Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series!
Page 18
‘Take a chill pill, Miss Marple, you’ve got pots of money.’
‘And it has to last me for a very long time.’
‘A few private eye jobs and you’ll be rolling in it, not that you seem to be getting very far with mine.’
‘All in good time, Marjorie.’
Hattie listened to her neighbour for a few minutes more, then ended the call. As she stared at the notes on the pad on her desk, she smiled and whispered, ‘All in good time.’
20
On the eve of the fete, Hollywood was a frenetic whirl of activity. Volunteers, recruited by the committee, busied about the village preparing to have everything ready for the onslaught of visitors who would arrive the next day. With temperatures climbing again and forecasters reporting the hottest summer for decades, July blended into August and flowers bloomed in the beds and borders of the carefully maintained gardens throughout the Cumbrian hamlet.
Hattie had been heading north along the motorway for several hours, from Bath in the south west, and now as the countryside became recognisable, she turned off at the Penrith junction to follow the meandering route that wound through the Cumbrian hills, until she reached Hollywood. She looked across the green, where wildflowers created a cacophony of summer colours with poppies blending alongside cornflowers and thistles, swaying in motion to the gently lapping water of the village pond. Hattie watched as a lone heron passed lazily overhead. She felt a warm glow as the familiarity of the village came into view, the cottages and houses appearing, decked with pretty bunting. Hanging baskets exploded with colourful flowers, their blossoms heavy and trailing with picturesque blooms.
It was a joy to be coming home.
Hattie had been prompted to go away for a few days, when two very determined decorators came knocking on her door, the morning after she’d spoken to Marjorie. As fast as they’d covered up the furniture with enormous plastic sheets and set about preparing Hattie’s home for a make-over, Hattie had packed a selection of outfits and a supply of toiletries into a case and tumbled out. Tossing her keys to Alf, who was hard at work on the conservatory, she’d asked him to take care of the cottage, explaining that she’d sooner move out than die from paint fume inhalation and, before the decorators had taken the lid of the first pot of paint, Hattie was steering her vehicle out of Lover’s Lane and setting her satellite navigation for the drive south.
A few days had turned into a stay of nearly three weeks and now, as Hattie drove into the village, she could see that the garden of the pub was packed. Punters relaxed in the warmth of the summer evening and, as she got closer, Hattie decided to stop off and have a quick livener. She parked on the grass verge and climbed out of her car, rolling her shoulders to relieve muscles taut from the drive.
‘Enjoy your break?’ a voice called out. Joan, hot and perspiring, sat on a bench and raised a glass of lager. She wore an enormous red playsuit and as Hattie entered the garden she stared at the vibrant vision and wondered if a circus was in town. ‘We thought you’d be back earlier,’ Joan continued. ‘Marjorie’s in a panic that you’ve landed her with the tombola and no prizes.’ Local drinkers turned, curious to know if Hattie had indeed abandoned ship and let down her friend and also the fete committee, the vicar and visitors.
Hattie had the urge to pour Joan’s drink over her rosy red face. ‘All in hand, Joan.’ Hattie smiled sweetly. ‘Prizes by the bucket load, all ready and wrapped, in the back of my car.’
Her time away hadn’t been misspent and Hattie had dragged Jo around every bargain shop in Bath, buying up gifts. They’d sat one afternoon, on the stone terrace of Jo’s new hotel, wrapping the items. With an uninterrupted view of the city, Hattie had sipped a glass of wine as she packaged the parcels and looked out over the rooftops. The Royal Crescent, a curving row of terraced houses with a Georgian facade, lay to the west and Bath Abbey, a former Benedictine monastery, could be seen dominating the skyline to the east.
‘It’s a grand place,’ Hattie had commented, and she drank in the views and Jo told her that there was so much that she wanted to show her friend, and that she must return soon. As they reminisced about the old days, Hattie had enjoyed a lovely time.
‘I’m so pleased that I made the effort to come and see you,’ Hattie said. ‘There are days when I sorely miss hotel life and the constantly changing faces of the guests who came to stay.’
It had been a pleasure to shadow Jo as she set up her new business in Bath and Hattie had enjoyed being back in a hospitality environment. A hotel was like a revolving door on life for Hattie and she never knew who was going to walk through it. They’d stayed up late, remembering times gone by and some of the scrapes and situations that they’d got into.
Hattie told Jo about her new job as a private investigator.
‘You’re perfectly suited to the role,’ Jo had said, ‘you’ve always been a nosey devil.’
Hattie left Bath with promises that they’d catch up again, very soon. Jo’s latest acquisition was an old manor in Southern Ireland, and she hoped that Hattie would come and stay with her just as soon as she had the keys for the property.
Now, Hattie smiled at familiar faces as she made her way to the bar. Reggie was busy but when he saw her, his face lit up and he blew her a kiss and poured her a drink. ‘The wanderer returns,’ he said with a wink. ‘I’ll catch up with you when this lot calms down.’ He turned to the queue waiting to be served.
Hattie took the drink and went back to the garden. Reluctantly, she accepted Joan’s offer to join her and Arnie.
‘It’s been bedlam while you’ve been away,’ Joan began and nodded in the direction of the village green where marquees, stalls and booths were being erected.
‘The vicar is like a headless chicken.’
‘I’m sure he’s got everything in hand.’
‘Well, your lover got the beer tent up good and early, so that’ll satisfy most folk if everything else goes tits-up.’
Once again, Hattie felt like depositing a drink on Joan’s head and wished that the gossiping shopkeeper wouldn’t be so familiar. Did Joan and Arnie spend all their time in the pub? No wonder their shop was so dismal.
‘The Hollywood Hillbillies have been practicing all afternoon and, in my opinion, need to up their game.’ Joan nudged Arnie for a refill, and he slid out of his seat and sloped away. ‘You’ll be entering the cake competition?’ Joan looked at Hattie.
‘I haven’t had time to bake.’ Hattie thought about the chaos in the cottage that would be waiting for her. Marjorie had sent a text to say that the decorating team had finished painting and moved on. ‘But I may make an effort if there’s any room in my kitchen.’ Hattie visualised carpets rolled beside furniture piled high.
‘Aye, well, I think my name is on the trophy this year.’ Joan smiled. ‘I’ve been fiddling with my fancies all afternoon and have a display that will put t’other entries to shame.’
Hattie thought that there was a fair chance that Joan’s creations would fell the Fancy Cake judge with one bite, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
The pub gate opened and, to Hattie’s relief, she saw Harry stride through the garden. Janine held onto his hand and Harry beamed as the pair approached.
‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ Hattie said to Joan and stood up.
‘Don’t mind me.’
Hattie didn’t and quickly moved away.
‘You remember Janine?’ Harry asked.
‘I most certainly do.’ Hattie gave the girl a friendly pat on the arm and Janine smiled in greeting. ‘You’ve got your work cut out with this one,’ Hattie nodded in Harry’s direction, ‘but he’s not a bad fella.’
Janine said she needed the ladies’ room and excused herself. Seizing the opportunity, Hattie took Harry to one side. ‘Update me, before you get cosy and settle down for the evening.’
Harry took an imaginary notebook from his pocket and, pretending to flick it open, raised an eyebrow as he studied it. ‘Camilla will be up for sentencing in a
couple of weeks and there’s a fair chance she’ll get a custodial term, given her track record,’ he began. ‘I can’t find anything wrong with Nancy’s background. She has an up to date, enhanced DBS certificate, a Disclosure and Barring Service record, in case you didn’t know, and all the required qualifications to run a nursing home for vulnerable adults in her care.’
‘Bugger,’ Hattie said and pulled a face. ‘I thought you might have got something juicy for me.’
‘Clean as a whistle, I’m afraid.’ Harry pretended to snap his notebook shut. Janine had returned and, keen to get a drink, Harry asked Hattie if she wanted to join them.
‘No thanks,’ Hattie said. ‘I’ll let you two enjoy your evening. I’d best be getting home.’
‘Have you not been to the cottage yet?’ Harry asked.
‘No, I’ve only just got back and thought I’d have a quick one in here.’
‘Oh, right, you’ll be in for a surprise then.’
‘Eh? What do you mean?’
‘You left it in the safe hands of the dynamic duo, and all I’ll say is that when I called round there this afternoon to see if you were back, I didn’t recognise the place.’ Harry steered Janine ahead. ‘See you at the fete tomorrow.’ He smiled and, with a nod, was gone.
‘Bloody hell,’ Hattie muttered to herself, ‘what on earth am I going to find?’ She imagined the disarray and upset that was waiting to greet her.
REGGIE WATCHED Hattie hurry from the pub garden. He stood in the doorway with a gin and tonic in one hand and a pint in the other and wished that he’d taken a break earlier, in time to catch her before she left. The bar staff were coping, now that the evening rush had died down, and he’d been eager to find Hattie and hear all about her trip.
With a sigh, he took a sip of his pint and was about to go back in when Harry called out, ‘Reggie! Come and join us.’
Reggie turned and saw that Harry was sitting with Janine, the pretty nurse from Penrith, who sometimes came in the pub when she was visiting friends in the village. He’d heard that pair were an item some time ago but had split up when Harry’s eyes had wandered in other directions. By the look of things, the two were back together.
‘Hattie’s gone, Janine will have that gin if it’s going spare,’ Harry said.
‘Help yourself.’ Reggie pushed the glass across the table to Janine and was rewarded with a smile as bright as the evening sun.
‘Aye, Hattie was keen to get back to the cottage.’ Harry turned as Janine, who’d seen a friend on the other side of the garden, got up.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ Janine said.
Reggie watched Janine walk across the grass. Her trim, tall body was an attractive sight. He looked around at the drinkers in the garden and, satisfied that everyone was happy, and his staff had control of things, pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘She was away in the south-west and stayed longer than she expected to,’ Reggie said.
‘She went to visit Jo, who has the hotel in Kirkton Sowerby, they’ve been mates for years.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Jo’s got a new place in Bath; Hattie’s been staying there.’
‘I realise that, we’ve spoken while she’s been away.’
‘You two are getting along alright, then?’
Reggie wanted to tell Harry that his relationship with Hattie was none of the copper’s business and to keep his nose out of things, but not wanting to upset the local plod, he smiled and nodded his head. ‘She’s a grand woman. I like her company.’
‘Well, don’t bugger it up,’ Harry said and stared hard at Reggie. ‘Hattie is a good friend of mine and I wouldn’t want to see her getting hurt.’
‘I think we can safely say that Hattie is her own woman.’ Reggie stared back. He picked up his pint and began to drink, his eyes not wavering.
As the two men eyeballed each other, they were unaware that a taxi had pulled up and a woman had got out. She paid the driver and now entered the garden. Dishevelled and weary, Camilla walked slowly towards them and, as she reached their table, she suddenly threw herself down.
Startled, Harry and Reggie stared at the new arrival.
‘Bloody hell, Camilla,’ Harry said as he clutched his glass. ‘I nearly spilt my drink.’
‘I need your help,’ Camilla said through taut lips,
her eyes dark and thunderous. ‘I’m in trouble.’ She grabbed Harry’s arm.
‘You most certainly are.’ Harry recoiled, Camilla stank of stale alcohol and there was an unpleasant sweet, almost spicy smell clinging to her clothes. ‘But there’s nothing I can do.’
Camilla looked at Reggie and grabbed his arm. ‘You could say that I was sober when I left here and hadn’t been drinking all evening.’
Reggie shook his head and wondered if Camilla was still under the influence.
‘You could lose my breathalyser reading.’ Camilla turned to Harry and sat forward, her eyes imploring Harry to pay attention to what she was suggesting. ‘It would be easy for you to say that Constable Jones cocked it up.’
‘Oh, aye, of course I can.’ Harry shook his head and laughed. ‘And I could also get rid of the blood test that the doctor did, or were you too pissed to notice?’
‘I’m going to lose my licence and my job and if that goes, I lose my house too.’
‘Well, you won’t need any of that when you’re a guest at Her Majesty’s Pleasure,’ Harry said. ‘I can’t see how you’ll avoid a custodial sentence.’
‘You’ve got to help me. You’ve both known me for years, you knew my father. Do it for him, if nothing else.’ Her voice was rising, and Reggie was aware that his customers were listening, curious to see what all the fuss was about. ‘I’ve lost both my parents, for God’s sake; can’t you feel any element of compassion?’ Camilla stood up. ‘I’m begging you both,’ she pleaded.
Harry placed his drink on the table and stood too. ‘Camilla, you need to go home, go and stay with Marjorie and sleep this off. Get yourself a good firm of solicitors and see if they can work some magic; given your sad history and loss of both parents, there may be a chance.’ Harry could see that Janine was making her way back to the table. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’
‘Of course you bloody could, if you wanted to.’ Camilla’s eyes were wild as she watched Janine take a seat beside Harry. ‘But you’re too obsessed with your latest bit of skirt to have an ounce of compassion for me.’
‘That’s enough,’ Harry said, and moving closer to take Camilla’s arm, tried to move her away from the table.
‘I simply cannot go to prison for such a minor offence,’ Camilla said. ‘Oh, fuck you!’ She picked up Harry’s glass and flung the best part of a pint of one of Reggie’s finest cask ales, all over his head.
Reggie flew to his feet. He took hold of Camilla’s arm and frog-marched her through the garden. ‘You’ll be barred if you carry on,’ he said as he opened the gate and deposited the angry woman on the other side. ‘Now do what the sergeant says, go to your stepmother’s and get some sleep; if you stick around here there’s a very good chance that you’ll be arrested again.’
‘Fuck you too,’ Camilla hissed and, wrenching her arm from Reggie’s grip, she stormed away.
Reggie went back to the table and picked up Harry’s empty glass. ‘I’ll get you both a refill,’ he said and disappeared into the pub.
Harry was watching Camilla march across the green, as Janine dabbed at his beer-soaked skin with a tissue. ‘She can’t go to prison, for such a minor offence?’ Harry raised his eyebrow as he quoted Camilla’s parting shot. He turned to Janine and gave her a kiss on the cheek then sat down and ran his fingers through sticky wet hair. Shaking his head, Harry smiled. ‘I’d hate to think what she thinks a serious offence might be.’
21
Hattie parked in Lover’s Lane and climbed out of her car. She left her luggage on the back seat but picked up her handbag and deposited various bits and pieces accumulated during her journey. A half-eaten sandwich and a glos
sy magazine joined the remains of a packet of sweets.
She stood at the gate and looked at her cottage. After a three-week absence, everything looked the same. The front garden was neat, the lawn trimmed, and the last trailing fronds of wisteria hung heavily around the front door. But as she stepped onto the path, she peered curiously around the side of the cottage and, doing a double take, she stopped in mid-stride.
Gone were the many piles of bricks and Alf’s debris and, as if by magic, a building had emerged. It adjoined the kitchen, overlooking the back garden.
Hattie gasped. How on earth had they finished it so quickly?
A neat little conservatory with a brick base, pretty windows and a roof made of attractively wrought iron and glass, stood proudly with views of the pond and fields beyond.
She moved cautiously forward. There was no sign of Alf but there was every indication that while she’d been away, he’d worked tirelessly with his team. Hattie ran her fingers over the smooth sill of the conservatory and slowly guided herself to the entrance. The door was unlocked, and she turned the handle and gently pushed. The interior was bright and inviting and Hattie’s eyes were wide as she took in her new surroundings. A two-seater sofa lay along the furthest wall. Covered in cushions, it matched a colourful rug, that lay on polished stone flags. In the centre was a low circular table with a mosaic patterned top, home to a collection of scented candles and various succulent plants, arranged attractively in a stone tray. A comfortable looking armchair was tucked beneath the window and Hattie crossed the tiled floor to sit down. Her fingers fumbled beneath the arms of the chair until she found a small control panel. As she pressed a button, her feet began to rise, and the back of the chair lowered.
Hattie sighed with pleasure and couldn’t contain the wide grin that spread across her face. It was heaven! She nestled a soft cushion into position behind her head and closed her eyes.
After a few moments, she reached out to pull a cord on a window blind and watched as the view on the other side was magically revealed. Beyond the garden and fields, the setting sun hovered above the trees that surrounded the holly wood, the fading rays shimmied across the surface of the pond and, as the day began to diminish and darkness descended, the garden suddenly came to life. Hattie was enchanted as she watched hundreds of tiny twinkling lights dance along the boundary walls, their rays reflected on the inky pool. A movement on the water caught her eye and she leaned forward to see the shadowy shape of a duck creating tiny waves as it paddled along.