by C T Mitchell
Murder in the Village
By
C T Mitchell
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by C T Mitchell
Cover and internal design © Wood Duck Media
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without the permission in writing from its publisher, C T Mitchell.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. We are not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Free Book Download
REJECTION
“A nerve wrecking thriller that centers around a disturbed young man”
“Real enough that it seems like it could be pulled from today's headline”
“Hold onto your seats! This short read packs a punch”
Grab a FREE Copy of Rejection at
http://www.CTMitchell.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
About The Author
Excerpt from Murder at the Fete
Chapter 1
Lady Margaret’s birthday was coming up, and it wasn’t something she was too keen on thinking too hard about. There wasn’t anything wrong with birthdays, really, she just didn’t feel as old as her birthday cards told her she was, so she was disinclined to open them. She’d have the cake, but the reminder of getting older? Not so much.
She was drinking her first cup of tea of the day, standing in the large kitchen of her bed and breakfast property, Lawlers Loft, she ran on the outskirts of town, reading the paper. There wasn’t really anything noteworthy happening in the small town of Bangalow, New South Wales. One of the quieter cities in Australia, it was an old favorite of Maggie’s and her late husband’s during their many travels over the years from the UK. For some reason it struck her as the perfect amount of quaint and city life, kind of a cozy village and it suited her perfectly since she decided to move here after her husband passed away.
She bought the bed and breakfast on Lawler’s Lane, and was the strange mother-figure of the small town. Everyone loved her, even though she was a bit forthright. Her posh British accent, not to mention her knighthood, was much the talk of the district and it certainly helped in getting onboard with the local community councils; great venues for Maggie to listen in on the town’s gossip.
Disappointed in the lack of enthusiastic news reporting for the week ahead, Maggie refreshed her tea and strolled over to the little picture window over the sink. Clad only in her bathrobe, she was caught off guard by the knock at the door.
“Who on Earth would be ringing me at this hour?” She wasn’t expecting any deliveries for the inn, and the mailman would never ring her so early for fear of catching her in her bathrobe. And Lord knows that even though she was in decent shape for her age, she was pretty sure no one wanted to see that. After all, it wasn’t proper.
Nevertheless, whoever was at the door was knocking so adamantly that they couldn’t be kept waiting. She hurried to the front door, careful to look quickly through the foyer to make sure no guests would see her in her robe, and shuffled to the door. When she opened it, she gasped a little, greeted by the flushed cheeks of Inspector Tom Sullivan of the local police force.
“What’s the matter, Tom?” she asked, making sure the robe was closed all the way and pointing to his reddened cheeks with her free hand. “Cat got your tongue? Or has it just been a while since you’ve seen someone other than your wife in a bathrobe? Don’t flatter yourself, dear. I’m not interested.”
Inspector Tom cleared his throat mid-laugh and asked to be let in. He didn’t look, Maggie thought, like he was really in the mood for joking. Though she was glad she got that one in, because seeing his cheeks flus was worth all the flack she would catch for it later. She waved her arm out in front of her and gestured for him to go into the kitchen quickly.
He did as he was told and shuffled in with a medium sized box under his arm.
“Tom, you’re soaked, hun. Do you want some dry clothes? I’m sure I can find you something around here?”
“Aaah, no thanks, Maggie.” The thought was going through Detective Sullivan’s mind as to how Lady Margaret would have some men’s clothing in her possession considering her husband had passed over ten years ago. Anyway he thought better of it to ask.
“I hate when you call me that. So what do you need? Anything at all, you know that, Detective. Let me take your coat.”
Tom let her remove his coat, and she draped it over the back of one of her kitchen chairs. Eventually, when she saw that he wasn’t going to stop pacing her kitchen floor, dripping wet, without saying anything, she made him a cup of tea. Maggie tapped him on the shoulder, breaking his train of thought. Tom grumbled a bit and nodded his thanks to her, taking the saucer from the older woman’s hands.
“Thanks, it’s been raining all night, and I just never dried out. I appreciate the warm tea, Lady Turnbull.” He made a fake salute to her with his small tea cup and hoped she would appreciate him using her proper name.
“Well, hopefully you don’t catch pneumonia and die an old fart. You really should take better care of yourself. Now what brings you here? Do I need to call the Mrs. and let her know where you’re at.”
“No thanks, mam. I appreciate the sentiment. But I’m not really speaking to anyone at the moment.”
Maggie’s eyes perked up and one eyebrow danced across her forehead. “Oh really?”
“Yes, really. Don’t go getting all excited about it, it’s nothing like that.”
Maggie grinned widely at her friend. “Oh I think it’s exactly like that, Tom! You know me, and it’s nearing my birthday, even! This must be your gift to me, a juicy secret case to be solved on the quiet. That’s very kind of you.” She dipped her head to him and he half-chuckled, “Now what have you got for me, here?”
“My socks are soaked through, Lady Margaret. I’m freezing and I don’t want to be here all day, I’m knackered. I came to you because I don’t want to be airing out my dirty laundry all over town. I’d much rather come to you, since you have a way with these sorts of cases, than to have it broadcast all over town. It’s from my Aunt in Byron Bay, she sent it in the post and I wanted you to have a look at it before I took it to the Station.”
“Alright alright, cool your horses. Settle your spirit, love. You look shaken, what’s going on? Why do you want me to look at it first?” Maggie asked.
Tom handed her the box, and Maggie eyed him carefully. Whatever was in the box has him pretty worked up. “It’s probably a book of some sort, I’d imagine.”
She pried the lid off with one hand, and half expected there to be an old sandwich or something inside of it. When the lid finally came loose, Maggie swallowed hard. Nestled into a crimson-colored piece of fabric was a jar. The jar was cloudy inside, and had a liquid in it, held securely by a firm piece of cork. Inside the bottle, which Tom looked away from as soon as she opened it, was a slender finger. It was floating in some sort of liquid, and upon a quick smell of the bottle, Lady Margaret assured him that it was formaldehyde. She could see the color in the Detective Inspector’s face grow lighter, and he looked as if his stomach was a little queasy.
Lady Margaret regained her composure quickly and squared her shoulders at the kitchen table. “This is not what you were expecting, I take it?”
The Detective shook his head and brought a fist to his mouth, looking as though he were about to be sick. “No!” He shouted, suddenly upset. “I thought it was an old book or something that she’d gotten you for your birthday!”
Only a few moments later, Maggie was showing him to the front door. Detective Tom apologized profusely for the interruption and confusion, and excused himself to the police station at Lismore to try and figure out what the package was all about.
Maggie watched as he went back to his car, not quite fully dried out yet, still holding the plastic bag under his arm. He had barely wanted to wait for her to wrap it up, but she’d insisted, so that he could maintain privacy. Those goons at the police department had no business asking questions about a beat up old shoe box; just yet anyway.
Chapter 2
Lady Margaret Turnbull, beloved bed and breakfast owner and part time sleuth of Bangalow, New South Wales, freshened her tea and returned to her kitchen table. No sooner had she grabbed her pad of scratch paper and begun to doodle on it, her mind raced with all the things she’d taken in.
She wasn’t given much time before the Detective had replaced the lid on the box, but in that short time, she’d gathered that it was a young woman’s finger. It was a ring finger, probably belonging to a woman in her twenties. Tom was no spring chicken, and his aunt must surely be in her sixties, so she imagined that it belonged to a young engaged woman, since the finger was still adorned with an engagement ring.
Getting dressed quickly in something she could be seen around town in and be proud, Maggie hopped into her car. The darling car, a 1968 Mercedes 450 SLC, red with white leather, perfectly engulfed everything that was Lady Margaret Turnbull in a nutshell. It was classy, fun, sporty, and full of life at any age. And it turned heads, which she loved.
She climbed into it and checked her hair in the rear view mirror. She couldn’t get the “ring finger in the box” out of her head, and she wanted answers. Those answers sure wouldn’t be coming from Detective Sullivan, as soon as she’d opened the box, the man had clammed up like a school boy on his first date. This left the ring, itself, as being the only other lead in the case.
She’d seen many rings like this one advertised on television; it was no ordinary engagement ring. An expensive jeweler in Lismore had been advertising rings exactly like these for months. They were very unique, and Maggie admitted to herself that she’d envied them on more than one occasion.
With wedding season approaching, the jeweler had been offering the rings at a reduced price. Nearing the shopping center where Lismore Family Jewels was located, Maggie pulled into the car park located underground. She usually hated driving around in town, mostly because people were in general impatient arses, but this morning the drive had not been so bad.
Trotting up to the entrance of the shopping center, Lady Margaret was pleased to see that the early morning crowd was much thinner than normal today. The shops were opening one by one, and she took a seat on a bench outside the jewelry shop. It was one of the last ones to open, which Maggie took note of. She was careful not to look as though she was staring, and she carefully eyed the man inside the shop who was directing the other sales clerks to their stations. It was time to have a chat with the man.
Meanwhile, as Lady Maggie rose to confront the jewelry store owner, Inspector Tom Sullivan was leaned over his desk at the police station with his head cradled in his hand.
“Auntie, auntie….listen…” he said quietly.
“No, you listen, dear. I sent you no such package. I’m certainly not dead, and I have all of my fingers! So whatever you found in a jar inside a box has nothing to do with me. And quite frankly, you’re making me nervous. You sound quite shaken up. You should get some sleep…or make a cup of tea.”
As he was trying to hang up the phone, the Detective Inspector’s Sergeant bursts through the door and tries to interrupt his conversation. The young officer had no tact when it came to when and where he was invited to speak, and was always in a hurry. Tom liked the guy, but Sergeant Daniels always seemed to be running late, and everyone else’s time suffered for it. He hung up quickly and turned to Sergeant Gerard Daniels with a sigh.
“Sir,” the young man was breathing heavily, as though he’d jogged down the hall….and everywhere else he’d been that morning.
“Sir, I’ve only found three women reported missing in the last few weeks. These are the only three that fit the description from the forensics lab.” Gerard handed him three pieces of paper fresh off the printer. The finger apparently belonged to a Caucasian woman in her early twenties.
“She’s had a manicure pretty recently,” Tom said aloud. “Now we just need a body to go with this finger.”
Chapter 3
Back at the shopping center, the little bell on the door dinged as Maggie walked in. The man she assumed was the manager looked surprised to see her for some reason, and checked his watch absentmindedly.
“Are you open?” she asked.
“Yes, yes ma’am,” he replied. “We’ll be here until six.”
“Ah very good! I’m in a bit of a hurry and was wondering if you could be a darling and show me one of those rings you advertise on television.”
The man eyed her curiously, wondering if this woman in her mid-fifties was about to be proposed to.
“Oh no, no dear. It’s not for me! I just wanted to ask you a few questions about them. They’re so pretty.” Maggie watched as he decided whether or not to humor her, and when he returned with a tray of rings similar to the one in the jar, her face lit up. “Oh, they’re beautiful!”
The man went through the usual list of reasons to buy such beautiful and unique rings, but Maggie stopped him mid-sentence.
“Do you remember, perhaps, selling one of these to a woman sometime in the last month or so?”
Taken aback, the manager took two actual steps back. “Why on earth would you want to know something like that. Have we met before?”
“No of course not, I just…one of my friends had one just like this and I was wondering if you were the one that sold it to her.” After another half hour of clever fibbing, Lady Margaret left the jewelry store with three names and addresses of men who had purchased a ring from the tray in the last three months.
One of the names, Maggie noticed, was for a young man who lived on the same street at the Detective’s aunt in Byron Bay. It might be a coincidence, but Maggie doubted it. These things were seldom coincidences; they were generally revered as juicy, wonderful details that led her to solving a crime that the police department couldn’t handle.
Returning to her car, she threw down the top and pulled out of the park way, headed for the police station. When Detective Tom Sullivan saw her breeze through the station doors, a picture of class, his skin crawled a bit. He knew he shouldn’t have involved her in this, though knowing her she already had the perpetrator tied up in the trunk of her car begging to be fingerprinted. He hated when she came to the station, why didn’t she just phone him with her hunches as she usually did? No time for personal insecurities, Tom needed to talk with Lady Margaret.
Chapter 4
Just as Tom was approaching Maggie, Sgt. Gerard Daniels rocketed out of an office door.
“Sir! A woman in her twenties was just pulled out of the river…she’s missing her ring finger.”
Tom nodded to his sergeant and kept walking toward Maggie. As much as he hated involving Lady Margaret on cases directly, he had to admit she’d been an incredible amount of help on many occasions. He’d be a fool not to ask her.
“Well,” he said when he reached her. She jumped a bit when he came up from the side, and it made him happy to have startled her. The Detective imagined that it probably didn’t happen very often. “Let’s go.”
“What’s that, officer? Are you taking me in?” A sly smile w
andered across her face and she put her hand to her chest dramatically. “I’m sure I didn’t do anything…”
“Alright, alright.” Tom grinned and laced his hand through the crook of her arm. “Come with me. Something’s just come up…literally.” Maggie’s eyebrows danced across her face and Tom shot her a grin. “In the river.”
He knew she loved this part, where things were just starting to get interesting for the normal police force was the part where Lady Margaret Turnbull started working her magic. As much as Tom hated to admit it, the little boy in him loved watching her brain work.
“Happy to go along, Detective! But I’ll take my own car if you don’t mind.” Maggie turned her nose a bit in false protest. “It’s much more stylish than a police panda car.”
“That may be perfectly true, Lady Margaret. But I won’t be able to debrief you if we’re in two separate vehicles.” Maggie looked disappointed, but ultimately caved pretty quickly. “It’ll be fine, your car will be fine here, and we’ll come back and pick her up later. The boys will make sure she gets lunch.” Tom winked at her.
As soon as they pulled out into traffic, Lady Margaret pulled three sheets of paper from her purse and waved them at Tom while he was driving. “Let me debrief you, first. These three gents all bought rings like the one we discovered. And one of them lives very near your Aunt. What do you make of that?”
Unexpectedly, Tom grabbed the papers from her and pulled out the one that lived near his hand, he folded it up and slid it into his jacket pocket while steering with one hand.
“No offense, Lady Margaret, but I really don’t want you getting involved in the case in this way. This perpetrator seems to be especially vicious, and I don’t need to lose you due to your lack of police training. It was dangerous going and getting these.” He looked at her, and rolled his eyes at the grimace she was sending across the cabin of the police car. “What?! It was dangerous. How did you even get anyone to—you know what. Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
