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

by Caroline James

  ‘I know, she’ll soon be sunning herself in Abersoch, she has a place there,’ Hattie replied. She thought that the sun wouldn’t be shining quite how Nancy expected it to, if the police investigation was fruitful.

  ‘Aye, so Grace tells me,’ Alf said.

  ‘Your Grace has a lot to answer for.’

  ‘She’s harmless, a bit mouthy and always feels everyone is against her.’ Alf studied his nails. ‘I suppose that’s because she felt she was abandoned as a baby and there’s no real family to support her.’

  ‘But you’re her family.’

  ‘We try, but she’s quite a loner, always has been. I don’t get on with her particularly well.’

  Hattie decided not to tell Alf that Grace had given her the heads up on the lay of the land at the manor. The police would no doubt question all the staff. Grace would be miffed that her pay rise hadn’t been put in place and with Nancy out of the way, there was no possibility of that happening now. Was there now a chance that Grace would feel bitter and dig the dirt on her boss?

  ‘So did Barry top himself?’ Alf put the letter opener down and stood up.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come on, if you want to be a good Miss Marple, you surely should know the answer by now?’

  ‘I’m working on it,’ Hattie said.

  ‘Well, you’d better speed up a bit.’ Alf nodded towards the garden and Hattie spun round in her chair.

  Marjorie, dressed in a colourful silk jumpsuit, was stepping neatly across the path and heading for Hattie’s office.

  ‘I’ll catch thee later.’ Alf whistled to Ness and she followed him. Hattie noted that he doffed his cap as he greeted Marjorie.

  ‘Is he still working here?’ Marjorie asked Hattie, as she came into the office. ‘I thought he’d finished all your jobs?’

  ‘I’m not sure; he’s fiddling about with the stone wall by the field, presumably it needs repairing.’ Hattie could see Alf now, inspecting the wall that circled the cottage. Drake had joined him and was busy hobnobbing with Ness, both scratching about around Alf’s feet.

  ‘Or stringing his time out so that he doesn’t miss any gossip.’ Marjorie looked around for a chair and, spying an old stool, pulled it up to Hattie’s desk and sat down. ‘Camilla tells me that there are problems at Marland Manor.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t speak to her?’

  ‘I called her to find out when her court case is; she’s expecting a date to come through soon.’

  ‘Yes, I can confirm that off the record, there is an investigation going on.’

  ‘Is it to do with something that Barry might have known about?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Hattie sighed. ‘Only a seance would find that out.’

  ‘Barry was very conscientious, but I don’t think he would have killed himself because a manager wasn’t on duty when they were supposed to be.’

  Hattie realised that Marjorie knew very little. Had Barry known about any unexplained deaths and monies going missing, he may well have become depressed. Was Barry taking a payback from Nancy? He certainly needed the money with Marjorie to support and if Nancy was ever exposed and he was implicated, there was reason enough to jump over the edge. The shame would be too much to bear.

  ‘You’re very thoughtful, is your brain on overtime?’ Marjorie asked.

  Hattie ignored her neighbour and thought about Camilla’s words. ‘My father knew the truth.’ Bloody hell! Hattie’s brain raced further - did Camilla know too? After all, she was an accountant for Castle Care Communities and could easily cook the books to justify unexplained payments from residents’ accounts.

  ‘Have you seen the light?’ Marjorie raised her neatly pencilled eyebrows and stared at Hattie. ‘Is there something to tell me?’

  ‘I think there may well be,’ Hattie said. ‘Just give me a little bit more time to put two and two together and

  I’ll soon have your case cracked.’

  ‘Well then, I’ll let you get on, no point in lingering.’ Marjorie stood up. ‘Strike while the iron is hot, Miss Marple.’

  ‘Aye, off you go.’ Hattie waved her hand. ‘Less of the Miss Marple and shut the door behind you, I don’t need any more visitors.’ She pulled her notepad towards her and started to write, creating arrows to connect names in a chart.

  ‘Anyone home?’ a voice called out from behind the door. Harry stepped in.

  ‘Bleedin’ hell,’ Hattie said. ‘It’s like Clapham Junction in here today.’ She threw down her pen.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I thought we’d have a beer and mull over your case,’ Harry said. He reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles. Snapping the tops off both, he handed one to Hattie.

  ‘Not on duty?’ she asked and took a swig.

  ‘Afternoon off,’ Harry replied and sat down on the stool.

  ‘So, what have you got to tell me?’

  ‘You were right.’ Harry smiled. ‘Nancy has received several payments over a long period of time, for various amounts that appear to have been bank transfers.’

  ‘They could be from her tenants, property rentals?’

  ‘Possibly, but I doubt it. She has a separate account for rentals. These payments appear to be from private accounts.’ He drank from his bottle of beer and wiped froth from his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘The bank is verifying the account holders now.’

  ‘So, Nancy is guilty.’

  ‘She may well have some explaining to do.’

  ‘If Nancy had been embezzling money and Barry and Camilla knew, or were taking a cut, then they were all involved and guilty too.’

  ‘So, how does that explain your three suicides?’

  ‘It was as you said, Mary was depressed after the death of her father,’ Hattie shook her head, ‘there were no children and with Roger, her husband, who was no doubt playing away even then, I can imagine that she didn’t think she’d got a lot to live for.’

  ‘Correct, exactly as I said.’

  ‘Helen couldn’t face life without Barry and didn’t want to live, watching him with his new partner, Marjorie.’

  ‘Correct again, you’re repeating everything I originally told you.’ Harry finished his beer and placed the bottle on the table.

  ‘Then it’s an open and shut case, and when the truth comes out, Nancy will go to jail and the manor will continue trading.’

  ‘John Hargreaves will have a shock as his bit of skirt has been double dealing for years.’

  ‘It’s no more than he deserves, but let’s hope that she didn’t kill anyone; don’t forget that Grace said that Nancy was handy with a needle.’

  ‘It will be nigh on impossible to prove that scenario,’ Harry said. ‘No relative has complained and we have nothing to go on, only Grace’s gossip, and she’s unlikely to want to be involved, after all, she could be prosecuted for withholding information at the time.’

  ‘Marjorie won’t be best pleased.’ Hattie took another drink and sat back. ‘If Barry’s death is suicide she won’t get his life insurance money, which leaves her skint.’

  ‘She’ll have to get a job or sell Holly House.’

  ‘Neither of which would suit her.’

  ‘Well, I can’t sit here gossiping with you all day.’ Harry stood up. ‘I’ve done what you asked, and the wheels are in motion.’

  ‘Is the lovely Janine off duty too this afternoon, by any chance?’

  ‘None of your business, but all I can say is that your number is blocked on my mobile and don’t try and reach me today, no matter what.’

  ‘You’re definitely on a promise.’ Hattie smiled.

  ‘You can give birth for all I care,’ Harry said, and tossing his bottle into the bin by the fridge, disappeared out of the office.

  ‘Give birth!’ Hattie chuckled to herself as she watched Harry hurry along the garden path. ‘Pah! Babies at my age? It would take a miracle.’

  But as Hattie looked out of the window and studied her garden, a strange sight came int
o view. It wasn’t possible! She couldn’t believe her eyes!

  Drake was waddling along the banks of the pond. He stopped at the edge and began to quack. Turning towards the cottage, his dark eyes met Hattie’s and he quacked again. Hattie looked at the water and there, silhouetted in the late morning sun, a beautiful sight met her eyes. Drake’s hen was floating peacefully, and in her wake a brood of eight tiny ducklings were fluffing their feathers and bobbing along behind.

  ‘Babies…’ Hattie whispered and, in a moment, had left the office and was creeping cautiously along the path.

  ‘Shush!’ Alf said as Hattie approached the pond. He was crouched by the wall, watching the new family. Drake had returned to the water and, as he circled his family, he held his head high and proud.

  ‘I thought ducks laid eggs earlier in the summer and hatched them no later than July?’ Hattie’s voice was a whisper, as she sat down on the grass beside Alf.

  ‘Hens sit on their eggs for just short of a month, she’s very late, I’ve never seen anything like it.’ Alf beamed, his eyes bright as he held onto Ness’s collar and they stared at the sight.

  ‘Where was the nest?’ Hattie asked.

  ‘Here, in the crook of the wall. I didn’t see it until today when the ducklings began to appear, following Mum to the water.’ Alf shook his head. ‘It’s a miracle they survived, so low to the ground; Drake did well to keep predators away.’

  ‘Drake’s an old devil,’ Hattie said. She felt hot, happy tears trickle down her cheeks as she watched the magical sight, her heart full of pride for her beloved duck.

  ‘We should leave them to it, let the little ones settle in.’ Alf carefully raised himself and held out his hand to tug Hattie to her feet. ‘Fancy a celebratory pint to whet their heads?’

  ‘You bet I do,’ Hattie replied and, as she walked away, she blew kisses to her new family. ‘God bless you,

  Drake,’ she whispered, ‘and all who sail with you.’

  28

  The Holly Bush pub was shrouded in an early morning mist that smothered the village green and drifted slowly over the holly wood where the tops of deciduous trees, that would soon shed their leaves, formed clouds of green against a watery blue sky.

  Reggie stood on the doorstep and stared out at the countryside. There was a touch of early autumn in the air and as he studied the mist, he smiled. It felt like a comforting blanket, despite the unaccustomed nip that came before the rising sun.

  Hattie too was like a comforting blanket, he thought. Asleep upstairs in his bed, her gentle snores purred over the old timbers of the ancient building, breathing life and love into his home. Reggie tucked his hands into his pockets and walked around the pub garden, inspecting his patch and noting that a couple of tables could do with a lick of paint and one or two umbrellas were looking a little worn. It had been a busy summer and profits were good. A bit of wear and tear wasn’t a problem and could soon be remedied.

  Reggie yawned and rolled his shoulders. He hadn’t had much sleep last night and months of full-on work, day after day, night after night, pleasing the punters and keeping everyone happy, were beginning to take their toll. Reggie reckoned that he could do with a holiday. A couple of weeks in Spain would be nice or maybe somewhere further afield? He’d plenty of friends dotted around the world and invitations were always extended, but Reggie felt that somewhere romantic would be good, maybe a five-star hotel with all the trimmings. Somewhere to unwind, to relax and switch off from his busy life.

  He fiddled about with the overflowing hanging baskets that hung from wrought iron brackets all around the pub and de-headed and tugged at wilting flowers. Would Hattie go on a holiday with him, he wondered? She’d make a wonderful companion. Fun and feisty and a woman who thoroughly enjoyed a good meal and a few glasses of wine, she was his perfect travelling buddy.

  Perhaps, when she woke, he’d ask her.

  Reggie hoped that the answer would be positive and that she’d be keen to accompany him. As he went back into the pub, to clean the beer lines and ensure that his ales were in perfect condition, he began to think about destinations that she might enjoy. Was it the right time of year to go to Mauritius? Would she prefer the Caribbean or maybe the Azores? As he worked, his mind drifted to Asia, or maybe the Middle East? Reggie visualised Hattie astride a camel, enjoying the gentle and hypnotic swaying, as the animal soft shuffled through the sand. Would she savour the Laurence of Arabia-style romance of the desert? He fantasised her wearing the long black dress of a Bedouin woman, her head wrapped in a colourful scarf, covering most of her face.

  Reggie was lost in his thoughts and nearly jumped out of his skin when a pair of arms circled his waist and warm lips kissed his neck.

  ‘Mornin’ lover,’ Hattie said. She nuzzled into Reggie’s back and cuddled him.

  ‘Hell, Hattie, I thought it was the Hollywood ghost, you didn’t half give me a fright.’

  ‘Ghost?’

  ‘Aye, there’s one that loiters in the cellars of an ancient pub.’ Reggie turned, lowered his voice to a menacing whisper and wrapped Hattie in his arms. ‘He’s searching for a maiden wearing a man’s shirt.’ Reggie stroked her body through the shirt that she’d nicked from his wardrobe, ‘and when he finds her, he throttles her, until her eyes pop and she’s quite dead!’ His hands clasped Hattie’s neck and he pressed lightly.

  ‘Give over, you daft bugger, I didn’t come down here to be terrorised.’ Hattie pulled away and placed her rear on a beer keg. ‘Lord, you’ve got your work cut out down here,’ she said as she stared at all the contraptions in the cellar.

  ‘I’ve got to run a good pub with great beer; it doesn’t magically appear at the end of the pump, it all takes precision and planning to perfect a good pint.’

  ‘It’s hard work for you.’

  ‘It is,’ Reggie replied and sat on an opposite barrel, ‘which is why I’m thinking that I need a holiday.’

  ‘I don’t blame you; you need to recharge your batteries.’

  ‘Well, I was wondering,’ Reggie reached out and took Hattie’s hand, ‘would you like to come with me?’

  ‘Me?’ Hattie was surprised.

  ‘Why not? We like each other and are good company, it would be fun, a rest, a change of scenery, something to look forward to…’ Reggie trailed off.

  Hattie held her hand up. ‘Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I’ve only just moved to this village and am only now settling in. There’s things that I need to do and people that I want to see, and I really hadn’t thought about taking any holidays for some time.’

  ‘Well, it was just a thought.’ Reggie pulled his hand away. He was hurt that she was so dismissive. Was his idea so unacceptable to her?

  ‘I better let you get on.’ Hattie stood up and tugged at the shirt, which had ridden up over her thighs. ‘I’ll get dressed and catch up with you later.’ And with a wave of her hand, she hurried up the cellar steps and was gone.

  Reggie didn’t turn around. He heard the door close to the bar and guessed that she wouldn’t hang around for any breakfast. Hattie was making it perfectly clear that he represented no more to her than the occasional roll in the hay. Sex. That’s all it was to her and all it ever would be.

  He sighed heavily as he went back to work.

  But as he reached for a cleaning solvent, he caught his breath and felt a tightening in his chest and wondered if he was going to cry. Was this how love felt when you were being rejected? Would he see ever her again? Or would she steer clear now that he’d made it obvious that he wanted them to spend more time together?

  The early morning sun broke through the cellar window and shafts of bright light bounced off the silver kegs, dancing in tiny particles of dust that rose as Reggie cleaned. But the forlorn landlord didn’t see any sunshine in his life that morning and it was with a heavy heart and thoughts of Hattie that he set about his tasks.

  HATTIE SCURRIED THROUGH THE VILLAGE. She kept to the pavement, with her head low, forgoing the open spac
e of the green, praying that her walk of shame, at that time of day, would go unnoticed.

  ‘Morning Hattie!’ Joan called out as she opened the door of her shop and plonked a box of second-hand books on the footpath, alongside a container of faded silk flowers, reduced for a quick sale.

  Hattie wanted to tell Joan to ‘F’ off,’ but instead she raised her hand and quickened her pace. ‘Morning Joan, just having a power walk to start the day.’

  ‘Power walk from the pub?’ Joan yelled and Hattie winced, sure in the knowledge that every resident in Hollywood was now aware that Hattie had had her leg over the night before.

  Hattie legged it over the green. Damn Joan!

  When she reached Lover’s Lane, Alf drew up in his van. He wound the window down as he pulled alongside and called out, ‘I’d have given you a lift from the pub.’

  ‘Pack up and piss off, Alf!’ Hattie was mortified; if he called any louder, he’d disturb Marjorie, next door.

  But it was already too late.

  Marjorie was ahead in the lane. With the cottage behind her, it was clear that she’d been looking for Hattie.

  ‘Good morning,’ Marjorie said, ‘you’re looking a little disarrayed for this time of day.’

  ‘Don’t you start,’ Hattie said, and reaching her gate, flung it open and marched down the path.

  ‘Quack, quack!’ A chorus of quacks echoed from the pond. Drake and his family were reminding Hattie that they were hungry. Where had she been, and could she get her finger out and fire over some bread and pellets?

  ‘Bugger off, the lot of you!’ Hattie said and slammed the kitchen door, but Marjorie had followed her and, taking control, she filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, then reached for a teapot.

  Alf yawned as he came into the room. ‘I hope you’re not giving Reggie the run around,’ he said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Ness rested her head on his knee.

  ‘Eh?’ Hattie stared at her handyman, who was more than comfortable at her table.