Dormice schemers and mis.., p.1
Dormice, Schemers, and Misdemeanours, page 1
DORMICE, SCHEMERS
AND MISDEMEANOURS
A Bliss Bay Village Mystery Book 4
Sherri Bryan
Table of Contents
DEDICATIONS
PROLOGUE
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
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
OTHER BOOKS BY SHERRI BRYAN
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DEDICATIONS
To beautiful, gentle Beau, who’s sniffing out the sausages in doggie heaven as you read this.
May he be running like a pup again, and playing football with all his friends—two and four-legged, furry and otherwise—who were waiting to greet him at Rainbow Bridge.
He was so very loved.
And to George.
I haven’t yet found the words to convey how much you meant to us except to say that, for fifteen years, you made our lives better every single day.
Fly high with your angel wings, our beautiful Georgie Boy,
We miss you more than I can say,
And we will love you always and forever.
PROLOGUE
Myrtle Finch had a knack of putting someone's nose out of joint within seconds of meeting them.
She'd had a lot of practice over the years, so was somewhat of an expert.
Often, she wouldn't even have to say a word; a condescending up and down look with a sneer on her thin lips would suffice.
Upsetting people had always been high on Myrtle's agenda. Some said they'd never heard a kind word come out of her mouth.
One person, in particular, had had enough of Myrtle’s snide remarks and threats and, as they strode around Bliss Bay’s village green, it was Myrtle who consumed their thoughts.
When Myrtle had recently threatened to reveal a secret they simply couldn't afford to be made public, it left them with no alternative.
Myrtle had to be stopped.
There was no point in simply asking Myrtle not to say anything—oh, no, that was far too subtle. With Myrtle, the direct approach was needed in order to ensure results.
The walker pulled a scarf over their mouth to keep out the cold air, smiling behind it at the thought of carrying out the plan they'd been hatching and plotting in recent weeks.
At last, it was ready to put into action. Drastic, but necessary.
With such meticulous planning, no one would ever suspect them of the murder. And here, too, on the village green, around which Myrtle took a late walk every night. Maybe they could even make it look like an accident?
A shrill wind lifted the leaves on the ground, whipping them round in a mini tornado, and the walker shivered, lifting a hand to wave to a villager on the other side of the green.
"You're out early this morning,” the villager called as she set off for her morning run.
“Lot on my mind," the walker called back. "Things always seem better after a walk, though. Clearer."
"Couldn’t agree more,” said the villager, putting in her earphones and waving goodbye. "Enjoy the rest of your day."
The walker smiled and set off for home. It was true. The walk had helped. What had earlier been a muddled plan was now as clear as crystal.
Myrtle Finch would be sorry she'd ever tried to get the better of them.
It was time to make sure her mouth stayed shut.
Permanently.
CHAPTER 1
"How about some of these purple tulips in a bouquet with some of those?"
Megan Fallon flicked her dark hair over her shoulder and held the long-stalked blooms beside a bucket of vivid, yellow flowers.
"The Ranunculus?" Her friend, Petal Montgomery, nodded as she buried the roots of a bundle of forget-me-nots in a large wooden bucket of soil. "Fabulous. I'm grateful you're helping to dress the window, so whatever you think will look good is fine by me."
Megan bound the flowers into an expansive bunch to finish off the display they'd spent the last two hours creating. "There," she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "If that doesn't catch people's eyes, I don't know what will."
Petal placed a large vase of blue irises and tubs of hyacinths, lavender, and lily of the valley beside the forget-me-nots. “If I live to be a hundred, l’ll never get tired of that scent,” she said, putting her nose close to the plants and taking a deep sniff.
She fiddled with the positioning of the pots before stepping outside to view the finished effect from the street. The flowers, teamed with driftwood from the beach and pieces of bark from the country lanes, made for a beautiful display, especially on a bright, spring morning such as it was. "It's perfect!” She beckoned Megan to join her. “Come and see. It’s so colourful, it almost pops out of the window!”
The friends stood outside The Cobbles Café and Flower Shop on the main street of Bliss Bay, the English village with its close-knit community that was their home.
Satisfied with the display, Megan linked her arm through Petal’s. “Come on. I think it’s time for coffee and cake. I’ll bring them into the flower shop and we can have a natter.”
Petal, who owned the establishment with her husband, Lionel, nodded. “You’re right. It is time for coffee and cake, but I’m buying to say thank you.”
Five minutes later, with a hazelnut and pecan pastry, and a cup of caramel coffee sending sugary steam billowing up her nose, Megan leaned against the gated trellis that served as a partition between the flower shop and the café.
"Can you believe it’s almost three years since I came back to the village? I’ve been looking for photos to make into a collage, and it wasn’t until I found some of Mum and Dad's vow renewal ceremony that I realised it was so long ago. Time flies by so fast, doesn’t it? By the way, you won’t forget the choir practice tomorrow, will you?”
“Course I won't. And Blossom will be there, too," said Petal, referring to her youngest daughter. “You know how crazy she is about the environment, so singing at a concert in celebration of the village oak is right up her street. Since the news broke that it’s the oldest tree in the county, she must have said, ‘If only it could talk. Just think of all the things it must have seen over the last nine hundred years’, at least a million times. Anyway, the practice is at eight, isn't it?" Petal disappeared into the back of the shop to fill a watering can.
“Uh-huh. And I'm praying that it’s better than the last one." Megan pulled a face and put down her cup before twisting her long, dark hair into a topknot and securing it with the pen from behind her ear. "I know it was the first time we'd all sung together but, apart from the odd exception, we were pretty horrendous. And I’m tone-deaf, so that tells you how bad we were." She sipped her coffee and flicked through a florist's magazine. "And I know the concert’s going to make it onto the local news, so I'm praying we’ll be ready in time.”
"Of course we'll be ready," Petal reappeared, a forget-me-not stuck to her forehead and her jet-black curls bobbing around her flushed cheeks. "The concert’s not till the end of August, is it? We've got three months to be ready."
Megan leaned forward to remove the blue flower. "Yes, I know, but they're going to go so quickly, aren't they? I just said I couldn’t believe how fast the last three years have gone, never mind three months. Three months are going to fly by faster than a wig on a windy day."
Petal chuckled. "Relax, Miss Worrypants. No one's expecting us to sound like the King’s College Choir, are they? We're just a group of local people who want to show our appreciation for our old oak tree. Don’t you remember what Justin said? We just have to sing from the heart.”
“Yes, I know, but that’s typical Choir Master speak, isn’t it?” said Megan. “And it’s all very well for him to say that, because he can already sing. Honestly, after the old community choir disbanded, I never thought it would be so difficult to find new members who can actually string a few notes together. I thought Justin would be trampled in the rush by singers after he put out a call for people to join up.”
“Well, the thing is, it’s a commitment, isn’t it?” said Petal. “Keeping up with regular practices isn’t convenient for everyone, is it? That’s why the original choir broke up. All the old members remember is how much of a time suck it was, so they’re staying clear this time. Apart from Blossom, that is. She’s over the moon to be singing in a choir again.”
“And thank God she is,” said Megan. “Perhaps the rest of us could just stand behind her and move our lips, and she can belt out the songs.”
“Well, she’s not the only one who can sing in tune,” said Petal. “Your Jack’s got a voice that makes my knees wobble. Anyway, have a little faith in us, why don’t you? And stop worrying so much. We’re just the warm-up act. There’s going to be an entire concert after we’ve done our
bit, so I doubt anyone will remember if we hit a few bum notes.”
"Hmm, that's true, I suppose," said Megan. “I wish I wasn’t so stressed about it but you know how much I like everything to be right.”
The bell above the door rang and a man sauntered in, stooping slightly to avoid hitting his head on the door frame. In impeccably-cut, dark jeans, a crisp, white shirt, and a navy, pin-striped blazer sporting a red carnation on the lapel, he gave the impression that he’d come straight from the cover shoot of high-end fashion magazine.
“Morning, Petal, Megan,” he said, with a smile so wide, it almost split his face in half. “And what a beautiful morning it is.” He bent towards the counter to put down his leather case and the scent of his citrus aftershave wafted through the air.
“Morning, Doug,” said Petal. “Love the carnation. Very dapper.”
“Well, you know me.” He lifted his sunglasses from the large bump on his crooked nose—broken multiple times during multiple scuffles in his younger years. “I’ve always thought it’s important to look my best, whether I’m working or not,” he said, pushing his sunglasses into his glossy, chestnut curls. “A good first impression can make up for so many other shortfalls, you know.”
He winked a dark-brown eye, and tinkered with the cufflinks that fastened the starched cuffs peeping out from the ends of his jacket sleeves. “And Susan and I found out at the weekend that we’re to be grandparents again, so what better reason to wear a celebratory buttonhole?”
“Oh, that’s fantastic!” squealed Megan and Petal. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you.” Doug’s eyes shone with pride. “I don’t envy our Bella having two children so close together—little Eddie’s only ten months old—but she wants them to be close in age.” He smiled, and turned his gaze to Megan. “And I’m glad I’ve bumped into you. Susan can’t remember what time the choir practice starts tomorrow. Is it seven-thirty, or eight?”
“Eight,” said Megan. “But no problem if she wants to arrive a little earlier. I’ll be there, and so will Justin.”
“Ah, yes, the esteemed Choral Director,” said Doug, scratching at a chin scarred by childhood acne. “I hope Susan remembers to tell him the salt gargle he recommended to soothe the vocal chords bought her out in hives.” He chuckled and took his phone from his pocket. “Message to self,” he dictated. “Call Susan to let her know the practice is at eight.” He put the phone away and smiled. “I daren’t call her now. When I left this morning, she was up to her elbows in preparing dinner. Some gourmet concoction, no doubt. It usually is.”
“Sounds adventurous,” said Megan.
“It will be,” replied Doug, with a nod. “She’s a fabulous cook. I’m sure she could make a tin of baked beans and a cabbage into something fit for the menu of a Michelin-starred restaurant. When we first got together, she toyed with a career change but realised it would probably be more stress than she was prepared to handle.”
“So she turned her hand to breeding pedigree cats instead?” said Petal.
Doug nodded. “It’s something her mum did for years, so Susan grew up learning about it. She used to show them, too. She loves cats, so she sort of slipped into it, and it suits our lifestyle very nicely.” He covered a cough with a large hand. “Anyway, the reason for me stopping by is to order a bouquet.”
“For Susan?”
“Of course. Who else?”
“Lucky Susan,” said Petal. “What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion,” said Doug. “Just because she’s my beautiful wife.”
“In that case, very lucky Susan,” said Petal. “What kind of bouquet are you after?”
“I like those yellow and purple flowers you have in the window—very eye-catching. Will £25 be sufficient for a decent bunch? And if you could deliver them after midday, that would be perfect.”
“Of course,” said Petal, taking the credit card Doug slipped across the counter. “Do you want to write the card while you’re here?”
Doug shook his head. “Susan will know they’re from me.” He rubbed the bump on his nose with a thick finger and looked across to the café. “By the way, has my sister been in this morning? Myrtle, I mean, not Andrea.”
“Haven’t seen her,” said Petal, swiping his card and handing it back to him.
“That means she’s probably on her way,” said Doug, with a mock gasp. “I’d better skedaddle. I need at least three cups of coffee inside me before I can take Myrtle on, and I’ve only had one. She can be a little combative first thing in the morning, so it pays to be prepared.” He grinned again and put his card back in his wallet. “Right, I’d better be off before she arrives. See you both soon.”
As he opened the door, he looked up at the cornflower blue sky before bursting into a chorus of Oh, What a Beautiful Morning. He laughed and turned back to flash a cheesy grin.
“Er, just a second, Doug,” said Megan, her jaw dropped in amazement. “Why aren’t you in the choir?”
“How long have we known each other?” said Petal. “I had no idea you could sing like that. You must join the choir. It’s criminal that you’re keeping that voice to yourself.”
Doug shrugged off the suggestion. “I don’t think so. Susan’s been on and on at me to join, but choirs aren’t really my thing. In any case, I’ve got a lousy memory for song lyrics. I only know that one off by heart because it’s ingrained on my memory—Dad had the soundtrack to Oklahoma, so he sang it all the time. Thanks for asking, though. Anyway, I’ve got a busy day, so I must get on.” Whistling loudly, he strode out of the shop and into the weak spring sunshine, swinging his leather case as he went on his way.
Megan and Petal exchanged a glance.
“Seriously. How many men do you know who buy flowers for their wives, just because they’re their wives?” said Petal. “I get plenty of guys coming in to buy flowers for a special occasion, or because they’ve forgotten their anniversary, or their wife’s birthday, but I could count the number of times someone’s bought flowers for no reason at all on one hand. I wonder if Susan realises what a rare specimen Doug is? Perhaps she should consider having him stuffed and put in a glass case.”
Megan giggled. “He’s very confident, isn’t he?”
“Hardly surprising, seeing as he’s one of the world’s most sought-after photographers,” said Petal, tying her apron strings behind her back to make a start on Doug’s bouquet.
“I mean, look at that collection of photos he took of Princess Helena to mark her 18th birthday. She’s not known for being the most cooperative royal, but the pictures are so natural you’d never know it. Doug must have made her feel comfortable enough to show a side the public have never seen, and I doubt he could have done that unless he’s pretty confident. And he’s a nice guy, too, which must have helped.”
“Yeah, he is nice,” said Megan. “Seems very genuine. And he’s a real family man, too.”
Petal nodded. “He didn’t have a great relationship with his parents, so my mum told me. They argued a lot. He was a bit of a bad boy, apparently—disruptive in classes and always in trouble. Things obviously worked out okay for him in the end, though.
“Anyway, my point is, I doubt he’d be as successful as he is if he wasn’t so confident. Or have as many women flapping their eyelashes at him. The rumours I’ve heard about that man would make your hair curl.”
Megan shook her head. “Well, I don’t believe any of them,” she said, firmly. “According to the gossip grapevine, Doug’s had more affairs than I’ve had hot flushes. And that’s saying something these days.” She fanned herself with a brochure on flowering shrubs. “I’m pretty sure the rumours stem from idle gossip started by people who are jealous of his success, or jealous that he’s so in love with Susan.”
“Hmm, you’re probably right,” said Petal, absently, stripping the leaves from a handful of tulip stems. She took a clutch of hosta leaves and regarded them with a critical eye beside the tulips, affirming her approval with a nod. Glancing up, she jerked her chin at the door. “Look who’s outside.”
Megan turned and grinned, waving through the door at her aunt Sylvie and Sylvie's friend, Dora Pickles, who were admiring the window display.
"Morning, love," said Sylvie, settling her silver-streaked waves with the palm of her hand. She wiped her feet on the mat as she held open the door, and the bell tinkled above her head. "That display’s a real treat, Petal."
