Death at Burwell Farm

  Death at Burwell Farm

  A totally unputdownable cozy mystery

  Betty Rowlands

  Books by Betty Rowlands

  THE SUKEY REYNOLDS SERIES

  Death at Hazel House

  Death at Dearley Manor

  Death at Beacon Cottage

  Death at Burwell Farm

  THE MELISSA CRAIG SERIES

  Murder at Hawthorn Cottage

  Murder in the Morning

  Murder on the Clifftops

  Murder at the Manor Hotel

  Murder on a Winter Afternoon

  Murder in the Orchard

  Murder at Larkfield Barn

  Murder in Langley Woods

  Murder at Benbury Brook

  Murder at the Old House

  Murder in the Dining Room

  Murder in a Country Garden

  AVAILABLE IN AUDIO

  Murder at Hawthorn Cottage (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder in the Morning (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder on the Clifftops (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder at the Manor Hotel (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder on a Winter Afternoon (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder in the Orchard (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder at Larkfield Barn (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder in Langley Woods (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder at Benbury Brook (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder at the Old House (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder in the Dining Room (available in the UK and the US)

  Murder in a Country Garden (available in the UK and the US)

  Contents

  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

  Death at Hazel House

  Hear More from Betty

  A Letter from Betty

  Books by Betty Rowlands

  Murder at Hawthorn Cottage

  Prologue

  It had been a beautiful, liberating experience, as if the gates of paradise had swung open for him to pass through. ‘Mind-blowing’ was how Jennifer would have described it – had in fact done so in a tone of incredulous delight, although of course it would never be possible for him to reveal how the one discordant note in their otherwise perfect relationship had been stilled. The expression was one that would not normally have occurred to Oliver, who was of a different generation, but it certainly seemed to sum up the feeling of exultation and fulfilment that had swept over him during those moments of rapture – moments that were, incredibly, to be repeated again and again during the ensuing blissful weeks. After the long, weary months of frustration and disappointment, it was like being released from what had looked like becoming a life sentence in a prison which held every conceivable comfort and luxury but one.

  Jennifer had been so patient, so understanding, despite the repeated failures that hung like a deepening cloud over their day-to-day existence. It had been a downward spiral with no apparent hope of improvement. He had been too shy to discuss it with his doctor, and when Jennifer had shown him the brochure he had been – to put it mildly – sceptical. He was, after all, a man of substance, the owner of a flourishing company, highly respected among his colleagues and competitors alike for his acumen, flair and razor-sharp judgement. The suggestion that he waste good money to sit with a group of sad souls listening to what he suspected would be a load of mumbo-jumbo went against all his business instincts. It was only for Jennifer’s sake that he had agreed to give it a try; to his surprise, after the first two or three sessions, he had become aware of a subtle change in his own personality and outlook. A certain lack of self-confidence that he had hitherto managed to conceal but not overcome began to disappear; he spent less time, after making some far-reaching decision, asking himself whether he had done the right thing. Little by little, he felt himself inching towards his true goal, but despite a certain improvement the perfection he and Jennifer sought still eluded him. And so he had screwed up his courage and, during a private consultation, admitted his problem.

  The diagnosis was simple; the treatment, when first suggested to him, had seemed shocking, unthinkable. He protested that Jennifer would be horrified, that he would never be able to look her in the face again, but when he was gently reminded that it was for her sake and at her suggestion that he had sought their help in the first place – and that in any case she would never know – he allowed himself to be persuaded. And it had been so amazingly, wonderfully successful that he had never had a moment’s regret.

  Until now.

  One

  ‘Hi, Mum!’ Fergus Reynolds came bouncing into the kitchen at half-past six on Sunday evening, swung his bulging holdall from his shoulder and dumped it on the floor before giving his mother a hug. ‘Had a good weekend?’

  ‘Yes thanks.’ Sukey returned the hug before nudging the holdall into a corner with her foot. ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to leave things where we might trip over them?’ she said in mock exasperation.

  ‘Sorry! What’s for supper?’

  ‘There’s some cold chicken left over from lunch. We could have some sauté potatoes to go with it, and there’s salad in the fridge.’

  ‘Sounds fine.’

  Sukey turned to the sink and began washing earth from her hands. ‘I’ve been working in the garden all afternoon, so I haven’t had time to cook anything special,’ she explained. ‘You could peel the spuds if you like.’

  ‘Will do, when you’ve finished at the sink,’ said Fergus. A thought struck him. ‘Where’s Jim? I thought he was spending the weekend here.’

  ‘He has to attend an inquest in Birmingham first thing tomorrow morning, so he decided to travel up today to avoid the morning rush hour.’

  ‘But you had yesterday together?’ Fergus gave his mother a quick glance of concern. He had accepted the invitation to spend the weekend with his girlfriend’s family in Devon on the understanding that she would not be on her own.

  ‘Oh yes, we went to the theatre in the evening and had supper afterwards.’ Sukey felt her cheeks glow at the memory of what had happened next and she paid close attention to scrubbing her nails. Not that she had anything to hide: Fergus knew very well that she was having an affair with Detective Inspector Jim Castle and was happy to accept the situation – as she had learned to live with the fact that he had had his first sexual encounter two years ago at the age of sixteen and was still happily involved with Anita Masters. She wondered if the girl’s parents were aware of how far the relationship had gone; whether they were or not, they seemed happy to accept Fergus into their home and had several times invited him to join them for weekends at their country cottage. Sukey had met Anita’s father on a few occasions, albeit briefly, when he called to collect Fergus or bring him home from such visits. From the car he drove and his general air of restrained affluence, together with the odd remark her son made from time to time, it was clear that the Masterses, if not exactly landed gentry, were in a different income bracket and moved in very different circles from the Reynoldses. Not that Fergus ever appeared disturb
ed by the fact and Anita always seemed perfectly at home in the modest semi in Brockworth.

  ‘So, what was your weekend like?’ she asked as Fergus began sorting out potatoes. ‘I suppose you did the usual seaside things?’

  ‘Yes, we swam a bit and went for a couple of bike rides – at least Anita and I did. Cath and Adrian had to spend most of their time looking after Auntie Vera.’

  ‘Just a minute, you’ve lost me. Who are Cath and Adrian?’

  ‘Anita’s parents. They said it was all right to call them that.’

  ‘I see.’ Sukey found herself wondering why there should be anything unusual about it; everyone did it nowadays – Anita called her by her first name and she thought nothing of it. Something to do with the age gap, maybe. Anita’s parents were in their early fifties whereas Sukey was still – just – on the right side of forty. Aloud, she said, ‘Who’s Auntie Vera?’

  ‘She’s Adrian’s cousin actually – she’s quite old and completely dotty. As a matter of fact, they’re a bit worried about her.’

  ‘Oh – why’s that?’

  ‘Seems she’s begun going to some weird place where people sit around having touchy-feely sessions. It’s called the RYCE Foundation.’

  ‘It sounds like a cookery class.’

  Fergus giggled. ‘It’s not the stuff you eat with curry,’ he explained. ‘It’s an acronym, it’s spelled R-Y-C-E and it stands for Release Your Cosmic Energy. Auntie Vera spent most of the weekend banging on about how wonderful it is, and how liberating, but Adrian says the only thing the people who run it are concerned with liberating is the customers’ money. They don’t call them customers or clients, by the way – they’re known as initiates.’

  ‘It sounds a bit of an odd set-up – I can understand Adrian feeling concerned.’

  ‘It got quite heated once or twice until Cath told him to cool it.’

  ‘I read something a while back about one of these cults,’ Sukey said thoughtfully. ‘People sit around and meditate while someone chants a load of gobbledegook at them.’

  ‘That’s what seems to go on at this place. Cath takes the view that if it keeps the old dear happy it can’t do much harm. She used to have a friend and they did everything together, but the friend became senile and had to go into a home, so she felt a bit lost. And then another friend was widowed and Auntie Vera thought it might help them both.’

  ‘Yes, it’s the kind of thing that would appeal to people in that situation. Oh well, at least she’s got relatives to keep an eye on her. Now, are those potatoes ready?’

  Half an hour later, as they sat down to their supper, Fergus said casually, ‘By the way, Cath is going to phone you in a day or two.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘She wants to invite you and Jim to dinner one evening.’

  Sukey paused with a forkful of cold chicken halfway to her mouth. ‘Whatever for?’ she asked. ‘I mean… I know you and Anita have been an item for quite a while, but—’

  ‘I suppose they just feel it’s time they got to know you better,’ said Fergus. He was paying close attention to his plate and did not meet her eye.

  ‘It wouldn’t have anything to do with this RYCE business, would it?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ he countered. His voice lacked conviction.

  ‘Gus, you aren’t very good at dissimulation.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Covering up. It’s your new word for today. Well?’ Sukey persisted as he remained silent.

  ‘I suppose it’s bound to come up in conversation.’

  ‘You mean, they know Jim’s a policeman and they want to pick his brains.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s not only that – they’ve been saying for some time that they ought to get to know you better,’ Fergus repeated. ‘Truly, Mum. But Adrian really is very worried and, well, I sort of suggested that maybe Jim could advise them… or maybe know some way they could check up on the people who run this place.’

  ‘You mean, it was your idea?’

  ‘Sort of. You’re not angry, are you?’

  ‘No, of course not. In fact, it’ll be rather interesting to visit the Masterses after all you’ve told me about them. They sound really nice.’

  ‘Oh, they are,’ said Fergus warmly, plainly relieved at the way his mother had responded to his somewhat clumsy efforts at diplomacy.

  ‘I’ll mention it to Jim when he comes back from Birmingham, but unless the people who run this place have a record or there have been any formal complaints against them, I doubt if the police will be interested. Incidentally, how did Auntie Vera get to know about them?’

  ‘She saw an advertisement – I think it was in one of the national papers. She insists it’s all thoroughly respectable and not all the “initiates” are lonely old ladies – some of them are business people and they seem to get a lot out of it as well.’

  ‘That should reassure Anita’s father. Perhaps he should enrol and see for himself.’

  ‘I can’t see him sitting in a ring holding hands with a load of strangers and chanting “ommm”.’ Fergus giggled again at the picture conjured up by the suggestion; his amusement was infectious and Sukey joined in. ‘Seriously, Mum, you will listen to what he’s got to say, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will… and I promise not to laugh.’

  Two

  ‘Morning, Sarge. Had a good holiday?’

  Sergeant George Barnes, officer in charge of the scene of crime team at Gloucester City police station, looked up from the sheaf of computer printouts on his desk and said, ‘Morning, Sukey. Yes, thanks. The weather was great and there was a couple in the hotel with a son the same age as Ben, so we took it in turns to look after both kids to give us the odd day out on our own. Having to come back to work kind of takes the shine off it though,’ he added with a rueful grimace.

  Sukey chuckled. ‘At least, you had the advantage of going early in the season. Wait till young Ben starts school and you have to go in August – queuing for ice creams and donkey rides, hordes of screaming brats trampling your sandcastle, theme parks full of noisy teenagers… it’s bad enough when you’re young and fit, but for old boys like you…’ Her impish smile gave her sharp features the elfin look that had long ago won Jim Castle’s heart.

  ‘Thanks, you make parenthood sound so rewarding!’ said George. As the result of a late marriage, he had become a father at a comparatively mature age and had to suffer a considerable amount of good-natured teasing, all of which he took in equally good part. ‘How have things been here?’

  ‘Mostly run-of-the-mill stuff. There was a good result on the Drake and Benson break-in: the three villains caught trying to get away via the fire escape turned out to have been responsible for doing at least half a dozen of their stores in other parts of the country and evidence we collected provided a vital link. They’ve all been remanded in custody while the forces concerned get their act together.’

  ‘Brilliant. And how about you – how was your weekend?’

  ‘Busy. Fergus was away so I took the opportunity of the fine weather to tackle some gardening jobs. He’s great at helping in the house, but gardening is not his strong point.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ There was a hint of dryness in George’s voice. Sukey had a shrewd notion what lay behind the remark; he was probably wondering whether Jim had figured in her weekend arrangements, but was too tactful to mention it. She gave him a keen look and received a bland smile in return. Knowing her troubled marital history, he had shown a paternal concern for her from the time she had joined his section a little under four years ago and she knew – and was appreciative of the fact – that he took an interest in her welfare. Latterly, she had begun to suspect that he guessed how close her relationship with DI Castle had become. He was the soul of discretion when others were around, but now and again he caught her unawares with the odd raised eyebrow or knowing smile. She had never mentioned this to Jim; they had made a pact long ago that they would keep their personal and professio
nal lives strictly separate and she knew he would hate it to be generally known that they were having an affair. Now, as if to reassure her that he had no intention of prying, George went on to say, ‘Can’t say gardening’s my favourite thing either. The wife does ours – I tell her it’s good for her figure. I cut the grass, though – she can’t mow in a straight line to save her life.’

  ‘There speaks a typical MCP!’ said a new voice as Sukey’s colleague Mandy Parfitt entered the room and dumped her bag on her desk. ‘Morning, Sukey, and welcome back, Sarge. Have you missed us?’

  ‘You’ll never know how much!’ said George without a flicker of a smile.

  ‘So what delights have you for us this morning?’

  He consulted the printouts, which he had sorted into two piles. ‘Road traffic accident on the A38 involving a tractor, a motorbike and two cars. Some casualties; uniformed, ambulance and fire crew in attendance. The other two are less exciting: a car previously reported stolen found abandoned and returned to owner in Cam and a break-in at Marsdean. The car owner asked if we could be there before ten to check it over; I said we’d do our best but we couldn’t promise. You take these, Sukey. I believe you know Marsdean from a previous case,’ he added with a touch of irony.

  ‘Don’t I just!’ Sukey repressed a shudder as she took the paper she handed her. Lorraine Chant’s murder had not been the most gruesome she had encountered by a long way, but the sight of a corpse never failed to cause a contraction in her stomach.