Murder and Mittens
A Nanowrimo Novel
By
Anne Wrightwell
© Anne Wrightwell 2015
Chapter 1 – Going to Framlingham Hall
The phone rang as Jen was checking her handbag in the hallway, reading glasses, spectacle case, purse, AA card, mobile, tissues, pen, she didn’t want to leave anything vital behind. And she knew that Etta would ask her if she had checked. She went over to the little table that the phone lived on and answered it.
‘Hello?’
It was Matt. ‘Hi Jen, all packed and ready to go?’ His voice was thick with cold. Jen instantly felt guilty, he should have been coming on this trip with her but had come down with a heavy cold the day before.
‘Yes, I’m all packed. We’re about to leave in a minute.’
Then I won’t keep you. I just wanted to wish you a safe journey and a great weekend.’
Matt was so nice, thinking of her when he wasn’t well and not begrudging her the trip.
‘Thank you, Matt.' I wish you were coming too. It’s such bad luck.’
‘Can’t be helped. Just enjoy yourself.’
‘Will you be ok?’
‘It’s only a cold, woman. I plan to have a lazy weekend, just watch TV or read a book and sneeze and blow my nose a lot.’
‘Shall I pop round to see you now?’ she asked, despite knowing that she and Etta had agreed to make an early start. It would only take a few moments, she told herself, and after all, he was only next-door.
‘Don’t be daft, woman. The last thing you want is to get a cold and ruin your weekend. And don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.’
‘Ok then. Look after yourself. I’ll call round to see you when we get back.’
‘Ok, love, see you soon.’
‘See you.’
Jen put the phone down.
‘Who was that?’ called her daughter, Etta from upstairs.
‘Just Matt.’
Etta came down the stairs, lugging a large blue suitcase.
‘We’re only going for the weekend!’ Jen protested.
‘I like to be prepared for any type of weather,’ Etta said. ‘You never know in Britain.’
Jen glanced affectionately at her slim, dark haired daughter. Etta’s colouring was completing different from her own fair hair and blue eyes. Etta was a worrier.
‘Are you ready to go?’ she asked her.
‘Yep, I’m ready.’
‘I’m just going to get a bag of sweets and a bottle of water for the car. Then we can load up.’
Before long, they had packed up the car. Jen was driving her orange Honda Jazz. They had decided to take her car rather than Etta’s green Ford Ka. Jen’s car was newer and had a little more room. They were insured to drive both cars so Etta could share the driving.
‘Right, lets get this party started,’ Etta said.
Jen smiled. ‘Off we jolly well go,’ she said in her best imitation of a posh accent
‘Oh Mum.' We don’t have to talk like that all weekend, do we?’
‘No, I was just being silly,’ Jen hastened to reassure her.
Etta was a last minute replacement for Matt and Jen wanted her to enjoy the weekend as much as possible.
Jen started the car and they drove off.
‘You have put the mortice lock on, haven’t you, Mum?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you made sure the gas is switched off?’
‘We didn’t use the stove this morning, remember? We had toast and tea for breakfast, so we only used the kettle and toaster,’ Jen reminded her. ‘Don’t worry, Etta, I checked everything before we left.’ And I could have sworn that you checked everything after me, she said silently to herself.
Jen had hoped for good weather today but the sky was an ominous grey blanket, promising rain. She sighed. She had hoped that this would be a romantic weekend getaway with Matt. She had bought a bottle of pink champagne and Belgian chocolates for them to celebrate. Then she squared her shoulders. She had been looking forward to this weekend for a long time and it would still be fun. She had packed the champagne and chocolates, she and Etta could still enjoy them. It was good of Etta to agree to come along at such short notice.
‘Have you had a look at the brochure?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Have a look,’ Jen urged. ‘Framlingham Hall is beautiful and it has lots of facilities. It’s got a spa, and a swimming pool and a Jacuzzi. I was thinking that if you don’t fancy any of the seminars, you could go for a swim or a facial. I know the Golden Age of Crime isn’t really your thing.’
Etta laughed. ‘It’s all right, Mum. I don’t mind coming to some of the seminars. After all, I’ve been raised on crime writers. Some parents read Harry Potter or the Narnia stories to their kids. My bedtime stories were Agatha Christies or Dorothy Sayers or Winnifred Warlock.’
‘No, they weren’t,’ protested Jen.
‘All right, slight exaggeration. But you must have every Winnifred Warlock ever written. I reckon you could have gone on Mastermind,’ Etta adopted a slightly pompous tone, ‘Jennifer Ashcroft, what is your specialist subject?’ Etta changed to a falsetto. ‘My chosen specialist subject is Winnifred Warlock, her life and works.’
‘She is my favourite,’ admitted Jen. ‘And her life was interesting especially the end. She just disappeared, so what happened to her? Much more fascinating than Agatha Christie and her paltry two week disappearance.’
‘Yes, I know, Mum. You must have told me like a thousand times before.’
‘Sorry,’ Jen said.
Etta might have been raised on Golden Age crime fiction but she preferred Nordic Noir now.
Jen changed the subject. ‘Have you heard from Luke today?’
‘Yes, he sent me a text earlier.’
Luke was Etta’s steady boyfriend. They had been going out now for nearly three years. Jen liked Luke; she thought he was good for Etta. Her daughter could be so unself-confident sometimes and scared to try new things but Luke encouraged her to be brave.
They were past the outskirts of Reading now and making good progress. Jen was glad that she had insisted on driving. Etta was a good driver but cautious and that made her always prefer to be in the slow lane.
‘How long will it take us to get to Framlingham Hall?’ Etta asked.
‘A few hours. I was thinking we could stop somewhere for a pub lunch. They don’t provide lunch on the first day. I’d like to get there in time for the first seminar though. It’s on the Grand Dames of the Golden Age of Crime. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.’
“I’ll see how I feel,’ Etta said.
She leant forward and fiddled with the car radio, finally settling on Radio One. Not Jen’s preference but she let it go.
‘Don’t have it up too loud,’ Jen warned. ‘I need to be able to hear the sat nav.’
‘Yes, I know, Mum,’ Etta said irritably. ‘I do use a sat nav as well, you know.’
‘Sorry,’ Jen said.
They drove in silence for some time.
It rained on and off for the next two and half-hours. Jen was disappointed that the weather hadn’t brightened up. Framlingham Hall was supposed to have beautiful gardens and she had been looking forward to exploring them.
‘Shall we start looking for somewhere to stop for lunch?’ she suggested.
‘Ok,’ agreed Etta.
Some miles on, Etta spotted a large pub, The Golden Goose with an equally large car park. Jen pulled in and they got out.
They had a quick lunch, Jen had a ploughman’s and Etta had a chicken wrap. The food was very good. Jen was tempted to have a glass of wine but better not, not until they reached the hall. As they exited the pub and went to the car, it b
egan to rain, lightly at first and then more and more heavily. They both ran for the car and Jen unlocked it quickly so they could jump in.
‘I’ve already had my shower today,’ Jen quipped. ‘I don’t need another one.’
‘Hope it doesn’t rain all weekend,’ Etta said.
‘Well, even if it does, we’ll be in seminars or in jacuzzis,’ Jen said, determined to be as upbeat as possible.
The rain got steadily worse. Jen put the windscreen wipers on their highest setting. The rain lashed against the windscreen and the car in front sent up a shower of spray that the windscreen wipers worked frantically to dislodge. Jen slowed down a little.
She was thankful when they left the motorway and moved onto an A road. The sky was getting darker and darker. She put the car’s headlights on. She thought that there would be a thunderstorm before too long. She was proved right when there was a loud crack of thunder and then a dazzling bright white shot of light across the dark grey sky.
Jen jumped a little, the rain was falling so fast now and it was so dark, it was hard to see even a foot in front of her.
‘Mum, slow down,’ Etta said, a tremor in her voice.
‘I have slowed down.’
‘Slow down more,’ Etta instructed her.
Jen glanced at her to tell her that she knew how to drive in the rain and in that split second, a black car came out of a side road without looking, and crashed straight into the driver’s side of the car. Jen saw the horrified face of the other driver, a middle-aged man wearing a navy baseball cap with the logo, Boston Red Sox emblazoned across it in white letters. The car skidded on the wet, slippery road and pushed by the other car, careered across the road, through a wooden fence, Jen heard the sound of the wood splintering and then to her horror, the car skidded towards a large, wide, very solid looking oak tree. She wrenched the steering wheel desperately trying to avoid it.
Etta was screaming. All Jen could think of was the horrible irony, this was how Mark had died, seven years ago, in a car crash during a thunder storm. She couldn’t believe that history was repeating itself. She wanted to apologise to Etta but there was no time.
The tree loomed up and they hit it with a horrible crunch as the front of the car crumpled. Jen and Etta were jerked forward. To Jen’s joy, the airbags inflated but there was something wrong with them, they did not puff up the way she had always seen airbags do before. They were like a loaf of bread not properly raised. Jen’s forehead hit the steering wheel. The pain was blinding. She felt a shower of broken glass fall on her. Then she blacked out.
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