Delia Darling Mysteries Box Set, page 4
part #1 of Delia Darling Mystery Series
It was forecast to rain, typical British weather, after such beautiful summer days, there had to be a little rain to break it up. I wore red trousers, a white and black t-shirt, and a chunky knit cardigan.
Tap. Tap.
Betsy let herself in through the back door. “Don’t worry, it’s only me,” she hollered as she entered.
I stood in the kitchen, washing away the morning dishes. “Wellies?” I asked, looking over her attire. “We’re not gardening.”
“I know, I know,” she scoffed. “But I’m not taking any chances with this weather. They say light rain, but then the heavens open and we get one of those flood warnings.”
Another reason I flocked to Betsy was because, like her, I had a flair for over dramatising anything and everything that happened. “You have a point.”
“So, are we going over there?” she asked.
I pulled my hands from the kitchen sink and snapped away the marigolds. “Absolutely.”
In my own pair of red wellies, we marched across the road to see Maple standing outside with a coffee in hand. She glared at the sign in her garden.
She let out a giant sigh as we approached. “It’s all so very weird.”
“Oh, I think so too,” I added. “I mean, you’re basically fe--”
“Lived here for over twenty years, and soon I’ll be gone,” she grumbled. “So much happened in this house, and I have nothing but the house to show for it.”
This confrontation wasn’t going to go as well as planned.
“Why are you fee--” Betsy began.
“We didn’t even have any children,” she scoffed. “Foster children, yes, but they don’t visit now.”
I knew how she felt. My daughter only visited once or twice a year, at most. “I’m really sorry,” I said. “If there’s anything we can do to help, please ask.”
“There is, actually,” she said, drinking her coffee. “If you could make sure the next people who occupy this house look after it, that would be appreciated.”
The questions I had queued up in the back of my mind were now being second-guessed because I felt sorry for her. “Of course,” I smiled and nodded.
There was no way we could interrogate her now, least of all as she showed how vulnerable she actually was.
“Well, if you need anything, we’re only over the road,” Betsy said.
We left, kicking ourselves and grinding our dentures in annoyance.
“Can you believe that?” I whispered to Betsy.
She shook her head. “How can we ask her anything?”
With any luck, Finley paid her a visit, but with any more luck, she’d have moved from the street and we can find neighbours as garden proud as we were.
“You’re a resilient woman,” Betsy said as we entered my home. “I was telling Billy, he said he would’ve laughed if he’d seen you fall.”
“It wasn’t funny, I have dirt all over my nice white robe,” I said. “I need to put it on a boil wash and soak.”
“It’s going to take her weeks to sell that place and move,” Betsy said. “We should still find out who the homeless person is.”
“Oh, I intend on doing so,” I said. “There’s no way I’m letting someone push me over and then think they can run away. I could’ve had an arthritic hip. Imagine, maybe Finley would’ve taken me more seriously if I’d been injured.”
“Do you think Norma would have those cameras installed?”
“I doubt she’d even remember,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “The woman isn’t known for her follow through. Remember when I had to help her clean that bush in her garden?”
That is the narrative many people believed. I was helping her out, but Norma knew it was revenge.
“It was only yesterday,” she replied. “I’m sure we’ll all know once it’s installed.”
I didn’t particularly know how to feel about the whole thing. Norma would have a camera, and then she’d be the one watching the neighbourhood from her television. It made my stomach flutter with excitement, but it annoyed me to think someone else would have it.
As I put a load of whites in the washing machines, Betsy sat at the kitchen table, humming to herself. After a few moments, she approached me.
“We need torches,” she said. “That way if we see him, we can really see him.”
“Is that your way of saying the next time, you’re coming with me?”
“Delia!” she gasped. “I would’ve come with you last night if you’d told me. And how can we get to the bottom of all this if it’s only you trying to be this nightgown caped vigilante.”
“If that’s the case, then tell Billy not to moan when I call in the middle of the night,” I said. I huffed, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “He’s the voice of reason, and it reminds me of David.”
She chuckled. “I’ll tell him that,” she said. “But he’ll take it as a compliment.”
“Oh,” I sighed. “He will as well.”
That evening, I went through the kitchen cupboards and drawers, searching for a torch. It was a requirement if I was going to capture a good look at the man who’d been around the neighbourhood, and with Betsy by my side, we might even be able to catch Maple in the act too.
“Get a camera!” I shouted from the back door as Betsy left to make dinner.
I was having mashed potatoes, pork chops, a little asparagus, some peas, carrots, and a large helping of beef gravy. I needed a heavy dinner to prepare for the evening of watching Maple’s house from my bedroom window. It was the greatest point of view; I lived directly opposite her.
Whoever he was, he wouldn’t push me tonight. I had a torch and now, Betsy would have a camera. Doctor Manhattan had so famously used the flash of a camera to stun a woman still. That was the plan in the event a man would approach me again in the dark.
I’d left the window of my bedroom open, even in the chill and drizzle of the night, it made me wrap up nice and warm in an even thicker cardigan. I kept my wellies on, even though I knew my husband would’ve been turning in his grave to see me wearing outdoor shoes on the cream bedroom carpet.
I was halfway through ‘Pray’ when I heard the first sound. The distinct rattle of a bin being rolled along the gravel of a driveway piqued at my attention. It was after 11 P.M.
I twitched the curtain, pulling it back slightly before looking ahead to see Maple, her head turning side-to-side. The bin lid flew open and in her free hand, she carefully held a hefty white bag. She placed it precariously inside the bin, looking up and down the street once again before leaving.
“Betsy?” I called, repeating her name over until she picked up her phone.
“I just heard,” she said. “Billy is grumbling about how cold it is, but we heard the bin being wheeled out.”
“Yep. And she put something inside it.”
“She’s up to something,” she replied. “Torch and disposable camera at the ready.”
“We’ll catch him in the act this time,” I said. “Quick. Come over.”
“Billy said he’s not taking us to the hospital if we get hurt,” she said.
I scoffed at the comment. It was the same tactic I’d used on my daughter when she was younger, but this time it wasn’t about reckless behaviour, this was about catching someone in the act.
We hadn’t planned further than this, I wasn’t sure Maple would have done it again so soon, but she was feeding someone from her bin. It’s a wonder she didn’t just invite them inside. She certainly had enough room to accommodate.
Betsy was at the front door moments later, waving the camera and torch at me. “This one has settings,” she said, nodding to the torch. “Can adjust how bright you want it. And it can also do the fog thing, where it goes through fog.”
There was a hedge near Maple’s house with enough room to peek above. We quickly hurried to it, our torches in hand, ready to press the button and catch him in the act.
In the dark orange hue of the streetlight, a figure emerged.
Poised for action.
Prepared to spring.
As the figure approached the house, standing still near the bin, glancing around.
We had him.
“A-ha!” We jumped out – standing upright a little too quick, I felt dizzy.
Our fingers fumbled around for the switch. Beaming two bright streams of light out.
Betsy’s trigger finger shot through the camera, bursts of flashes caught the man.
“Agh. Stop,” a befuddled cry came.
In the haze of action, the figure was revealed to be Arthur Ainsworth.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Are you--” Betsy began in a grumble. “Oh, Arthur, we didn’t know.”
“No, no, no.” He approached us, gesturing his hands down to lower the lights. “I heard the bins. I figured something was happening. I came to see for myself.”
“Fudge,” I hummed. “What if the real recipient of this saw us?” I nodded to the bin.
Betsy wrapped an arm through my arm and another through Arthur’s arm. “Only one way to know for sure.”
She was right, we could only wait. If they wanted the food, they’d come by for it.
“So what was your plan?” I asked in a hushed voice once we were all behind the hedge. “And I can’t believe I wasted my good jump on you. My knees hurt now.”
He shrugged. “Oh, snap,” he grumbled. “I had a light too. I forgot about it.”
Betsy chuckled to herself. “These pictures are hilarious,” she said. “You look petrified, Arthur.”
He was, and if we’d been anyone else, I’m sure he’d have run away. Arthur was sweet but completely harmless.
A thud pulled us all away from the snickering. Someone was in the bin. The distinct sound of plastic on plastic. We each appeared from the hedges, like meerkats.
Flash. Flash. Click.
The figure stopped, pulling itself from outside of the bin.
“Keith!?” we gasped in unison.
Another gasp came from Maple’s front door. “Oh. Lord.”
“Keith Smith?” I gasped, approaching him from the group, my torchlight straight on in his face. Was he real? “I thought you were--”
“Resurrected!” a gasping Maple shouted, running to the pavement.
Keith Smith had died over a month ago, and yet here he stood, right in front of me.
“How?” I asked. “How are you alive?”
“We went to your funeral,” Betsy said, another flash of light popping in his face from the camera.
“Please,” Maple said. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Tell anyone?” I asked. “I’m going to call Finley, he needs to know who the homeless man is.”
“Go phone him,” Betsy said. “I’ll make sure they stay here.”
“Please, you don’t understand,” Maple continued to plead. “We were in trouble. We needed the money.”
I shook my head. It made sense. She wanted to feed him, she wanted to help the man. He was her husband. I rushed back to the house, I was breathless from shock. I dialled 3 on the phone.
“Delia, please, not again,” his voice came in a groan.
“It’s Keith Smith,” I said. “He’s alive.”
“I understand grief is powerful,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Darling.” Dum.
Oh, but I was being serious.
I called again. This time there was no answer.
We had everything we needed. The photographs from Betsy’s camera proved he was alive.
Crash.
“Get off!” Betsy shouted, her voice hoarse.
My jittering fingers came loose around the phone. Betsy was in trouble. I hurried out to see a torch shine down on a pile of rubble.
“What is it?” I asked from the opposite side of the road.
It was her camera.
“Bet?” I called.
“Call the po--”
Wee-woo. Wee-woo.
Blue and white flashing lights splashed the houses in colour.
I looked around. Betsy and Arthur stood alone. Maple and Keith were not to be seen.
A police car arrived in front of Betsy and Arthur, two officers decked out in luminous yellow reflective wear climbed out of the car, speaking into their talkies attached to the lapels of their shirt.
“Officer, officer!” I shouted to them, rushing to their side.
“Please stay inside,” the officer spoke.
The other officer approached Betsy and Arthur. “Mr and Mrs Smith?”
They shook their heads. “They ran,” Betsy said, pointing toward Maple’s house. “Who told you?”
The two officers ran into the house. Moments passed before a woman approached. It was Norma.
I grit my teeth. “What does she want?” I asked.
“That was quick,” she chuckled. “I didn’t think they’d be here that fast.”
From the frowns pasted across each of our faces, it was clear we had no idea what she was talking about.
“The police,” she said, nodding to the car. “I called them.”
“You did?” I asked. “What on earth for?”
“I figured when I saw the man, he looked familiar,” she quickly cleared up his familiarity when she realised it was Keith.
“Looks like insurance fraud,” Arthur added. “This will be good book inspiration.”
Betsy tssked the air between her teeth and her tongue. “Pretty drastic measures to go through for a little insurance money.”
Both Maple and Keith Smith were soon hauled out of the house in handcuffs and the entire street was out of their beds with their heads adorned with nets and fluffy nightgowns wrapped around their bodies.
That night, I couldn’t sleep much because of the adrenaline. I woke early to a knock at the door and this time the smiling face of DC Finley Fletcher stood looking back at me. Betsy appeared behind him.
“I thought I saw your car,” she chuckled, walking in with a mug of coffee in hand looking snug in her bathrobe. “So, do we receive a commendation or something? Maybe a medal? An award? Oh, a park bench with our names on as a thank you?”
“Calm down,” he said. “I’ve come to offer thanks, but we can’t condone this vigilante behaviour. You’re retired women, of a--a certain age, and I know my mother definitely wouldn’t be running around the streets gone midnight, so to think of you and you doing it, I’m worried you might do more harm than good.”
“A simple thank you is too much, huh?” I asked.
I was ready for a luncheon with the mayor after all the work I’d done on the street. I’d been a proactive member of the community, and now it appeared I was being penalised for it.
“Well, thank you to the neighbourhood watch, we’ve been able to catch a criminal,” he said. “But this doesn’t mean you should act on every little hunch you have or little bit of gossip you hear.”
He was clearly annoyed. I mean, I’d woke him late last night, and I’m sure he had to wake early this morning with the case. But I was proud of the small group as we banded together to find out what was really happening.
“I’ll accept your thanks,” I said, gesturing to the front door. “Have a great day.”
Once he was gone, I rested into the lounger in the living room. Making eye contact with Betsy, we burst into a fit of laughter. It was odd to think that a woman like Maple could have done something like that, and keep it going for a month.
I felt betrayed, I sympathised with her.
She’d cried on my shoulder.
“I guess we really don’t know our neighbours,” I grumbled.
“Or we know them too well,” Betsy said with a nudge.
The End
Are you ready for another Delia Darling mystery?
Delia finds herself face-to-face with her own mortality.
What does it all mean?
THE SECRETIVE SCARLET JONES
A Delia Darling Mystery
JESSICA LANCASTER
THE SECRETIVE SCARLET JONES
An overgrown hedge piqued Delia Darling’s attention. Odd? Perhaps, but having an eye for detail is essential when you live in “England’s Best Garden Village” (for five years running) and an unkempt garden could lose them the title.
Visiting the home of Scarlet Jones, Delia and best friend, Betsy are stunned to find that she’s no longer the owner. The new owners think she might have died, or worse, relocated into a nursing home.
Together and alongside the ever-unhelpful DC Finley Fletcher, Delia must find out what happened to Scarlet, and whip the new owners into shape. Heads will roll if hedges aren’t trimmed.
A cozy mystery set in a small fictional Cotswold town, featuring a cast of quirky characters and strange storylines.
THE SECRETIVE SCARLET JONES
“All that really belongs to us is time; even he who has nothing else has that.”
- Baltasar Gracián
ACT ONE
Award Winning Gardens
After the third year winning ‘England’s Best Garden Village’, I knew it had something to do with my persistence, although ask any of the neighbours and they’ll call me a nag. Gardening was in my genes; my mother had a green thumb, but both my hands were green – and not in the way some hands get from age.
I did weekly rounds of the village, just a casual stroll for thirty minutes. While my doctor had required the walking, I took the opportunity to take in the sights; wave at the neighbours, say “hello”, and the occasional “looks like you need a trim”. I wasn’t overbearing, at least that wasn’t the word I’d use.
Nothing could pass my nose. Not a single leaf.
“Betsy,” I grumbled, coming to a stop at the end of the street, and glancing over to number 21. Houses 21 to 28 were all on their own small strip of road, usually out of my line of sight, until I did my rounds. “Something looks off about Scarlet’s garden.”
Scarlet Jones had lived in Huntington for as long as I had. She married and divorced in the same year, then never married again. She didn’t always live alone; her sister had lived with her for a number of years until finding a husband. She kept to herself, mostly, but she was always involved in the gardening community.
