aren't as good as they used to be. And it's even worse when it's raining.'

  'I suppose they would be,' Linda accepted, looking at Miriam expectantly. 'And it's a big house she has to herself. It must be hard for her to keep on top of things.'

  Miriam pressed her lips together.

  'Sorry, the last meeting with Phyllis harping on and on about "the fantastic William" annoyed me,' Miriam said, her voice clipped. 'To be honest, if I hear more about, "My-William-this-and-my-William-that," I may stab her with the scissors, or whatever tool I've got handy. Holy William, my left foot.'

  'Holy late William.' Linda cut in. 'And please, watch your language, Miriam. But I agree, Phyllis really should stop bragging about his talents. One may think he was another Picasso.'

  'Ladies, can we please go back to planning the fete?' Ally Baker, the Club's treasurer-cum-secretary, interrupted. 'I need to collect Baby Ella from the nursery soon, Katie and Miriam have jobs to go to, and we still have two more items left on the agenda.'

  Katie wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Thank goodness for Ally Bakers of this world - always well organised and keeping meetings and other people on track.

  'Yes!' Katie jumped at the opportunity to push the meeting towards a conclusion. 'Let's focus.'

  Phyllis might have given Katie an extra thirty minutes, but it had ruined her afternoon plans. She had to reorganise Julia’s school pick up and - much worse - do the grocery shopping for tonight's dinner, either with the £3.30 she had left in her purse, or with a starving and cr
anky ten-year-old in tow.

  Fortunately, Phyllis Dunbar's obsession for being precise and fussy extended into other areas of her life. She always paid on time and in full. The extra cleaning tonight, was a Godsend. The recent house move had emptied Katie's pocket more than she expected, and she would rather work until midnight than ask her ex-husband for more money.

  Once the impromptu meeting of the church fete committee had finished, Katie rushed out of the door.

  To her relief, Mrs O'Brian, mum of Julia's best friend, Ines, was happy to help with school pickup and looking after Julia until Katie finished. Katie texted her daughter the revised plan for the afternoon and drove home.

  Grocery shopping would have to wait until Mrs Dunbar paid her for the job.

  Her kitchen was still cluttered with boxes and bags. Having finally sold their family home following the divorce, Katie and Julia moved to a more affordable, but smaller place three weeks earlier. Katie was determined to make it feel more like home, even if she had to do it one box at a time. She set the alarm for 3.05 pm. and attacked the nearest box, slicing through the tape sealing the top.

  She worked methodically through the box, finding new homes for the contents. Once she slotted the last of the cookbooks on the shelf by the sink, her alarm exploded.

  Perfect timing.

  She grabbed her handbag from the table, zipped up her jacket and hurried from the house into the windy September afternoon.

  Katie parked in front of Mrs Dunbar's bungalow. With the stream and the fields behind, this part of Sunnyvale was an ideal spot for family-friendly housing. Developers were building a new estate some five hundred yards away. But this little corner of Meadowbank Road and Stream Drive only housed an old villa, two bungalows, and a dilapidated house that hadn’t been lived in for decades.

  Katie climbed from the car and stopped, surprised to hear music. Phyllis' only next-door neighbours, the Peters' family should have been out - at work or at school. Phyllis, although not against singing or dancing as such, was not much of a music lover. Yet, coming from the garden, a male voice belted out a song Katie had never heard before. She couldn't quite identify the genre, but it sounded surprisingly good.

  Katie took her cleaning gear from the boot of her car.

  The gate to the little front garden opened with its usual screech. She looked around. The front lawn had been mowed recently, but the grass at the side of the house looked untouched. The singing seemed to come from the little shed at the side of the house. A spade, a watering can, and a bag of composting mix stood in a pile outside the shed door.

  Now, it made sense. It was Mrs Dunbar's nephew's gardening day.

  Katie trudged up the stairs, rang the bell, and waited.

  'Mrs Dunbar, it's Katie,' she called out, but received no answer.

  Maybe Phyllis Dunbar was still busy with her unexpected visitor. Or maybe she’d popped to the bathroom. Katie waited a couple of minutes, listening for the usual sounds of a bathroom in use. But except for the singing still blasting from the shed, she couldn't hear anything.

  She considered phoning, but if Mrs Dunbar couldn't answer the door, would she be able to answer the phone?

  Katie waited a little longer. A gust of wind pushed a couple of old yoghurt pots—likely intended for whatever gardening project the acoustic music loving nephew was working on—from behind the shed.

  Katie looked around, but the garden was still empty and there was no sign of human presence in the shed.

  He’s probably busy in the back garden.

  Katie rang the bell again.

  'Hello, Mrs Dunbar? Are you there?' She hammered on the door.

  Maybe she’s taking a nap?

  The old dear did sound tired on the phone.

  Strange. Phyllis Dunbar always honoured her arrangements and usually waited by the door. Sometimes Katie wondered if Phyllis waited by the door with a watch in her hand to keep an eye on the visitor's timing.

  Katie turned the handle and the door opened.

  She looked at her phone to double check if she’d missed a cancellation text, but the message box was empty.

  Katie entered the hall. A cold draft hit her face and the spare toilet door slammed. A slinky ginger cat meowed and jumped from under the old, heavy chestnut shoe bench.

  Phyllis Dunbar never had pets, and she wouldn't allow any into her house.

  Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  'Mrs Dunbar, it's Katie, are you alright?' Katie put the mop and the bucket with other cleaning stuff by the shoe bench. The cat brushed against her leg. Katie stroked his soft fur and gave him a quick scratch behind the ear. The animal had no collar. It jumped up and padded towards the kitchen. Katie followed.

  Phyllis' Dunbar's bungalow had a good-sized kitchen connected with a dining/living space. The old dear often complained about not having a special space to receive visitors, but Katie doubted if Phyllis received many. Nevertheless, if she had a visitor, that room would be where she would normally entertain them.

  Katie walked from the empty kitchen into the living area, her steps echoing on the wooden floor. She never liked this space. The walls were covered in aged wood panels, together with Phyllis' favourite heavy chestnut furniture and chocolate upholstery and curtains, creating a dark, heavy atmosphere, exaggerated by the small north-facing windows. A quick tour around the large room confirmed her initial impression—it was empty and had not been used that day.

  A muffled rattling came from the back of the house. Katie's heart flipped. She ran to the kitchen window overlooking the back yard. It was empty. She listened for sounds coming from within the house, but all she could hear was the howling wind outside and the music.

  'This is stupid,' she mumbled. ''m sure it's the cat or the nephew knocking things over in the shed.'

  Katie took a few deep breaths.

  She must be in her bedroom, having a nap.

  'Mrs Dunbar, it's Katie.'

  She tiptoed toward the old woman's bedroom on the other side of the hallway.

  But the bedroom was empty. The bed was unmade, unsurprisingly, as it was Katie's job to do it that afternoon, an empty glass on the bedside table, a book and a pair of reading glasses beside it, emphasised the sense of missing human presence. Katie checked the en suite bathroom, but it too, was empty.

  'No sign of life.' Katie mumbled and shivered. It was very strange.

  The cat meowed loudly somewhere in the house.

  'What is it, kitty?' Katie called and followed the sound. She found the cat by the door leading to the spare room. It was Mrs Dunbar’s arts and crafts kingdom, and Katie's favourite room in the house.

  The crafts room?

  Why would she be here? She wouldn't normally receive a visitor in her crafts room.

  The cat cried plaintively.

  Katie opened the door and froze.

  Mrs Dunbar’s body lay on the floor at the foot of the chest of drawers. Blood pooled around her head, glistening in the light spilling through the open curtains. Her eyes were open, glazed, her skin, waxy and pale.

  'Mrs Dunbar!' Katie called out again, but there was no reaction.

  Katie stepped forward to check the pulse. There was none.

  She covered her mouth and stepped back. The cat sneaked between her legs and approached the body on the floor, sniffing it from a distance.

  Katie shuddered.

  'Don't touch, kitty,' she said as calmly as she could and picked up the animal.

  She rushed outside, fighting the growing nausea. Getting outside was key. Fresh air was good.

  Katie closed the main door behind her and let the cat out from under her arm. The animal dashed towards the back of the house. She leant on the doorframe, dizzy and breathing heavily.

  Katie pulled out her phone. Her hands shook as she dialled the emergency number. The music in the shed had stopped but the shed still appeared empty. Where was Mrs Dunbar's nephew?

  'I need an ambulance... or maybe Police,' she stuttered into the pho
ne before the operator had a chance to finish his first sentence.

  "Police or ambulance?'

  'I don't know...' Katie felt her voice breaking. The tension took hold and her eyes filled with tears. 'She is dead,' Katie croaked. 'Lying in a pool of blood.'

  'What's your name? Where are you calling from, Madam?'

  Katie covered her mouth to muffle a sob that shuddered through her body.

  'M-Meadowbank Road. N-Number 5. I think the owner, Mrs Dunbar, has been murdered.'

  2

  Katie stood on top of the steps for a while, looking at the dark screen of her mobile. Her heart was pounding, her head felt full of muddy water sloshing with every move.

  Grounding - this was what she needed. A few breaths to make her body feel as though it belonged to her again. She rolled back her shoulders. The world around her was eerie - quiet and calm. Even the wind had died.

  She would have run into her car and driven off, but she couldn't move her legs. And if she did, the police would have been after her.

  She gulped. Her throat was as dry as a piece of used baking paper.

  Katie checked the time and stretched her neck. The street ahead was empty.

  It's been only a minute...

  How long did it take the Emergency Services to arrive?

  The mid-afternoon traffic from the nearby school to her right was hardly audible. To her left, the street bent to follow the stream. Behind the dilapidated eyesore of the house next-door, a row of new-build houses stretched for another six-hundred yards or so, before the first finished properties proudly displayed 'Sold' signs became visible. Sunny Meadows, the place was called. Once she had enough money, she planned to move there with Julia.