The Case of the Missing Letter
Page 1
THE CASE OF THE MISSING LETTER
Alison Golden
Grace Dagnall
Contents
FREE PREQUELS
PRAISE FOR THE INSPECTOR DAVID GRAHAM MYSTERY SERIES
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
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THANK YOU
OTHER BOOKS IN THE INSPECTOR DAVID GRAHAM SERIES
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
THE CASE OF THE MISSING LETTER
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PRAISE FOR THE INSPECTOR DAVID GRAHAM MYSTERY SERIES
“I'm in love with him and his colleagues.”
“A terrific mystery.”
“These books certainly have the potential to become a PBS series with the likeable character of Inspector Graham and his fellow officers.”
“Delightful writing that keeps moving, never a dull moment.”
“I know I have a winner of a book when I toss and turn at night worrying about how the characters are doing.”
“Totally great read!!!”
“Refreshingly unique and so well written.”
“Alison outdid herself in this wonderfully engaging mystery, with no graphic violence or sex.”
“This series just gets better and better.”
“DI Graham is wonderful and his old school way of doing things, charming.”
“Great character development.”
“Kept me entertained all day.”
“Wow! The newest Inspector Graham book is outstanding.”
“Great characters and fast paced.”
“Fabulous main character, D.I. Graham.”
“The scenery description, characterization, and fabulous portrayal of the hotel on the hill are all layered into a great English trifle.”
“Inspector Graham is right up there with some of the icons of British mysteries.”
“This is her best book, so far. I literally could not put this book down.”
“Character development was superb.”
“Please never end the series.”
For my readers,
The Case of the Missing Letter is my love letter to you.
Thank you for all your support, kindness, and blessings. You have truly been the greatest gift.
CHAPTER ONE
DAVID GRAHAM TROTTED downstairs. The dining room was becoming busier by the week, but at least his favorite table by the window was still available on this bright Saturday morning. The White House Inn staff were busier than they had been since Christmas, welcoming and looking after new arrivals who had chosen to exchange the snow of Scotland or the dreary rain of Manchester for a few sunny days in Jersey. He took his seat and opened the morning paper, part of a reassuring and established routine he had enjoyably been following for the last six months.
As he settled into life on Jersey, Graham had followed the changing of the seasons as the island’s surprisingly mild winter gave way to an even warmer and quite invigorating early spring. By mid-March, the island was once again beginning to look its splendid and colorful best. The spring blooms were out. Swathes of bright yellow daffodils and the unmistakable, bell-shaped blue hyacinth dotted the island. Economically, Jersey had also started to blossom. Most of Gorey’s small fishing fleet had completed a month of refit and repair. Shortly, they would be heading out among the Channel Islands to catch lobster and oysters, or further into the Atlantic for cod.
“Good morning, Detective Inspector,” Polly offered carefully. Before his first cup of tea, Graham could be sleepy and even uncharacteristically sour. Guesthouse owner, the redoubtable Mrs. Taylor, occasionally reminded staff not to engage him in anything beyond perfunctory morning pleasantries before he was at least partially caffeinated. “What will it be today? Or are you going to make me guess again?”
Graham peered over his newspaper at the freckled twenty-something redhead who had become perhaps his favorite of the staff. “I have to say, Polly,” Graham told her, folding the paper and setting it on the table, “that you’re becoming something of a psychic. What is it now, four correct guesses in a row?”
“Five,” Polly said proudly. “But on three of those days, it was that new Assam you were so excited about.”
“True, true,” Graham noted. “And I hope you’ll agree it was worth getting excited over.”
Polly shrugged. “I’m not really a tea drinker,” she confessed. “But today I’m going to guess you’re in… what do you call it sometimes… a ‘traditional mood’?”
“I might be,” Graham grinned. “Or I might be feeling spontaneous.”
“Lady Grey,” Polly guessed. “Large pot, two bags, sugar to be decided on a cup-by-cup basis.”
Impressed, Graham raised his eyebrows and gave her a warm smile. “Precisely. I don’t know how you do it.”
Polly tapped her forehead cryptically and sashayed off to the kitchen to place Graham’s order. Since arriving at the White House Inn, and with the enthusiastic support of the staff and Mrs. Taylor, Graham had taken sole “curatorial control” over the dining room’s tea selection. He took this role exceptionally seriously. The kitchen’s shelves were now stocked with an impressive array of Asian teas, from the sweet and fruity to the fragranced and flowery, with much else in between.
Lady Grey, though, was becoming Graham’s favorite “first pot.” It was often given the responsibility of awakening the Detective Inspector’s mental faculties first thing in the morning. It was in the moments after the first life-giving infusion of caffeine, antioxidants, and other herbal empowerments that Graham’s mind came alive.
One useful byproduct of his daily tea ritual was the ability to memorize almost everything he read. His knowledge of local events was becoming peerless. With the aid of the local newspaper, Graham stored away the information that Easter was two weekends away, and the town’s churches were inviting volunteers to bake, sing, decorate the church, and organize the Easter egg hunts.
Also stashed away for future retrieval was the nugget that Gorey Castle’s much anticipated “Treason and Torture” exhibit was about to open. The gruesome displays were only part of the attraction, however. Two recently opened chambers had, until their inadvertent discovery a few months earlier, contained an unlikely and entirely unsuspected trove of artistic treasures. The di
scovered paintings had mostly been returned to their owners or loaned to museums that were better equipped to display pieces of such importance. But, interest in the find was still high, and ticket sales had been, to quote the Castle’s events director, the ever-upbeat Stephen Jeffries, “brisk beyond belief.”
“Lady Grey,” Polly announced, delivering the tray with Graham’s customary digital timer which was just passing the three-minute mark.
“First class, Polly. And it’ll be bacon, two eggs, and toast today, please.”
“Right, you are,” she nodded.
Graham put the paper aside and focused on this most pleasing of ceremonies. First came the tea, promisingly dark and full-bodied, tumbling into the china cup. Then came the enchanting aroma, an endless complexity from such a surprisingly simple source. Next would come the careful decision-making process regarding the addition of milk; too much would bring down the temperature, and as Graham liked to think of it, risked muddling what the tea was attempting to express.
Finally, he would add just the right amount of sugar. Graham had taken pains to instruct the wait staff to ensure that it was available in loose, as well as cubed form, so that he might more carefully adjudicate its addition. He tipped an eighth of a teaspoonful into the cup and stirred nine times, counter-clockwise. Some things, as he was so fond of reminding his fellow police officers, are worth doing well. He chose to ignore their barely suppressed eye-rolls.
He took a sip and cherished the added bergamot that complemented the traditional Earl Grey flavor. But then, contrary to his usual practice, Graham set down the cup. An article on page six of the newspaper was demanding his attention. The headline was Our Cops are Tops, and he read on with a quiet flush of pride.
After their successes in recent months, it goes without saying that Gorey has the most capable police officers on the island. Led by the indefatigable Detective Inspector Graham, the Gorey Constabulary has successfully raised the rate at which it solves reported crimes from twenty-six percent, one year ago, to forty-nine percent, today.
“For once,” Graham muttered contentedly into his paper, “the media have got their numbers spot-on.” It meant, he had observed proudly to his team the previous day, that anyone planning a crime in their small field of jurisdiction would know that they had a one in two chance of getting caught. “Splendid.”
Moreover, the actual crime rate has dropped by sixteen percent in the last twelve months. This is surely cause to congratulate DI Graham and his team, but Sergeant Janice Harding was modest when asked for a comment. “The Gorey public have been enormously supportive,” she pointed out. “We rely on their vigilance and common sense, and they’ve stood by us through some complex and challenging cases.” The popular sergeant, who has lived on Jersey for nearly seven years, was referring to the conviction of former teacher Andrew Lyon, who began a seven-year sentence at Wormwood Scrubs in January. Gorey Constabulary also met with success after murder investigations at the Castle and the White House Inn. It seems our “top cops” are equal to any challenge. Gorey is fortunate to have such a dedicated and dependable crime-fighting team.
“’Top cops.’ Sounds like one of those ghastly TV reality shows,” Graham grumbled. “But I’ll take it.”
CHAPTER TWO
MRS. TAYLOR WAS striding through the dining room in her trademark flowery blouse when she spotted Graham looking just a little smug. “Someone’s been reading about himself in the paper, I see,” she concluded with a smile.
“The whole team was mentioned, I was glad to see,” Graham said. His pride was hard to miss.
“Enjoy your moment in the sun,” Mrs. Taylor said warmly. “You deserve it.” She patted Graham on the shoulder and continued toward the check-in desk where a tall, blond woman was quietly waiting, a single slender suitcase by her side.
Graham returned to the article. His two constables, Roach and Barnwell, were mentioned by name, including a brief recounting of Barnwell’s heroics in the Channel some four months before and his subsequent trip to Buckingham Palace to receive the Queen’s Gallantry Medal. The article even contained the customary photograph of Barnwell showing off his award in the palace courtyard. He was accompanied by his mother who shared a remarkable resemblance with her son, but who looked like she couldn’t quite believe where she was, who she was with, or why she was there. For his part, Graham couldn’t have been more proud of his small team, who were admittedly proving very effective after a somewhat shaky start.
He quickly took another sip of tea before it got cooler than he liked. It was just occurring to him that Polly was a few minutes later than usual with his breakfast when Mrs. Taylor returned. This time she was not alone.
“Detective Inspector Graham, I thought you might like to meet our newest resident, Miss Laura Beecham.” Graham stood automatically, setting down his teacup once more. He found himself being introduced to the woman who had been standing at the reception desk earlier. She had the bluest possible eyes and was even taller up close, within an inch of Graham himself. “Just arrived from… Where was it you said, Miss Beecham?” Mrs. Taylor asked.
“Down from London,” Laura said, extending a hand. She had a city dweller’s pale complexion, but her direct gaze, wide cheekbones, and petite upturned nose gave her an honest, girlish look. “Just fancied a change of scenery. Nice to meet you.” She wore a small fish pendant on a simple gold chain and was dressed for travel in a comfortable maroon t-shirt and black stretch pants.
“Welcome,” Graham said, a little surprised by his own shyness. It was some time since he had met anyone quite so striking or indeed, his own age. “You’ll be staying here at the Inn?” he asked.
Laura nodded. “At least for a while. I haven’t really decided yet. I’m fresh off the boat, quite literally,” she smiled.
“Our beloved Detective Inspector Graham runs the local police station,” Mrs. Taylor said, as though boasting of her son’s recent acceptance into medical school. “You simply must read the article about our local boys in blue.” She caught Graham’s eye, “Oh, and girl, of course.” She tapped the morning paper that lay next to Graham’s cup and saucer.
“Sergeant Janice Harding is one of our most highly respected officers,” Graham told Laura. He stood up a little straighter, “The article was very flattering, but we were just doing our jobs.”
“I’m told Gorey is a very safe place,” Laura commented. “Quiet.”
Mrs. Taylor opened her mouth but closed it again. Although Laura was technically correct, and Gorey boasted an enviable safety record, one of the very few recent murders in the town had befallen a White House Inn resident. Mrs. Taylor had been about to mention it until she remembered it wasn’t something she should draw attention to.
“I’m sure you’ll be very happy here,” DI Graham said.
“Are you looking for work?” Mrs. Taylor interjected, “or will you be relaxing during your stay, Miss Beecham?”
“Actually, I was lucky enough to find a job at the library,” Laura said, still clearly surprised at her own good fortune. “I start there tomorrow. Can’t wait,” she added brightly.
“Splendid,” Graham said. “It’s a small place, but very popular. Their local history section is especially strong,” he added. “I’ll say hello if I see you there.”
Mrs. Taylor had taken a step back to observe the effect of her well-intentioned intervention in DI Graham’s social life. Her soft spot for the Detective Inspector was well known. As a professional, he was enormously respected, but Mrs. Taylor just plain liked him too. She found him wonderfully thoughtful and courteous in an endearingly old-fashioned way that reminded her, more often than anyone else, of her late husband. It troubled her that such a fine man, still in his thirties and with no wedding ring to deter would-be admirers, was still living the bachelor life. She liked having him around, but she had been keeping an eye out for ladies who seemed to fit the bill: youthful, intelligent, well-read. And, of course, single.
Stepping forward again, s
he said to Laura, “Will you be with us long?”
“Just as long as it takes me to find somewhere more permanent, Mrs. Taylor,” she replied.
“Ah, well now, I hear rumors that DI Graham is looking for an apartment in Gorey. Perhaps the two of you could share the flat-hunting burden?”
Graham turned toward Laura and confided, “Mrs. Taylor is only moonlighting as a hotelier. She’s actually a top-notch government spy.”
His little quip achieved the desired effect, and Graham’s suspicion that Laura had a beautiful smile was entirely borne out. “I’ll remember to sweep for bugs when I get to my room,” she whispered back.
“Now, there’s no need to poke fun,” Mrs. Taylor chided gently. “I’m sure everyone here would understand if you left us, Detective Inspector, but I hope you know that we’d miss you terribly.”
Mrs. Taylor deserved plaudits for her persistence, Graham thought. “I’ll be curating your tea selection for a few months yet, Mrs. Taylor. Still looking for just the right place.” He turned to Laura. “Have you any idea what you’re looking for?”
“Oh, no,” Laura explained. “That’s way down my list of things to do. Besides, I haven’t even properly checked in yet.” Graham saw that Laura’s suitcase remained with Otto at the reception desk. It seemed that Mrs. Taylor, never one to miss an opportunity, had prioritized matchmaking over showing the new guest to her room.