The Fete of Death Page 5

  "Yes, just before she died of arsenic poisoning! And what was it you said about her getting her ‘just deserts'?"

  "It was a figure of speech."

  "We'll let the police decide on that."

  "There's no evidence. It's all pie in the sky."

  "There's always evidence!"

  Mavis Poole pouted, left the tent and didn't look back.

  Nancy Parker pushed her way through the exodus of drenched villagers and found Tara and the twins at the entrance to the cake tent.

  "What's going on? There's first aiders helping people up off the floor and they’re saying the bridge is closed until further notice - no one can get in or out of Tarndale!"

  "What? Why? What's wrong with the bridge?" asked Tara.

  "The river's burst its banks in the flash flood. It's torrential rain out there. I didn't need to bother drying off after swimming - I should have just stayed in my swimming costume. That Simon Salter's lunging at people up near your car, screaming about how everyone's churning his field up! Everyone's leaving in a hurry, and I suggest we do too!" she said, wiping her face with the towel out of her rucksack.

  Tara sighed.

  "Nancy, we've had a terrible morning, as it happens and I've still not managed to have any coffee yet, although it's not through want of trying," she said, looking over at the twins.

  "Well if you want a coffee, you'd best hurry up because the catering van's packing up."

  Tara's eyes grew wide in panic. She ran for the exit, slipping and sliding as she went. Sure enough, the van was skidding it's determined way off the rapidly flooding field, chased by Simon Salter who was shaking his large fist at it.

  "No!" Yelped Tara, who wanted to cry.

  Nancy and the twins met her outside. The rain plastered their hair firmly to their heads, and the wind cut through to their bones.

  Nancy's face changed. She ran back to the cake tent, stared inside, then ran back to them.

  "Is that...a dead body in the cake tent?" she asked in disbelief.

  "Yes. That was one of the judges," said Molly.

  Nancy frowned. "How come she's dead?"

  "Someone killed her. Poisoned her actually. I've not got a clue who, but I wouldn’t put it past that Mavis Poole." said Tara.

  “A murder, and I missed it? I wouldn't have gone swimming if I'd known," she groaned.

  "That wasn't the only murder. We've had a surprising morning by all accounts," said Tara, squeezing her temples.

  "Who else has been murdered?"

  "The singer. Strangled by persons unknown," said Sally.

  "Is that what that noise was?" asked Nancy.

  "No, that was him singing. He'd stopped singing thankfully, but someone still killed him, using his own microphone," said Tara.

  "Oh. That’s a novel murder weapon. Well, we can't stay here. Apparently this field floods a lot because the river needs dredging. I heard someone say the bridge might just collapse altogether this time. It'd be just our luck if we got stranded in this awful place, wouldn't it?" said Nancy.

  "We are stranded! Where can we go? The car? The car's not going anywhere, is it? Oh no, look, they're even taking the loos away!"

  "Ooh! We can't be far from a loo, not at our age," said Molly, suddenly feeling she needed a loo just because there wasn't one.

  "The police haven't spoken to us yet," said Tara, who couldn't remember a time when she felt as wet as she did right then.

  "I'll ring Dennis, he'll know what to do," said Nancy.

  Nancy Parker's husband, Dennis, was a police detective, Nithercott division. Nancy went a little further away from them and spoke to her husband on her mobile, shielding it from the rain under her rucksack she'd put on her head.

  "He said the police in Tarndale will want everyone off the field – including us. No one’s allowed inside the caravan or cake tent till forensics have been. It looks like everyone's already started to go home. They'll get everyone’s statements later about what they might have seen or heard. It's unsafe trying to interview people on the field right now, especially if the bridge is likely to collapse."

  "We can't go home," said Tara, her teeth chattering.

  "I know. We've got to book into a bed and breakfast for the night. I saw one back there, near the pub," said Nancy.

  "We don't have enough money on us for a bed and breakfast! We only brought £30, between us," cried Sally, tugging at her soggy cardigan pockets.

  "I brought £20, so that's £50. How much did you bring, Tara?" asked Nancy.

  "Enough. Listen, we can't go to a bed and breakfast looking like this. Did you happen to see any clothes shops on your travels?"

  "Luckily, Tarndale has a decent amount of shops.They've got almost every kind of shop you can think of. The assistants are a sullen lot, but then the whole village is if you ask me."

  "Right. Lead on. We'll get clean clothes, shoes and nightwear. Nancy, you book us two rooms when we pass the bed and breakfast. My treat."

  "We'll pay you back every penny when we get back home," said Molly, shivering.

  "You don't need to pay me back," said Tara, generously.

  They followed Nancy through the mire of mud, holding onto the person in front. They stuck to the edge of the field, thinking it would be safer, but the mud was like walking across an ice rink in glass slippers.

  Tara heard the twins whispering about how they’d heard Tara had a rich relative who'd died and left her a fortune. She smiled. That was exactly what she’d told Nancy because as Nancy was Nithercott’s Queen of gossip, she knew it would reach the ears of everyone she wanted it to. It was days like this when she was glad she had money. Sometimes money could dig you out of a hole your heels had put you into. Right then, she didn't care how much a decent cup of coffee would cost her. She certainly understood the famous line 'My kingdom for a horse', now.

  They slid and cursed under their breath most of the way and Sally fell on her knees into a sloppy puddle right at the end of the field. The sight of the four of them, covered in rich lathery mud, and soaking wet in completely unsuitable footwear and no coats, was a pitiful one. A line of drenched policemen were stood at the edge of the field, taking everyone’s details as they left the field so they could take statements later on. Once the group had given their details and what they had seen, they set off for the shops. They squelched into the first shop they came to with raindrops dripping off their noses and puddles forming at their feet.

  "Clothes!" gasped Tara. "Anything you’ve got as long as they're dry!"

  The sales assistant wrinkled her nose and shooed them onto the mat.

  "Stay there! I'll bring the clothes to you - don't touch anything!"

  She held up various items of clothing which they either nodded or shook their heads at. Once they’d all chosen a complete outfit, Tara paid for it using one of her cards. Next, they found a shoe shop where they each chose a pair of wellies and a pair of slippers.

  They were heading towards a coffee shop, much to Tara's delight, when she realised they didn't yet have a room booked.

  "Nancy! Where's that bed-and-breakfast you mentioned?"

  "There, next door to the pub. Go and order your coffees and I'll book us in, then I’ll come and join you," she jogged off in the irritating way she always did. Nancy never walked anywhere, she always jogged or skipped.

  The coffee shop owner asked them to leave the moment they walked through the door but Tara was having none of it. All day she'd been thwarted each time she’d tried to get a cup of her beloved coffee. The lack of caffeine in her system made her a formidable force and without Nancy there to calm her down, the coffee shop owner got the full brunt of Tara's bad day and caffeine withdrawal symptoms. Tara plonked her dripping, muddy self into one of the coffee shop’s leather chairs. The twins, sensing mischief was in the air, joined her, giggling like schoolgirls.

  "Now look! We've had a terrible morning in your bloody village. We've been shouted at, had people murdered right in front of us, had hundreds o
f people collapse all around us, been half drowned in a torrential downpour and my bloody car’s stuck in the mud in some field. And now, the bridge is closed so we can't go anywhere tonight and I've had no coffee or anything to eat all day, so don't act brave and think you’ll be able to get me out of this chair using words alone! It’ll take brute force, believe me! We’ll go - once we’ve had something to eat and as much coffee as I can stomach. I'll even pay for the chairs to be cleaned if it makes you feel better. Get me a cup of coffee! A Latte, the biggest you've got!" thundered Tara in a voice that let everybody within a two mile radius know she meant business.

  The manageress scurried off to make the coffee but she kept peering over at Tara, wondering if she should let them be, or ring the police. Then again, she thought, she might be able to find out more about what had happened at the fete if they stayed...

  She carried over a huge latte. It looked more like a soup bowl than a coffee cup. Tara's eyes lit up, as she put her lips to the frothy topped coffee.

  "Can we have a pot of tea please?" said the twins, admiring Tara for standing up to the manageress like that. They knew the ladies at their knitting circle would relish every little detail of Tara's speech and they planned to recite it with gusto over tea and biscuits on Tuesday, all being well.

  She came back with a tray of cups and a teapot. She placed it carefully on the table so she didn't get any of the still dripping mud on herself.

  "And coffee. I'll have another one of these large lattes and a ham and cheese toastie."

  "Oh yes! Toasties will be lovely," said Molly, feeling much happier, despite her bedraggled appearance.

  "Did you say someone's been murdered at the fete? The fete on Buttercup Meadow, was it?"

  "Yes, that's the one. Two people have been murdered. Adam Pinder, the singer and Samantha Inkler, one of the cake judges," said Tara, taking a final sip of her first coffee.

  "That’s awful! Do they know who did it?" she asked, putting a hand to her chest.

  "Not yet. It’s been difficult for the police to conduct their investigation with the location of the bodies and the bad weather. The field’s a no-go zone at the moment," said Tara feeling much calmer.

  "No one round here liked Samantha Inkler much that’s for sure. She was always pushing people around and walking round like she owned the place, in her heels and red lipstick. My daughter’s no fan of hers either. She keeps her horses on that field. Samantha Inkler was doing her level best to get it built on."

  "We were talking to two girls who said their horses are kept on that field along with Simon Salter's horses," said Sally, cupping her hands round her cup to warm herself up.

  The manageress nodded.

  "Cheryl Trellan and Annabel Thompson? Annabel's my daughter. I'll just go and get your toasties, ladies." said the manageress, a lot happier she had let them stay now. She would have been one of the last in the village to know about the murders otherwise.

  Josh Matthews, her new assistant, was cleaning the coffee machine. He eyed Tara up with his dancing hazel eyes. This could be one to have some fun with, he thought. The twins were far too old for him, but the black haired one - she might just fit the bill…

  "Tara!" said Nancy, as she burst into the coffee shop, a bundle of energy as always.

  Josh Matthews looked up. The new arrival was too young, too full of beans. Too much of a handful. He was looking for someone over 40, easy to flatter.' Tara' ticked all his boxes...

  "I've got us two rooms, I gave them the £50 as a deposit We have to pay the balance when we get there. She's lovely the owner, but then she doesn't come from here, she's only been in Tarndale for about six months."

  "Go and order something for yourself, we're all having toasties."

  Josh Matthews brought their toasties and Tara’s bowl of coffee over.

  "So," he said, raking his floppy brown fringe with his fingers. ‘Tara’, is it? It sounds like you've had a bit of an experience. Two murders in one morning, eh? I'd like to be able to reassure you that that kind of thing never happens in Tarndale - but it does - a lot. Although, not everyone gets murdered. Some just go missing."

  "That explains why the people there were non-plussed about it all then," said Tara.

  "Are you day-trippers?" He asked, fishing for information.

  "We should have been, but Fate's turned it into an overnight stay," said Molly, tucking into her toastie with relish.

  "I see. Where are you staying?" he asked, smiling his most seductive smile at Tara, who blushed, in spite of her face being covered in mud, which cracked as she smiled back at him.

  "At the bed-and-breakfast up the road, the one next to the err...pub," she said, unable to look at him. Instead, she twiddled nervously with her cup.

  "Dana Felchar's," said Nancy helpfully.

  "Not far from here then. I hope you'll pop back in and see us before you leave."

  "Oh, she will do. She's obsessed with coffee! We've heard nothing else all day," sniggered Sally.

  "I'll look forward to it. Will you ladies be going in the pub next door to your bed-and-breakfast tonight, by any chance? 'The Fox?' It's just..I'll be there. If I see you, I'll buy you a drink, Tara. I wouldn't want you to leave Tarndale with only bad memories," he said in a silky smooth voice which made Nancy's skin crawl, but which made Tara feel like she was walking on air.

  "I should imagine we will be doing," spluttered Tara, missing her mouth with the enormous coffee cup and adding yet another layer of coffee stain to her shirt.

  "My daughter entered that cake contest, I'm sure," said the manageress.

  "Yes, she did. It was one of the pies that poisoned Samantha Inkler though, not a cake." said Molly.

  "Poisoned?" her jaw dropped. "But the other judge was Linda Phelps, she’s not…?"

  "She didn't eat the poisoned pie. It was blackcurrant," said Tara, sprinkling brown sugar onto the frothy top of her latte.

  "Who on earth would bake a blackcurrant pie when they know full well Linda's allergic to them?"

  "I didn't know, because I'm not from this village, but it was evidently someone who is from this village, someone who knew Linda Phelps wouldn't eat the pie, but Samantha Inkler would. It was premeditated murder if you ask me," said Tara, recovering her composure by ignoring the fresh coffee stain.

  "A blackcurrant pie, eh? What will they think of next?" asked Josh Matthews."

  “It's not really a shock when you think about what happened the last time they had a village fete here."

  "Yes, but that was an accident though," said Josh Matthews.

  "I think that last fete is what gave them the idea. I also think that the mass hysteria was caused by the villagers knowing about the last poisoning incident on that same field that everyone already believes is jinxed. After seeing Samantha Inkler drop dead in the cake tent, hearing me say it was arsenic poisoning and then Linda Phelps and Cheryl Trellan collapsing, their imaginations went into overdrive," said Tara, adding yet another sachet of sugar.

  "Mass hysteria?" frowned the manageress.

  "I wish I'd have been there. I could have picked you up off the ground and carried you to safety in my strong arms," said Josh Matthews, looking directly at Tara.

  "We weren't affected!" snorted Molly, not falling for his smooth talk.

  "It's a common problem. It only takes one person to believe they've been poisoned, then everyone starts having physical symptoms," said Tara, smiling dreamily at Josh Matthews.

  "So..the mud?..You all got trampled in the panic then?" she asked, nodding at their mud caked legs and torn clothes.

  “How awful for you all,” said Josh Matthews, smirking.

  "No, we got covered in mud when my car got stuck in the field and again during our escape from the field back to civilisation in the storm," said Tara.

  "Oh dear. You'll be right as rain when you get cleaned up. Annabel and Cheryl will be pleased about Samantha Inkler being taken out of the picture though, as terrible as that sounds. They won't need to se
ll their horses now if the Council don't end up selling the field. They've been heartbroken over it all."

  "What on earth is that lot you've got?" asked Tara, amazed at Nancy’s overfilled tray. It buckled under a multitude of sandwiches, cakes, biscuits and a large coffee.

  "Erm, it just needs paying for," grinned Nancy.

  Tara reached for her purse and handed her a £20 note.

  Josh Matthew's eyebrows raised. He had chosen well. Tara was obviously the one with money.

  Annabel Thompson walked into the coffee shop, streaked with mud. She looked tired and dazed.

  "Annabel! Are you okay?" her mum asked.

  "No. A couple of people died today mum, and one of the people who went crazy thinking he'd been poisoned too, died of a heart attack. Mr Simmons. I know he had a weak heart, but I didn't expect him to die because of...a lie," she said, shaking.

  “A lie?” asked Nancy.

  "Everyone flipping out was a lie. He believed it and it killed him. Cheryl's still off her head because of it. She's...stamping on imaginary rats and throwing in the odd karate chop for good measure. I think it's unhinged her," she said, frowning.

  "I think you'll find it was something she ate that didn't agree with her. She's not been poisoned, but let's just say the muffins have had a rather startling effect on her system. She'll be fine when she sleeps it off," said Nancy.

  "I know you were fond of Mr Simmons. It’s a shame that is, he was a lovely man and we don’t have many nice people in Tarndale as I’m sure you ladies will have noticed? And Adam Pinder too? You have had a rotten day, haven't you?" said the manageress.

  Annabel burst into tears and ran upstairs into their living quarters.

  "I think everyone's found today tough," said Sally.

  "Simon Salter's come off best in all this I reckon. He only pays £25 per year rent for that field. He can't afford to keep all of his horses if he has to go somewhere else. That’s why he’s so opposed to losing his field," said the manageress.

  "The Council aren't going to drop a multi-million pound property development just because Samantha Inkler's dead, surely?" asked Molly, taking another bite of her tasty toastie.