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

by Caroline James

  ‘I think that it’s time that you and I had a little chat,’ Hattie replied, ‘don’t you?’ And without waiting for an answer, she looked around and saw that Camilla had been working at the rear of the house. As she walked past the high-end antiques and into the expensively furnished sitting room, Hattie’s nose twitched. ‘What’s that smell?’ she asked. ‘Is it cologne? It’s very spicy.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Camilla twitched her nose too and looked annoyed.

  But Hattie was now in the kitchen. Making herself comfortable at a chair by the table she called out, ‘Come and sit down, we can have our little chat in here.’

  IT WAS WELL after eight o’clock when Hattie arrived back at Lover’s Lane and, as she parked her car and went into the garden of her cottage, she sighed. She was tired. Missing a night’s sleep at her age wasn’t a very good idea and despite having grabbed a few hours when the nursing contingency had gone home, and Penny and her baby were safely being checked over in hospital, Hattie still felt exhausted.

  The very first thing that she planned to do was pour herself a large gin and tonic and find a bag of roasted peanuts. With her supplies in hand, she would put her feet up in the conservatory and watch the world go by in her garden, as the day came to a close.

  The weather had been kinder today and with the storm clearing the atmosphere, the temperature had settled to a comfortable heat. It felt far more pleasant and with no humidity clogging the air, Hattie envisaged a good night’s sleep. She looked at the garden as she wandered down the path, and true to his word, Alf had been right. It hadn’t taken him long to tidy up, and although the plants still appeared a little battered, they held their heads high, having been lovingly pruned and straightened by Alf’s careful, calloused hands.

  But the pond was still deserted.

  Hattie scanned the garden and called out, ‘Drake! Quack, quack! Where are you my beauty?’ She longed to see the duck and his hen come waddling towards her and wanted to scoop up their little ducklings and feel the soft downy feathers against her skin. ‘Drake, it’s time to come home!’ she shouted again, but Drake was nowhere to be seen.

  Hattie was beginning to worry. The last she’d heard of Drake was when Joan told her that he’d been knocking on their door. The daft old duck had somehow summoned help when Hattie needed it most. If he needed help now, then Hattie would move heaven and earth to find him. But where should she start? Tomorrow, she decided, she’d get Alf on the case.

  Hattie was deep in thought as she moved from the pond and walked along the path to the conservatory, but as she turned the corner to let herself in, she jumped back in surprise!

  Sitting on a chair, at the rickety old table, with her bag on her knees, sat Grace.

  ‘Bleedin’ hell,’ Hattie called out, ‘you gave me a right fright.’

  ‘I’ve been here for an hour,’ Grace said. ‘Your garden is very pleasant, far better that the dilapidated description Alf gave me.’

  ‘Aye, well, it’s not open-house; you should have called me.’

  ‘I fancied a little outing and the bus comes right to the centre of the village.’ Grace stood up. ‘The people in the shop told me where to find you.’

  ‘I bet they did,’ Hattie replied. She should curse Joan and Arnie but, after their monumental assistance in the night, she doubted that she’d ever curse them again.

  ‘So, what can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s more a question of what I can do for you,’ Grace said, ‘and I’ll do it better over a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘You can have tea,’ Hattie said as she opened the door and let them both into the kitchen, ‘but I’m having something stronger.’

  ‘That’s probably a good idea, when you hear what I have to say.’ Grace sat down and made herself comfortable. ‘If it’s gin that you’re having, I’ll join you.’

  WHEN HATTIE LET Grace out of the front door of the cottage an hour later, she watched the carer walk confidently down the path. The woman seemed to move more comfortably, as if a burden had been lifted and lightened her load. As Grace reached the gate, she turned and, with a wave in Hattie’s direction, stepped into Lover’s Lane then headed for the village to catch the last bus back to Marland.

  Hattie went back into the kitchen and poured a good measure of gin into her empty glass. Adding ice and a slice of lemon, she topped it up with tonic water and carried it, with a bowl of peanuts, into the conservatory. Making herself comfy on her favourite chair she sipped and contemplated her day.

  She wondered if Penny was out of the hospital and back home, at the vicarage. Roger, the proud father, would be in attendance and receiving good wishes from all his parishioners and he would no doubt be whetting the baby’s head in the pub, very soon. Hattie hoped that people were calling round to help Penny and support her with the children and maybe some cleaning duties too. One thing was certain, there would be plenty of cake.

  Hattie thought about her visit to Camilla. The girl was a strange mixture of sentiments and her emotions seemed to range from anger to fear. But there was a softer side too, if Camilla allowed it. As Hattie picked at a handful of nuts and sipped her drink, she thought how awful if must have been for Camilla to have lost both her parents and she felt an element of sympathy for the troubled woman.

  And who would have thought that Grace would turn up at Hattie’s door? Hattie decided that she didn’t like Grace. But she didn’t have to like a person to take heed of what they said.

  The sky outside was darkening and Hattie looked out at the cloudy night rolling in. It was a starless, moonless sky and she couldn’t help but wonder where Reggie was. Had he gone to Lanzarote and, if so, who was he with? What she wouldn’t give for his company at that moment, for his funny, honest humour, some distraction and a bit of fun. She could kick herself for being so offhand with him, but she’d only herself to blame. Reggie was an attractive man and the likes of the replacement manager would have no trouble getting her pearly pink claws into him, given half a chance.

  Hattie stood up and sighed. Weariness was getting the better of her and, if she wasn’t careful, she’d start feeling sorry for herself.

  It was time to go to bed.

  33

  John Hargreaves was feeling very sorry for himself. He sat at the desk in his study, studying his various bank accounts on a computer screen. The statements detailed before him made very grim reading. He’d hoped that there was a slim chance that Nancy’s money may have been transferred to one of his private accounts, as he’d asked her to do, but it was becoming clear that it would never happen. John felt sure that her accounts must have been frozen by now, while the police continued their investigation into money missing from resident’s accounts.

  John sat back and looked out of the window. The normally immaculate garden of his home with Venetia, which was huge and spread over two acres, looked untidy after the recent storms and would take several days to clear up. He could see a gardener hard at work and wondered if he should go and tell the man not to waste his time; John wasn’t in a position to pay him. Their cleaner, the gardener’s wife, was busy in the hallway too, polishing the curving balustrade and shining the Minton tiled floor. The couple were from Marland and had worked for John and Venetia for many years.

  A large manila envelope lay on the desk and John sat back and stared at it. He wondered how on earth Venetia’s private eye had managed to get hold of such compromising photos? John was convinced that Nancy’s office at Marland Manor, the scene of their many liaisons, wasn’t overlooked, with only one window, high up with a view of the carpark. John couldn’t fathom out how on earth the unbelievably incriminating photos had been taken. Victor bloody Manning must have the powers of Superman, equipped with a very long camera lens. It wasn’t so much the photos of himself with Nancy which caused him concern, but the files of evidence of his adultery with two of the most influential women in the county, wealthy ladies who sat on charity committees alongside Venetia. The scandal that would ensue, should
these photos ever land in the hands of their unknowing husbands, was unthinkable. There was a separate file too, that showed him coming in and out of various hotels with a string of extremely young women. It would be highly damaging to his reputation as a businessman, should the files ever go astray.

  Not that John really cared anymore. Venetia had made sure that his reputation would soon be completely buggered, no matter what John did to try and preserve it.

  In the last couple of days, he hadn’t had the heart to go into his offices at Castle Care Communities and had been ignoring Camilla’s calls. She’d left messages to say that his secretary needed to speak to him urgently and where the hell was he? As the company accountant, Camilla said that she was struggling to balance the accounts and didn’t have the funds to pay this month’s payroll, the business was in jeopardy and what did he want her to do?

  John hadn’t a clue and had no answers for Camilla. He reached out and pulled a glass towards him. Taking a bottle of brandy, he poured a liberal slug, took a drink and thought about Venetia.

  The cow was cleverer than he thought!

  He imagined all the plotting, scheming and double-dealing that she’d put in place in the last few months, to get the better of her errant husband.

  And he’d been totally unaware of it all.

  But one consolation was the property in Butterly where Camilla lived. That was mortgage-free and in his name, and even though Venetia thought that she had the power to ruin him, John had managed to amass a reasonable sum of cash over the years which he’d deposited in an offshore account. It wouldn’t take him to Thailand, nor the Caribbean to while away the rest of his days, as he’d originally planned, but it was enough to get him away from this godforsaken county and begin his life again.

  ‘We’re all finished for the day, Mr Hargreaves.’ The cleaner popped her head around the doorway and called out. ‘We’ll see you in a couple of days.’

  ‘Thank you,’ John replied. ‘I’ll sort your wages out next week, if that’s okay?’ John drank more brandy as the lie tripped off his tongue.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ the cleaner said. ‘Mrs Hargreaves paid us for three months in advance. She wanted us to have the cash while she was away in Spain.’

  The door closed and the cleaner and her husband drove off. As John watched their car go down the driveway, he shook his head.

  Venetia, the bitch, had thought of everything.

  HATTIE WAS UP and about and, after a good night’s sleep and a substantial breakfast, felt thoroughly refreshed. She sat in her office and made a list of jobs that she needed to do. The first thing that she wrote down was a note to summarise her findings into Barry’s suicide and arrange a meeting with Marjorie to tell her the outcome of her investigation.

  Secondly, Hattie needed to plan what she would do next with her working life. She’d enjoyed sleuthing over the last few weeks and had found that it was something she seemed suited to do. It would keep her off the streets, she thought, as she scribbled away on her notepad.

  Hattie looked at the calendar on the wall by the window and realised that it was the last day of the month. August had flown by and with September around the corner and autumn on its way, she decided that it was time that she had a housewarming party. She’d lived in the village for several months and the good people of Hollywood had been very welcoming. It would be grand to invite a few folks to see the conservatory and garden and the changes that had been made to Holly Cottage in the short time that she’d lived there. Hattie loved a party and she decided that it was high time she had one. She made another note on her list then stood up and circled a date on the calendar for a week on Saturday; that would give her plenty of time to make arrangements and hopefully, the weather would hold, and she could host the party outside.

  The phone began to ring. No one seemed to use a landline these days. It must be a business call, she thought, and she gave a little cough to clear her throat then picked up the phone.

  ‘Good morning, H&H at your service, Harriet Mulberry speaking, how may I help you today?’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Mulberry,’ a man’s voice replied, ‘my name is Ronald G. Montjoy.’

  Hattie frowned and searched her mind, wondering who the caller might be.

  ‘We corresponded by email and I am calling to ask if you have had time to consider my case.’ His tone was deep and soft like velvet.

  Of course! Hattie suddenly remembered – this was the man who wanted to trace a possible heir.

  ‘Hello, Mr Montjoy,’ Hattie said. ‘I have you here on my list, to make contact.’ She picked up her pen and made a note on her pad. ‘I would be very happy to discuss the matter.’

  ‘Perhaps we could arrange a meeting, when convenient to you?’ He paused. ‘Ideally sooner rather than later.’

  Hattie remembered the email and instinct told her that Ronald G. Montjoy may not have long on this planet, if he wanted to have his affairs in order so soon.

  ‘I’d be very happy to do that.’ Hattie paused and flicked the pages of her pad. ‘I’m looking at my diary and can see that it is full for the next couple of weeks; might I call you in ten days or so to arrange to meet up?’

  ‘Yes, that would be acceptable.’

  ‘Where are you based?’

  ‘I live in Southern Ireland. I’d like you to come to my home.’

  Hattie wondered how on earth Ronald had chosen Hattie to investigate his case. He was a long way from Hollywood. Still, there was nothing that she loved more than a jaunt and what could be better than a trip to Ireland - as Jo was about to get the keys to her new property in Kindale, it was a perfect excuse to kill two birds with one stone. She would go and stay with her friend and have a recce at Ronald and his missing heir at the same time. With Marjorie’s problem almost wrapped up, she’d be happy to jump on a plane to consider her next case.

  ‘I’ll be in touch then,’ Hattie said.

  ‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Mrs Mulberry and I bid you good day.’ He rang off.

  ‘A gentleman,’ Hattie said as she stared at the receiver. Ronald G. Montjoy had manners! She replaced the phone on her desk.

  The office door opened, and Alf strolled in. ‘Who’s a gentleman?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ Hattie sat back, ‘but as you always make it your business to know, I’ll tell you. That telephone call could well be my next case.’

  ‘Be very careful who you get involved with,’ Alf said and sat down on the rickety old stool in the corner of the room. ‘Make sure you do your research.’

  Ness appeared and scurried around the desk to place her head on Hattie’s knee. Hattie patted the dog’s silky fur. ‘I may look daft, but I can assure you that I’m not. I’ll do my homework before I put so much as a toe out of the door.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

  ‘Have you seen my duck?’ Hattie asked.

  ‘Not sign, nor sight.’

  ‘I’m worried about him.’

  ‘Aye, ‘tis strange that he’s done a bunk.’

  ‘I hope his family is alright; do you think they may all have found a new home?’

  ‘I’d need a crystal ball to fathom that one out.’

  ‘I want you to have a search around and see if you can find him, ask round in the village too?’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  Hattie looked out of the window. The garden was sunny and the weather fine but as her eyes scanned the pond, there was still no sign of any ducks.

  Turning back to Alf she announced, ‘I’m having a housewarming party; make sure you and Judy are free next Saturday.’

  ‘That’ll be grand.’ Alf smiled. ‘Shall I put it on Facebook?’

  ‘Bugger off, don’t you go near social media, this is a private event.’

  ‘What’s tha’ want me to do to prepare?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, sort out some tables and chairs and maybe a few fancy lanterns, give the garden a lift and make it look pretty.�
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  ‘I’ve a couple of fire-pits at home, shall I fetch them over?’

  ‘That would be nice, if it’s a bit chilly a few glowing logs would create a bit of atmosphere.’ Hattie was thoughtful. ‘Can you ask Judy if the hotel chef at Boomerville would put a buffet together for me?’

  ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’

  ‘Nothing too expensive; I’m not made of money.’

  ‘Let me know your numbers when you decide who’s coming.’ Alf stood up. ‘I’ll be off, if there’s nowt to do here, I’ve got jobs in the village and a duck to find.’

  Hattie gave Ness a pat and watched her follow Alf out of the office. The dog raced ahead as Alf stepped onto the path and Hattie wished that Ness was racing to the pond to play with Drake.

  She reached for her notepad. Hattie’s pencil paused on her list and underlining the words written on the first bullet point, she reached for the phone and dialled.

  ‘Morning, Marjorie, Hattie here, I could do with an hour or so of your time as I’ve reached my conclusions into Barry’s death.’

  ‘Oh, that’s excellent news. Of course, when is best for you?’

  ‘I’ll be over in half an hour,’ Hattie said, ‘get the kettle on.’ As Hattie replaced the phone, she looked at her watch and wondered if Marjorie had anything stronger than tea in the kitchen at Holly House.

  Hattie had a feeling that her neighbour was probably going to need it.

  34

  The gravel on the drive at Holly House crunched under Hattie’s glittery trainers as she marched towards the front door. She wore her pretty red tunic dress and smoothed the soft cotton jersey to her sides. Gripping her bag under her arm and taking a deep breath, she reached out to ring the bell.

  The door flew open.

  ‘You’ve been quick,’ Marjorie said as she stood back to let Hattie in.

  ‘I said I’d only be half an hour.’

  ‘Should we go into the lounge or would you prefer the kitchen?’