The Dudleys of Budleigh

by P A Nash

  I enjoy walking so I’ve made use of the South West Coast Path and other footpaths in my books. Each book will have a selection of walks most reasonably fit people can complete. Some of the walks can be found on the excellent South West Coast Path Association’s website.

  I intend to create a series of short cosy mysteries based around the towns and villages of East Devon.

  Also available

  The first book in the East Devon Cosy Mysteries series is called Cidered in Sidmouth.Here’s an excerpt from the early chapters.

  Chapter 1

  You’ve ruined everything. How dare you think you can get away with it.

  The vase was within reach. Picking it up in anger with no thought for the consequences, it was a simple and automatic action to crash it down on his head. The man stumbled backwards, ricocheted off the single armchair in the room and fell head first on the stone floor.

  There was silence. Not even a moan.

  I’ve killed him.

  Chapter 2

  The postman took 3 hours to deliver a giant roll of bubble wrap. Someone told him, “pop it in the corner.”

  Retirement is wonderful, Frank thought. No more pressure and stress. No more looking at the clock. No more living by other people’s expectations. No more…‌ well, everything.

  Now, there’s time to while away. Old friends to greet, new friends to meet. Time to enjoy the pleasure of enjoying time well spent. Like today. The autumn sun was lighting up the top of the trees, there was a breeze to just keep it this side of cool, the leaves were floating sporadically to the moist earth and Frank and Ella were strolling with another couple, Bella and George, friends from the village. They were heading through the woods along the old railway track from the Bowd down towards Harpford.

  “Couldn’t have done this ten years ago.”

  “No, we would’ve been too busy mollycoddling teachers,” Ella smiled, “and then endlessly trying to see the best in children.”

  “Yes, rather than seeing the best of each other and this glorious countryside.”

  Frank never regretted for one nanosecond taking early retirement and moving down here to East Devon. Particularly on a carefree day like today.

  “Autumn is definitely one of the best four seasons.” Bella sighed.

  They crossed over the East Devon Way footpath and followed the old railway track down to Knapp’s Lane. Here they branched off to the right and ambled back over the stone bridge and into the pretty village of Harpford. They walked past the medieval church of St Gregory the Great. Crossing the River Otter by the rickety metal bridge, they trudged through the muddy field that led back to the Recreation Ground car—park. Here they bid each other farewell and both couples headed for their village homes.

  Ella had enjoyed the walk and the companionship of their two friends. Retirement is wonderful. Except…‌ you need a routine. You need something to live for. A reason to get up in the morning. You need interests and enthusiasms. At the moment, Ella wasn’t totally sold on retirement.

  ***

  At home, hidden somewhat obviously beside the green garden waste bin, was a small brown paper package that wouldn’t fit through their letterbox. Ella picked it up before heading indoors. They made their usual cups of coffee and tea before Ella went to open the package. She wasn’t expecting a delivery because she had bought nothing online in the last week. Ella stopped and examined the writing on the front.

  “They’ve done it again. Almost the right address, totally the wrong location.”

  Living in River Street, Otterbury caused no end of problems to the jolly postmen at the local sorting office. They were forever getting mail intended for River Street in Sidmouth. Most of the time, Ella just underlined the postcode and put it back in the post—box down by the war memorial.

  This time the autumnal sunshine was promising to continue and Sidmouth was a wonderful place in which to wander around. Being out of season, you could park the car without too many problems.

  “Why don’t we find out where this doppelganger lives?”

  Frank put down the local paper. “What are you talking about?”

  “This package. It’s not for us. It should be for River Street in Sidmouth.”

  “Not again. Surely someone must be able to read in the Post Office. This never used to happen when we were in Kent. Well, not as often.”

  “They sort it by machine these days, Frank!”

  “Well, they ought to sort it out. Can I see how they messed it up this time?”

  Frank took the package before bursting into laughter.

  “They haven’t even got the number correct. Look, it says 23. Since when have we lived at 23? The sorting machine can’t read. 23 is an age I’d love to be once again, but it’s nowhere near our address.”

  “If you were 23, then we wouldn’t have been married all these years!”

  “Right, scrub my last comment. Where was it posted?”

  “Postmarked Cullompton.”

  “Local post office sorters should know better. Surely they know this is not Sidmouth?”

  “I suppose the sorting machine could have mistaken the postcode for ours.”

  “It’s written so scruffily. Someone was in a hurry.” Frank put the package back down on the table.

  “I’m going to phone the sorting office in Sidmouth about this. It happens all too often.”

  The automated phone message told them that this call may be recorded for monitoring and training purposes. Then Frank was connected to a gentleman who took their name and address, the details of the package and apologised for the mis—delivery. He suggested taking the package to the nearest post office and asking them to post it to the correct address. Then before Frank could vent any amount of scorn upon the Post Office, the line went dead. Frank stared at the phone before putting it down on its stand.

  Ella watched his face become even more thunderous.

  “Frank, you need to calm down. It’s most unlike you. Let’s have dinner and then we’ll go into Sidmouth this afternoon, deliver the package to the correct address, have a walk along the seafront and grab an ice cream at Taste.”

  Taste was one of Sidmouth’s secret delights. The best ice cream outside of Cornwall with a multitude of flavours and always exceedingly generous portions.

  Frank visibly relaxed. “Good plan. Who’d have thought we’d be eating ice cream at the seaside in October.”

  ***

  Sidmouth had a reputation in some circles as the regency preserve of the elderly and infirm. Today that appeared to be so true as evidenced by the ponderous speed of much of the traffic. The ten—minute journey took well over double the usual time. The sunny weather was more like June than October. It had brought tourists and elderly locals out onto the streets. In the High Street, two large cars were attempting to reverse into spaces in which only a motorbike could safely park. The result was gridlock. Frank eventually was able to turn off left and sidle into the car park that only the locals know. He was grateful to find a space. They paid for an hour at the ticket machine and were soon nimbly dodging the dawdling crowds in their quest to find 23, River Street.

  “It’s so busy today.” Ella had to shout as a muddy quad bike with an even muddier trailer zoomed up the narrow road past them. Ella stared at it as it roared around the corner.

  There were houses with numbers and no names, houses with names but no numbers and a couple with neither names nor numbers. They were interspersed with a couple of shops that had names but never any numbers.

  A group of cyclists travelling three abreast, passed them by. The group included two couples on bright red and orange tandems. Ella smiled at them and called out “Lovely afternoon!”

  They all looked at her with disdain and carried on holding up a queue of cars behind them. Ella raised her eyebrows. “All sorts out today!”

  Eventually, they found what appeared to be the right address. It was the end house of a terrace— a small trio of mellow red brick Edwardian dwellings. Fran
k called them two up, two downs. Ella called them quaint. Next door, separated by a walled alleyway, was The Mariner pub.

  “I didn’t know this pub was here. I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “Doesn’t look too grand. Could be one to explore in the future.” Frank added as he opened the black rusting metal gate that led up a short, uneven flagstone path.

  The blue painted door was flanked by two flowerpots. Both had the remains of last year’s annuals. Ella could not find a bell, so she knocked gently on the door. No—one answered.

  “Can’t we just leave the package on the doorstep and go for our ice—cream?” she said.

  “Knock again—but louder.”

  Ella did so with the same result.

  “If this were Otterbury, then someone would have left the key underneath the flowerpot,” Frank chuckled.

  “But it’s not... This is Sidmouth.”

  “No harm in checking.” Frank knelt down and lifted up the right—hand flowerpot and looked underneath.

  “I don’t believe it!” whispered Ella.

  Frank picked up a sturdy looking latchkey and tried it in the lock. The key turned, the door opened and Frank stuck his head inside before calling out. “Hello, anybody home? We’ve got a package for you!”

  No—one answered.

  “Hello?” repeated Frank.

  “Just leave it on the doormat!” Ella was pleased that no—one was home. It would avoid a discussion about the Post Office, or even worse, the incorrect addressing of too much post these days. They would now just deposit the package and head off towards the seafront.

  Frank had other ideas. Taking the package from Ella, he disappeared into, what he assumed to be, a hallway. He put it down on a small circular table hidden behind the front door.

  “Wait a minute. I’m going to leave a note with the package. Have you got a pen and paper?”

  Ella shook her head.

  “Well, in that case, I’m just going to find something to write on in one of the rooms. I’ll be straight back.”

  He called out again, “Hello, anybody in?”

  There was no reply. As he ventured further into the house, Ella called out to him, “I’m not staying out here in full view of the suspicious Sidmouth public. I’m coming in as well!”

  Frank casually walked into the front room. Ella looked around to see if anyone nearby was watching them and then quickly followed.

  The room was dark, sparsely furnished and unkempt. A stone floor, a single battered old sea—blue armchair and a couple of stacked wooden chairs. No television, the remains of a coal fire in a dirty grate. The curtains were ^^^half–open, but the windows were opaque with smudges of dirt. On the mantelpiece was a photo of a man and a woman, smiling lovingly at each other.

  Getting accustomed to the lack of light, they could both see that someone had been having a severe disagreement. A coffee table lay overturned with its magazines and newspapers scattered on a threadbare rug. Two cushions from the armchair were also on the stone floor by the fireplace. Ella bent to pick one up and immediately jumped back with a startled “Oh! Frank, come here. Is this blood on the floor? Here, by the fireplace.”

  Frank had just opened the door leading to a back room which appeared to be a kitchen. Before he went in, he turned back towards Ella to examine the patch. Picking the other cushion off the floor, he let out a similar cry.

  “You’re right. It certainly looks like blood. Put the cushions back, exactly where you found them. Let’s check out the rest of the house.”

  Ella hastily replaced the cushions and stepped around the scattered papers and magazines before following Frank into the kitchen. From here, they could see a sight they would take them a very long time to forget.

  “Ella, have you got your phone with you?”

  The back door was open and, in full view, on the right—hand side of the tiny paved and gravelled courtyard stood a huge wooden Cider Vat. It was quite the largest barrel that either had ever seen. Sticking out from the top of the vat were two bare legs.

  ***