Bromington Heights

by Trisha Kelly

“We’re on the lookout for some nice accessories or materials for our bridesmaid outfits,” Anna chirped.

  Iris smiled. “Tell you what, why don’t you leave young Bear with me? He can play in my garden at the back of the bakery till you’ve both finished. I’m sure he’d like a very small piece of sausage pie!”

  Bear wagged his tail and jumped up Iris’s legs.

  “He knows exactly what you’re saying and I’m sure it’ll go down well with the chips he just found!” Rosie laughed, rubbing her dog behind his fat, fluffy ears.

  “Thank you, he’s all yours then. I was going to tie him up for a while then walk along the beach after, but I know he’ll bark endlessly.” Rosie kissed Bear on his big head before Iris scooped him up in her welcoming arms and headed off back into her shop.

  “He’s adorable, Rosie. Can we put these cakes in your pram, Anna? You can get inside the hall with me then, ten minutes before the rush!” Liz joked.

  The ladies always took the old pram to the jumble that they originally bought from the jumble. Every week without fail they went back home with plants, trinkets, materials and a tired pup sitting on the top, his short little legs worn out from their beach play.

  “I wonder,” Rosie said as they wandered around the stalls, “exactly what property Mr. Sallow has come to view? Maybe we can have coffee and cake and a nosey online when we get back.”

  “I was thinking the same thing myself. I want to have a look at his paranormal stuff too. He’s either some sort of a conman who has looked up Wodehouse B & B and the ghostly rumours or…”

  “He didn’t know anything about it and Dorothea is making herself known to him. I wonder why?”

  “Perhaps it’s because you’ve refused to look in her prediction box for another year!”

  “And she’s enticed someone to aid us? Bit far-fetched, isn’t it?” Rosie pondered.

  “Oh, look at this satin material. Mum can use this to make lovely evening bags to go with our dresses.”

  “I’m glad it’s a grown-up affair, we will look more like sisters, Anna Rose.”

  “Maybe if you dye your lovely red locks a dark shade of black!”

  “Okay, point taken. Well, you and your mum look like sisters at least; she has lovely skin. We can look like stepsisters, how about that! Besides, I like being ginger and freckly. Me and Bumble have this agreement…” Rosie stopped in her tracks.

  Anna glanced over to where her friend was staring and a chill run over her. “It’s that man again,” she whispered.

  Whoever he was and wherever he came from, he gave both of them the willies. Rosie leaned in, “look, he’s gone straight over to the book stall again, barging into everyone, he is so rude.”

  “Looks like some sort of a tramp to me,” Anna said, behind her hand. “I think I shall go over there and ruffle his feathers. Someone has to stop him terrifying the old dears.”

  “Anna, don’t you dare. Besides, he might have fleas or something,” Rosie hissed. Too late, her friend couldn’t help herself.

  Anna didn’t like the villagers feeling under threat by this stranger. Just lately he barged into the Village Hall like a person possessed. Enough already, he totally un-nerved Rosie too. Someone needed to put him in his place she thought. Poor Doris, she was quaking behind her pile of Barbara Cartland romances and racy Jackie Collins dog-chewed paperbacks. This man was wrecking her book stall.

  “Thank you for standing in, Doris. Why don’t you get a cuppa – I will serve for a while,” Anna winked.

  “That’s very kind of you dear; I do need a toilet break,” the ashen-faced spinster smiled. She would quite happily come back to her stall when this rude man disappeared. For three weeks he had tossed the books all over the place. Not buying a thing, she had no clue what he was looking for.

  Anna frowned. The man was possessed. He was clearly looking for something in particular.

  “Can I help you at all?” Anna asked, to no avail; he ignored her.

  “Excuse me,” she said aloud. “You are making far too much mess. What exactly is it you’re looking for?”

  “I’m not deaf. Do you good to mind your own business. Sticking your nose in where it ain’t wanted. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it,” he snorted.

  “Well, in which case, kindly leave the stall. You have upended everything and made a right mess.” Anna stood her ground, hands on hips firing both barrels; her wild eyes and black hair all stood on end, like a dog waiting to bite. By this time, a hush had fallen over the hall and poor Doris Golightly steadied her shaking hand. The sweet tea spilling into her green saucer.

  Rosie got her heckles up and marched over to give Anna support. “My friend is quite right. You barge in here every week, pushing and shoving people out of your way and make a right mess. If you want something in particular, just say so!”

  “I can tell you what he’s looking for,” came a voice from the back of the hall. “Books I accidentally gave away for the jumble.”

  “That’s enough!” the rude man hollered before the poor lady in the mobility scooter could utter another word. “Think on what I told you, woman!” he stomped off towards the door and was gone. Within a minute or two normal service was resumed, and the Village Hall was once again full of chatter.

  “Well, Boo-boo, that was all rather odd!” Anna exclaimed.

  “Thank you, ladies, for stepping in; I didn’t know what to do. Every time he comes here, I have to re-arrange all the books again.” Poor Doris was still a little shaken. “I wish I knew what it was he wanted. I would gladly give it back to him. It certainly isn’t worth the 50p I sell it for.”

  “I can tell you what it was. Albie’s a silly old fool. If he kept his piles of rubbish in any sort of order, I wouldn’t have boxed it all up; well not me, our weekly help, Mrs. Daley. I asked her to put all the books in a box. The ones there was no room for on the bookshelf. They were in a pile in the corner of the sitting room. She said, she would leave them all outside for you, about a month ago it was.”

  Doris frowned. “Well, I’m very sorry, Mrs…”

  “Winston. Gladys Winston.”

  “Gladys, Mrs. Winston, there was no box of books. We do ask for jumble not to be left outside. Looks like someone has got themselves a few free reads. I’m sorry.”

  “Do you remember any of the books?” Rosie asked, curiously.

  “A lot of old mumbo-jumbo really. Hocus pocus. Doom and gloom prophecies. Glad to see the back of it all if I’m honest. I will tell my Albert you don’t have it and I’m dreadfully sorry he has made such a mess. He’s been in a bad temper ever since. Hardly spoken to me, spent all his time at the allotments. Stinks of rotten cabbages he does.”

  “Looks like someone pinched them all then,” Doris said in a low voice. “Aside from a book about reading tea- leaves, I haven’t had anything like what she’s talking about.”

  “Who are they, Doris? Can’t say we’ve seen either of them until he’s barged in over the last few weeks,” Anna asked.

  “I think they live in an old fisherman’s cottage just up the coast a bit. I do know Mrs. Daley, Amy Daley. She has her own small cleaning business.”

  “Really? How can we get hold of her, Doris? We need a few reliable staff sometimes for cooking and cleaning at the B & B,” Rosie smiled.

  “Well, why don’t you ask Iris, if you’re looking for a cook? Not for me to say, of course, but Iris struggles a little with the bakery, just manages to make ends meet. She would welcome a bit of extra work whenever you need her I’m sure. Liz can step up in their shop and can still make it here on Saturday morning for their cake stall.” Doris was busy putting all her books back into a neat order. “Amy Daley is in the phone book, under ‘Helping Hands.’”

  Thirty minutes later, they’d hired their cook. Iris was to start cooking breakfasts for them bright and early Monday morning on an ‘as and when needed’ basis, cash in hand, and Rosie had purchased more bread, rolls and extra cakes than she knew what to do with, she could freez
e most of them. Liz was more than happy to step up, managing the bakery. It was a relief for Rosie, she wanted to concentrate on investigating for a living.

  Bear was digging a few holes in the sand and kicking it all up behind him as they strolled along the beach. “That horrible man didn’t strike me as someone interested in all things mysterious, Anna.”

  “You wouldn’t get that upset over a few books, surely? Either he needs anger management, or he isn’t telling his wife everything!” Anna was puzzled.

  “Maybe Helping Hands helped themselves. Can you really see anyone around here pinching a few second-hand books on a Saturday morning?”

  “No, Rosie, I can’t. Let’s get back and have some of this cake, hey? I’m intrigued to know what James Sallow is up to and we both know we won’t ask him outright!”

  Bromington Heights

  James Sallow was totally off the mark. Andrew Middleton was middle-aged, greying at the temples and wore shoes to die for. His watch was an understated Rolex, simplistic in style. Sporting a made-to-measure suit and diamond studded cufflinks he carried an air of grandeur, and these were just his day clothes. Although his 4 x 4 BMW did bear the company logo: ‘Middleton Country Homes’ in the same style as the double-sided business card.

  Far too big a potential sale to send an office junior, James thought.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sallow. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.” Andrew offered a firm handshake and an appraisive eye, brief, but James caught it. The two men were eyeing each other up for financial size.

  “Not at all, Mr. Middleton. Think nothing of it.” There, it was out there. James would not admit he had deliberately arrived early to get a ‘sense’ of the place, better to get a berating upper hand at the agent’s slackness. After all, it was two minutes past the hour. “After you,” James insisted, allowing the salesman to do his job.

  From the outside, the buildings were a delight. Three separate dwellings, all owned by one person. To the left and the right, private rental apartments, some were occupied, providing the owner a considerable amount of income per year. An 8% yield. The building in the middle was furnished and stood empty. A potential townhouse of gigantic proportions for the new investor. This pleased James. He would be the King of his castle and what a showpiece it was.

  Boasting an indoor pool on the ground floor which opened out to his own private oasis, a particularly well kept sprawling garden. Not totally un-overlooked from his neighbours, but the pagoda and large decked area was well-covered with trailing foliage. The Japanese garden blossomed, housing a bridge, flowing fountains, a large rock pool full of koi carp and hidden amongst it all was a summerhouse, a red temple. The gardener came with the property and there was no need to change this arrangement.

  James sucked in the surroundings and swallowed it whole. None of it was visible from the high fences at the back of Bromington Heights.

  There was a lift to the upper two floors. Very impressive. A lounge and state of the art kitchen dominated the middle space. The upper floor contained one-bedroom. A luxurious space opening out onto a wooden balcony with views stretching over the gardens and for miles across the South-West coast countryside.

  Although the gardens either side of his own were abundant with foliage, they did not share his splendour.

  A more opulent private bathroom, James had yet to see. It was twice the size of the one in the house he had just sold for an obscene amount of money in Kensington. What was there not to love?

  A pool, sauna, steam room and changing room, shower and toilet. A lounge, full of luxurious furniture. A kitchen in high gloss finish with every appliance hidden, boasting a back wall full of wines.

  And this, a roll top bath, gold taps. Bidet, an open-ended wet room, lost in the space. James had not uttered a word as yet. Andrew Middleton stood in silence on each floor, texting furiously on his mobile phone, trying his hardest to appear indifferent, while bartering prices. He knew a sale when he saw one, it was written all over Mr. Sallow’s face.

  Never-the-less, James was not prepared to show his hand and his business-like exterior did not betray the explosion of emotions he was feeling. Ignoring the bed of enormous size he studied the wall to wall concealed cupboards which in itself was a sixty foot dressing room.

  The seller had more money than sense. An Arab made the investment and had never used the place after the conversion. It was ready to move into. James would consult his conveyancing solicitor and go through the paperwork in great detail.

  “My card, Mr. Middleton. I shall be in touch, thank you.”

  “Is there anything else I can show you?” Andrew Middleton would not ask anything as crude as if Mr. Sallow was interested in Bromington Heights. The words were left unspoken. In turn, Mr. Sallow would not expect to hear the question, or indeed answer any such thing.

  “No, thank you. I’ve seen enough.” James Sallow pulled away first, leaving the estate agent confused. Now the man had no idea if he’d just sold the property, or not.

  ~

  “You are a stupid woman, Gladys Winston. Always meddling in things that are no concern of yours.”

  “Try putting your things away then in future, Albert Horace Winston! How was I supposed to know they meant anything to you? What was so special about them anyway? The jumble lady said she hasn’t seen them.”

  “Mind your own business. I’ve told you. I’ll find them and I don’t want you blabbing anyway to anyone, or they’ll all want them!”

  “What? That tatty old pile of rubbish. I doubt it very much. You better clear up your fishing tackle too, before I run it over with my scooter.”

  The front door banged shut and Gladys stood up from her chair. With the help of two sticks, she stood by the curtain watching her husband stomp off in the direction of the allotments. What on earth had gotten into him? She would ask Amy on Monday exactly what she’d done with the box of books, she might have forgotten all about them and left them in her car boot or something. She sat down and sipped at the lukewarm tea. It would have to do for now, at least until Albie came home again.

  Albie wasn’t heading for the allotment. He was getting a bus into town to look around the charity shops. Maybe that cleaner of theirs had taken them somewhere else. If he told anyone, anyone at all about one of the books, then they might foil his plans. The local prophecies were written over two-hundred years ago. How could he carry out a murder if anyone else knew it was coming?

  Only he understood the message and he didn’t want anyone else to work it out. For he hadn’t known how to commit the perfect crime, until the book had told him exactly how the murderer would carry it out. He wasn’t even sure who he was going to murder, which was why he needed the book. Once more he needed the clues. The other books were just fascinations. Probably morbid ones, but Albie wasn’t like most people.

  The fact of the matter was, the book was a work of fiction, written in the 1980’s. Albie was a conspirator by heart and interpreted the content, twisting it into whatever took his fancy. For him it was fact, this was his destiny. He knew the recent tragic case of the woman falling off the cliffs wasn’t a murder. The book hadn’t mentioned water as a means to a killing.

  Besides, it would be a bit of a coincidence, two murderers in one area. That stupid wife of his had taken away the books he needed. Especially one. The internet wasn’t something he was familiar with and he’d searched far and wide for his collection. Deadly plants, ah, now, his fascination for those began when he was a child.

  Once or twice he’d rubbed a stinging nettle across his wife’s face when she slept. Just to aggravate her mostly. She slept soundly and had no idea why she had hives in the morning. Sometimes he’d slip a little something into her dinner, just to watch her get an upset stomach. Nothing obvious, he was using her as a guinea- pig, enjoying her suffering.

  As a child he liked to kill insects, stamp on ladybirds and butterflies, torture spiders, pulling their legs off one by one. He’d never been quite right, but it wasn’t Gladys he
was after. No, the prophecy told him the victim would be a male. He must find the book. The date of the killing was vital, as was the personality of the victim. Yes, all Albie knew was the time was approaching and he must find the book.

  ~

  “This is gorgeous, Anna. But I’ve a feeling I will be running it off later. How will we get in our dresses if we keep feasting on cake?”

  “It’s not all bad, we have fresh strawberries to go with; it’s colour co-ordinated. Red velvet, red fruit. Here you are, Bumble. You can lick some of the cream off my fingers, that way I’ll save 50 calories at least,” Anna burst out laughing.

  The ginger and black cat duly obliged. Her small rough tongue happily licked the large scoop of whipped cream.

  “At least I haven’t got to cook tonight. Matt’s working this evening, so I’m seeing him tomorrow. Something to do with a relocation, two constables from a London station are coming down here. There’s nowhere near enough police in the local stations now after the recent retirements. Anyway, let’s have a nose then!” Rosie clicked on the Milton website to find local properties up for sale.

  “Phew! I think we’re barking up the wrong tree Boo-boo. Have you seen these prices?”

  “I know when I had this place valued after the restorations it’s worth a pretty penny, but nowhere near this much. Exclusive for the elite I should think. What on earth is James Sallow doing booked in here, staying with us?”

  “Stop it! I’ll have you know, Wodehouse B & B is rather exclusive in this neck of the woods. Have you seen all the advance bookings? Besides, the Lobster Pot and the Flag aren’t a patch on your rooms.” Anna was quick to reply.

  “Our rooms. We’re in this together now, remember? Talking of which, when we complete the new staff, I want it eventually to be permanent. Iris can cook, she’s quite happy to do it and I’ll give Amy Daley a ring and sort out something ongoing. We can just be part-time managers, draw a wage for the next five years at least from the estate and concentrate on what we really want to do. Your paintings and my mystery agency. I’m patiently waiting for my new case.”