Tea? Coffee? Murder! - A Deadly Fortune (eBook)

Chapter One, in which two unusually good offers are made

“Three … two … one … tah-dah!” shouted the troupe of artists in chorus. Then Belle Starr pulled the cloth from the façade. The sign Local Roots was revealed, which looked even better above the entrance of the country market than it had on paper. Like the drawing, which had been Belle’s design, the individual letters of the sign were formed from a network of roots, vines, tubers and leaves of all shapes and sizes. This gave the impression that the name had grown like a plant. Everything was now three-dimensional and there was something unique to see from every angle.

“Wow! You’ve really outdone yourselves!” said Nathalie and applauded enthusiastically.

Her friend Louise Cartham joined in the applause, as did Ronald Strutner, the constable responsible for the Earlsraven area. Also attending the unveiling that Thursday morning were forensic scientist Jean-Louis Talreja, sometimes known as J.L. for short, solicitor Martin Lazebnik, who’d moved to Earlsraven only a short while ago, and bookseller Paige Starling.

And shooting lots of photos for the Raven Times, was Akiel Williams, the young reporter of the recently resurrected local newspaper.

Belle, who had dyed her long hair moss green to match the occasion, bowed. Her artist colleagues also responded to the prolonged applause with bows and smiles.

Evan Joyce, a talented artist from this bohemian group, winked at Nathalie. His beaming smile was only for her. Nathalie was putting a lot of trust in this group of artists in running her new venture — a community supermarket — and none more so than the charming Evan, who seemed to have no end of skills and abilities. Kissing being one of them.

After the applause had died down, Akiel approached Nathalie for a quote. “Miss Ames, can you tell me when you’ll be opening?”

“I’d love to tell you, Akiel, but I don’t know yet. Our brilliant artists are working round the clock to complete the interior of the market. But there’s still a lot to do. You can be sure it’s going to look amazing though.”

“I bet local farmers are impatient for the work to finish and for the market to open,” said the young reporter. “What would you like to tell them?”

“Yes, there’s a lot of enthusiasm, which I’m thrilled about. Their involvement is crucial. It will be worth the wait, you know? We’re nearly there. And I’m excited to offer something positive to our farming community,” she replied.

“Thank you, Miss Ames,” he said. “I still have to interview the artists.”

“Okay. Thanks, Akiel,” she replied. “And I’ll want to advertise with the Raven Times when we finally get that opening date.”

She watched him as he approached Evan, who stood out from the group just as much as the green-haired Belle.

“So, is Akiel doing a good job?”

Nathalie turned to see Louise standing next to her — her cook at the Black Feather, and now, undoubtedly, her best friend. Louise’s short grey hair and striking features often reminded Nathalie of Judi Dench or Helen Mirren. The two comparisons were also apt for Louise for another reason, because the actresses had both played roles as spies — and Louise had actually worked for the intelligence service. Anything more on that subject was her secret. Perhaps Nathalie would find out more one day.

“Akiel’s doing great. I’m grateful for the coverage,” said Nathalie. “However, one crucial bit of information he can’t report on is our opening date.”

“I think there’s a lot of enthusiasm for this new venture of yours. Don’t worry too much. It’s coming together. But it might not hurt to put a bit of pressure on your artists to get a move on with the practical stuff.”

The cook turned round, noticing a Jaguar which, at that moment, was pulling up on the other side of the road.

The man who got out of the car looked as if he had money. A neat side-parting, glasses, clean-shaven, and a brightly coloured suit that looked two sizes too small, even though he was very slender.

“That shade of blue is very Smurf, don’t you think?” Louise muttered, glancing at the Jaguar driver, who was taking another briefcase out of the boot and looking around.

Nathalie gave him the side-eye. “Ooft. And I bet that suit was expensive as hell.”

“I bet. He’s looking this way. Looks like he wants to see you,” said Louise.

“Oh dear. Are you going to abandon me?”

“Well, Akiel is heading for the market, and I want to stop our eager young reporter from photographing the stalls before we’re good and ready to reveal everything.”

“Oh yes, good thinking! I’ll go with you …”

But she was interrupted by the man in the blue suit.

“Miss Ames?” he called out — loud enough that Nathalie could not claim to not have heard him.

She turned to face him. “Yes?”

“Frank Vaughn,” he said. “I negotiate commercial property sales for various clients.”

“I see.” Nathalie didn’t say any more, but she didn’t have to. Vaughn was not the type to wait for an invitation to talk.

“This is your project?” he asked.

“Yes, a country market,” she replied. “A supermarket only for products from farms and small businesses in the region. Nothing imported, nothing genetically modified, nothing from factory farming.”

Vaughn nodded appreciatively. “Well, I admire your entrepreneurial spirit, Miss Ames, I’ll be honest about that. But I have to tell you, just as openly and honestly, that I wouldn’t invest a penny in your idea.”

“Okay,” she replied in a tone that made it clear that she wasn’t interested in his opinion.

“Such a supermarket has no future.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. One more insult and she’d send the guy packing.

“But it’s your lucky day, because with what I’m proposing, not only will you save money, you’ll also make a lot of money.”

“If you hadn’t already introduced yourself, I’d ask you if you were from the National Lottery,” she replied.

Vaughn smiled, but it was only a pretence of politeness. “You see, Miss Ames, my client is offering you double the amount you invested in the building, the land and the remodelling. Plus, five thousand pounds for the transfer of all rights to the name ‘Local Roots’.”

“Why?”

“Because my client thinks and acts globally.”

“What? He wants to open branches worldwide?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t tell you about my client’s plans because I don’t know them myself. But if I did know, I would be sworn to secrecy.”

“So it’s also possible that he’s just buying the name from me to chuck it in a drawer and forget about it?”

“I can’t deny it’s possible, Miss Ames,” Vaughn said with a shrug.

“Then I can be grateful that I also own the land and that your client has no way of driving me out.”

Vaughn thought about it for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’re refusing the offer?”

“Very perceptive, Mr Vaughn. I can see why they pay you the big bucks,” she said. “I’m refusing the offer.”

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, Miss Ames. Three times the amount and fifteen thousand pounds for the name.”

Nathalie had already turned away from him when he said that. She turned back. “What was that?”

Vaughn seemed to miss that her tone did not indicate awakened interest, but annoyance at not being taken seriously.

“My respect, Miss Ames,” he continued. “You realised immediately that this was only an initial offer. Many others would have jumped in immediately.”

“I declined because I’m not interested,” she said, “not because I want to haggle with you. I’m not selling!”

“But—”

“Come back in ten years, when I’ve opened branches all over the country,” she said. “Then we’ll see if your client has enough money to take them all over.”

Vaughn shook his head. “I … I don’t understand.”

“I’m not interested. That’s all. I assume your client was convinced that I would sell. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

He scratched his head. “All right, then. I didn’t expect this, Miss Ames. Keep my card anyway, perhaps you’ll come to a different conclusion when you’ve slept on it. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Mr Vaughn!” she replied, watching him as he walked, visibly dejected, to his car, got in and drove off.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to come with us, Nathalie?” shouted Louise, who had just walked around the corner of the supermarket and brought the reporter with her. He looked embarrassed. Apparently, Louise had caught him trying to sneak into the shop. “And where did the slim guy in the Smurf suit go?”

“He left after I made it clear to him that I didn’t want to sell my country market,” Nathalie replied.

“What do you want to sell?” asked the constable, who had just joined them.

“I don’t want to sell anything, Ronald.” She handed him Vaughn’s business card. “Can you do a background check on this bloke? He’s offered me several hundred thousand pounds more than I paid if I let his client have my property and the rights to the name ‘Local Roots’.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be surprised if our dear Sir Alfred Battersfield is behind this,” Ronald replied, and put the business card in the breast pocket of his uniform jacket.

“Agreed,” said Louise. “We knew this would get his attention....