Murder on the Village Green: A Diane Dimbleby Cozy Mystery

by Penelope Sotheby

  “Are you alright?” Darrell asks, fully revealing his concern.

  Diane nods her head and closes her eyes.

  “How can I help Diane? What can I do?”

  “Take me home so I can have a cup of tea… or perhaps a whiskey!”

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  A few days later, Diane hears a knock at her cottage door. She opens the door to find a remorseful looking Inspector Darrell Crothers. He’s a holding a clear bowl with a white water lily floating inside.

  “You brought me a water lily?” says Diane beaming.

  Darrell nods shyly. He’s happy to see Diane smiling. He thought he might arrive to see her looking traumatized over the ordeal.

  “And did you slap on your hip waders to pick this flower for me Darrell?”

  Again the inspector nods.

  “Well come through won’t you, for a cuppa?”

  Darrell enters, placing the vase delicately on top of the credenza before taking a seat on the sofa.

  “Ta,” he says, accepting the cup of tea from Diane. He stares at the cup’s round-leaved sundew pattern again, with mixed feelings.

  Diane sits across from him and smiles gently. She looks tired but placid.

  “Diane, I am truly sorry for what happened to you,” says Darrell. “I put your life at risk. I involved you too much in the case. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Well Darrell, I think I pushed my way in, don’t you think?” Diane laughs. “The way I see it, I knew the risks and I’m a big girl.”

  Darrell feels some of the weight lift off his shoulders. Knowing Diane is not cross with him allows him to take some satisfaction in his case soon coming to a close.

  “I have to admit that even though we didn’t follow protocol, without you I think we would still be searching for those dreadful organ snatchers,” he says.

  Darrell explains that because of her snooping, she found the first solid lead in the case—the keycard to the Farmer’s Refuge Inn.

  “And what about Benedek, if that’s her real name…” asks Diane, shuddering, but just a little.

  “Yes, her name is Lynn Benedek, and we’ve determined she’s a member of an organized crime group out of Birmingham. They call themselves The Dissociates. We’re starting to find out that stealing organs is just the beginning of their heinous crimes. It looks like Benedek’s going to turn on her group and testify against her bosses.”

  Based on the time Diane had spent with Benedek, she still wasn’t sure whether the woman was evil or simply lost. She’d like to believe the latter but will never know for certain. Whatever the case may be, it seems like this resolution—that the majority of the organized crime firm to which Benedek had belonged will be destroyed—will serve the greater good.

  Epilogue

  A pile of long black hair is accumulating around the bottom of a salon stool. A woman barely recognizes her reflection in the mirror; she doesn't remember ever seeing herself with short hair.

  “You been living here long?” asks the hairdresser.

  The woman shakes her head no.

  When she was enrolled in the UK Protected Persons Service, in exchange for testifying against the captains and sergeants of The Dissociates, ‘Lynn Benedek’ became non-existent. Now she has a new identity and is living in a new place with a new name. It isn’t the fresh start she had been hoping for—it isn’t Brazil—but it is a clean slate.

  It isn’t like she left a family behind—she had already cut ties with her parents long ago. She is missing some of the people she had been ‘working with’, but she doubts that sense of loss will last long.

  Now in a place, small or large as it seems depending on the day, where nobody knows her, the possibilities seem endless. Her history has not followed her. She can be whoever she wants to be. The Protected Persons Service even helped her get set up with a job. It does not challenge her much, but it pays for rent and food. Whether she will stay there, find another job, or revert back to her crooked and high-paying ways remains to be seen.

  Most of the time she feels safe, like nobody from ‘before’ can touch her. But sometimes she finds herself looking over her shoulder…

  “Seems a shame cutting all this beautiful black hair,” says the hairdresser. “Is this your natural colour?”

  She nods her head yes, but asks the hairdresser to dye it red once she’s done cutting.

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  Superintendent Moore suspended Darrell for two weeks. Darrell knows he could have been given a far harsher reprimand for implicating Diane too deeply into a criminal investigation. Plus, the suspension has turned out not to be a punishment at all. It has given Darrell the chance to do more of the things he enjoys and misses out on, like going to Chloe’s football match and Jeremy’s art show, having a lunch date with his wife or going fishing with his father’s best mates.

  Today Darrell is sitting on the edge of the brook, fishing rod in hand, next to ‘Old Tom Walker’ and ‘Uncle Kenny’.

  “You should get suspended more often, lad,” says Tom.

  “Are you trying to say you’ve missed me?” laughs Darrell.

  “That, and you always remember to bring the beer,” winks Kenny.

  ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠

  At tonight’s session of ‘mead and mystery,’ Diane and Albert are enjoying some chocolate brownies—they had each baked a pan—along with a few fingers of cognac.

  Albert sets down Diane’s latest chapters and smiles approvingly.

  “Your writing is as enticing as always,” he says. “I especially love the bit where you describe the lad falsely accused of vandalizing that Abbey in, what is the name of the town again? Shrewsbury—excuse me, I meant to say, Harridan…”

  “Are you suggesting my fiction is veering too close to reality?” Diane giggles.

  “I’m suggesting, my dear, that your reality is not only stranger, but also more electrifying than fiction! And I think we both know what the theme of your next book will be…”

  Murder in the Neighbourhood - Chapter 1

  Anyone looking for day-to-day tranquillity would be more than happy to settle in Apple Mews. It is probably one of the most composed and calm villages in the county of Shropshire – at least from a bird’s eye view and at street level.

  By walking down Apple Mews’ main lanes you would see what you would expect in most English villages: a hotel and a pub, a church and a café, a primary school and a community hall that hosts Saturday night dances, craft fairs, suppers and even festivities for some of the long-time villagers’ milestone birthdays and anniversaries. Apple Mews also has a wee police station – it is only manned by one constable at a time. There is no need for a police force any larger, as the criminal element rarely punctures the homes, businesses, gardens and fields of Apple Mews.

  Place a harpist in the middle of the village green or a Japanese water fountain next to the pub and villagers might shake their heads at first, but they too would accept their presence as compatible with the ambience of their community.

  Diane Dimbleby is one of Apple Mews’ most prominent – and loved – citizens. Most of the villagers younger than she were taught by Diane at some point in their lives. Although she never let her students dilly dally, she encouraged them to reach their full potential, and for that she was a favourite teacher to most. Diane spent most of her working years teaching in Apple Mews, and most of all her years living in Apple Mews.

  For two years, Diane had lived in London with her late husband, David. They had fallen in love almost instantly when David was holidaying in Apple Mews. When they were married, Diane moved to London with him, since David was already serving as a police detective at Scotland Yard.

  Although the pace of the big city was not exactly Diane’s cup of tea, she relished learning as much as she could about her husband’s line of work. It quite simply fascinated her. While David was not technically permitted to divulge any information about the cases he was working on, he could not refuse his wi
fe’s blue eyes and enthusiastic spirit.

  Their marriage was an extremely happy one but cut much too short. When David was killed during the course of a robbery, it was an easy decision for Diane to move back to her home village and resume the profession she loved.

  This time though, she had an additional pastime: crime solving, which she happens to be very good at, much to the dismay of Inspector Crothers of the Shrewsbury Police, the closest major police station in the region. And now that Diane is retired, she spends much of her free time writing detective mystery stories, partly inspired by her own, real-life experiences.

  This very Saturday afternoon, in fact, Diane is sitting at her computer, typing away. At this very moment, she is trying to contrive the perfect red herring for her latest crime novel. I could trick the readers into thinking that the husband did it… no… too cliché.

  “AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  Diane is jolted back into reality by the sound of a terrifying scream. It sounded like a woman’s scream. Diane feels spooked up and down her spine.

  “Ruff au au Ruff au au!”

  Now, that sound Diane recognizes immediately – it is Carys Jones’ dog, Rufus, who clearly sounds distressed. His yap morphs into a howl. The mournful sound immediately propels Diane to her front door. Something must be dreadfully wrong. Carys has either had a nasty accident or… worse…. Diane does not want to think about that.

  Without giving a second thought to red herrings, whodunits, or the slow-cooking crockery pot she just turned on a half-hour ago, Diane rushes out the door. Still in her slippers she runs – she is in marvellous shape for her 60-some years – to her friend Carys’ house three doors down.

  Unlike Diane, Carys Jones has not lived in Apple Mews her whole life. The long-time resident was immediately drawn to the new neighbour, and in recent years, the two ladies have shared numerous meals together and often enjoy chats over a cuppa.

  Diane admires Carys’ loving and caring nature and how she often volunteers for a homeless charity in Shrewsbury. Diane likes to bake cookies or make sandwiches to send along with Carys, but she admires how Carys regularly spends that face-to-face time with some of the area’s most vulnerable individuals.

  Arriving at her home, Diane sees Carys’ front door wide open. Richard, one of Carys’ caregivers, is standing in the front foyer, looking rather pale.

  “Richard, what’s happened?” shouts Diane, racing towards the entryway.

  “I’ve called the ambulance and the police,” says Richard shakily, pacing back and forth.

  “The police!?! Ambulance! Oh dear, where is she?” Diane pushes past Richard towards the sound of Rufus yapping.

  Inside the living room, Diane finds Carys awkwardly lying on the floor, her limbs splayed in every direction. Rufus is next to his owner sensing that something is wrong. For a moment, Diane stares in shock at her friend who is eerily lying in complete stillness. Diane hurries to her side and kneels on the floor.

  Careful not to shake her for fear of causing any more physical injury, Diane places a hand on Carys’ back. She does not detect any movement.

  “Carys,” Diane whispers. “CARYS,” she says louder this time, barely keeping a sob from escaping.

  “I think she fell from the balcony,” Richard says nervously. He kneels down next to Diane and points up above their heads.

  Diane looks up to see the balcony’s sturdy railing connected to a series of ornate spindles standing firmly in place. None of the parts appear to be cracked or missing.

  “Did you see her fall?” asks Diane.

  “No, I was in the kitchen preparing lamb casserole for Mrs. Jones’ dinner. I heard her scream and…”

  Diane nods her head. She stands up and walks back out into the hallway. Sifting through the shock, Diane feels in the pit of her stomach that Carys’ death is more complicated than meets the eye. Perhaps it’s best that Inspector Darrell Crothers gets involved. Although he might not realize that she thinks so, Diane regards him as the most dedicated detective she’s ever encountered in the county of Shropshire.

  She takes her mobile out of her pocket and dials the inspector’s number. While listening to the ring-back tone, Diane gazes at Carys’ photographs on the wall. One is of stalwart-standing Celtic crosses juxtaposing some crumbling stone ruins. Another is of a hilly pasture, lush with grass and sheep, overlooking the blue sea. Diane cannot remember where Carys had said these stunning pictures were taken…

  “Inspector Darrell Crothers,” says the 30-something Shrewsbury detective on the other end of the line.

  “Oh Darrell… it’s Carys… Carys Jones… she’s… Apple Mews…”

  “Diane, I’ve already been notified and I’m on my way,” he says. “Now listen to me carefully. I don’t want you anywhere near Carys’ house. It is the forensic team’s job, not yours, to process the scene. I’ll be in Apple Mews soon.”

  Hanging up, Darrell hopes he wasn’t too harsh with Diane, a woman he’s come to regard almost as a second mum. Of course, a civilian, no matter how great a talent they have for sleuthing, should never get involved with a police inquiry. And sometimes Diane did not always think the rule applied to herself.

  Diane and Darrell have worked on a couple of cases together already - not that he would ever admit this openly for fear of getting into more trouble, or perhaps to preserve his pride. But the truth is, through their unconventional crime-solving collaborations, a sense of mutual respect has ripened between the two. Their relationship has survived a few trying times of late, not the least of these a kidnapping by a dangerous member of a crime firm that specialized in illegal organ trafficking.

  Diane is not happy that Darrell asked her to stay away from Carys’ house, but she cannot fault the inspector for following protocol. Her gumshoeing has already gotten him into trouble at least once, plus she would not later want to be accused of messing up a crime scene.

  I’ll just take one quick look around and then I’ll leave, Diane thinks as she noses around the ground floor. In the kitchen, she admires the vase filled with sunflowers sitting on the counter. She realizes that other than the floral décor, the counters are empty.

  Diane hurries back into the living room. Richard is sitting on the couch holding his head in his hands.

  “I thought you said you were preparing Carys’ dinner…” Diane says carefully.

  “I… I… I was just about to start…”

  Diane stares at Richard for several moments until her eyes travel back to Carys lying on the floor. This time, she really lets herself look at her friend: her tightly closed eyes, her contorted mouth… Did Carys feel excruciating fear during her last moments of life?

  Diane runs out of the living room and out of the house to find some shelter in the corner of Carys’ garden. There she crouches down, bends her head to her knees and allows herself to wail for the first time. Her huddled position muffles the sounds of her deep sobs emerging from the bottom of her abdomen.

  She is not startled by the hand now resting on her shoulder. She stands to see, expectantly, her ‘partner against crime’.

  “Oh Darrell,” Diane cries. “Carys is dead, she’s really dead. You know… she said, just the other day, that her greatest fear was dying alone. But this is much worse! Who would do this?!? Carys wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

  Diane continues crying almost uncontrollably. Darrell has never seen her like this before. He puts his arm around her and pats her back until Diane’s sobs dwindle into sniffles. The awkward motions of the inspector, who is trying his best to comfort her, make Diane giggle just a little. She’s starting to regain some composure.

  “Now Diane, do not jump to any conclusions,” Darrell says finally. “It has not yet been determined whether she lost her balance or got distracted and fell, or whether she was, in fact, pushed to her death.”

  “Well, one thing is certain. Carys did not jump from that balcony,” says Diane adamantly.

  “So you’re saying she would not have committed suicide
?” asks Darrell.

  That is exactly what Diane means. She explains that Carys had no reason to do so. Just the other day she was sharing how fulfilled she felt and how blessed she was to have no stresses in her life. Sure, she wasn’t as spry as she used to be, but she still managed to do many things on her own – even help the homeless folks in Shrewsbury. Her caregivers just helped her out with certain tasks later in the day and with the ‘heavy lifting.’

  Besides, this would be the least plausible time Carys would take her own life. It had always been her dream to take a Mediterranean cruise, and this winter she was finally going to do it. The entire trip was already booked. Diane remembers chuckling at her friend the day she went through her thick stack of brochures advertising all of the different packages to choose from. Now this one has more stops in Greece… but this one goes all the way to Istanbul… oh, but this one has tango and cha-cha-cha dance classes right on the ship!

  Diane laughs to herself, remembering her friend’s almost frenzied planning. It was so good to see Carys so excited. She deserved to be happy. Tears begin to well in Diane’s eyes again.

  “This may have all been just a tragic accident,” says Darrell.

  “Something tells me that it was no accident, Darrell,” says Diane. “Carys Jones was carefulness personified.”

  According to Diane, Carys was prudent in everything she did. For instance, she could walk just fine without a cane, but whenever it was slippery or wet outside, Carys would take her cane with her, even just to walk to a neighbour’s or to the grocers down the road. There were so many new things she wanted to try and activities she wanted to keep on doing. She didn’t want a broken leg or fractured arm to get in the way, especially not in the way of her commitments to help others.

  “So you think someone pushed her?” asks Darrell.

  “Except I have no idea who would want to kill Carys! I can’t think of anybody with a motive to do so. Everybody adored her.”