An Invitation to Murder: An amateur sleuth murder mystery (A Mary Blake Mystery Book 1)

by AG Barnett

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “It was the windows that got me thinking,” Mary said when she and Corrigan were alone on the roof in the fading daylight. The others had all been sent down into Melanie’s room again, still with no idea what they were doing there.

  “So, you’re going to show me how someone could have got in and out of that window? And they did it somehow from up here?” he said, peering over the edge of the short wall.

  “No. The first thing to think about is which window was he aiming at?”

  “OK,” Corrigan said slowly, fixing her with an attentive gaze.

  “Freddie was drunk, he was angry. He wanted to get Flintock out of his life and clear the path for him and Melanie. My guess is he looked over here and thought back to when Dot knocked part of the wall over earlier in the day. The whole thing is crumbling to bits.”

  Mary placed her hands on her hips, a pose she had used in the show many times when she was about to reveal the killer. She had to admit, she was enjoying herself. She was exhausted, her head hurt and she wanted nothing more than to be curled up in front of a fire with a G&T in her hand, but right now she felt more alive than she had in months. Maybe years.

  “So, he thought back to the corridor downstairs. He knew Flintock’s was the third door along, so naturally, he counted three windows along too.”

  Corrigan smiled, nodding. “But your room has two windows, so the one he was actually focused on wasn’t the third bedroom along, it was only the second, Melanie Shaw’s room.”

  “Exactly,” Mary said, picking up the electrical cable she had taken earlier from the cupboard and feeding it over the edge of the wall as she had done before.

  “What he needed to do next,” she continued, “was to get Flintock to open the window.” She peered over the edge and Corrigan copied her. As the plug, dangling at the end of the wire, reached just above the window, she lifted the football Pea had given her.

  “If you heard this tapping on your window, where would you assume it came from, bearing in mind you were on the first floor?”

  “I guess I’d think someone was throwing stones up from the ground,” Corrigan answered.

  “Exactly, let’s see, shall we?”

  She lowered the plug until it tapped on the glass pane of the window. She felt a chill as the noise she had heard in the night came back to her.

  They heard the catch of the window being opened and she pulled up the plug a few feet and readied herself with the football. Her brother’s head appeared through the opening and scanned around the grass below. At once, Mary threw the ball downwards. And watched as it hit Pea on the back of his head, making him shout out in shock.

  “Sorry, Pea!” she called down, laughing.

  Pea vanished back into the room cursing.

  “So, he got her to look out of the window and then dropped something heavy down?” Corrigan said breathlessly.

  “A piece of the wall, can you see a large chunk missing just down there?” She pointed a few feet to their right where a clear gap was visible. “Can you remember this morning when I stubbed my toe on something? It was a piece of this wall. I’m guessing it might be the piece that Freddie used to try and kill Flintock.”

  “But ended up killing Melanie instead,” Corrigan finished.

  “He didn’t realise he had. All he saw was a figure in the dark. I saw him the next morning, he was devastated, but it was more than that, now I think about it. He was horrified as well. He couldn’t deal with what he’d done and he blamed it all on Flintock.”

  “So, he decided to kill him and frame him for Melanie’s murder.”

  Mary nodded. “He’d already failed with his clumsy attempt at framing me. He obviously wasn’t thinking straight and just panicked. He knew I had been the murderer in the game, so he just tore that part off and snuck it in my room.”

  “It all makes sense, but we’ll need proof.”

  “This wire is a spare, the one that was out on the roof is over there and hasn’t been touched by anyone else as far as I know. I noticed it had some yellow dust on it earlier which must have come from sliding it over the crumbling wall. You might get some fingerprints from it. In any case, I’m not sure he’ll have much fight in him now. I think the fact that he killed Melanie is only just really hitting him.”

  “You know?” Corrigan said, smiling at her in that easy, relaxed way which seemed to be his default setting. “You’re quite impressive, Mary Blake. Not many people could have been present at the scene of two murders, which they then become the prime suspect of, and not only handle it, but solve the whole thing.”

  Mary felt herself blush at the compliment. What was the matter with her? She wasn’t the type to blush from the attention of a man—she was usually the one making the man blush.

  “Don’t worry,” she said with a hint of mischievousness, “I won’t tell your superiors that I had to help you.”

  He laughed. “Thank you, I think I’m going to have enough trouble working out what to say to the press.”

  “I hope you caught that one who broke into the grounds earlier.”

  Corrigan’s face clouded over.

  “No, we didn’t. He shot back over a wall before my lot could catch up to him. I asked around, no media outlet seems to know who he was from the description, but of course, they wouldn’t admit if it was one of theirs anyway.”

  Mary frowned. Something was niggling at the back of her mind again, something she couldn’t quite place, but that she didn’t like.

  “Can I have the note of my father’s that I found?”

  He paused for a moment before answering. “You can, I can’t see it has any relevance to any of this. Do you want to tell me what it’s all really about?”

  “I told you, just some silly game of my father’s.”

  “So why is it I don’t believe a word you are saying?”

  “Because I’m not that good an actress,” Mary said, smiling. “I need the note tonight, I need to take it somewhere tomorrow.”

  He sighed. “Very well, but can I ask something of you?”

  “What is it?”

  “When you’re ready, can you take me for a drink and tell me what it was really about?”

  “Maybe.” She smiled back. “But only if you promise not to suspect me of murder again.”

  “Deal.”

  They smiled at each other under the dark blanket of the night that had fallen almost unnoticed around them.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “And they just offered it to you? Just like that, the day after Melanie died?”

  “Yes,” replied Mary. “Apparently all this publicity will really liven the show up and they think I’m the right person again to take it on.”

  “And what did you say?” Pea continued as he leaned forward from the back seat of the car that Dot was guiding through the narrow country lanes.

  “I told them I wasn’t interested.”

  “Except I heard there was quite a lot more swearing than that,” Dot said with a hint of a smile.

  “I bet!” Pea laughed. “What are you going to do next?”

  Mary looked out of the window and took a deep breath.

  “I don’t want to act any more.”

  “Oh, right. What do you want to do?”

  “I wondered if you could use some help on the estate? I could move back for a while?”

  Pea turned to her, his narrow face split into a broad smile.

  “Mary, I’d love it!” Then the smile faltered. “Though I don’t know how long we’ll be able to stay.”

  There was a long silence as Pea focused on the road and Mary stole glances at his concerned face.

  “I could sell my apartment,” she said. “I mean it’s mortgaged to the hilt, but it would give me something.”

  “No,” Pea said firmly. “You shouldn’t have to do that. Your whole life is in London, you can’t give it all up to try and keep some crumbling pile from falling into ruin.”

  “Then what ar
e you going to do?”

  “Well, first, I’m going to spend a few days with my little sister and the wonderful Dot in an old place from our childhood, chasing some mad clue that our dad appears to have left. I think that’s enough for now. Let’s let the real world of bills and responsibilities go to hell for a while, shall we?”

  “Sounds bloody marvellous,” Mary laughed. She looked down at the piece of paper in her hand and re-read the clue. She knew this was all a wild goose chase, but Pea was right, right now she didn’t care.

  They rode over the crest of hill and a wide, rolling valley appeared before them.

  “Well, it’s still as beautiful as it always was,” Pea said.

  “I still don’t remember it.” Mary frowned.

  “I bet you do when we get into the town,” Pea said as he slowed the car.

  “Bloody hell,” Dot grumbled. As they had descended, the road had narrowed until the wing mirrors of the car were scraping against the grass and brambles on either side. A white car had appeared further down the hill and was heading towards them, apparently unconcerned at their approach in the narrow lane.

  “Pull in here,” Mary said, pointing to a gate set back from the road. Pea turned the car towards it and they bounced as they moved over the deep tractor tracks that led into the field beyond.

  The car slowed as it aimed to navigate what was still a tight squeeze. Mary watched the boxy vehicle until her eyes fell on the face at the window.

  It was a young man with a narrow, angular face. She straightened up quickly and leaned forward as the car pulled alongside.

  “Don’t worry,” Pea said. “There’s room to get through”

  “It’s not that, it’s that man!”

  As the car crept past them, the gaze of the three friends focused on the man. He turned towards them as he passed alongside and Mary gasped.

  “That’s the reporter who broke into the grounds! The one who found me pulling the note from the wall!”

  “Well, that’s a bit of a coincidence,” Pea said, steering the car back out onto the road.

  “Yes,” Mary said grimly. “A bit too much of one bearing in. Mind he had a look at the note.”

  “He saw the note?!” Pea said, incredulous.

  “Yes! We bumped into each other and I dropped it for a moment, he read it before he gave it back to me.”

  “Blimey,” Pea said, slumping back in his seat.

  They rode the rest of the way down into the small town of Crickwood in silence. Each of them wondering if the reporter had already found the answers the note alluded to.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A few minutes later, the three of them were walking out onto the main street of Crickwood, which stretched before them like a postcard.

  A shallow river dominated the town, running alongside the main road and crisscrossed with stone bridges that led to a network of smaller streets on the other side. Sunlight glinted off the water and the small cafés and tourist shops that lined this side of the street only contained a few people in this, the off-season.

  “So, where are we going to start?” Dot asked as they surveyed the beautiful scene in front of them.

  “Well the obvious place to start is the river,” Pea said. “I mean, I know it says a babbling brook, but that’s got to mean the river surely?”

  “I don’t know,” Dot answered. “It also mentions trees, doesn’t it? It could be out of town in the countryside somewhere.”

  “Honestly,” Mary sighed and shook her head at them. “You two are useless, aren’t you? You’re missing the main point, it said we’re looking for a book.”

  “You could still hide a book in the countryside,” Dot grumbled.

  “Yes, but then it says,” Mary pulled the note from her pocket and read from it, “And although this book is no longer a tree, still but for woods, her you can’t see.”

  She looked at their blank expressions and rolled her eyes. “It’s talking about the saying, you can’t see the wood for the trees. So, something is hidden amongst a lot of other things that are the same, and where do you find a lot of books?”

  “A library?” Dot chipped in.

  “Finally!” Mary said, pointing to a small, square building with four round pillars forming a porch outside the front entrance. “Come on!”

  Mary was unable to keep the smile from her face as they walked along the river path towards the library. She had been quite pleased when early this morning, while showering the remaining exhaustion from her tired and aching body, she had realised this part of the clue. She still had no idea what the final line meant. Using your glasses, in 100 look still had no meaning to her, but she was feeling confident. She had just solved a murder after all, and the whole country was talking about her as some kind of crime-fighting genius. Of course, she hadn’t been overly pleased at being dubbed “Mary Marple”—she wasn’t that old.

  It had been a late night and a morning of police statements and dealing with the press, who had been relentless. Not only had the murder of a famous actress and a publicity agent stoked the fires of publicity, but someone had spoken to Hetty, who had proceeded to portray Mary as a modern-day Sherlock Holmes.

  The press, when unable to contact Mary herself, contacted her agent. Terry had seized the opportunity and had quickly built Mary up to be the police force’s secret weapon. Excited at the opportunities, Terry had been ringing Mary’s mobile so often that Pea had shown her how to temporarily block his number.

  It was a small wonder that they had managed to give the world the slip for this short trip to Crickwood, but they had done so by using a small gate at the estate that led down a footpath to the village. There, Hetty had arranged for someone to deliver a hire car. Mary had had no doubt that the two young people who had dropped it off and returned in their own vehicle would inform the press almost immediately, but it had given them enough time to get away.

  The library building of Crickwood was positioned next to the river and shared the rather tatty building that housed it with the town hall and museum. The four stone pillars that marked the entrance were overkill on a building of this size but leant it grandeur at least.

  They entered and followed the signs into the left-hand side of the building where a young woman in a bright yellow blouse buttoned up to her neck smiled at them.

  “Good morning,” she said in a sweet, singsong voice before looking back to the computer in front of her.

  “Excuse me,” Mary said, “we’re looking for something, but we don’t quite know what it is,”

  The woman looked up again, her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small “O.”

  “You’re Mary Blake!”

  “Yes,” Mary said, smiling. “Look, I know it’s a strange thing to ask, but I think there’s a book in this library that I need to look at, but I’m not sure of the title.”

  “Oh, don’t worry! It happens more than you think! What sort of thing were you after? Something on crime, I bet? I think we’ve got something on the investigation side of things that would be just the ticket!” She moved out from behind the counter and began heading towards the stacks.

  “No, it’s not that kind of book,” Mary said, stopping her in her tracks and cursing Hetty for telling the world that she was a budding real-life detective. “Well, at least, I don’t think it is. All we’ve got is this line that goes ‘Using your glasses, in 100 look.’ Would that mean anything to you?”

  The young woman grinned, looking between the three of them with a playful expression.

  “Is this some kind of setup? Wait!” she said with a sharp intake of breath, her hand moving to her chest. “Am I on TV?! Is this some kind of hidden joke show?! Is that what you’re doing now?”

  Mary looked at Dot and Pea, who matched her expression which suggested this young woman might well be a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

  “I’m sorry,” Mary said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. “I’m not quite sure what you mean?”

  “Well, I’m
not dim!” She laughed. “James has just been here looking for that same book, and…” She paused, the smile vanishing from her face. “Oh, no! I’ve made a right fool out of myself, haven’t I? So, he was part of it?”

  “This James, was he a young, keen chap? High cheekbones?”

  “You do know him!”

  “We’ve met,” Mary said, turning to the others and saying in a low voice, “The reporter we passed on the road.”

  “How do you know he was looking for the same book we are?” she continued to the librarian.

  “Well it’s the same clue, isn’t it?” the woman said, looking more confused than ever. “‘Using your glasses, in 100 look’—it means the Glass Centurion.”

  “What the hell is the Glass Centurion?!” Mary said loudly, throwing her arms in the air.

  “The name of the book James needed!” the young woman returned, looking utterly bewildered.

  Mary realised she was upset and took a deep breath.

  “Can you show us the book?”

  The woman nodded. “I’ve only just put it back,” she said, turning towards the rows of shelves. “It’s over here. He tried to take it out but he didn’t have a library card. I told him he could sign up for one, but he was all funny about giving me his ID and said he’d just look at it here.”

  She led them through two aisles as she talked before she stopped and pulled a large hardback book from the shelf.

  “I looked the book up after he’d left as I’d never heard of it and, it’s funny, this book was actually donated by someone called Blake.”

  Mary felt as though someone had sucked the air from her at the mention of her family name.

  She took the book that was offered to her and flicked through the pages. It appeared to be the fictional story of a Roman soldier and looked nothing out of the ordinary. She flicked to page one hundred, thinking that the “centurion” theme might continue further than just the book title. There was nothing there.

  “Did this James find anything in this book, do you know?”