Last Ditch by Ngaio Marsh

Wow - what a wonderful surprise on Kindle. I found a book by that terrific crime writer Ngaio Marsh that I hadn't read.

'Last Ditch' was published in 1977 - as I wasn't living in the UK at the time hardly a surprise that I didn't know the book. It stars Roderick (Ricky) Alleyn the younger - son of Chief Superintendent Roderick (Rory) Alleyn and Agatha Troy Alleyn (the artist). I have read books when Ricky was a child but in this one he is grown up, trying to write his first book and is set on a small British island off the coast of Normandy.

This is one writer whose books I would happily sit and read through at one sitting. They are very well written and edited - no typos or apostrophes in wrong places. Neither do they have blood, gore and bad language. Sorry to sound old-fashioned!

If you haven't read any books by Ngaio Marsh I urge you to do so. They may be a bit dated but they are so well written that I think we - especially writers - can learn a lot about good writing. 

Trouble in Trewith Green

This is the Fifth book in the Cleo Marjoribanks Murder Mysteries series. And, like the previous books is full of surprises and Cleo's tart comments.......

As I pulled up in front of the elegant Georgian house I had to sigh. So beautiful. No, I'm not jealous of my friend's home. If I lived in one like this I'd have to quieten down and become more ladylike. My Edwardian mock-Tudor is better for a slightly overweight, red-headed Eastender driving a Land Rover around the New Forest.

'Come on through to the kitchen, Cleo,' Paula Linley invited me in.

Informal then, I mused as I followed her down the hall. Wonder what this urgent matter is all about? Hope it's nothing to do with Maggie. She's Paula's teenage daughter who hasn't, yet, discovered boys.

'Morning, Stella,' I greeted the young woman sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in front of her.

'Morning, Cleo. Thanks for coming over. I am afraid that it is my fault,' the clipped accent told me.

'Coffee?' Paula asked as I sat down.

'Please. Any gingerbread?'

'No, but I do have some bun loaf.'

'Great. And lashings of butter, please.'

Once we were settled I looked from one to the other of them. 'What's up?'

Paula waved a hand in Stella's direction. 'It's your story.'

The younger woman sighed. 'You know my Mother and Paula were at school together?' The milk chocolate brown eyes looked at me. I nodded.

'Well there was another lady who was at school with them. Caroline Warner.'

Paula took up the story. 'She married Jonathan and they have two daughters.'

Why the life story? 'And all this is interesting because.....?' I asked.

Stella ran a hand through her fluffy brown hair. Hey! She's got some highlights. Should have noticed that before. 'The thing is, Cleo, you will think I am making things up.'

'Such as an overactive imagination?'

'Maybe.'

'Spit it out.'

'What?'

I grinned. 'Sorry, one of my Gran's sayings.' I waved a hand at her. 'Go on.'

'Caroline died of cancer a couple of years ago.'

'And?' Unfortunately too many people still die of cancer.

'Her husband died a couple of weeks ago.'

Silence.

'What of?' I finally asked.

'Fell off a ladder.'

Yeah, that'll do it. 'I assume he was quite high up or something?'

Stella nodded. 'Cleaning the gutters.'

Another silence and Stella finished her coffee. Replacing the mug on the table she took a deep breath. 'The thing is, Cleo, I don't think that was an accident.'

'As in was he pushed?'

Paula put her oar in. 'We've been discussing it and agree that there isn't anything to take to the police.'

'But there would have been a post mortem on him as it was an accident.'

'All that would show was that he had fallen from a great height.'

'True. And there would probably be loads of fingerprints on the ladder which wouldn't help. The police can't just go around getting people exhumed because someone thinks there was foul play.'

'Cremated,' Stella stated.

'So no chance of proving anything anyway. Now tell me why you both think there might have been foul play.'

'Gerard and I were at the funeral.'

'And I was there with my Mum.' Stella's parents are divorced. Daddy traded in for a younger model.

I finished my coffee then looked from Stella's brown eyes to Paula's lighter brown ones. And back again.

'Care to clue me in?' I asked.

Paula responded. 'It sounds stupid. I didn't get close enough to the daughters to talk to them, but Stella did.'

'As in that they avoided you, Paula?'

'I hadn't thought of that. But, maybe. The post-Service reception.....'

'Wake.'

She smiled at me, 'If you like. Anyway, it was at a hotel and crowded. It would have been difficult for them to talk to everyone. The only thing I noticed was that the daughters didn't look very sad.'

'More like relieved,' Stella put in. 'Mum and I did manage to have a couple of words with them and I thought that they seemed excited. Especially Becca. That's the older one. And she was wearing some expensive jewellery.'

'So?' I queried.

'Stella, Cleo doesn't know them.'

'Sorry, Cleo. Becca, short for Rebecca, is a couple of years older than me and married. I cannot remember what her husband Luke does but I don't think it is anything very special. Anyway, they have a smallish detached house.'

'About the size of mine?'

'Bit smaller.'

'Okay.' The trouble with these well off people is that what we ordinary mortals call small is somewhat different to their version and my house isn't that small. 'Where does their money come from? She work?'

'No. She did work in London. Before they married. Not sure what she did.'

Paula added her two pence worth. 'The grandfather died some years ago and grandma about five years ago.'

And I finished up, 'And left everything to the grandchildren.'

Stella grinned. 'Divided between four, but still a lot.'

'So Becca got married,' they nodded, 'and you think Luke was after the dosh.'

This book is available on both Kindle and Kobo.