“Yes,” said Bill, “and it seems there is a lot happening in the village just like the last time we were here two years ago.”
“Never a dull moment in village life,” laughed Tess.
“There certainly isn’t in this village,” agreed Hetty.
“You seem very perky this afternoon, Tess,” commented Lottie, “Have you come across some interesting gossip by any chance?”
Tess giggled. “Well, actually, yes, and for that reason I’m glad to have bumped into you. You see I’ve just this very moment discovered, through chatting to one of the security guards in the house, that police divers have found something of interest on the bottom of the lake. We assume it’s the gun but will have to wait for confirmation. I understand the police are still down there and the lake is cordoned off.”
“Really, now that is interesting,” gasped Hetty, “but I suppose if it is the gun the fact it’s been in the water for some time will mean there won’t be any traces of fingerprints left now.”
“Well, I shouldn’t think there would be anyway,” scoffed Lottie, “everyone knows that any baddie worth his salt would wear gloves.”
Hetty sighed. “True, I suppose.”
“Have you any idea of the sequence of events?” Lottie asked Tess, “I mean, who found Hazel and stuff like that?”
“Yes, it was Christopher the tour guide who found her. He was in the next room having a tea break before the next tour when he heard two shots. He dashed out into the passageway and found Hazel slumped in the kitchen doorway.”
“Hmm, I suppose that rules him out then,” groaned Hetty, begrudgingly.
Tess laughed. “Surely you never suspected him. Chris is lovely and he wouldn’t hurt a fly. What’s more, he and Hazel got on really well together.”
“So what exactly did he do when he found Hazel?” Hetty asked, eager for every little detail, “I mean, did he ring the police, give chase or what?”
“He rang Tristan on his mobile and then Tristan rang the police,” answered Tess, “He certainly didn’t give chase because there was no-one in the kitchen to chase.”
“I see, so by the time the police arrived the gunman would have been long gone,” mused Hetty.
Lottie shook her head. “No, he wouldn’t have left the premises straight away because at some point he must have walked down to the lake and chucked the gun in and it’d take a good five minutes to walk down there.”
“Assuming it is the gun that the police have discovered,” reasoned Sandra.
“Good point,” agreed Lottie, “we shall have to wait and see.”
After they saw Tess, Bill and Sandra went on a tour of the house. Hetty and Lottie, eager to see the police activity headed down towards the lake. On their way they met Samantha Liddicott-Treen.
“Dreadful business about your cook,” said Hetty, feeling it necessary to commiserate, “We’re so sorry, you must feel awful.”
“We do,” sighed Samantha, “and poor Tristan is distraught. He blames himself and says we should have better security.”
“Oh, but he mustn’t feel guilty,” said Lottie, “No-one could have foreseen this.”
“That’s what I tell him but it doesn’t help. He was very fond of Hazel and of course it makes him feel worse knowing that she had made an apple pie for our dinner that evening because she knew it was his favourite. Fortunately it was saved from incineration because a police officer noticed the smell and he had the sense to take in from the oven. We weren’t allowed in the kitchen, you see. Not at that time and I must admit I don’t like going in there now. Poor Tristan, the apple pie is still there in the fridge and as much as he wants to eat it he can’t because he said it doesn’t seem right.”
Hetty had to smile. “But surely that’s the very thing he should do because if not when she recovers Hazel will be most unhappy to learn her effort went to waste.”
“I like your positivity.”
“I’m a very positive person.”
Hetty was delighted when she heard Samantha laugh.
On Thursday afternoon, Brett drove Alina to Penzance station to catch a train to London. When he arrived back in the village, he parked the car by Sea View Cottage and then walked to the Crown and Anchor. After he bought his drink he saw Robert who had just finished his lunch.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not. Sit down.”
“Thanks.”
“On your own?”
“Yes, Alina’s had to go back to London. They start filming a new television drama series on Monday that she’s in so she needs to get ready for that.”
“Very nice. Does she have a very big part?”
“Big enough for it to be worth doing but not big enough to cause her sleepless nights, if you see what I mean.” Brett took a sip of his beer and placed the glass on the table.
“Well I get the impression she’s a very talented lady who hopefully will eventually make the big time.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure that she wants to though. She certainly doesn’t want Hollywood and all that stuff. She’s very much a home bird. As long as she’s making a decent living, she’s happy.”
“Good for her. There’s a lot to be said for that.”
“Very true,” Brett agreed, “and I’m glad I’ve run into you because I’ve been giving some thought to the play and wonder, do you think it might be a good idea to make a couple of small alterations to it?”
“How do you mean?”
“I’m thinking perhaps have someone other than the cook murdered. It just seems so tasteless after what happened at Pentrillick House on Monday. And then there’s the fact Mrs Appleby is bludgeoned with a candlestick which seems undiplomatic when rumour has it that the same weapon was used in the attack on Gideon Elms.”
“Ah, two very good points. Not sure what to say about the candlestick but I know Hetty would be terribly upset if she wasn’t the fatality.”
“She could still be the victim but have her as someone other than the cook.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. A nanny or something like that.”
Robert smiled. “But our hairstylist only has one child and she’s grown up.”
Brett laughed. “Yes, good point.”
“Let’s see how it goes. I mean, if Hazel pulls through then we’ll leave it as it is but if not…well, we’ll give Hetty a different role without having to change her words. As for the candlestick, if Gideon takes a turn for the worse we’ll come up with a different weapon but I don’t think that will be necessary because I’ve heard he’s doing very well.”
“Okay, so for now we’ll carry on as normal.”
“Yes, Hetty stays as the cook and a candlestick remains the weapon.”
When Brett and Robert left the Crown and Anchor they walked partway home together along the main street until Robert turned off near the church into Honeysuckle Close where he lived in the very last bungalow. Horticulture wasn’t a subject that interested Robert so apart from his driveway, tarmacked with flecks of white, the entire garden was laid to lawns with the occasional shrub here and there. The lawns, however, were immaculate but that was because he paid Percy Pickering to come in once a week to tend them.
The interior of the bungalow was minimalistic. The walls were painted white throughout and the furniture was simple and plain. The surfaces were devoid of ornaments and the only splash of colour on the kitchen wall was a calendar with pictures of dogs in various countryside locations. Not something Robert would have chosen but he rather liked it because it reminded him of Wendy, his girlfriend of several years who was in the Royal Navy and away at sea. It was Wendy’s desire to have a dog when she came out of the Navy which wouldn’t be long, just another two years until she reached the end of her service.
Robert was a financial adviser. Self-employed and he worked from home. He liked it that way. His time was his own which meant he could work around his hobby, the Pentrillick Players.
Chapter Twelve
&nbs
p; On Friday morning, fourteen year old Jeremy Liddicott-Treen, home from school for the Easter holiday, sat on the path which ran around the lake at Pentrillick House and dropped pebbles into the water. He was angry: angry and upset. In his opinion Hazel Mitchell was the best cook in the world; everything she made was delicious especially her ginger biscuits which were the envy of his school friends when he received them in the post from home. She was also friendly, funny and always made time to talk to him which was one of the reasons he looked forward to coming home from boarding school. She was like a grandmother to him or an aunt or a godmother and he didn’t know how he was going to cope if she did not survive.
“It’s bad enough her being seriously ill,” he told an inquisitive duck, “but to have been shot, here in our kitchen, it’s too much. And who can have done it and why?”
The duck on realising he had nothing edible to offer swam off. Jeremy clambered to his feet and began to walk away from the lake: the lake in which the hateful gun had been found. He looked up at the house and cursed the fact there was no CCTV in the grounds which meant there was no way of seeing who amongst the crowds had tossed the gun away on Easter Monday. Admittedly there were cameras in the house but they were focused on the tour route and none were anywhere near the kitchen.
As he walked towards the house he wondered how best to spend the day. He knew that if Mrs Mitchell were to see him she would tick him off for moping. Always look on the bright side, she’d say and every cloud has a silver lining. He sighed: he wasn’t going to see her though, was he? Not today or tomorrow or possibly ever again.
He passed a bench and on it sat a young woman reading. He thought perhaps that’s what he might do. Finish the book he had started on Easter Sunday evening. His shoulders slumped. But that was the book he’d told Mrs Mitchell about on Monday morning just hours before she was shot. She’d been really interested when he’d told her what had happened in the first few chapters. It was a detective story and there was a man in it who everyone thought to be a real charmer but Jeremy suspected he was actually a confidence trickster. Mrs Mitchell had laughed when he said that but she still wanted him to tell her how it ended when he’d finished it. What was it she had said when he mentioned a confidence trickster? He remembered – there’s so much good in the worst of us and so much bad in the best of us. Jeremy smiled as he walked up the steps and into the house. Typical Mrs Mitchell, looking on the bright side as usual.
On Friday afternoon, Hetty and Lottie took a walk down to the charity shop to see if they had any wigs because Hetty had decided her character in the play, Mrs Appleby, ought to have short grey hair. Maisie and Daisy, on duty when they arrived were both amused by Hetty’s request.
“But why do you think Mrs Appleby should have grey hair?” asked Maisie.
“I don’t know but I just feel she should. Anyway, I want her to look different to me and a wig seems a good way of achieving that. Might help me get into character as well.”
“Fair enough,” said Daisy, “and as it happens we do have several wigs. They’re out the back along with stuff we put aside for fancy dress on New Year’s Eve. I’ll go and fetch them.”
“Brilliant, thanks,” chuckled Hetty, gleefully rubbing her hands.
As Daisy disappeared into the stockroom, a car pulled up on the pavement, the shop door opened and Brett Baker walked in carrying two large cardboard boxes. “I’m hoping you can make use of this stuff,” he said, as he put the boxes down on the floor. “I’ve more in the car, I’ll just go and get them.”
“Wow, this should be interesting,” exclaimed Maisie.
Lottie nodded. “Looks like he’s been having a clear out.”
“I have,” confirmed Brett as he returned and dropped three more boxes on the floor. “I bought the cottage along with its contents to save the vendor coming down here to dispose of it. I’ve been meaning to go through it for ages and I’ve finally got round to it. I’m keeping all the furniture but this is stuff I don’t need. I hope it’s of use to you; there’s all sorts of odds and sods.”
Maisie glanced at the boxes. “Oh, it definitely will and it’s kind of you to think of us. We’re very grateful and I’m sure, were they able to speak, then the animals it will help would thank you too.”
“My pleasure. Glad to have got it done, now I’ll be able to go back to London next week with a clear conscience.”
As he left, Daisy emerged from the stockroom with a carrier bag. “Ow, a delivery. I love looking through donations.”
“From Brett,” said Maisie, peeking into a box of pots and pans, “I see you found the wigs.”
“Yes, I did.” Daisy tipped the wigs onto the counter. “And as you can see we have two grey ones. Try them on if they take your fancy, Het. There’s a mirror over by the dress rack.”
While Hetty tried on the wigs, Maisie and Daisy unpacked the first box looked on by Lottie.
“What do you think?” Hetty asked, stepping away from the mirror, her head a mass of grey curls.
“I wouldn’t recognise you,” said Maisie, genuinely surprised. “It looks brilliant.”
Daisy nodded. “Yes, quite a transformation.”
“Now we know what you’d look like if you didn’t dye your hair.” Lottie was amazed how much Hetty looked like their late grandmother but thought it best not to say so.
“Thank you, I’ll just try the other then you can tell me which you think looks best.”
The style of the second was straight and very short. The ladies unanimously gave it the thumbs down and so Hetty opted for the curls.
“Anything interesting in Brett’s boxes?” she asked as Maisie took her money.
“Books in this one,” said Daisy holding up a copy of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations.
Lottie laughed. “Hopefully that book title is a good omen.”
In the evening, the family went to the Crown and Anchor and much to the delight of the girls, Vicar Sam was there with his parents who were due to return home the following day.
“Have you managed to distribute all the biscuits?” Hetty asked Penelope while her husband and the vicar played a game of pool.
“Most of them, thank goodness. We’ve left a few boxes with Sammy which we’ve asked him to pass on. We’d have done it ourselves but the fortnight seems to have gone ridiculously fast and we must go home tomorrow because Michael has a hospital appointment on Monday.”
“Oh dear, nothing serious I hope.”
“No, no, just a routine check-up. His heart’s a bit dodgy but it’s all under control.”
“That’s good and again thank you for the biscuits, the ones I’ve had so far have been delicious.”
Penelope laughed. “I’m pleased to hear that because we have every intention of coming back at the end of next month so we can see the play whatever it’s called and we’ll no doubt be able to fill the car boot with them again by then.”
“Murder at Mulberry Hall,” said Hetty, “that’s the name of the play.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“It is and great fun to be in.”
“So Sammy said. It must be doing him good because I’ve never seen him as happy as he seems to be now. I even wondered if he might have a girlfriend but he says not. Which is a shame because I’d like grandchildren before I get too old to play with them.”
On Saturday morning, Kate and Vicki announced they were going for a walk.
“Well don’t get lost,” teased Bill.
“We’re only going along the coast path,” tutted Kate, “so can hardly lose our way.”
“Which way are you going?” Lottie asked.
“We thought towards the east,” replied Vicki.
“Good choice and that way you’ll pass the old lifeboat house. It’s a holiday home now but still quite fascinating to see the way it’s nestled between the cliffs and it doesn’t stretch the imagination too much to visualise how it might have worked in its heyday.”
The girls left Primrose Cottage just after
nine. The morning was overcast but occasionally the sun managed to peep briefly through the clouds. The well-worn coastal path was dry but the surrounding bracken, gorse and greenery was still damp from early morning drizzle. When they reached the old lifeboat house they stopped and sat down on a boulder. There was a car parked near to the property and people appeared to be packing things into the boot.
“They must have come down for Easter and now they’re going home,” said Kate, “Poor things. I’m glad we’ve still got another week.”
“Same here. We don’t want to leave our vicar just yet.”
“No but today we have another mission to complete which I think is quite exciting.”
“And scary,” laughed Vicki.
“Come on let’s not waste time.” Kate sprang to her feet.
They continued walking until the old lifeboat house was no longer visible and soon reached the relics of an old mine.
“Creepy,” whispered Vicki as she peeped inside what was left of the remaining walls.
“I wonder if Poldark is filmed here,” giggled Kate. “If it is we might see Ross come riding by.”
“Hardly,” tutted Vicki, “mines were still very much in use back in Poldark’s day so they’re hardly going to film by a relic.”
“Yes, of course. Come on, we must be nearly there now.”
After a few more dips and bends in the path they saw trees not too far away.
“That has to be Pentrillick Woods,” reasoned Vicki waving her hand.
“Definitely but I can’t see any houses and she’s supposed to live on moorland between the sea and the edge of the woods.”
“Well it’s quite hilly along there so her house might be tucked in a dip.”
Shortly afterwards they saw smoke and so to get a better view climbed onto a fence which ran alongside the path.
“I can see it,” squealed Kate, excitedly waving her hand, “look over by that telegraph pole but the coast path doesn’t appear to go anywhere near it.”
“There must be a lane nearby or something like that. Come on, let’s see if we can find it.”
Tea and Broken Biscuits Page 9
