Murder of Convenience
Page 1
Murder of Convenience
A Stowe Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series
Carrie Marsh
SMILING HOUSE PUBLISHING CO.
Contents
Copyright
Join My VIP Readers’ Club List
A Personal Note From Carrie Marsh
Murder of Convenience
PROLOGUE
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CHAPTER ONE
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CHAPTER TWO
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CHAPTER THREE
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CHAPTER FOUR
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CHAPTER FIVE
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CHAPTER SIX
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CHAPTER SEVEN
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CHAPTER EIGHT
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CHAPTER NINE
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CHAPTER TEN
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
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CHAPTER TWELVE
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
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CHAPTER TWENTY
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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
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CHAPTER THIRTY
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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
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EPILOGUE
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PREVIEW OF BOOK 1 - THE DEADLY JELLYBEAN AFFAIR
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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Also By Carrie Marsh
Acknowledgement
If You Have Enjoyed This Book…
Publisher’s Notes
Copyright © 2017 by CARRIE MARSH & SMILING HOUSE PUBLISHING CO.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real or dead people, places, or events are not intentional and are the result of coincidence. The characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author/publisher. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Cover designed by Ms Melody Simmons. Author has the copyrights to this cover.
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A PERSONAL NOTE
FROM CARRIE MARSH
To My Dearest Lovely Readers,
“Murder of Convenience” is my first book of this new series I am working on, “A Stowe Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series”. This series will be completely cozy mysteries. This series will focus on the middle-aged retired Baroness, Lady Marcie Winston-Browne and how she solves complex murder mysteries with her unique sleuthing skills. Read on…
They can be read and enjoyed in any order. I’ve made sure not to include any spoilers for those of you who are new to the characters.
You will have plenty of fresh action and mystery, as well as a little background story on some of the major characters in Marcie’s universe. All in all, there is something for everyone.
I had squeezed out every single creative juice on my brain creating this book - I hope you will have a great time reading it too.
With Hugs, Kisses and Love…
MURDER OF CONVENIENCE
A Stowe Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series
by
CARRIE MARSH
and
Smiling House Publishing Co.
PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
“Leave me alone.”
Janet Fleet, head down against the drizzling rain, muttered under her breath as she slid past the helpful old ladies outside the library. She didn't want to stop and chat with them. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She had to hurry. It was late, and she had to reach her destination now.
She walked briskly past, heading for the track that would take her through the old stone cottages and out of Stowe Village. Her high heels clicked on the pavement and her suitcase rolled along behind her. She looked at her watch. It was almost five. She ran.
I need to leave, she thought. I have wanted to for too long.
Stowe Village had been her prison every moment of her life. She had been born and raised here with her father, drunk and abusive, who had beaten both her and her brother ever since they were small children. She had escaped from her family into what she had hoped would be a better life, only to find that her marriage to the silent, sour village grocery shop owner was little better than her early life had been.
I need to leave. That is all I have ever wanted.
Shivering as the early autumnal wind gusted past her, she ran up the pavement, trying to make herself go faster. She felt her ankle twist as her heel caught in the cobbles and bit her lip, determined to continue.
She was almost there, so close to turning her back on all she had known. Turning toward the sweet wonder of the unknown. All she had to do was be on time.
Heels slipping on the slick pavement, suitcase a muted rumble behind her, she ran.
She had to reach the outskirts of the village soon. Before it was too late.
CHAPTER ONE
CONSTERNATION
CONSTERNATION
“No!” Marcie screamed. She sat up in bed, sweat dripping down her face.
“Marcie?” Harry, Lord Winston-Browne, her husband of almost forty years, turned to her, face a picture of worry.
Marcie sighed, feeling the terror leave her slowly. She was here in the vintage charm of Stowe Manor, in her bed. The bedroom was gray with the early morning light, the shapes of the antique chestnut wardrobe just visible by the long windows.
“Oh, Harry,” Marcie sighed to her husband. She put her hand on her heart, feeling it pounding under the lace of her Stella McCartney nightdress. “I'm sorry. I was just having a nightmare. Silly me,” she added, shaking her head. Her soft gray hair fell in smooth waves to frame her slim face and she pushed it back into its nighttime style.
“What did you dream about?” Harry asked, reaching to hold her.
Marcie leaned back against the plush pil
lows and let Harry hold her. Together they lay looking up at the ceiling, pale now in the graying light of dawn.
“Oh, I don't know what it was about,” she sighed. “I couldn't say exactly now. It was vague. Just a feeling of terror. Like I was caged, chased...as if there was no escape. It's silly. Probably too much of that good Camembert after dinner,” she said, chuckling hollowly.
“I don't think your dreams are silly,” Harry said gently. He leaned over and kissed her shoulder comfortingly.
Marcie felt the terror slowly recede in his warm, easygoing presence. She turned to look into his weathered, handsome face.
“Thank you, dear,” she said gently.
They lay silently a while, both slowly returning to peace as the first birds sang outside. Marcie could hear the blackbird that always sang in the conifer outside the bedroom, and the liquid notes soothed her. She felt her racing heartbeat slow.
“Can you sleep some more?” Harry whispered. “It's only five a.m.”
“I think so,” Marcie said softly in response. “I have a long day ahead today. I should try and sleep.”
“Good,” he agreed. He wrapped an arm around her and together they drifted off to rest again.
The next morning was surprisingly sunny, a respite from the spring rains. Marcie stretched languidly and slid out of bed to take a bath. Harry, who was already getting dressed, smiled at her.
“Bad dreams?”
“No, dear. They went off. Must have been the Camembert, like I thought.”
He chuckled. “I doubt it. Besides, Stilton will really give you whopping nightmares...at least, it always works for me.”
Marcie giggled. Dear Harry! She did not know what she would do without him sometimes. His steady nature complemented her more thoughtful one perfectly. She was so glad they had met. She recalled the meeting – it had been at a garden party at Lady Statham's home. She had worn a lavender lace dress with cap-sleeves, and he had worn a tweed suit. It had been love at first sight. The feeling had only grown over forty years of marriage, and now she could not imagine life without him.
“Dear Harry,” she sighed as she slid under lavender-scented bathwater and felt the tension of the night recede.
“Why was I so worried last night?”
Marcie asked it of her reflection as she completed her outfit for the day with Yardley Antique Pink lipstick and headed downstairs. Outside it had just started to rain. She squinted up at the clouds and ran quickly to her car, a classic Mercedes E class. She put her foot on the gas pedal of the aging Mercedes and sped across the rain-washed street to Stowe Village.
Not bad, she thought to herself, smiling as she slipped past Benjamin Brownley and his tractor, plying their way up the middle of the main street. At sixty-five, Marcie prided herself on the lightning-fast reflexes she’d had when she won the British Jumping Derby, back in 1968. She chuckled to herself. Where have all those years gone?
Thinking of her younger years reminded her of her worry of that night. She sighed, a frown delicately creasing her high brow. I remember what worried me now. No wonder I was having bad dreams last night. It was because of when I saw Janet.
She put it out of her mind and decided to discuss it with Sheryl when she arrived. She always attended weekly meetings of the village sewing club – an ideal chance to socialize and stay in touch with the goings-on of village life.
Marcie heard her name called out from the terrace of the historic stone cottage as she parked outside. She alighted graciously, waving to the woman on the terrace who had called to her. A tall, slim lady, Marcie spent one day a week working out at the gym in Norwich, and her body was lean and fit. She smoothed her hands down her charcoal blazer and pencil skirt and alighted from the car.
“Marcie,” the voice repeated again. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Marcie replied in her impeccable accent.
Her greeter was Sheryl, who was already on the terrace, waving at her. “We're almost all here,” Sheryl said happily as she walked down the stairs to greet Marcie, huddled under a pink, spotty umbrella. “Just waiting for you to arrive before we can get started...”
“Oh good,” Marcie said, though she did not sound wholly enthused. The ladies were mostly inveterate gossips, if she was honest. Which was why Marcie had joined. Her keen mind took interest in everything that happened in Stowe. Since she had retired from charitable work last year, she needed something to keep her thoughts busy. Moreover, since she and Harry, her husband, had never had any children, grandchildren could not be their next project.
Now shivering a little in the cold late-morning air, she was pleased that she always kept an umbrella under the seat of her car, just in case it was raining. She put it up and headed across the street with Sheryl.
“As I said, the gang's all here...” Sheryl continued. “Audrey is there, and Tracy and Debs – you're late, for once.”
Marcie gave her a wry grin. “I know...I was a little worried this morning.”
“Oh, Marcie. I'm sorry to hear that. You can tell me all about it.” Together they walked up the steps into Sheryl's warm front-room.
Marcie winced as she climbed the steps and paused in the doorway, feeling a pain in her ankle. She looked around Sheryl's elegant, pale wallpapered sitting room at the gathered group.
The other ladies of the sewing club looked up as she entered. They ranged in age from their early forties to their early eighties, and they had all known Marcie for more than thirty years. Though they had all treated her awkwardly at first, they had now long-since forgotten she was in fact Lady Winston-Browne, a member of the peerage, and treated her with friendly acceptance.
“Good morning,” Marcie said and smiled. She had a sweet smile and a long oval face – an elegant nose, pointed chin, and a high, intelligent brow. She always wore her hair in an up-do that suited her graceful appearance.
“Marcie!” Tracy, the youngest of the ladies, replied warmly. “Good that you could come! I made blueberry cake – I know it's a favorite around here...”
The ladies all grinned. The room smelled of blueberries now that Marcie thought about it, mixed with several floral perfumes and the sweet lavender scent of Sheryl's laundry spray. The group settled down into lighthearted discussion once again.
“Did you get the blueberries from Fleets?” one of the women asked.
Fleets, Marcie thought, biting her lip. The name reminded her of the unpleasant thought that had been plaguing her since yesterday. She turned to Sheryl, taking a seat beside her at the front of the group.
“Sheryl, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Mm?” Sheryl asked, biting off a thread. “Ask away, Marcie dear.”
“Do you have any contact with the Fleets?”
The Fleet family owned the grocery shop, currently run by Richard Fleet, a man in his mid-forties and a difficult character. Janet Fleet was his wife.
Sheryl frowned. “I saw Richard last week at the shop. I don't know if that counts. Why?”
“Well, I saw Janet Fleet yesterday. She was walking down the street, wheeling a suitcase behind her. She looked in an awful hurry.” Marcie frowned.
Sheryl covered her mouth with her hand. “You mean..?”
“I mean, I think she might have left home and finally walked out on Richard. Has she?”
Sheryl looked uncomfortable. “I don't know.” She turned to the other ladies of the group, all of whom had stopped their work to listen to the conversation. Marcie would have laughed at their studious eavesdropping if she had not been so distracted by her own worries. It was not so much that she disapproved of someone leaving their marriage, but Janet had a small child who would now be without a mother to speak of.
“Ladies?” Sheryl asked hesitantly, opening the discussion. “Does anyone know anything about Richard Fleet?”
“I do,” Audrey, said. “I live just along from them. I can tell you, Richard was a mess last night. A complete wreck. Sobbing in the street...he should be ashamed of himself,” she
said stiffly. “Thought he was the worse for drink, personally.”
“He was?” Marcie was horrified. “You mean..?” There was only one reason for Richard to be drinking – everyone knew he was abstemious – and that was if he was drowning his sorrows.
“If Janet left him, that would explain it, wouldn't it?” Sheryl interjected.
Five faces stared at her. None of them had seen Janet leave, clearly – it was news to them.
“It would,” Audrey agreed, nodding seriously. “That it would.”
“You don't know why he was crying?” Marcie asked insistently.
“No idea,” Audrey confirmed. “Only I walked past there about an hour later, and I saw Tamsyn and she had been crying too.”