A Fete Worse Than Death (Pippa Parker Mysteries Book 3)

by Liz Hedgecock

  …call for better regulation of these sorts of events…

  The only positive thing was that she wasn’t named in the piece. She lowered the paper to see Serendipity looking at her.

  ‘It’ll blow over,’ she said, putting a hand on Pippa’s arm.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Pippa. She scanned the article again. There was something … something nagging at her. ‘Tell me,’ she said, handing the paper to Serendipity. ‘If you had to use one word to sum this up, what would it be?’

  Serendipity frowned as she read the page. ‘One word?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK…’ Her frown deepened. ‘This might sound weird, but … incompetence? Mess?’

  ‘It’s not just me, then,’ said Pippa. ‘I know it talks about the investigation, but — “bungle”, then “went wrong”. It’s like they’re trying to downplay the possibility that it was deliberate.’

  ‘The police might have asked them to do that,’ Serendipity said. ‘So they can get on with the investigation in peace.’

  ‘I suppose.’ But Pippa continued to eye the newspaper. Something wasn’t right. And she intended to find out what.

  CHAPTER 16

  Pippa let out a low moan as she stared at her notepad. No matter how she calculated it, she got the same result.

  The takings from the fete hadn’t reached her target.

  Despite Serendipity’s question, Pippa hadn’t thought about the money angle until her phone rang as she was making lunch. She grabbed it and her mouth twisted as she read the display: Beryl Harbottle.

  She was tempted not to answer, to let it go to voicemail. But then she would have to make herself listen to it. Might as well get it over with.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Pippa,’ said a voice she hadn’t expected. ‘This is June Higginbotham.’

  ‘Oh thank God,’ Pippa said, before she had a chance to stop herself.

  ‘I’m sorry, are you busy?’ Lady Higginbotham asked.

  ‘No, it isn’t that. I — erm, I thought you were someone else, for a moment.’

  ‘Ah.’ A long pause. ‘I was calling to invite you to our wrap-up meeting for the fete. We always have one the first Tuesday afterwards; it’s become a kind of tradition.’

  ‘A wrap-up meeting.’ This sounded suspiciously like the sort of thing that happened at Simon’s work, with flip charts and post-it notes and claps on the back and lessons learned.

  ‘That’s right. We talk over the event, maybe do a little planning for next time, and the organiser — that would always have been Barbara — goes through the takings. If it’s a local cause, we present them then and there. It gives a sense of, um, closure. Plus Beryl does a jacket potato and chilli con carne supper.’

  Bet she puts a Scotch bonnet in mine. Yet somehow Pippa found herself saying ‘That would be lovely.’ There was something about Lady Higginbotham which made you agree to things.

  ‘Excellent. The meeting is at seven tomorrow. We’ll look forward to seeing you. Goodbye, Pippa.’ And the phone call ended with a quiet, decorous click.

  Great. I have to chase up the money. It wasn’t that she thought anyone would hang on to it, but now was the moment of truth. Had they — no, had she — done enough?

  It was easier than she had thought to track down the various sums of money. A tentative call to the WI representative had brought a cash box filled with coins and a few notes, hand-delivered within half an hour of the call. ‘I’m glad to get it off my hands,’ she had said. ‘If you want to keep the cash box for the moment, that’s fine. Just return it tomorrow night, or via Sheila.’ And she was back in her car almost before Pippa had said goodbye.

  The various members of the playgroup who had helped replied quickly to Pippa’s texts, all promising to bring the money to tomorrow’s playgroup meeting. Was she being paranoid, or did everyone want to wash their hands of the fete? Then again, was she any different?

  That evening the doorbell rang, and she found Tim Selby beaming on the doorstep, holding a large jar filled with coins as if it were a Christmas present. ‘Here you are,’ he boomed. ‘I heard on the grapevine that you were gathering the largesse.’

  ‘Erm, yes, thank you.’ Pippa took the jar, which was astonishingly heavy. ‘How is your finger?’

  ‘You’d scarcely know I’d had an accident!’ Tim declaimed. ‘Practically good as new.’ He held out his finger for inspection, and Pippa decided she’d seen nastier paper cuts. ‘Prompt medical attention, that’s the key. Will you be gracing the meeting with your presence tomorrow?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Pippa. ‘I just hope we’ve raised enough.’

  ‘We can do no more than our best.’ Tim seemed about to bow. ‘Anyway, I shall leave you to, ah, crunch the numbers. Farewell!’ He raised a hand, then strode away purposefully, as if he had a costume change to fit in.

  By the end of the evening Pippa’s hands smelt of metal, and there was a persistent chinking in her ears. But she was cautiously positive. The money she collected at playgroup tomorrow would be the decider.

  It looked promising, she had to say, as she left the church hall laden with a money-filled tote bag. No-one had counted the money, but judging by weight, it was impressive. During playgroup, Serendipity had texted. Worked out Marge sold about £750 of stock. We agreed I’d donate a tenth of sales, will a cheque do?

  It most certainly will, she replied.

  After playgroup, and lunch, Pippa bribed Freddie with a new SuperMouse DVD. She had also given Ruby a larger meal and more milk than usual, to encourage a longer nap, before settling to do some serious maths.

  But however many times she counted, and sorted, and wrote down the numbers, even including their cut of the alcohol sales, the balance still read £4624.72.

  If we hadn’t had to close the fete early…

  If we’d been able to sell the cakes…

  But she had still failed. Admittedly it was much better than the original target of two thousand pounds, but when you looked at the work she and everyone else had put in, and the favours she had wangled —

  Pippa knocked over a pile of pound coins as she put her head in her hands, and swore under her breath. It’s no good crying over spilt milk, she told herself. She would just have to bag up the money (including the foreign currency which had somehow found its way in), and face the music tonight.

  Her phone rang, and she reached round the stacks of coins to answer it.

  It was Suze. ‘Hiya!’

  ‘Hiya.’

  ‘I was going to ask how it went, but you sound like a wet weekend,’ Suze chirped. ‘How was Dev Hardman? Did he do the biz?’

  ‘You mean you haven’t heard?’

  ‘Heard what? I’ve been knee-deep in a campaign. I haven’t come up for air till now. Had to bike it over, it was that near the wire.’ Suze sounded exhilarated, and Pippa wondered how she coped with the pressure.

  ‘So you don’t know Dev’s in hospital?’

  ‘You’re kidding.’ Suze laughed. ‘What happened, did he try it on with the squire’s wife?’

  ‘Food poisoning. Possibly from one of the cakes in the baking competition. He threw up right in front of the crowd. And it was rainbow-coloured.’

  ‘Whoa! I bet it was spectacular.’ Suze snorted, but when she spoke again, her voice was serious. ‘Will he be OK, though?’

  ‘I hope so. He’s in the local private hospital.’

  ‘What’s it called? I’d better send flowers.’ Pippa could be mistaken, but Suze’s tone seemed to have modulated from chirpy to downright panicky.

  ‘I’ll find out and text you. Why are you so bothered, all of a sudden? I thought he was an ex-client of yours.’

  ‘He is. But if he’s out of action for a long time, and Dahlia hears that he was doing me a favour…’ Suze made a hhhhhhhwwick noise, and Pippa felt her finger crossing her throat.

  ‘But you weren’t even there, you couldn’t have had anything to do with it —’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.
If it affects Dahlia’s property, she’ll be livid. Nice to talk to you, Pip, but I need to get off and see what direction Dahlia’s taking it in.’

  The phone went dead, and the room swam back into focus. Piles of change everywhere, but not enough.

  Pippa sighed, and began to sort the coins. The bank would probably make her count it out again, and then put it through a counting machine anyway.

  Maybe she didn’t have the skills or the patience to run a big event.

  Clink. Clink. Clink.

  Pippa put the money bags into one large bag, and moved it out of Freddie’s reach. She would rinse the jars to remove the smell before returning them. Once she’d delivered those, and the final total, she could wash her own hands of it.

  As if on cue, a wail from Ruby. She could have read a book while Ruby had slept, or prepared an actual home-cooked meal, or taken the kids to the park, instead of all this. Pippa pressed her lips together and went upstairs.

  When she went into Ruby’s room she was greeted by an innocent, chubby, wide-eyed face. ‘Did you have a big sleep?’ Ruby gurgled and kicked her legs. ‘Come on then, let’s go and enjoy the sunshine.’

  ‘Do we have to?’ whined Freddie, when she told him the good news.

  ‘I’ll buy you an ice-cream.’ More bribery; but she couldn’t bear the thought of more sulking, more complaint. She would get enough of that tonight. ‘In fact, I’m going to have one too. I think I deserve it.’

  ‘Yayyy!’ Freddie ran to get his shoes.

  It was a beautiful summer day, and the local ice-cream van, Ivan’s Ices, was waiting by the village green. Pippa got a chocolate cone for Freddie and a mint choc chip for herself, resigned that Ruby would pester her for some, and they sat on a bench by the duck pond. The only sound was the hum of the ice-cream van, and an occasional quack from the two ducks stationed at the edge of the pond, looking conspiratorial. Why couldn’t it always be like this? She watched a woman with a basket, wearing an ancient hat, stride along the road opposite and step into the country store. Who wore a hat like that in midsummer?

  Pippa got her answer quickly. The woman marched out two minutes later, shoulders back and head high, and Pippa recognised the stiff features of Beryl Harbottle. She caught Pippa’s look, her eyebrows drew together, and she stalked off with a hat-endangering toss of the head.

  Fine. Suit yourself. But the ice cream didn’t taste quite as nice as it had before — a bit artificial really — and Pippa let Freddie have the rest.

  CHAPTER 17

  ‘Oh!’ Pippa jumped as the door of Higginbotham Hall creaked open to reveal Norm on the other side.

  ‘Surprise,’ he said. ‘Beryl’s busy in the kitchen, so I offered to be on door duty.’ She could feel his eyes taking her in — the smarter-than-usual outfit, the heeled boots, and probably the relief on her face that he wasn’t Beryl. ‘How are you?’ he asked, opening the door wider and stepping back.

  ‘Fine,’ she said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No.’ She walked into the hallway. Was she imagining it, or was there damp in the corners? A couple of pieces of wallpaper were curling, and the carpet on the grand staircase looked as if mice had been at it. How much did it cost to run this place?

  ‘Anything I can do to help?’ Norm stood beside her, arms by his sides.

  ‘Short of a time machine, no.’ Pippa sighed. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’

  ‘I’ll take one of those bags, at least,’ said Norm. ‘Whew, that’s heavy.’

  ‘It’s full of money,’ said Pippa. ‘Is it the dining room again?’

  ‘It is. This way.’ Norm led the way down the corridor, and Pippa noticed peeling paint on the dado rail, and chipped edges on the picture frames. On her first visit she had been too overawed to notice, and on her second, too busy to take them in.

  When Norm opened the door, it felt as if a sea of faces turned in her direction, even though there were only about ten people in the room. But they didn’t look cross when they saw who it was.

  ‘Pippa!’ Lady Higginbotham stood to greet her. ‘Take a seat.’ She waved her hand at a chair nearby. ‘We were chatting until Beryl returns. Is everyone here?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Norm, counting heads. Pippa edged her way around the table, and put her bag down. The chink made everyone look again.

  ‘Hello again,’ said Margaret, in the seat beside her. ‘That sounds promising.’

  ‘It isn’t as good as it could be,’ said Pippa.

  ‘But it was fun. Especially the gin.’ Margaret threw a meaningful glance across the table at Graham, who suddenly seemed very interested in his place setting.

  The door opened and Beryl came in, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘It’ll be cooked in half an hour or so,’ she said. ‘Minus kidney beans.’ The missing ingredient, thought Pippa. Beryl scanned the table for a seat, saw Pippa, and took one on the opposite side of the table. Does she want to be as far from me as possible, or is this so that she can stare me down? Pippa’s hands clenched into fists.

  ‘Perfect timing, Beryl,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘Let’s get started, everyone, and then we can enjoy the food with a clear conscience.’

  ‘I’ve had to use baked beans,’ said Beryl Harbottle. ‘I hope no-one minds.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘Anyone allergic to baked beans?’

  Beryl Harbottle sniffed. ‘Yes, we should ask that question. Given what’s happened.’ And her gaze switched to Pippa, who stared right back.

  Murmurs of the ‘no, that’s quite all right, prefer baked beans actually’ variety circulated the table.

  ‘Good,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘And since Beryl has brought up the unfortunate incident of Dev Hardman, I’ll chip in. I rang the hospital this morning, and once I explained who I was, they assured me that he is stable. So don’t believe those headlines in the papers, it’s just sensation-mongering.’

  A wave of relief washed over Pippa, as further outbreaks of murmuring and whispering occurred around the table. ‘That is good news, isn’t it Pippa?’ said Margaret, putting a gentle hand on her arm.

  ‘It is,’ said Pippa, and smiled. What it must be like to be able to pull strings, she thought. After Suze’s phone call she had rung round every private hospital in Gadcestershire, and not one had even been prepared to tell her whether Dev Hardman was a patient there, never mind his state of health. She made a mental note to get Lady Higginbotham alone at some point and find out where Dev was.

  ‘So if we go round the table clockwise, and everyone says a few words about how their part of the day went… Madeleine, we’ll start with you.’ Lady Higginbotham smiled at a willowy blonde woman who bore a faint resemblance to the Gadding Players’ Lady Macbeth.

  Her voice reached to the furthest corner of the room with no apparent effort. ‘Oh, what a day! My nerves were shredded, absolutely shredded when I found out what had almost happened — well, it did happen, didn’t it, but I mean, what could have happened.’ She gazed around the table with large, tragic eyes. ‘But I have to say that both performances went wonderfully, we were cheered both times, and of course Tim and I were thrilled to get our names in the newspaper. We’re considering taking the production on tour.’ She took a breath. ‘Tim sends apologies, by the way, but he teaches a meditation class in Gadding Magna on Tuesday evenings, and his students are quite dependent on him.’ Pippa mused on how people could always surprise you. Meditation was the last thing she could imagine the flamboyant, loud Tim doing, never mind teaching. ‘I don’t know how much we raised, though,’ Madeleine said anxiously.

  ‘Oh, we’ll get to that later,’ Lady Higginbotham said. ‘Graham, how did you get on?’

  And so it continued. As it turned out, most people had enjoyed the fete, their stalls had done well, and they were sorry it had ended so abruptly. The lady from the WI was a bit aggrieved that the early close had left them with a mountain of chutney to store. ‘There’s always Christmas, though,’ she said,
brightening, ‘and it’ll keep till then and beyond.’ A sudden grin. ‘One slice of toast with my whisky marmalade would probably put you over the limit to drive.’

  Soon it was Pippa’s turn. ‘As you know, we had to swap a lot of events on the first day, since Dev arrived late.’ Various nods of agreement round the table. ‘However, people seemed to enjoy what we put on, and if we hadn’t had to close early… Anyway, I’ll leave the amount we raised for later.’

  ‘It must have been tiring,’ said Graham. ‘You were a blur most of the time.’

  ‘It was.’ Pippa had a sudden vision of herself sitting crying in her car, down a dirt track in the middle of nowhere. ‘The — incidents — made it worse. But if we did it again, I’d suggest we get people running different strands. Someone for the event marquee, someone for catering…’ Her voice tailed off. What am I saying? Do it again?

  ‘I agree,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘It is a lot for one person to manage —’

  ‘Not that I’m saying I did it all,’ Pippa added hastily. ‘Everyone worked hard.’

  ‘They did!’ And the baton passed to the next person. Overall, though, everyone seemed positive.

  Then, at last, the floor was Beryl’s. She sat ramrod-straight in her chair, and her head had never been higher. ‘Well, I can’t say that my experience of the weekend matches what I’m hearing round this table. People in and out of the Hall, including the police — twice! — and no-one knowing what’s happening. If that’s the new style of events, I preferred the old one. Certainly we never had such goings-on when Barbara was in charge. Anyway —’ She stood up, and it was all Pippa could do not to shrink back. ‘I’ve got a chilli to dish up. I’ll leave you to your chat.’ The door closed with a righteous snap.

  ‘Beryl’s rather set in her ways,’ said Lady Higginbotham, in a low voice. ‘She’ll come round.’

  What, in another ten years? thought Pippa, but managed to keep her mouth shut.

  ‘So, shall we move on to the amount raised? Pippa, have you managed to reach a total?’ Lady Higginbotham’s voice was steady, but her shoulders were tensed.