Trouble in Trewith Green

This is the opening of the 5th Cleo Marjoribanks murder mystery. Not a good start to the day when a body is found outside her home....

As I pulled up in front of the elegant Georgian house I had to sigh. So beautiful. No, I'm not jealous

of 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?'


https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01DJBANEO

Also available on KOBO. 

'MURDER IN MITCHAM PARVA'

Here is the opening to 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.



Sorry, but the cover seems to have gone AWOL!

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00V3CX074

Also available on Kobo.