Decked in the Hall Read online

Penny checked the seating plan on the board at the entrance, “I’m on Table Three with Emma and Sam from the library, Mr Kelly and the Evans contingent.” Mr and Mrs Evans owned the bakery in the village and were known for the best scones in the whole of Hantchester county. Their daughter, Stella, was younger than Penny, but Penny knew her well. “And Lloyd Masterson,” she added with a grimace. “Oh, well.”

  “I’m at Table Five with my colleagues from the Winstoke Gazette.” Susie adjusted her glasses and peered closer, “Oh no, and the Wargraves. No doubt I’ll have to listen to Julia’s many petty complaints, like how her emptied wheelie bin is always left a foot further from her gate than she likes, or how The Gazette’s photographer never gets her good side. Not to mention her superior knowledge of gardening. She doesn’t even drink, unless she spikes that bottle of cordial she carries around with her everywhere.”

  “I’ve wondered about that too, although you can have a good time without drinking you know.”

  Julia Wargraves was famous for winning the annual Best Kept Garden competition every year since its inception. She and her husband were known to celebrate her victories in style, usually ending up with a party in the local pub, the Pig and Fiddle, where Julia was in her element holding court among the village natives.

  “Well it can’t be helped, I’ll try and be nice. Season of goodwill and all that. But if you need rescuing from that pompous Lloyd Masterson, just let me know,” Susie whispered to Penny as they made their way to their respective tables. “I bet he wants to pull your cracker.”

  Penny gave Susie a withering look, “I’m quite capable of looking after myself, thank you. And please, no more bad jokes.” She let out a half-laugh, “That’s Edward’s domain.”

  Lloyd Masterson cornered her as soon as she sat down. “Is Edward not here tonight?” He asked, moving into the chair beside her, even though it had been designated for someone else. “Never mind I’m happy to keep you company, my dear.”

  Penny’s eyes glazed over as Lloyd launched into a monologue concerning return policies for published books. He owned the bookshop and tearoom in Winstoke that had previously belonged to Penny’s parents before they retired. For some reason he seemed to think the connection made him and Penny friends for life. Normally, anything to do with books was Penny’s favourite subject, but where Lloyd was concerned the less said the better, if only to end the conversation as quickly as possible. She gave an animated wave to her colleagues Emma and Sam who were approaching the table just in time to rescue her.

  Much more to Penny’s liking was the old gentleman, Mr Kelly, seated on her other side. The retired head teacher of the local primary school, he was intelligent, witty and shared Penny’s love for mystery books. Once the Evans’ arrived and the wine started flowing, the lively chatter from the rest of the group made up for Lloyd’s interminable droning.

  “What on earth is that?” Lloyd waved his knife at Penny’s plate when they returned from the buffet table.

  “It’s a Portobello pot roast, with three cheese mashed potato and roasted garlic and kale stuffing,” Penny said. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Shame,” Lloyd said, tucking into his turkey and ham dinner with gusto.

  “Not at all,” Penny assured him, tasting her meal. “This is delicious.”

  Mr Evans declared the Pig and Fiddle had surpassed themselves at this year’s catering, and everyone raised their glass in toast as Mrs Duke, one of the village volunteers for the evening, started to clear the table. By the time the bowls of Christmas pudding and trifle had been scraped clean, the band playing cover songs had warmed up and the party proper commenced. Penny was contemplating whether or not to have cheese and crackers when she spotted Susie sitting alone at her table nearby.

  “Sorry, Lloyd,” Penny said, when he asked her to dance. “I’m going to sit this one out. I just need to check if Susie’s all right. You don’t mind, do you?”

  He shook his head, looking around for another victim. While his head was turned, Penny slipped away and sat down beside Susie, who was nursing a cup of coffee. “Hey, are you all right?”

  Susie nodded, “Yes. I’m fine. I was in danger of getting tearful, so I ditched the wine. You?”

  “Same. Not tearful, but the effort of drowning out Lloyd was exhausting.” Her eyes followed Susie’s across the dance floor, and her mouth fell open. “Gosh, look at Mr Kelly spinning Celia around like that. Who knew he had it in him?”

  Susie smiled, “The older generation really know how to dance properly. My mum and dad won several local competitions for jiving. Pity we didn’t learn those sort of moves in the eighties.” Her gaze turned to a corner of the dance floor, where a cluster of people were gathered around. “What’s going on over there? It looks like someone has fallen.”

  It was hard to decipher over the music, but Penny heard a shout, and a man came running across the dance floor to the head table to speak to one of the organisers. The harried look on his face told her something was terribly wrong. “I think there’s been an accident,” she said, springing up. A trained first aider, her immediate reaction was to go and help. She rushed across the room just as the music came to an abrupt stop and the main lights came on. A hush fell over the proceedings.

  “Excuse me, First Aider coming through,” Penny said, making her way into the huddle. Julia Wargraves was lying sprawled out on the floor, unconscious. Penny kneeled down and pressed two fingers to the side of Julia’s neck, then did the same with her wrist. Julia’s skin was still warm, her face tinged pink, but there was no pulse. No heartbeat. Nothing. “Call an ambulance,” she demanded of the person standing nearest to her, and rolled up her sleeves.

  Someone beat her to it, “Let me,” said a voice beside her, and a man crouched down. She recognised him as Vincent Adams, a St John’s Ambulance volunteer from Rowan Downs, the next village along. Penny leaned in closer to Julia, willing her to breathe, which is when she detected a very faint smell of bitter almonds and immediately alarm bells rang in her mind. She urged Vincent to provide hands-only CPR, and while he was surprised he did as she asked, recognising the urgency in her voice.

  Vincent kept up the CPR until the paramedics arrived, but the emergency response team shook their heads. “I’m sorry. She’s gone,” one of them said, ushering the crowd away.

  Penny could see that Vincent, head bowed, was visibly shaken. She tried to reassure him, “Vincent, it wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could, but it was already too late.”

  He nodded, glancing back at Julia’s body. “Must have been a heart attack. A big one, to go that quick.”

  Acting on instinct, Penny whispered, “Did you smell the almonds?” She thought Vincent gave her a strange look, but maybe she was imagining it.

  “There’s marzipan in the Christmas cake, Penny. Not to mention the almond cake,” he said, patting her shoulder as if she was going mad. But she wasn’t, she was certain of it.

  Penny rushed back to Susie, “Julia Wargraves is dead. And I think she was murdered.”

  Two

  Looking around the table for clues Penny carefully lifted Julia’s bottle of cordial. A few remnants of food remained on the table, and she crammed all of it onto a plate. “Did you see anything? Think, Susie, think.”

  Susie shook her head in shock, “No, not a thing. She seemed fine before she started dancing.” She hesitated before continuing, “Penny, are you sure you’re not overreacting? I know people get murdered in village halls in those mystery books you like to read, but it doesn’t happen in real life.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” Penny said. She pushed the plate of food and the bottle of cordial across the table, so they were in front of Susie. “Don’t let anyone touch these, okay? They might be needed as evidence. Wait there. I’m going to get our coats and boots.”

  The mood in the Village Hall was sombre as the guests filed their way outside. Penny spot
ted Mr Kelly standing by the door and touched his arm on her way past, “Are you all right getting home, Mr Kelly?”

  He nodded, “Yes, thank you, Penny. My daughter is coming from Chiddingborne to pick me up. I expect it will take her a little longer than usual in this weather though.”

  Susie stepped beside them holding the cordial bottle in one hand and the plate of food, now covered in a plastic film, in the other. “We can wait with you, if you’d like?”

  “Absolutely not. You two ladies run along.” He gave them a tight smile, “Terrible end to what was a lovely evening isn’t it? But it’s Stanley Wargraves we should be worried about, not me.”

  Penny glanced over her shoulder. Stanley Wargraves, normally a jovial fellow with a permanently red face, which was perfect for his role as Father Christmas on carol singing evening, was being comforted by one of his Estate Agency employees. There was no trace of his jolly manner to be seen now. He held his head in his hands, looking up now and then, eyes bright with pain and unshed tears, in the direction of the of the dance floor where his wife lay dead. In his fifties, he was at least ten years younger than Mr Kelly, but seemed to have aged decades in the last fifteen minutes.

  An icy blast of air hit Penny’s face from the open hall door as she turned back to Mr Kelly, “You’re right. Poor Stanley’s in a bad way, I can’t imagine what he must be feeling. Such a tragedy. But at least he has some support. Goodnight, Mr Kelly.”

  “Goodnight, girls. Mind how you go in the snow.”

  Penny and Susie walked down the steps of the hall in silence.

  “What now?” Susie asked.

  A group of revellers passed them heading in the direction of The Pig & Fiddle, keen to continue the party somewhere warm that served alcohol.

  “I couldn’t face going to the pub,” Penny said. “It doesn’t seem right to continue partying.”

  “I know what you mean. How about we go to mine and have a cup of tea?”

  “We really should stop this rock and roll lifestyle you know.”

  Susie laughed, “Come on, at least the baby-sitter will be glad to get away early.”

  Susie’s children, aged ten and thirteen, were no longer babies, although Susie, mostly in jest, said their behaviour occasionally indicated otherwise. They walked at a brisk pace, snow crunching underfoot, to Susie’s house, a Victorian redbrick terrace. Inside, a wall of heat greeted them, and Penny warmed her hands by the fire while Susie paid the baby-sitter.

  “Are you sure you want tea?” Susie said, when she returned. “I’ve got something stronger, if you prefer?”

  Penny shook her head, “It’s perfect. You know me, I can never refuse a good cup of tea.” Penny had been a tea collector for years, and while she was not keen on red berry or traditional fruit teas, she adored Rooibos, the red tea from South Africa, especially if it was infused with cinnamon. She also loved the eastern varieties, as well as a recently discovered apple, cinnamon and raisin blend, which was very much to her taste. She’d always found tea wonderfully calming, and after the shock of Julia Wargrave’s death it was exactly what she needed.

  “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Penny could hear Susie rattling about in the kitchen. Her friend kept a tin stocked with a selection of tea bags especially for Penny’s visits. Sometimes, Susie gave Penny a choice of tea, and other times it was pot luck. Penny knew it was definitely a pot luck sort of a night. Being picky about Ceylon versus Assam seemed trivial considering the events of the evening.

  Susie appeared with a fully-laden tray, which wobbled ever so slightly as she carried it over to the coffee table. There were two small teapots, bone china mugs, milk and sugar and a plate of chocolate biscuits wrapped in festive metallic foil. Penny recognised the biscuits as the kind only available in boxes at Christmas and sold at extortionate prices.

  “Regular for me, and fancy stuff for you,” Susie said, setting down the tray, and pointing out which teapot was which. Penny lifted the lid and stirred hers, inhaling the scent of Rooibos and Cinnamon. She sat back and let it infuse before pouring.

  Susie loaded her mug with tea, milk and two teaspoons of sugar. Seeing Penny watching her, she added an extra half teaspoon of sugar, “Don’t give me that look,” Susie said, taking a sip. “Sweet, milky tea does it for me every time. I’m a cheap date.” Her expression faltered, “Not that I’ll be dating any time soon.”

  “I know it’s early days,” Penny said. “But at some point, you’ll feel differently. There’s plenty of time for that in the future though. For now, you just need to concentrate on looking after yourself and the children. I think you’re doing a wonderful job so far, by the way. I can only imagine how hard it must be.”

  Susie unwrapped a biscuit, rolling its foil into a tiny ball and setting it onto the tray. “I’m holding it together by a thread,” she said, before taking a bite. Crumbs fell as she continued, her chin wobbling. “James wants a divorce. The solicitor’s letter arrived on Tuesday.”

  “Oh.” Penny knew Susie had been hoping for a reconciliation and had urged her errant husband to attend marriage counselling with her, despite his insistence he had moved on. “I’m sorry, Susie. That seems so …final.”

  “Yes,” Susie swallowed. “But that’s not the worst of it. We’re going to have to sell the house. I haven’t told the kids yet.” She set her half-eaten biscuit down on the table and stared at Penny. “Chocolate and sweet, milky tea are my way of papering over the cracks. What I really want, is to cry and scream and roar from a cliff top where no one can hear me, and for this nightmare to be over. I’m dreading what the new year will bring, Penny. I wake up every day feeling fine for about two seconds until the gnawing in my stomach kicks in and I remember why.”

  Penny remembered carrying that same sick feeling around many years before, after university when she split from her first real boyfriend. A man she thought she was going to marry. She had retreated to Cherrytree Downs to lick her wounds, allowing herself time to recover slowly with the help of her parents and Susie. If there was any way she could repay Susie with only a fraction of the kindness and support her friend had shown her over the years, she was happy to do so.

  “Susie, I know how much you love this house. I have a little money put by. If you …”

  Susie held up her hand, “No I can’t do that, Penny, but I really appreciate the offer, thank you. I’m meeting a financial adviser next week to see if I can afford to buy James out. But after a ten-year career break and considering what my crummy job at The Gazette pays, I’m not holding my breath.”

  “Any chance of a pay rise?”

  “No, I already asked. My salary review’s not for another six months. Until I get promoted to Junior Reporter, I’m stuck at the bottom of the ladder for a while yet.”

  Penny took a sip of her tea. “Hmm. Well, at least the only way is up. Anyway, the offer’s there if you change your mind.”

  Susie nodded, “I know. Thanks, but I’ll manage. Some people have it a lot worse. Stanley Wargraves, for one.”

  The image of Stanley being comforted as they were leaving the village hall flashed through Penny’s mind. She frowned, “Did you notice the woman fussing over Stanley? I thought she seemed overly-familiar with him, or am I being harsh?”

  “That was Ruth Lacey, his secretary. It’s hard to say what’s appropriate in the circumstances, don’t you think? Secretaries always fuss over their bosses, it’s part of the job description. And I’m sure her husband Mark was around somewhere. I think Ruth and Mark were sitting at Mrs Montague’s table.”

  “You’re right, I’m probably reading too much into it.” All the same, Penny filed it away for future reference. She didn’t know Ruth apart from to nod hello to on the rare occasion when they passed in the street, and she hadn’t recognised her that evening. But Edward knew Mark Lacey through work. Or, maybe it was from the Cricket Club. Either way, the two men
were on friendly terms.

  “What are you going to do with the food and drink you took from the hall?” Susie asked, nodding toward the plate and bottle Penny had left on the dining table.

  Penny followed her gaze, “I suppose I should hand them into the police, and they can get them analysed or something.” Turning back to Susie, she added, “Perhaps it will turn out to be nothing and Julia did die of natural causes, but I’d rather be certain even if I end up looking stupid. I’d never forgive myself if her death was foul play and whoever was responsible got away with it.”

  “No one would ever think you’re stupid, Penny. Quite the opposite. You know what I think?”

  “No,” Penny smiled. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “It’s nice of you to care. For most of the villagers, Julia dropping dead like that is just something to talk about in The Pig and Fiddle for the next few days. Then, it will all blow over and the local gossips will find something else to talk about. Meanwhile, Julia will be six feet under and no one will give her another thought, apart from poor Stanley as he grieves. I know Julia wasn’t the easiest of people to get along with, but if her death was suspicious then she at least deserves someone decent to look into it.”

  If Penny had any doubts before that what she was doing was the right thing, Susie’s input strengthened her resolve.

  “I’ll walk over to the police house in the morning.”

  “I’ve heard PC Bolton has been on a go-slow ever since he announced he’s retiring next year,” Susie said. “Although, I’m not sure how he could get much slower than he already was. But are you sure a local village bobby is the right person to give this stuff too? He’s the last of a dying breed, and between you and me, word at the paper is once he retires we’ll no longer have a village PC due to cutbacks. Personally, I think you’d be better off going to the main station in Winstoke. Humphrey Bolton is great for keeping the peace in the villages, finding stolen bikes and rescuing cats from trees, but if this is murder like you think, he’ll be way out of his depth.”