by Carrie Marsh
Paying Back The Dead
A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series
Carrie Marsh
SMILING HOUSE PUBLISHING CO.
Contents
Copyright
Join My VIP Readers’ Club List
A Personal Note From Carrie Marsh
Paying Back The Dead
PROLOGUE
*
CHAPTER ONE
*
CHAPTER TWO
*
CHAPTER THREE
*
CHAPTER FOUR
*
CHAPTER FIVE
*
CHAPTER SIX
*
CHAPTER SEVEN
*
CHAPTER EIGHT
*
CHAPTER NINE
*
CHAPTER TEN
*
CHAPTER ELEVEN
*
CHAPTER TWELVE
*
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
*
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
*
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
*
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
*
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
*
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
*
CHAPTER NINETEEN
*
CHAPTER TWENTY
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
*
CHAPTER THIRTY
*
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
*
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
*
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
*
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
*
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
*
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
*
EPILOGUE
*
PREVIEW OF COOKING WITH THE DEAD
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Join My VIP Readers’ Club List
Also By Carrie Marsh
Acknowledgement
If You Have Enjoyed This Book…
Publisher’s Notes
Copyright © 2017 by CARRIE MARSH & SMILING HOUSE PUBLISHING CO.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real or dead people, places, or events are not intentional and are the result of coincidence. The characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author/publisher. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Join My VIP Readers’ Club List Now
Who Else Wants to Get Freebies, New Cover Reveals, Short Flash Fictions, Characters’ Interviews and much more…
Carrie Marsh invites you to join her VIP Readers’ Club List. When you signed up, you will get a surprise gift from her. CLICK HERE TO JOIN NOW!
A PERSONAL NOTE
FROM CARRIE MARSH
To My Dearest Lovely Readers,
Paying Back The Dead is third book of this series, all of which are completely cozy mysteries. The can be read and enjoyed in any order. I’ve made sure not to include any spoilers for those you who are new to the characters.
You will have plenty of fresh action and mystery, as well as little background story on some of the major characters in Laura’s universe. All in all, there is something for everyone.
I had squeezed out every single creative juice on my brain creating this book - I hope you will have a great time reading it too.
With Hugs, Kisses and Love…
PAYING BACK THE DEAD
by
CARRIE MARSH
and
Smiling House Publishing Co.
PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
“I am not going to talk about this anymore!” Albert Hugh, tax official in Millerfield village raged. “You know how I feel, Judy! I've said it hundreds of times!”
“Albert...” his wife said, wearily. She looked up from the dinner table sadly.
“No buts!” Albert shouted, cutting her off. “I don't like it and you know I don't. Why should I pay? It's as simple as that. Boy should have done engineering like I wanted. This is a waste of money.”
“Albert,” his wife sighed, trying to reason with him. “No, it isn't. It's his life.”
“And my money?” her husband shouted back, face twisted with anger. “I spent my life making it. Took risks to make it! I'm not spending it on this nonsense.” He stalked to the door and slammed it.
His wife closed her eyes.
“You miserly sod,” she whispered under her breath when she was sure he'd gone. She leaned back in the chair and surveyed the room around her.
With its gracious wallpaper and elegant furniture, its tasteful décor and thick carpets, the room was a monument to money. This whole cottage, in the best, leafiest area of Millerfield, was the best – bought to show he could afford the best.
It sickened Judy. He was perfectly willing to spend his money on trappings like those – things people could see and judge, outward markers of what he deemed success. But he refused to spend a cent on paying for his son's college education. Just because the boy wanted to be an architect, and not an engineer? She shook her head. It was shocking. Shocking and unfair.
Judy Hugh closed her eyes and felt a tear trickle down her cheek. One day, she thought sadly, you'll pay for this, Albert Hugh. One day.
Until then, she thought, wearily standing and collecting the dinner things, the supper already cold, she would have to make her own plans.
CHAPTER ONE
A TAXING MATTER
A TAXING MATTER
“Death and taxes,” a voice said sonorously in Laura's ear.
Laura turned round where she stood in the queue at the tiny Millerfield municipal office. “I'm sorry?”
“Death and taxes,” the man behind her continued patiently. “Life's inevitabilities.”
“Oh,” Laura breathed out, relieved. After the last year in Millerfield – a tiny Kentish village deep in the British countryside – she had had quite enough of death. She couldn't blame herself for being twitchy whenever it arose in conversation: She and her friend Howard Lucas, the village doctor, had investigated two murders in the past year, and she was starting to think the small, idyllic village was more sinister than anyone would believe. The last thing she wanted any more of was death.
Taxes are coming a close second, she sighed as she looked around the office. The place was exactly as it should be: Office-style blue linoleum on the floors, white windo
w frames, even a potted fern, pale and straggling, growing on the windowsill. The sunlight flowed in desultorily, casting greyed gold light on the linoleum flooring.
The clients, lined up in front of her or behind her, were the same clients she saw at the hotel where she worked as receptionist: two elderly ladies, one deaf major and three farmers, all coming to file their tax returns or claim their health benefits. She was third in line – behind two of the farmers and mercifully ahead of Major Hogan, the deaf war veteran. Laura sighed and craned her neck to see what was happening ahead.
“Thank you, Mr. Lewis. Next, please!” the woman behind the desk sang out. One thing about it being a small office, Laura thought, was that everyone knew everyone personally. It could be a blessing or a curse. She sighed as the man at the head of the line walked through the double doors behind her. One down, one to go.
The next man, Farmer Murray, was faster, clearly more organised or with less-complex matters to address. Then it was her. Laura found herself rocking on her high-heeled shoes, feeling strangely twitchy. Come on, Laura, she chided herself. It's a municipal office. They don't kill people. Why are you getting scared?
“Miss Howcroft?”
Laura jumped, startled out of her reverie by the secretary, suddenly calling her name.
“Yes? Yes. I'm here to file my tax report?”
“ID, please?”
Laura handed in the appropriate documents and stood, rocking on her heels as the secretary perused them. She keyed in some things on the computer and scrolled down the screen.
“You seem to qualify for a rebate?” the woman frowned distastefully, as if upset by the idea of the tax office actually paying out.
“Really?” Laura could not have been more surprised. It was the last thing she had expected, too.
“If you'll go and see one of our consultants?” the woman continued. “Wait there in the plastic chairs until someone's free.” She pointed desultorily across to where a row of plastic chairs lined a hallway. Laura nodded.
That is last thing I thought would happen. She dutifully seated herself in the plastic chairs, not sure whether the sudden surprise was something good: in her experience, surprises came in two flavours – nice and nasty. Though a return from the tax office seemed to be one of the nice ones. She leaned back in the chair and looked around.
Before her were two small cubicles, each with a shut door. The consultants' names were indicated on the doors: Richard Simmons and Albert Hugh.
“Albert Hugh?” Laura said aloud, feeling surprised. Her parents' only relative – that was, her mother's cousin Judy – had married a man called Albert Hugh. Laura wondered idly if it was the same man. Probably plenty of people with the name Albert Hugh, she thought, laughing at herself. Why would it be this one?
It jogged her memory. Laura hadn't seen her Cousin Judy in years. A tall woman with red hair and a voice like a PA system, her biannual visits had not been something Laura had relished during her childhood. They had lost contact shortly after Judy married Albert Hugh. That must be close on twenty years ago. As a ten-year-old, Laura had not been entirely upset about that. With the benefit of maturity, however, Laura felt she judged the woman too harshly.
Family is family, after all. She had not seen her own mother in five years, since her first move from her mother's home on the outskirts of Cambridge and into her own apartment. Then, she had worked as a secretary at a law firm on the other side of town, and getting away from her depressing mother and her silent father had been something of a relief. Family was, however, something she was feeling nostalgic about now. She was surprised to feel a sudden ache in her heart, a stab of wistfulness. If she did have relatives in the village, she would be pleased to find out.
“Next, please!”
The voice of a sandy-haired man in the doorway labeled “Simmons” broke Laura's reverie, and she jumped, momentarily shattered.
“Oh!” she said, embarrassed. “Sorry. I was miles away.”
“Not a problem, Miss.” the man smiled tolerantly. “We're all miles away sometimes.”
Laura nodded and felt the strange nervousness one usually feels when encountering tax-officials. “Quite so,” she affirmed. “I was told to come here – I have a rebate?”
“Oh!” the man looked surprised. “Good for you. Richard Simmons.” He shook her hand. “If I can have your details, please?”
He waved her to a comfortable chair before his small wooden desk and proceeded to look things up on his computer.
“It's quite rare to get something back on tax, isn't it?” he beamed at Laura as he worked. He had a fresh-washed air, and Laura thought he would be excellent in a toothpaste commercial.
“Yes,” Laura said dryly. “A real surprise.”
“Surprises are always good, though,” he said solidly. Laura raised an eyebrow sceptically.
After twenty minutes, Laura left the office, richer by a few hundred pounds and feeling rather happy, if tired. She looked at her watch – it was almost six o' clock. She had been in the office for just over an hour and everyone else had either finished their business or gone back home. As she passed the secretary, who was leaving for the day, she remembered her earlier musing. She cleared her throat.
“I just wanted to ask,” she began. “The consultant – Mr. Hugh. Do you know him?” she asked.
“I know everyone in the village, Miss Howcroft,” the woman said proudly.
Laura smiled politely. “Well, I wanted to ask you: is he married? Only my mother's cousin married an Albert Hugh and...” she trailed off as the secretary, a small robust woman, interrupted her excitedly.
“She’s called Judy or your cousin?”
“Yes!” Laura said, surprised.
“There you are, then,” the woman beamed. “Welcome to Millerfield,” she added, patting Laura's hand. “Everyone knows everyone here. You're practically family.”
Laura smiled weakly and followed the woman out as she locked up for the day.
Well, perhaps death and taxes aren't so inevitable. Laura left the office, feeling a little dazed. It was late afternoon, the sun shining down, turning the clouds to pewter. The car-park smelled of rain and asphalt, and the air was fresh and clean.
Laura hopped into the ageing Renault and stepped on the gas. As she drove back home, she thought about the new information she had gleaned about her family. She wasn't sure if she wanted to contact Judy or not – she couldn't quite imagine what the woman was like now. I think I'll just let the matter rest, she decided.
After five minutes, she was pulling up outside her tiny cottage at the opposite side of the village. She caught sight of herself in the rear-view mirror – her blonde curls were disarrayed, but her red lipstick was still intact, giving her the look of a slightly surprised Sharon Stone. Not too bad, she thought to herself, as she tucked a curl behind her ear and shut the door. She might just have a visitor – Howard Lucas, the village doctor often stopped by on his way back from work at the clinic – and she wanted to look good.
“Home again!” she sang out to Monty, her cat, as she pulled open the front door. She was unsurprised to see him stalk through from the kitchen, or her bedroom – wherever he had been asleep, looking mildly annoyed. He stretched himself out fluidly and then sat down in front of her, looking up into her eyes with his sparkling green gaze.
You're late, he complained.
Laura sighed. She and Monty had a special connection – she had always been able to talk to him. It was some sort of connection of their minds that only she and he could share, a telepathic speech from him, which she answered verbally. It was a delight, though it also meant he could address all his complaints to her in person. And he had plenty of those.
“I know,” Laura agreed wearily. She bent down and stroked his silky black fur. “I was at the tax office. They gave me money back.”
Can we have fish? he asked hopefully. I'm sick to death of that rabbit Mr. Poole brings in.
Laura laughed. “We can have fish. I
promise. It's not the expense that puts me off...I just don't trust fish bought inland,” she explained.
You could get fish from the lake, he pointed out.
Laura laughed, amazed by his mental alacrity. He had answers for everything. She went through to the kitchen to find something for Monty's dinner. “I could,” she agreed fairly. “I've not had fish for a while either.”
You eat fish when he brings it, he sulked. But you never get fish for me.
The “he” was Howard Lucas – Laura's friend and potential boyfriend, the village doctor. The jealousy between Monty and Howard was both endearing and tiring. Howard actually liked Monty, and was totally oblivious to Laura's connection to him. It was just that Monty insisted on keeping up the feud, being possessive of her affections and not wanting to share her with anyone else.
Laura bit back a grin and found a leftover tin of tuna which she had been saving for making pie. “How about this?” she asked. She opened it and placed it in the bowl before Monty. He purred.
That's more like it!
She could almost see him smile. She smiled too, and turned to the stove to cater to her own needs.
She made herself some tea and put a crumpet on the toaster to warm, spreading it with delicious farm butter. She carried it through to the sitting-room and sat in the last of the late-afternoon sunshine.
“This is the life,” Laura sighed. This was why she had moved to Millerfield and stayed, despite the initial hostility and the murderous happenings of the past year. She loved the rural life – the peace, the tranquillity, the sameness. Having been raised on the outskirts of Cambridge herself, Laura was used to rural living. Her few extended stays in London had been a nightmare: the noise, the smell of the cars, the constant rush and traffic. She had hated it. It was the last one of those that had made her decide to search for work in the countryside.
I'm so glad I found Millerfield, she thought happily. Monty walked in from the kitchen and sat on the mat, licking his whiskers. Then he jumped onto her knee. It's not just me: Monty is happier here, Laura realised, stroking him. He had hated her trips to the courthouse in London.
