‘Be our guezzt.’ Camilla squinted at Hattie with one eye closed. ‘But it’s your turn to buy.’
‘Landlord,’ Hattie called out as Reggie, collecting empty glasses, hovered nearby. ‘Another round of drinks over here, please.’
‘Certainly, sexy, coming right up.’ Reggie loaded the empties onto a tray and, with a wink in Hattie’s direction, headed into the bar.
‘Ten minutes to judging, lovelies!’ John’s voice rang out on the loudspeaker.
Just enough time! Hattie thought and, with a smile, began her questioning.
18
Penny Delaney was hot and tired. Her baby had been bumping about in her tummy all night and she’d tossed and turned in the sweltering heat that hung heavy after another blistering day. Beside her, Roger, slumbered peacefully. He’d slept through their alarm, snoring loudly, only to be woken when Josh and Hannah hurled themselves into their parent’s bedroom and jumped on their father’s head. He wasn’t best pleased and shoved them off the bed.
In the kitchen, Penny waited for the kettle to boil and rubbed her tired eyes. She looked out of the window to the garden, where dark clouds hovered and large pellets of rain fell on the sun-baked earth, forming rivulets that ran off the hardened ground, creating pools in the dips of uneven lawn. At last, the rain had come to cool the air, and life in general would be more comfortable without the oppressive heat.
Penny thought about her day ahead.
Following a fete committee meeting, there was a coffee morning at the vicarage that day and, as host, Penny was obligated to bake cakes and look lively with preparations. Soon she would welcome parishioners, who would amble over the green with nothing better to do than sip coffee and gossip.
The kettle whistled and, grabbing a grubby tea-towel, Penny filled the pot and gave it a stir. Roger had been grumpy with the children and she knew that his temper would be sweeter as soon as he had his tea. She poured and added milk to a mug then wandered barefoot across the sticky flagged floor. Penny wished that she could have some help with the household chores, but Roger insisted that money was tight. God didn’t mind if things got a little bit dirty. Penny knew that Roger was right but wished that, occasionally, God would wave his magic wand and the rambling old pile of house would have a spiritual make-over and be instantly clean.
Penny could hear the children thumping about in the bedroom above. It sounded like a pillow fight. She yawned as she climbed the stairs.
‘Josh and Hannah!’ Roger called out. Naked to the waist, his torso taut and lean above his pyjama bottoms, Roger’s face was flushed, and he was cross as he appeared on the galleried landing. ‘Pipe down and get dressed,’ he said and reached for the tea in Penny’s hand. ‘Thank you, dearest girl, just what I need.’ Turning his back on his wife, Roger went into the bathroom and shut the door.
Penny knew that he’d be in there for ages. She sighed; he was so vain and concerned about his appearance. Now she’d have to wash the children in the sink downstairs.
Her husband had been very late getting home and had thought that she was asleep when he crept into their bedroom. He’d been surprised when she’d sat up and asked him where he’d been.
‘Just visiting a troubled parishioner, my dear, nothing for you to worry about.’ Roger had tossed his clothes to one side and, climbing into bed, turned his back on his wife. ‘The good Lord calls me at all hours of the night, to sit with those who need me.’
Penny was still sleepy, but she knew that if she didn’t get a move on, she’d be late for the children’s church-school holiday club. She went into their room and, climbing over the debris of clothes, toys and books scattered about the floor, opened a cupboard and selected their clothes. ‘PJ’s off,’ Penny said and sat down on the bed. The children scrambled over her and, together, they cobbled their outfits for the day.
‘Time for breakfast,’ Penny muttered through a yawn. She pushed Josh lightly. ‘Take your sister with you.’ She rubbed her bump as she watched Josh take Hannah’s little hand and carefully lead her down the stairs. Wandering into her bedroom, Penny wondered if her firstborn would be as gentle with the new arrival. She picked up her clothes from the previous day, dressed quickly, and followed John and Hannah downstairs.
The children tucked into a breakfast of cereal and banana as Penny made sandwiches for their lunch and packed their bags. She ran a flannel under the tap. The water was cold which meant that Roger would be lounging in a bath, having emptied the system of hot water. As she washed Josh’s hands and face and dabbed at crumbs around his mouth, she thought back to the evening before.
Bertie had been slumbering on a rug in her bedroom, his snores soft and comforting, but Penny had been hot and restless and unable to sleep. She knew that Roger was probably going to be late, having chosen to captain the village fete ladies’ team at the quiz in the pub, and she lay in bed, listening to the nocturnal sounds in the garden. In all the time that she’d lived in the vicarage, Penny had never seen an owl - occasionally she heard a dull hoot in the distance but tonight, a sound from the darkness seemed close. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and lumbered across the room to look out. After the heat of the summer’s day, the air was still humid, and Penny’s nightgown stuck to her glistening skin and the nape of her neck was damp with perspiration. She looked up at the inky sky as she heard the sound again. A half-moon appeared, suspended over the dark silhouette of the treetops and Penny wondered where the owl was hiding. But she frowned as she strained to listen, for the sound that she heard wasn’t the hoot of an owl.
Curious to know more, she undid the latch on the window and leaned out. A noise came from below. Loud grunts and groans echoed in the still night and Penny’s heart lurched as she realised that they were of a sexual nature. Shocked, she gripped her hair and pushed it behind her ears then gently moved the curtain to one side, to peer down.
Illuminated in the moonlight, a couple, locked together, lay on the damp lawn in the nook of the vicarage wall, hidden from the road.
Penny’s eyes were wide as she watched the hard thrusts of a man, pinning a woman to the ground. Long white legs thrashed beneath him and, horrified, Penny wondered if she should call for help. The woman was whimpering and Penny bit her lip. Her hands were clenched as she dropped the curtain, but as she turned to grab the phone, the whimpers turned to cries and Penny realised that the encounter she was witnessing was one of mutual passion and the woman was enjoying the experience. Unable to retreat, she watched the performance with a mixture of horror and fascination. Suddenly, the woman twisted her face from underneath her lover and opened her eyes to stare upwards at the bedroom window.
Penny gasped. She recognised her old school pal. It was Camilla!
Penny stumbled towards the bed. Her thoughts were in a muddle. Camilla was in Penny’s garden with her dress bundled high around her waist, having a sexual encounter as brazenly as the rabbits who lived in the warrens on the common land by the woods. Penny felt for the pillows and lay back. Closing her eyes, she implored the couple to go away. After a while, a car door slammed, and all became quiet. With only Bertie’s snores for company and sleep far away, Penny lay awake, waiting for her husband to come home.
‘Mummy, me!’ A little hand was tugging at Penny’s dress and she shook herself, erasing the memory of the previous evening. She wiped the flannel over Hannah’s face and kissed the top of her head.
‘Let’s go and find Josh and get you both to holiday club.’ Penny smiled at her children and, taking their hands, led them through the hallway and out of the vicarage.
HATTIE LAY in bed listening to rain ricochet off the windows; it hammered the glass panes and shook the roof tiles. The night had been stifling, hot and sticky. Now, with the distant crackle of thunder, the downpour bought cooler air to the countryside and the muggy atmosphere was lifting. With luck, it would be a more comfortable day.
Her phone vibrated on the bedside table and Hattie reached out to pick it up. Squinting at the screen, H
attie saw that Marjorie had sent a text to say that there was a coffee morning at the vicarage. The fete committee were meeting beforehand, as the vicar had called for an impromptu update on arrangements, and Marjorie thought they ought to go. Hattie longed for a lie-in and felt like telling Marjorie to bog off. But keen to lend her ear to any village gossip, she decided that she’d put in an appearance. Marjorie suggested that they drive, as the weather was too ghastly to walk, and Hattie typed a reply to say that she’d be ready.
Hattie yawned and lay back. She stared at the bedroom ceiling where discoloured paint was peeling. She sighed as she thought of yet another job to add to the endless list. The cottage needed decorating and although she was putting it off until the conservatory was built, Hattie was acutely aware that she ought to make a start. She wondered if Alf knew of anyone handy with a paint brush and made a mental note to ask him.
She rolled over onto her side and reached out to stroke the pillow where Reggie’s head had lain. Hattie smiled. He’d been late getting to the cottage, as the pub was busy right up to closing time. With the quiz teams in high spirits, still debating the questions and answers and all shocked by a surprise result, Reggie had had his hands full. He was tired when he arrived, but Hattie soon revived him and they’d enjoyed a passionate night. With much to do to restock the pub before lunchtime opening, he’d left early again, kissing Hattie on her forehead as he tucked the sheet around her and whispered that she should stay asleep. But sleep was evasive, and Hattie had tossed and turned in the muggy heat.
She sat up and grabbed an old nightshirt from a chair by the bed and, pulling it on, headed for the bathroom. As Hattie splashed water on her face and scrubbed her teeth, she looked around. The bathroom was shabby too. All the rooms in the cottage would be vastly improved with a lick of paint and some new soft furnishings. The bits and pieces that Hattie had dug out of her boxes looked odd and out of place amongst the gloom and as she tidied her hair and stared at her reflection in an old gilt mirror that hung over the sink, she made a decision.
It was time to let Marjorie loose inside, as well as out.
Hattie trotted down the stairs and went into the kitchen where she rummaged about for a loaf of bread. She cut two thick slices and as she waited for her toast, made coffee. A knock on the door made her turn. ‘It’s open,’ she called out.
Alf, Ness and Drake came in.
The threesome were soaking wet and Alf shrugged off his coat and draped it over a chair. Ness and Drake shook fur and feathers then settled on a rug by the Aga. The ancient coal-fired oven was cold.
‘No good getting comfy there,’ Hattie said as she glanced at the animals, ‘that range isn’t getting lit until winter.’
‘White and extra sweet,’ Alf said as he sat down and made himself comfortable.
‘Aye, I think I can remember how you like your tea.’ Hattie heaped sugar into a mug.
‘It was an interesting result last night.’
‘Not what I was expecting.’ Hattie poured hot water onto a tea bag and stirred.
‘Trivia Newton John said he personally marked their answers.’
‘The result must be right then.’ Hattie placed Alf’s mug on the table.
‘No one was more surprised than the Red-Hot Trivia Peppers,’ Alf said. ‘Derek was convinced they’d got the quiz in the bag.’
‘Well, good luck to the vicar’s team. King Solomon’s Wives were worthy and as they got all the answers right, they deserved to win.’
‘The vicar certainly celebrated. He was sozzled. I’ve never seen him so merry.’
‘He looked happy when he wobbled past me.’ Hattie remembered Roger, parading around the pub, with the quiz trophy gripped tightly in his hand. Together with his team, they gave a rousing chorus of “We Are the Champions!” as they taunted the other competitors. ‘The fete committee will have sore heads today.’ Hattie searched in the fridge for butter and eggs and thought about Reggie’s comments, that he’d never sold so many port and lemonades. King Solomon’s Wives had drunk the best part of five bottles of port.
‘No doubt they’ll have a re-match soon. Derek doesn’t like losing.’ Alf stared at the dark brown liquid in his mug and took a sip as toast popped out of the toaster. ‘Got a spare slice?’ he asked.
Hattie cut more bread and made them both breakfast. She fried eggs for Alf as he munched on a slice of toast. Rain continued to pelt down and silver streaks of lightning split the heavens as thunder rolled overhead. ‘You’ll not get much done out there today,’ she said and nodded to the leaden sky.
‘I’ve no intention of doing anything in the garden.’ Alf picked up a knife as Hattie placed a plate of fried eggs down. He sliced into the thick yellow yolk and dipped a finger of toast.
‘You could do some painting inside; the whole place needs a facelift.’
Alf grunted as he licked melted butter from his lips.
‘I had an interesting conversation with the Tequila Mockingbird team last night.’ Hattie pulled out a chair. She wondered if she should divulge her thoughts to Alf and, as she sat down, decided to plough on. ‘Well, what remained of the team. Venetia and Marjorie had left.’
‘Thrown any light on your suicides?’
‘I asked them about Nancy and what they thought about her.’
‘What did they say?’
‘Camilla called her, “The Property Princess”, and John said his manager was a shrewd investor; she’s
accumulated quite a large portfolio.’
‘Has she inherited money to invest?’
‘I’ve no idea but they were both well down a bottle of tequila and not making a great deal of sense.’
Alf pushed his plate away. ‘Perhaps she’s been fiddling the residents’ money and lining her own pockets?’ He belched and rubbed his stomach.
Hattie stared at Alf. ‘I hardly think that likely; I’m sure the company must have very stringent accounting procedures in place.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Alf stood up. ‘Now what’s tha’ want me to do in here? I’ve plenty of paint in the shed.’
Hattie thought that she’d like to ask for Marjorie’s opinion on colour schemes before she set Alf off on another job. The colour-blind handyman would have a field day if she wasn’t careful.
‘Take a day off, go home, get your feet up and relax.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind a break while this weather passes.’
‘That’s settled then.’ Hattie took Alf’s plate to the sink. ‘And take these two scoundrels with you.’ She flicked a tea-towel in the direction of Ness and Drake and shoved Alf’s jacket into his hand, before shooing the trio out of the cottage.
‘Now, where was I?’ Hattie said to herself. She sat down and reached for a slice of toast. Slathering it with butter and jam she bit into the crisp, warm dough and remembered her conversation with John and Camilla.
She’d decided to be forthright with her questions the previous night and had asked them both what they thought about Barry’s suicide. John had looked melancholy and, to Hattie’s surprise, begun to cry.
‘He was the best operation’s director I ever had,’ John said and knocked back another shot of tequila.
‘He was the best daddy a girl could have.’ Camilla’s head slumped forward and Hattie realised that Camilla, too, was about to start crying.
‘Why did he, er, do it, do you think?’ Hattie asked softly.
‘That witch drove him to his death,’ Camilla spat. ‘She’s a selfish cow.’ She fumbled for a tissue in her bag and dabbed at her eyes.
‘We don’t know that.’ John wiped his face with his fingers. Hattie’s eyes widened as she watched his arm move closer to Camilla to rest his hand on her knee. Camilla’s skirt had ridden high on her long, slim legs and his fingers stroked, in a gesture that Hattie considered far too familiar to be acceptable between boss and employee. Hattie was further shocked when Camilla turned her head and nuzzled into John’s neck. The pair seemed momentarily oblivious to those arou
nd them. Hattie looked around to see if anyone else had caught the moment, as the lovers were lost in themselves, but the quiz crowd were unaware of the public display of affection.
Seconds later, as if realising his mistake, John sat upright, and Camilla fell to one side. ‘A little too much tequila. I need the bathroom, will you excuse me?’ He rose to his feet and staggered into the pub.
Hattie wondered if she ought to take care of Camilla. ‘Would you like to stay at my cottage tonight?’ she asked.
‘Nope.’ Camilla shook her head and peered at Hattie through bleary eyes. ‘I’ll get a taxzii…’ she slurred.
‘Landlordy will get me one.’
‘Very well, if you’re sure.’
Hattie followed John into the pub. She went over to the bar and spoke to Reggie. ‘Can you ring for a taxi for Camilla, to get her back to Butterly?’
‘Consider it done.’ Reggie touched Hattie on the cheek. ‘You’re all hot and flushed and that’s before I get you into bed.’ He grinned.
‘Keep your eye out for John Hargreaves too.’ Hattie ignored Reggie’s remark and nodded towards the toilets. ‘He’s half-cut, make sure he doesn’t drive, he needs a taxi too.’
‘A landlord’s duty, my beauty.’ Reggie reached for his phone.
Hattie decided that she may as well go home. The pub looked rowdy. Roger was in full flow, encouraged by the Mud Maulers, and was necking back alcohol as though the good Lord was turning water into wine by the trophy load. Hattie waved at Reggie and he blew her a kiss, then she set out to walk back through the village to her cottage.
She wondered how Camilla was that morning and if she’d turned up for work, for she’d have a thick head and a raging hangover and no doubt her boss would too.
A car tooted in the lane outside. ‘Bugger!’ Hattie swore under her breath and looked out of the window, where the rain lashed down. Marjorie had arrived to take Hattie to the vicarage, but Hattie was still in her nightshirt. ‘Be with you in five!’ she yelled.
Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series! Page 16
