The Fete of Death Read online

  "It was only Samantha Inkler pushing for it. No one else wanted it. It's greenbelt - well, it's supposed to be, and most folk round here will tell you it's jinxed. That field's bad news for all who step foot on the place. No one in the village would have bought one of those houses. They’re very superstitious here in Tarndale. They think the houses would be haunted, if they ever do get built."

  "I can believe that!" said Tara, who suddenly found she was superstitious after all.

  Josh Matthews agreed "No one wants more houses round here, that's for sure. Especially those whose houses face that field. If you’ve got a view like that, the prospect of a hundred houses on your doorstep isn't a nice one is it? Mavis Poole's one of them that would be affected. It's such a shame, she always..."

  "Mavis Poole?"

  "Yes, she’s a librarian," he said.

  "That's very interesting. Which house is hers?"

  "The white one, number six," he said.

  "I think we'll pay her a visit." said Tara.

  “Why’s that?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

  “Oh, I err, want to swap notes on pie baking, seeing as the judges much preferred her pie to mine,” lied Tara.

  After they'd eaten their fill and Tara was satisfied she'd re-stocked her dangerously depleted caffeine levels to a more normal level, they gathered up their bags of shopping and set off to the bed and breakfast after saying their goodbyes to the manageress and Josh Matthews. Josh had taken Tara’s hand and gazed at her intently, much to the annoyance of the others and the obvious delight of Tara Trott. The wind was still strong outside, but the heavy pelting rain drops had faded to a light drizzle, which somehow managed to wet them far more.

  Once they'd settled into the bed and breakfast, had much-needed showers and pulled on their cosy new pyjamas and slippers, they all met up in Tara's room to discuss the case.

  Tara reached for a pen and paper. She always liked to have a notepad and pen lying around because she loved writing lists. Well, it wasn't the actual writing of the lists she enjoyed, it was the crossing off you could do once you'd made a list. She liked to use different coloured pens for her really important lists back at home.

  "Right, suspects?" She wrote it as a heading, underlining it several times to emphasise its importance.

  "Anyone and everyone!" said Sally, putting everyone’s thoughts into words.

  "Pretty much, but I'm sure we can narrow it down a bit if we try," said Nancy, hoping she was right, but as she hadn't been there for either murder, she was pretty much in the dark as regards potential suspects.

  "Alright, what do we know about Samantha Inkler’s murder so far then? At the moment, the murder weapon - as in the pie, is missing. There's no proof it was the blackcurrant pie that had arsenic in it especially if there’s no pie."

  "But it must have been, because that was the only pie Linda Phelps didn't eat - and Samantha Inkler ate lots of it!" said Molly, nodding.

  Tara hastily scribbled notes. "I don't think the pie would be missing if it wasn't the culprit. I'm sure the autopsy will find arsenic in Samantha Inkler’s stomach, but then again, all the cakes and pies she ate, including mine, will all be mixed in with the blackcurrant pie. I suppose Mavis Poole could have taken the pie home and disposed of it with her living so close by even though she denies it."

  "And whoever decided on using the pie as a murder weapon knew full well Linda Phelps wouldn't eat it because of her blackcurrant allergy so they were definitely targeting Samantha Inkler," said Sally.

  "Mavis Poole seems the most likely suspect to me, especially as she said Samantha Inkler was going to get her 'just deserts' just before she ate her pie and now we know her own house was going to be affected by the housing development, that's a pretty strong motive if you ask me and why else bake a blackcurrant pie?" asked Tara.

  "I don't like the woman! She was pointing the finger in every direction except her own. She was trying to implicate Susan Smythe before Samantha Inkler was poisoned by telling us she'd taken books out of the library last week about poisonous plants and herbs," said Sally.

  "She did, and she also tried to frame me for both murders too with very poor motives for me doing so, I might add. But you know, as a librarian, she has access to those same books – and more," said Tara.

  "Good point!" said Nancy.

  "First thing in the morning, I'm going to see Mavis Poole and I'll be getting some answers out of her one way or another," said Tara.

  "What about Adam Pinder? Why would she kill him?" asked Sally.

  "That's a good point. Maybe his murder was a distraction so she could add the arsenic to the pie when no one was looking? Or maybe there’s two different killers? We do have a clue for Adam Pinder's murder though - this note," she said, pulling the pink crumpled note out of her jeans pocket. Luckily, it had been protected from the worst of the weather and was only slightly damp.

  "Tara! You took evidence from a crime scene?" asked Nancy, wondering how she would explain it to her detective husband.

  "The wind could just as easily have blown it into the nearest puddle and a stampede of hysterical villagers would have then trampled it into obscurity. I saved it."

  She read the note out to them again.

  "Now, we don't know who left this note and we don't know if he did meet them. I think it's safe to assume he wasn't too happy about meeting whoever it was though," said Tara, stroking the creased paper, thoughtfully.

  "Why's that?" asked Nancy, wondering if Tara had suddenly gained psychic powers.

  "Because he'd screwed it up and thrown it on the floor of the caravan. I think the woman he had an affair with wrote the note - and I think if we find out who that was, we'll have the identity of his killer. Maybe she killed him because he finished the affair? Jealousy is always a powerful motive for murder."

  "We'll have to ask Susan Smythe then. She disappeared just before Samantha Inkler was poisoned, said Molly.

  "She was very drunk," said Sally. “I doubt she could have killed a man in that state – she could barely walk.”

  "Was she though? Or was she only acting? Did she kill Adam Pinder? She was angry enough with him to slap him and she didn't seem that upset he was dead either. Mind you, no one there seemed too upset over it, or even shocked for that matter."

  "Did anyone see anyone else in the cake tent that shouldn't have been there?" asked Molly.

  "We took Susan Smythe inside the tent, but we thought it was the right thing to do with her being so drunk and...upset and alone," said Sally.

  "Susan Smythe had an entry in the cake competition so she had a reason to be there, remember? But she did go all weird, talking about poisons and how it only takes a few drops of a potent poison to make someone drop dead," said Molly.

  "That's right, she did! She gave me the creeps talking about poison like that," said Sally, remembering the conversation all too well.

  "Okay, so she's a suspect in both murders. But, we don't know what her motive would be for Samantha Inkler's murder," said Tara, writing it all down and turning the page.

  "And her boots were full of mud too. The actual part of the field the fete was on wasn’t that muddy to start with. It was the torrential rain and the mass stampede that made it muddy. The corner where your car is parked is definitely muddy. Suede boots aren't exactly the best choice if you're anywhere near mud. They’re as useful as a pair of socks. She must have gone up that end for a reason," said Sally.

  “Trust me, trainers aren’t a good choice either,” said Tara ruefully.

  "You know, Mavis Poole said she saw Samantha Inkler follow Adam Pinder into the caravan, threatening him with the environmental health. Now, I heard that, but I didn't see her go into the caravan. So Mavis Poole has no alibi for Adam Pinder’s murder because she evidently was in the immediate vicinity about the time of his murder. She must have been to have seen them both go into the caravan – if she saw them both go inside, that is. What I can’t understand is why no one saw or heard him st
ruggle? He could easily have fought a woman off I’m sure. But, if Samantha Inkler had killed Adam Pinder, she'd have chipped her nail vanish I'm sure, and her nail varnish was still pristine," said Tara.

  "At last, someone we can cross off the suspect list. Even if she did get murdered herself later,” said Nancy.

  "I saw Simon Salter, coming out of the cake tent, just before Samantha Inkler was poisoned. He's got a temper on him that's for sure. He had a row with Adam Pinder and Samantha Inkler too - and he made threats to both of them. He's also got a strong motive - he doesn't want to lose the field and his horses. He had the opportunity to carry out both murders because he was at the scene of both murders at about the right time. He has no alibi either. He's another we'll need to question tomorrow - although we'll have to be careful how we put things to him. I think the best plan is to get him to pull my car out of the mud first then if we need to make a quick getaway, we can," said Tara.

  "What about the police?"

  "Ah! I knew there was something! Whilst you were in the shower, Dennis rang. He said they’d be round tonight to take our statements."

  They all groaned. There was nothing worse when you wanted to relax in the evening after a stressful day than knowing at any minute, someone would be knocking on the door. It was even worse when you knew the people knocking, were there to take statements and go over and over the same tedious questions for hours on end.

  Chapter Six

  Just as they were all engrossed in a film on TV in Tara's room, the police knocked on the door. They were stood in the doorway, looking as fed up about being there as Tara and the others felt about them having to be there. It wasn’t until several hours later, after repeating themselves several times to the bored looking officers, they finally left.

  Tara had given them the note. They weren't best pleased about her and her adamant proclamations of 'rescuing' it from the muddy jaws of obscurity. They said they would have found it, even if it had been trampled in the mud. "Fingerprints and DNA evidence could be on that note - and you've compromised that by your silly actions!" they'd scolded. They'd also accused her of trying to be an ‘armchair detective’ and that if she had to deal with murders like they did on a weekly basis, she'd soon stop feeling all 'Marple-ish'. Tara couldn’t help but feel that if they did indeed have a murder every week in Tarndale, it must be the UK’s most dangerous place to live. Armchair detectives, according to the two police officers, didn't have mountains of paperwork and red tape to negotiate, they were just mavericks, on a fiction-fuelled mission to find out ‘whodunit’ and show the police how to do their job. Of course, Tara had denied all of that and she'd tried to say it was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing the dead body which had made her put the note into her pocket. They might have bought that, but unfortunately, they then saw Tara's notes she’d made on the case. They'd thrown them into the wastepaper bin and made it perfectly clear that four should leave the village as soon as it was safe to do so. Their parting words were to the twins who they said had obviously put a lot of effort into looking just like their pensioner detective heroine, but that on TV she uncovered murders in very unlikely scenarios. Whereas, in this village, an amateur detective would more likely find themselves to be a victim, they’d warned.

  Tara had sulked on the bed since they'd left. In her beloved ‘Fiona Tipple’ detective novels, no one ever bothered if evidence was collected by the amateur detective without wearing gloves or a sterile plastic bag to put it into. Even 'Colombo', the TV detective, carried evidence around with him in paper bags whilst he was cracking a case. No one ever told him he was compromising vital evidence.

  The only good thing was, she'd at least seen the note and so she knew what the note said and the colour and design on it. If she could find one of the suspects that had the notebook that page was ripped from, she'd have the murderer of Adam Pinder.

  "Are you going to sulk all night?" asked Nancy, already knowing the answer.

  Tara was sat on the bed, pouting, with her arms folded. The twins were going through Tara's notes on the case (which they’d defiantly salvaged out of the waste paper bin) and were constructing possible motives for the murders which were too far-fetched, even for fiction, but they were having a great time doing it.

  "I'm not sulking, I'm thinking."

  "Looks like a sulk to me. You've given them the note now, it's out of your hands. You did what you thought was for the best at the time."

  "I think the best thing to do right now, is for us all to go to bed. We've a busy day ahead of us tomorrow and I'm hoping we'll be able to leave this dismal Tarndale once and for all."

  "Without solving the case first? You - being such a huge detective fan?" asked Nancy, raising her eyebrows.

  "We can solve the case before we go home, I’m sure we can. We'll solve it tomorrow and then - we're leaving!"

  "I hope you're right, said Nancy. “But what about your admirer, Josh Matthews? He's hoping to see you in the pub next door, tonight."

  "I'd forgotten about him! Yes, let's go to the pub just for one drink. It's only next door as you say, and we might even get some new leads on the case whilst we’re there," she said as she whipped her pyjamas off and pulled a new dress on. Although, she hadn't bought any shoes to go with it, so she had to wear the slippers.

  The twins were also quite eager to go to the pub for a bit too because they said they felt like a 'nightcap' and they also believed all the best gossip could always be found in the local pub, which Nancy agreed with wholeheartedly. So, the group of amateur detectives who weren't actually going to the pub to do any actual ‘detecting’, (or at least that's what they would say to the police if they bumped into them) set off. They planned to go for one drink and a change of scenery, before bedtime.

  Tara Trott of course, was going to see if Josh Matthews turned up. She hoped so. It'd be embarrassing if he didn't. She could imagine him and the locals in the pub laughing about how she'd been naive enough to turn up expecting to see him - in her slippers, nonetheless.

  At ‘The Fox’, the twins ordered a sherry each, and sat at the bar, happily chatting through their own bizarre list of theories about the case. Tara and Nancy sat at a table in the far corner, where Tara had a very good view of the door. They'd decided on a glass of red wine each but Tara didn't feel too talkative because every time she saw the door open, she hoped it was Josh Matthews, and so far, there was no sign of him.

  "I know you're looking out for him from the coffee shop, but I bet he says that chat up line to all of his customers. I wouldn't get your hopes up for him turning up tonight," said Nancy, matter-of-factly.

  "I'm half hoping he doesn't turn up actually. I don't really want him to see me in my fluffy slippers."

  "He's already seen you covered in mud, I doubt the fluffy slippers would faze him."

  Tara took another sip of her wine. The pub was quite full now and she was glad they'd got seats in the corner, where they could blend into the background. The twins however, after downing their third sherry in a row, found themselves holding court to several elderly men from the village.

  "Well, they're certainly letting their hair down," said Tara, wondering if she'd have the same effect on men in their own village if she had let her hair down. The twins usually had their hair up in a bun but as they'd already showered and thought they'd be having an early night, they decided to leave their surprisingly long hair down. It was having quite an effect on the men folk in the pub that was for sure.

  The pensioners were the rowdiest group in the pub. When they started dancing 'waltz style' round the packed pub, Nancy and Tara slid down their seats, wishing they were invisible.

  "He never said what time he'd be in. He may have been in earlier, or he might drop by later.”

  “There's time yet," snapped Tara, glancing up at the clock.

  "I never said he wouldn’t turn up," said Nancy, holding up her hands.

  "You were thinking it though."

  "So you're a mind reader now?"

&
nbsp; "Weren't you?"

  "Well, I might have been, what does it matter? Let's just enjoy our drinks and try to make sure the pensioners don't get out of hand."

  The twins were picked up and carried over to the piano by a couple of the youngest of the men in the group.

  "Oh...please, no," murmured Tara.

  The twins were both clumsily seated at the piano, side by side and the gathered pensioners burst into shaky song, to the twin’s surprisingly good piano playing. They were soon singing all the old war songs. ('It's a long way to Tipperary' echoed in Tara's head for weeks afterwards).

  "I didn't even know the twins could play the piano," said Nancy, dumbfounded that there was something about them she didn't know.

  "Oh look, I can't sit here just listening to them! We've got to be seen doing something then if...if he happens to walk in, it doesn't look like we've been sat here, waiting for him," said Tara, tapping her slipper clad foot impatiently under the wooden table.

  "What do you suggest? That we join in the sing song?"

  "No! I've got a much better idea!"

  She went self-consciously to the bar in her fluffy, heeled slippers and came back with two cups of tea to Nancy's obvious bewilderment.

  "Tea?"

  "Yep."

  "You don't drink tea! How is this going to make him think you've got other things to do other than sit around waiting for him to turn up? Him - whose name we won't mention, with a cup of tea in your hand, sat in a pub?" asked Nancy, frowning.

  "We're going to have a go at tea leaf reading."

  "You can't be serious?"

  "How hard can it be?"

  "I don't know, I've never tried it," admitted Nancy.

  "We might get a clue to help us solve the murders and it'll keep us occupied nicely too."

  "Do you know how?"

  "Nope," she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her mobile. "I'm going to Google it."

  "I think this is just going to go down as being the most bizarre weekend of my life. I can just see me in a nursing home, years from now, suddenly remembering this weekend and not believing myself that it could ever have actually happened! And no one else will either. You didn't even believe in tea leaf reading back in Nithercott."