‘I hear that the removal company has cleared your house in Penrith,’ Hattie said. She raised an eyebrow and took the bottle from John’s hand. ‘Venetia tells me that everything is on its way to Spain.’
‘You’re just an interfering old busybody who should never have moved to this village!’ John thrust his empty glass on the table. Their eyes met and Hattie felt his hot breath on her skin. John’s face was filled with hate. ‘It’s a pity Nancy didn’t stick a needle in you too,’ he whispered then turned and stormed out of the garden.
Hattie watched John leave. She shrugged her shoulders and, as she let out a sigh, she realised that the garden was almost empty, the guests, with much to discuss, had departed.
But where was Reggie? With a sinking feeling, she realised that he’d gone too and there was no sign of Elaine.
‘Good job, Miss Marple.’ Harry strolled down the path and when he reached Hattie, he patted her on her shoulder.
‘Your job’s just beginning,’ Hattie replied.
She looked towards Lover’s Lane where she saw that Grace was sitting in the back of one police car and Nancy in another. Their faces were pale as they stared out of the windows.
‘There’s plenty of evidence to come from those two,’ Hattie said. ‘Don’t be thinking that Mary’s death was a suicide, I’ll put money on it that they were behind it.’ ‘What are your thoughts?’ Harry asked.
‘I feel sure that Nancy has been paying nominal amounts to Grace for years, to keep her quiet about monies that she’s been taking out of residents’ accounts at Marland Manor, and Grace knows that Nancy is handy with an injection, when she needs to be. It’s not difficult to work things out, with all the drugs Nancy has at her fingertips, she could easily fabricate the medical records.’
‘You seem certain that Nancy killed Mary’s dad?’
‘It’s a hunch, but yes. I think that Mary discovered that Nancy was taking his money and was about to blow the whistle on her.’
‘So Nancy killed Mary, to silence her?’
‘Yes.’ Hattie nodded. ‘It makes sense; she had to get Mary out of the way. But Grace must have helped her.’ Hattie nodded her head. ‘Nancy couldn’t string up a sleeping body on her own, Mary would have been a dead weight, so to speak.’ She shrugged. ‘Play them off against each other, until one cracks. You’re the policeman, find out exactly what did happen.’
‘Well, you may be right,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll keep you informed.’
‘I’ll expect a full report as soon as you have it.’
‘I’m sorry that your housewarming party was ruined,’ Harry said.
Hattie smiled. ‘It was worth setting it all up, though, wasn’t it?’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘My bluff paid off and now I feel like I’m a real private eye.’
38
The following morning, Holly Cottage was clean and tidy by lunchtime. Chairs and tables had been stacked in Alf’s old Land Rover, alongside the two firepits and remaining logs. Judy had sent the lads from Boomerville back with the van and they’d cleared away the bar and what remained of the buffet, including plates, glasses and cutlery.
Hattie hadn’t had the heart to sort everything out the night before. She’d felt exhausted and having poured herself a very large drink, she’d grabbed a handful of blankets from the chairs in the garden and, snuggling down, had called it a night.
When Alf knocked on her window at nine o’clock the next day, he’d been surprised to find Hattie asleep on the sofa in the conservatory.
‘Wake up! I’ve bought you some breakfast.’
Hattie wiped the sleep out of her eyes and hauled herself to her feet. She cursed as she stumbled over her discarded pumps and looked down at the scarlet dress, which was crumpled and ruined. She stumbled into the kitchen, picking dead dahlia petals out of her hair, and opened the door.
‘By heck, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ Alf said, taking in Hattie’s disorderly appearance. ‘Have you been out with the foxes all night?’
‘I’m so sorry about Grace,’ Hattie said, ignoring his comments, as she pulled out a chair and indicated that he sit down. ‘You must be very upset.’
‘Aye, it’s a rum business.’ Alf produced a brown paper bag and put it on the table. He pulled out two bacon sandwiches and gave one to Hattie.
Not bothering with a plate, Hattie sat too and began to eat.
‘You weren’t to know,’ Hattie said. ‘You can’t blame yourself for anything that Grace did.’
‘We were never close,’ Alf replied between bites. ‘I’m busy with Judy and my handyman jobs and hardly saw much of her, except at Christmas and the occasional meal.’ Alf was thoughtful. ‘I sometimes wondered where she’d got her money from when every now and then, she splashed out on costly presents for me and Judy, and once, she bought herself a very expensive painting, which she said was her pride and joy.’
Hattie listened to Alf, as he rambled on about his sister and his disappointment. She picked up on his words and remembered how her hunch about Grace had begun, following a visit she’d made to the carer’s home. Grace hadn’t been in and Hattie had looked through the window of the sitting room. She’d been surprised to see a lovely oil painting of a windmill on the wall. The artist had depicted the scene in a field, beside a Norfolk broad and Hattie had been sure that the artist was W. Reed.
The same artist that had painted the artwork in Nancy’s office.
Had the painting’s belonged to Mary’s father? Had Nancy and Grace shared the spoils and Mary found out? Hattie doubted that anyone would ever know but the find had strengthened her suspicions about Grace.
She turned to Alf. ‘Well, you said you wanted fireworks last night,’ Hattie said. ‘You certainly got them.’
‘Do you think Grace will go to prison?’
‘If it’s proved that she’s been taking payments from Nancy for keeping quiet about the goings on at the manor, then I think it likely.’ Hattie, no longer hungry, put the remains of her sandwich into the paper bag. ‘But I think it’s much worse than that.’
‘I have I feeling that you may be right.’ Alf sighed and stood up. ‘But this won’t get your garden straight.’ Picking up the remnants of the sandwich, for Ness and Drake, he wandered out of the kitchen.
BY LUNCHTIME, Hattie had made her way to her office and was deep in thought when Harry knocked on the door.
‘Are you taking visitors?’ he asked as he stepped in.
Hattie, who hadn’t bothered to change, sat up. She was still in her rumpled dress and in her hand, she held the colourful pottery bowl that Reggie had given her. Absentmindedly, she stroked the smooth surface. ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘pull up a pew.’
‘Did you sleep in the garden?’
‘Don’t start, Alf’s already had a go at me.’
‘Well, as you suspected, your suspects are squealing like hyenas,’ Harry said and perched on the edge of the desk. ‘It’s one of the easiest confessions we’ve had.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Grace, knowing that she has nothing to lose and unsure of how deep a hole Nancy has dug for her, has confessed that she saw Nancy hang Mary. It seems Mary was about to shop them both.’
‘Hell, my suspicions were right.’ Hattie stared wide-eyed at Harry.
‘Nancy says that she crept up on Mary in the church and gave her an injection to make her sleep. Mary often took sleeping tablets, so the post-mortem didn’t pick up on it. Then, she instructed Grace to help her and make Mary’s death look like suicide. Grace, of course, is denying everything. But although Mary was a slight woman, Nancy couldn’t have man-handled Mary on her own. Grace is a strong woman, so it would seem that together, they hauled her up.’ Harry shook his head. ‘It will be for a jury to decide if Grace is as guilty as Nancy.’
‘Oh, my goodness.’ Hattie was horrified. ‘So the poor woman’s neck was broken, and she died.’
‘And no one was any the wiser, until you got on the case.’
‘But I can’t understand
why Grace kept working for Nancy and why she confided in me?’
‘Nancy promised Grace a big lump sum, to be paid when Grace retired.’
‘But Nancy wouldn’t let her retire.’ Things were beginning to make sense to Hattie. ‘So, when Grace realised that she could be at the manor until the day she dropped, she thought she’d land Nancy in it and put pressure on her boss, never thinking it would backfire so badly.’
Harry and Hattie sat in silence, absorbing this turn of events.
‘What’s happened to John Hargreaves?’ Hattie asked.
‘I heard that he’d gone crying to Camilla and stayed at her place last night.’
‘He probably owns her house.’ Hattie nodded. ‘And he’s bound to have some money tucked away. It wouldn’t surprise me if Camilla and John become an item.’
‘Well, his business has gone, Venetia has sold the care homes and with this scandal at the manor, she did it just in the nick of time.’
‘Clever old Venetia, who would have thought it, eh?’ Hattie went to the fridge and took out a bottle of champagne. ‘I think it’s time we celebrated,’ she said and, handing two glasses to Harry, popped the cork.
‘So, what’s next, Miss Marple?’
‘The jobs are flooding in.’ Hattie smiled. ‘I’m going to be heir-hunting.’
‘Is it for someone local?’
‘I can’t tell you, but no, I think I’ll be working away.’
‘Not too far away, I hope?’ A voice called through the open window and, turning, Hattie was gobsmacked to see Reggie looking in.
‘Sadly, I can’t stay for champagne,’ Harry said and put the glasses down on the table. ‘I’m on duty and need to get this investigation wrapped up, back at the station.’ He walked to the door.
But Hattie wasn’t listening to Harry and didn’t notice the policeman leave.
She was staring at Reggie.
And Reggie was staring back.
‘Why don’t you come in?’ Hattie asked.
Reggie gave Harry a nod as they passed on the path and, taking a deep breath, stepped into Hattie’s office.
‘Have you slept in the that dress?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you like your gift?’ Reggie nodded at the pottery bowl on the desk.
‘Yes, it’s lovely.’
‘Are we good, Hattie?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Are we friends? Well…’ Reggie faltered, ‘I’d like to be more than friends, but I don’t think you feel the same way.’
‘But I thought you were hooked up with Elaine?’ ‘Elaine?’ Reggie looked puzzled.
‘Your new barmaid, the lads in the pub say she’s staying on, they’re running a book on it, the odds are thirty to one.’ Hattie sighed. ‘And you bought her to my party and left with her.’
‘Ah, that Elaine.’
‘I take it that you’re an item?’
‘Oh, Hattie, you may be able to solve mysterious suicides but you’re pretty crap when it comes to affairs of the heart.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes.’ Reggie walked around the side of the desk.
‘Elaine was leaving my employment last night, she had a late train to catch and I said I’d give her a lift, but first I had to show my face at your party.’ He took hold of Hattie’s hands. ‘I dropped her off at the station; she’s got a new job in Leeds. I would have come back to speak to you, but your place was full of policemen and I knew that you’d be too busy to have any time for me.’
‘Too busy for you…’ Hattie repeated, her voice soft as she looked into Reggie’s delicious dark eyes.
‘Are you too busy now?’ Reggie pulled her into his arms.
‘But I thought you didn’t want me?’
‘Oh, Hattie, do you have any idea what two weeks in Lanzarote was like without seeing your lovely face?’
‘A cracking good holiday, I would say.’
Reggie dismissed her comment with a shake of his head. ‘Then we’re good?’ he asked.
‘We’re as good as can be.’
Hattie smiled and hoped that Reggie didn’t interpret her actions as anything long term. She thought of her next investigation and was itching to get cracking and back to work. Who knew where Ronald G. Montjoy and his mystery might take her?
But Hattie flung her dahlia spiked head onto Reggie’s shoulder and as he wrapped his arms around her, she whispered to herself, ‘For now, we’re as good as can be, my Reggie and me.’
DRAKE
Thank You
Word of mouth is crucial for any author to succeed with their writing and reader feedback really helps. If you enjoyed reading Hattie goes to Hollywood, I would be so thrilled if you could leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Even a short sentence makes all the difference and is very much appreciated.
With love and happy reading,
Caroline xx
By the same author
Coffee Tea the Gypsy & Me
Coffee Tea the Chef & Me
Coffee Tea the Caribbean & Me
Jungle Rock
The Best Boomerville Hotel
Please contact Caroline James on the following links:
www.carolinejamesauthor.co.uk
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Coming Soon In The Series:
HATTIE & THE HEIRLOOM
Now, read on for the first chapter of Caroline’s next book…
On a cold and crisp morning in early January, Hattie sat on a plane, high above the Irish Sea, and felt her heart flutter with excitement. Captain O’Connor, in charge of the Aer Lingus flight from Manchester to Cork, had just announced that they’d begun their descent and would be landing in a few minutes. If passengers cared to look out of the window, as the plane banked left, they would see the coastline of Southern Ireland.
Hattie stared through the small oval pane. She could see a deep estuary below, where the river Brandon, wide and flowing, wound its way through lush countryside until it reached the sea. Peeping out of trees and bushes, she saw properties dotted along the banks. Large, imposing estates, that in Hattie’s opinion must be worth a considerable amount of money. She strained to look out, eager to take in every inch of this beautiful country, gawking at the steely grey waters below, where spumes of white surf bounced across waves, rolling towards to the shoreline.
Hamlets and villages lay clustered along their flight path and a coastal town came into view. This must be Kindale! Hattie’s heart leapt as she saw tiny boats, like leaves on a pond, bobbing about in a harbour. The plane banked and turned towards Cork and the pretty fishing port became distant.
Hattie sat back as the plane bounced through a cloud. She gripped her seat belt and closed her eyes and focussed on her visit. Very soon she would be making her way to Flatterly Manor, a grand old house that now belonged to her best friend and hotelier, Jo Edmonds. She couldn’t wait to see Jo and take a tour of her new business. Jo had recently purchased Flatterly Manor and after refurbishment to create a luxury hotel, would soon be opening the doors to the public.
But catching up with Jo wasn’t the only reason for Hattie’s stay in Ireland.
On this occasion, Hattie’s trip involved business, not pleasure. It was coincidental that Jo had a property in the area and there was no doubt in Hattie’s mind that Jo’s new place would provide a perfect base for her stay. As a private investigator, Hattie had work to do and had been summoned to meet a prospective client by the name of Ronald G Montjoy. Ronald lived in the area and Hattie was keen to meet him and make a start.
‘Welcome to Ireland,’ Captain O’Connor said, as the plane touched down and slowly made its way to the terminal, ‘If this is your first visit, we hope that it won’t be your last.’
Hattie found her coat in the overhead locker and thrusting her arms into the thick fake fur, she grabbed her hand luggage and steadied herself against the cold Irish w
ind. She disembarked and made her way through the terminal, where she soon found her suitcase. Flatterly Manor was only a short drive away and Hattie had assured Jo that she was quite capable of taking a taxi and not to fuss about meeting her.
The winter sunshine was almost blinding as Hattie strode out and as she walked to a waiting line of cabs, she reached into her bag for her sunglasses.
In moments, a driver leapt forward and grabbed Hattie’s case. Placing it carefully in his vehicle, he held a passenger door and said, ‘Good mornin’ to you, I’m Finbar O’Toole, at your service. Where would you like to go on this glorious day?’
Hattie stared at the man before her. He was smartly dressed in a tweed jacket, with a crisp white shirt and knotted cravat. His thick dark hair was glossy and lay in curls on his collar. As he smiled, his handsome face lit up.
‘Good morning Finbar,’ Hattie replied, ‘do you know a place called Flatterley Manor?”
‘Oh, to be sure,’ he grinned, ‘I’ll have you there in a jiffy.’
Hattie climbed in and Finbar started the engine, then pulled away at speed, causing Hattie to grab a handrail and grip her seat.
Cork to Kindale is a pretty journey of approximately twenty miles and for the average driver, it would take no more than thirty leisurely minutes. As Finbar hit the accelerator and Hattie braced herself, the countryside whizzed by. She looked out at hills and fields recently bathed with rain. The green grass, rough and shaggy in places, contrasted sharply against rich tones of dark damp earth and reminded Hattie of Cumbria, her beloved home county, the place where she was born and now lived, in a cottage, in the village of Hollywood.
The road ran alongside the estuary that Hattie had seen from the plane, and every now and again high hedges and a long driveway suggested a property discreetly tucked away in the undulating countryside that edged the shore.
Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series! Page 32
