A Pasty In A Pear Tree

by Daphne Neville

  “Are you sure?” Hetty asked. “About the excessive alcohol, I mean? Because Lottie and I left the Crown and Anchor at the same time as Simeon on Friday night and he seemed fine and not at all drunk. Isn’t that so, Lottie?”

  “Absolutely,” Lottie agreed, “We watched him peddle off down the road without so much as a wobble and he was whistling too.”

  “Really,” said Bernie, “I must admit I found the bit about alcohol rather surprising too. It’s said he’d been drinking red wine and vodka, but I thought he only ever drank wine. At least that’s what he drank when he was in the pub.”

  “Red wine and vodka. That sounds a pretty lethal combination. He must have been as drunk as a lord.” Hetty looked puzzled. “Why would he mix drinks like that when he has to work the next day?”

  Bernie nodded. “Exactly and it rather negates his reason for leaving the pub before closing time if he’s going to carry on drinking back at the cafe.”

  “Hmm, definitely odd and I suppose with Wonderland being a crime scene it will be closed for a few days now so we won’t be able to do any poking around.” Lottie was clearly disappointed.

  Bernie grinned. “And what, may I ask, do you think you might find if you were able to have a poke around?”

  Lottie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, but I’d start by looking in the café to see if there are any empty wine and vodka bottles. Although on reflection I suppose the police will already have done that.”

  “I daresay they have,” Bernie agreed, “what’s more, when I saw Tess on my way here, I asked her if she’d ever seen any wine and vodka bottles at the café and she said definitely not. In fact Simeon had no alcohol at the café at all. He liked to go to the pub, you see. He was a sociable chap and wasn’t one for drinking alone.”

  Hetty frowned. “Strange for a Frenchman. I thought they always drank wine with every meal.”

  “You can’t categorise people like that, Het,” chided Lottie, “It’s a bit like assuming they all ride bikes, wear striped tops and berets and have strings of onions round their necks.”

  “But he did ride a bike,” Hetty reasoned.

  “I’ve just remembered, there’s another thing you might be interested to hear,” said Bernie, moving aside as another customer entered the post office, “The other day I heard a couple of blokes having a few cross words in the pub car park. I couldn’t make out what they were saying because they were both talking in French, more’s the shame. It was dark and misty too so I couldn’t see them properly even though there’s a lamp in the car park. I told the police about it, not that it’ll be much help, but they thanked me all the same.”

  “So do you reckon one of them was Simeon?” Hetty asked, her imagination going into overdrive. “That’s really interesting.”

  Bernie nodded. “Well yes, most likely. I mean, he’s the only French bloke I know around here or should I say knew, poor chap.”

  “But what about the other person,” Lottie asked, “I mean, haven’t you any idea at all who that might have been? Take the fair people for instance. Are any of them French?”

  “Not that I know of, but then I’ve not had much to do with them having no little ‘uns to take up there. Oh dear, I wish I’d paid more attention now, but once I got in the pub I thought no more of it. I mean, two blokes having a tiff is hardly cause for concern, is it? And as far as I know it didn’t result in fisticuffs because I saw Simeon the next day when I went for my usual croissant for my tea break and he certainly didn’t look as though he’d been in a punch-up, in fact he was in a very good mood, if I remember correctly.”

  Hetty’s face turned pale. “I’ve just had a thought. Do you think we ought to tell the police about what Psychic Sid said when you had your fortune told, Lottie?”

  “No, don’t be daft, it was said in jest and he was pulling my leg.”

  “But he wasn’t in the pub on Friday night,” persisted Hetty, “at least, if he was I didn’t see him.”

  Bernie looked shocked. “You’re not suggesting Simeon was murdered are you?”

  Hetty shook her head. “No, no I’m not, but all the same I think it’s only right that the police are given as much information as possible and Sid did say that there would be a murder in Pentrillick before the festive season was over.”

  Lottie sighed. “Yes, he did and as much as it goes against the grain, I agree we ought to report it if needs be. But we’ll keep quiet for now and say nothing unless we hear that it was murder and that the police are seeking information. I mean, the chances are that it was just an unfortunate accident and I hope for all concerned that it was.”

  Early on Monday afternoon, Jeremy Liddicott-Treen left Pentrillick House and walked down towards the lake, happy in the knowledge that Jenkins had already replaced the broken glass in the old kitchen window and was currently looking in his workshop for a new catch. When he reached the police cordon he slipped beneath it after first making sure there were no officers in the grounds even though he knew that was unlikely for there were no police cars on the estate. An explanation to Jeremy’s furtive behaviour was simple: he was eager to see if he could establish any obvious reason as to why someone would have been lurking around in the woods in the early hours of the morning.

  Just past the café he stepped onto the path which ran around the lake and when he reached the boathouse he slowed down his pace in order to make sure that he missed nothing. With the area around the café being out of bounds he met no-one other than a family of ducks waddling along the path, water dripping from their feet and feathers having just stepped from the lake.

  Inside the wooded area all was quiet bar the cawing of rooks from the tops of tall sycamore trees and the wind eerily whistling through the leafless branches. The adventure play area, usually noisy with laughter and excited chatter, lay silent as Jeremy, enjoying his adventure, slowly crept across the damp bark scattered around the children’s activity apparatus. Continually looking from left to right he approached a group of old conifer trees and stood beneath the swaying branches, hoping to see anything that might justify his walk; for he knew he should not really have crossed the police cordon and for that reason had told neither of his parents nor his sister of that which he had witnessed during the night nor of his plans to explore the woods when he thought it safe so to do.

  Convinced that he had walked as far as the torchlight had gone he turned around to retrace his steps and as he passed by a spindly sycamore sapling, he saw lying part-hidden amongst decaying leaves, a glove. He picked it up. It was black, quite large and made of leather. He turned it over in his hand and concluded it would have belonged to a man. But who had dropped it and when? Surely if it had been there when the police had scoured the area following the death of Simeon Dupont then they would have found it and taken it away. Which meant it was probably dropped by the person he had seen during the night and if so it was possible that person would return to the woodland to retrieve it because he too should not have crossed the police cordon. Eager to get back to the house, he tucked the glove inside a pocket of his jacket and hurried around the lakeside path; watching as he went to make sure that he was seen by no-one.

  Patricia, who with her husband, Patrick ran Pat’s Hook a Duck stall, decided to take her dog Tyronne out for a walk on Monday afternoon. Normally Tyronne would have been left in the caravan for much of the day and walked in the evening but with Wonderland closed Patricia had time on her hands and she was alone with the dog anyway because Patrick had gone to the Crown and Anchor with his new best mate, Steve.

  She left the caravan after her lunch with Tyronne on his lead, and since time was plentiful opted to take a different route from the one she usually took. After weighing up the surrounding landscape she chose a rough path sheltered by a few leafless trees which ran near to the boundary wall of the estate alongside the lane leading to the main entrance.

  After walking for less than ten minutes, she stopped and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree and released Tyronne
from his lead so that he could run off to sniff around in the undergrowth. From her pocket she took a packet of cigarettes and smoked one, glad that Patrick was not around to reprimand her. When the cigarette was gone she threw the stub onto dried fallen leaves and stamped on it to make sure that it was out. It was as she looked up and glanced towards the lake that she saw a figure emerge from beyond the police cordon. Knowing that area was out of bounds she stepped back amongst the trees and called Tyronne to her side. She then watched as the figure left the lake and walked up towards the avenue of trees. She was surprised and a little suspicious when she realised that the person in question was the Liddicott-Treens’ boy. “What’s he been up to?” Patricia asked Tyronne. “I dunno, these posh folks think they’re above the law.”

  As Jeremy stepped over the police cordon, he saw from the corner of his eye, someone dart back amongst the trees. His heart began to race. Was the person hiding behind the trees the person who had lost the glove? Without bothering to investigate further he ran through the avenue of trees and into the house.

  Early on Tuesday afternoon, Anna a receptionist at the Pentrillick Hotel was just finishing a cup of tea when a woman in her late twenties, dressed in flamboyant clothes, wheeled her pink suitcase into the reception area. After looking around and nodding with approval, the new arrival approached the desk.

  “Hello,” said Anna, with a welcoming smile, “how may I help you?”

  “Hmm, do you have a room available, please? Single, double or whatever, I’m not fussy,” said the stranger trying hard to disguise her broad Cockney accent.

  “Would that be just for yourself?” Anna politely asked.

  “Yep, I am quite alone.”

  Anna looked at the computer screen. “In which case, yes, we do have a single room available. It’s on the front of the hotel on the second floor and has sea views.”

  “Yeah, sounds great.”

  “For how long would you be wanting to stay?”

  “Oh, umm, I dunno. Three, four days, a week maybe. All depends.”

  Anna told the lady of the rates which were agreed as acceptable; she then asked the guest for her name.

  “Misty,” she said, “Misty Merryweather.”

  Anna looked up from the screen. “That’s a pretty name. Unusual too.”

  Misty smiled. “Thank you. It’s my professional name and the one I always use.”

  Misty was delighted with her room and once she had unpacked her case and put her clothes in the wardrobe and her toiletries in the en suite bathroom, she then sat for a long time by the open window, thoughtfully drinking coffee and looking at the sea over the roof tops of the cottages opposite. For Misty had only ever been to the seaside once before in her twenty nine years and that was for a day trip to Brighton in her junior school days; hence she was mesmerised by the calmness of the sea and the gentle lull of the tumbling waves.

  “When I’m rich,” she whispered, “well, if I’m ever rich, I think I’ll buy a little house by the sea. Nothing grand, just somewhere to come and stay when I get tired of city life.” She leaned her head back on the wall and looked to the skies, “ain’t never gonna happen though, is it, my love. Especially now you’re gone.”

  In the evening Misty wandered down to the Crown and Anchor. When she arrived she paused in the doorway and looked around wishing that she knew someone in Pentrillick who might offer her a hand of friendship. She was much surprised, therefore, when as the door closed behind her, she heard a familiar voice call her name from the far end of the bar.

  “What the? I don’t believe it. Misty Merryweather, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Misty looked across the bar to where Finn sat with Woody, Shelley and Ginger. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Do you two know each other?” Ginger asked, as Finn rose to his feet and Misty walked towards the small group, her face a picture of disbelief.

  “Not ’arf,” said Misty, overcome with emotion on seeing a familiar face. “Blimey, Finn, it must be well over a year since I last clapped eyes on you. How are you doing, darlin’?”

  “I’m all the better for seeing you.” He gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “So what brings you down here in the depths of winter?”

  “I could ask you the same,” said Misty. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, yes, well perhaps not, it’s just that well,” she gulped, “I’m here to see where my dear husband lost his life.” Misty took a tissue from the pocket of her faux fur jacket and dabbed her eyes. “Poor Simeon, I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  Finn sat down, his mouth gaped open wide. “What, are you talking about Simeon Dupont the pastry cook? I mean, surely he wasn’t your old man.”

  Misty nodded. “Yes, he was.”

  “Good heavens. Well I never. So is he the bloke you left me for? I mean, I knew you’d gone after a French geezer called Simeon but never dreamt it was Dupont and I certainly didn’t know you’d married although I’ve often thought of you and wondered what you’re up to.”

  “That’s sweet, Finn. I’ve thought of you too. I mean, we did get on well, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah, we did.” Finn looked downcast.

  “Come and sit down,” said Shelley, shuffling along the seat to make room, “you’re awfully pale and don’t look too steady on your pins.”

  Misty sat. “Thank you, yeah, I do feel a bit shaky.”

  “Hey, what am I doing, where are my manners? Allow me to get you a drink, sweetheart,” said Finn, rising, “What’ll you have, love? Still a fan of whisky and dry?”

  “Not really. Since I met Simeon I’ve become more of a wine drinker but right now I think I’d like a neat brandy, please.”

  “Coming up,” said Finn as he headed towards the bar.

  Lottie and Hetty missed out on the latest developments in the case of Simeon Dupont because they went to play bingo in the village hall on Tuesday night. To their surprise on this occasion, Miss Vickery was also there as were their next door neighbours, Alex and Ginny from Hillside.

  “We meet at last,” said Alex, shaking the hands of the sisters in turn just after they had arrived, “I’ve seen you on several occasions from our windows but we’ve never got round to making your acquaintance.”

  “And for that we apologise,” said Ginny, likewise shaking hands. “We should have called when you first arrived. It was very remiss of us.”

  “I’m sure you’ve plenty to take up your time without having to make social calls,” said Lottie, “I mean, what with running your antique business and having a new roof, there can’t be enough hours in the day.”

  “Alex does driving lessons too,” said Ginny, “but not full time because he thinks that might be too stressful.”

  “Well that’s not entirely true,” Alex clearly didn’t want to give the illusion that he was unable to handle stress. “Much of it is about finding the time. I like being in the shop, you see, because I’m interested in history and antiques. I go to a lot of auctions as well because we have to maintain a good stock.”

  Lottie’s jaw dropped. “Well, fancy that. The driving lessons bit, I mean. I’m learning to drive, you see and Hetty is teaching me but we’ve agreed I must have proper lessons too. So if you can fit me in I’d really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Just say the word,” said Alex, “I’ve two pupils taking their tests this month and I’m sure they’ll both pass. Well, at least one will. So I’d be happy to take you out in the New Year.”

  “Ideal,” said Lottie, “thank you.”

  “Have you been driving long?” Ginny asked.

  “No, I only started a week ago just after we moved in and so far I’ve only driven back and forth along Blackberry Way to get used to the gadgets.”

  “But next time we’re going to try reversing in and out of our driveway,” said Hetty, “and then we might go a bit further afield.”

  Lottie felt her face flush with embarrassment. “Bu
t we’ll make sure I do the driveway bit when you’re down at your shop. I don’t want you to have to witness my efforts from your windows and have it put you off teaching me.”

  After bingo during which neither sister won anything, they spoke to Miss Vickery and in order to get to know her better, they invited her to join them for coffee on Thursday morning.

  “That’s very sweet of you,” said Miss Vickery. “I shall be delighted to call and I’m sure we’ll have much to talk about.”

  Chapter Ten

  On Wednesday morning, much to the delight of the stall holders and fairground people, the police agreed that Wonderland could reopen but that the lake and café must remain cordoned off until further notice. Hetty learned of this from Tommy who she met in Long Lane while out walking Albert. Excited by the news she cut short Albert’s walk and returned to Primrose Cottage where Lottie was making curtains for the landing window.

  “You’re back early,” called Lottie, from the sitting room as she removed pins from the floral fabric, “surely you’ve not been as far as you said you would in that time.”

  In the hallway, Hetty unhooked Albert’s lead and hung it by the door. “No, we cut it short because we saw Tommy who said that Wonderland is to reopen today.” She threw her coat on its peg and entered the room. “Have you nearly finished the curtains?”

  “I’ve done one but not started the other.” She laid down the curtain. “I assume by the look on your face that you’re eager to make another visit to Pentrillick House.”

  “Absolutely. I want to get as near to the scene of the crime as possible to see if we can shed any light on Simeon’s death and I’m sure you do too.”

  “Yes, I must admit I am intrigued.” Lottie stood up and switched off the sewing machine plug in the wall socket. “I can finish the curtains later. But it’s nearly half past twelve now so we ought to have lunch before we go as we’ll not be able to eat anything at Wonderland other than candy floss and toffee apples.”