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.

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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.
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Available on Kindle:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00JALI8MM