'Dirty Deeds in Downdene'

This is the opening of Book 2 of the Cleo Marjoribanks series. 

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.”

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

Secret..... Cleo doesn't learn to play golf but she knows some people who do!

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Homicide in Hampshire

Opening of Chapter 1.....

I snatched up the phone in the pool room (using me skirt to hold it, of course.  No point in reading mystery novels and doing it all wrong), all the while staring at the thing in the pool.  It had to be Janet Spencer.  It was wearing her dress.  And there was red in the water.  I knew she was dead and, while talking to the police, I wondered how I was so sure she was dead.  I know I should have jumped into the pool to get her out and begin resuscitation but…  The thought of what I might see made me gaga, so I scarpered, at least as best me high-heels would let me!  (As I can’t swim, it probably wouldn’t have been a good idea anyway.)

I shot off straight down the hall, grabbed handbag and keys from the table near the door then scrabbled with the door locks.  Why are they always a problem when you’re in a hurry?  At last I was out in the night air and could take deep breaths. 

And don’t ask me why I was in the pool room when I’d just come home.  If you walk indoors and see lights on that shouldn’t be on what would you do?  No, not what I should have done – panicked.  I went to investigate.  Course it wasn’t until later that I realised I’d been stupid.

It felt like I was standing outside for ages before I heard the cops arrive.  Blue light flashing and siren moaning, just like a sick cow.

The car pulled up in front where I was leaning against the wall by the open front door.

E-BOOK:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B005LO72BA

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