Cozy Mystery: Dining With The Dead (A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series)

by Carrie Marsh

  She had not expected the farm to be this close.

  “It sneaks up on you,” she said.

  She slowed the car and passed through the gate.

  As she entered the place, she could not help thinking how ordinary it looked. Being on a private murder investigation made one expect something more sinister, she thought, grinning at her own naivety.

  It was an ordinary farm. The gate was a simple low iron gate, with two rather grand old-brick gateposts. There were well-trimmed hedges alongside it, and the grass by the narrow road leading to the house was well-tended.

  “It seems like a nice place,” Laura thought, surprised. “I wonder what I can say...” she thought, walking towards the farmhouse. Could she just walk in and ask to talk to Mr. Hogarth? No – that would be embarrassing. She looked around and noticed a sign: “Fresh fruit.”

  “Great!” Laura said under her breath. “I can just buy something, and talk normally to whoever mans the stall. They could pass on lots of information.”

  She felt rather excited as she walked towards the brick farm-stall.

  “Like Amy, in Brooklyn nine nine, only in rural England,” she thought, grinning. “She never had to go undercover to farm stalls...”

  She reached the entrance. An elderly lady with round glasses looked up at her from behind the newspaper.

  “You here to buy fruit?” She asked briskly.

  “Yes...” Laura replied cautiously. The room was redolent with the scents of fruit – moist, sweet, and sticky summer fruits: golden nectarines, black plums, and glowingly-orange peaches. She bit her lip, feeling hungry. “Can I look at it?” She asked.

  “Why not?” the elderly woman said and grinned broadly.

  As Laura looked through the boxes of plums, she started asking questions.

  “You get lots of people coming here?” she asked conversationally, testing a plum for firmness. It was hard, and she filled her bag eagerly.

  “Some,” the woman said noncommittally. “Not so many, though, I'll tell you,” she added, leaning forward conspiratorially. “We're quite far out of town here, and that Farmer Bellamy – he gets more customers in his place than we do. He has a stall on the main street. I did tell the boss-man we'd do better with a stall in town, like that Bellamy does have, but no! Listen to Amy Cornwell? Not likely.” She huffed.

  “That's terrible,” Laura sympathized as she had a look at some nectarines. They were mostly hard.

  “Aye! So, business is not what it should be. But what can a person do?”

  “Not much,” Laura agreed sympathetically. “So, Mr. Hogarth runs the place alone?”

  “Him and Mrs. Hogarth does, yes,” the woman replied.

  “And they don't have visitors often, I guess?”

  “Visitors!” The woman laughed. “Oh, aye...we get visitors. But boss-man, he gives the fruit to them. Why give away what you can sell, eh? Speakin' of which, would you like some pie?”

  She gestured at an apple pie, sitting uncovered on the sideboard. The pie looked like it had been there all week, the pastry drooping and curled at the edge.

  “Mm,” Laura said quickly, “I'm tempted, but no. I had a big meal earlier...” she demurred. She had almost come to the end of possible fruit to sample. She had to ask some last important questions. She walked to the front of the shop, carrying a small bag of plums.

  “Is Mr. Hogarth around?” she asked. “I heard he wasn't well...”

  “Well?” the woman looked at Laura as if she had turned purple. “Aye, he's well. Oh...” she paused, thinking. “He did have a funny turn a few days back...he's fine now, though. Right as rain.”

  “Could I see him?” Laura asked. She filed the information away, groaning inwardly at the terminology of “a funny turn”. That, she guessed, was about the ghost.

  “Oh, sure!” the woman agreed. “Try the top barns. He's probably with the plough now...” she added, checking her watch. “It's about time for a break, though. You sure you will not have some pie?”

  “No, thanks,” Laura said politely. “And thanks for the help, Mrs. Cornwell,” she called through the door as she carried out her plums

  “Don't mention it!” a voice called, following her down the shallow steps.

  Right, Laura thought. Time to find Mr. Hogarth.

  A brief exploration of the surrounding sheds turned up Mrs. Poole's grandson, who effusively offered to show her the place. She declined, but asked if she could talk to Mr. Hogarth.

  “Oh. Sure! He's here with the ploughs...come on...”

  The eager youth led Laura a short way up the hill. She found herself panting as she reached the top. There, in a vast barn, was Mr. Hogarth, a large straw hat pulled down over his head, spindly legs in shorts despite the rising wind.

  “Hello, Farmer Hogarth!”

  “Hello...?” His weather-beaten face wrinkled up as he stared at her. “Lassie from the hotel? What brings you up here this morning?”

  “Yes, I'm from the hotel,” Laura explained, relieved that he did not seem to think her as some kind of murderous criminal like the rest of the village. “I wanted to ask you a few things...?”

  “Sure,” Farmer Hogarth shrugged. “Yon bugger's not going to go for love nor money today,” he indicated the large tractor mournfully, wiping axle-grease off his hands, “...so I'm sitting with time on my hands.”

  Laura grinned at the swearing, and walked out of the barn with him. Mrs. Poole's grandson had left, heading speedily back to the sheds lest he be accused of laziness.

  “Ask away,” Mr. Hogarth invited, taking off his hat and shading his eyes with his arm.

  “Uh...” Laura dried. “I wanted to ask about your hand – George Poole? – he seems a good boy.”

  “Sure,” the farmer shrugged. “Not so bad, not so good. Ordinary boy. Why?”

  “He told me there was trouble here on Tuesday?”

  “Trouble?” The farmer's eyes narrowed, gaze cloudy. “No, lass. No trouble here. Dunno what the lad was talking of.”

  “Oh.” Laura looked away. How to ask him about the ghost? The farmer seemed hesitant. “The reason I asked,” she said cautiously, “was because we had some difficulties at the hotel. I was talking to Dr. Lucas yesterday, and he said there was something going around, making people see ghosts?”

  The farmer's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

  “Ghosts, now?” he asked, interestedly.

  “Yes,” Laura agreed. “Which is why I asked about Mrs. Poole's grandson. His granny, she saw one, and...” She got no further.

  “I saw one! I did! Here!” Mr. Hogarth, clearly relieved that he might not be going mad, was tugging on her sleeve, leading her towards the sheds further down.

  “You did?” Laura asked conversationally. Inside, she was a mass of excited nerves. The plot thickens, she thought, and swallowed hard.

  “Yes!” The slight-built man was practically leaping with agitation. “It was here...right here, in these sheds, amongst the barrels. I saw it, just for an instant, and then it melted into the shadows. It was dark, like – a bit sinister. I stared for a bit, then I went to fetch the lads.” He indicated the barns at the bottom of the hill. “Of course, by the time I got here, there was nothing. Funny thing, the mind,” he added absently.

  “It might have been something...” Laura prompted.

  “Oh, no,” the farmer laughed. “Now lass, don't you go fillin' your pretty head with funny things. There's no such thing as ghosts!” he wheezed a laugh. “If nothin' else, if there was, Heaven help me, me old dad'd still be around here. That's what my cousin, who was visiting then, said. If it's the old man, he's out.” He gave a gap-toothed laugh, and Laura smiled sympathy.

  “Ghosts are an unpleasant thought,” she agreed.

  The farmer chuckled.

  “No, don't you worry, lassie. No ghosts – like as not I was in the sun without me hat too long,” he chuckled again.

  Still reassuring Laura, he escorted her down the hill to the shed where her
car was parked.

  “Enjoy the plums!” he called brightly.

  Laura smiled and waved as she pulled away. She noticed him heading for the sheds, brisk, and a moment later she heard him shouting at the boy, George Poole.

  “Why you go telling nonsense to strangers, boy...?”

  Laura swallowed hard. The last thing she had wanted was to cause trouble for the youth. And why, she thought as she headed down the street back to town, was Farmer Hogarth so defensive?

  There was something to investigate here.

  Fact: There was something on the farm, and something in the kitchen. I don't believe in ghosts, so, either the whole village is hallucinating, or it was a man. Fact: Farmer Hogarth does not want to talk about it. What, Laura thought wearily, could all this mean?

  Through the drive back to town, wind tousling her hair as she drove through fields warm with sunshine, she could not settle down. One good thing, she decided, was that she would discuss it all with Dr. Lucas soon. As she thought it, it seemed the sun shone a little brighter, and the larks sang sweetly.

  CHAPTER TEN

  EVASION

  “Morning, Miss.”

  Laura jumped and looked up guiltily from the book. What if it had been Mr. Preston, the hotel owner, come to check on things? He was meant to come in later...

  “Morning, Mr. Grantham...” she said, relieved that it was him. She put away her book.

  She looked at her watch. It was just midday. The old man was always on time. She swallowed. Soon, Dr. Lucas would be here...She took Mr. Grantham a menu herself, trying to settle her nerves.

  “A cup o' tea and the chicken pie, please...”

  “Of course, Mr. Grantham.” Laura wrote down the order and passed it through the hatch.

  Back at her desk, Laura resumed investigation. She did not have much time before one o' clock, and she wanted to have something interesting to tell Dr. Lucas when he arrived.

  “I wonder...” she thought. She typed in “Grant Hogarth”, interested to see what would come up if she did a search for the farmer. She blinked. “He's on Facebook?”

  Intrigued, Laura went onto Farmer Hogarth's Facebook. It was indeed him, grinning and holding his broad-brimmed hat in his hands. His Friends list showed most of the local brass in farming, with a few of the farm-hands and other villagers thrown in.

  “That must be his cousin...” she said, looking at yet another thickset man in a suit. He looked familiar. Laura knew she had seen that face before.

  One other face stood out from the list.

  “She's pretty...” Laura mused. She clicked on the picture of a rosy-cheeked, lovely woman with a shy smile. She looked to be in her mid-forties.

  “Noelle Hogarth. Married to Grant.”

  She was surprised. Farmer Hogarth was married to that lovely woman?

  Interested, she scrolled down further. The family was really quite amazing. Farmer Hogarth had three teen-aged children, a small, beautiful family group. Mrs. Hogarth had them on her cover page, presumably at a birthday party.

  “Lovely...” Laura mused. Idly, she sent Farmer Hogarth a friend request. I might find out something interesting...She was sure he was a part of the mystery somehow – or why had he been so insistent to get rid of her, so angry with his farm-hand? Why had he even seen the ghost?

  “What's all that?” A dangerously-silent voice spoke from directly above.

  “Oh!” Laura jumped, spilling what remained of tea. “Good morning...”

  She was looking straight into the face of the hotel's manager and owner: Mr. Preston.

  “I don't pay people to use Facebook,” he said frostily.

  “No, sir...” Laura mumbled.

  “We'll have no more of that,” he said.

  “No, sir...” Laura agreed, miserably.

  “I've got my eye on you,” he warned. “I've heard bad things from the customers. They don't trust you. And now Facebook? Pah!” he spat. Laura cringed. “I'm leaving now,” he added, “but I'll be keeping an eye out,” he added, warningly, as he walked past the desk on the route to the kitchen. “One thing I can't handle,” he muttered as he left, “is nosey people...always prying into things...”

  Laura stared after him. That was so unfair! She didn't mean to digress – that was the first time she had used Facebook at her work! And it was hardly her fault some villagers didn't like her...Laura sniffed, feeling tears about to fall. And why was she nosey, just for using Facebook? That was just weird.

  “Damn it, Laura,” she whispered to herself. “You can handle this...just ignore him. He can't fire you for that...”

  “Laura!”

  “Janet!” Laura smiled, relieved to see a friendly face.

  “What's wrong?” Janet asked at once. “You're crying!”

  “Nothing...” Laura sniffed. “It's...okay...” suddenly she couldn't hold back. The tears just spilled. It isn't the boss, and it isn't the villagers' attitude. It's not even the murder...she thought sadly. “I've just had a bit much,” Laura explained miserably to Janet, sniffing hard.

  “Oh, Laura...” Janet sighed. She slid behind the counter and hugged Laura, who hugged her back, breathing in the scents of powder, shower-gel and floral perfume.

  “Thanks,” she sniffed, as they drew apart. “It's just been a bit hectic recently,”

  “Tell me about it,” Janet rolled her eyes and grinned. “Who'd have thought a dead guy would make your hotel so popular?” She laughed. “The guy was almost-invisible, and now you'd think he's Elvis!”

  Laura chuckled, then stopped.

  “Janet,” she asked slowly, “what did Mr. Ramley actually do? I mean, why was he even here from London? Business?” As she said it, she remembered Janet's interest in the other businessman from London.

  “I don't know what Mr. Ramley did,” Janet said thoughtfully. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason...” Laura said hesitantly.

  “Well, villagers try not to seem nosey,” Janet said a little stiffly, “so I guess I never asked! It's not well-mannered, asking questions...”

  “Sorry,” Laura said, hurt. “I didn't mean anything by saying that...”

  “I know,” Janet said quietly, though Laura felt she was still a bit standoffish.

  “I'd better check the reservations,” Laura said, flustered. “Thanks for dropping by...”

  “See you,” Janet said airily, and drifted off.

  What, Laura thought sadly, was upsetting everyone? All she did was want to find the truth. Why was that such a problem?

  Why, indeed?

  Feeling suddenly scared, Laura looked around to see if the manager was around, then pulled her notebook from her handbag. She wrote some more lines.

  Lots of people acting funny, she wrote.

  Now that, Laura thought, was the vaguest statement she had ever made. She laughed. Perhaps I'm turning into a villager!

  Despite all their suspicion and meanness, Laura felt strangely pleased about that. At least, she thought cheerfully, I might fit in soon.

  She slid her notebook back into her bag.

  “Sorry I'm late...”

  Laura looked up into the handsome face of Howard.

  “No worries,” she beamed.

  Village life, she decided, as they went to his table, certainly has some advantage.

  She managed to take a few minutes off to come and join him, and excitedly reported her findings from the farm. How Farmer Hogarth had indeed seen something strange – exactly what Mrs. Poole had seen in the kitchen and how odd he had been about the farm-hand having spoken to her.

  “It is strange...” Dr. Lucas agreed. He ran a hand through his hair, brow furrowed. Then he grinned.

  “I have been doing some investigation...” he supplied hesitantly. “Not as interesting, but...”

  “Tell me!” Laura said, eyes shining. He laughed.

  “Very well, you impatient woman!” He agreed. They both laughed.

  “I am not...” Laura protested.

 
; “Maybe not,” the doctor conceded gently, “but I must say, impatient or not, maybe my news is a matter for concern...” he cleared his throat. “I heard back from Dr. Singh in London – Ramley's home doctor. Apparently, the man had no chronic illness to speak of. No diabetes, no heart disease, no history of stroke...nothing to cause coma. Nothing.” he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slowly.

  “Nothing?” Laura whispered. “Then...”

  “Then,” Howard said, his eyes looking into hers, “it seems we might really have a murder on our hands.”

  Laura swallowed hard.

  Now it was real. And she had just witnessed some very strange behavior when she tried to ask questions.

  “Oh, hell,” she said to Howard, who was sitting with his hands in his hair, looking stressed.

  “My sentiments, to the letter,” he agreed.

  They sat quietly a while, seeming to draw strength from each other's presence.

  “I should go...” the doctor said reluctantly. “Duties, people to see...” He sat a while longer.

  “I know,” Laura agreed. “Me too...”

  It was a while before either of them stood to go, and Laura watched his retreating back, not wanting him to leave. It wasn't only because she wanted to talk to him, she mused. It was because she suddenly felt unsafe.

  There really had been a murder, right here in the corner of her work-place. And she had just witnessed two people behaving very oddly indeed towards her.

  “Stop being silly,” she told herself, and sat back down in her seat. “No-one's likely to target you, now, are they?” she reassured herself.

  No, she thought wryly, I am a receptionist, not an investigator. Why would they?

  She worked on nervously until nine o' clock.

  “Miss Howcroft?”

  “Yes?” Laura jumped. She looked up straight into the brown eyes of Howard Lucas.

  “I was passing the hotel on my way back from karate class, and thought you might like a lift home? It's getting dark earlier these days.”

  Laura smiled.

  “Yes, thank you,” she replied. “I would like that very much indeed.”