THE COUNTRY INN MYSTERY an absolutely gripping whodunit full of twists

by Faith Martin

  She was wearing long black gloves that clutched her black beaded reticule tightly, and if her movements were a little jerky and self-conscious, it hardly mattered, given the overall effect.

  And then she began her final speech, and her wonderfully smoky, deep, sexy voice filled the room, throbbing with emotion, and any uneasy fears her audience had that Rachel’s performance might just let her down were immediately lifted.

  ‘Oh, my lover has gone, and I am bereft,’ she began, lifting a hand to her forehead and pressing the opaque black covering of her veil theatrically against her skin. ‘And am I truly destined to carry on so cruelly living whilst all my sensibilities tell me that to do so would be futile?’

  And so, lamenting and bewailing her loss, Rachel Norman made her way to the door and out into the bright — and definitely incongruous — sunshine, trailing her eager retinue of listeners behind her. To the slight consternation of a dog walker and a pair of local teenagers, who all turned their heads to stare at her as she passed them by, she led the way slowly across the village square. In one corner there was a small gate that led onto a piece of common ground, which contained a well-worn footpath that swept down to the village pond.

  In several places, Rachel would pause to allow everyone to catch up with her, whilst lamenting some more. And all the time working herself up to ‘commit such a dread deed, which although must be deemed unpardonable in the eyes of God, is surely not past understanding to my fellow man.’

  Jenny, who was towards the back of the crowd, was clearly able to hear her words carrying on the still, open air, and once again had to admire her delivery. That marvellous and unmistakable voice of hers really did manage to convey the anguish of a woman about to end her life, working up her courage and her conviction to join her beloved ‘beyond the veil.’

  So much so that by the time the procession had reached the rather pretty village pond, everyone was perfectly willing to believe that they were, in fact, on the shores of the small ornamental lake that still existed within the grounds of the Rowland family home. (The Rowlands, it seemed, whilst not minding taking money from the weekenders to look around their house and garden, hadn’t been quite so eager to lend their lake to this afternoon’s proceedings.)

  As Jenny and the others formed a large semicircle around the front of the pond, the cook looked around her with interest. A waist-high wire fence, colonised by pink and white flowering bindweed and other wildflowers, met the pond at a point halfway across its circumference, and circled it around the back, thus cutting off the rear of the pond from public access. No doubt the farmer’s field behind it was used for pasture, and the village committee didn’t want cows or sheep polluting the water, trampling down the vegetation and ruining the aspect.

  Covering up most of the fencing was a row of elegantly weeping willows that lined two thirds of the pond, their feathery green branches sweeping down clear to the water, creating a natural, lushly green theatrical curtain as a backdrop. Bullrushes and other varieties of native reeds rustled gently in the breeze, their tall stems making inroads into various other parts of the water, leaving a relatively clear patch of open water only in the very centre of the pond. But even here, some late-flowering pondweed with pretty star-like yellow flowers presented a lovely splash of colour, as did the waving lime-green weeds that lay just below the surface of the smooth water.

  Dragon and damsel flies flitted away at the disturbance, flashing their electric-blue and green slender bodies as they did so, and a family of moorhens sped away in panic to the far side of the pond, as far away from the human invasion as possible.

  A rather picturesque, rickety-looking jetty stretched out almost to the centre of the pond. The main wooden posts supporting the planks rose to about eight inches or so above the waterline. Jenny suspected the youngsters of the village used it the most, since it would allow them to get further out onto the water to feed the ducks, which were thankfully absent right now.

  Jenny, hiding a smile, thought that it would rather spoil the sombre mood if some mallards came quacking up to Rachel during her big scene, demanding to be fed some bread!

  As it was, a gentle late summer’s breeze wafted a few meadow brown butterflies across the scene as Rachel walked to the water’s edge and began her final, farewell speech.

  ‘And so, I pray that Reginald now awaits me, confident that God, in his infinite grace, will grant me forgiveness and look down with mercy on my despair.’

  And so saying, the actress took her first steps into the pond. Unfortunately, where the grass met the water it had obviously become very slippery, and as her left foot began to slide a little away from her, she was forced to jerk herself backwards in order to regain her balance. And her dress, where it had become wet, rode up and clung damply to the sides of her leg. This revealed a quick glimpse of a pair of distinctly modern, high-heeled black boots.

  Determinedly, she took a few more faltering steps into the water, but it was clear that the descent into the deceivingly benevolent-looking water was steeper than she’d anticipated. As she moved abruptly down, one arm shot out automatically in an attempt to keep her balance, and her reticule very neatly slipped off her arm and fell into the water with a heavy splash. Before she could snatch it back up again, it promptly sank from view into the muddy water.

  Gamely Rachel ignored this slight faux pas, and whilst everyone else politely pretended not to notice it either, continued to walk gingerly into the pond. And Jenny, for one, didn’t blame her. Although the watercourse had a pleasant, almost chocolate-box cosiness to it, it still must have felt distinctly odd and counterintuitive to take that first step into the cool water. Especially when so fully and elaborately dressed. And if she continued to look a little wobbly, and her movements were stiff and uncertain, who would be so churlish as to take notice? It couldn’t have been easy to get this unrehearsed scene right first time, even for a seasoned actress.

  And no matter what you might have thought of Rachel Norman the person, Rachel Norman the actress was clearly determined to do her audience proud. And Jenny for one silently took her hat off to her as she waded slowly but determinedly out towards the centre of the pond, where the little jetty cast a dark shadow over the glass-like water.

  Feeling her way carefully with each step, she prepared to make the final, dramatic and fatal gesture of flinging herself face down into the water.

  Everyone seemed to hold their breath as the water reached first her thighs and then her waist. Then, with a final loud and heartbroken sigh, she allowed herself to fall forward and become submerged, the silk of her dress ballooning out around her, her veil floating gently around her head and spreading out across the still water.

  For the moment all was utterly silent as the appreciative audience took it all in, and then there was a collective sigh of released emotion at the stunning and genuinely moving sight of that body, floating gently on the water and beginning to drift lazily towards the wooden jetty.

  Jenny, along with everyone else, instinctively raised her hands, getting ready to applaud.

  And that was when all the screaming started.

  * * *

  Everyone, including Jenny, seemed to leap about six feet into the air. Her heart hammering sickeningly in her chest cavity, she whipped her head around instinctively, along with everyone else, in order to try and find the source of that awful sound.

  The voice was female and clearly terrified. High-pitched with panic, it set the hairs on Jenny’s neck standing on end, and she was not at all surprised to hear a little girl, who had to be about six or seven years old, start to cry in panic and shock. There was something hideously horrified and utterly uncontrolled in the ululating screams that split the air — something that spoke of nightmares and uncontrollable hysteria.

  And because everyone was shifting about, trying to find the cause of the problem, a babble of voices asking ‘what’s up’ and ‘who is it’ and ‘bloody hell’ filling the air, it took Jenny a moment to locate the cause of
all the blood-curdling screaming.

  And then her blue-eyed gaze quickly spotted Min Buckey, who seemed, ludicrously, to be doing some sort of a weird jig. She was bouncing around, her arms flailing wildly, as if trying to learn a particularly lively routine of the Highland Fling. It would almost have been comical if it wasn’t for the look on her face.

  She was sheet-white, her eyes enormous, her rather large mouth gaping open in a hideous and unattractive ‘O.’ Everyone was rushing towards her, wanting to help, but then drawing up short, since no one could see exactly what the problem was.

  Beside her, her husband seemed to batting at something on her shoulder, whilst at the same time trying to talk her down. That she was deaf to his blandishments was obvious.

  ‘Get it off . . . Oh, S-S-Si, get it off me! NOOOOOW!’

  ‘Is she all right?’ a tall, white-haired man said in the crowd, rather uselessly, since she clearly wasn’t.

  ‘It’s OK, sweetheart, hold still,’ Silas said loudly, trying to be heard over her screeching, whilst at the same time trying to catch his wife’s flailing arms and keep her still. ‘I can’t see it — I’m sure it’s dropped off. Honey, listen, I can’t see it . . .’

  Abruptly, Min Buckey sat down on the grass, for all the world like a puppet that had suddenly had all its strings cut. Those closest to her backed away, as if fearing that whatever she had might be catching. Quickly, and looking more and more frantic, her husband knelt beside her, still batting away at her clothes and imploring her to ‘just breathe, honey, take some nice slow deep breaths. It’ll be all right.’

  And finally it began to dawn on Jenny just what the problem was, and she felt her shoulders, which had been excruciatingly tight with tension, begin to slowly relax.

  ‘Min, honey, it’s gone. I swear, I can’t see it anywhere,’ her husband said again.

  ‘Oh, Si . . . oh, h-h-honey,’ the poor woman began to sob helplessly. ‘Oh, Si, get me away. I feel such a fool . . . all these people . . . Oh my, do I need a s-s-stiff drink. And then a lie down.’

  There was a murmur of sympathy at this, as the American millionaire, without much ceremony, flexed his considerable bulk and hoisted his wife precipitously to her feet, where she stood swaying a little and looking rather dazed.

  ‘What’s the problem, mate?’ some younger man in the watching crowd asked curiously, and Si waved a quick hand.

  ‘Spider,’ he said flatly. ‘Nothing to worry about, and sorry for the fuss. My wife’s terrified of ’em. We get some really nasty poisonous ones in the States, and one of her relatives died after being bitten. Ever since then, they terrify her.’

  ‘Not surprised,’ someone close to Jenny’s right ear muttered sympathetically.

  But overall, the words had the effect of making most people smile. And a definite ripple of relief spread throughout the crowd, gathering in momentum as the tension abruptly dissipated. The world was not coming to an end after all. There was no danger. Everything was fine. It was just a spider.

  A slightly shamefaced Silas, and a still pale-as-a-sheet Min left the pond and began to walk falteringly away. And the crowd, now that the impromptu and unexpected show had come to an end, suddenly, and almost as one body, realised that they had, in fact, been in the middle of watching another performance, and everyone turned back to look at the pond.

  Jenny fully expected to find Rachel Norman standing there fuming and mad as a wet cat at having her big moment upstaged so roundly.

  Instead, her body was still gently floating face down by the little jetty.

  It gave the cook a distinctly nasty start to see it there. Then, after considering it more rationally for a few seconds, she thought it made sense. For surely the actress, determined not to be outdone, must have seen what had happened and had waited in the pond until the attention began to turn back to her, and had then resumed her ‘dead man’s float’ position.

  With a wry smile, Jenny had to admire her perseverance and determination to see the scene through to the bitter end, and then reap the reward of her applause.

  Impatient now to get it over with, Jenny began to clap. The others, most of whom had looked as surprised as Jenny to see the scene so unchanged, quickly followed her lead and also began to applaud.

  A few people on the outer fringes, realising it was all over, began to turn and walk away, not even bothering to wait and watch the actress emerge in triumph from the pond.

  The floating body didn’t move.

  Jenny frowned. Oh come on, Rachel, don’t milk it, she silently urged her with a sigh.

  The muted applause lessened.

  But still the floating body didn’t move.

  And Jenny felt a cold shiver run up her spine. What was wrong with the wretched girl? Why didn’t she just take her bow? OK, she might be feeling miffed at having her big moment ruined, but surely she . . .

  Jenny stopped clapping. Surely Rachel must have heard them applauding her? Even if some part of her ears were underwater. So why wasn’t she responding to her cue, eager to bask in her moment of glory?

  Slowly, and as if Jenny’s unease had communicated itself to the others, everyone fell ominously silent.

  And still the gently floating body didn’t move.

  ‘Is she all right?’ the white-haired man said again, and Jenny felt a weird sense of déjà vu.

  Everyone seemed to take a tiny step closer to the edge of the pond, but no further. It was as if they were all paralysed and unable to do more than watch.

  In the end it was Ion Dryfuss who gave a sudden savage oath, pushed his way through the crowd and launched himself unceremoniously into the water.

  Still in numb, disbelieving silence, they all watched him wade frantically out towards her and grasp the floating arm nearest to him, pulling Rachel towards him. Once he’d got a better hold of her, he turned her over by her shoulders, thrusting the clinging wet veil that covered her face to one side.

  And there was a sharp, collective moan. For the actress’s eyes were wide open, and staring unseeingly at the sky. And any lingering hope on the part of the watching people that this might still be a part of the performance abruptly drained away.

  And again Jenny could hear children start to cry, and wasn’t surprised when their parents ushered them urgently away from the awful sight.

  ‘Quickly, fetch her out! I know CPR,’ called a thirty-something woman, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt advertising the wares of a local farmer’s market. She pushed her way authoritatively to the front, galvanising the crowd to make way for her.

  Almost sobbing with panic, the Welshman towed Rachel the short distance to the sloping edge of the pond, where several willing hands reached down to help him pull her up and onto the grass.

  Everyone then fell back to give the woman room to work, except for Ion, who had fallen to his knees by Rachel’s side and simply waited, staring mutely at his one-time lover’s sodden, still beautiful, face.

  Jenny heard several people around her reach for their mobile phones and call for an ambulance.

  And Jenny knew that the police would be coming not far behind.

  And what was already a nightmarish situation would soon become even worse.

  CHAPTER SIX

  People began to drift away, which worried Jenny slightly. She was pretty sure that the police were going to want to know who was present and take their statements. What’s more, she’d noticed that a lot of the audience had been recording the scene on their mobile phones, and she was sure that the police would want to have copies of any footage.

  Then she caught herself. Why was she assuming that the police would be so rigorous about all this anyway? This was surely either an accidental drowning, or maybe death by natural causes, wasn’t it? Although she couldn’t quite see how Rachel Norman might have accidentally drowned. Even if she hadn’t been a strong swimmer, the pond was relatively small and the bank was almost within touching distance of the body. Besides, Jenny doubted that the pond could possibly be that deep, even i
n the very middle. Although Rachel was face down in the water, so she guessed that wouldn’t even factor in. But how could she have accidentally drowned?

  Unless she’d somehow become fatally entangled with the lime-green river weed, which had somehow managed to drag her down and kept her head submerged?

  Thoughtfully, Jenny moved a little away from the small knot of people still helplessly shocked and clustered around the actress’s lifeless body, and turned her attention to the pond itself.

  For a few moments she studied it minutely. She could see the actress’s footprints quite clearly where she’d gone in, the small, square cut of the modern high-heeled boots sinking in deeply in a distinctive pattern.

  And no others.

  So, clearly no one else had gone in after her when everyone was crowded around Min and had somehow managed to swim out to her and drown her, unobserved. Even Ion, who’d been the one to get her out, had all but taken a running jump from the grass, landing solidly out a couple of feet into the water.

  The undeniably pretty river weed swayed innocently just underneath the water and looked harmless enough, and didn’t seem to be particularly dense. In places, Jenny could clearly see the dark water underneath it. Surely there was not enough of it to become a real hazard?

  Jenny sighed, feeling frustrated. Shock was clouding her thinking and she was beginning to doubt her ability to think logically. For surely even if Rachel had got into difficulties of any description, someone would have noticed and helped her out? Even with everyone crowding around the screaming and panicking Min, if the actress had been splashing about and gurgling, someone would have noticed. Those individuals who’d been at the back of the circle that had crowded around the hyperventilating American woman wouldn’t have been able to see much of what was going on, and so would have been easily distracted by a splashing commotion going on behind them. Especially if Rachel had been calling for help.