Tea and Broken Biscuits

by Daphne Neville

  Debbie sighed. “Very odd. Goodness knows what the police must make of it.”

  Hetty glanced across the bar to where Paul from Saltwater House sat talking to her next door neighbour, Alex. “It’s just a thought,” she whispered, “but I wonder if Paul is involved at all. I mean, no-one seems to know much about him and his name is on our list albeit a late addition and what’s more we know he likes sweetly scented musk because his bathroom reeks of it.”

  “Funny you should say that,” Debbie lowered her voice, “because it had crossed my mind that it might have been him that swapped my Gideon’s tonic and gin for gin and tonic seeing as how he spent a lot of his time tinkering with the bottles and so forth.”

  “But why would he have done that?” Lottie asked.

  “I can only assume to try and stop Gideon telling the police he’d recognised the mystery scent,” said Debbie.

  Hetty gasped. “Which means he would be the one who your Gideon disturbed in the church.”

  “So are you implying that Paul was trying to pinch the silver chalice?” laughed Lottie, “because if you are that’s silly. I mean, look at him. I get the impression he’s quite prosperous enough without needing to nick a bit of silver to turn it into cash.”

  Debbie laughed. “Yes, that is silly because in retrospect he wasn’t even in Cornwall when Gideon was attacked.”

  “He wasn’t in Pentrillick but he might have been staying elsewhere in the county,” persisted Hetty, “I recall saying that once before.”

  Debbie sighed. “I think we need to forget this line of thought and return to Hazel and Andrew Banks because at least we know Andrew’s dodgy.”

  “Allegedly,” Lottie added.

  “Yes, allegedly,” agreed Debbie.

  Hetty frowned. “There is someone else we’ve forgotten and that’s Brett. Remember Lottie, we saw him with a pretty brunette standing in the Mall watching the end of the London Marathon so there might be more to him than meets the eye.”

  Lottie laughed. “Two timing Alina doesn’t make him a would-be robber or an assassin, Het.”

  “I agree,” said Debbie, “so let’s get back to Andrew because we’ve more to go on with him. Having said that I suppose because he’s not been charged with the attempted murder of Hazel the police must already have ruled him out even if we haven’t.”

  “Well, they might not have ruled him out completely. They might be just biding their time until they can nail him,” Lottie suggested.

  “So what do we do now?” Debbie asked.

  “Goodness knows,” admitted Hetty, “but we can’t give up having got this close.”

  Lottie choked on her wine. “What do you mean by this close, Het? We’re no nearer knowing who any of the bad blokes are today than we were when the offences took place.”

  “My money’s still on Andrew Banks,” stated Hetty, ignoring her sister, “We just need to catch him out. Catch him red-handed.”

  “Red-handed,” chuckled Lottie, “Doing what?”

  Hetty scowled as she tried to think of a logical reply.

  Debbie licked her finger and then slowly ran it around the rim of her wine glass and caused it to squeak. “It’s just a thought but next Tuesday instead of going to bingo why don’t we follow Andrew and Marlene and see where they go? We could wait in the pub car park for them to drive by and then follow.”

  Hetty’s jaw gaped open. “Of course. Why didn’t we think of that before? That’s a brilliant idea.”

  “We’d have to use your car though,” insisted Debbie, “because Marlene would recognise mine.”

  “No problem,” confirmed Hetty.

  Lottie scowled. “But what will it achieve?”

  “They might go to a pub or something like that,” declared Debbie, “in which case we can follow them in, sit nearby and eavesdrop.”

  “We’ll need to be in disguise,” blurted Hetty, excitedly, “Andrew Banks wouldn’t recognise us but Marlene would.”

  “You two are bonkers,” laughed Lottie, as she drained her glass, “Anyway, there isn’t any bingo next week it’s been cancelled. Remember, Tuesday night will be the final practice for the play in the village hall before the dress rehearsal on Wednesday so Marlene will definitely be at that and not gadding off out with Andrew Banks. After all she is the leading lady.”

  “Damn,” spluttered Hetty, “Oh well, we’ll leave it until the week after then.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  The weather forecast for the late May Bank Holiday and half term week was warm, dry and sunny and the good weather looked set to continue well into June. Inside Primrose Cottage on Saturday morning, Lottie was busy in the kitchen making cakes for the arrival of her grandchildren the following day and outside Hetty was in the greenhouse staking the tomato and chilli plants. As she worked she thought, her thoughts dominated by the unsolved crimes in the village. After their chores were finished the sisters went out into the back garden and sat by the pond with mugs of coffee.

  “I know it’s daft,” confessed Hetty, as she sat fanning herself with the latest batch of junk mail she had just picked up off the doormat, “but the only connection for all the crimes I can come up with is broken biscuits.”

  “What! That’s ridiculous. I suppose you’re basing your claim on the silly things Lucy Lacey said.”

  “They weren’t silly. Many of them came true but I’m thinking more along the lines of broken biscuits being present in one way or another with all of the incidents.”

  “You can’t be serious. Besides broken biscuits weren’t present in all cases. In fact only Gideon had them as I recall.”

  Hetty shook her head. “No, you’re wrong, Lottie. I’ve just been thinking it through. In the case of Hazel she’d just made biscuits and knocked them onto the floor as she fled from the kitchen which would have caused them to break. As regards Gideon getting drunk, I reckon that was deliberate and done by someone, possibly Paul, who wanted to take Gideon’s mind off recognising the smell of musk. Remember Nicki said his drink was really strong so without doubt someone must have topped up his glass when he wasn’t looking and so that he was drinking near neat gin without realising it.”

  “Hang on a minute. We talked about this the other day but I’m baffled as to where broken biscuits come into it.”

  “Vicar Sam brought a box of biscuits with him and gave them to Maisie and Daisy to enjoy in the charity shop. Surely you remember that? He said he’d been meaning to drop it into the shop for some time but kept forgetting. It was the last box.”

  Lottie struggled to keep a straight face. “Yes, I remember and I suppose you want to blame those biscuits for Maisie’s assault as well?”

  “Well yes, because Maisie went to the shop to buy milk for their tea to have with the broken biscuits and Daisy said the box of biscuits was on the floor when they found Maisie.”

  “Along with a box of teabags.”

  “That’s right. I’m glad you pay attention to these minor details because they’re often the clues that get overlooked.”

  “I think you’ve been in the sun too long, Het. You’re losing your ability to think straight.”

  “Well, can you come up with anything better?”

  “No.”

  “Oh Lottie, I’m just trying to make sense of all this.”

  “I know you are, Het, and it’s a good effort but it’s daft, bonkers, crackers, and even if there is a shred of truth in it, it doesn’t in any way point us towards the person or persons responsible for committing any of these crimes, does it?”

  “No.” Hetty looked downcast.

  “Cheer up. It’ll no doubt get solved one day and then we’ll say we can’t believe that we never thought of whoever it is.”

  When leaving the church on Sunday morning, Lottie noticed that the hem of Vicar Sam’s surplice was held up with a safety pin.

  “Oh, Sam, would you like me to mend that for you?” she asked, “It won’t take many minutes.”

  The vicar looked at the h
em. “Oh dear, does it show? I pinned it up as a temporary measure thinking Mum could mend it when she gets here later this week. I can do most chores around the house, you see, but sewing isn’t one of them. It’s too fiddly.”

  “Well, I love sewing so I’m more than happy to do it.”

  “That might be best then because with the play and decorating the church both taking place this week I might well forget to ask Mum anyway.”

  “Of course. So shall I call round at the Vicarage to pick it up?”

  “No, because I won’t be taking it home with me it’ll be here in the church.”

  “On the pegs with the choir’s cassocks and so forth?”

  “No, there’s a cupboard in the vestry that I use as a wardrobe. It’ll be in that.”

  “Oh, that’s easy then,” said Lottie, “and I can pick it up tomorrow when Hetty and I come down to the church to unlock to let the chap with the scaffold tower in.”

  “Excellent idea. I’d forgotten you were doing that. You know where the church keys are kept I assume.”

  Lottie laughed. “Yes, you have one and the spare is hidden inside the large urn on the grave of Henry Lobb who died in 1707 and is buried near to the old yew tree.”

  “And there’s a slate on top of the urn to keep the rain out,” Hetty added.

  “That’s right. We chose Henry to be our key keeper because there is no fear of a family member turning up to put flowers on his grave now. I understand the Lobbs left the village two hundred years ago.”

  In the afternoon, Hetty and Lottie drove to Penzance to meet Zac and the twins at the railway station. The train was on time and the children were all in high spirits.

  “Good journey?” asked Lottie as they walked along the platform.

  “Yes, although it wasn’t straightforward like last summer because apparently they do electrification work at the weekends ready for the new trains so the journey took longer than usual but we knew it was going to anyway. I was reading all about it online, you see. You’re going to have new super-duper Hitachi trains soon and they’ll be green. I’ve seen pictures and they look terrific.” Zac looked for a picture on his phone.

  “Really, but I like the old purple ones,” said Hetty, looking back along the length of the train, “I like their style too although it’s been around for a while. Must be forty years or more.”

  “Do trains come in styles?” Lottie teased, as they reached the end of the platform.

  “Don’t be awkward, Lottie. You know what I mean.”

  “Purple?” Zac queried, looking up from his phone, “The train looks blue to me.”

  “And me,” Lottie agreed.

  “No, it’s definitely purple,” insisted Hetty.

  “I hope you’ve all remembered the books you’ll need for revision,” gushed Lottie, eager to change the subject.

  Kate laughed. “As if Mum would let us forget. She must have checked we had them a hundred times.”

  “And then Dad checked too,” Vicki added.

  “Good, so you’re ready to put in lots of hard work.”

  “We don’t have much choice,” sighed Kate, “Mum and Dad have both agreed that if we don’t do well in our exams it’ll be because we’ve idled away this week.”

  “So you have to get good grades to prove you can be trusted,” laughed Hetty, “There are no flies on your parents.”

  In the village hall on Sunday afternoon, Ian the electrician with the help of Sid finished putting up lights for the production of Murder at Mulberry Hall.

  “You’ve got a busy week ahead what with painting the church and working the lights,” commented Sid, as he moved around on different parts of the stage to make sure the lights shone in the right places.

  “I’m actually looking forward to it. It’ll make a nice change. You’re going to be pretty busy yourself if you’re on stage each night after a day’s work.”

  “No, I won’t be doing that because I’ve taken the week off,” said Sid, “that’s the beauty of being self-employed. Mind you I won’t get paid for it as you well know.”

  “Yes, that’s the downside. Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I like to be me own boss.”

  “Same here.”

  “That’s great, Sid, thanks.” Ian switched off the light’s control panel. “So what’s it like playing the part of a detective inspector?”

  “I rather like it,” confessed Sid, as he jumped down from the stage, “Makes me feel a bit important, if you see what I mean and I’ve got some great lines.”

  “So do you actually solve the crime or are you an incompetent nincompoop?”

  Sid laughed. “Bit of both. I’m not the brightest pebble on the beach but I get there in the end.”

  “Sounds like they could do with your character to sort out the goings on round here then. I can’t believe no-one’s been arrested for any of the crimes, or even taken in for questioning as far as I know.”

  “Well, I think the coppers play it all pretty close to their chests and since no-one’s been killed they haven’t got the media putting pressure on them by saying there’s a murderer at large.”

  “Hmm, that’s as maybe but I don’t think the person who took a pot shot at Hazel Mitchell intended her to live.”

  “No I suppose not but she did survive so it hasn’t made the headlines.”

  “What about the incident in the charity shop? Have you heard any more about that?”

  Sid, feeling warm, rolled up his shirt sleeves. “I don’t know any more than what’s doing the rounds but I did have a brief chat with Maisie at the last rehearsal and it looks like she’s made a full recovery because she said she feels ninety nine percent fit now.”

  “Pleased to hear that,” said Ian, “So is she in the play then?”

  “No, she’s doing costumes with Lottie Burton.”

  “I see, so can she remember anything useful about the bizarre attack on her?”

  Sid shook his head. “Sadly not, so there’s even less to go on than there is with Gideon.”

  “And Hazel too.”

  “I’ve heard Tristan’s going to get CCTV all over the grounds of Pentrillick House now and in every room too, whether they’re used or not,” stated Sid.

  “Sadly though it’s closing the door after the horse has bolted.”

  Sid grinned. “Yes, but there’s always the possibility of another crime so Tristan’s not taking any risks.”

  Ian looked at his watch. “I’ve heard rumours that they suspect an old boyfriend of Hazel’s being involved somehow or other.”

  Sid was astounded. “Old boyfriend. How old? She’s only been widowed a couple of years. Surely they’re not looking back to before she was married.”

  “No, no, it’s someone she’s been knocking around with since she lost her husband. Probably nothing in it though. You know how folks make things up if they don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Hmm, fake news. Seems to be rife at the moment in all walks of life.”

  Ian picked up his tool box. “Fancy a pint?”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “Come on then, we’re done here. I’ll pop this back in the van then we’ll walk down to the pub.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  On Bank Holiday Monday morning, Zac and the twins sat in the sitting room of Primrose Cottage quietly revising. They didn’t object for the weather was glorious and they were all eager to get the studies over and done with so they could go outside. While they studied, their grandmother and great aunt made a picnic lunch for them to take to the beach.

  In the afternoon, Hetty and Lottie walked down to the church and retrieved the key from its custodian, Henry Lobb, and shortly after they had unlocked the church the scaffold tower was delivered by Ian the electrician’s friend. The plan was that Ian and Sid would then erect the tower in the evening ready for Ian to start painting on Wednesday morning.

  While the equipment was laid out on the church aisle, Lottie who had a needle, white cotton and
scissors in her handbag, sat on the old wooden chest in the vestry and mended the vicar’s surplice rather than take it home. It didn’t take long for the scaffold to be dropped off and by the time it was done, Lottie had finished her mending.

  After Hetty had said goodbye to and thanked Ian’s friend she returned to the vestry where Lottie was slipping Vicar Sam’s surplice onto a coat hanger. As she closed the cupboard door they heard the church door open and footsteps as someone walked up the main aisle of the church. Quietly, Lottie returned the needle, scissors and cotton to her handbag. Hetty raised her fingers to her lips. “Shush, let’s nip out there,” she whispered, “then if it’s someone up to no good we can catch them red-handed.”

  Lottie nodded and placed her handbag on top of the old chest. Both women then dashed out determined to apprehend whoever it was. To their annoyance the person in question fled down the aisle and out of the door but not before they’d had a chance to glimpse a tall, slim figure with long blonde hair.

  “Alina,” gasped Hetty, as the church door slammed shut, “that was Alina.”

  “Yes, it was but whatever was she doing in here?”

  Hetty folded her arms. “Up to no good do you think?”

  “Well, I can’t see why and I daresay if we asked her she’d have a perfectly good reason.”

  “Yes, but if that’s the case why did she run away?”

  “I’ve no idea but if she’s at tonight’s practice we must ask her.”

  “There isn’t a practice tonight, Lottie. Remember Robert said we could all have the night off since it’s Bank Holiday.”

  “Okay, we’ll ask her tomorrow then.”

  “I’m not waiting that long,” hissed Hetty, taking her mobile phone from the pocket of her tunic, “I’m going to report it to the police right now. It’s the proper thing to do because I know they’re desperate for any information and keep telling us to report anything which might help with their enquiries no matter how small.”