Costello / Richards Mydworth Mysteries - London Calling!

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-3-7325-6955-7
Verlag: Lübbe
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 3, 137 Seiten

Reihe: A Cosy Historical Mystery Series

From the authors of the best-selling series CHERRINGHAM

When a prominent family's daughter flees sleepy Sussex to seek a career on the stages of a glittering West End, Harry and Kat are asked to check in on the young woman. But the two of them soon discover that there is a much bigger danger to the woman and her family than mere acting dreams being crushed.

Co-authors Neil Richards (based in the UK) and Matthew Costello (based in the US), have been writing together since the mid-90s, creating innovative content and working on major projects for the BBC, Disney Channel, Sony, ABC, Eidos, and Nintendo to name but a few. Their transatlantic collaboration has underpinned scores of TV drama scripts, computer games, radio shows, and the best-selling mystery series Cherringham. Their latest series project is called Mydworth Mysteries.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Costello, Matthew

Richards, Neil

Leseproben

2. Concerned Parents
 

Sir Harry Mortimer stepped off the five-thirty train from Victoria, tucked his copy of The Times under his arm, and briskly headed up Station Road towards Mydworth with the other London commuters.

Those commuters – more like a well-ordered herd, Harry thought.

And, as for Harry, he wasn’t exactly sure this was quite how he’d pictured his work with the Foreign Office.

It was beginning to feel, well, all rather domestic and tame!

The stroll was becoming a familiar one since he’d returned to the little Sussex town a few months back with his new wife Kat, after years abroad in government service.

He nodded and smiled at his fellow workers as, one by one, they scurried off home in different directions, no doubt looking forward to a weekend away from the bustle and noise and smoke of the city.

Office workers, clerks, bankers, a smattering of civil servants, all – like him – in their workaday suits and hats. He smiled to himself. None of them would have guessed his own rather unusual role in a discreet government department in St James’s Park.

Discreet – and also most secret.

Even Kat wasn’t really allowed to know the details. Not that he kept much from her. He’d trust her with his life.

She certainly knew the work was a continuation of his Cairo posting and was subject to the Official Secrets Act.

Having herself worked for some years in a similar role for the US State Department, she knew not to ask too many questions, and Harry appreciated this.

It was still light – the wonder of summer! – as he crossed Market Square and headed up the little cobbled street towards the old church and their house that was tucked behind it.

The Dower House, several months on, was still not quite decorated, though they had made a well-stocked cocktail cart – silver shakers and an array of spirits – a priority.

He passed through their gate, and as he walked up the gravel drive he loosened his tie and took off his hat – so looking forward to a little domestic time with his beautiful American wife. That oh-so-welcome gin and tonic together as they strolled in the garden planning shrubs and beds, or sat chatting about the day’s events before dinner.

Though he sometimes worried that this life here in Sussex might not prove exciting enough for her. He knew his Kat, and the girl from the Bronx liked her excitements.

As he reached the step, he saw the front door open – Kat standing there, coat on, handbag on her shoulder.

Dressed, not in her more customary slacks, but, as if she was off to meet someone.

Curious…

“The warrior returns,” she said, stepping close.

“Lady Mortimer.”

“Sir Harry.”

They kissed.

“Well,” he said after a few seconds. “How about this evening we skip the gin and jump straight to the main course?”

She kissed him again, her eyes soft.

“Would love to—”

Her blue-green eyes were wide, clearly speaking the truth.

“But?”

“Exactly,” she said. “But.”

“Ah, right,” he said, stepping back now, taking on his best detective pose. “Let me guess. Coat. Bag. Smart shoes. We’ve been invited out?”

“Something like that,” she said, reaching in and doing up his tie again, then taking his hat from his hand and perching it on his head.

“Don’t tell me. A case?” said Harry.

“A case indeed.”

“Time to hit the cocktails before or…”

“Might have to wait,” said Kat.

Then he watched as she took his briefcase and his Times, placed them in the hallway, shut the door behind them, and took his arm.

“Sounds urgent,” he said.

“I’ll tell you all about it – or as much as I know – on the way,” she said, and together they turned and walked back down the drive.

*

“Six weeks ago,” said Kat, as they crossed the road by the church and headed down High Street, “Lizzie Spence – twenty-one years old, daughter of Aubrey and Glenys Spence, upright citizens of Mydworth both – ran away to seek her fortune in the West End of London.”

“Ah, that old tale. The lure of the bright lights. Smell of the greasepaint, eh?”

“Something like that. Trouble is, Harry – apart from a couple of postcards – the parents haven’t heard a word from her.”

She looked straight at her husband as he pondered this.

“Glenys, the mother, is beside herself with worry and has conjured up all kinds of terrible fates that might have befallen the poor girl.”

“And from what I know of the West End,” Harry said, “her imagination may not be too far off the reality. What about the police?”

“Ah yes. Well, Sergeant Timms says, unfortunately, the young girl is old enough to do what she likes. She’s clearly gone of her own volition and, therefore, they can’t help.”

“Sounds about right to me. Hands tied, and so on,” said Harry. “Twenty-one? I mean, she is an adult after all.”

“You’re all heart, Harry.”

“Now hang on. I feel for them. The girl too. Still, the law’s the law.”

Kat shook her head. “Well, I do hope you won’t take that attitude when our daughter runs away from home.”

“Ah, you see, that’s where you get a bit off course, Kat darling. Daughter of ours? Never run away from home, because she’ll simply love us too much. And besides – I thought you said we were going to have lots of sons? Thinking cricket, rugby, and—”

“Any daughter of ours will enjoy all that as well.”

“With you as her mother, I don’t doubt it. Now, when exactly were you planning on launching this ‘sons and daughters’ scheme of ours?”

Kat grinned. “We’ll just have to see about that. Your family values will have to improve first.”

“Got it. Being a thoroughly modern husband isn’t that easy you know.”

Kat reached up and touched his shoulder. Always so good to have him by her side. And so much fun to be with.

“But seriously, Kat, nobody can make a grown woman stay with Mum and Dad if she doesn’t want to.”

Kat stopped at the corner of Market Square. Though she knew the centre of town now, she still hadn’t worked out the maze of streets that surrounded it. “Rosemary Lane – it’s down here, somewhere, isn’t it?”

“Straight down, second left, I seem to remember,” said Harry, taking her arm now and leading the way.

“Here’s the thing, Harry. I don’t think they want to bring Lizzie home,” continued Kat, “they just want to know where she is – and that she’s safe.”

“Ah well. That’s reasonable enough,” said Harry as he stopped at a last corner of terraced houses. “Here we are – Rosemary Lane. One of the most respectable roads in Mydworth, I’ll have you know.” He leaned into her. “And absolutely filled with respectable people. Now, what’s the number we’re looking for?”

Kat looked down the tree-lined road. She could see larger houses set back in wide gardens. “Not a number. Called… Elm Croft.”

“Do hope they have a helpful sign outside. Otherwise this might be more challenging than it ought to be.”

Together they walked slowly down the lane in the ebbing light, checking the names on the gates, the houses looking solid and, yes, respectable. Lawns neatly cropped; cars in most of the driveways.

At the end of the lane, they finally came to “Elm Croft”, all mock Tudor gables and mullioned windows.

Kat took in the big garden, the large sedan parked out front.

“Well, this has to be worth a bob or two,” said Harry as they walked up the drive. “Think if we take this ‘case’ you should ask the Spences for a very generous WVS donation.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Kat. “Nicola’s made that clear already.”

And she stepped up onto the porch and rang the bell.

*

After a minute, the door opened slowly. A tired looking woman in a woollen dress and cardigan, neat pearl necklace, and low heels, peered round the door at them suspiciously.

“Mrs Spence?” said Kat, smiling. “I’m from the WVS. I believe Nicola Green told you I’d be coming over?”

“Lady Mortimer?” said the woman, as if confused by Kat’s American accent.

“And Sir Harry Mortimer,” said Harry, putting out his hand to shake the woman’s. She took it, limply. “At your service.”

“Y-you’d better come in,” she said, opening the door and ushering them in, then closing it swiftly behind them as if worried the neighbours would see.

Kat looked at Harry, who raised his eyebrows in return.

He, too, had noticed the woman’s nervousness.

*

Harry sat on...