Murder at Teatime Read online

  Murder at Teatime

  Penelope Sotheby

  ~~~

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2019 Penelope Sotheby

  First published in 2019 by Jonmac Limited.

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters and places, incidents are used entirely fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

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  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Other Books By The Author

  Murder at the Inn

  The Diane Dimbleby Murder Collection Volume 1

  Murder on the Village Green

  Murder in the Neighbourhood

  Murder on a Yacht

  Murder in the Village

  Murder in the Mail

  Murder in the Development

  Murder in the Highlands

  Murder on the Beach

  Murder in the Manse

  The Violin Murder

  Table Of Contents

  Free Book

  Other Books By The Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Get Your Free Copy of “Murder at the Inn”

  Other Books By This Author

  About The Author

  Fantastic Fiction

  Chapter 1

  Diane breathed in the sweet scent of the salt air through the open car window as Albert parked at the marina in Poole. It had been far too long since her last holiday and she felt her body relax as she climbed out of the car. The sound of music from the nearby quay made her smile as brightly colored flags fluttered in the breeze from the roofs of pubs and shops. During the summer Poole was crowded with tourists, but Diane didn’t mind. Crowds and music were a part of summer at the shore, a summer she hoped was going to be uneventful.

  Both Diane and Albert had some heartbreak recently as their dog Rufus, had passed on. This holiday was therefore something they planned to get away for a bit and to take their mind off of things. Albert would console Diane that Rufus had lived a long, and mostly good life, which Diane could not disagree with.

  Reaching into the back seat for her laptop case and overnight bag, she was met with resistance by her husband, “Diane, you have been through a lot of stress lately. Let me worry about the bags, you just relax.”

  “Albert, I can’t let you carry all of the bags, let me carry my laptop at least.”

  “If you insist, but I don’t want you to worry about anything while we are at the boat, just have a good time.”

  “I’m with you, of course I’m going to have a good time,” she said as she smiled at her adoring husband.

  Albert Moreland was surprisingly strong for a retired solicitor. He shouldered the bags with the ease of a man half his age as they approached his sailboat. The wind whipped through Diane’s hair and sung in the rigging of sailboats as they walked down the dock.

  “There she is,” said Albert as they approached Siren’s Call, the forty-foot sailboat that Albert Moreland loved dearly. Diane detected a change in her husband’s disposition as he stepped aboard the boat; he seemed younger and happier, like a kid with his favorite toy.

  “Albert, she is beautiful. I thought you told me you were just going to do routine maintenance this year, but it looks like you have painted the deck,” said Diane as she stepped aboard.

  “Looks good, doesn’t it? Clancy does a terrific job, he’s worth every pound he charges,” said Albert as he admired the work done to his boat.

  Diane carried her laptop down below to the salon and set up her temporary workstation in the forward berth. A wood desk and navigation station made for an ideal office while she was aboard, Diane thought as she plugged in the power cord.

  “I didn’t bring you to Poole to spend all your time working, Mrs. Moreland,” teased Albert.

  “Sorry dear, but it’s still Dimbleby,” Diane smirked. “I know you didn’t, but you never can tell, I may be inspired while we are on the water. I promise I will only write when you have gone to sleep. I want to spend every minute with you,” she assured her husband as she joined him in the salon.

  “No murders, no police detectives, those are the rules of this holiday,” he replied.

  “I promise, no murders on this trip, I won’t even go fishing,” she answered as her husband embraced her.

  “Diane. Let’s just have fun, go sailing and enjoy being together. The rest of the world can disappear for a few days, it will be there waiting for us when we get home.”

  “Albert, you are right, it’s just you, me and Siren’s Call for the next few days. I can’t think of better company.”

  The following morning, Diane and Albert untied the lines and pointed Siren’s Call to deep waters. The sun was shining overhead and sparkled on the waves as the sailboat motored out of the marina. It was a perfect morning and Diane could not imagine being happier than she was at that moment.

  Albert steered the boat out of the channel as Diane raised the mainsail and then the foresail. The wind filled the sails, carrying Siren’s Call away from the shore. Diane looked at the houses along the water’s edge as they grew smaller in her view. All her cares and stress were left on land as the sleek fiberglass boat heeled over gently and cut through the waves.

  For five days, Diane enjoyed the holiday she had dreamed of. The weather was warm, with only a small squall late in the afternoon on the first day. Being aboard the boat she settled into the lackadaisical routine of a boating holiday. Meals were prepared in the galley without rushing, dinner every evening was an event and there was always time for drinks at sunset after anchoring.

  She described the holiday as a second honeymoon and Albert agreed; the romance of life aboard the boat was inescapable. Diane was not sure she wanted to return home. Living in Albert’s house was lovely, and the garden bloomed with fragrant flowers this time of year. The library always welcomed her for an hour’s reading, but in Apple Mews, she was a mystery novelist and an amateur sleuth. She enjoyed both aspects of her life immensely but they could be stressful, especially when she knew the victims as she often did. Being on the boat with Albert had a way of simplifying her life; there were no clues to follow, no suspects to interview.

  Diane enjoyed the rest as she pondered what she would be if she didn’t solve mysteries. Laying on the deck of the boat, she came up with an answer - she didn’t know what activity she would pursue because solving mysteries was in her blood. At her age, many ladies were devoted to gardening, to crochet and needlework, even volunteer work. Diane knew in her heart that as much as she enjoyed the rest, assisting Inspector Crothers was her way of feeling useful.

  But like all good things, the holiday came to an end. Diane and Albert eventually had to return home, as Albert was due to give a speech at the retirement dinner of a colleague on Friday. Diane prepared a meal worthy of a gourm
et chef on the last night on the boat as they settled in for a sunset that promised to be spectacular. Raising their wine glasses to each other, the boat and their holiday, Diane made Albert promise that he would take her out on Siren’s Call more often. Albert wholeheartedly agreed as they drank the white wine and watched the sun slide behind the clouds on the horizon.

  After a week on the water, Diane felt relaxed even as Albert negotiated the traffic on their drive back home. The radio in the car was set to a classical music station and light rain fell on the windshield. Diane remarked that the weather had held out beautifully for their holiday. Listening to the weather report on the radio, the rain was supposed to set in for the weekend. The rain promised many hours spent with a cup of tea and a good book, thought Diane as Albert exited the busy highway, heading for the bucolic village of Apple Mews.

  Chapter 2

  Albert and Diane arrived home just before dinner. They were met at the door by Deidre, who promised that a hot meal would be on the table by the time they freshened up. Diane rifled through the pile of unopened mail in the study as Albert checked the voicemail. Deidre announced that dinner was served as she gave Diane a message she had taken earlier in the week.

  Diane’s eyes scanned the message written in Deidre’s slightly untidy script, “Deidre, did you write that Inspector Crothers needs to speak to me or Albert?” asked Diane.

  Deidre looked at the message and shook her head, “Honestly ma’am, I can’t remember exactly, but I do remember that he tried to leave a voicemail message. He told me it was full, I think he wants you to call him.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t call me on my mobile phone?” asked Diane

  “We were out of range, remember? We left the world behind,” said Albert as he kissed Diane’s cheek.

  “That’s right. Deidre, did he say if it was urgent?”

  Deidre answered with a shrug, “I don’t remember, but if the Inspector called looking for you, I don’t think he was calling to chat.”

  “You are probably right, I will give him a call,” said Diane as she picked up the phone in the study. “Albert, I hope it’s nothing serious,” she said as she punched in the number.

  “If he called us, I doubt it could be anything other than serious,” Albert replied.

  “Inspector Crothers,” answered a familiar voice.

  “Inspector, Diane here, I just arrived home.”

  “Am I glad to hear your voice, I have something that I need to discuss with you and Albert. When would be a good time to stop in?” he asked.

  “Would after dinner this evening be too soon?” asked Diane.

  “Not soon enough, what time? How does eight o’clock sound?”

  “Eight o'clock will be fine, we will see you then,” said Diane as she placed the phone back on the charger.

  Albert glanced at his watch and said, “We haven’t been home for half an hour.”

  “I know, do you think it’s too late to get back in the car? My bags are still packed,” Diane said with a sigh.

  “Did he say what this was about, what happened while we were away?”

  “He neglected to tell me, but he did say something rather interesting. He is coming not only to see me, but this time, he needs to see you too.”

  “See me, whatever for? I am not an amateur detective like you,” Albert replied.

  “I’m sure we will find out the answer to that question soon enough, as he’ll be arriving at eight o'clock this evening.”

  “Well, in that case, we better enjoy the last few hours of our holiday. Whenever the police are involved I know you won’t have a moment’s rest until the case is solved.”

  Diane looked at Albert with a quizzical expression, “And what makes you think there is a case to be solved?”

  “Inspector Crothers is coming to see you, to see us under mysterious circumstances. That can only mean one thing: someone is dead and there is a mystery that needs to be solved.”

  Diane could not argue with her husband’s assessment of the situation. As he held the chair for her at the dining room table, she thought about the days they spent on Siren’s Call and how far away the world was from the sailboat. As she reached for a dinner roll, she knew the world was just a text or phone call away when she was on shore. As Albert said, they had only a few more hours until they were once again part of the world of murder, intrigue, and danger that always accompanied Inspector Crothers when he came to call.

  Diane tried to focus on the delicious meal that Deidre prepared for their first night home; roasted vegetables were the ideal complement to sole in parchment with lemon dressing. Diane complemented Deidre on the meal as she ordered a pot of tea and light sandwiches in preparation for Inspector Crothers’ impending visit.

  Diane waited in the drawing room for the Inspector and found herself unable to concentrate on the book in her hand. Ordinarily, any meeting with Inspector Crothers was not a source of anxiety for her, but then he didn’t usually ask to speak to Albert. Staring at the page of the novel, her mind drifted to the hours of contentment on Siren’s Call. As much as she hated to admit it, on shore she was needed in a way that she would never be on the boat.

  She was aware that not many retired school teachers enjoyed a second career as detectives. Although Diane may not win awards for her prize roses or baking skills, she contributed peace of mind to the community of Apple Mews every time a dangerous murderer was arrested. The work was heartbreaking at times, especially when she was acquainted with the victims, but she knew that Inspector Crothers was grateful for every piece of advice that she gave him.

  As she watched the raindrops strike the window of the drawing room, Deidre quietly sat down a pot of tea and sandwiches on the tea table. Glancing at her watch, Diane saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. Inspector Crothers would be arriving soon and she wondered what could be keeping Albert. As Deirdre left, Albert walked slowly into the room, his face in a frown.

  “Albert, what’s wrong?” Diane asked as she closed the book, placing the novel on the table beside the ornately upholstered chair.

  “I was listening to the voicemail and returning calls. I’m afraid there had been a bit of bad news while we were away. Mrs. Tamarland has died.”

  “Mrs. Tamarland?” asked Diane, “Mrs. John Tamarland from church?”

  “She was an old client of mine. A bit of a recluse in her later years if I remember correctly, but a pleasant woman.”

  “I don’t recall her as being particularly involved with the church. She attended services on a regular basis but I can’t remember the last time she stayed for tea,” said Diane as the doorbell rang. “That must be the Inspector.”

  Deidre showed the Inspector into the drawing room. Diane watched as his eyes fell on the pot of tea and plate of sandwiches. “Inspector, it is good to see you, I had Deidre prepare a plate of sandwiches for you. I know you rarely eat properly when you are working.”

  “You know me well, a cup of tea and a bite to eat would be most welcome,” he said as Diane poured tea into a cup.

  “Inspector, Diane tells me that you needed to see both of us, what is this about?” asked Albert.

  “I regret to inform you that a woman of your acquaintance has died, a Mrs. John Tamarland,” answered the Inspector as he reached for a cold chicken sandwich.

  “I was afraid that was the case, I only discovered her death moments before you arrived,” Albert said.

  “Then you are aware that this is a murder investigation,” Inspector Crothers said as he bit into the sandwich.

  “A murder investigation? No, I was not aware of that,” Albert replied, a shocked look on his face. “Inspector, how did she die? I was under the impression it was from natural causes.”

  “I’m afraid not, she died as result of a gunshot wound delivered at close range. I am not surprised that you were not aware of that fact, as we’ve been trying to keep the details of her death out of the press as much as possible. All the papers have reported that her death was ruled as
suspicious, but that is all the information I have permitted to be leaked.”

  “A gunshot wound? Was it a home invasion, a burglary perhaps?” asked Diane.

  “It doesn’t appear to be the case. From all indications, it would appear that Mrs. Tamarland knew her killer. There were no signs of forced entry into the residence or a struggle. A pot of tea and two cups sat on the tea table of her drawing room. The scene looked as sociable as this one except for the body of Mrs. Tamarland discovered only steps from the sofa.”

  “Were there any clues, any notes?” asked Diane.

  “Not a single note or calling card for her mysterious guest. The victim was holding an empty plate in her hand when she was shot, we discovered its shattered remains on the floor beside her. We have reason to believe that whoever was responsible for her killing was a social acquaintance, friend or family member.”

  “And you are certain her guest was the murderer?” asked Albert.

  “It would appear so, there were traces of gunpowder on the teacup handle. Whoever killed Mrs. Tamarland shot her to death, then finished his or her cup of tea after she died.”

  “How very odd, that someone would be so cold-blooded as to finish their tea after committing murder but not methodical enough to clean up the evidence. Tell me Inspector, have you been able to identify any fingerprints or DNA samples from the teacup?”

  “We sent the teacup to London to a crime lab, but I have to confess that I am not optimistic about the conclusion. There have been no discernable fingerprints. It seems that the killer may have been wearing gloves. The DNA evidence from the teacup has not been identified, and there is concern that the rim of the cup was wiped clean with a cleaning solution.”

  “You don’t think it’s strange that the killer thought to remove DNA evidence from the rim of the cup but neglected the gunpowder residue, or bothered to clean the cup and put it in the cabinet? It seems that the killer is smart but absent-minded,” said Diane, “or an amateur.”