Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series!

by Caroline James

  ‘But you promised me that you would help!’ Marjorie slammed her fist on the table and Hattie saw Venetia wince. ‘You’ve not even paid his final salary into our account.’ Hattie placed the new bottle on the table and Marjorie grabbed it, twisting the cap off. Pouring a hefty quantity into her glass, she drank it down.

  John reached out to pat Marjorie’s arm, but she shrugged him off. ‘Why can’t you do the decent thing, like you promised?’ she yelled.

  Venetia, who now sat forward, grabbed the bottle to move it out of Marjorie’s reach and a tugging match began. ‘Why can’t you get a job?’ Venetia hissed as she attempted to gain control of the bottle. ‘My husband has no responsibility to you!’

  Hattie was wondering whether to let Reggie know that things on the Hargreaves’ table were getting out of hand but as she turned to go into the bar, she stopped. Camilla was heading through the garden towards them and her face looked thunderous.

  ‘Camilla,’ John said as he saw his employee approach, ‘shouldn’t you be at work?’

  ‘I’ve got the afternoon off and as everyone else is enjoying the sunshine, I thought I would too.’ She glared at her stepmother who’d wrestled the bottle out of Venetia’s hand. ‘Keeping it light, Marjorie?’ Camilla said as she watched Marjorie refill her glass.

  ‘Oh, bugger awf, Camilla.’ Marjorie slurred her words and Hattie wondered if her neighbour had been on the wine long before she’d arrived at the pub. ‘I’m only getting what’s rightly owed to me, from this, this pig of a company director.’ She pointed at John, paused, belched and carried on. ‘He promised to make sure I was okay financially, after Barry died.’

  ‘Any reason why he should?’ Camilla asked, colour flooding to her cheeks. ‘You caused my father’s death, and my mother’s, so why should you be compensated?’

  ‘You bitch!’ Marjorie staggered to her feet and attempted to slap Camilla’s face.

  Hattie moved in to grab Marjorie but as she steadied her neighbour back into her chair, she heard an anguished cry. It was coming from the direction of the pond, where a commotion appeared to be kicking off. Penny, now fully awake, was standing in the distance, on the edge of the pond. She was screaming. Hattie ran across the grass and leapt through the pub gate to hurl herself across the village green. Bertie and Ness were in the water, their paws slapping about, creating waves.

  Roger was also on the side of the pond. ‘I can’t swim!’ he cried as he held on to the heavily pregnant Penny, who was flailing her hands and wrenching at her hair. Hattie looked for the children, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she said and looked around for Alf or Harry, but they were in the pub, unaware of the unfolding event. ‘Where are Josh and Hannah?’

  ‘In the water!’ Roger, no longer cocky and confident, heaved a sob and gripped Penny tighter.

  Hattie couldn’t see anything that resembled children floating about as she squinted in the sunshine to search the surface of the pond.

  ‘There’s something over there!’ Roger shouted.

  Hattie tugged her trainers off and, slipping out of her dress, waded in. She looked to where Roger was pointing and, at the far edge of the pond, she could see Josh’s little head above the water. His sister clung on to her elder brother’s shoulder.

  ‘It’s alright, I’m coming,’ Hattie called out as she struggled through the weeds, thanking the Great Creator up above that the pond wasn’t very deep. ‘Keep still, or you’ll get tangled.’

  As she reached the children, she held out her arms and scooped them both up. ‘Now, we’ll wait for help to get us out on this side,’ she said, not fancying a return trip across the pond, arms laden with wriggling children. Bertie and Ness had swum over and, as Ness nudged Hattie, Bertie held his head out of the water and licked at the children’s naked arms. ‘Aye, alright,’ Hattie said, ‘they’re both safe.’

  She looked up to see if help was at hand and, to her relief, tearing across the green came Reggie, followed by Harry and Alf. Leading the charge was Drake, flapping his wings and quacking loudly.

  ‘The Three Wise Men,’ Hattie said as Reggie threw himself down the bank to reach Hattie. Thigh deep in the muddy water, he took hold of Josh and passed the six-year-old to Harry. Turning back to Hattie, he gently took Hannah and passed her to Alf.

  ‘Let’s get you out of here,’ Reggie said softly and held onto Hattie as she slid about in the mud, grabbing at weeds and reeds to stabilise herself. As she emerged onto dry land, in front of the crowd that had suddenly assembled, Hattie wished that she’d worn a bra beneath her dress. Although covered in mud and slime from the pond, Hattie’s ample breasts were a treat for the punters who’d poured out of the pub to see what was going on.

  ‘Here, put this on,’ Reggie said as he unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to Hattie.

  ‘Have mine!’ Harry shouted and, shoving Reggie to one side, flung his colourful Hawaiian shirt around her shoulders.

  ‘Mine’s better.’ Reggie shoved Harry out of the way and the policeman toppled backwards into the water.

  ‘That’s assault!’ Harry shouted as he surfaced, a muddy weed trickling slime across his face.

  But Reggie had a hold on Hattie and wasn’t letting her go, as he turned his back on Harry and led her across the green. Hattie looked up to make sure that the children were alright and was relieved to see that they were perfectly happy, cuddling up to their parents, seemingly unaware of the danger, when they’d run around the far side of the pond to chase the dogs into the water.

  ‘Where’s Marjorie?’ Hattie asked as Reggie led her past a line-up of locals, applauding Hattie back into the pub.

  ‘I couldn’t tell you,’ Reggie replied as they moved past the empty table where John and Venetia had been sitting. ‘They must have upped and left when the panic began.’

  ‘My Arnie was on his way to help you!’ Joan called out from her chair in the snug. She nudged Arnie, causing him to spill his glass of cider. ‘He was right behind; you needn’t have worried.’

  ‘Aye, thanks Arnie, you were a real help.’ Hattie had no doubt that the pair hadn’t moved a muscle during the hullabaloo and knew that Joan would have a greatly embellished story ready for the gossip grapevine in the shop the next day.

  ‘Hot shower and a stiff drink?’ Reggie patted Hattie on the bottom. ‘Alf’s bought your dress and trainers back from where you cast them off. You can use my place, upstairs.’

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, Reggie, I think I’d like to get back to my cottage and have a soak in the bath.’

  ‘Then I’ll call you a cab, you can’t be walking through the village in that state.’

  As Hattie sat in the passenger seat of the vehicle that Reggie had laid on to take her home, she looked out at the picturesque village. Life had returned to normal and it was as if the events of the afternoon hadn’t happened. In the vicarage garden, Bertie was chasing a ball and Josh and Hannah ran alongside. Roberts’ Convenience Stores were shuttered and still and walkers, out for an evening stroll, striding out in sturdy boots, went through a gate that led to the fields and woods beyond Hattie’s cottage. In Lover’s Lane, Marjorie’s house was silent, the fading sunshine caressing the Georgian windows as if closing their eyes for the night. Alf and Ness were heading back to Judy, and Harry was set to make a night of it in the pub.

  Hattie had much to think about.

  As she climbed out of the cab and unlatched the door to her cottage, she wondered why John and Venetia had slipped away so quickly, when cries were heard from the pond? Marjorie was clearly intoxicated and must have gone home, Camilla too.

  As Hattie watched the cab pull away, she saw Drake waddling up the lane, heading towards the cottage. ‘Come on, old fella,’ Hattie said and held the gate. ‘I need a hot bath and you need your pond, let’s both go and relax.’ With a yawn, she walked Drake to the rear of the cottage and let herself in through the back door. Within seconds, the duck was floating on the surface of his pond and, as Hatt
ie climbed the stairs and looked out of her bedroom window, she saw him silhouetted on the water, happily quacking as he paddled about in the soft light of the fading sun.

  ‘I wish I’d stayed at home today,’ Hattie whispered as she watched Drake and ran her fingers through her muddy locks. ‘My hair is buggered and I’m all scratched and smelly from being heaved out of the water. I’m sure someone else could have got those kids out of the pond.’

  With a sigh, Hattie went to run her bath.

  15

  Hattie woke late. The curtains in her room were closed but daylight was creeping though the fabric and rays of light shimmered across her eyelids. She reached for a pillow and pulled it over her face. The soft linen slip smelt of aftershave and, with a smile, Hattie nestled into the downy folds as she remembered Reggie creeping into her room soon after the pub had closed for the night.

  ‘You should keep your door locked,’ he’d whispered as he slipped out of his clothes and slid under the covers.

  ‘With the duck on duty, there’s little need,’ Hattie had replied and let herself be engulfed by Reggie’s strong arms and passionate embrace.

  ‘Some guard duck, he didn’t stop me.’

  ‘He knows you.’

  ‘I’m making a habit of rescuing you,’ Reggie mumbled into her ear as his hands trailed over her body, familiarising themselves with the favourite places he knew Hattie loved him to explore.

  Reggie had crept out early. An early delivery of beer was due, and he needed to get back.

  As Hattie slowly came to life, she heard voices in the garden. She recognised Alf’s and wondered who he was talking to. Reaching for her dressing gown, from a chair by the bed, she slipped it over her shoulders and wandered over to the window to look out. Marjorie was pacing the back of the cottage, a pen and paper in her hand. Hattie shook her head. Marjorie had stamina; Hattie granted her that. The neighbour had somehow got herself home the previous night, after drinking heavily all day, and now, perfectly groomed, she looked as though she’d stepped out of a health spa.

  ‘Bleedin’ hell,’ Hattie said. Another morning of Marjorie! Hattie was tempted to leave them to it and crawl back into bed, but with the possibility of a structure emerging that would dwarf her cottage, she knew that she must get dressed and intervene with instructions of her own. Hattie had hopes of a neat little conservatory, with views of the pond, not the long and luxurious garden room that Marjorie was planning.

  ‘Bacon butty, anyone?’ Hattie flung open the top of the stable door in her kitchen and shouted into the garden.

  ‘Two rounds with plenty of ketchup.’ Alf looked up from Marjorie’s drawings.

  ‘Not for me.’ Marjorie wore a radiant smile as she turned her head to Hattie. ‘But I’d love a coffee, please.’

  ‘Aye, alright, and I’d like a word with you, madam, in my office, when I’ve fed the help.’

  Hattie pottered about the kitchen, buttering bread and boiling a kettle as bacon sizzled under the grill.

  ‘That smells good.’ Alf appeared and leaned on the stable door to look in. Ness’s head popped up too. She stood on her hind legs, nose twitching as the smell of bacon wafted out. ‘How’s the lifeguard this morning?’ Alf smiled. ‘The lads in the pub were raising pints in praise of your chest for most of the night.’

  ‘Piss off, Alf,’ Hattie said and handed him a laden plate.

  ‘It was the mud that did it.’ Alf chuckled as he tore at a strip of bacon and fed it to Ness. ‘It fulfilled a lot of the lad’s fantasies.’

  ‘Have you got nothing better to do than gossip?’

  ‘Just saying.’ Alf grinned. ‘You’ve got a new nickname, The Mud Mauler. Gives Miss Marple a whole new image.’

  ‘Less of the Miss Marple.’ Hattie looked out and flicked a crust of bread to Drake, who’d waddled over from the pond when he heard Hattie’s voice.

  ‘This little fella came and fetched us.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Drake,’ Alf said. ‘He made such commotion at the door of the pub that Reggie realised that something must be wrong with you.’

  ‘I wondered why the cavalry came so quickly.’ Hattie smiled fondly at Drake. She gave Alf’s arm a shove and turned to the table to reach for a mug of coffee. ‘Now be off with you and get some work done; grab this and tell her next door that I want to see her in my office, in ten minutes.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Alf swerved to avoid Hattie’s cuff and, taking the drink, headed back to the garden.

  Hattie smoothed her crumpled t-shirt and dug in the pocket of her cropped jeans to find a lipstick. Flicking a coat of colour across her lips, she ran her fingers through her untidy curls. ‘You’ll do,’ she said and slipped her feet into a pair of old slippers to hurry out of the kitchen.

  Marjorie stood on the path, sipping her coffee. Designer sunglasses shaded her eyes. ‘Late night?’ she asked as she studied Hattie.

  ‘Don’t you start.’ Hattie stormed past into her office. ‘Come in,’ she said and took her place in the comfy seat behind the desk.

  Marjorie followed and pulled up a chair. She folded her slim body as she sat down, crossed her legs and removed her glasses to look Hattie in the eye. ‘Are you angry?’

  ‘I’m just wondering why you’re stupid enough to pick a fight with John Hargreaves in a public place?’

  ‘He owes me money.’

  ‘Well, he doesn’t seem to think so.’

  ‘But he does.’

  ‘And on top of that, you were as pissed as a fart, argumentative and aggressive.’

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘Half the village think that you, a nagging, big-spending, overbearing wife, sent Barry to his grave.’ Hattie shook her head. ‘Your behaviour hardly endears you to Joe Public. If at some point Barry’s death is reinvestigated, you’re not going to win brownie points from anyone in a decision-making position.’ Hattie picked up a pen and tapped it angrily against her palm.

  ‘I don’t care what people think.’

  ‘Well, I do. You’ve employed me to prove that Barry didn’t commit suicide, which will release his life insurance policy and quite frankly, there are times when I wonder if the poor bugger was driven to his grave.’ ‘How can you say that!’ Marjorie was furious. She stood up and flung her chair back. ‘Barry and I were in love, we were happy, no one was more shocked than me. He simply wouldn’t have left me in this position.’

  ‘And you’re playing right into Camilla’s hands too. Surely it would be better to try and get along with your step-daughter?’

  ‘Oh, you know nothing. She’s an absolute bitch to me and always has been. Why on earth would I pacify her?’

  ‘Because she will contest any monies you get, and you might be better placed if you try and please her.’ ‘Alright.’ Marjorie sighed.

  ‘You could leave the booze alone for a bit, or not go out when you’re on a bender. It loosens your tongue too much.’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying.’

  ‘And don’t go making any ridiculous plans for a garden room out there.’ Hattie sat forward and pointed with her pen. ‘I want a nice little conservatory, where I can sit of an evening and watch Drake on the pond, not some monstrosity that could accommodate the fete on a rainy day.’

  ‘I’d forgotten about the fete,’ Marjorie said. ‘What have you done about tombola prizes?’

  ‘Me? Nothing, as yet.’

  ‘Well, we better get on with it, especially as you have a visitor.’ Marjorie looked out of the office window and nodded. On the other side, she could see Roger making his way through Hattie’s garden. He carried a tin.

  ‘Oh heck, not a cake-bake from the grateful parents.’ Hattie pulled a face as the door opened and Roger burst in.

  ‘My dear Mrs Mulberry,’ he began, ‘the good lady and I want to thank you for helping out yesterday.’ Roger stood tall and thrust out his offering. ‘She’s been baking.’

  Hattie wondered why the vicar never addressed anyone by their first name.
She shook her head. ‘Call me Hattie, please, less of the formality.’

  ‘We’re grateful that you happened to be by the pond when our little ones were paddling.’ Roger ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I was about to pick them up myself, but you beat me to it.’ He smiled.

  Hattie was staggered. Had the vicar got a screw loose? Was he as absent-minded as his wife? ‘I’m sorry Roger,’ Hattie began, ‘but as I saw it, your kids were about to slide under the mud and if they hadn’t been hauled out when they were, you wouldn’t be standing in my office this morning, you’d be on your knees, praying for forgiveness, in church!’

  ‘Oh my dear, you do exaggerate.’ Roger stepped back. ‘We were in complete control of the situation, but that doesn’t stop us from saying thank you for what you did.’

  Astonished, Hattie could only stare at Roger as he continued to speak.

  ‘Ladies, how are you getting on with the tombola? Would it help if we kept the prizes at the vicarage, until you set up on the day?’ He turned to Marjorie.

  ‘The tombola prizes are in order, thank you, vicar.’ Hattie stood up. ‘Now, I won’t keep you from your flock any longer, I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do on your rounds.’ As she took his arm, Hattie noticed a sweet and spicy smell; it seemed to cling to the fibres of the vicar’s shirt as she ushered him from the room. ‘Give my best wishes to your good lady.’ She waved him away.

  ‘Nice one,’ Marjorie said as she watched the vicar depart.

  ‘And you can clear off too. I’ve got work to do.’

  Marjorie shrugged and replaced her sunglasses. She walked towards the door.

  ‘By the way,’ Hattie asked, ‘why did you all leave so suddenly when the kids went in the pond?’

  ‘I didn’t know they had,’ Marjorie replied.

  Hattie nodded. Her neighbour was probably too pissed to have noticed and with a row with John and Venetia underway, no doubt decided to stagger home. Venetia wouldn’t have wanted John to get involved and must have dragged him away.

  ‘I’ll go and talk to Alf about your conservatory.’ Marjorie wandered out of the office.