The Fete of Death Read online

  The Fete of Death

  A Tara Trott Cozy Mystery

  Copyright (c) 2016 Vanessa Fletcher.

  Published 2016

  Vanessa Fletcher has asserted her right under the Copyright, designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the purchaser.

  Cover image from SelfPubBookCovers.com

  Cover artist - daringnovelist

  Chapter One

  It was a crisp, hazy autumnal morning in the village of Nithercott in Sussex. The birds were singing, happy to have made it through another night. The picture-perfect grass lawns were carpeted with morning dew and a gentle cloud of fog clung to the fields which led down to Nithercott’s small beach. Tara Trott filled her still half asleep lungs with fresh air and they retaliated by violently coughing it back out again.

  She staggered into the picturesque flinted building of the Post office, still spluttering.

  The village of Nithercott was populated by its distinctive thatched and field flint knapped and coursed buildings and high walls, most of them listed.

  "You want to get something for that before it takes hold," said Sally Trudle, her wrinkled face etched with concern at the sight of Tara and her dramatic entrance.

  "Hot honey and lemon will do the trick," added her identical twin, Molly.

  Tara pulled a tissue out of her pocket, wiped her streaming eyes and cleared her throat.

  "It's not a cough."

  "Sounds like one to me," said Molly, raising her eyebrows.

  "It was...the fresh air was just a bit of a shock, that's all."

  "You're a townie, aren't you? It'll take you a while to adjust. My uncle used to say..." said Sally.

  "Ladies, let the poor woman get her bearings. Now then Tara, how can I help you on this fine autumn morning?" asked the Postmistress, Melanie Grinter, as she shuffled some papers self-consciously behind the Victorian counter.

  Tara fished some letters out of her blue and white striped tote shopping bag. "I just need to post these," she said, handing three letters over.

  Melanie Grinter's hands were always happiest when they had something to weigh or sort. She always looked as though she expected the place to be raided by armed robbers at any moment. Tara often wondered how she maintained that level of nervous energy day in, day out. Her husband blamed her nervous disposition on her hobbies. She was deeply superstitious and loved anything to do with ghosts and fortune-telling. She had recently started reading people's tea leaves. A quick glance at the far end of the counter told Tara that the twins had just had their leaves read. Tara certainly wasn’t keen on having hers read, especially not by an amateur ‘dramatic’ like Melanie Grinter was.

  "Cup of tea, dear?" Melanie asked when she noticed Tara looking at the empty cups on the counter, mistaking her unease for curiosity.

  "No thanks, I only drink coffee."

  "You should have been here five minutes ago! Apparently, our futures have a 'dark and sinister presence in them' and Death! Secrets too. All exciting stuff." said Sally chuckling, which was echoed by Molly.

  “Exciting? I’d say it sounds like something straight of one of the ‘Fiona Tipple’ detective novels I’m always reading. You’ve got a good imagination, Melanie, seeing all that in clumps of wet tea leaves.” said Tara, peering into one of the cups, and not seeing anything that resembled secrets, death or a dark and sinister presence for that matter.

  Tara smiled at the twins, noticing that their white hair, scraped back into buns, had the exact same kinks in the fringe and the same amount of loose strands snaking down. They both had the same thin mouth and high cheekbones and Tara could see that in their youth, both of them would have been very beautiful. Neither had ever married or had children which Tara thought was a shame.

  “It passes the time, and we never turn down a cup of tea and a sit down at our age,” said Sally.

  “Tea leaf reading is a gift, not a pastime,” pouted Melanie Grinter.

  "We were just talking about the fete tomorrow over at Tarndale. They’re having a cake and pie competition this time. It's probably safer, all things considered." Molly pointed at a colourful poster up on the wall behind them.

  "Safer?" asked Tara. She teased her unruly long, black, curly hair up into a pony tail whilst she read the poster.

  "That village is nothing but bad luck for everyone who dares to go there," said Melanie, rubbing goose bumps off her forearms. ”They hanged witches on that field and it’s been cursed ever since.”

  "Pah! Superstitious nonsense. They're not the friendliest of folks in Tarndale, I'll give you that, but it’s no reason to stay away, is it? - if we went and won the baking contests - well, it'd be a feather in our caps for Nithercott, wouldn't it?" asked Molly, looking at Tara intently.

  "You think I should enter?" asked Tara, thinking that the twins were fans of her baking.

  "We want to enter! You've got a car; you could take us and you could enter something yourself, couldn't you? Then we'd have three entries. That’s good odds for us winning a prize that is," said Sally, looking straight through Tara with her emerald green eyes.

  "I don’t think you should go. I can't...I can't explain it, but since I read your tea leaves, I've felt a bit out of sorts. Oh, why did I put that wretched poster up? I knew it would cause some kind of trouble," said Melanie, hugging her ample bosom. “Even saying the name ‘Tarndale’ is meant to bring bad luck, never mind pinning a poster up. If I’d known anyone from this village would be fool enough to go, I would have thrown it straight in the bin. I only put it up as a talking point, to give people something to have a bit of a gossip over whilst they were here.”

  "I can't see why a cake contest would cause you all of this apprehension, especially if you aren't going yourself," laughed Tara.

  "So you'll take us then?" The twins glared at her in unison and she wilted under the pressure of their gaze.

  "Well...let’s see. I'd have to pick you up at seven to give us plenty of time to load the cakes and get there. We don't have much time though; we'd have to bake them today. I’m not sure if we can get things ready in time. It’s a bit short notice really."

  "We can bake the muffins in twenty-five minutes, that's no problem, but we use our own blend of infused herbs and the secret’s in the measurements and the marinating," said Sally. Molly winked at her.

  "Why can’t you heed the warning you just had from Spirit? Why can’t you leave Tarndale well alone? I tell you ladies, I've got one of my 'feelings'. It's a powerful one too, like I've got fleas in my bones. It's a dire warning if ever there was one! Don't go to Tarndale, you'll regret it, I know you will. No good will come of it if you do go, mark my words," said Melanie in her haunting sing-song voice.

  "You can't decide what you can and can't do after having a cup of tea! I'm glad I don't drink the stuff or I'd never get out of bed in the mornings. We will go ladies, if only to show Melanie that the tea’s wrong. It’s all in the interpretation of what you think you see in the leaves. Also, I do think that between us, we stand a very good chance of winning a prize," said Tara, lifting her chin. She knew she certainly had a good chance of winning as she was capable of baking cakes to a very high standard and she liked to experiment too.

  "You can't enter the cake contest!" said Sally, sharply.

  "Why not?"

  "Because we are. You'll have to enter the pie contest, or
we’ll be competing against each other. This is for Nithercott's benefit as much as it is for disputing Melanie’s tea reading skills," said Molly adamantly.

  "That’s a...good point. Okay, a pie it is, if you insist. I don’t bake that many pies though so don’t expect anything fancy." sighed Tara wondering what kind of pie she could rustle up in a hurry that would stand a good chance of winning. "I'll pick you up at seven sharp in the morning."

  Tara was put out that the twins had scuppered her entering the cake contest. Pies weren’t really her thing. The pastry always seemed to let her down, no matter how many famous chefs’ cookery books she read or watched on T.V. But, any baking was good – as long as Nancy Parker, Tara’s best friend and the village’s gossiping cleaning lady, didn’t eat the pies before she could get them to the fete.

  When she left the Post Office, she heard Melanie still pleading with the twins not to go. If she didn't know any better, Tara thought the twins seemed to be relishing the drama their idea to go to Tarndale and their tea leaf reading was having on Melanie Grinter. It sounded as though they were winding the already over-wound Melanie, up.

  Tara crossed the narrow cobbled street lined on either side with its flinted walls, flinted cottages and shops with their thatched roofs, to the village fruit shop. She always loved the way the earthy smell of the vegetables clashed with the tangy aromas of the fruits in the fruit shop. Nithercott had a good selection of shops which provided the villagers with daily essentials.

  "Tara, how are you?" asked Mr Patterson, the shop owner, wiping his soil dusted hands on the front of his heavy duty beige apron.

  "Okay thanks. Any suggestions for a fruit pie? Something seasonal, maybe"

  "Hmm. Let me see - apple and blackcurrant? Or I’ve got some nice blackberries in?"

  Tara looked at the rows of plump fruits neatly set out in punnets, ready to be taken home.

  "Blackberries I think, for a change. I need enough for two large pies. I need to make a spare, just in case."

  "Feeling hungry or is Nancy popping round?" he grinned, as he picked up a couple of punnets of ripe blackberries and placed them carefully inside a brown paper bag.

  Tara heard the shop door open behind her.

  “Pie competition.”

  Mr Patterson’s brow crinkled as he handed Tara her change. He looked as though he was going to say something but had thought better of it.

  "Pie competition? You don’t mean...you're not going to... Tarndale are you, surely not?" asked an authoritative voice, behind her.

  Tara looked round. Professor Rummage stood there clutching his walking stick in his claw-like hand, looking his usual ruffled self. His face wore an expression of horror.

  "We'll be back in time for tea," quipped Tara.

  "You hope!"

  Professor Rummage, was a well-known resident in Nithercott. A retired professor of engineering, he was known for being eccentric and had developed an obsession with the prevention of accidents and general health and safety issues in the village, since his wife died in a car accident several years ago.

  "Have you been talking to Melanie? Did she tell you about what she says she saw in the twin’s tea leaves? And her predictions of death and doom?” chuckled Tara."

  "No, but she’s never been wrong with her predictions. I’d listen to her if I were you," said Professor Rummage, thinking about his own tea reading last week which showed a banana. Sure enough, he’d slipped on a banana skin that same day, walking down Nithercott Road. Since then, he’d been campaigning to ban banana eating on the streets. He’d gone to the fruit shop to badger Mr Patterson into not stocking bananas in his shop as they were too dangerous to be on Nithercott’s streets.

  “It’s all made up nonsense and the twins are really looking forward to it. It’ll make a nice change for them, a change of scenery. It’ll put the colour back into their cheeks. They never have trips out anywhere. No one in the village seems keen on taking them anywhere.”

  "You're taking the twins on this ill-fated venture? Are you mad? Do you have any idea of the...mischief those two can cause? And...the village of Tarndale is downright sinister! Always has been since the Tarndale witchcraft trials centuries ago. They hanged a dozen women they believed were witches in that very field, Buttercup meadow. It’s been cursed ever since! You'll stay well away from the place if you know what's good for you!" said the professor, stamping his walking stick down in temper. He hated it when people didn’t listen to his advice. He was a professor, after all.

  "The witches are long gone, professor, I don’t know what all of the fuss is about! It’s just a harmless cake contest at a village fete! And I don't think two little old ladies can cause much trouble either, “sighed Tara.

  That was the trouble with small villages she thought, everyone knew what everyone else was doing and if one of their own dared to stray into the next village, even for a few hours, they tended to get a bit uppity about it. The villagers of Nithercott were surprisingly territorial about their own.

  "You'd be surprised! And after what happened the last time, I'm amazed they've gone and organised another."

  "What happened the last time?" Tara looked over at Mr Patterson who shrugged. He wasn’t a man who liked to take sides in anything if it involved his customers, especially inside his shop. Fruit was the weapon of choice in heated rows that took place in fruit shops.

  "Their last fete was a jam festival and they went and poisoned everyone! The whole ruddy lot of 'em!" Said Professor Rummage, remembering the incident all too well.

  "Poisoned everyone?"

  "More or less. I was there. Luckily, I don't like Jam. I was just there for a day out, but that was before I’d seen and felt first-hand just how sinister that field really is. Never again. Grim and unfriendly place it is! People were dropping like flies. The St John's ambulance volunteers were exhausted hauling the stricken up and down that field. Even the brownies couldn't cope. There were a lot of tears and ambulances that day. It was a sad day for real jam making enthusiasts too, I tell you. No council within a fifty mile radius of the place has dared to hold another jam festival since," the Professor nodded.

  "Someone deliberately poisoned the jam? That's terrible!"

  "It was an accident. Some amateur decided to give jam making a go and they didn't realise they had to sterilise the jars first. Thought a drop of washing-up liquid and a quick swill of water would do the trick. It didn't. It filled up the local hospital. Oh, how the crowds flocked to taste that idiot’s jams. He had such exotic flavours, so many tantalising pots of jam to choose from. Of course, tasting a spoonful here and a spoonful there - before they knew it, the poor buggers had consumed half a ruddy jar of the tainted jam. We should have known really, when him and his wife started asking people for their empty jam jars just before the festival. They didn’t want to lose profits by buying new jars so they thought they’d recycle other peoples’ used jars. They were seen raiding bins for jars in

  the run up to it. It’s no wonder they poisoned folk really. It was in all of the papers. It was before your time though, all that. Must be...what, four years ago now."

  "I still don't see how an incident years ago has anything to do with us entering a cake competition. Well, I'll be entering the pie competition. Twin’s orders."

  “It’s not about the cakes or pies or the competition, it’s the place! Don't say I didn't warn you when it goes bad ways and it will do, as sure as eggs are eggs. And as for the twins - I'm surprised they want to go, unless it's to cause trouble. You'll have your hands full with those two that's for sure."

  "I can't see them being any trouble..."

  "No? You haven't known them as long as I have. You'll just have to learn the hard way, won't you?" He turned on his heel and stomped out of the fruit shop without buying anything.

  Tara said goodbye to the unusually silent Mr Patterson and wondered what on earth she'd got herself into.

  Back home at her cosy whitewashed cottage with its thickly thatched roof and ro
aring open fire in its stone inglenook fireplace, Tara put her duck egg blue kettle on the stove for a cup of coffee. Tara Trott had decorated her cottage in a vintage, ‘shabby chic’ style and every room reflected that in the shades of white, distressed wood and carefully chosen accessories and co-ordinated fabrics.

  Tara loved the village of Nithercott, but sometimes she felt the lack of privacy it offered was suffocating. Every day she worried if one of the interfering villagers was going to find out she'd won £2.3 million on the Lottery. That would be a day to remember, when they did find out - and she had no doubt one of them would, one day. She’d moved to the pretty Sussex village of Nithercott to be among people who knew nothing about her, but every day she felt they were getting closer to knowing everything about her. And that could prove fatal to Tara Trott. Her ex-boyfriend, Nathan Proctor, had been recently released from jail – and it was Tara’s testimony that had put him there. He’d vowed to kill her if he ever found her. Luckily, she had won the Lottery money just before he was released so she bought the cottage in Sussex and had lain low ever since.

  Just as the kettle boiled, the doorbell rang.

  "Nancy, how do you do it? Every time that kettle boils, you turn up! I don't need to text or ring you to get hold of you, I just need to boil the kettle," said Tara, smiling.

  Nancy Parker, beamed from ear to ear, shrugged her coat off and skipped over to the fire blazing fiercely in the Inglenook fireplace, rubbing her hands over the flickering flames.

  "It was the smell of the cakes that brought me here. What have you baked today?"

  "I made some banana and cream muffins last night. I suppose you've have heard all about the ‘Doomsday Fete’ I'm going to with the twins tomorrow?"

  "No, what's that? It sounds exciting."

  "It's only a village fete, over at Tarndale. The twins want to enter the cake competition and they’ve decided I'm entering the pie competition, but to hear Professor Rummage and Melanie Grinter carry on, you'd think we were going to a murderous tea party."