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 a word with the vicar.  Where is he anyway?’  She looked around the field shielding her eyes from the bright sun.  Then she was off, leaving me a whole pound. I sighed, this was not the life I had hoped for when I swapped the hustle and bustle of a big city for the sleepy village in Northamptonshire.  Still, at least I wasn’t living with Gerald anymore.

Three more tins of soup and a jar of coffee later I was reaching breaking point, if I didn’t get a break soon, I’d go spare.  I needed a plan.  Just then Margery Dent marched along waving and smiling at everyone like she owned the place.  I beckoned her over.

‘How are you doing dear? Everything ok?’ she asked.

‘Not great, but I’ve sold a few things. Could do with something more exciting to sell.’

‘Yes, that’s the trouble with church fetes, we have to rely on what people donate, still every little helps, so they say.’

I nodded, as if I cared.  ‘Actually Margery, I needed to see you, I wondered if I could take a break.  I really need the loo.’  No one could refuse a woman in need of the toilet, could they?

‘Oh of course dear, bear with me and I’ll find you some relief.’  She bustled off only to return a few minutes later dragging Helen, the vicar’s wife behind her. Helen was one of those women who always wanted to help, no matter what you asked. Whilst that was a lovely attitude to have, today it got her lumbered. I grinned to myself, thank the Lord for friendly do-gooders.

With Helen safely ensconced behind my stall I made my escape.  I didn’t really need the toilet, but I felt I should at least head in that direction, then I doubled back through a crowd of people at the Aunt Sally stand and slipped into the tea tent.  I would have killed for a gin and tonic, but as it was only 11.30, I’d settle for a cup of tea.

‘You look like you need this.’  Alf Mosely was on tea duty.  I liked Alf, he was a kindly old chap with a wicked sense of humour, and what he didn’t know about gardening wasn’t worth knowing.  

‘I’m bunking off and hiding from Margery, so shh.’ I said winking.  Alf laughed and poured me a cup of something brown and hot.  Tea, I assumed, but you never knew.  Alf maybe the Percy Thrower of Curford but his tea making skills were more than dubious.  Still, it wouldn’t kill me, probably.

I snuck out the tent and around the side checking that Margery wasn’t watching and sat on the grass in the shade.  With the sun beating down on the little village green, the shade of the tent was a welcome relief.  Even Alf’s tea tasted good.  I’d come a long way from a penthouse in the docklands, through Geralds mid life crisis, the divorce, a half decent settlement and now here I was, sat in a village doing my best to fit in amongst the Jam and Jerusalem set. How the mighty have fallen. My musings were interrupted by what sounded like an argument somewhere close by.

‘I knew it was you the other day, Maisie Crabtree, and now I know what you are up to.’  A voice that sounded like Margery said.

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’  I didn’t recognise the other speaker.

‘Oh no, don’t give me that.’ Margery, I’m sure it was her, said.  ‘I know all about you and your little scam.’

‘Madam I think you are mistaken, I have no idea what you are talking about.’  The other voice sounded annoyed.

I didn’t hear the rest because at that point Emma turned up and plonked herself down next to me, with a cup of Alf’s tea.

‘Bunking off, are we?’  she said grinning.

‘Yes, but shh.  Can you hear that?’  I said, but the argument had clearly finished.  ‘Damn, I was hoping for a bit of juicy gossip.  I’m sure I heard Margery arguing with someone.’

‘You should come to a WI meeting, you can hear her arguing with someone every week.’  Emma laughed.  I’d met Emma on my first day here, after the removal men had left me with a pile of boxes on the front lawn she had turned up with a cup of tea and a willing pair of hands.  We had been firm friends ever since.  She was a similar age to me, divorced, with a son at university.  A kindred spirit in a world of chaos.  Not that I had a son, or a daughter for that matter, Gerald had been too busy for a family.  Too busy pleasuring his PA it turned out. 

The peace was suddenly shattered by a blood curdling scream, well a scream at least, I’m never sure quite how it feels when your blood curdles. Anyway, Emma and I were on our feet and heading towards the noise in seconds. We arrived on the scene at the same time as the vicar and Alf, to find Margery, laying prone on the grass. Her eyes staring, blankly, into the sky as if she were star gazing. She looked quite peaceful, I thought, although the hilt of a kitchen knife sticking out of her chest and the red stain slowly spreading across her purple blouse sort of ruined the picture. Grace Collingwood, the tombola queen, stood next to Margery, her face ashen. At least she had stopped screaming. I knelt beside Margery and felt her wrist for a pulse, nothing. I tried the carotid artery in her neck, also nothing. I maybe should mention at this point that before my monumental breakup with Gerald, I was a nurse. I wasn’t just poking around a dead body to be ghoulish. I did actually know what I was doing. I looked up at the vicar and shook my head, as if a knife sticking out of her chest wasn’t enough of a clue.

A small crowd had gathered around us now, and Alf began ushering them all away leaving myself, the vicar, Grace and Emma, who was already dialing 999, alone with a body, in a quiet country village behind a bouncy castle. I scanned the crowd as they reluctantly moved away, looking to see who Margery might have been arguing with. It definitely wasn’t Grace, I would have recognized her voice anywhere, but it was a woman I’m certain. 

‘So, let me get this straight madam, you heard the victim arguing with someone, but you don’t know who that was? You sure you didn’t recognize the voice? Or see anyone?’ PC Roberts asked a while later in the tea tent, which had become a temporary police station it seemed.

‘I’ve told you, Clive, I didn’t see anything. I heard Margery arguing, then Emma sat down next to me, next thing I heard a scream. Then we discovered the body and called you lot. And what’s with the madam?’ Clive Roberts was the local bobby, if you can still call them that, and often joined me and Emma in the pub on a Friday night.

‘Sorry, Ms Clarkeson, Jenny, I’m just trying do my job properly.’ He looked a little hurt. ‘It’s my first murder, if it goes well, I could be in for promotion, or something.’ He added, looking around to see if anyone else was watching.

‘It’s fine, you’re doing great.’ I reassured him.

He smiled. ‘Anyway, you didn’t touch anything did you?’

‘I told you, I checked for a pulse and when I couldn’t find one, I stepped away and no one touched anything’

‘Yes, sorry, I’m just making sure I have everything. OK well if I could just take down your name and address, we’ll be in touch if we need to talk more.’

‘Clive, you know who I am, and you know where I live. You fell asleep on my sofa last Tuesday.’ I rolled my eyes and smiled at him. Poor lad was out of his depth but no doubt he would make a decent copper one day. Maybe.

‘That’s enough now surely, Clive. Jen needs a cup of tea, I’m sure.’ Emma put her hand on Clive’s shoulder. When Clive got up, she took his seat and placed a mug of tea, in front of me. ‘Bless him.’ She said. ‘I doubt he’s ever seen a dead body before, never mind investigated a murder. Anyway, how are you doing? It’s exciting, isn’t it?’

One of the things I liked about Emma was that nothing really phased her. A member of the local community is stabbed in broad daylight and here she is, making me tea and getting excited. Village people really are a different breed.

‘I’m not sure exciting is the word, but at least it got me out of selling over-priced baked beans.’

‘I wonder who did it. Did you say you heard her arguing? Who was she talking to do you think? Although I reckon, I could name at least a dozen people who’d gladly stick a knife in Margery, given half a chance.’ She laughed.

‘Wasn’t a voice I recognized, although, there was something about the way she spoke. I don’t know, seemed a bit, odd? Like she was maybe putting on a fake accent.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I only heard her briefly. I’m sure the police will figure it out.’

‘You think? I’ve just been speaking to that detective, he sounded like he couldn’t find his elbow if it were signposted.’ She pointed to a short, plumb figure standing near the tea urn talking to Alf. He looked like someone had over-stuffed a teddy bear. His suit was at least a size too small, and his shoes were scuffed. I’ve always said you can tell a lot by looking at a man’s shoes. I could see what Emma meant, probably wouldn’t be holding my breath until this one was solved.

‘We should do a little sleuthing ourselves.’ She said winking.

I looked at her. She had a glint in her eye that I hadn’t seen in a while. Ever since her short dalliance with the barman from the pub in the next village had gone pear-shaped, a few months ago, I’d felt there was something missing. Her baby blues had lost their sparkle, but something had definitely reignited in there. 

‘Don’t you think we should leave it to the police? I don’t think you’d suit a deerstalker and neither of us are old enough to be Miss Marple.’

‘Oh, come on, it might be fun. I’m not suggesting we interfere with the police, but a few questions here and there, who knows, maybe we’ll find out something they can’t. Besides if we talk to enough people you might recognize someone’s voice.’

‘You know someone died, right? This isn’t a game.’

‘I know, I know, but lets face it, it was Margery. And besides, this place is so boring at times, it needs a little excitement. I’ll meet you in the pub later for a strategy meeting.’ And with that she was off, leaving me to wonder if life in a quiet country village was quiet as idyllic as it was cracked up to be.

The strategy meeting in the pub wasn’t all it was cracked up to be either. Neither of us had a clue where to start so we just finished a couple of bottles of shiraz and had a kebab from the van in the car park. Like I said, my life has changed a lot recently.

I woke up the next morning with a mild headache and a missed call and a text from Emma on my phone. After a few minutes reorienting myself and putting the kettle on I rang her number.

‘Hey, Jen. How’s the head? I need a favour.’ She said, giving me no chance to complain about a hangover. ‘I’m up at Wickton Hall, the Major has given me a table, and well, I can’t really carry it home, so I was wondering if you could pick me up in that van of yours?’

‘Wait, what?’ Sometimes Emma just said words and I didn’t really listen. Today was one of those days. ‘Why is the Major giving you a table? What are you talking about?’

Emma sighed, not quite exasperated but close enough. ‘I was up here cleaning for him, he’s having a bit of a clear out and asked if I wanted a coffee table. It’s oak apparently, might have belonged to some Lord of the Manor, or not, I wasn’t really listening, but its just the right size for my lounge. Anyway, can you help me get it home? Please?’

When I moved here, I sold the Merc and bought myself a campervan, I thought it would be a nice project for me. I say campervan, its currently a panel van awaiting a conversion, which I might get around to one day. Anyway its been handy and now it seems it is in demand again. I agreed to meet Emma in half an hour on the proviso that she at least made me coffee.

So, thirty minutes later I drove up the long driveway to Wickton Hall, seat of the local landowners for centuries, although currently in the hands of Major James Wickton. The Major was less of a landowner more of an old rogue, but harmless enough and generous to a fault. He was standing outside the Hall, in the sunshine talking to Emma as I pulled up in front of them.

‘Jennifer. Lovely to see you again.’ He smiled as he greeted me. ‘So good of you to come and help, I would have got the Rolls out but I’m not sure even that would hold a table.’

‘I hear you’re having a bit of a clearout.’ I said as we lifted the table into the back of my van. At least he helped with that.

‘Yes, yes. Well, since my Elizabeth passed away, I’ve been rattling about in this place like a marble in a bucket. I have decided to sell up and move to the lodge on the edge of the estate. I’ve had an offer to turn the place into a spa, whatever that is. I’m sure it will be lovely.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway come through, I’ve just put the kettle on, I’m sure you’ll stay for tea before you go, won’t you?’

The major’s tea making skills were considerably better than Alf’s so I followed him through to the kitchen, Emma trailing along behind me. As we passed a room to the left, I saw it was stacked full of boxes.

‘Are you moving out already?’ I asked, staring at some of the paintings stacked up along one wall.

‘No, not yet, but my cousin Phyllis arrived a couple of days ago. I haven’t spoken to her since I was knee high to a whippet. When she telephoned me a few days ago, I was delighted to hear from her. She runs a little charity in London and she’s going to get rid of some of this old junk for me. Anything with any value we will sell at an auction at the end of the month, but the other things, Phyllis will sell in her charity shop.  Very kind of her to help.’

I picked up a painting, a landscape, and examined it. The brushwork was familiar, I knew because Gerald had one hanging in his office in the dockland apartment. I also knew how much it was worth, thanks to my lawyer. I’d let Gerald keep it, despite coveting it for myself. But I got the apartment, and the car and a lot of cash, so he could keep his painting.

‘Are these the paintings for auction?’ I asked, wondering if I could afford to put in an offer for it.

‘Oh, good Lord no, those are the bits and pieces Phyllis has dug out for her charity. She’s an art dealer, if you’ll believe it. What a stroke of luck.’

Perhaps I was mistaken. I’m no art dealer, I’m a nurse with a cheating ex husband, what did I know. I followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table while he busied himself making tea. I obviously had my thinking face on as Emma nudged me as she sat down.

‘What’s up? You alright?’ she asked.

Before I could answer the door to the garden flew open and a squat woman in a pink summer dress and a purple hat walked in. She looked like a child had coloured her in, nothing matched.

‘Oh Phyllis, there you are. Come and meet Jennifer. Jennifer this is my cousin Phyllis. I’m sure you’ll get on like a house on fire.’

‘Lovely to meet you’ she said. ‘I hope James has been entertaining you properly.’

Had I have already started my tea I would have spat it out. That voice. I’d heard it before. Suddenly things were slotting into place. The painting, the cousin turning up as soon as the manor was being sold, the argument at the village fete.

‘Oh I’m really sorry, is that the time? I’ve got to run, I promised Alf I’d help him move some furniture in my van. It’s very much in demand, Emma, can you come and give me a hand? Sorry I sort of volunteered you too.’ I hoped I hadn’t sounded too flustered, but we needed to get out of there and phone Clive, and soon.

‘What’s the rush?’ Emma asked as we got to my van.

‘Phone Clive, tell him to meet us at my place. There’s something I need to tell him. I’m not sure but I think that was who Margery was arguing with before she was stabbed. And I think I know what the argument was about.’

A few hours later, Emma and I were sat in the pub, eating lunch. The police had turned up at Wickton Hall, arrested Phyllis, aka Maisie Crabtree, on suspicion of fraud and murder. It turned out she had been up and down the country, posing as an art dealer and ripping off elderly widows. She had obviously thought she’d struck gold when she found out the Major was selling up and thought she would try a different scam to get on his good side. We later found out that Margery and Maisie were at school together, Margery had obviously recognised her at the fete and decided to confront her. Probably should have just phoned the police like any normal person, but then no one could ever accuse Margery of being normal, bless her. Clive was happy though, his superiors were impressed with his work and there might even be promotion on the cards. Emma got a new table and a story to dine out on for months. I, on the other hand, have learned that sleepy villages in the countryside are full of scandal and intrigue and can be considerably more interesting than an apartment in the docklands. I think I’m going to enjoy living in Curford.