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. 

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