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

by Caroline James

  Hattie picked up her pen and began to jot down her thoughts on a notepad. She made bullet points in a row and pondered each as she wrote. Half an hour later, she looked up. There were more voices in the garden and Alf’s laughter was loud.

  ‘Now what?’ Hattie turned to peer out of the window. She winced when she saw Harry, dressed in his crumpled Hawaiian shirt, caked with dried mud. He held a book in his hand and walked barefoot towards her office, his khaki baggies creased and stained.

  ‘Mornin’ Cinderella,’ Hattie said as Harry fell into her office. ‘Lost your go-forwards?’

  ‘Eh?’ Harry asked as he watched Hattie eye his bare feet and missing flip-flops.

  ‘Well, you could hardly go backwards in that sort of foot-gear.’ Hattie smiled.

  ‘Very funny.’ Harry sat down. ‘I have no recollection of where I left them.’ He held his head in his hands.

  ‘I take it that you’re a tad hungover today?’

  ‘I spent the night on the couch in Reggie’s flat, it was bloody uncomfortable.’

  ‘Out for the count, I’m sure.’

  ‘Not as cosy as the landlord.’ Harry looked at Hattie through red-rimmed eyes. ‘You could have mentioned that he has a love-nest, here in your cottage. I caught him creeping in at the pub, this morning.’

  ‘None of your business,’ Hattie said. She stood up and went over to the fridge. Pulling out a bottle of water, she handed it to Harry. ‘Here, get this down your throat.’

  ‘I won’t bother to come calling again, if that’s the way the wind is blowing.’ Harry flicked the top of the bottle and took a long swig.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so hard done by. You and I go back years; Reggie is just a bit of fun.’

  ‘Aye, well, don’t be leading me on.’

  ‘As if,’ Hattie said and sat down. ‘Anyway, what happened to that nice nurse you were dating? Jane or Jenny or something?’

  ‘Janine.’ Harry looked sulky. ‘We split up, but I’d do anything to get her back.’

  ‘Oh, don’t dwell on it - there are plenty more fish in the sea. Now, far more important. Are you going to cast your policeman’s eye over my notes here, and help me work out what the hell is going on in this village?’

  ‘What have you got?’ Harry reached for the notepad and began to read. When he’d finished, he sat back in his seat. ‘If you’re curious about the three suicides,

  Mary, Helen and Barry, focus on John Hargreaves.’

  ‘Any reason why?’

  ‘He’s the link.’ Harry rubbed his forehead then looked directly at Hattie. ‘He employed Barry and still employs his daughter, Camilla,’ he began, ‘and Helen was married to Barry.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘John Hargreaves owns Marland Manor where Mary’s dad was a resident.’ Harry finished the last of the water and shook his head. ‘She was distraught when her dad passed away and I wonder if there’s something that I missed, when I investigated her suicide.’

  ‘That’s a good point.’ Hattie nodded. ‘I think I might dig a bit deeper into the goings on at the manor and have a further look into Nancy, the manager, and her background.’

  ‘You’ll probably be scrambling around at nothing but if you insist on carrying on with this, then that’s where I’d advise you to go next.’ Harry sighed. ‘I need to get back, I’m on duty at three and Derek is on a double shift, holding the fort.’

  ‘Ah, the quizzing constable. Is he still doing crosswords?’

  ‘You might laugh, but Derek Jones wins many a competition; he won a motorhome recently.’

  ‘Blimey, you’d want him on your team.’

  ‘We certainly will.’ Harry nodded and winced as pain from his hangover tore across his forehead.

  ‘We will?’ Hattie asked.

  ‘Reggie is starting a quiz night at the pub, it seems he has a friend who’s good at setting the questions and does quiz gigs around the county.’

  ‘Oh, does he?’ Hattie said, thinking that there must be something in it for Reggie.

  ‘Aye, Derek is bringing his team from Marland and reckons the pub will be packed. It’ll be a good night on the bar for Reggie.’

  It all fell into place.

  ‘The first quiz kicks off tomorrow,’ Harry continued, ‘and Alf has put you down to captain a team - The Mud

  Maulers.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You’ll be great, all the lads in the pub are up for it.’ Harry managed a smile. ‘The thought of your muddy tits is getting teams chalked up on the board at lightning speed. Quicker than the darts or dominoes.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Hattie said. ‘I don’t know the first thing about quizzes.’

  ‘I’ve got you a copy of the Whiz Quiz Book for Children, so you can start brushing up.’ Harry placed the book he was carrying on Hattie’s desk. ‘It’s surprising what Joan and Arnie stock in their shop.’

  Hattie looked at the faded cover and pushed it to one side.

  ‘Reggie says the quiz will raise money for the village fete. He posted it on the village Facebook page and the response was instant. Even Castle Care Communities have come up with a team.’

  ‘All very impressive.’ Hattie took Harry’s arm. ‘Now get on your way,’ she said as he struggled to his feet.

  But Harry had stopped and, placing his arm on her shoulder, leaned in to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m glad you’re finding comfort with Reggie,’ he said. ‘Just let me know when his bed gets cold and yours needs warming up again.’

  ‘You silly sod.’ Hattie shook her head and shoved him out of the office.

  She watched Harry stumble back up the path, flinching in pain as his bare foot came in contact with a sharp stone. Picking up the empty water bottle, Hattie tossed it into the bin then grabbed her pen and notepad. She went out of the office and strolled through the garden. Letting herself into the cottage, she stopped by the mirror on the kitchen dresser. ‘Time to pay an unannounced visit to Nancy, I think,’ she said to her reflection. She reached into the cupboard for a bottle of gin and poured herself a good slug. Adding ice and tonic, Hattie sat at the table and smiled as she savoured her drink.

  The plot was thickening nicely, and Hattie was enjoying her new career.

  16

  Hattie turned into the gates of Marland Manor and parked on a corner of the drive. She wore a smart dress and low heels and, despite the hot weather that gave no sign of letting up, she was cool and comfortable in her outfit.

  ‘Memory Loss Manor,’ she whispered sadly as she walked past the lounge and looked into the window where a resident sat, staring out to the garden, his expression lifeless. Hattie shuddered and thought of her fictitious Uncle Charles, supposedly suffering from dementia.

  ‘Mrs Mulberry!’ a voice called out. Nancy Clifford rounded the corner behind Hattie. ‘You haven’t made an appointment?’

  ‘Oh, you startled me,’ Hattie said crossly. ‘Do you always creep up on people?’

  ‘No, my dear, of course not.’ In the shade of the imposing building, Nancy smiled, giving Hattie the benefit of a dazzling set of pearly porcelain. ‘I thought you’d seen me when you came up the drive.’ She pointed towards the garden. ‘I was out here pruning the roses.’

  Puzzled, Hattie looked around for rose bushes. There were none.

  ‘Let’s go in, for a cup of coffee,’ Nancy said and, taking a key from her pocket, unlocked the front door. ‘You’re fortunate, I don’t normally see visitors without an appointment.’ Nancy led Hattie into her office and indicated that she should take a seat. She picked up a phone on her desk and spoke to the kitchen.

  ‘Why would I need an appointment?’ Hattie asked. ‘I’d like to think that I’d be able to visit my uncle at any time, should he come here.’

  ‘It’s not good for the residents to have unscheduled visits; with the level of care needed we like to prepare

  our people for family and friends.’ Hattie wasn’t impressed.

  ‘Have you come to book your uncle in?’ Nancy turned to
study a computer screen. ‘I have a room that would be suitable from next week.’ She had a laptop open on her desk, beside a larger monitor.

  ‘I wanted to see which room you plan to put him in and check the facilities again.’ Hattie watched Nancy tap away at a keyboard. ‘Can you take me to the bedroom that you’re proposing to allocate?’

  ‘That won’t be possible today, but I can show you our guest suite which will give you an idea of the level of comfort we provide.’

  ‘I can’t bring Uncle Charlie here if I don’t know what I’m bringing him to.’ Hattie tapped impatiently on the side of her chair. She longed to get Nancy out of the way so that she could have a poke around, but the manager was glued to her desk. ‘He’ll spend a lot of time in his room and it’s imperative that it’s comfortable for him.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we make sure residents socialise and there are lots of activities that Charles will be able to join in with. But of course, you want to see a room, let me see if we can have access.’ Nancy stood up and stepped away from the computer. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said and opening the door, was gone.

  Hattie looked around. Nancy had some lovely artwork hanging on the walls. A beautiful oil painting of a windmill, on the Norfolk broads, caught Hattie’s eye. It seemed out of place in a room where the walls were full of paintings of Cumbria. She stood up and made a mental note of the artist’s name. W. Reed.

  A very talented artist, Hattie thought to herself.

  Hattie moved over to the door and listened. She couldn’t hear any activity and she rubbed her hands together, grateful that Nancy had left the room. Springing forward, she flew around the desk to the laptop. As she touched the keyboard, the screen instantly came to life. Hattie could see that Nancy had been checking emails in a folder named, “Property”. She hadn’t been looking at a booking diary for Marland Manor, or a list of residents. This must be her personal computer! Scrolling down the emails in the folder and opening one at random, Hattie saw that it was from a Portuguese company, detailing the annual maintenance fee for an apartment on the Algarve, in Nancy’s name.

  The amount was eighteen thousand pounds. Hattie whistled. It must be a very fancy apartment!

  Reading on, she saw an email from a letting agency in Cumbria, writing to confirm that references, deposit and the first month’s rent had been received from suitable tenants, for a property in Penrith, owned by Nancy Clifford. Hattie made a note of the agent and the address of the property. Another email had a Welsh address, confirming payment for an annual ground rent for a property on The Warren, an upmarket holiday complex in Abersoch, on the coast of North Wales. The receipt was made out to Nancy Clifford. Again, Hattie made a note of the address of the property and the holding company.

  Fearing that Nancy was on her way back and she was about to be discovered, Hattie moved away from the desk and sat down, just as the office door opened.

  It was Grace. She carried a tray of coffee. ‘Thought you’d come back,’ she said. ‘Alf said you were getting nowhere with your enquiries.’

  Hattie bit her lip. She would give Alf the Mouth a telling off when she got back.

  ‘Madam is sorting the guest room out for you to view.’ Grace placed the tray on the desk and handed Hattie a cup. ‘She keeps it free for relatives to have a look at and is probably giving it a quick dust.’

  ‘I’ve asked to see a resident’s room.’

  ‘Little chance of that happening, there’s nothing empty. Once she’s got residents booked in, they only come out for pre-arranged appointments with visitors.’

  ‘What’s the reason for that?’

  ‘Hardly any money is spent on décor or updating the rooms and as no one stays for very long they don’t think the cost is worth it.’

  The door opened and Nancy walked in. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘it’s Grace and our coffee.’ She waited for Grace to depart. ‘Grace is a gossip, do ignore anything she says. But she’s one of our longest serving staff members.’

  ‘We were discussing the warm weather.’

  ‘Whenever you’re ready, I can show you a room.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Hattie said. ‘I’m ready and waiting, do lead on.’

  IN THE CELLAR of The Holly Bush, Reggie was cleaning his beer lines. Cask ale needed a lot of attention and as he changed his guest ales each week, Reggie spent a considerable amount of time down there.

  It wasn’t a job he enjoyed.

  As the landlord of a busy pub, he always had something to do and this particular task was a burden, but not one to neglect. Clean lines were critical and ensured that his precious beers were always at their best to be enjoyed by regular customers and visitors alike.

  He wore a PVC apron and gloves and pulled a pair of protective goggles over his eyes. Reaching for the cleaning fluid, he poured the right amount into a bucket of warm water and removed the keg couplers from a barrel. Immersing them deeply, he began to scrub.

  As Reggie worked, he thought about Hattie.

  She’d been a huge help when she’d stepped in to help out in the pub, on the hottest day of the year so far. Reggie hadn’t seen the forecast and should have been better prepared for an onslaught of custom. But with Hattie getting stuck in behind the bar, they’d easily coped with the deluge of thirsty punters and he’d had a cracking day. The woman knew her stuff and moved around the pub as if she’d been born there, serving and chatting to customers whilst tidying and keeping the place running smoothly.

  As Reggie cleaned the wall sockets and wiped away beer stains, he wished that Hattie would come and work for him full-time. She’d be an asset, as the locals clearly loved her. But Reggie knew that Hattie’s head was elsewhere; she’d never said as much, but he had an inkling that she was working on something. He’d noted that she had an office in her garden, and he’d asked what she used it for. Her reply was vague, and she’d mumbled that it was somewhere to keep her paperwork, then changed the subject. Reggie wondered if he should ask her again. Not that they did a lot of talking.

  Reggie smiled as he switched on the gas pump and powered cleaning solution through the lines. Hattie was the best bed companion he’d had in years and he made the most of every minute that he spent with her. The woman had a voracious sexual appetite, which he found extremely attractive. Combined with the fact that Hattie was a good giggle and a lot of fun, she fulfilled his every fantasy. He couldn’t remember feeling this way in a very long time and as he tore off his goggles and skipped up the cellar steps, Reggie wondered if he was falling in love. Whenever Hattie got into a scrape, his instinct was to save her and the thought of her being hurt shot pain through his heart like a knife.

  He went into the bar to bleed the pumps then returned to the cellar to flush the system through with clean water. Connecting the keg coupler back on the beer container, Reggie repeated the process with another cask.

  Steady does it, Reggie told himself. No point in frightening the woman off in the first few weeks of knowing her. Things were moving along nicely and he’d wait and see how it all progressed. Reggie had been bitten hard once before in the game of love and had vowed that he’d never settle down again. He’d not only lost his heart, but most of his money too, when the relationship finally broke down. It had been a long, hard slog to get back on his feet, both emotionally and financially and Reggie had no intention of putting himself in a similar situation.

  But Hattie was special, he thought as he made himself a mug of coffee. She was independent, financially secure and capable of making her own way in the world. She’d get snapped up again in no time if he wasn’t careful. It was clear that Harry the Helmet was keen on Hattie and had told Reggie in no uncertain terms not to hurt her. Reggie thought there might be others on the side-lines too. ‘One day at a time,’ he said out loud as walked through the bar. ‘Things have a habit of sorting through.’

  In the meantime, Reggie had a quiz event to prepare for that night, and with the glorious weather continuing, he had a busy time ahead.

  HATTIE SAT I
N HER OFFICE, eating a sandwich. She wore her comfy old shorts and a t-shirt and as she ate, she contemplated her recent visit to Marland Manor.

  On the day that Hattie had turned up, unannounced, Nancy, clearly wishing to impress the niece of a prospective new resident, had shown Hattie to a beautifully appointed room with views overlooking the garden. There was a bathroom, adapted for residents suffering from a disability, and the room was lavishly decorated with expensive furnishings. Nancy had explained that Uncle Charles would benefit from a room of similar size and standard and it would be made ready just as soon as Hattie gave Nancy the go ahead to admit her relative.

  Hattie looked at a folder on her desk.

  It contained paperwork that required details of Charles’ doctor and a sheet for Hattie to fill in, confirming her uncle’s bank account and direct debit instructions for the monthly fees. As Hattie supposedly had Power of Attorney, she could handle the administration on his behalf. Nancy said that Charles would have a full check-up on admittance, with careful attention paid to his care requirements and medication, and all the necessary legal paperwork would be available for Hattie to inspect at any time.

  Hattie pushed her empty plate to one side.

  There was little more that she could do. Her excuse to spend time in the manor had run out and she would call Nancy today to let her know that she’d found a more suitable home for “Uncle Charles”.

  But her visits had served a purpose and now she thought about the contents of Nancy’s emails in which she’d learnt that the manager owned an apartment in Portugal, a property in Penrith and a holiday home in Wales. What else did Nancy have her hands on? Was there a larger portfolio that exceeded the brief glimpse that Hattie had gleaned from her search on Nancy’s computer?

  Not bad on a manger’s salary, Hattie thought. Nancy must have a capable mind when it came to investments. But perhaps she had another source of income? Or even a wealthy benefactor such as John Hargreaves? Hattie had a nose for intrigue, and she felt that something wasn’t right, but how could she find out more? She remembered that Harry had said to focus on John Hargreaves but how could she engineer a meeting with him and what would she ask him?