Charlotte Denver Cozy Mystery Box Set

by Sherri Bryan

Detective Chief Inspector Nathan Costello stretched out on the bed in his hotel room.

  The first day of the training course had been intense and he’d made his excuses to leave the other participants at the bar after one drink. He didn’t just want to get away so he could have an early night. He had an important call to make.

  He took a piece of paper from his wallet and dialled the number written on it. The line was busy. He tried twice more. Still busy.

  He lay back against the pillow. He’d been waiting for weeks to make this call.

  He dialled the number again and the phone rang in his ear. Jumping up from the bed, he began to pace the room.

  A woman answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello. Could I speak to Ian Bonneville please?”

  The woman laughed. “Doubtful. We’re divorced.”

  Nathan’s heart sank. So near, yet so far.

  “Ah, I see. I don’t suppose you have a number for him, do you? Or, if you’re in contact with him, perhaps you could let him know that I’m trying to get in touch? It’s very important that I speak to him.”

  “What’s this about?” The woman was suddenly curious.

  “It’s a personal matter.” Nathan wasn’t about to divulge the reason for his call to a complete stranger.

  “Oh, I see. Well, we rarely speak so it’s unlikely that I’ll be in touch with him any time soon. He’s coming to pick my kids up over the Christmas holidays though, so I can give him a message then, if you like?”

  Nathan cursed under his breath. “No, that’ll be too late. I was hoping to get in touch with him much sooner than that. Is there definitely no way you’d be able to get a message to him before then? It really is important.”

  The woman paused. “Oh, okay. But only because you’ve caught me at a disadvantage. I haven’t done my good deed for the day yet, so you’re in luck.” She laughed again. “Hang on, let me just get a pen ... right, I’m back. What’s your name and number?”

  “My number is 07777 500005 and my name is Nathan Costello. Ian won’t know me but if you could tell him that I’m contacting him regarding a personal matter, I’d be obliged.”

  “Costello? I used to know some Costellos.”

  “Really?” Nathan was only half-interested. “Probably long-lost relatives of mine - there’s a lot of us about, especially in Ireland.”

  “No, these Costellos were in England. Hang on, it’ll come to me in a minute ... that’s it! George and Hattie. They were a lovely couple.”

  “What? They’re my parents. What’s your name?”

  “Lola Bonneville ... sorry, Whitworth. I’ve gone back to using my maiden name but I’m not quite used to it yet. Anyway, that’s the name your parents will remember me by. If they remember me at all, that is.”

  Nathan’s sat down heavily on the bed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. If this was a joke, it was in very bad taste.

  “Lola Whitworth. You’re Lola Whitworth?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Lola, this is going to sound strange but if you’ve got some time to spare, I’d very much like to meet with you. I’m the Detective Chief Inspector at St. Eves. I’ll give you my number at the station so you can verify that I am who I say I am and if you’ll meet with me, you can name the place and the time and bring someone with you if that’ll makes you feel more comfortable.

  “In the meantime, I don’t want to discuss anything in detail over the phone but I’m absolutely certain you’ll be very interested in hearing what I have to say. I’m certainly interested in hearing what you have to say, that’s for sure. So, will you meet with me?”

  The woman paused. “Well you’ve reeled me in now and if you won’t tell me anything more over the phone, then I suppose I’ll have to. Give me your phone number at the station, let me think about it overnight and I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know what I’ve decided.”

  “Actually, I won’t be back in the office until Monday - I’m away on a training course at the moment. But you can still call the number before then if you want - just so you know I really am a police officer.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that.” The woman sounded less suspicious, but guarded. “Maybe I’ll speak to you again, Nathan Costello.”

  “I hope so.” Nathan crossed his fingers. “I really hope so.”

  Chapter 1

  The snow fell silently upon St. Eves, fat crystals already covering the lone bicycle track that came to a stop outside Charlotte’s Plaice, the café bar at the end of the marina.

  An early cold snap was affecting the region - snow in October was almost unheard of.

  Charlotte Denver sat alone in the enclosed awning, her hands cupped around a mug of steaming, fragrant tea to ward off the chill of the dark October morning. It had taken just fifteen minutes for the snow to form a two-inch cushion on the saddle of her bike and she shivered involuntarily as she took a sip of her tea, the honey-sweetened amber brew warming her all the way down to her toes.

  It was almost half-past six and apart from herself, her West Highland Terrier, Pippin and Adam and Yolanda, the owners of the Mini-Mart, a couple of doors down, the marina was deserted.

  Not accustomed to sleeping alone, she’d woken early and cursed under her breath when she’d squinted through the darkness at her alarm clock to see that it was only ten-past four. She’d tossed and turned for half an hour, praying that Monday would come around quickly. Nathan would be back from his training course then and maybe she’d be able to get back to sleeping through the night again.

  Over the past two years, she’d become used to having his warm body next to hers when she woke and his absence from the bed interfered with her sleep pattern like the loss of a stolen comfort blanket.

  Rousing Charlotte from her daydream, Pippin gave a single bark and ran to the door where he sat down and barked again.

  Charlotte grinned at the little dog. He hated the snow and had ridden in the basket of her bike that morning. As the snow on the ground was almost as deep as he was tall, she’d put a couple of fleecy blankets in the basket and settled him into them before setting off on the short journey to the café

  “You need to pee? Okay, hang on.” She put her scarf and hat back on and lifted Pippin into her arms. “Come on, we’ll go around the back. The snow won’t be so deep there.”

  Sheltered from the biting wind, with a roof overhang that provided partial shelter from the snow, the back of the café was a white-painted brick wall that faced the car park and which contained a small, frosted glass window that belonged to the kitchen.

  There was no reason for anyone to have been there, so Charlotte was surprised to see three trails of footprints leading to the window, and then away again. She looked around suddenly wary that she might not be alone, but there was nobody else to be seen.

  She crouched down and took a closer look at the prints. Based on the amount of snow that had fallen over the trails that led away from the sheltered spot, she guessed they’d been made a few hours ago. Why on earth would someone be hanging around outside the kitchen window in the middle of the night?

  Two sets of prints were nondescript, with no characteristics to distinguish them from hundreds of other prints Charlotte had seen in the snow without giving a second glance. The third set of prints, though, were distinctive, showing a deep tread around the edge of the soles in the centre of which was a clear outline of a cheetah, running at full speed.

  She picked Pippin up and carried him back to the café. When she allowed it to, her imagination ran riot, but she tried to keep a rational head as she considered the reasons for the footprints. It was probably someone sheltering from the snow, she thought, sensibly.

  Whatever the reason, she didn’t have time to ponder it now. She sighed and gazed across to the large crates in the corner of the awning, filled with pumpkins.

  St. Eves was holding its annual Halloween fair the following evening and as well as cooking a huge paella and a vast pan of pumpkin soup to sell from the st
all that she and her good friend, Jess Beddington, would be running, she’d also volunteered to carve twenty jack-o’-lanterns.

  I knew I shouldn’t have left these so late. If I start now, I wonder if I’ll be done by half-past eight?

  She drained the last of her tea before fetching all the equipment she needed from the kitchen, along with an article she’d torn from a magazine which promised to guide her in ‘The Art of Creative Pumpkin Sculpture.’

  Covering the table with newspaper, she heaved the first terracotta squash out of a crate and set it down in front of her. As she ran her hands over its smooth curves and cool ridges she realised that, having never made a jack-o’-lantern in her life, it was a little late to be wishing she’d practiced her pumpkin carving skills before now. She scratched her head. Why on earth did I volunteer for this?

  She scanned the article before quickly putting it to one side.

  Slicing off the bottom of the pumpkin, she scooped out the flesh with some difficulty. She’d read that the traditional way to tackle it was to slice off the top, but by slicing the bottom, she learned that it gave the pumpkin a flat surface on which to stand. The article hasn’t been completely useless, then.

  She didn’t have much time - certainly not enough to create the intricate and suitably menacing-looking works of art depicted in the magazine article. Instead, with her pen poised, she decided to give her lanterns simple, smiley faces. They’ll be easy enough to design and quick to carve, she thought as she sketched eyes, a nose and an upturned mouth on her first lantern.

  Following her free-style pattern, she was soon carving through the pumpkin’s smooth skin giving it expressive features and a wide, toothy grin.

  It didn’t take long to get a good rhythm going and before she knew it, her large plastic food tub contained a decent amount of burnished orange pumpkin flesh and the bottom of her rubbish bag was covered with off-cuts. Leaning back to admire her handiwork, she realised that she didn’t have a hope in hell of finishing the lanterns before half-past eight. Just one had taken almost forty-five minutes to complete and there were still nineteen left in the crates. She needed help.

  “I think I know what I’m going to be doing this evening, Pip.” The little dog was stretched out on his back in his basket and at the sound of Charlotte’s voice, he opened an eye to make sure he wasn’t missing out on anything. When he realised there was no likelihood of a treat being thrown his way, he closed his eye and snuggled back down with a grunt.

  As Charlotte started on her second lantern, Pippin sat bolt upright in his basket alert and still as stone, his head cocked to one side as if he was straining to hear a sound just out of earshot.

  “What is it, Pip?” Charlotte cocked her head to one side, too, but it was a minute before she heard the distant rumble of the mini snowplough as it crawled the streets, clearing them in preparation for the salt truck that would follow.

  As the sound of the plough got closer, Pippin jumped out of his basket and ran to the door, pawing at it as he growled loudly. He hated the snowplough almost as much as he hated snow and as it appeared on the footpath from around the corner of the café, he went into overdrive. Barking and spinning in circles, his breath misted up the glass panel as the plough passed by, its big front blade pushing the snow into a ridge at each side of the marina front to leave a clear path in its wake.

  Charlotte waved at Larry Hall, the plough’s driver. A set of headphones was pulled firmly over his ears and the hood of his jacket was pulled firmly over the headphones. With his head nodding along to the music and his thumbs tapping on the steering wheel he returned the wave, his lips moving as he sang along to a silent tune.

  The son of Heather and Lionel Hall, owners of Hall’s Hardware Store in town, Larry had incurred the wrath of his parents when he’d dropped out of school at the earliest opportunity, turning his back on any further education and a career in the family business.

  Somewhat of an introvert, Larry was heavily into music. The drummer in a local band of ageing rockers, he much preferred to be tucked away at the back of the stage, behind his band mates, than front and centre at the few gigs they’d performed. His lack of confidence and social skills weren’t helped by the fact that, due to his extremely sweet tooth, the front four of his teeth were decayed right up to the gum.

  As Charlotte watched him drive off she thought how strange it was that when he was behind his drum kit he lost all his inhibitions, head banging and flinging his hair for all he was worth but as soon as the music stopped he immediately reverted to his quiet, reclusive self.

  Looking outside, she noticed that the snowfall was easing. With any luck, it’ll have stopped completely by tomorrow evening, she thought as she scooped more pumpkin flesh into her plastic container.

  A sudden blast of cold air cut through her as the awning door opened and in walked Brendan Meakin and Wayne Firth, two of Garrett Walton’s fishing boat crew.

  “Mornin’ Charlotte,” they chorused, seemingly oblivious to the near-arctic conditions in their short-sleeved thermal t-shirts and waterproof trousers.

  “Good grief! Aren’t you cold?” The very sight of them made Charlotte shiver.

  The fishermen grinned. “When you’ve been out on the boat in weather like this, like we have this morning, you can’t wait to get back to shore where it’s warm. It’s absolutely freezing out at sea - by comparison, this is almost tropical!”

  “Anyway,” said Brendan. “El Godfather asked me to bring you your fish. Where d’you want me to put them?” He carried a cool box filled with fish for Charlotte’s specials board.

  Charlotte laughed. It always amused her when Garrett’s crew referred to him as ‘El Godfather’, even though that was exactly what he was to her.

  “Thanks Brendan, would you put them at the bottom of the big fridge in the kitchen, please?”

  “And Garrett asked us to take the pumpkin heads back to the crew hut to get them out of your way.” Wayne’s eyes darted from the crates to the table, on which sat one solitary lantern.

  Charlotte blushed. “Er, I’ve only managed to finish one, I’m afraid. It’s taking a bit longer than I thought it would.”

  “No worries,” he said, cheerfully. “We’ll come back and collect them from you tomorrow. Just let Garrett know when they’re ready and me Brendan will come and get them.”

  “Okay, that’ll be a huge help, thanks Wayne. Have you got your Halloween outfits sorted out yet? I assume you’ll be dressing up for the fair?”

  He grinned and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Laura’s making costumes for all the crew. She wanted our spare wetsuits - we’ve no clue what she’s doing with them - but whatever it is, she’s spent the last three days doing it! We won’t see them until tomorrow.”

  “Typical Laura! She does love to get involved, doesn’t she?” Charlotte felt a wave of warmth towards her godmother. “I can’t wait to see what she’s done!”

  “Neither can we,” said Brendan, emerging from the café. “But whatever it is, I hope it’ll be cool. I’ve got my reputation to consider, y’know.”

  Charlotte smiled at the young fisherman who was considered somewhat of a heartthrob by the local girls. “Don’t worry. If I know Laura, it will be. Anyway, if you could call round and collect the lanterns from my place tomorrow, at any time to suit you, that would really help me out. I’ll be there until around five o’clock. Thanks, guys.”

  As Brendan and Wayne walked out, Jess walked in swathed in a multi-coloured scarf coiled repeatedly around her neck, a quilted silver coat, thermal track suit bottoms tucked into a pair of shaggy moon boots, a pair of ski gloves and a sheepskin hat with furry ear flaps.

  “Oh my! It’s like a skating rink out there.” She surveyed Charlotte amongst the pumpkin fest. “Morning, lovie. Having fun?”

  “Hi, and not really, no,” said Charlotte. “I’m going to be carving these till past midnight at this rate. Why didn’t you tell me it took so long to make one flippin’ lantern?”

  “B
ecause you never asked.” Jess replied with a grin. “And I’m not surprised it’s taking you so long, because you’re using all the wrong equipment. Tell you what, as I’m such a good friend, how about I come round to your place this evening? I’ll ask my neighbour if I can borrow a couple of her proper pumpkin knives and her electric scoop and I’ll help you finish them? How’s that sound?”

  “I thought you’d never offer!” Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief. “And as a thank you, I’ll cook dinner ... you’re a lifesaver.” She checked the time on her phone. “¨You’re very early, by the way.”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d give myself enough time to make my way in slowly. The roads are absolutely treacherous and I didn’t want to risk skidding on the ice. The gritter lorry hasn’t been out yet.”

  “I think it will be soon.” Charlotte began to clear the table of pumpkin remnants. “Larry went by a while ago on the plough.”

  Jess nodded as she inspected the lantern Charlotte had carved. “You know, that’s the happiest Halloween pumpkin I’ve ever seen. As much as it’s nice to see a smiling face about the place, don’t you think they should be a little scarier? I mean it is Halloween, after all.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I started that I realised I’m not really cut out for lantern design. Perhaps you could carve something a little more intimidating later - I’ve got a magazine article you could follow.”

  “Right you are,” said Jess as she unwrapped herself from her cocoon of clothing. “First things first, though - a tea, a coffee and a warm up in front of the heater.”

  Between them, they carried the crate of pumpkins into the kitchen and the tall heater out onto the terrace. Within minutes of lighting it, the awning was as warm as freshly popped-up toast.

  “Phew!” Charlotte wiped her arm across her forehead as they set the tables. “I’m roasting!”

  “How d’you think I feel?” Jess pulled at her thermal track suit bottoms. “Thank goodness I brought a pair of cargo pants with me to change in to. In fact, I think I’ll do that now before I melt.”