The Fete of Death Read online

  "Do you know who the Chinese herbalist is, or where they're based?"

  "No, all I know is they wanted to offer speciality teas that no one else offers round here. A...what did she call it? ‘A unique selling point’. Yeah, that was it. Do any of you want a cup of tea? I'm just about to put the kettle on?"

  "That's err..very kind of you, but we've just been to that lovely tearoom, the one down the cobbled side street. We're still full," said Nancy, not fancying anything off Susan Smythe if this was the state of her front room. She dreaded to think how bad the kitchen would be.

  "I've never been in there. I can't afford it," said Susan Smythe, sadly.

  "I tell you what, as we won't be able to make that drink with you later as we were meant to, why don't you go and treat yourself to a cream tea instead?" Tara said, handing her a crisp £20 note.

  Susan Smythe's eyes lit up as she reached for it with her chewed fingernails.

  "You've been a great help to us, you've earned yourself a little treat," said Sally.

  "If you're sure?" She snatched it and pushed it swiftly into her skirt pocket. "I can pretend I'm a posh lady. All those cakes! I won't know which to choose."

  "They're all delicious, you won't choose a bad one. Have fun and we might see you again before we leave, which is looking like it will be tomorrow morning now, depending on if I can get my car out of the field or not," said Tara.

  "Okay, well, I'd best get dressed up! I can't go there looking like this, can I?"

  She started throwing various garments up into the air, evidently looking for something suitable to wear. The others left her to it and sneaked out before she’d even noticed they'd gone.

  Of course, Tara and the others had no way of knowing what would happen to Susan Smythe later on that evening. She did indeed get dressed up like a posh lady, which was quite a feat, considering the materials she had to work with. She'd got to the tearoom quite late as a consequence and it was closing time when she finally left the place full of coffee, cake and day dreams. It was dark in that narrow side street but she had only her daydreams of romance on her mind as she click-clacked over the cobbles, contented and still fully immersed in the role-play that she'd concocted about her being a rich businesswoman on holiday in Tarndale, alone, for the weekend. She was so carried away with it all that she kept up the act when a young man appeared in front of her asking if she knew what time it was. She believed in her happy delirium that she was living out her favourite ‘Mills and Boon’ romantic fantasy. She played along with gusto and got swept off her feet by the stranger…quite literally.

  Chapter Ten

  "You know, I think it's time we went and checked on my car - you never know, Simon Salter might have somehow managed to pull it out of the mud with his tractor by now. We won't know if we don't go and check," said Tara, worried about the current condition of her car.

  They went back to the bed-and-breakfast and put wellingtons on and jeans - or Lycra leggings in the case of Nancy. Then, they walked down to the field in an effort to burn off some of their cake calories. Nancy jogged alongside them as usual, which annoyed Tara no end. Nancy never walked anywhere if she could run.

  Police tape still cordoned off the field and the bridge at the other end too, but there was no sign of any police on the field. The tents were still up and the caravan was still there. Tara's car was also still where she’d parked it, much to her irritation.

  "Looks like we'll definitely be here until at least tomorrow then but the water looks like it's gone down a lot in the river, so that's a good sign. I reckon they'll give the all clear sometime tomorrow. Then, we just need to get the car out, somehow."

  "Why don't we go and see if we can find Simon Salter now, whilst we're here?" asked Nancy.

  "I can't see anyone at the stables and to be honest, I want to leave him till last. I’m far too full to deal with him and his temper right now. Let's go and take another look at the crime scenes whilst we're here. It might jog our memories about something you never know," said Tara.

  "What do you make of all that about Annabel Thompson's mum wanting the books for her business?" asked Nancy, almost doing the splits, sliding in the mud.

  "Perfectly plausible. I don't see why she couldn't go to the library herself for the books, but I suppose she was too busy with the coffee shop and trying to locate a reputable Chinese herbalist to go herself."

  "So you buy all that about the herbal teas?"

  "I do, but we'll have to ask her about it - or at least you will. I'm not going back there, no matter how good the coffee is. I don't ever want to see that Josh Matthews again."

  "You've only got yourself to blame for that."

  “I told you, he was doing all the asking, not me. Now, is the caravan..? Fiddlesticks! It’s locked, I thought it might be. I wanted to go inside and see if we could find any magnolia bark lying around in whatever form was used - leaves, extracts, pills?" said Tara, clenching her fists.

  "Well it just so happens..." said Molly, nudging Sally "That we've owned quite a few caravans in our time and let's just say there's a ' knack' to opening one if you don't happen to have your keys on you. Sally has the 'knack'," said Molly, patting Sally on the shoulder.

  "Take it away ladies!"

  "What? We can't incite pensioners to commit breaking and entering - it's a blooming crime scene! Dennis will be livid with me if he finds out we’ve even stepped foot on the field!" said Nancy, nervously sliding from one foot to the other in the slippery mud.

  "I’m sure forensics will have dusted every square inch of the caravan by now, it's probably only destined for scrap and we've not got long to solve this crime or we'll just have to go home and leave the police to solve it. This is the first time I've had the chance to solve a real murder, well, two murders actually, so I'm not prepared to leave without giving it my best shot."

  "Hurry up then, I'll act as lookout but just know this - I'm the only one who can run. If the police turn up, you three have had it. I'll deny even being here," said Nancy, folding her arms.

  "We're in!" said Molly.

  "Oh, hurry up, will you?" said Nancy, bouncing on the spot.

  Tara scanned inside the caravan. It was just as she remembered. Even his cowboy boots were still in the same place.

  "That's where I found the note, in front of the wardrobe. He was sprawled backwards on the bed, with no boots on. Ah! There's an empty beer can. I saw him drinking that brand before he was killed. Whoever poisoned him would have known he'd drink the beer so it's likely that they poisoned it somehow," said Tara, opening the small fridge and checking each full can for evidence of any tampering.

  "There! Look! A tiny hole in the top of the can! Whoever did it must have injected the magnolia bark extract directly into the cans so he'd drink the sedative cocktail without realising. There's only two cans here, so let's say there were six cans, that means he drank four. No wonder he couldn't struggle. I wonder if that's why they wrote the note? So they could drop off the cans as a sort of a deadly parting gift?" said Tara, thinking out loud.

  "They certainly went to a lot of trouble," said Molly.

  Tara wiped her fingerprints off the can before she put it back into the fridge.

  "How much longer are you lot going to be?" hissed Nancy from outside.

  "We're finished with the caravan now, Nancy. Ladies, make sure you wipe your fingerprints off the handle and try to leave everything as we found it," said Tara.

  "I don't know about Professor Rummage thinking the twins were going to get into mischief - I'd say you're encouraging them." scolded Nancy, dreading having to explain all of this to her husband.

  "What was that about Professor Rummage?" asked Molly, whose hearing for her age, was as sharp as a bat's.

  "Nothing. Let's look inside the cake tent next and see if we can find anything of interest in there. We especially need to find that blackcurrant pie," said Tara.

  "The police would have already checked everywhere for it. If it was here, they would h
ave found it," said Nancy, sighing.

  "Not necessarily. The field was flooded, remember? They could have missed it."

  They went inside the cake tent. It was like the Marie Celeste. Cake and pie exhibits, half-eaten, sat on their plates, still waiting to be judged. Others, on the table Samantha Inkler had collapsed onto, were mixed up like an impressionist's canvas on the grass carpet.

  "It's eerie in here isn't it?" asked Sally, as the wind flapped the tent's skirts, making them all jump.

  "It is, but we've got a job to do. Right, this is my blackberry pie. If I had to get it out of here in a hurry, how would I do it, without being noticed?" Tara asked.

  "If you knew Samantha Inkler was going to drop dead at any minute, you'd bide your time, waiting until everyone was looking at her then - Bam! You'd swipe it," said Nancy, miming all the actions.

  "Okay, but how would you get it out of the tent when everyone around you is hysterical? They couldn’t have planned for that happening."

  "Under the tent?" suggested Sally.

  They all looked at the loose tent flap.

  "It's possible - shove it outside, then leave the tent yourself. No one will have seen you carry the pie out and no one would have noticed the pie on the ground outside either. Clever," agreed Tara.

  "Then what?" asked Sally.

  "Then, I'm stumped. Under a coat? Although that also would have been tricky. People were bouncing off one another in panic, they would have been run into on their way off the field with the pie, I'm sure of it and it was raining. Anyone carrying their coat, not wearing it, would have been noticed."

  "Let's just have a quick search for the pie. It might still be hidden under the flap of the tent, somewhere along its perimeter. They may not have managed to get it off the field," said Nancy, who knew she was getting herself into deeper trouble by the minute, just by being there.

  The search for the pie was a fruitless one and they marched back across the field in single file just as they had on the day of the fete. Everyone walked in silence, going over all the clues, the suspects, alibis and possible motives in their own minds. It was getting close to tea time when they reached the high street.

  "Fish and chips for tea?" asked Nancy, her stomach grumbling.

  "I suppose so. We'll take them back to the bed-and-breakfast with us and eat them in my room whilst we cross a few things off my list and add a few more to it. I can think better with a pen in my hand," said Tara.

  Linda Phelps was serving behind the counter of the village’s fish and chip shop, which was only a short distance from the Bed and Breakfast.

  "I didn't know you worked here," said Tara, recognising her from the fete.

  "I own it," said Linda Phelps. Tara couldn't help noticing she still seemed quite shaken.

  "Terrible ordeal for you yesterday," said Sally, sympathetically.

  "It was. I keep re-living it over and over in my mind. The worst thing was thinking I'd been poisoned too."

  "Yes," said Tara, glaring at the twins.

  "Did you not notice the smell of almonds in the blackcurrant pie when she sliced into it?" asked Nancy, before Tara could ask the same question.

  "Of course I did, it was very strong, but these amateur cooks watch TV chefs using weird ingredients, like hay, in their dishes and then they just fling anything and everything into the bowl and call it fine dining, copying them. I just thought the cook had gone a bit overboard with the almond essence," she said, lifting a sizzling battered cod out of the fryer.

  "Did Samantha Inkler act like she was worried that day someone might do her harm?" asked Tara.

  "No. She was rowing with everyone who crossed her path that morning. She seemed to thrive off confrontation. I was a nervous wreck by the end of it. It's bad enough all these women going missing round here, without people getting murdered right in front of you," she said, spraying the vinegar onto a portion of chips and missing the chips altogether, her hands were trembling so much. "Put your own vinegar on," she said, giving up and handing the bottle to Nancy.

  "We heard something about that."

  "They've all been strangers in the village, here just overnight or for the weekend. All of them had a bit of money and they were all over thirty. Gone, without a trace. No bodies have been found so far, so the police won't officially say they've been murdered but I think they must have been. Four, so far this year," she shook her head and handed them the last of their order.

  "Till they find their bodies, they're just classed as missing. It is a worry though, especially for me, as I fit that profile," said Tara, the cold feeling in her stomach returning.

  They left the chip shop with their tea and headed back to the bed and breakfast discussing possible theories for the disappearances. Tara's mind was on the murders though, because she couldn't shake the feeling she'd missed something important.

  Back at the bed and breakfast, Dana Felchar, had obviously smelled the vinegar soaked fish and chips and had caught them halfway up the stairs.

  "You can't eat that in your rooms! I'll have to open up the dining room for you," she said, quite irritated that she would have to do yet more washing-up and tidying up before she could class herself as being done for the day. When she’d started the business, she thought it would just be a case of providing a clean bed for the night and a well-cooked breakfast in the mornings. She was rapidly realising that she was expected to be on call for her guests 24 hours a day. It was like supervising children – especially Tara Trott and co, who had been nothing but hassle since they’d arrived, dripping with mud.

  They'd all wearily trudged back downstairs in awkward silence. Dana Felchar stood in the doorway with her arms folded, begrudging them every mouthful. Tara was beginning to think that living in the unfriendly village of Tarndale, had started to turn the once lovely natured Dana into one of the sour-faced, bad tempered villagers. Not for one moment did they think they could be the cause of it.

  They didn't want to discuss the case with Dana listening to every word, so they held their tongues till they could get up to Tara's room and tried to eat their tea as quickly as they could. The twins, not used to eating in such an awkward atmosphere, suddenly developed a giggling fit when Sally dropped her fork and it landed, prongs up, between her knees.

  Even a gentle kick on the ankles under the table by Tara didn't stop them. Tears ran down their crepe cheeks as their giggles got louder. Dana Felchar hadn't found it amusing. She'd sent them out of the dining room, saying if they were throwing cutlery around, it wouldn't take them long before they started throwing food. She had enough to do, she'd said, as she snatched their half-eaten fish and chips off them and threw them in the bin.

  The twins were still hysterical when they all fell into Tara's room, half chased up the stairs by the red-faced, fist clenching Dana Felchar.

  "I was enjoying that! I can't believe she just threw our tea in the bin!" wailed Nancy, her stomach rumbling.

  Tara reached for her notepad and pen and sat on the bed, propping herself up with pillows. Fish and chips were the last thing on her mind.

  "Maybe Susan Smythe wasn't drunk at the fete?" she asked tapping her pen on the notepad.

  "Not drunk? She was paralytic!" whooped Molly, almost falling off the bed, laughing.

  "Do you think she might have eaten some of their muffins?" Asked Nancy.

  "Hey! Our muffins are taking the blame for an awful lot around here. She wasn't happy and she wasn't hallucinating, so she can't have eaten any," said Sally, finally stopping her laughter fit.

  "No. It's the cans of beer I'm wondering about. I didn't see her with a can, but it's possible she did have one. That would explain why she was so unsteady on her feet. If she did drink one, it would rule her out as being Adam Pinder's murderer, wouldn't it? After all, she wouldn’t drink a sedative-laden can of beer if she was the one who’d put the magnolia bark extract in it herself, would she?" mused Tara.

  "You’re not still thinking Susan Smythe had something to do with Adam Pinder'
s murder, are you?" asked Nancy.

  "I'm just going over everything again in my head. We've only got tomorrow to solve it or else that's it, we'll be going home and we'll just have to read about the case in our local newspaper," sighed Tara.

  "Okay, hands up those who think Susan Smythe's the murderer?" asked Nancy. No one put their hand up. "Mavis Poole?" Sally and Molly put their hands up.

  "I don't think Mavis is the murderer, the evidence against her is too damning for a start. She would have put the arsenic into someone else's pie if it was her, I'm sure of that. She seems to like pointing the finger at others," said Tara, looking back down at her notes.

  "Who suspects the Mayor?" asked Nancy. No one put their hands up. "Linda Phelps?" No one put their hands up.

  "Highly unlikely it was either one of those," said Tara, crossing them off her list. "Not unless Linda Phelp's hysteria attack was a distraction so she could get rid of the pie? But Linda Phelps had to be stretchered out of the cake tent by the brownies, so I doubt it."

  "Cheryl Trellan?" asked Nancy.

  "I’m not sure about her. She had a motive, certainly, to kill Samantha Inkler, but did she have a motive for killing Adam Pinder?" asked Tara.

  "The same goes for Annabel Thompson too," said Molly.

  "Simon Salter?" Everyone's hand went up. Molly put two hands up.

  "I agree, he's our strongest suspect, for both of the murders, but we need to speak to Annabel Thompson's mum at the coffee shop to verify what Susan Smythe told us about the herbal teas too," said Tara, updating her notes.

  "It all sounded perfectly reasonable to me, about the herbal tea venture," said Nancy.

  "It does to me but still, there’s no harm in checking with her is there?" asked Tara.

  Nancy's mobile started ringing, it was her husband, Dennis.

  "No, she's not with us. Yes, we did. When? This morning. I can't be more specific... Well, about 12-ish I suppose. She was at her flat. We asked someone for her address. She was fine when we left her, she was going to go to the tearoom. Yes, that's the one. I don't know. I don't know that either. She'll turn up, I'm sure. No, we haven't been playing at detectives actually, we've been shopping and...we had a cream tea at the tearoom and we've just been to the fish and chip shop for our tea. We’re at the bed-and-breakfast. No, we're staying in now, watching a film. Really? I don't see how...no, of course it wasn't us. Why would we want to go in the caravan? Don't be silly Dennis, I'm sure the police would have locked it. How could we have got inside it? Well, there you are then. We did go to the field earlier, but only at the top end to see if Tara's car had been rescued from the mud...no, no, it's still there. We'll definitely get it out tomorrow, yes, yes, I'll be home tomorrow. Really? Oh, that’s good news. I won't get into any trouble! Yes, I will do. I'll tell them, yes. Bye Dennis, bye."