Bang! You're Dead

by Mona Marple

  Bang! You’re Dead

  Waterfell Tweed Cozy Mystery Series: Book Five

  Mona Marple

  Copyright © 2018 by Mona Marple

  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, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my Dad:

  I miss you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  The Black Rock Murder

  Lemon and Lavender Loaf Cake

  Thank You For Reading

  About the Author

  1

  Sandy beamed at the sight of the familiar landscape of Waterfell Tweed revealed in front of her, finally. She stifled a yawn and then shook her head, opening her eyes wide as Tom slowed the car outside her cottage.

  “Keep going.” She said, with a glance across the car to him. His face was ashen with exhaustion. “Park up outside The Tweed and I’ll walk back.”

  “Don’t be silly.” He said. His words slurred, vowels crashing into each other.

  “Oh, come on. It’s still light, and a bit of fresh air would be nice. Please?” She asked. The truth was, she didn’t want Tom driving alone while he was so tired. She had made it her mission for the last twenty minutes, since drowsiness had taken him, to entertain him as much as possible. Her inane conversation was even driving herself mad, but it had kept him awake.

  “Okay.” He agreed. He indicated and moved on, and Sandy gazed out of the window at her familiar cottage.

  “Did I ever tell you why I like bagels so much?” Sandy asked. Tom managed a slight smile at the silly question. “In my opinion, it’s a conversation you can’t have too many times anyway. So, here’s the thing with bagels. They make everything better. Cheese on toast? Try it on a bagel instead. Smashed avocado with a little chilli and plenty of black pepper? Delicious on a bagel.”

  Tom nodded but didn’t answer, his focus fixed on the winding country road that led to the village square.

  It was approaching 6pm and they were the only ones on the road. The fields on either side, secured by ancient dry stone walls, were lush with the promise of spring. A flock of sheep grazed on the hilltop, bellies bulging with lambs ready to be born. The shepherd, a man called Gurdip, stood close by, his faithful border collie sat by his side.

  “You’ve gone quiet on me.” Tom said from the driver seat.

  “Oh no! Sorry, Tom, I guess I’m easily distracted.” Sandy said. As she returned her attention to him she saw that the sight of home had reinvigorated him. His eyes were wider, and a smile was on his face. “You look brighter.”

  “It’s good to be home.” He said. “What were you looking at?”

  “The shepherd’s up there with his flock.” Sandy explained. “It just looked like such a peaceful life, wandering around the fields with your sheep and your dog.”

  “Hmm.” Tom said doubtfully. “I’m guessing you’ve never been a shepherd?”

  Sandy laughed. “Well, no, but I’m fairly sure you haven’t either!”

  “Definitely not. Gurdip comes in the pub sometimes, though. I don’t think you’d find many people with harder jobs in this village.”

  Sandy glanced back out of her window but the hilltop had disappeared, swallowed by larger hills and the twist of the road.

  “I guess it’s like the people who look at my job and think all I do is cut slices of cake for people all day, with no worries greater than what colour apron to wear each day!” Sandy said, although she could never be too annoyed at the people with that opinion as she herself had expected owning a cafe and bookshop to be glamorous and fun.

  “Everyone thinks other people have it easier than they do.” Tom said. They were on the final approach to the village. Sandy could see a queue of people stood outside The Village Fryer, waiting for their evening fish and chips.

  “I love this place.” Sandy said. Contentment washed over her and she reached for Tom’s hand that rested on the gear stick and gave it a small squeeze.

  “Me too.” He replied. “I’ve come to life a bit now, do you want to come in for a drink?”

  Sandy shook her head. “I’m going to head home and see the cat. I’m looking forward to the walk.”

  “You really need to give that cat a name.” Tom said. He parked outside The Tweed and turned the engine off, then turned to look at her. The colour had begun to return to his face.

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” Sandy admitted. “I’m going to have a chat with him when I get home.”

  “See which one he says yes to?”

  “He’s got a real personality, Tom. I think I’ll know when I’ve found the right name for him. Anyway, you need to get off to bed. Thank you for coming with me, and doing the driving, I…”

  “I’ve loved it, Sand.” Tom said. “I’ll follow you anywhere, okay?”

  Sandy felt her cheeks flush at his words. “Let’s just stay here for a while, yeah? The world is nice, but this is home.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Tom said. They climbed out of the car and she walked around to the pavement, where he pulled her in for an embrace. He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Text me when you get home?”

  “I will, but I think you’ll be asleep by then.”

  “Good point.” He said with a laugh. She walked away, with a turn back once to see that he was on the doorstep of The Tweed watching her go. She raised an arm to give him a wave and he mimicked the gesture, then walked indoors.

  The walk back to her cottage would take around twenty minutes, and although the sun was out, there was a chill in the air. Sandy zipped her yellow rain mac up and adjusted her scarf so it covered her throat and chin, and resisted the temptation to pull out her mobile phone and send messages informing people that she was home. She wanted to enjoy the scenery with her full attention.

  “Evening, Sandy.” A gentleman called from the chip shop queue. He was a regular face in Books and Bakes but Sandy didn’t think she had ever known his name. If she had, she couldn’t remember it.

  “Hello!” She called in enthusiastic reply. A break in the wider world, where she was unknown, made her treasure village life and the fact that everyone knew her.

  She continued walking, past the last shops of the village square and out into the glorious Peak District countryside.

  She looked out for Gurdip and his sheep but dusk was approaching and she guessed they had all returned to the safety of the indoors.

  Near her house, she spotted a small cluster of daffodils and smiled to herself.

  “You know that Spring has sprung when you see daffodils.” She whispered as a huge smile took over her face.

  As she walked up the path to her stone cottage, she felt the physical sensation of returning home. Her chest grew warm, her stomach flipped with excitement, and she had to restrain herself from running down the path.

  Her key fit perfectly in the door, in a way she had never noticed or appreciated before.

  The cottage was warm and the smell of an open fire greeted her. She closed the door after herself and padded through to the living room, where the crackle of embers burning in her coal fire welcomed her. A card sat on the coffee table, her name scrawled on the envelope.

  She inhaled the rich woody scent of the f
ire deeply and opened the envelope.

  Welcome home, Sandy. I asked Coral to have the cottage ready for your return. Stay warm, and I can’t wait to see you next.

  With love, Tom

  Sandy grinned at the card, then remembered Tom’s request.

  She pulled the mobile phone out of her handbag and punched in a quick message thanking him for his kindness. She’d never been treated so well, and she could certainly get used to it.

  “Right, where are you cat?” She called. She walked through the cottage, noticing the other things that Tom must have instructed Coral to do. In the kitchen, she found a bunch of daffodils in a vase on the small table, but no cat. In the fridge, where she hadn’t expected the cat to be, she found an overflowing supply of her favourite foods. Back in the living room, on closer inspection, she saw that a pair of her most fluffy socks had been left to warm up by the fire, and took off the walking socks she was wearing and replaced them with the toasty warm pair, but didn’t see the cat. In the bathroom, a new hot pink bath bomb sat waiting for her use, but there was no cat.

  Finally, in her bedroom, she saw fresh, clean bedding, and the cat curled up on her pillow. He eyed her as she walked in, then closed his eyes again.

  “Hello, you.” Sandy said as she took a seat on the bed beside the cat. She reached out a hand and stroked his thick, black fur, and thought how nice it was to have company to return home to.

  “We need to have a talk.” She said. The cat opened one eye and watched her. “You need a name and we’re not going to leave this room until we’ve agreed on one. I’ll listen to your input, okay?”

  The cat opened both eyes.

  “Good, I have your attention. How about Snowflake? It’s ironic because, you know, you’re not white.”

  The cat closed his eyes and covered his face with a paw.

  “Are you sure?” Sandy asked. “I thought that was a sassy name, like your personality. Okay then, do you like Boris?”

  The cat played dead.

  “Samuel?”

  “How about Mr?” Sandy asked. “It’s very respectful to call someone Mr.”

  The cat buried his head further underneath his paw.

  “Tigger? Dennis? Hercules?”

  The cat peered at her, let out a sneeze in her direction, and then returned to his previous pose.

  “You could help, you know, instead of just reject my ideas.” Sandy said. “How about Mull? I had a lovely time, by the way. Well, apart from one day, but I won’t bore you with all of that. Anyway, not Mull, no, how about Frederick?”

  The cat had begun to snore.

  “Sleepy?” Sandy asked. “Sir Sleeps a Lot? Mr Snooze? I’ve got it, how about The Curious Incident of the Cat in My Bed? A bit long? I agree.”

  The cat opened one eye, seemed disappointed to see she was still there, and turned the other way.

  “I’ve missed you too, you know.” Sandy said. “Goodness, what am I doing talking to a cat? When did I become a crazy cat lady?”

  The cat gave no reply.

  “If you won’t help me, you’ll just be the cat forever.” Sandy said. The cat turned to her, his eyes bright and keen, and padded across the bed, where he stood his back legs on her thighs and his front legs on her chest, so his face was close to her own.

  “Meow.” He said.

  “Well, hello. This is nice. Hold on, is this you telling me you want to be The Cat?” Sandy asked.

  The cat nestled his head on her chest and let out a soft purr.

  “Okay, The Cat it is. I like it. It’s a name for a regal animal with attitude, and that’s you all over. The Cat. Very good.” Sandy said.

  The cat fell into a deep sleep on her chest, and his soft breathing was so peaceful she didn’t want to disturb him. She felt her own eyes close and decided not to fight against it. She was home. She was safe.

  In the morning, she would wake early and be the first to arrive at Books and Bakes. She loved the early morning time when nobody else was around, and she wanted to be there to greet her team as they each arrived for work. She would wake early and do all of the chores she had planned to do that evening.

  Yes, tomorrow she would be productive. Tomorrow she would wake with a burst of energy and she would race through her to do list.

  Tomorrow.

  Now, she would close her eyes, and drift off to sleep.

  2

  Books and Bakes smelt of coconut and cleaning products when Sandy let herself in at just before 7am the next day.

  She gazed around at her beloved cafe, from the wiped-down tables to the empty display counter, and a contented smile took over her face.

  “Hello, you.” Bernice’s familiar voice came as the front door opened, a gust of wind coming in with her and making Sandy shiver.

  Sandy turned to her friend and employee and scooped her in a hug, which Bernice allowed but didn’t encourage. “I’ve missed you!”

  “We’ve missed you too. This place isn’t the same without your face and that monstrosity.” Bernice said, as she extracted herself awkwardly from the embrace.

  “This?” Sandy said. She looked down at her yellow rain mac. “It’s the height of fashion, you know. Everyone’s wearing them.”

  “Hmm.” Bernice said. She was dressed in a much more muted wardrobe; her coat, trousers and ankle boots were all plain black. Her auburn hair was usually the main splash of colour on her, and it was such beautiful hair that it deserved to hold centre stage.

  “How have things been here?” Sandy asked. “It’s so nice to be back. Have you managed?”

  “Of course.” Bernice said. “We like you being around, Sand, but we can manage on our own.”

  “I know, I just worry…”

  “Sounds like you had enough to worry about in Mull.”

  Sandy shook her head. “It was awful.”

  “Hopefully that’s your share of murders done with now, eh? Let’s keep your focus right here where it belongs.” Bernice said. She had pulled on her apron and was about to walk through into the kitchen, when she turned and glanced at Sandy. “How’s lover boy?”

  Sandy felt her cheeks flush but allowed a grin to cross her lips. “I haven’t spoken to him today. He was so tired yesterday, with the drive. Bless him.”

  “You’ve got it bad.” Bernice teased. “Look at you, you’re red like a beetroot!”

  Sandy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s probably going from the cold to the warm in here…”

  “Oh get, don’t be daft. I’m only teasing you. You enjoy it, Sand. We all know you deserve a nice fella.” Bernice said, and with that she retreated into the kitchen, where Sandy heard doors being opened and closed as she fetched ingredients to begin the day’s baking.

  Sandy walked through the seating area and climbed the stairs at the rear of the cafe. Her beloved bookshop upstairs was in darkness, and she flicked the light switch and felt her stomach flip as row after row of book case was revealed to her.

  The gaps on the bookcases were even wider than they had been before she left for her trip to Mull, which suggested that sales had continued to be high. The new stock bought from the Isle of Mull would be delivered any day to replenish the shelves.

  Sandy could hardly wait to hide herself away upstairs, catalogueing and arranging the new stock. She planned to make herself a large mug of creamy, hot mocha to sip as she worked and set an incense stick to burn.

  She walked through the upstairs space, inspecting each bookshelf quickly in turn.

  The horticultural section looked bare and in need of fresh stock, and the military history section had been almost eviscerated in her time away. The small section that she allowed to be filled with popular fiction bulged as always, ignored by the book lovers who travelled to Books and Bakes for more specialist titles.

  Sandy noted at least four copies of the country’s current most popular novel, a book she had read and enjoyed despite lukewarm critic reviews, and wondered whether to get rid of the section entirely. I
t would give space for her to extend another, more in-demand area.

  “Sandy!” A shriek came from downstairs, pulling Sandy away from her book bliss thoughts and back to reality.

  She returned the yellowed book of poetry to the shelf where it should be, after retrieving it from the biography section, and made her way downstairs, two steps at a time.

  Dorie Slaughter stood at the cafe counter, her hair dyed a new shade of bright orange, squeezed into a leopard print coat. Bernice, stood behind the counter with her arms folded across her chest, met Sandy’s gaze and rolled her eyes. Bernice did not tolerate village gossip well and was happiest left undisturbed in the kitchen.

  “Dorie?” Sandy enquired. “What’s wrong?”

  “Thank goodness you’re back!” Dorie said. She spun on her kitten heels to face Sandy, her face red, eyes keen with information that she was hungry to share. “This village is going to the dogs. We need you to sort it out, Sandy.”

  “Sort what out?” Sandy asked.

  “The murders!” Dorie exclaimed.

  “She has sorted the murders out.” Bernice said. “They’d still be looking for all the killers if it wasn’t for Sandy.”

  “Not those murders!” Dorie cried.

  “Get to the point, Dorie. What are you talking about?”

  “You mean you haven’t heard?” Dorie asked. A smile crept across her face. Dorie’s favourite thing was breaking news to other people. Sandy had no doubt that whatever she had heard, she had sprinted to Books and Bakes to make sure she was the first to announce to other people. “Well, why didn’t you say? Bernice, get me a bacon sandwich, I’ve been rushed off my feet and I need breakfast.”

  “We’re not open yet.” Bernice mumbled, but she walked back into the kitchen anyway and the sound of hot, sizzling oil soon followed.