Kavanagh The Embroidered Corpse

1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-925681-63-5
Verlag: Vivid Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 200 Seiten

Two startling murders that replicate the death of a mediaeval English king and the discovery of a mysterious ancient tapestry lead Belinda Lawrence and her associate Hazel Whitby into a vortex of suspense involving a bizarre religious cult, an enigmatic academic, a group of monks devoted to aggression and clues to a thrilling conspiracy nearly a thousand years old. It is the murder of a local villager that ensnares Belinda and Hazel in this web of intrigue and as they follow up each clue they little realise that their own lives are in danger. Each perilous turn brings them closer to an electrifying climax and imminent death. Following on from Capable of Murder, this is the second in the Belinda Lawrence Mystery Series and continues the lively young Australian's adventures in England with the same degree of wicked humour and heart-stopping excitement.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Kavanagh, Brian

Leseproben

Two The ancient city of Wells lay before her, with the Cathedral dominating the skyline. Six hundred saintly stone eyes watched as Belinda entered the market place. Ahead she saw Hazel engaged in conversation with a sign-writer, while workmen carefully unloaded a few pieces of antique furniture. Hazel had taken a lease on this shop in Wells to handle the Jacobean, Elizabethan and Georgian furniture exclusively, keeping her small shop in Bath for her silver and bric-a-brac. Parking her car, Belinda hurried to her friend. The sign-writer turned his attention to Hazel’s window and set about practising his gilded craft. ‘He’s been murdered!’ Hazel’s attention was on the safe advent of a Chippendale chair. ‘There’ll be a murder here if that chair is scratched.’ Belinda waved the newspaper under Hazel’s nose. ‘Will you listen to me? Read this.’ Hazel took the paper and glanced at the article Belinda was pointing at. ‘William de Thingummy. He’s dead.’ Hazel read the article in silence and handed the paper back to Belinda. ‘So?’ Belinda gave an exasperated sigh. ‘But don’t you see? He was murdered. And it must have happened just after we left Kidbrooke House.’ Hazel thought this through as she entered the shop. ‘And this affects us how?’ Hazel’s indifference began to annoy Belinda. ‘Well, only in as much as we were probably the last people to see him alive.’ ‘Supposition. You have no proof of that. And even if we were, again I ask, how does it affect us?’ For a moment Belinda was stumped for a reply. How did it affect her? In truth she could find no answer, short of the shock of the old man’s murder and a genuine sorrow at his death. ‘Well, it doesn’t really, I suppose. Except that I am sure it happened just after we left him, and as he said, he was the last of his line and to die such a horrible death … well, it upsets me, that’s all.’ A gleam on interest sprang into Hazel’s eyes. ‘That’s right.’ She gave a self-satisfied laugh. ‘What do you mean?’ Hazel busied herself with rearranging a nest of tables. ‘As you said, he was the last of his line.’ ‘And?’ ‘And that means, now he’s dead his possessions will be sold.’ She turned to Belinda with a look of triumph. ‘And I intend to buy some.’ The steak and kidney pudding served at the Red Lion hotel was cooked to perfection and both Belinda and Hazel sighed contentedly as they pushed their plates away. The crowded luncheon cabal was beginning to clear as the locals went back to their various jobs. A few late tourists lingered, like so many transmigratory birds that had missed the opportunity to fly to warmer climes. ‘Why would anyone want to murder the old man?’ Hazel, who was rereading the newspaper’s report of the crime, shook her head in response. She reached for her glass of port. ‘Who knows? These days they’ll kill you for the price of a Big Mac.’ Belinda took up the paper. ‘It was a particularly violent attack. To stab him in the eye and then slash his thigh. Why go to such extremes?’ ‘Perhaps the old man put up a fight. Tried to defend himself and whoever attacked him had to fight him off and in the process messed him about a bit.’ ‘They certainly did that. If they were going to rob him they could have just tied him up or bopped him on the head. But to mutilate him? It seems inhuman.’ ‘I thought all murder was inhuman. Besides, you said we were the last to see him alive.’ ‘Well, we probably were.’ Hazel shook her head. ‘Always assuming that the murder took place soon after we were at the house, we were not the last to see him.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘You’ve forgotten the monks.’ Hazel gave her a superior look and swallowed the last of her port. ‘The monks. Yes. I’d forgotten them,’ said Belinda. Then she shook her head. ‘But monks wouldn’t murder an old man.’ ‘I didn’t say they did,’ replied Hazel as she reapplied lipstick. ‘I just suggested that they would have seen him after us. But you’re wrong, you know.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Just because they’re monks doesn’t exclude them from being murderers.’ The auction of William de Montfort’s possessions was held in the large entrance hall of Kidbrooke House and although the crowd was small it was obvious early on to Hazel that they knew their business. She also realised that she was up against formidable opponents and that her limited funds would be a severe stumbling block. ‘Isn’t it rather unusual to hold the auction at the house?’ asked Belinda, ‘I thought these affairs were held in auction rooms.’ Hazel gave her makeup a last minute maintenance tune up and nodded her head. ‘Old Mr de Thingummy …’ ‘De Montfort,’ murmured Belinda, feeling that the old man deserved a little respect, certainly at the scene of his death. ‘Whatever,’ mumbled Hazel, as she placed her compact in her handbag. ‘It seems that he requested it in his will. That any sale of his family’s property should take place in the house and not in some place soiled by commerce. The auctioneer’s firm told me,’ she ended in answer to Belinda’s questioning look. She and Belinda took their place at the back of the group and sat through the initial bidding as, one by one, the treasures of Kidbrooke House were sold off. But search as she might through the catalogue, Belinda could find no reference to the mediaeval tapestry. The prices for the paintings took Belinda’s breath away and even Hazel found the palms of her hands sweaty with nerves. More than anything she wished she had access to a double gin and tonic. She had earmarked three items, a seventeenth century closet stool, a Georgian table and a Jacobean cabinet. The auctioneer, with syrupy voice, confirmed that King Charles I had used the closet stool during his time in York at the time of the Civil War. The embroidered crimson velvet box was put on display midst the oohs and ahhs of the assembly. Hazel looked grim-faced when, early on, she was forced out of the bidding and lost it to an effete collector who, having got what he came for, left with his ornate companion. Hazel could barely contain her ill will. ‘Well, at least it’s staying in a royal family.’ Belinda felt confused. She hadn’t discovered what the function of the object was. ‘What on earth was it? What would King Charles have done with it?’ Hazel fanned herself flamboyantly with the catalogue. ‘It was the throne, dear. The Royal Loo.’ Belinda smiled and looked over her shoulder at the departing couple. Near the door stood a young man dressed soberly in a dark suit. His attention was distracted and he glanced across at Belinda. He held her gaze for a moment and then switched his focus back to the auctioneer. Belinda too turned back but she wore a frown. She felt certain that she had seen the young man somewhere before. She stole another glance at him but he had gone. Hazel nudged her excitedly as bidding began on the Jacobean cabinet. Several times in the next few minutes Hazel’s spirits soared and sank in rapid succession but with a clap of her hands she echoed the bang of the auctioneer’s gavel marking the sale down to her. Belinda congratulated her distractedly, because the realisation had dawned that the young man in the dark suit, the young man that had stood behind her, the young man with the short cut hair, was the aggressive monk who had visited Kidbrooke House on the day of the murder. On the return journey to Bath, Hazel, fixed buoyantly behind the steering wheel, was exuberantly extolling the beauty of the Jacobean cabinet and although the failure to secure the closet stool still rankled, she had gained the Georgian table so that her cup, if not overflowing, was at least filled to the brim. Belinda, on the other hand was subdued and thoughtful, only answering Hazel’s excited chatter with an occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Hazel grew resentful at this lack of enthusiasm. She glanced across at Belinda. ‘What on earth’s the matter with you, Missy? You’ve been in a purple fog since we left the auction.’ Belinda looked at her and gave a weak smile. ‘I’m sorry, Hazel. I’m really very happy for you and I’m delighted that you got what you wanted. Except for the Royal Loo.’ Hazel grimaced and pushed her foot hard onto the accelerator. ‘Yes, well. The less said about that the better.’ ‘It’s just that …’ Belinda hesitated. Hazel snorted. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, spit it out. What’s bothering you?’ Belinda drew in her breath. ‘There was a man there. At the auction.’ ‘Sweetheart, there were a lot of men there, believe me, I saw them. Excluding the couple who got the loo, that is. More like ladies of quality.’ ‘Hazel, be serious. I’m...