Murder in Langley Woods

by Betty Rowlands

  Murder in Langley Woods

  A completely addictive cozy mystery novel

  Betty Rowlands

  Books by Betty Rowlands

  THE MELISSA CRAIG SERIES

  Murder at Hawthorn Cottage

  Murder in the Morning

  Murder on the Clifftops

  Murder at the Manor Hotel

  Murder on a Winter Afternoon

  Murder in the Orchard

  Murder at Larkfield Barn

  Murder in Langley Woods

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Hear More from Betty

  Books by Betty Rowlands

  A Letter from Betty

  Murder at Hawthorn Cottage

  Murder in the Morning

  Murder on the Clifftops

  Murder at the Manor Hotel

  Murder on a Winter Afternoon

  One

  By the end of August, summer was becoming tired. One felt it in the shortening days and the lengthening shadows that foretold the approaching September equinox, and the drab, uniform foliage of trees that two months earlier had still retained something of their springtime variety. Already, after several weeks without rain, there were streaks of brown and yellow among the green.

  This year, Melissa Craig regarded the onset of autumn with mixed feelings. There was the usual satisfaction from the crops of fruit and vegetables that she grew in the little garden of Hawthorn Cottage, where she had lived in increasing contentment since escaping from London a few years ago. There was relief in the cooler evenings after the long period of exceptionally hot, dry weather. The mist that lay each morning along the floor of the secluded Cotswold valley until burned off by the sun transformed myriads of cobwebs in the hedgerows into coverlets of glistening lace and brought a welcome touch of moisture to the sultry air. There were blackberries to be gathered and made into pies with fruit from her own apple tree. There was the harvest festival to look forward to, when the little Norman church in Upper Benbury would be overflowing with the rich variety of produce that its residents coaxed from the stony but fertile soil. And then would come the end of October when, as usual, her friend and neighbour Iris Ash would pack her bags and her artist’s impedimenta and head for the South of France for the winter. Only this year, things were different. This year, Iris was leaving for good.

  Ever since Melissa came to the village, the cottage that adjoined her own had stood empty from November to the end of March. Iris’s return signalled not only the welcome prospect of her companionship during the ensuing months, but also the onset of spring. Not that the winter had ever seemed to drag. There was always a new book to be written and research to be done, Christmas to look forward to and drinks parties with friends. And there was Ken Harris: dependable, companionable, loving … and as persistent in his efforts to persuade her to marry him as she was to retain her independence.

  It was an idyllic existence, but in a few weeks it would change for ever. After more than half a century of spinsterhood, Iris was going to marry Jack Hammond and the two of them planned to make their permanent home in Provence. Elder Cottage was to be sold and Melissa was now faced with one of the toughest decisions of her life.

  On this late August afternoon she was lifting onions and laying them in rows in the sunniest corner of her garden while mentally wrestling with the problem, when a voice hailed her from the other side of the fence. Major Dudley Ford had approached unnoticed along the short track that connected the cottages with the steep, narrow lane leading to the village.

  ‘Mrs Craig … Melissa,’ he called. ‘Can you spare a minute?’

  Reluctantly, she put down her fork and walked across to where he was standing. He looked agitated, his normally florid face flushed purple, his bushy white moustache quivering and his ancient panama hat askew.

  ‘It’s an absolute disgrace!’ he spluttered. ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to – something will have to be done!’ He brandished his walking stick so vigorously that Sinbad, his fat King Charles spaniel, backed away from him in alarm.

  ‘Whatever’s wrong, Dudley?’ Melissa asked in some concern. It was probably something quite trivial, but it was generally feared that his habit of treating every minor upset as a catastrophe, coupled with his high blood pressure, would one day have serious results.

  ‘Thieves and vagabonds, that’s what’s wrong,’ he exclaimed. Suddenly remembering his manners, he raised his hat, revealing a shock of white hair that did not appear to have been recently combed. ‘I’ve been robbed … and the police simply aren’t interested,’ he complained.

  ‘Robbed!’ Melissa exclaimed. ‘Good gracious, when? Was there much stolen?’

  ‘A chest freezer.’ He uttered the words as dramatically as if announcing the loss of the Crown Jewels.

  ‘Oh dear! Was there much food in it?’

  ‘Well, er, no … as a matter of fact it was an old one we were getting rid of,’ he admitted. ‘But that’s beside the point,’ he added as Melissa’s eyebrows went up. ‘Robbery is robbery. It’s a disgrace!’ he repeated, using the hat to fan his overheated countenance. ‘What do we pay taxes for if the police don’t do their job, that’s what I want to know!’

  During this tirade Binkie, Iris’s half-Persian cat, suddenly appeared on top of a nearby stone wall. Spotting Sinbad, he arched his back and spat; the dog responded with a furious yapping and leapt forward, almost tugging his lead from his master’s hand. Recognising that fur might, literally, be about to fly, Melissa said, ‘Perhaps you’d like to come in and tell me all about it,’ and opened her gate. From previous experience she knew that it would take at least half an hour for her irascible visitor to get whatever was bugging him off his chest.

  The Major accepted her invitation with alacrity. She led the way along the short path to the rear of the cottage, saying, ‘I apologise for bringing you in through the kitchen, but I keep the front door locked when I’m out in the garden. In any case,’ she added, after he had earnestly commended her for being so security conscious, ‘it might be as well if we talked in here … it’s cooler than my sitting-room as it doesn’t get much sun.’ And it will keep your dog off my furniture, she added to herself. Sinbad had the run of the house at home and to sit down in Tanners Cottage meant a subsequent battle to rid one’s clothes of dog hairs.

  The Major dropped into a chair, placed his hat on the table and propped his stick against the wall. Sinbad waddled round the kitchen, sniffing and panting. Melissa gave him a dish of water, poured cold drinks for herself and her visitor and sat down. ‘Now, tell me about this robbery,’ she said.

  ‘You know we’ve been having a new kitchen installed,’ the Major began. Melissa gave a wry nod. Everyone in the village knew about the up-market firm of contractors that had been commissioned to make the Fords’ kitchen worthy of a feature in Country Living, if for no other reason than that both he and his wife had been at pains to give progress reports every time they set foot in the village shop.

  ‘Well, we had the old units to dispose of, and we gave those to a charity.’ He paused, as if to give Melissa the opportunity to commend
him and his wife for this act of generosity. As she merely nodded and waited he went on. ‘And there was this old chest freezer that had been standing empty in the garage for a couple of years, ever since it broke down. It was going to be too expensive to repair, so we replaced it. We thought this was a good opportunity to get it out of the way, but the charity people wouldn’t take it.’ The peevish tone in which he uttered the last few words suggested that this refusal was tantamount to base ingratitude after the receipt of so much largesse.

  ‘Well,’ he resumed, after a further pause during which Melissa still made no comment. ‘I saw a notice in the shop the other day, announcing a new service from the Council – a monthly collection of bulky household items. All you have to do is ring ’em up, they tell you what day they’ll call, you put your stuff outside your gate and they pick it up. No charge. Simple.’ He drank deeply from the glass of lemonade that Melissa had poured for him and she recharged it from a jug.

  ‘Let me guess the rest,’ she said. ‘You went to the garage to shift the freezer outside and found it had disappeared.’

  ‘Not quite.’ The Major drained his glass for the second time, pulled out a handkerchief and blotted his moustache. ‘The council people couldn’t tell me what time the men’d be along to pick it up, but said it could be quite early, so to be on the safe side I got a couple of the village lads to get it to the gate the evening before.’

  ‘And someone nicked it during the night?’

  ‘No, it was still there at ten o’clock next morning, when Maddy and I left the house to go shopping in Cheltenham. We got back about one, and it was gone. Naturally, we assumed the council men had collected it. But an hour later, one of them knocked on the door asking where it was. Some thieving rogues had taken it while we were out.’ During the early part of his narrative the Major had become progressively calmer; now he was showing signs of renewed agitation. ‘Stolen it in broad daylight!’ He banged a fist on Melissa’s kitchen table and Sinbad, who had been dozing at his feet, woke up with a start.

  ‘Of course, there’s no doubt who the culprits are,’ he went on. ‘A load of travelling tinkers have been camping on that disused council dump on the main road. They’re always prowling about, looking for something to steal. I got on to the police straight away, of course, and they sent the local Bobby round, but d’you know what he said?’ As Melissa shook her head and tried to appear interested, indignation made the next words almost incomprehensible. ‘He said someone had been “cherry picking” – scouting around for items people put out for collection and making off with them before the genuine collectors arrive. The fellow seemed to think it was a bit of a joke … did you ever hear of such a thing?’

  ‘No, I can’t say I have, but it sounds perfectly feasible. And I’m quite sure PC Barker is taking your complaint seriously,’ Melissa added soothingly, since he was still bristling with rage at having been the victim of such blatant chicanery. ‘When did this happen, by the way?’

  ‘A couple of days or so ago … Tuesday, to be exact.’

  ‘And today’s Friday. I imagine the trail will have gone a bit cold by now.’ Really, Dudley, she thought, only you could expect the police to turn the theft of a piece of household rubbish into a major incident. ‘At least,’ she continued aloud, ‘you haven’t lost anything of value … I mean, it was going for scrap, wasn’t it?’

  The Major glowered. ‘That’s beside the point,’ he snapped. ‘Thieving is thieving. I told Barker that I expected him to bring the culprits to justice … and I told him where he’d almost certainly find the evidence. He said something about making enquiries, but we all know what that means, don’t we?’

  ‘The police are pretty stretched at the moment.’ Melissa was beginning to lose patience; time was passing and she wanted to finish lifting the onions before tea. ‘And if it was someone from the gipsy encampment who took your freezer, it’s almost certainly been broken up for scrap by now, so it would be impossible to identify. Frankly, Dudley, I’d forget about it if I were you.’ She gave him what she hoped was a sympathetic smile.

  He responded with an indignant snort. ‘I can’t agree with you there. Why should these crooks be allowed to get away with it?’

  ‘I know it’s annoying, but I don’t see what you can do about it,’ she said. ‘I gather from what you’ve told me that no one even saw the freezer being taken, so you’ve no idea what these people look like or what kind of vehicle they were using.’

  He cleared his throat and avoided her gaze. It dawned on her that there might be more to this visit than a mere desire to enlist her sympathy. Even as the suspicion formed in her mind, his next words confirmed it. ‘I don’t suppose your friend Mr Harris would be prepared to do a bit of sniffing around?’ he said hopefully.

  Melissa suppressed a desire to laugh. Since his retirement from the police after completing thirty years’ service, ex-Detective Chief Inspector Harris had been operating as a private investigator. He had been approached with some odd requests before, but to track down a piece of disused kitchen equipment that was destined for the junkyard anyway would surely count among the most bizarre. However, it was plain that the Major was perfectly serious.

  ‘It’s not the kind of case he normally handles,’ she said diplomatically. ‘I could mention it to him, of course … see if he’s got the time, ask him what sort of fee he would charge and so on.’

  At the mention of the word ‘fee’, the Major appeared to wince. ‘Er, yes, well, of course, I take your point,’ he mumbled, fingering his moustache. ‘I’ll quite understand if he’s too busy with other cases … just thought I’d mention it.’ He pushed back his chair and tugged at Sinbad’s lead. ‘Come on, old fellow, mustn’t take up any more of the lady’s time, must we?’ He got to his feet and Melissa politely escorted him out of the cottage and back to the gate.

  From the corner of her eye she spotted Iris, who was busy in her own garden, ducking out of sight behind a row of runner beans. Evidently she had no intention of being collared by their garrulous neighbour. Two minutes later she was calling to Melissa over the fence separating their back gardens, demanding to know what ‘the old buzzard’ was on about this time.

  ‘You aren’t going to believe this,’ said Melissa when she had repeated the saga of the ‘cherry pickers’ and the missing freezer. ‘He actually had the cheek to suggest that Ken might take the case on – as a favour, of course. You should have seen the way he backed off when I mentioned the word “fee”.’

  ‘Surprised he didn’t suggest starting a “hue and cry”,’ said Iris. ‘He’d like to see people hanged for sheep stealing. Born centuries too late, that’s his trouble.’

  ‘You’ve got a point there. Well, I’d better finish lifting my onions.’

  ‘Pop round for a cuppa when you’ve done.’

  ‘Thanks, I will.’

  The two women were drinking herbal tea in Iris’s kitchen when they heard the rattle of the letter-box as the evening paper landed on the floor in the hall. Iris went to fetch it and returned with eyes like saucers. Dumbly, she held out the paper for Melissa to see the black headlines which read:

  BODY FOUND IN ABANDONED FREEZER

  Two

  The report was brief but sensational. The gruesome discovery had been made by children the previous evening and much was made of their shock and terror after one of them had opened an abandoned chest freezer with the object of climbing inside in the course of a game of hide-and-seek. Apart from the fact that the victim was a woman, few details had been available at the time of going to press; in the absence of information about her identity, how she had met her death or how her body had reached the spot where it was found, the remaining space was given up to a description of the location – a dry, overgrown ditch skirting a patch of woodland which, despite notices warning of fines for anyone caught dumping rubbish, was more often than not littered with empty drinks cans, old tyres, discarded mattresses and stolen supermarket trolleys.

  The two women diges
ted the story in silence. At last, Iris said drily, ‘Have to take Dudley seriously now, won’t they?’

  ‘Who – the police?’ Melissa put the paper down and absent-mindedly refolded it.

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘It could be a coincidence. Langley Woods are fifteen miles from here.’

  ‘So? Whoever nicked that freezer had transport. Could’ve taken it anywhere.’

  ‘That’s true. Still, there must be more than one redundant freezer in the county. I wonder if the Fords have seen this report. Do they read the Gazette?’

  ‘Sure to – have to keep up with local affairs, don’t they? Couldn’t interfere if they didn’t know what’s going on.’ Iris took the empty mugs to the sink and rinsed them under the tap. Over her shoulder, she asked, ‘Seeing Ken this evening?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Come for supper. Jack’ll be here.’

  Melissa hesitated. ‘I’m not sure – Ken said something about going out. Is it okay if I let you know in half an hour or so?’

  ‘Sure. Always cook plenty in any case. Jack eats like a horse.’

  ‘He’s sticking to his part of the bargain, then?’ A condition of the engagement had been that Jack convert to vegetarianism.

  ‘Of course.’ Iris dried the mugs and put them away in a cupboard. Her keen grey eyes held a sly twinkle as she added, ‘Ten times fitter than he used to be. Pity you and Ken don’t do the same. Shift a few pounds in no time.’