Cherringham--Mystery at the Manor Read Free

But I have to tell you this …”
    Hope’s umbrella, the size of a small tent, was doing a good job of keeping the heavy rain off them.
    “I never — ever — in all my years looking after him so much as saw him look at the door leading up there. Only — once in a while, especially if he’d sneaked an extra sherry or two — he’d stare right at me and repeat that no one must ever go up there. I’d say, of course, you told me …”
    “Did he mean … even after he died?”
    “Possibly. Some hope with his fine lot of kids prowling over the place.”
    “Interesting,” Sarah said. “I can imagine they’re all itching to scour the house.”
    Another mystery, she thought. Old Cherringham was turning to be more mysterious than she would have ever expected.
    But she also sensed as Hope stood there, her face set, eyes narrow, a worried look — that there was more.
    “Sarah, I think there’s something wrong here. The fire, Victor going upstairs when he should have been trying to get out of the house, going up where I never saw him go.”
    Hope took a breath.
    “Something’s wrong .”
    Sarah, not sure she agreed, nodded.
    Things happened in life.
    She knew that well. Married with kids one day, the next a single mum back in the home village. Life is full of surprises …
    Hope reached out and grabbed Sarah’s free hand.
    “Can you ask your friend? To look into it.”
    “Gosh Hope — I don’t …”
    A squeeze. “Please, Sarah. You know I’d never normally ask but Victor was such a sweet old man. A little strange perhaps, a bit poor — but I just feel like something’s not right here.” A gust of wind sent rain flying in under the protection of the umbrella.
    “Can you?”
    Sarah looked at the grave in the far corner, the workmen shovelling heavy black earth. Victor Hamblyn just another resident in a place where — what was her father’s corny joke? — everyone’s dying to get in.
    Victor Hamblyn was gone. But if Hope was right, a mystery remained.
    “Okay. I’ll talk him, and see what he thinks.”
    Now, a full on smile from Hope. “Thank you. I won’t forget this Sarah.”
    Another gust, more rain spatters. “And we best get indoors. Do you want to come up to the office for a cuppa?”
    Sarah nodded, and together they walked round the corner and into the village square.

3. An Unfortunate Accident
    Sarah knocked on the door of the ‘Grey Goose’, Jack’s river barge. A gentle rap at first, but then harder.
    “Jack? You in there?”
    She hadn’t seen much of him, what with the past few weeks being so busy — just a quick hello as they passed at Gramley’s Market or the newsagents. Jack had gone back to being the quiet, invisible ex-pat.
    Then a louder rap. “Jack?”
    Finally she heard a growl — his dog, Riley — and then steps.
    Jack opened the door dressed in rumpled cargo shorts and a frayed Hawaiian Smokin’ Joe’s T-shirt. A volcano sat above words that promised ‘air-conditioning and the best place to return any cursed lava rocks you might have picked up’.
    Guess the volcano gods weren’t to be trifled with.
    Though mid-morning, Jack had obviously just woken up and Sarah found herself wondering whether it was because he’d had a late night, or whether he’d stayed awake thinking about the past.
    She should drop in more, she thought. People, even former NYPD detectives, can vanish into their own hidey-holes.
    “Sarah, um …”
    “Sorry for waking you.”
    Jack smiled, the lines on his face receding. “No — um — worries. Should have gotten up earlier. Stayed up a bit last night. Reading.”
    Sarah nodded. Jack could be quiet, and she knew best not to dig deep.
    “Got a minute? Something I’d like to talk to you about.”
    His smile broadened. “Oh, do you? Let me guess, is something, as your great Mr Conan Doyle might write, afoot ?”
    “Could be.”
    “Then let me get the kettle on — see, I am picking up the ways of you natives here — and we’ll