A Fete Worse Than Death

by Liz Hedgecock

Now for it. The moment of truth. ‘It isn’t as much as we wanted,’ said Pippa. ‘If we’d sold all the cakes… The extra performance of Macbeth helped, of course, and Short Back and Sides raised another two hundred pounds —’

  ‘Just tell us!’ Norm interrupted. Pippa looked up from her notepad, and everyone’s attention was directed at her, like a series of spotlights.

  ‘Once all the money’s in, we’ve raised just over four thousand six hundred pounds. £4624.72,’ she read from her notepad.

  ‘That’s excellent,’ declared Lady Higginbotham. ‘A round of applause to ourselves.’

  ‘But it isn’t five thousand —’

  ‘Pippa,’ said the vicar, firmly. ‘I would have been happy with two thousand. Almost five thousand pounds is wonderful.’ And he began to clap.

  The ripples of applause were still spreading when Mrs Harbottle returned with the trolley. ‘What did I miss?’ she asked, suspiciously.

  ‘We raised nearly five thousand pounds, Beryl.’ Lady Higginbotham smiled. ‘How about that?’

  ‘How about it.’ Beryl banged a stack of plates on the table. ‘Chilli’s in the big pot, cheese in the small bowl, rice in the pan, and baked potatoes on the lower shelf. Help yourselves. I’m going to start the washing-up.’ Her footsteps receded down the corridor at a march. Pippa pitied the kitchen equipment, which would probably be subjected to some rough handling in the name of cleanliness.

  ‘This is nice,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘Shall we take a break?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Pippa. ‘Once I’ve handed over the cash.’ And she carried the bags round to the vicar. ‘I’ll pass the cheques on when I have them. Serendipity’s writing me a cheque —’

  That was it! ‘I know! Serendipity does craft demonstrations — she’s on YouTube and everything. I could ask her to do some sort of event and maybe donate fees? I’m sure she would, and that could be the last few hundred pounds —’

  ‘It’s a kind thought,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘Let’s sleep on it, and enjoy supper while it’s hot.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’ Pippa asked Sonia, when they were both sitting down with food. She could have kicked herself for her plaintive tone. For heaven’s sake, Pippa, stop fishing for approval, she told herself. If you’d waited for Beryl Harbottle to give you the green light on half the things you arranged, there wouldn’t have been a fete at all!

  Sonia chewed thoughtfully on her mouthful of chilli. She seemed to be in no hurry to swallow. ‘The craft thing?’

  ‘Yes, the craft demo.’

  ‘I’m not against it,’ said Sonia. ‘But it’s another thing to organise, and we’re all organised out.’

  ‘I could organise it,’ said Pippa. ‘It wouldn’t take much. Just a stall or some space, like the church hall, and maybe tea and cakes, and merchandise —’

  ‘See?’ Sonia sawed at her baked potato. ‘You’re off again.’ A shy smile spread over her face. ‘And you haven’t even asked her yet.’

  Pippa picked at her chilli, which was competent but hot rather than tasty. The baked beans weren’t the problem — her diagnosis was too much chilli pepper. Maybe she suffered from the same thing — too-much-itis. She mixed soured cream with the chilli to cool it down, and resolved to approach any further events with more caution. Waiting a few days wouldn’t hurt. In the meantime, she could try and find out what — or who — had threatened the success of the fete. She braved another mouthful of chilli, and nodded to herself with satisfaction. That was a plan. Then a chunk of meat went the wrong way, and she had a coughing fit. You can’t get it right all the time, she thought, hiccuping as she gulped water. At least it was an excuse to leave the rest of the chilli.

  CHAPTER 18

  ‘Could you repeat that please, Mrs Parker? I didn’t quite hear you.’ Inspector Fanshawe looked more than usually weary, and his eyes slid towards Ruby, who was lying on her play mat and bashing at the rattling animals over her head with enthusiasm.

  ‘Of course, sorry. I said I went to the hall several times.’

  ‘Can you recall when?’

  Pippa thought. ‘I called up to and past eleven, but I didn’t go in — that was to ask if Dev had arrived. The first time I did go in was just after the incident with the sword happened. That would have been between two and two thirty. I went straight to the house to swap the sword over and make sure it was safely put away. I went in and out at least twice.’

  ‘Which rooms did you enter?’ Ruby scored another direct hit, and the inspector pinched the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Umm … the hall, of course. The dining room, where the props were laid out. Oh and the library, later, to see Dev. I didn’t go anywhere else.’

  ‘Not the drawing room?’

  Pippa shook her head.

  ‘All right.’ His shoulders fell. ‘Jim, did you get all that?’

  PC Horsley peeked from behind the computer screen. ‘I did, sir.’

  ‘All right. Let’s talk about Sunday. Did you notice anything peculiar before the second — incident — happened? Was anyone behaving strangely?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Well, Beryl Harbottle was being quite hostile, but that isn’t peculiar.’

  ‘Please keep your statement to the facts, Mrs Parker.’

  ‘It is a fact,’ said Pippa. ‘Ask anyone. She actually shouted at me in front of everyone, and said she held me responsible. So if she can badmouth me in public, I can offer that as evidence that she doesn’t like me.’

  ‘Would you say you often hold grudges, Mrs Parker?’

  Pippa considered. ‘Not particularly. But if someone’s persistently horrible to me, I don’t go out of my way to be nice. It’s a good job she was shut up in the house for most of the time… Now that strikes me as a bit odd. If you had an event in your garden, wouldn’t you go and see how everyone was doing? She brought one round of tea, then holed up indoors.’

  ‘She’s a member of Lady Higginbotham’s staff,’ said PC Horsley. ‘Maybe she was needed in the house, to answer the door.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Pippa. ‘But she had the best opportunity of anyone to take the sword. No one would think anything of her wandering around. She could say she was polishing it —’

  ‘Mrs Parker!’ Inspector Fanshawe thundered. ‘It is not your job to speculate on other people’s potential criminality!’

  ‘You’ve had Beryl Higginbotham in, haven’t you?’

  ‘We have,’ said PC Horsley.

  ‘Did she accuse me of anything in her statement?’

  ‘Mrs Parker, you know I can’t discuss other people’s statements with you.’ But his eyes said yes.

  ‘Let’s get back on track,’ said the inspector, sitting more upright. ‘You didn’t see anything peculiar at any time — no-one lingering by a cake, or hanging around near the props?’

  Pippa shook her head.

  ‘A verbal answer, please.’

  ‘At no time did I see anyone behaving suspiciously or loitering where they shouldn’t be,’ Pippa recited.

  ‘Thank you. Jim, we can leave it there.’

  ‘All right, sir. I’ll print it out.’ PC Horsley sent the document to the printer. Then he squatted beside Ruby and tickled her tummy.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ warned Pippa. ‘That sometime has unfortunate effects.’

  PC Horsley snatched his hand away. ‘Cup of tea?’ he said, over his shoulder.

  ‘I wouldn’t say no, Jim.’ Inspector Fanshawe stretched his legs, and the printer jerked into life.

  ‘Mrs Parker?’

  ‘That would be nice, thank you.’ Pippa tried not to frown. What was this? In all the times she’d visited the police station, she’d never once been offered a drink other than water. She’d assumed it was some sort of police thing, but apparently not. She watched PC Horsley making the tea, while the printer spat out sheet after sheet in the corner. She hoped Ruby wouldn’t kick off and bring whatever was about to happen to an end. She had at least half an hour till she needed to go
and get Freddie, and she had a feeling it could be productively spent.

  ‘Sugar?’ called the policeman.

  ‘No thanks. Just milk.’ She noted there was no fourth cup for their young colleague, staffing the desk out front. Perhaps milk or squash might be more appropriate.

  ‘Here you go.’ He brought the mugs over on a tray which looked as if it had been borrowed from a pub.

  ‘Thanks.’ Pippa sipped her tea, which was surprisingly well-made. PC Horsley had probably had a lot of practice. Keep quiet, Pippa. Let them make the first move. But both officers sat, looking reflective.

  ‘How do you feel the case is going?’ The words came out before she could stop them.

  Inspector Fanshawe set his mug on a coaster. ‘We’ve taken statements from everyone we judge significant to the case — the bakers, the stallholders, the amateur dramatics company, Lady Higginbotham, Mrs Harbottle, and of course Dev Hardman and the assistant woman.’

  ‘Dahlia Dean,’ Pippa supplied.

  ‘That’s the one. And you, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Pippa agreed, and waited.

  Inspector Fanshawe raised his eyebrows at PC Horsley. Was it her imagination, or did PC Horsley nod, just a little? ‘We’ve also got most of the results back from the cake testing.’ Pippa imagined a tableful of white-coated scientists with forks. ‘So far, they’ve found nothing untoward. No poisons, no bacteria.’

  ‘That’s a shocking waste of cake,’ said Pippa. ‘Could it have been the tea, then? Or something he ate at Higginbotham Hall?’

  ‘When we talked to Dev, he said he didn’t eat or drink anything at the hall on Sunday; he didn’t even go in. Mrs Harbottle’s gatekeeping skills extend to people besides you, it seems.’ Inspector Fanshawe drank some more tea. ‘He got the tea from the drinks stall, he said, and threw the plastic cup away afterwards. There’s no way of knowing which was his, and any residue probably dribbled out.’

  ‘Someone could have spiked it,’ said Pippa.

  ‘Maybe,’ said PC Horsley. ‘But that isn’t as easy as you’d think. They’d need to distract Dev, and what about everyone else? The chances of being caught are way too high. Plus Dev said he downed it, because he was thirsty. So there was even less chance to get at his drink.’

  ‘Have you had any news about the sword?’ Pippa persisted.

  The inspector glanced at his subordinate, and again, the almost imperceptible nod. ‘We have. The only prints on it were those of the people who admitted to handling it on Saturday. Tim Selby, Norman Rockall, yourself, and their props expert guy. Apart from that, it’s clean. If anyone else touched it, they had gloves on.’

  Both men regarded Pippa with a speculative eye over the rims of their mugs.

  Pippa waited until she could bear it no longer. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’ she burst out.

  This time it was PC Horsley who spoke. ‘We’re giving it our best shot, but — this is off the record, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Pippa said, leaning forward.

  ‘We’re drawing a complete blank. Nothing in the cakes, no unexpected prints on the sword, and no-one saw anything unusual. Tim Selby can’t think of anyone who’d wish him harm, and from what everyone’s said, he doesn’t have an enemy in the world.’

  ‘And Dev?’

  ‘If he’s crossed anyone, they aren’t saying. Plus if someone wanted to damage his health or career, there are easier places to do that than at a village fete.’ PC Horsley sighed. ‘We asked the hospital about his state of health, but they were cagey to say the least. Patient confidentiality and all that. When we went to see him he was lucid. Not very articulate, but I gather that’s normal for him. Pale, too, which is to be expected. If it wasn’t for the sword, we’d put it down to eating too much cake, and we can’t arrest anyone for that.’

  ‘You still haven’t explained what I’ve got to do with it,’ said Pippa. ‘And I need to pick Freddie up soon.’

  ‘We could do with some help,’ said PC Horsley. ‘The thing is, Pippa, I know you’ll be sticking your nose in — you probably are already. So if you’re going to do that, we may as well get some benefit from it.’

  ‘Thanks. I think.’ Pippa sipped her mug of cooling tea. ‘So what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Nothing unusual,’ said Inspector Fanshawe. ‘Nothing that will make people talk. But if you get the chance to chat with anyone in the course of your day-to-day activities, and the subject comes up, feel free to pursue it. People might tell you things they wouldn’t bother us with.’

  ‘What if I don’t find anything?’ asked Pippa.

  ‘Then we tried.’ Inspector Fanshawe drained his mug and set it on the coaster with a thud. ‘Oh, and don’t tell anyone you’re doing this, please.’

  Pippa’s eyebrows shot up into her fringe. ‘Not even my husband?’

  ‘Can he keep quiet about it?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘Yes,’ said Pippa indignantly.

  ‘All right, you can tell him.’ The inspector grinned. ‘We don’t want word getting round that we’re recruiting members of the public, or we’ll have all sorts of Miss Marple wannabes at our door.’

  ‘How do I report back?’ Pippa looked across at Ruby, who had worn herself out with play and lay sprawled on the mat, mouth open and limbs at all angles.

  ‘Hmm, hadn’t thought of that,’ said Inspector Fanshawe. ‘Jim, you have a mobile phone, don’t you? Would you mind giving Mrs Parker the number?’

  PC Horsley’s mouth twisted up at the corner. ‘Here.’ He wrote the number on a compliments slip and Pippa put it into her phone. ‘Make up a name for it, OK? Not “police” or “Jim”. I don’t want anyone cottoning on.’

  ‘You make it sound as if we’re having an affair,’ said Pippa, grinning. ‘I’ll definitely have to tell my husband what’s going on.’

  ‘Very funny,’ said PC Horsley. ‘Only call if it’s urgent, yeah? Anything outside office hours that can’t wait, text it.’

  ‘All right.’ Pippa put her phone away and saluted. ‘I’d better get madam moving and fetch Freddie. Otherwise I’ll have to bill you for preschool late fees.’

  ‘Seriously?’ PC Horsley asked, his eyes widening.

  ‘Of course,’ Pippa said, then laughed. ‘No, not really.’

  She lifted Ruby into the pushchair, packed up the play mat, and wheeled the stroller through to the main room, where the young constable — PC Gannet, as she now knew he was called — was playing a racing game on his phone. He shoved it in his pocket as soon as he saw her. ‘Bye,’ she said. ‘See you again.’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ he said, Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘Goodbye, madam.’

  Pippa rattled along the path; she really would have to shift herself to reach preschool on time. She hurried through the village, past the green, and along the road which led to the primary school, with the little wooden preschool hut standing next door. She checked her watch, and covered the last few yards at a jog. ‘Here I am!’ she announced, as soon as the door opened.

  ‘Don’t worry, you aren’t late.’ Mrs Marks pointed to the clock on the wall, whose large friendly minute hand was still pointing not quite straight down.

  ‘Phew!’ said Pippa, panting a little. She scanned the room for Freddie, who was sitting with Henry on the rug, sharing a story book very nicely. Why couldn’t he do that at home?

  The bell rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said, turning.

  Behind the glass was Sam. And when she saw who was at the door, she looked guilty as hell.

  CHAPTER 19

  ‘What have you discovered so far, Inspector Clouseau?’ Simon asked in a terrible French accent, as Pippa put a plate of spaghetti bolognese in front of him, actually made without using a jar of sauce.

  ‘That my husband doesn’t take me seriously,’ Pippa replied, setting down her own plate. ‘Maybe I should kill him and run off with PC Horsley.’

  ‘Ah yes, the secret entry in your phone book.’ Simon laughed. ‘What did you put him in as?’
r />   ‘Piglet. I figured at least I’d remember it.’

  Simon snorted. ‘I’m sure he’d be flattered,’ he commented, winding spaghetti round his fork. ‘But have you found anything out yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Pippa. ‘I am wondering why Sam looked so guilty yesterday, though.’

  Sam’s expression had resurfaced in Pippa’s mind every so often as she went about her business. She had taken the children for a tour of the village, returning the various jars and boxes which had been used to collect money at the fete. Freddie and Ruby didn’t object in the slightest, as they were given biscuits and treats by everyone they visited, to the point where Pippa suspected a light tea would be required that evening.

  Tim Selby had confirmed very distinctly that no, he couldn’t think of anyone who would want to do him harm. ‘Except on stage, where it’s scripted,’ he declared.

  ‘It just seems so odd,’ said Pippa. ‘And you didn’t see anything…?’

  ‘I didn’t have my glasses on!’ said Tim. ‘It’s a wonder I found my way to the stage!’ And his deep, rich laugh rang out in a way which convinced her that, however theatrical he might be, he was hiding nothing.

  The lady from the WI was no more forthcoming. ‘The police asked me that, you know,’ she said. ‘The thing is, I was tied to the stall pretty much the whole time, and when you’ve got someone asking you what’s in the greengage jam or whether you think their aunt would like rhubarb and ginger preserve, and someone else wanting change from a ten-pound note, anything past the end of your nose gets missed.’ She paused. ‘There was one odd thing…’

  ‘What?’ asked Pippa, clutching her cup of tea.

  ‘Well, strawberry jam is always our bestseller. I get bored making it, to be frank, but it flies off the stall. This time we only sold five jars.’

  Pippa sighed. ‘What did you sell most of?’

  ‘Raspberry,’ said the jam lady. ‘It was a nice change, to be honest.’

  Further enquiries at playgroup had proved equally fruitless (or was it fruitful?). Eva had seen nothing unusual; neither had Imogen. Lila had been so busy watching Jeff and his crew perform that she hadn’t noticed anything else. ‘When he sings,’ she declared, tossing her curls, ‘the rest of the world fades away.’