TODAY WE FEATURE OUR TEAM MEMBER, AUTHOR DAWN TREACHER, WHO IS SHARING CHAPTER 1 OF HER COSY CRIME NOVEL, 'A DEADLY PLOT'.
- Eva Bielby
- Jul 17
- 11 min read
A Deadly Plot
A Green Fingered Sleuth Mystery
Chapter 1
With his hazards on, Cedric Malleson pulled onto the curb, jolting forward, grazing a lamppost with his front bumper. He yanked on the handbrake. The early morning sun suffused Hebbington with a welcome warmth. Since his retirement as a village vicar, he’d never been so busy. If he wasn’t pulling weeds from his flower borders, or learning new ways to propagate perennials, he was enjoying trips into the small market town. It boasted not only streets of independent shops and more cafes than you could visit in a week, but it also had the Book Emporium, an Aladdin's cave for all book lovers. Inside the pocket of his corduroy jacket his phone pinged, again. Well he wasn’t going to look, not this time. He climbed out of the driving seat and bent down to see the damage on his bumper. Barely a scratch, though he’d left a hint of paintwork on the lamppost. A poster taped to it caught his eye, well not the poster itself, more the pair of green feline eyes which stared back at him, those of one Chester, a rather tubby tabby who’d disappeared a week before.
Cedric opened his boot and carefully picked up the large box of books stored inside and carried them into the Book Emporium, letting the bell on its door clang loudly. He wished his wife, Carolina, could have seen this day, his very own book, “The Deadly Caller”, now in print after months of writing and tinkering with it in his caravan set up on his drive.
“Cedric Mallerson, local crime writer and sleuth, published his first crime thriller with Eggleton Press.”
He’d pinned up the local press cuttings on the cork board inside the caravan, next to the private investigator certificate of registration that his sleuth partner, Tanya, had proudly stuck up for all visiting clients to see.
“Ah, Cedric,” called out the woman standing behind the till inside the shop. “You're just in time for morning tea, pop those down here and let me take a look.”
Barbara Butterworth never looked quite in keeping with her business, a relatively small shop, crammed full of both new and pre-owned titles, neatly sectioned into categories from floor to ceiling, each genre carefully labelled in perfect calligraphy. She gestured over to a large table that had been set up in the shop’s central area, burgeoning with gardening books offering advice on everything from pruning shrubs, herbaceous borders and small container gardening, medicinal herbs and gardening folklore. Her arms were swamped by an over-sized caftan in brilliant orange and purple swirls, spirals of green wire earrings strung with beads dangled from her earlobes.
“You’ve inspired me to encourage the ‘would be gardeners’, Cedric. If you don't mind, I've also printed some leaflets advertising your YouTube channel, though I have had a few complaints already.”
“Oh,” said Cedric, picking up a leaflet bearing a picture of himself pruning a large hydrangea.
“It’s your new channel name, “The Man Who Swapped God For A Garden”, it’s made a few eyebrows arch, I can tell you.”
Cedric had been wary of changing the name of his ever increasingly popular YouTube channel for the novice gardener. It really couldn’t have remained, “The Green Fingered Vicar”, as he had after all, retired from the church, though many of his parishioners had become loyal followers. His mobile phone pinged again.
Barbara seized a copy of the crime thriller from the box and brandished it in the air. “Look at what’s arrived,” she called out to a wiry young man who was precariously balancing a tray containing two mugs of tea and a plate of ginger snaps biscuits. “Do make a cup for Cedric, lovely. And Cedric,” said Barbara, touching his arm, making her wristful of bangles jingle, “you can’t please everyone you know, there are some real low lifes lurking on the internet, hiding behind made up names, just ignore them, sweetie.”
The young man looked over at them. A flop of blonde hair covered his eyes, his jumper was threadbare on the cuffs and patched on the elbows with curved suede ovals which looked home sewn.
“They’re in the blue spotted tin, next to the powdered milk, Daniel,” said Barbara, “And remember, you don’t put milk in the Earl Grey.”
Daniel Digsby had been working at the Book Emporium for nearly seven years, but he was the kind of man you could never put an age to, indeed a man whose looks gave little away. He balanced the tea tray next to the box of Cedric's books and headed back to the small door labelled ‘Staff only’ that was squeezed between historical romance and horror fantasy.
“I’ll set some of these up in the window, Cedric, ready for your book signing on Saturday.”
Barbara scooped an armful of paperbacks out of the box and began propping them up in the bay window amongst an already large array of crime fiction. Cedric took his mobile from his pocket and swiped the screen. Two more comments had appeared on his latest video on organic fertilising.
Blooming serenity Guru: “That's just shovelling shit!”
LifeVibesDiva: “It’s a Crap Idea!”.
His daughter, Scarlett, had advised him to delete earlier such comments as trolls encouraged more trolls but Cedric hadn’t taken that advice and now not surprisingly, he had a missed call from her whilst he was driving over to Hebbington that morning.
Daniel returned with a chipped mug of tea, blazoned with the slogan “Time spent with cats and books is never wasted.” Cedric couldn’t agree more, though the tea was so stewed it was bitter and a small fruit fly swirled around on its surface. After a sip, Cedric placed it behind a large book of cosmology which stood on display near the shop's counter.
“I love your author picture on the back, Cedric, so unstaged and au-naturelle.”
Scarlett had laughed when she’d seen the proof copy. “Dad, you could have made an effort, bought a new jacket for the occasion at least, but Rubens looks great on your lap.”
Cedric had held Rubens, their ginger cat, who had even looked at the camera long enough for the shot to be taken rather than licking between his toes or pulling his ears back in affront. Cedric did now regret not brushing what was left of his hair but weren’t creatives usually unkempt? He’d just been in the garden digging some manure beneath the roses when the photographer had arrived. If you looked really carefully at the picture, you could spot the mud on his fingers as he stroked Ruben’s fur.
“So I thought on Saturday you could start with a reading, a juicy excerpt, no spoilers of course and then you can tell everyone about your “writing journey,” said Barbara.
His small independent publisher encouraged book events and the Book Emporium, one of his favourite haunts, had been the obvious first choice, along with the library where his book club met every two weeks. But now, with the event just a couple of days away, Cedric rather hoped there wasn’t going to be too big a crowd. He wasn’t new to speaking to a room full of people. As a village vicar his services were often well attended, but in those days he was relaying the words of The Lord, not his own creative scribblings and of course questions and answers on God’s teachings were never on the agenda. He rather hoped that no one attending would have actually read his book, then they couldn't pull it apart or question its authenticity.
“Don't look so worried, Cedric,” said Barbara, putting the remaining pile of books on a small table in the corner of the room next to the home styling books. “You’ll be great! I’m putting you over here, there will be a comfy chair of course for you and I have borrowed a stack of folding chairs for those attending. Daniel will be in charge of refreshments, some non alcoholic sparkling wine and I've notified the Gazette and Herald. I rather hope they’ll send someone to cover the event, you know what they say, my sweet, all publicity is good publicity. Isn’t that right Daniel?”
Daniel was rearranging the self help books and when his name was called, he merely nodded, crouching down to rearrange the titles, carefully placing a Book Emporium promotional leaflet inside each front cover in turn.
Barbara leaned over to whisper in Cedric’s ear, her patchouli oil perfume reminded Cedric of old musty wardrobes. “I’m hoping Daniel will dig out something more suited to a professional book event than that dog eared sweater of his that smells as if his gran might have died wearing it.”
Cedric stifled a laugh and headed over to the history section. He missed the historical society which he had run for a number of years and still loved to lose himself in a good book which painted the past through black and white photographs and drawings. He ran his fingers along the titles and stopped at an old volume, in cloth finished binding titled, “The history of gardening in fifty tools”. It was time he headed back. Not bothering to open it, he took the book to the counter. “I'll just take this,” he said.
Barbara was busy inserting a printed picture of Cedric into an acrylic frame ready for the book signing table. “Daniel, do the till please will you, sweetie. See you on Saturday, Cedric.”
Cedric paid Daniel for the book, tucked it under his arm and headed back to his car which now had a parking infringement notice tucked under his windscreen wiper.
It was early afternoon. His visit to the Book Emporium had set loose a cascade of worries about his upcoming author event, as virulent as bindweed crawling over a hedge. To steady his nerves, Cedric lingered in his newly acquired greenhouse. It had been Scarlet's idea really, ever the motivator. If it hadn't been for her gentle persuasion to grow himself a garden to help heal his soul, he wouldn’t now have a flourishing YouTube gardening channel, nor would he be spraying insecticide on sturdy tomato plants which he’d planted in mid march and had now attracted a host of aphids. On hearing footsteps outside on the garden path, Cedric swung round, generously spraying insecticide in a mist at the entrance of the greenhouse where Tanya now stood.
”Steady on Cedric, I’m not sure that’s safe to breathe,” said Tanya.
Her terrier, Henry, ran into the greenhouse wagging his tail energetically.
“And that doesn't look organic to me either,” Tanya laughed. “Don't tell me, just because you preach it doesn't mean you have to do it yourself. Just don't let Scarlet catch you with that stuff? Isn’t lifestyle YouTubing all about being authentic?”
“I could find a few ladybirds and pop them in here,” said Cedric, “but I did that last week and they promptly flew straight out again. Or I could spray the plants with soapy water but just look at them,” said Cedric. “There's so many bugs I’m sure they're just taunting me. They'll be gone by morning with any luck and if you keep quiet, Scarlett will never know.”
Cedric popped the bottle of bug spray into a basket under his potting table and covered it up with piles of seedling pots.
“I'd have thought you'd have learnt not to keep secrets from Scarlett,” said Tanya.
Just on cue, there was a growl followed by a hiss and Henry sped out of the greenhouse and Rubens slunk up to Cedric's ankles, meowing.
“Well, when you’ve finished here, I have a new case for us. I'll pop into the caravan and get the kettle on. And as for you Rubens,” said Tanya, reaching down to stroke the ginger cat, who was weaving between Cedric's legs.,“you stay indoors tonight, do you hear me.”
“He’s a hunter, there’s no chance of that,” said Cedric, encouraging Rubens out of the greenhouse so he could shut the door.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Cedric, cats are going missing and that's our new case, so be warned Rubens.”
“We’re a Missing Persons Bureau, Tanya, not missing pets.”
“Don’t listen to him, Henry,” called Tanya, picking up Henry and tucking him under her arm. “Cats are sentient beings, so are dogs. And I for one would be desperate if Henry ever went missing, wouldn’t I?”
She planted a kiss on the terrier’s head and headed off across the garden towards the 1960’s Buccaneer caravan that was parked on the gravel drive next to Cedric's bungalow of the same vintage.
Cedric joined Tanya in the caravan, a comfy small space, tastefully kitted out with seating scattered with tweed cushions with matching curtains tied back at the windows. The caravan served as Cedric's writing den but since a couple of years ago was now also a Missing Persons Bureau. Life as a private detective fitted snugly with his writing but despite the relative comfort of his sitting room, all too frequently he found himself in the caravan, lost in his latest manuscript or puzzling over the mystery of how completely and suddenly people who are loved and wanted seem to disappear.
Tanya made the drinks and carried two steaming mugs over to the small coffee table and seated herself opposite Cedric on one of the padded seats. In an attempt to make herself look more like a private investigator, she’d had her hair coloured and trimmed into a sleek bob and taken to wearing designer striped shirts over ever creased linen trousers. She ripped open a packet of bourbon creams and proceeded to dunk one into her cappuccino.
“So why are we investigating a cat? Isn’t that a job for the RSPCA or the police? We have a reputation to keep up,” said Cedric. “Anyway, don’t you remember the saying, never work with animals? I’ve already been bitten on the posterior by a dog and been butted by a goat, I think I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Come on, Cedric, since when did we care about whether the police ought to be investigating. And as for the goat, that was entirely your own fault. Anyway, this is personal to one of our book members, I couldn't say no, could I.”
“ Which member?” asked Cedric. Maureen wouldn't tolerate the mess of a cat unless it matched perfectly her latest twin set and Howard, well, he didn't strike Cedric as the animal loving kind, unless it was a gun dog, a highly trained hound who could take orders from a retired army major.
“Our new member, Chloe, well her aunt actually, but all the same, I couldn't say no.”
“You don't mean the aunt who smells of cat wee, do you? The woman with all those cats?”
“The very same!” said Tanya, reaching for another bourbon biscuit. “But remember we’re discreet, we’d never repeat what Chloe said back at the book club and don't go sniffing when she arrives either.”
“She’s coming here? Today?”
“In the next twenty minutes or so if the bus is running on time. Her name is Brenda Quinn and she best sit next to you, she couldn't squeeze in over here with me and Henry.”
The book Cedric had bought earlier sat on the coffee table, next to this notebook containing the beginning of his new crime thriller manuscript. He hadn’t opened his new purchase since he arrived home but had hoped to flick through it over an Earl Grey that afternoon.
“What's this?” asked Tanya, picking up the book. “It looks ancient and it smells all musty.”
“I picked it up in the Book Emporium when I was dropping off some books for Saturday.”
“I’m looking forward to going to a book event where I actually know the author,”said Tanya. “I’ve told everyone, all the book club members will be there of course. Is Scarlett going to film it for your channel?”
Cedric slumped into his seat, so much for only a few people attending.
“No videos, it’s nothing to do with gardening.”
“That's a shame” said Tanya, polishing off the last biscuit, wiping crumbs off the cover of “The History of Gardening In Fifty Tools”. She opened the cover and flicked through the pages and out fell a piece of paper, not a promotional leaflet, but a cutting from a newspaper. The face of a young woman stared out at them and Cedric was sure it was familiar.
Tanya picked it up and spread it open on the table. “I thought I knew that face,” she said. “It was on posters all over Hebbington for years, some until the print had completely faded in the shop windows, but of course, they never found her.”
“But she went missing….. it must be six, seven years ago now, without a trace.”
“Well, that's not strictly true, is it.” said Tanya. “They found her cat and if I’m not mistaken, they found it in the home of Chloe's aunt.”
**********
COMING SOON: On Sunday, 20th July, our amazing guest author is David W Thompson. David will be sharing Chapter 2 of his novel, 'The Mystery at Love's Manor'.
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