Rock'n'Roll Murders

Chapter 1......

Before he had even cut off the last note of the song the audience was cheering and clapping.  As he finished, bowed and waved, Harry Jones was awed by the adulation.  It was incredible that after all his years in the business it had taken this rock and roll invasion from America – and his new incarnation – to bring about such success.

He turned to his backing group, The Pirates (Sid and Johnny on guitars and Olly on drums) to thank them and invited the audience to applaud them.  If it wasn’t for them he wouldn’t be here now.  He was the new “teenage” sensation, Long John Silver, a glittering figure in silver trousers and blouson top.  With, of course, the regulation black hair cut in the style made popular by film stars such as Tony Curtis (and copied by Elvis Presley who, now doing his military service, sported a much shorter cut) – a quiff on top and the sides brushed back into the style called a DA (duck’s arse).

The Pirates?  They were dressed as pirates in black trousers, white frilly shirts, red bandanas and long black hair tied back at the nape.

“Oh!  Wow! You’re fantastic!” Harry told the audience.

“No, you are!”

“I love you, Long John!”

“You’re the best!”

These were just some of the replies from the teenagers in front of him.

Having entertained them with his new song, he broke into the one they had all been waiting for – his latest hit.

“Whew!  That was some show.”  Johnny, the bass guitarist flopped down on a sofa beside Olly and looked around at the group as they relaxed in the green room with its grubby cream walls.  Sid and Harry were stretched out on easy chairs, the guitar cases on the floor between them.  Olly’s drum kit was covered and stowed just off stage.

“The best!” Sid Field who was the laconic rhythm guitarist agreed.

“Liked that new riff you put into ‘Singing the Blues’,” Harry told him as he pulled off his wig, revealing floppy straw coloured hair.

“Bit dangerous, innit, taking off the wig?” Johnny asked.

“Fans aren’t likely to come in here.”

“No, mate, but back stage staff might and it only takes one to talk to the press,” Olly Dickens, his close friend, reminded him.

Harry replaced his wig and grumbled.  “It’s alright for Johnny with his black hair but I don’t want to start going bald.”

“D’you reckon?”  Sid asked with a worried look on his lean face.

“Don’t worry, Sid,” Harry reassured him.  “Fashions change.  If we continue as a ‘success’” (he finger quoted the word), “we’ll change our style.  If we fail, we do something else.”

“If the fans here in Granton-on-Sea are anything to go by…..” Olly left it unfinished.

“And Manchester, Birmingham, Bristol, etcetera,” Johnny Paine finished with a grin and they all punched the air.

'Murder in Mitcham Parva

This is the opening of the fourth Cleo Marjoribanks murder mystery......

I don't believe it!  Only back from Spain for a few weeks and there's another body. No, I haven't found another one as I did when David and I were on holiday.  Apparently there's been a murder in another village in the Forest - that's the New Forest in Hampshire.

This morning before Mrs. Walsh - who 'does' for me - had unpacked her overall and put on the kettle (sorry - switched on the kettle) she was in full spate with the news.

'Had a terrible shock,' she told me in her New Forest burr. 'Linda's dead.'

'Who?'

'My friend, Linda'

'Sorry to hear that.  Was she ill?'

'No-o-o.  Murdered.'  She wrung her hands.  Yeah, honest she did.  She only needed a puzzled look from me to continue, 'Her husband found 'er in the garding this morning.  She went out to bingo in their church 'all last night and didn't come 'ome.'

'Wasn't he worried?'

She shook her head which is now a strange chocolate brown with blue tips and whispered. 'Separate bedrooms.'

'He wouldn't know she'd stopped out.'

'Right, but I don't know why 'e didn't notice at breakfast.'

'Letting her have a lie in?'

'Nah.  She works at Mitcham Manor.  Cleaning, like me, so she'd 'ave ter be up early.'

'You said she was murdered?' I reminded her.

'Head bashed in.'

Yup, that'd kill someone. 'Oh dear.  How did you find out?'

'One of their neighbours phoned ter tell me and ask if I've got 'n hour or two ter spare today if they need someone ter fill in at the Manor.'

Her phone played 'My Way' - she's a Frank Sinatra fan - and she rummaged in her bag for it. That's when I noticed that her nails match the blue in her hair.

When she'd finished the call and was jotting something in her Filofax I asked, 'Why do you still have a Filofax? You can put all that info onto the phone.'

'Don't know how to. This is a new one my 'usband give me.' She snorted. 'A phone's a phone. That's all I need. It's easier ter plan my weeks with the Filofax.'

Rather like me and my calendar. Incidentally, she's a bit older than me.  I think somewhere in her fifties and, so my friend Paula tells me, is always formal. Calls all her clients Mrs. or Miss - whatever. We've decided it must be a family trait as it seems all her family worked in service. You know, maids and things in the big houses.

Mug of tea and two biscuits later Mrs. Walsh finally got started on the work and I went to my office - or study or whatever you want to call it - and phoned Paula.

So you don't get confused I'd better tell you a bit more about me. My name's Cleo Marjoribanks and I'm from the East End of London (cockney-land). When I won the lottery I chucked me job in and bought an old house in Trewith Green, a village in the New Forest.  The house isn't that big, room to spread myself with room to spare for visitors.  And Mrs. Walsh comes a couple of times a week to 'do' for me.

..................

Available on Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00V3CX074 

'A Young Man's Dreams'

This, my latest book, is now available on Kobo and Smashwords (for various e-readers). Eventually all of my books will be available on these sites.

A Young Man's Dream is something new for me - not a mystery. I originally had the idea many years ago when living in Florida and involved with Historic Preservation. This meant I had to do a lot of research and realised that a book about historic Florida was something I wanted to write. That's how it began but the more I wrote about Joseph Montgomery the more I decided that there was a lot more to this young man. So the book opens in Chicago in 1908 when he is a Theatrical Agent. Before the end of the Book he is living in New York, has a house in Florida and is involved in the development of the town.

This is Book 1 and I am currently working on Book 2, and have ideas for Book 3.

As they say - time to start reading Book 1!!!

Incidentally, it is also available on Amazon Kindle and in paperback. 

A Day Out to London

The Shard

A few weeks ago I was tempted to take a day excursion to my old home town, London. (I now live on the coast in West Sussex).

On the coach I was seated with another lady who also used to live in the Capital. We were both astounded at some of the changes - old buildings gone, new lumps of concrete and glass, brick and stone and all seemingly within touching distance of one another In other corners old familiar junctions have disappeared. All pretty breathtaking.

So far as our trip was concerned - a bit of a disaster. Dull and wet weather and a coach driver who didn't seem to know the best route to take. Knowing the City of London as well as I do I was speechless when the coach didn't go across Blackfriars Bridge. Not even over the next one down river - Southwark Bridge, but onto London Bridge. As we were heading for the Tower of London which is approached by a road that passes under both of the latter bridges I began to wonder. Once across London Bridge, we turned left to drive back almost to Blackfriars Bridge. Another left turn down towards the river and yet another left turn to connect to the road for the Tower - under London Bridge!

City Hall, home of the Greater London Council
Opposite 'Traitors' Gate' at the Tower of London!

Of course the traffic was nose-to-tail and like a gigantic snail. We were supposed to leave dock at the Tower of London at midday. We arrived at about 12.30. The boat returned for us at 1.00 to collect a group of damp, cold and grumpy people. We boarded, seated ourselves at long tables and were served the most godawful looking meal I have ever seen - and as a world traveller I've seen some pretty awful ones. I went hungry.

We arrived back at the Tower of London at 4.00.  And had to hang around until 5.00 when we could board the coach.

A word of warning if you are planning to visit the Tower of London - coffee shops, eateries etc are GROSSLY over charging. Maybe a good idea to take your own picnic.

Security on the River Thames. 

There was one good thing about the boat trip - a good old-fashioned Londoners sing-song led by three people dressed as 'Pearlies' - as in Pearly Kings and Queen. Not sure whether or not they were genuine as I didn't have a chance to have a chat with them.

Don't think I will be going to London again - too many large buildings which I find claustrophobic, far too much traffic, noisy and full of pollution.

PS - I did take a few photos whilst waiting for the boat! 

'A YOUNG MAN'S DREAMS'

Long time since I published a book and this one is very different from my crime novels. It is the first book in a saga series which is set mainly in the United States. Book 1 covers the late 19th century up to 1914. I have had to put it into the 'historic' category on Kindle as there isn't a 'period' one.

How did Jose Monte, son of acrobats, become Joseph Montgomery, Entrepreneur? It all began when a schoolteacher in the American Mid-West took pity on a young Spanish circus boy who could only speak a few words in English. Unfortunately he wasn't athletic and useless as an acrobat. The teacher gave him an education and returned him to his family. Then in 1908 he left his family to their touring and moved to Chicago to become a theatrical agent. 

The story moves from Chicago to New York and Florida and traces Joseph's meteoric success in the theatre and the development of a new city in Florida. 

It was published on Kindle on the 25th October and is already selling well.  I will shortly be working on a paperback version and will keep you posted.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B076T4YS3S

Strictly Comes to Bognor

Really looking forward to Sunday afternoon - Ian Waite and Camilla Dallerup will be at the Alexandra Theatre here in Bognor.

As you will realise I am an avid fan of 'Strictly Come Dancing' and 'It Takes Two'. Dancing is in my blood. As a child it was the ballet and tap, then into my teens I learnt ballroom dancing. Unfortunately very few teenage boys wanted to dance so it was mostly us girls dancing together. In my 20s when living in south-east London I was fortunate enough to have lessons at the Frank and Peggy Spencer School of Dance. Unfortunately, I didn't live very long in that area.

Nowadays my ballroom dancing is restricted to cruises where I usually manage to get in quite a few dances with the dance instructor. I am glad to report that my dancing has vastly improved over the past few years.

But - would you believe! - I married a man who disapproved of dancing. Nope, the marriage didn't last that long. And I still don't know why I did it.

Roll on Sunday!

Model Murder - Chapter 1

Wish I was going downhill instead of up, the youth thought, panting heavily as he cycled towards Great Camden and home.  His parents weren’t going to be happy – polite way of putting it, he grimaced, sweat pouring down his fair face.  More like bloody mad at him for being late.  But he and his mate, Dave, had to finish the game, didn’t they?  You can’t leave it at the most exciting part. And it’s only six-thirty now.  He sighed – half-an-hour late!

What’s that? he thought as the road levelled out and he could see something lying in the road ahead of him.  As he came nearer he could see what it was. ‘Fucking Hell!  A body?’

He stopped and stood straddling his bike, his feet looking far too big for the spindly jeans clad legs - as if waiting for the legs to catch up growth wise.  It was a woman in a blue dress. ‘Miss?  Miss, are you alright?’  And he wondered why he’d asked when it was obvious she wasn’t.  It didn’t look as if she was breathing and he didn’t want to touch her.  Yuck! How would he find out if she was alive?

Panic subsided and he pulled out his phone to call the three nines.  Thank goodness it was just the one number. He was sure that if he’d had to find other numbers he would have screwed it up as his fingers were shaking and wet.

‘There’s a lady laying in the road.’

‘Is she alive?’

‘Don’t know.  Can’t see ‘er breathing.’

‘Have you checked?’

‘Don’t know ‘ow.  Look, I’m late getting ‘ome.  Mum and Dad’ll be mad.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Fourteen.  Why?’

‘You sound older.  Can you wait there until someone comes?’

‘Like the cops or someone?’

‘Exactly like the cops.  Where are you?’

‘On the road what comes up towards Great Camden, it turns off a turning off the A twenty-seven.  ‘Bout ten minutes by bike from the town.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Jezz Watson.’

‘Can you describe yourself?’

‘Why?’

‘So they’ll recognise you.’

‘But I’m the only person ‘ere!’  And he switched off the phone.  No way did he want to waste the battery.  He kept looking around – anywhere but at the body.  The trees, the hedges, back the way he’d come.  And towards Great Camden and home. Then he heard the siren.  All blues and twos as the car approached fast.  He waved like mad to stop them. Be a bloody crime if they run over her, he thought.
.....................................
Available on Kindle:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00JALI8MM

A Favourite Aunt - Into the new house.

In the 1960s it was still the norm for married women to stay at home to look after the house - and their husbands! I often wonder how many people suffered from some of Sylvia's experiences. Here is what happened after they had moved into their new house and Sylvia was really happy to be there.

...........................

On Monday morning, having seen Colin off to work, Sylvia danced through the rooms. 'My own home! This is mine! I love it!' Then washed up their breakfast things, made the bed and set about cleaning the place. Yes, the builders had had it cleaned but not very well.

One of the advantages of the minimalist look was that it didn't take long to wash the woodwork and floors downstairs. After lunch Sylvia gave herself a treat and opened up one of the boxes containing some of their wedding presents. This one contained glassware which she carefully washed, dried and put away. Well, as best she could. Tumblers went into the kitchen cupboard but a set of fruit bowls and some wine glasses of hers had to be left on a shelf in the living room until such time as Colin was prepared to buy the living room furniture.

When he arrived home in the evening and noticed the glassware he grumbled, 'You've started unpacking.'

'It has to be done so we can find things,' his wife pointed out.

'Yeah, but can't we do it at the weekends?' he asked sulkily.

'Gardens to be dug over?'

'But we can unpack in the evenings,' he pointed out, adding, 'As you aren't going to go out to work, you can start the digging during the day.'

'Tomorrow I have to walk over to Lingfield,' (about two miles away), 'to do some shopping and when I get back I need to do some baking. If I'm to keep up with the laundry I will have to do some washing and ironing each day. And on Friday I'll need to take the bus to East Grinstead to do the big shop. That's after the baker has been and I've paid him.' Okay so she'd kind of exaggerated a bit but she was entitled to some time to herself wasn't she? 'Anyway, we need to get everything unpacked for when the visitors start arriving. They will want to see their presents are in use.' Or something, she added to herself when she thought of some of the gifts. And wondered where the visitors would sit, bearing in mind that there were only four kitchen chairs.

And, of course, as soon as he came home from work and had changed from his work clothes into something more comfortable Colin expected dinner to be served. And on went the radio and, after cleaning up the dinner things, out came the pack of cards and Sylvia quickly discovered that Colin didn't like losing. She thanked her lucky stars that she was an expert at losing - lessons learned when playing board games with her young sister.

Wet Saturdays were usually spent traipsing around one or other of the two nearby towns. Not to spend money, just to pass the time. Colin didn't read or have any hobbies which was why, she realised, he hadn't allowed her to bring her piano to the house. Also, of course, he couldn't play the piano.

'It's old fashioned and won't fit in with our decor,' he had decreed.

As time passed she also discovered that so far as 'the arts' were concerned, he thought they were a waste of time - and money. Not that he included knitting and sewing as arts. They saved him money.

The next battle was driving lessons. Yes, she could buy bits and pieces in the village, but she had to walk into the next - and larger - village of Lingfield at least once a week for items she couldn't get from the village shop. She could also get a couple of books from the mobile library but that only visited the village once a week. And on Friday day she took the one-an-hour bus to East Grinstead. As an avid reader, when there she also had to go to the library which wasn't in the shopping centre. With several books and all of the shopping it was a heavy load. Admittedly, on some Saturdays Colin drove her into East Grinstead, but not to the library. What she did dread were the wet Saturdays when he couldn't get out into the garden so on said Saturdays he insisted mooching around the shops. Not one of Sylvia's favourite pastimes.

'You know, Colin, it would really help if I could drive. Even if I could only use the car on Saturdays. That would free you up to work in the garden.'

Her husband did not look happy. 'I don't mind taking you shopping on Saturdays. You know I enjoy going around the shops.'

Which, of course, was Sylvia's problem. She just wanted to get around the shops as quickly as possible. Not waste time.

And she discovered over time that she especially didn't enjoy shopping for clothes when he was around. He had very decided views. No sleeveless dresses or blouses and her skirts must cover her knees. And this was the era of the mini-skirts. She also had to be careful at the hairdressers to ensure that not too much was trimmed off. Her hair had to cover her ears.

She continued to try to persuade him. 'If you go to work by train, I could pick you up at the station in the evenings.' After all he could walk downhill to the station in the mornings. 'It would save us some money and I could do the shopping on Fridays, giving us both Saturday in the garden.' She played what she hoped would be her trump card.

He sighed. 'Alright. I'll start teaching you on Sunday.'

That wasn't what she had meant and it turned out to be a lesson she would never forget. With three pedals to choose from and a sprung loaded gear stick the Austin A40 was not the easiest car to learn on. Especially when the teacher kept saying 'Give it more.' More what?

Colin's idea of driving lessons was around the narrow country lanes full of curves and, as it was the weekend, busy with Sunday drivers out enjoying the countryside.

After nearly crashing into a bridge Sylvia gave up. But she wasn't defeated. He might not give her much money for housekeeping but she reckoned she could squeeze enough out of it for driving lessons.
..................................

Available on Kindle and in paperback.   https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B072LK5GNV

Women over 60 Going to Work!

Oh, calamity, women are going to have to work past the age of 60! I can hear the chorus of thousands of women who, like me, have had to do so. In fact, at the age of 79 I am still working.

Where do policitians and journalists get the idea that this is something new? 'Twas ever thus.

It wasn't until the mid-1980s that, when I was in my mid-40s, that I found a job that paid quite well for women. Mind you, it still wasn't the equivalent of men's salaries. Fortunately there was some overtime which I utilised very well. Some saved and some used on travel (when I made copious notes and took loads of photographs). By the mid-90s I had developed Repetitive Stress Injuries in my wrists, right arm and shoulder and lost my job. Did I get compensation? No way - I was working for a large City solicitors. They very generously gave me early retirement with a partial disability pension that didn't even pay the rent.

No chance of retirement for me. So I learned how to become a journalist and here is where the travel paid off. Yes, I was an internationally recognised journalist. Then tourism changed but by this time I had learned how to write novels. Which is why at 79 I am still able to work.

I am one of the lucky ones. Bearing in mind how diabolically low women's wages were for most of the 20th century, women weren't able to save for the future. This was especially hard for single women. No chance of buying their own homes so we are still renting. And rents these days are through the roof. I have to continue working because my State pension only pays my rent.

Instead of bemoaning the fact that in future women will have to work past the age of 60, we all think it is about time the Government did more to help the rest of us. Certainly past the age of 70 no one should have to work to supplement their income. 

Listening to the Band

What do you do on a wet summer's afternoon? I'd guess most people watch telly. Not me on a Sunday in July. Nor did the people in the almost full auditorium at the Alexandra Theatre in Bognor Regis. We were right royally entertained by the Royal Marines Association Concert Band led by Lt. Col. Chris Davis, OBE.

The concert opened with, naturally, with the National Anthem, followed by a Fanfare. During the first half we were treated to some marches, a Rossini overture and some solos. Jon Yates (former Professor of Trumpet at the Royal Marines School of Music) played the beautiful 'Through the Eyes of Love' and ex-Army lady Lisa Lyster gave us the evocative 'Home Away from Home' on her flute. Both tunes that you will recognise. At the end of the first half we had the music from John Williams for ET.

Following the 20 minute interval (during which much ice-cream was consumed) the second half opened with the overture to Lawrence of Arabia. Can you remember the opening with the heart thumping sound of the timpani? On this occasion Connor Lyster (son of Lisa) wielded the drumsticks. It really was a thrilling opening and Connor looked as if he enjoyed bashing seven bells out of those big brass kettledrums.

This second half had an equally varied programme of music from the Big Band sound to Vaughan Williams. And we had a solo from Conductor Chris Davis - on his electric violin - the exquisite Ashoken Farewell.

Then we came to the Finale. The Evening Hymn and Sunset, a Tribute to the Armed Forces then we all stood and waved flags whilst singing Land of Hope and Glory.

I am now looking forward to next year's concert at the Alexandra Theatre.

For details about the Royal Marines Association Concert Band - and to buy by their CDs and souvenirs - do visit their web site at www.rmacb.org.uk

Most importantly all the monies raised go to Charity.

South Downs Murder Mysteries

When creating a series of books it is important to give it a name. With my Cleo Marjoribanks series it was easy. I could not ignore the lady! But the South Downs Murder Mysteries seems to have caused confusion for a couple of people. So, let me explain.

The first book, Antiques in the Attic, took place in a fictitious small town at the edge of the South Downs. In the second book, Model Murder, the victim lived in a large house located near this same town. The third book which seems to be causing the problem - Who are the JCs? - has three major locations: A fictitious coastal resort just south of the South Downs, the original town up on the Downs and Southampton.

Once having given the series a name you can't change it otherwise your fans won't recognise it as the same series!

Hope I have cleared the matter up.

Ta-ra!

'Ghosts in the Guest House'

An excerpt from the third Cleo Marjoribanks Murder Mysteries - a morning when all did not go according to plan!

Our morning followed the same pattern as the previous day until I decided that I'd had enough of dress shops. 'I want to go and look in that shop that sells Lladro,' I said as we came out of what seemed to be the tenth dress shop.

'You like it?'

'Love it.  I think it's time I added to my collection.'  There was a screech of tyres.  ‘What the….'

A large car had pulled up beside us and both passenger doors flew open.  A couple of men got out.  One grabbed me and the other went for Evita.

Afterwards we agreed that men really should learn not to attack from the rear.  My heel and full weight went down on my assailant's instep.  He yelled and loosened his hold.  I turned and put a knee into his family jewels at the same time swinging my bag at his head.

Then I saw the gun in the driver's hand - he was leaning across the passenger seat to the open door - and continued the bag swing.  Gun dropped and he held his wrist.  Good.  Hope it's broken.

I turned to Evita who was screaming fit to bust and her attacker was trying to hold her and put a hand over her mouth.

'Heel!' I yelled.

Message understood.  It was his turn to yell.  Imagine a drill bit in your instep.  Blimey!  We were doing some serious damage here and passersby were just watching.

'Call the cops!  Policia! Film it!'  I yelled in English and Spanish.

My handbag came into use again on Evita's bloke's head as she struggled to get out of her shoe - it was well and truly embedded in his foot.

Then a shot rang out.

'Everybody down!' I yelled.  No idea why.  Should have yelled 'Run', then they wouldn't have been showered with glass from the shop window.  He'd shot a mannequin - no blood spilled, thank goodness, other than from a few cuts.

Evita got free of her shoe, I just swung out in every direction with my bag and, praise be, along come the cops.  All bells and whistles, so to speak.  Our two attackers scrambled to try to get back in the car which was now moving.  They almost made it but the driver just wanted to escape and put his foot down.  The car shot forward, doors swinging, which hit the other two knocking them to the ground.  The car?  It collided with a cop car.

It didn't take too many policemen to bundle the three dumbos into police cars while other members of the force shuffled the gawpers away and, as more officers arrived, finally penned them behind barriers and started trying to interview them.  I can guess quite a lot of phones were used to take photos or film the action and it looked like some people were showing them to their interviewers.  But I bet a lot weren't and those'll be going onto some social networking sites.

Evita and I were handed into the back of separate police vehicles and I got out my phone to press David‘s speed dial number.

'Excuse me, lady, are you alright?' A plainclothes officer flashed his identity card at me.

I replied in Spanish.  'I am but my bag isn't.  Incidentally, the young lady who is with me,' I pointed at the other cop car, 'is only seventeen.  And she is the one they were after.'

'Momento.' He left and went to the other car to return almost immediately with a tearful and limping Evita - only one shoe.  Good job she was crying as it meant she had most of her face covered with a couple of tissues.

While that was going on I picked up the phone. 'David, you still there?'

'Yeah.  Where are you?  What's 'appened?'

'Someone tried to take Evita.  We fought them off.  We're now in a cop car.' and I gave him directions.  Then put the phone away. Just in time.  'Come here,' I invited Evita who got in beside me and literally fell into my arms.
...................

As some people didn't like the 'cockney-speak' I have now edited it out! 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B010ZSYL38

WHO ARE THE JCs?

This is the opening of 'Who Are the JCs?', the third of the South Downs Murder Mysteries. The locations for this book, as well as a town on the South Downs, include the town of Merian (on the coast) and Southampton.

CHAPTER 1

As Ruth Goldstein was helped by the waiter to take her seat at the table the gentleman on her left greeted her. 'Good evening,' and gave her a bright smile, his hazel eyes twinkling.

She returned his greeting, then concentrated on the menu. Eventually the table was full and the waiter took their orders, after which the eight diners introduced themselves.

Ruth, knowing from experience that they might never see each other again after this meal said, ruefully, 'I'm sorry, but I probably shan't remember your names.'

The lady on her right chuckled. 'Don't worry about it. None of us will.' She then lowered her voice, 'Bit of a waste of time really.'

'True,' Ruth agreed. 'But at least we don't have to wear name badges.'

'Now that would be truly awful. Like being on a school outing.'

The Wine Waiter reached their table and, after he had ordered a bottle, the man on Ruth's left turned to her. 'You don't drink?'

'No. Never have, although my late husband did.'

'I'm sorry to hear that he is no longer with you.'

'Thank you. He died four years ago. Your wife is not with you?'

'I'm divorced.'

'Oh dear. So many marriages seem to fail these days. I'm sorry, but what did you say your name is?'

He gave her one of his charming smiles. 'Don't worry about it. I'm Josh. Like you I am on my own on this cruise.'

'And you are retired?'

'Not really. I don't have what is called a day job. I work for myself and have staff to look after the business.'

Conversation ceased whilst they consumed the first course and Ruth looked around the table. Two couples she thought were probably in their mid to late sixties. Two ladies together. Sisters or friends? Probably in their seventies. Josh, wearing heavy gold rings on both hands, an expensive suit and silk tie, whom she thought was in his mid-sixties. Young enough to be her son. And she wondered what they all thought about her.

What they saw was a dumpy figure in a mid-range beige and green dress. Her short iron grey hair was well cut and showed her round face off to advantage. She had never worn much make-up and now that her sallow skin was wrinkled she wasn't tempted to overdo it.

Josh return to their conversation. 'I noticed that as you were being shown to the table a couple of waiters greeted you.'

'Yes, I've been on the Oriana before.'

'I guessed that. This is my first time. I usually go on Cunard but thought I would try P&O for a change.'

Conversation then became more general until coffee when they discussed what they had chosen to do that evening.

'What are your plans, Ruth? Going to see the show?' Josh asked.

She shook her head. 'Not tonight. I'm very tired. I'll have a read and an early night.'

'So you will be fresh to begin your cruise tomorrow. Very wise. Where would you advise for breakfast?'

'This dining room. The Peninsular,' she reminded him of its name.

'So I might see you in the morning.'

At that point there was movement around the table as the diners prepared to leave.

'Milly, I am so lucky to have met such a nice gentleman,' eighty-three-year old Ruth Goldstein told her younger friend as they sat at the kitchen table in Milly's kitchen on a dull September morning.

'It certainly sounds like it. Very nice to have a bit of company. How lucky he was on your table the first night.'

'Wasn't it?' Ruth was recently back from her latest cruise. Since the death of her husband she had taken to cruising in a big way. 'You know I love my cruises. I get to meet some really delightful people, see places I've never seen before. And, of course, there's my dancing.'

Milly Stewart had met Ruth and her husband, Reuben, at the Assembly Rooms where they and other friends went regularly to the ballroom dances. Following a few months of mourning Ruth had been persuaded back to dancing. 'They have dancing every evening on board?'

'Most evenings. Even if the dance hosts aren't there, there is some music playing for us.'

'Which ship was this one?' Milly couldn't keep up with the ship's names. All she could remember was P&O and Cunard.

'The Oriana. My favourite. It has a proper ballroom. Some of the other ships I've been on have dancing in the Atrium which isn't very nice.'

Milly decided not to go there. She had heard Ruth's complaints several times before. 'So tell me about your gentleman friend.'

Ruth tittered. 'I wouldn't call him that. After all he is about twenty years younger than me. Very smart. He's retired,' (which makes him at least sixty-three Milly thought), 'but he does own some property that he rents out.'

'So he's well heeled.'

Ruth leant across the table and whispered, 'He's a millionaire.'

'Really?' As they were in Milly's kitchen she wondered why her friend had whispered the words.

'Yes. And so generous. On one of the Dress Nights. You know, posh frocks and dinner jackets,' she expanded at Milly's puzzled look, 'he bought champagne for dinner.' The old lady sat back with a satisfied smile, her brown eyes twinkling.

'Very nice.' Not being a lover of champers Milly didn't know what else to say. And as she knew Ruth didn't drink alcohol wondered why buying a bottle of fizzy wine was such a big deal.

'And before we got off the ship he bought me this.' She pulled a gold chain from under her jumper.

'That's lovely, Ruth. Must have cost quite a bit.'

'Probably. He wouldn't buy rubbish.'

'You didn't choose it?'

'No, it was a total surprise.' But she didn't confess to having bought Josh a parting gift of his favourite aftershave.

                             ********************************

I hope you enjoyed the opener and now buy the book, read it, recommend it and - of course - give it a 5* review! For which I will love you forever!

At the moment the book is only available on Kindle - if I receive enough requests for the paperback version, then I will create it. 

Why Some of us Self-Publish.

What a blessing Amazon is for those of us who seem to have spent most of our lives writing books but not getting published. Obviously at first our books weren't well written. And I confess that my first attempts were embarrassingly awful!

We gradually improved, went to classes or workshops, worked hard and learned our trade. But we still couldn't get published. Why not?

We had excuses and advice from agents and publishers and enough rejection slips to paper a room. The favourite excuse was 'not our type of thing'. A popular piece of advice is 'write about what you know'. So I did. A crime novel set in Spain with the main characters being a Spanish detective and an English hotel rep. Response? 'We don't publish courier books.' Oh what a laugh - it wasn't a courier book. Obviously no one had actually read the manuscript.

Still I kept trying as I know thousands of other writers have done and continue to do.

Now many of us are published - on Kindle (or on some other e-reader) and we sell our books. If your writing isn't any good you don't sell your books! The only way to find out is to go ahead and publish them. If they don't sell find a good editor to advise you where you are going wrong.

For me the best thing about self-publishing is that I don't have to try to mind read as to what agents/publishers think is going to be the next popular type of book. How would they know anyway?

Of course one thing that all self-published writers need is promotion. Which is where you, dear readers, come in. If you like a book then PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, give it a star rating (obviously we all want 5 stars) and recommend it to your friends. If you see a link to the book (or another in that series) on Twitter, Facebook etc. etc. please re-tweet - you know what I mean! We rely on you to spread the word.

In the meantime, thank you all very much for your support. 

Large bottles of shampoo etc.

This morning I spent ages in the chemist's looking for a small bottle of shampoo. No, not a travel sized one but one that I can hold without dropping it! Of the vast array of shampoos and conditioners I found only ONE. Simple (200ml) - thank you for that one.

I have come to the conclusion that manufacturers of things such as these and shower/body washes aren't covered by the disability act (or whatever its latest name is).

I understand why they use bottles containing 400ml/500ml - it is more profitable for them. Unfortunately for those of us who have hand/finger/wrist problems these size bottles are almost impossible to use. Usually half of the contents end up down the drain because we constantly drop them.

Another thought which I have is, that when you are under the shower your hands are wet.....

No point in complaining to Trading Standards, is there? 

Dirty Deeds on Downdene

Here is the opening to the second Cleo Marjoribanks murder mystery: 

There I was doing my vastly improved dog-paddle up and down the pool when the phone rang.  Yeah, I know that like all modern marvels it can answer itself but, I dunno, it sounded urgent.  I made it to the steps and clambered out, grabbed a towel and picked up the receiver as it was about to self respond.

“Hello.”

“Queen of the Nile, how’re you doing?”

“Hi, Primrose.  I’m fine.  You?”

“Fine!  Fine!”  This was said airily and I grew suspicious of my crime journalist friend.

“Really?  So to what do I owe the honour of this call?”  A peal of laughter came down the wire and I held the receiver away from my ear so that she didn’t split me ear-drum.  Prim is a sweet girl, born on Primrose Day and as her surname’s Day, her parents got a bit carried away.  (Primrose Day?  19^th April, the anniversary of the day Disraeli died and, as primroses were his favourite flowers Queen Victoria had the day so named in his memory).  When I first knew Prim her hair was braided and trimmed with hundreds of beads.  Noisy.  Now she’s got it short and curly.  Natural like.  She’s black, beautiful and works on one of the national dailies.

“Not much gets past you does it, Cleo?”

“At my size, ducks, no.  So, why are you calling?”

“Well, I hear lover boy’s got himself another murder to investigate.”

I frowned.  “Really?  How did you hear about this before me?”  Not fair.  David hadn't mentioned it.  That's DCI 'Steaming' Kettle and my lover.

“Contacts,” Prim responded succinctly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright.  So what are you calling me about?”

“Thought you might have some idea about it, but as I’ve been the bearer of the news I guess you don’t know anything.”

“You guess right and I’m not going to get involved this time.”

“No, I’m sure you're not,” she said disbelievingly.

“I’m not,” I told her indignantly.

“Okay.  Don’t you want to know anything about it?”

Can’t keep my curiosity to myself can I?  My friends know me too well.  “Not really.”  I tried to match her earlier airy tone.

“Come off it, girl, course you do.”  Yeah, she’s also a cockney but it don’t come out as often as mine.

“You’re going ter tell me anyway, aren't you?”

She chuckled.  “Of course.”

“Go on then,” I urged as she kept me waiting.

“Seems like an estate agent dropped dead in his soup at some do in Lymington last night.”

“Oh?”  Definitely interesting.  So who had done for him?  A disgruntled client?  Someone who had been gazumped?

“Well, not exactly in the soup.  It was a bit later than that.  At the moment the cops aren’t calling it murder, just a sudden death which they have to investigate.  Seems strange to me that Steaming is in on it, though.  Doesn’t it?”

“Definitely.  Wonder what he was given?"  The victim I mean.  "In Lymington you said?”

“Yeah.”

“So I gather you’re on your way down here?”

She laughed again.  “Well, I've been told to come down there and thought it might be a good idea to visit you?”  Why was she querying it?  She knew I’d want her to stay here. “I thought I could stay in the house instead of the flat over the garage.  You know, keep you company while lover-boy is working.”

“What d’you mean, keep me company?”

“As they say in my job, if you ain’t got contacts, you ain’t got a job.  No point in not using them, is there?”  I could almost hear the smile.

“You win.  What time shall I expect you?”  We fixed an approximate time in the afternoon, then she asked, “What you doing?  Sounds as if you’re in the pool room.”

“I was just practicing.”

“Good girl.  I’ll give you some more lessons, if you like.”

“So that I can start powering up and down the pool the same way you do?”

That made her laugh.  “Sorry, Cleo, I don’t think you’d quite manage that.”

“I don’t think so either.  Anyway, see you later.”

I put the phone down and picked up me robe and put it on.  That was the end of my swimming practice for the day.  Time to go and shower and get dressed.  I should explain that the pool room was once a conservatory.  When I bought this place it was missing most of its glass and the plants had run wild. 

The house is a 1920s mock Tudor effort and the old girl who’d owned it before me kept cats and didn’t do no housework.  It was in a right sorry state.  Mind you, I did get it at a bargain price, but had to spend a lot to put it right.  It’s smashing now.  My bathroom’s got a spa bath and I’ve had another two rooms made into a guest suite and that’s also got a spa bath.  Got a thing about them, I have.  I've also got a 'community' one in the pool room and another in my flat in London.  And there's a flat over the double garage.  That's actually for a housekeeper but now I keep it as a 'guest suite'.  In the garage are my Land Rover and my precious Rolls Royce Silver Wraith.

I know it sounds daft, but do you know I actually got dressed before I made my next phone call?  I could have laid on the bed abso-bloody-lutely starkers and no one would have seen me and I admit that I’m not exactly a pretty sight when naked.  At least, I don’t think so.  Suppose I ought to tell you something about me.

The name’s Cleo Marjoribanks – pronounced Marchbanks as I often have to tell people who get it wrong.  People are never sure whether my hair is naturally red but my colouring is fair and I do freckle.  I leave it for you to decide!  And I tend to load on the paintwork, especially the eye-shadow which confounds people when it comes to the colour of my eyes.  You know, are they blue, are they grey or are they hazel?  Depends on the eye-shadow.  Me nose is straight and little on the large size and I have a very determined chin.  No, I'm not beautiful, but I think you could call it interesting.

I have to wear glasses when I’m driving because I’m short-sighted.  Not quite blind as a bat.  And I’m what’s called 'stately' so I go crazy with clothes.  Lots of caftans - they cover a multitude of sins.  And the regulatory strings of beads to wear with them.  The problem with them is that they catch on the most unlikely things.  Whoever is with me at the time usually ends up scrabbling on the ground trying to find the missing beads.  Because I’m well-endowed the beads won’t lie flat against me chest.

Kindle edition:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B008ORNGCU
Paperback edition:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1520418264

A FAVOURITE AUNT

Many years ago I saw a programme on television about women in the 1960s who had left their husbands. A very brave thing to do when the only 'Right' a woman in England had was the vote. There was something called the Married Women's Property Act which said women were entitled to 50% of the couple's 'property' but had to prove their had contributed 50% to the household. Bearing in mind that many married women didn't go out to work - or whose wages were miniscule - it was impossible to prove they had contributed 50%.

For a woman without children things were 'reasonably' simple to leave an abusive husband as she only had to fend for herself. But if there were children and the wife took them it was a whole other ball game.

In the television programme it was revealed that some of the women who took their children were subsequently deprived of them - either into care or custody was given to the husband. Many of these women ended up turning to drink and cigarettes and some, unfortunately, committed suicide. A few battled through and survived.

'A Favourite Aunt' is a novella about one of the survivors. Christina married in 1960 and it all went wrong from the beginning - no matter how hard she tried.

Please read this book - especially if you are a child (or grandchild) of such a disastrous marriage. You will then understand exactly what happened and why.

The book will shortly also be available in paperback.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B072LK5GNV

THIS BOOK IS NOW AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK. 

Cosy, Thriller or Psychological?

As a writer of 'cosy' crime I can say - categorically - that there is nothing cosy about crime.

For some strange reason, a few years ago the term Cosy Crime was coined as a way of categorising Crime Novels that don't contain violence. Leaving those of us who write it rather puzzled. There are three basic categories in the crime genre:

CRIME - minimal violence, very little blood and gore. And - not necessarily a story about murder.

THRILLER - contains violence, blood and gore and bad language.

PSYCHOLOGICAL - pretty self-explanatory. Can include violence and bad language. Books on such 'subjects' as a woman (or anyone) in jeopardy.

West Sussex Libraries used to divide these books into two categories - Crime and Thriller. Then decided to shove them in together. Those of us who prefer one or the other complained but were unable to get the message across. Aren't librarians taught the difference between the genres?

And, of course, those of us who write so-called cosy crime are waiting for the day when someone devises a more sensible description! 

English Spring

Following a few days of summer-like weather a couple of weeks ago we are now back to 'the big chill'. Even had snow in Scotland and the north of England. Unfortunately, the mini 'heat-wave' had people assuming that spring had arrived and summer couldn't be far away.

Oh dear, oh dear. Some are now busily unpacking their winter clothes!

A mistake I will never make because I can remember May 4th 1984. I had flown overnight from Florida and was standing on Gatwick station freezing! I had assumed that the weather wouldn't be THAT cold but had taken the precaution of wearing trousers and a jacket. I needed fur lined boots, thick sweater and a parka!

And I have photographs taken that week with people wearing their winter coats.

No good blaming the climate-change. English weather has always been erratic.

Who are the JC's?

Here is the opening to the third South Downs Murder Mystery, 'Who are the JC's?' I do hope you enjoy it and, of course, buy a copy! 

CHAPTER 1

As Ruth Goldstein was helped by the waiter to take her seat at the table the gentleman on her left greeted her. 'Good evening,' and gave her a bright smile, his hazel eyes twinkling.

She returned his greeting, then concentrated on the menu. Eventually the table was full and the waiter took their orders, after which the eight diners introduced themselves.

Ruth, knowing from experience that they might never see each other again after this meal said, ruefully, 'I'm sorry, but I probably shan't remember your names.'

The lady on her right chuckled. 'Don't worry about it. None of us will.' She then lowered her voice, 'Bit of a waste of time really.'

'True,' Ruth agreed. 'But at least we don't have to wear name badges.'

'Now that would be truly awful. Like being on a school outing.'

The Wine Waiter reached their table and, after he had ordered a bottle, the man on Ruth's left turned to her. 'You don't drink?'

'No. Never have, although my late husband did.'

'I'm sorry to hear that he is no longer with you.'

'Thank you. He died four years ago. Your wife is not with you?'

'I'm divorced.'

'Oh dear. So many marriages seem to fail these days. I'm sorry, but what did you say your name is?'

He gave her one of his charming smiles. 'Don't worry about it. I'm Josh. Like you I am on my own on this cruise.'

'And you are retired?'

'Not really. I don't have what is called a day job. I work for myself and have staff to look after the business.'

Conversation ceased whilst they consumed the first course and Ruth looked around the table. Two couples she thought were probably in their mid to late sixties. Two ladies together. Sisters or friends? Probably in their seventies. Josh, wearing heavy gold rings on both hands, an expensive suit and silk tie, whom she thought was in his mid-sixties. Young enough to be her son. And she wondered what they all thought about her.

What they saw was a dumpy figure in a mid-range beige and green dress. Her short iron grey hair was well cut and showed her round face off to advantage. She had never worn much make-up and now that her sallow skin was wrinkled she wasn't tempted to overdo it.

Josh return to their conversation. 'I noticed that as you were being shown to the table a couple of waiters greeted you.'

'Yes, I've been on the Oriana before.'

'I guessed that. This is my first time. I usually go on Cunard but thought I would try P&O for a change.'

Conversation then became more general until coffee when they discussed what they had chosen to do that evening.

'What are your plans, Ruth? Going to see the show?' Josh asked.

She shook her head. 'Not tonight. I'm very tired. I'll have a read and an early night.'

'So you will be fresh to begin your cruise tomorrow. Very wise. Where would you advise for breakfast?'

'This dining room. The Peninsular,' she reminded him of its name.

'So I might see you in the morning.'

At that point there was movement around the table as the diners prepared to leave.

'Milly, I am so lucky to have met such a nice gentleman,' eighty-three-year old Ruth Goldstein told her younger friend as they sat at the kitchen table in Milly's kitchen on a dull September morning.

'It certainly sounds like it. Very nice to have a bit of company. How lucky he was on your table the first night.'

'Wasn't it?' Ruth was recently back from her latest cruise. Since the death of her husband she had taken to cruising in a big way. 'You know I love my cruises. I get to meet some really delightful people, see places I've never seen before. And, of course, there's my dancing.'

Milly Stewart had met Ruth and her husband, Reuben, at the Assembly Rooms where they and other friends went regularly to the ballroom dances. Following a few months of mourning Ruth had been persuaded back to dancing. 'They have dancing every evening on board?'

'Most evenings. Even if the dance hosts aren't there, there is some music playing for us.'

'Which ship was this one?' Milly couldn't keep up with the ship's names. All she could remember was P&O and Cunard.

'The Oriana. My favourite. It has a proper ballroom. Some of the other ships I've been on have dancing in the Atrium which isn't very nice.'

Milly decided not to go there. She had heard Ruth's complaints several times before. 'So tell me about your gentleman friend.'

Ruth tittered. 'I wouldn't call him that. After all he is about twenty years younger than me. Very smart. He's retired,' (which makes him at least sixty-three Milly thought), 'but he does own some property that he rents out.'

'So he's well heeled.'

Ruth leant across the table and whispered, 'He's a millionaire.'

'Really?' As they were in Milly's kitchen she wondered why her friend had whispered the words.

'Yes. And so generous. On one of the Dress Nights. You know, posh frocks and dinner jackets,' she expanded at Milly's puzzled look, 'he bought champagne for dinner.' The old lady sat back with a satisfied smile, her brown eyes twinkling.

'Very nice.' Not being a lover of champers Milly didn't know what else to say. And as she knew Ruth didn't drink alcohol wondered why buying a bottle of fizzy wine was such a big deal.

'And before we got off the ship he bought me this.' She pulled a gold chain from under her jumper.

'That's lovely, Ruth. Must have cost quite a bit.'

'Probably. He wouldn't buy rubbish.'

'You didn't choose it?'

'No, it was a total surprise.' But she didn't confess to having bought Josh a parting gift of his favourite aftershave.