The Curford Mystery.
‘Ninety-nine pence for a tin of beans? I think that’s a bit pricey.’ An elderly woman in a brown twinset and a green hat pulled down over her grey hair, examined the tin and frowned. ‘Umm, it’s a 99p stall, everything is 99p. That’s sort of the point, besides its for charity.’ Just pay it, you miserable sod, I thought. What did you expect from a church fete, besides I didn’t donate these things did I? Word to the wise, if you ever donate things to a ninety-nine pence stall at a fete, at least make them worth it. I’d been there all morning and sold two packets of biscuits and a tin of soup. Hardly a threat to Tesco. I’m not even sure how I got involved anyway, I was just trying to be helpful. I had hoped to get the tombola, but apparently that was Grace Collingwood’s domain. So, I got lumbered with selling soup and beans at inflated prices. Such is life. ‘Well, yes dear I suppose it is for charity, but I’ll be having...