Tea? Coffee? Murder! - Episode 4-6 (eBook)

Chapter One, in which Nathalie makes new acquaintances and someone makes a gruesome discovery

“Tonight, I’ll come here with my camera and then we’ll do the whole thing again, but professionally,” said Bill Purvis as he walked with Nathalie from the Black Feather to the car park.

“Is that necessary?” she asked. “You can see quite well from the mobile phone photos which pieces of furniture are involved.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Miss Ames,” the man replied, stopping to pull the car key out of his pocket. “You see it that way because you know this furniture. Everyone else only sees the photo — and that just shows some old furniture. Good photos and lighting will make all the difference.”

Nathalie shrugged. “You’re the professional, Mr Purvis.”

“Shall we say … seven o’clock? Does that suit you?”

“Yes, seven o’clock sounds good. If something comes up, I’ll call you,” she promised, and said goodbye.

Purvis got into his red Toyota pick-up. Nathalie was about to return to the pub when she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that someone was coming towards her. She turned and saw Louise Cartham, her cook and right-hand woman at the Black Feather. She was more than that though. For as a former agent of a still nameless secret service — “it wouldn’t be a secret service if I told you the name” — she had the most unusual contacts. Thanks to these contacts, and thanks to a remarkable archive that Nathalie’s Aunt Henrietta had bequeathed to her along with the combination of pub, café and boarding house, they had together succeeded in solving three crimes and convicting the perpetrators in the last few months.

Crime fighting was naturally the responsibility of the local policeman, Constable Ronald Strutner, but he was described by Louise as, amongst other things, “adorable but dim-witted”. Nathalie’s late aunt had taken a fancy to the man, however, and had actively supported him in his police work to prevent him from being transferred as soon as one of his superiors noticed his terrible working methods.

Nathalie couldn’t shake off the suspicion that Strutner wasn’t quite as obtuse as people thought, but had merely pretended to be because he liked that Henrietta wanted to help him. Nathalie had inherited the role of helping Strutner, but, in the long run, she wanted to try to steer him a little more in the direction of independence. Then they’d find out if he had a decent brain hiding in that head after all.

“Louise, what are you looking so grim about?”

“Grim? I’m furious,” Louise replied, straightening her black Iron Maiden T-shirt. Her edgy short hairstyle made her look many years younger, despite the grey. Today she was sporting leather trousers too. A brave look. “Graham didn’t show up.”

“Probably your rock chick outfit scared him,” Nathalie returned with a grin. “Isn’t eleven in the morning a bit early for a date anyway?”

“Not for brunch. But it wasn’t a date.”

“What was it? Who’s Graham?” asked Nathalie.

“Jimmy Graham. The potato farmer,” said Louise. “He promised me he’d meet me and bring this new variety … well, an old variety, actually.”

“An old variety?” repeated Nathalie. “He doesn’t sell old stock, does he?”

Louise looked irritated. “Of course not. I mean heritage varieties that were grown fifty or a hundred years ago but were displaced by new varieties that are more resistant to disease or easier to care for. This happens with all kinds of fruit and vegetables, especially apples. Local varieties are displaced by imported ones, and after a while the old varieties are forgotten. Have you really never heard of this?”

“Yeah, remember I lived in the city until a few months ago,” Nathalie pointed out. “We townies don’t know much about hundred-year-old potatoes.”

“I keep forgetting you’re an incomer.” She patted Nathalie on the shoulder. “You’ve lost that urbanista style already.” Louise looked at her with mock pride.

A honk made them both sit up, and as they turned towards the car park, they saw Purvis waving at them as he drove away.

“Never mind about about my heritage-potato date — what about your dates that seem to happen whenever I leave the house. First Rob Hayle, who was supposedly going to restore some murals, and today … I believe that’s Bill Purvis is it not? The antiques dealer? What’s really going on, Miss Ames?” she teased. “Are you hiding something from me?”

“Oh that? It was quite spontaneous,” she said. “Sit down for a minute and I’ll tell you.” She pointed to a free table on the terrace, and they took a seat. “Purvis came to the café this morning to have his thermos filled with coffee, as usual. Now, I had received another phone call last night …”

“From whom?” said Louise.

“Excuse me, Louise,” said Nathalie and laughed. “Let me add a bit of drama to my tale without interruption. You always have great stories from your time as a … souped-up civil servant … I want to add a bit of excitement to my slightly mundane tale.”

The older woman laughed. “Sorry. Won’t interrupt you again.”

“So, it was a call that kept me up half the night, and when I saw Purvis come in this morning, I thought I’d just ask his advice.”

She paused and looked at Louise, who was leaning forward in her chair to hear the whole story.

“I wanted to know from him if my aunt’s furniture was still worth anything or if it should just be taken to the dump.”

“Dump your aunt’s furniture! You want …”

“Louise!”

“I didn’t say anything, I didn’t make a sound.”

“A situation has arisen that requires me to make two decisions. Depending on what my first decision is, I have to think about what to do with Henrietta’s furniture. I could keep it, or I could sell it. Everything in the flat reminds me of my aunt, so if I get rid of it, I might regret it. It also might feel like banishing her from her own home. On the other hand, the flat feels a bit like a museum. I still feel like I’m a visitor.”

To avoid another rebuke, Louise raised her hand in a jokey manner and only spoke when Nathalie nodded in agreement. “Why don’t you ask yourself what your aunt would have wanted? Do you think Henrietta would have wanted you feel like you were just visiting? Don’t you think Henrietta would have expected you to regard the Black Feather as your own and make the changes you need to. She wouldn’t have expected everything to always stay the same.”

Nathalie nodded. “Yes, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. I toyed with the idea of using at least one or two things for the guest rooms. But the rooms are all so awkwardly shaped that none of Henrietta’s things would fit. That’s why I spoke to Purvis about it.”

“So, what was his verdict?”

She shrugged slightly. “It’s all still in good condition. He wants to offer it to a few of his clients, but to do that he has to show them decent photos, so he’s coming back here tonight and bringing his good camera.”

“If you’re definitely parting with Henrietta’s furniture, you’ll want me to help you pick new stuff, right?”

“No, I … I’ll have the furniture brought from my own place.”

Louise looked at her with shock. “You’re selling your flat in Liverpool? I thought you wanted to be sure about staying here first.” Smiling delightedly, she then asked, “What made you realise you didn’t have to wait a year to decide? Who called you last night?”

“Glenn.”

“Ah. How’s his countryside allergy?”

“More like a phobia,” Nathalie replied.

“And what did he say to make you want to run away for good?” asked Louise suspiciously.

Nathalie waved it off. “I’m not running away. And he didn’t tell me anything bad either. He’s found a potential buyer for my flat who wants to sign the contract sooner rather than later. This is an opportunity for me. Who knows if I’ll ever get that much money for my flat again.”

“And there’s no catch?”

“At least not for me. The buyer’s offering a good twenty percent more than I wanted for the flat.”

“Why?”

“I guess Glenn’s a convincing salesman,” Nathalie said. “He had even added thirty percent to the asking price and let the buyer bargain. He’s happy that he got a discount, and I’m happy because I get more for my flat.”

“And Glenn? Is he happy to be rid of you now, or …? I mean, what was his intention?”

“Well, that’s what I asked him, and I expect you’ll be as surprised as I am. He didn’t want to get rid of me, he’d just come to the conclusion that I wasn’t going back to Liverpool anyway, and he thought I needed a kick up the backside to sort things out now, rather than just keep putting it off.” She sighed softly. “When he told me that, I realised he was right. I needed that kick because I actually belong here. I don’t need a flat in the city in case I want to leave here again. I don’t want to leave here at all.”

Louise patted Nathalie’s hand. “I’m impressed, not...