The Fete of Death Read online

  "If we're leaving in the morning, we won't have time to solve anything," snapped Tara.

  "Quite."

  Tara sulked all the way back to the bed-and-breakfast. If it hadn't been for Josh Matthews, they might just have been able to tie up all the loose ends of the case. As it was though, she was pleased they'd been able to crack one case, but it wasn't the one she'd had originally set her heart on solving.

  Tara Trott was very focused when she wanted to be. Once she decided she was going to do something, nothing usually got in her way. Time however, was rapidly running out for them in Tarndale. Yes, she wanted more than ever to get back to her cosy cottage in the friendly village of Nithercott, but she hated the thought of leaving without first sorting things out in her own mind. She wasn’t convinced that the case was over. She also blamed herself for ever speaking to that Josh Matthews. If she hadn't gone to the pub that night, hoping to see him, none of it would have happened. If she hadn't given Susan Smythe the money for the tearoom, she wouldn't have been half throttled either. The only good thing was he'd now been caught and the bodies of his victims had also been found.

  Dana Felchar, was certainly not happy to see yet another police car pull up outside with Tara and Nancy inside it. On making their beds up that morning once they'd left after breakfast, she'd seriously considered packing their bags for them. She'd found out that Simon Salter had committed suicide and that Susan Smythe was still missing which made for a traumatic morning but, it was the call off the police, minutes earlier, telling her what had happened to Tara, Susan and the others, and that it was that nice young man, Josh Matthews, from the coffee shop who had been abducting and murdering women in Tarndale, that she'd finally made the decision. She was selling the bed-and-breakfast. She thought she'd meet interesting people and only be working part-time hours. She thought she'd have company, instead of living alone. She thought she'd found the ideal occupation. She'd thought wrong. In the morning, she decided, she would ring the estate agent and get the ball rolling.

  She gritted her teeth as Tara and Nancy came in, escorted by a policewoman.

  "You all have to leave tomorrow," she said, pushing Nancy’s phone into her chest.

  "So everyone keeps telling us," said Tara, pushing past Dana Felchar, determined to get to her room and make a coffee. Her legs felt abnormally heavy, the stairs seemed to multiply as she dragged herself up them, holding onto the bannister. Even Nancy seemed to be struggling.

  "I mean it! You're out in the morning, straight after breakfast! I can't take it, I can't cope with you lot anymore!" Dana Felchar shrieked, pushing her hair behind her ears as she stomped up the stairs after them.

  "Where's the other two? Out causing more lumber I expect! Since you booked in, supposedly for one night, might I add, I've had nothing but disruption and police on my doorstep or ringing me every 10 minutes. You've ruined my business! You've ruined my life! I had it all planned out till you lot turned up looking like you'd had a mud bath. I should have turned you away then! Compassion's cost me dear! I'm selling up! I quit!" She said, shaking from head to toe.

  "You think you're having a bad day?" asked Tara, feeling her caffeine-strapped body click into full on Tara tantrum mode.

  "Every day's a bad day when you're a guest!"

  "Why? Because we brought fish and chips back with us? Try almost being murdered by Tarndale's resident serial killer, now that's a bad day!"

  "I can't believe that nice young man could do such a thing."

  "Well he did. There's four bodies down a well because of him and that's just Tarndale. Who knows how many more places he's been to? Now excuse me, I've got some coffee drinking to catch up on and with any luck my last ever night in this dreadful village. Don't expect a good review off us, either!" Tara spat as she slammed the door in Dana Felchar's face, just as she was going to reply.

  After a shower and two strong coffees, Tara felt bruised, but slightly better.

  "I don't really feel hungry, do you?" She asked Nancy as they both sat in their beds, watching TV.

  "Not really. To tell you the truth I don't fancy going back out there at night. Tarndale's streets scare the heck out of me now. I'll flinch every time I hear a car behind me."

  "Hmm. And Dana Felcher won't allow us to bring anything back with us either. I don't fancy the locals all staring at us and asking questions," agreed Tara.

  "I think I've got a couple of packets of crisps in my bag," said Nancy, who always had edible things in her bag, because she was always hungry.

  "They'll do. I'm happy we've got plenty of coffee. Those tiny tubs of milk aren't much good but they're better than nothing," Tara said, putting the kettle on to boil again.

  Someone knocked at their door.

  "Who is it?" Tara asked, a bit nervous of opening it.

  "Mavis Poole. I must speak with you."

  Tara frowned at Nancy who had a mouth full of crunchy crisps. Nancy could only shrug her shoulders.

  "Come in Mavis," Tara said, wondering what she wanted.

  Mavis Poole looked like she'd been crying. Her eyes were blood-shot and puffier than usual. She dabbed at them constantly with a make-up streaked handkerchief.

  "This is all such a mess! Simon's dead! They're saying he killed himself! He would never do that! He'd never leave his horses, his field - or me," she said sobbing into her handkerchief.

  "You? So you and Simon...?" Asked Tara, gently.

  "Yes. You may as well know now. The police showed me the suicide note. It wasn't his handwriting for a start! He'd never write something as serious as a confession on that type of notepaper, either. He'd just bought a load of expensive stationery for our group to send letters off to the papers, TV stations, politicians, things like that. He would have used that paper, not pink paper," she sniffled.

  "It does seem a little odd, but..."

  "He didn't kill himself! He wouldn't, not with my pie, anyway."

  "He loved your pies, he obviously thought it would be a nice way to go," said Nancy, still munching and crunching her crisps noisily.

  "My pie killed two people!"

  "Congratulations!" Said Nancy, not in the mood to be dragged into any more trouble.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Ignore her, we've had a bad day, I think the shock’s starting to set in. Sally isn't back from the hospital yet, so we're a bit worried about her too," said Tara.

  "Oh, yes of course, I heard about that."

  "What do you think we can do? We have to leave here in the morning. The police have made it perfectly clear we're not to get involved in anything else. It's case closed, according to them."

  "They didn't know Simon Salter. All I know is, he wouldn't have eaten that pie if he knew it was poisoned."

  "Everyone knew it was poisoned," said Nancy.

  "I didn't tell him. I didn't see him. The last time I saw him, was on the day of the fete. I don't think he even left the field all night. He was trying to sort the flooding out I guess, and one of his horses had colic. He did spend the night at the stables quite a lot, especially if there were any problems."

  "So you're saying you think he ate it because he didn't know Samantha Inkler had been poisoned by that same pie?"

  "Exactly."

  "So, if he didn't know about Samantha Inkler being murdered, he wouldn't have known that his field was safe?"

  "No, he wouldn't."

  "The suicide note would still tally with that," said Tara.

  "No!"

  "We saw Cheryl Trellan. She'd spoken to him, although she said he was in a terrible mood. He'd evicted Annabel and Cheryl off the field. He'd told them the field was too badly damaged for all of the horses to stay."

  "That doesn't mean they told him about Samantha Inkler."

  "It's the first thing that they would say. Unless you're saying murder in Tarndale's so commonplace, people don't even bother to mention it anymore."

  "Of course not! But, the handwriting!"

  "I take your point on that, but I
can only take your word for it."

  "No! No! Because..I've brought new evidence with me."

  "Evidence?"

  Nancy stopped chewing. Mavis Poole reached round the door and pulled a trolley on wheels into the doorway.

  "I think you'd better come in," said Tara, closing the door behind Mavis.

  "I've got examples here of Simon’s handwriting. He's got a very distinctive way of doing some of his letters. There were no fancy squiggles where they should have been on that note the police found. He didn't even sign his name. It was in capital letters. Don't you think that odd?"

  "I do now,"

  "Oh, here we go! She's off detecting again. Thank you very much, Mavis." Said Nancy.

  "What else is in the trolley?" Asked Tara, ignoring Nancy.

  "Letters, library books…"

  "Library books?"

  "Yes, the six books Susan Smythe took out last week. They're all here. I went round to the coffee shop to get them."

  "Who gave them to you?"

  "Josh Matthews, this morning."

  "Did he? He acted like he knew nothing about herbal teas or poison when we asked him about the books."

  Mavis Poole unzipped the trolley and pulled the six books out, placing them side-by-side on Tara's bed.

  "Some interesting titles here. 'Herbs that kill', 'Nature's poison', 'Garden of mortality' and 'Pick your poison', to name a few. They don't sound like the best choice for someone wanting to research Chinese herbal teas for offering to their customers in a coffee shop," said Tara, sensing they might be actually onto something.

  "There's more! Bookmarks! Here and here!" Mavis said, flipping open two of the books. The bookmarks were the folded sheets of that same pink notebook, the one Cheryl Trellan had with her. They were marking the pages which contained the details of arsenic and magnolia bark.

  "Have the police seen this?" Asked Tara, stunned.

  "No. They weren't interested in library books, especially when I told them it was Susan Smythe who had taken the books out. It was just a coincidence, they said. But, I was determined to get the books back anyway. I told Josh Matthews the police had told me to go and collect the books as I knew what books they were."

  "Good thinking Mavis!"

  "Well, what do you think?"

  "I think you've changed my mind but I just can't believe Cheryl Trellan is a murderer."

  "Cheryl Trellan?"

  "It's her notebook that's connecting the note in Adam Pinder's caravan, these bookmarks on the pages of the exact poisons used and Simon Salter's apparent suicide note"

  "I don't believe it!" Mavis shook her head and pursed her lips. “Not Cheryl!”

  "Cheryl Trellan wrote Annabel Thompson's number down on that same notepaper for me today. Here, I'll show you," Tara reached into her jeans pocket and showed Mavis the handwritten number.

  "This handwriting isn't the same as the handwriting on the suicide note. See how she's written 'Annabel Thompson', all in tiny, scrawled letters? Not like the round sweeping letters on Simon's note," said Mavis Poole, scrutinising the note.

  "I agree, but she owns the notebook and she could have been the one having the affair with Adam Pinder, too."

  "I don't know what to make of it all. What do we do now?"

  "We can't do anything. You'll have to go to the police in the morning with this."

  "So, the real murderer's Cheryl then?" Asked Mavis Poole, misty eyed.

  "It looks like it, I'm afraid.

  "I wish I hadn't looked into it now. I wish I'd have left everything alone," she started sobbing again.

  "You can't hold yourself responsible for other people's actions. Whoever the murderer is obviously put a lot of thought into it and planned it all well in advance. You’ve done nothing wrong except bake a pie and go and pick up some library books," said Tara.

  "But if it was Cheryl Trellan, why was she so traumatised about finding the body of Simon Salter? We saw her just before she found him and she looked and acted normal. Her horse was sweaty too, so she must have been out on Fizzle for a while, like she said. And – Simon Salter’s body was still warm when we found him – although we kept it quiet because we didn’t want to get caught up in a suicide, especially as we were planning to pack and leave Tarndale."

  "Trust you to conjure up yet another loose end!" Snapped Tara, knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep, trying to work through all the new loose ends the case had thrown up. “I thought you’d given up on the case?

  "I bet I can think of a lot more!"

  "Like what?"

  "Like if Cheryl had been given her notice before she saw us, why would she still go ahead and kill Simon Salter?"

  "I think I can answer that. In the case of Simon giving up the field or dying, the field would go to the next named tenants - Cheryl Trellan and Annabel Thompson," said Mavis Poole.

  "I see."

  They were interrupted by knocking on the door. Tara went to answer it.

  "You're back!” Said Tara, happy that the twins were finally out of the hospital.

  "It's broken, which will clip my wings for a while I'm afraid," said Sally, her green eyes reflecting her true feelings of pain and shock, rather than her false smile.

  "It'll heal. In time. You've got crutches and you've got Molly. You two will be just as mischievous as ever I'm sure," said Nancy, sensing Sally was about to cry.

  "Have you both had any tea, because..."

  "Oh yes, we went to the hospital canteen before we came back here. Cheese and onion pie and chips, followed by rice pudding. A nice policeman paid for it then brought us back here. We had to give him our statements afterwards though."

  "I bet Dana Felchar loved that – more police on her doorstep," said Tara, wryly.

  "I know, who rattled her cage? She seems to have inherited the 'Tarndale glare'. We'd best not stay any longer or we'll all be going the same way," said Molly.

  "She's decided she hates us so much, she's selling up," said Nancy.

  "I see. Good job we're leaving tomorrow then," said Sally, wobbling on her crutches.

  "Straight after breakfast in fact. Sit down Sally. Mavis Poole's brought us some interesting new evidence," said Tara, clearing a space on her bed for Molly.

  "I thought the case was solved?" Asked Molly.

  "Not quite. It seems we may have been a little hasty in our conclusions. Mind you, we're new to all this, but the police aren't - especially the Tarndale police and they’d jumped to the same conclusions, so we're in good company," said Tara.

  They spent the next hour explaining the new evidence about the handwriting and the library books to the twins who were glad of the distraction. The fact they'd nearly been killed only a few hours ago had only just begun to sink in. The new evidence gave them a focus, so that they didn't keep seeing the van, the gun, Susan Smythe lying in the van, the wishing well...

  "Look, I'll leave you to it. I'll try to see you before you leave. I've written some recipes out for you, Tara, and more baking tips too. There's no excuse for you to bake a pie as bad as that one you unfortunately felt fit to enter into the competition," she said, handing Tara a stack of paper.

  "Thanks," said Tara, grinning a 'can't wait' smile.

  Once Mavis Poole and her wheeled trolley had gone, the twins seemed to relax a bit more.

  "Susan Smythe was at the hospital too. They told her she had been only millimetres away from being choked to death," said Molly.

  "She's okay though?"

  "Oh yes, she's loving all the attention. The press wanted to do interviews, the police did and... I think she felt a bit like a film star, which is the kind of thing she seems to thrive on," said Sally.

  "It's a wonder she didn't break her ankle in those heels when she ran for help," said Tara.

  "I know! I'd have taken them off, but she left them on. She said it was worse running over the grass because they sank and it felt like someone had grabbed her leg. She almost fell several times," said Sally.

  "She’s had a
bit of a hard time of it really. During her stiletto SOS rescue mission, once you'd shoved her out of the window, she had the glass to negotiate, then she had to stay low in case Josh Matthews saw her. She thought about taking his van, but she couldn't risk it in case he hadn't left his keys in the van somewhere. So, she hid at the side of the van till he went inside the building. Then, whilst he was busy with us, she ran for the trees. The forest wasn't as dense as it first appeared thankfully, so it wasn't long before she made it to the road. Then, she headed in the direction of the high street, waiting for a car to go past her that she could flag down to get help. The first car that she saw was a police car believe it or not, out looking for her. She told them what had happened and...you know the rest," said Molly.

  "She's had quite an adventure, that girl. We're lucky she's as plucky as she is, or we all wouldn't be here now," said Nancy, tossing her second empty crisp packet in the bin.

  "I think we'll call it a night. I'm looking forward to a big breakfast in the morning, then finally seeing our own homes again," said Sally, heaving herself up off the bed with Molly's help.

  "Have you got your car out yet?” Asked Molly.

  "No, but we'll have to get it out somehow tomorrow morning. I'll have to get the mountain rescue to do it if I can't find someone who can drive the tractor," said Tara.

  The twins set off for their own room, crutches tapping out an echo of their own footsteps, down the corridor. Nancy got ready for bed and said she was having an early night. Tara's mind was racing. She was too wired to sleep, so she lay in bed, trying to work it all out in her head. The case had so many curveballs in it, it was giving her a headache. Every time she thought she'd worked out who the murderer was, she got proved wrong. It didn't bode well for someone as well read on murder as she was.

  At first, she thought the tip-tapping was a dripping tap, but it got louder, more insistent. The direction it was coming from was the window. Tara knew there was a fire escape running alongside that window, so it was possible someone was out there, trying to get her attention. Who though? Susan Smythe, in her heels, wanting to tell her tale? Josh Matthews, come to get his revenge? Or Simon Salter, to avenge his death? The only way she'd know, even if it was just her overstimulated imagination, was to go and look.