Murder At The Fete: A Lady Margaret Turnbull Culinary Cozy Mystery (Culinary Mystery Books Book 1) (3 page)
Authors: C T Mitchell
Tags: #Murder at the Fete
After ringing the doorbell at Mrs. Carrington’s house for
the third time, the Detective shot Maggie a knowing look and walked quickly
toward the back of the house to check the other door. “Wait here,” he
instructed. And, as she sometimes did, she did as she was told. Before long
he opened the front door and informed her that Mrs. Carrington had, indeed, met
her Maker. Maggie was aghast.
“Was it poison?!” She yelled, pushing past him and
searching for the kitchen.
“No, no,” he replied.
“Are you sure? How can you be certain?”
“I know for a fact it wasn’t poison because she was
stabbed with a letter opener.”
Maggie pulled to a stop before entering the kitchen.
She didn’t need to see that to be helpful to the police force, so she turned to
Tom.
“Detective,” she said, adjusting her slacks. “Was it
her letter or someone else’s? And did you find a strange letter, as well?”
“I didn’t see one, no. I came to let you in. But I’d
be willing to wager that we will. And as to whether it was her letter opener,
well hopefully there are some fingerprints on it we can lift.”
****
Tom Sullivan dropped Maggie off at her home, and she
immediately phoned her friend at the Lismore’s Northern Star newspaper office.
She was trying to obtain a copy of the article about the trial Mrs. Grant was
speaking of. And even though she had little hope of the gentleman finding it
anytime in the next few hours since it happened nearly thirty years ago, he
mentioned that he knew the case quite well.
It was apparently one of his first journalistic feats,
and he even attended the trial, which he remembered clearly. On a year or two
into his sentence, the person who was found guilty committed suicide, yet the
story didn’t end there. A full twenty years later, the witness of the crime
came forward and said that they hadn’t seen the criminal’s vehicle properly.
The women—Mrs. Davies, Mrs. Carrington, and Mrs. Grant— were even charged with
perjury.
“Of course, they never went to jail,” her friend said.
“But I’m pretty sure suffering their own conscience was punishment enough!
That poor man that hung himself, it’s so tragic.”
Maggie thanked her friend and hung up, walking to the
window to think clearly. The day was clear, hardly a cloud in the sky.
Momentarily Maggie’s mind drifted back to her days in the UK; dark, dreary,
cold wet days and thanked her lucky stars she had made the decision to move to
Australia where the sun and clear blue skies were in abundance. But back to the
case in hand.
Someone is making those women pay for wrongly accusing
an innocent man, she thought. But who would do such a thing?
She put her teacup and saucer in the sink and decided
to go for a walk to clear her head. And a call to Detective Sullivan to update
him was in order, as well. He took notes on everything she said, and meekly
thanked her for her contribution. The two of them agreed that Mrs. Grant was
next on the list, if they were worth their weight as detectives, at least one
was officially, that she needed to be protected. He arranged for Constable Greenaway
to stay with her until they could sort things out.
“We’ll wait for the forensic report on the letter
opener and go and catch our killer,” Tom said.
“Awwww, Detective. You said we. I’m flattered.”
“Alright, now. Don’t go getting a big head, Lady
Maggie.” Tom mentally cursed to himself to be more careful when freely talking
about the case using the collective ‘we’ in the conversation. But at the same
time he did have to give Maggie her dues; once again.
On the way home, she would pass the cemetery and
decided to take a look at the headstones of the victims from thirty years ago.
Maybe she could find some inspiration or direction there. It was all she could
think to do while they waited for the report. Surely, something would come to
her, it always did.
As she walked past the graves, she poured over the
names carefully, trying to remember details from stories she’d heard over the
years about the case. Leaning against a tree, she took in the whole place for
a moment. The cemetery had a commanding position in the town with many old
tombstones of the districts early settlers and pioneers. That’s when she saw
the fresh flowers. On one of the headstones, a bouquet of fresh flowers was
arranged neatly on top of the stone. It caught her eye because she’d seen an
identical bouquet of flowers at the fete the day before, though she couldn’t
remember whose they were.
“Melissa Shepherd!!” Maggie shouted into the air.
Melissa Shepherd had received a bunch of flowers identical to this one! Daniel
Greenaway had given them to her for winning the baking prize at the fete!
When she approached the headstone that the bouquet was
laying on, she exhaled sharply. The script was as plain as day.
“Lying is a mortal sin and you never did, Sam Connors.
May you rest in peace.”
“Oh bless you, Simon, for this wretched mobile phone.
I’ve used it more today than I ever thought I would!” She kissed her mobile
phone held in her shaking hands and dialed Detective Sullivan’s number.
“You can’t be serious, Mags—I’m sorry—Lady Maggie…I
mean Lady Margaret. You can’t be serious.”
Yes Maggie insisted that he get Constable Greenaway out
of Mrs. Grant’s home immediately. He could tell from her breath that she was
running somewhere and she seemed quite worked up about the Constable, so he
decided to humor her. She hadn’t been wrong yet, though he couldn’t quite
understand how the quiet Daniel Greenaway could manage to kill as housefly,
much less an entire human. Two humans, no less!”
“Oh thank God!” Maggie leaned on the fencepost of Mrs.
Grant’s house to catch her breath, more than relieved to see that Mrs. Grant
was standing on the front porch with Detective Sullivan. “Where’s the
Constable?” she demands immediately.
“Oh he’s gone to get some milk at the store, dear.
He’s such a sweetheart,” Mrs. Grant is as clueless as ever, yet here she was,
standing there bragging about the kindness of a man who was going to kill her.
She looked to Tom. “If he thinks he’s been found out,
he’ll run.”
“I still don’t underst….” as Tom was cut off by Maggie.
“He’s our murderer, Detective. Mrs. Grant would have
clearly been his third victim.”
Mrs. Grant put her hand to her mouth to cover a gasp,
though the news did not come as a complete shock to her. Seeing the look on
Tom’s face, Maggie offered her explanation.
“Mrs. Davies, Mrs. Carrington, and Mrs. Grant committed
perjury during Sam Connor’s trial thirty years ago. Their statements sent Sam
to prison for life, where, as I told you before, he committed suicide. Ten
years ago, the three of them admitted to their perjury about the suspect’s
vehicle and Sam obtained a pardon posthumously.
“However,” she held up her index finger in the air.
This was her favorite part. “The ladies’ admission of guilt came too late as
far as his son was concerned. Daniel wanted them to pay for what they’d done
to his…. father. Yes…father!”
“His mother, you see, suffered the wrath of the town
gossips for years until she eventually reverted to her maiden name—Greenaway.
She and her son moved away, embarrassed and ashamed, but Daniel wanted retribution
for the loss of his father. He’s been planning this for a very long time
Detective. Remember what I said earlier – poisoning is not random. It’s a
private affair and in Daniel’s case it’s very, very personal.”
Within moments, Tom had called in an arrest of Daniel
Greenaway at the local convenient store, where he was reported to have been
picking up gasoline and matches. Later on while going through his wallet, a
worn, crumpled portrait photo of Sam Connor would be found; the father he had
lost because of the actions of Mrs. Davies, Grant and Carrington. Now he would
pay for their injustice.
News spread fast in the small township of Bangalow; shocked
at the arrest of their local police constable. But life must go on. Melissa
still managed to show up on Monday morning with the delivery of baked goods
from her father. Never once had she considered, she told Lady Maggie, that
Daniel’s interest in the older women of the town was anything but harmless. Murder
never is though.
Featured on LA Talk Radio, C T Mitchell is the
Australian bestselling author of the Detective Jack Creed and Cabarita Crimes
series.
Rejection
(published in February 2015) is the first crime fiction short story featuring
Detective Jack Creed, who has to stop Nicholas Weatherby or witness Australia's
worst mass University shooting.
Shattered
is
the second book of the Cabarita Crimes Series where a dead man in an industrial
waste bin wearing 10 rings has all his fingers and toes sadistically broken.
Why?
The Secret of
Barnesdale Manor
sees recluse Charles Abernathy challenged to discover the
secret of times past by holding a scavenger hunt in Barnesdale Manor. He
accepts the challenge only to discover more than he bargained for.
Murder on the
Beach
#1 Amazon Bestseller
Former head of UK’s Royal Bank of Scotland, Nick
Turner, is found dead amongst the rocks at Cabarita Beach. His head caved in by
a Honma golf club.
Murder on the Beach has Detective Jack Creed up to his
armpits in missing millions, illicit affairs, a neglected wheelchair bound
wife, a cranky gay staffer and a blonde 'bimbo' mistress - just the sought of
case Jack loves.
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