Country Pursuits (36 page)

Over in the apple-bobbing corner, things were taking a decidedly dangerous twist. The game had proved hugely popular and people had been queuing up all night to take part. So far, Babs Sax's date, a young man dressed as Lester Piggot complete with a full-sized fake horse, was in the lead, with six apples pulled out in one minute.

After avoiding him all evening, Sebastian was immensely annoyed to find himself standing next to Benedict Towey. ‘Come on, chaps, let's have a
Superman stand-off!' said Brenda Briggs's husband Ted, who was manning the corner and writing up scores on the board. Just as Sebastian was about to tell the silly old sod where to shove his apples, Benedict turned round and faced him.

‘Up for it?' he asked casually, but there was no mistaking the challenge in his eyes. The gauntlet had been well and truly thrown.

‘You bet,' Sebastian replied viciously.

Both men knelt down in front of their respective buckets. By now, quite a crowd was gathering. It wasn't every day one saw two Lycra-clad Supermen engaging in an apple-bobbing contest.

‘Right gents, you know the rules,' said Ted. ‘As many apples as you can get out, using only your mouth, in one minute. No hands, feet or any other foul play. On your marks, get set, GO!'

Sebastian plunged his head into the water. It was freezing cold, making him gasp. He realized the carefully styled kiss-curl on his forehead would be ruined, and his desire to whip Towey's arse burned even more. Looking across at his adversary, he saw he already had his perfect teeth clamped around an apple and was manoeuvring it to the side of the bucket to get it out.

Sebastian whipped his head back into his own bucket; he was damned if he was going to let that bastard Towey beat him twice in a row! At first it seemed an impossible task as the apples merrily floated away, but finally he managed to secure his first one by taking a huge bite. He flung it triumphantly down beside him.

Benedict was just depositing his third apple and, for a second, the two men stared at each
other, water running down their faces in rivulets.

‘Had your mistress long, then?' Benedict asked him, just low enough so no one else could hear.

‘Long enough,' spat Sebastian. ‘You should try getting one, Towey. Might make you a bit less uptight.'

Benedict stared at him with distaste, then plunged his head back into his bucket, Sebastian following suit. His blood was boiling as he chased another apple around. The fucking impudence! After about twenty seconds of frantic splashing, both men pulled out at the same time again, dropping their catches down and gasping for breath.

This time, Benedict leaned in towards him so close, their noses were almost touching.

‘You don't deserve her, Belmont.'

At this point Sebastian, chest heaving from lack of oxygen and the unimaginable prospect of losing again, flipped. ‘Fuck you, Towey!' he roared, propelling himself towards his rival. Grabbing Benedict's head, he plunged it straight into his bucket of water and held it under. Someone screamed.

‘All right lads, calm down!' shouted Ted Briggs, waggling his piece of chalk at them furiously. Under his hands, Sebastian felt strength surge through Benedict as he suddenly reared out of the bucket, sending Sebastian flying. Before Sebastian could collect himself Benedict had grabbed him by the shoulders and plunged his head under the water in his own bucket.

Sebastian struggled, but he was caught in an iron grip. Gasping for air, and with water filling his
lungs, he started to choke. My God, I'm going to die, he thought to himself. A strange, shrieking noise filled his head, getting louder and louder.

Just as he was sure he'd taken his last breath, the hand around his neck hauled him out. Heaving and spluttering, he collapsed on the floor as Benedict Towey stood up, breathing heavily.

The strange, shrill noise turned out to be Caro. ‘What are you doing? You could have drowned him!' she screamed at Benedict. Shock and anger coursed through her as she faced him, her whole body shaking with emotion. ‘Why don't you go and molest someone else's wife instead, you bloody adulterer?'

Confusion flickered across Benedict's face, then he eyed her coldly. ‘I think that's something you should ask your husband about,' he said, and turned on his heel.

Caro stared after him for a second, before turning back to Sebastian as he lay wheezing on the ground. He stared up at her spitefully: ‘Something I'm missing here, darling? You shagging him or what?' There were a few scandalized gasps from the onlookers. Caro went white as she went to help him up.

‘Don't be so ridiculous,' she said in quiet mortification.

There was a brief, deafening silence, then a cry from Jack. ‘All right, show's over, folks, let's get back to the party.' An excited babble of voices started up again as everyone watched Caro drag a dripping Sebastian out through the bar.

SOME BRIGHT SPARK
had used their camera phone to record Devon singing, and by ten o'clock the next morning, the clip was up on
YouTube
. At the end of the day, the grainy but clearly audible footage had received a staggering hundred thousand hits. Nigel was inundated with calls from record labels wanting to sign Devon up. The singer refused to discuss it, however, saying he was going to get the Churchminster ball out of the way first. His reticence only succeeded in creating even more hysteria, and Devon had great pleasure in telling his old record company, who had dropped him like a hot potato when he started to go off the rails, where to stick their offer. ‘What goes around comes around, Nige,' he said sagely, and padded off barefoot down the corridor to his studio. Rehearsals were in full swing now, and the Three Ts were turning up later, ready to eat Nigel out of house and home again.

A few nights later, there was a dramatic turn of events in Churchminster. It was around midnight, after the pub had closed, and Jack Turner was
putting the bins out. Suddenly feeling he was being watched, Jack glanced across the deserted green and saw a shadowy figure lurking near the Merryweathers' cottage. With no thought for the fact that he might be confronting Churchminster's serial killer, Jack shouted at the figure and ran towards the cottage. But by the time he'd reached the front gate, there was no one to be seen.

Jack looked around, scanned the green and pulled his mobile phone out of his back pocket. After a few rings, he got through to Bedlington police station. ‘Jack Turner here, landlord of the Jolly Boot,' he told the operator. He turned to look at the cottage. A light had come on downstairs: Eunice and Dora had been woken by the disturbance. For the first time, Jack considered what might have happened if he hadn't spotted the sinister figure, and his blood ran cold.

‘I'd like to report a suspicious character in the village. I've just seen him outside No. 3 The Green. Yeah, just standing there, dressed all in black. Up to no good if ever I saw it, thought it might be the guy you're looking for.' He listened to the person on the other end: ‘OK, I'll stay put. See you in a bit.'

Behind him, the porch light flicked on as the front door creaked open a few inches. ‘Hello?' a shaky voice called out.

‘Eunice, Dora, it's me, Jack,' he said, striding up the path. ‘Sorry to wake you.'

The door swung fully open to reveal the sisters, hairnets on and quilted dressing gowns pulled tightly around them. ‘Jack?' said Eunice, a look of concern on her face. ‘What's going on?'

He reached the door. ‘I'm sure it's nothing to be worried about, Eunice, but I just spotted a dodgy looking figure lurking outside the front here.' He gestured to the spot.

‘Here? Outside ours?' cried Dora. ‘Oh Eunice, it's the murderer! I knew we'd be next. My horoscope said I was about to encounter danger.' Bursting into tears, she covered her face with her hands.

Her older sister whipped out a lace handkerchief from her dressing gown and gave it to her. ‘There, there dear,' she said consolingly, but Eunice had gone as white as a ghost.

She looked at Jack. ‘Oh, how dreadful!'

‘Don't upset yourselves,' he said reassuringly. ‘I've called the police, they're on their way over.'

Dora looked up from her handkerchief, eyes red. ‘The police? Coming here? Oh, but we don't want to cause any trouble!' She retreated back behind the lace, weeping in the most heartrending fashion. Jack felt awful. The figure had been a big enough shock for him, let alone these two old dears. He was surprised it hadn't finished them off.

‘Would you like to come in?' Eunice asked him.

Jack looked back at the pub. ‘I'll just call Beryl and tell her where I am, and to lock the doors – we don't know if he's still about somewhere.' At this there were fresh cries from Dora, and Jack shot Eunice an apologetic look. She nodded understandingly and ushered her sister back inside the house.

By the time Jack had finished talking to an alarmed Beryl, a police car was pulling up outside. DI Rance sprang out, followed by a sleepy looking PC Penny. He gave Jack a brisk nod. ‘Thanks for
calling us, Mr Turner. This was the property you saw the suspect outside?'

Jack jerked his head. ‘There, just by the front gate.'

Rance stared at the grassy area. ‘Penny, go and check for footprints,' he ordered. ‘Look for anything else he might have left behind: cigarette butts, chewing gum, his bloody calling card if we're lucky.' He glanced at the front door. Eunice had appeared again, her hands held fearfully to her mouth. ‘Can we come in, madam?'

‘Of course,' she said. ‘If you don't mind going in to the sitting room. There it is, first on the right. I'm afraid the rest of the house is a bit of a mess. Knitting seems to take on a life of its own, Inspector. We've got wool and needles everywhere!'

Rance smiled politely at her. Oh God, these were the two Powers and Penny had moaned about. The most ineffectual witnesses you could ever have the misfortune to come across. He'd probably be stuck here for hours talking about fluffy bunnies. Rance sighed and stepped into the sweltering cottage. Like lots of old people, the Merryweather sisters were permanently cold. By the looks of them, both had several layers of night clothes and God knows what else under their dressing gowns. Thermal all-in-ones most likely, thought Rance, shuddering.

The sitting room was the most claustrophobic space Rance had ever been in. Ornaments of woodland animals covered every shelf, table and surface, pictures of old-fashioned countryside scenes hung from every available piece of wall, and draped across the two uncomfortable-looking armchairs that faced out on to the green were a hideous set of
chintzy lace covers. A tiny, floral-covered sofa heaped with owl-embroidered cushions made up the rest of the furniture. Rance wedged himself uncomfortably on it while Eunice and Dora sat in the armchairs and Jack hovered by the gas fireplace.

‘Can you tell me what time you saw this figure, and what you were doing, please, Mr Turner?' asked Rance.

‘It must have been about forty minutes ago. I was just putting the bins out like I always do,' Jack recounted. ‘Something caught my eye over the green and when I looked, I could see a figure standing by Eunice and Dora's here.'

A squeak came from one of the sisters, Rance couldn't tell which one. ‘Can you tell us what this person looked like?' he asked Jack. Jack furrowed up his brow in concentration.

‘I couldn't see his face. I mean, I thought it was a bloke because he was quite tall. About six-foot I would say. And sort of lean-looking.'

Rance felt a flash of excitement. It sounded like their suspect, all right. ‘What happened next?' he asked.

‘Well, I shouted at him and ran over,' said Jack, ‘but by the time I'd got here, the bugger had disappeared. That's when I called you.'

‘Ooh, you are brave, Jack,' cried Dora. ‘Isn't he, Eunice?' Her sister nodded enthusiastically.

Rance turned to the sisters. ‘Now then, ladies,' he said. ‘Did you see or hear anything before Jack got here?'

‘Not a thing,' said Dora, clutching the handkerchief to her chest. ‘We'd been asleep for hours by then.'

‘Anyone hanging around recently you thought was a bit out of the ordinary?'

‘No one, Inspector!' declared Eunice. ‘Oh, we are such silly old things, not being able to help you. This isn't how it happens on
Midsomer Murders
, is it?'

Just then, a breathless Penny came into the room. ‘Nothing, Guv,' he said. ‘Ground's so hard a JCB would have a job to leave a mark.'

Rance breathed out heavily. For a while, it had seemed as if they were about to catch their suspect, only for him to disappear again, like a wreath of smoke before their eyes.

He got to his feet. ‘All right, I think we'll leave it there. Mr Turner. Eunice and Dora Merryweather. Do let me know if you see or hear anything else. In the meantime, make sure you lock up and have a good night's sleep. Thank you.'

‘What do you think, Guv?' asked Penny as they drove back to the station. ‘Sounds like our man, doesn't it?'

‘I just don't know,' said Rance wearily. ‘I've got a feeling in my guts. Something about this case doesn't quite add up.'

NOVEMBER SEEMED TO
fly by for the Save Churchminster Ball and Auction Committee members. They now met every few days, to keep everyone up-to-date on progress and make last-minute preparations. They'd had to hastily build a helicopter landing-pad at Clanfield Hall for Mick to land safely, and there had been a hairy moment when the uber-cool fashion designer's studio had nearly burnt down, which would have meant waving goodbye to the coveted work-experience slot. Luckily the fire brigade had got there just in time.

There was no doubt about it, though, this was a cause that struck a chord with the public. Another anonymous benefactor had kindly donated five hundred thousand pounds to the fund, and through yet another generous contact, Angie had managed to secure lunch with a top supermodel. This would surely go down well with the testosterone-fuelled bidders at the auction.