Authors: C T Mitchell
Tags: #Murder at the Fete
Murder At The Fete: A Lady Margaret Turnbull Culinary Cozy Mystery (Culinary Mystery Books Book 1)
Murder at the Fete
By
C T Mitchell
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by C T Mitchell
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Unlike the name implies, Bangalow, New South Wales is
probably one of the most serene communities in the county. The name actually
appeared to have come from an Aboriginal word meaning “a low hill” or “a kind
of palm tree”, and what better to be named after than a palm tree?
The small town is a beautiful destination for
day-trippers who want a gorgeous small town to visit; it had the most darling
village streets filled with shops and boutiques, and cafes bragging about their
locally grown organic produce.
Like most of the little villages in Australia, it
boasts a hotel and pub, a church, a police station run by Constable Greenaway,
its own mayor’s office, and a small dance hall adjacent to the primary school.
The town is set up so that the people who live there don’t have to travel far
to do the things they need to do. It’s one of Australia’s smartest and
quaintest regional centers, and Maggie Turnbull loves it.
She and her husband had visited friends in Bangalow two
decades ago on the way back from a business trip, and she’d always wanted to come
back and settle down. When her husband passed away, that’s just what she did.
Admittedly, she still stood out a little with her thick British accent, and
occasionally people would be brave enough to tell her that her voice and the
way she carried herself made her seem a little pretentious. But those who know
her realize nothing could be further from the truth.
Eventually, though, she didn’t let it bother her.
Maggie, or Lady Margaret Turnbull as she was properly called, could have moved
anywhere in the world when her husband passed of a heart attack, but she
settled in New South Wales for the latter part of her life. The late Mr.
Turnbull, a dot com millionaire, sold his sold email service to British Telecom
for 157m pound, leaving Maggie to do as she pleased.
As she pleased, it turns out, was a newfound passion
for cooking and eating healthy foods as a way to stave off poor health for
herself. She loved it so much that she was eventually inspired to teach
others, as well. She purchased Lawler’s Loft, an architecturally designed
hilltop acreage home with old world charm and commanding views across the
valley to the mountains in the west and Pacific Ocean to the east. Shortly
after making her purchase she decided to teach others to live a healthy
lifestyle, and the town’s bed and breakfast, became synonymous with the beloved
busybody, Maggie Turnbull. Busybody in a kind way. Maggie was not your
stereotyped, doddering fool type. Quite the opposite in fact.
Running the bed and breakfast, teaching her patrons to
cook wholesome food for their own wellbeing and igniting a passion for food in
others provided most of her satisfaction in life, but everyone needs an extra
hobby; at least in the mind of a busy Maggie Turnbull.
In her spare time, her favorite thing to do was to
irritate Detective Inspector Tom Sullivan; albeit not intentionally. It wasn’t
her fault she had such a knack for knowing other people’s business before he
did…maybe it was just woman’s intuition? Although the high academic marks
she’d received all her life would suggest her brain was simply superior to his,
which always made her grin.
As much as he tried to like her, it really did bother
him to constantly be chasing her hunches. No matter how much Tom tried to do things
by the book, he couldn’t ever figure out a way to beat Maggie to solving the
crime. Tom’s uncomfortableness was evident particularly around Maggie, often
getting a twitch in his eye. And that could be seen by all and sundry,
something the locals would pick up on.
And she was the only person who drove him batty, even
though he was thought highly of all over Bangalow. He did his job
exceptionally well, which Maggie actually respected. The man had a real
passion for justice after witnessing a hit and run when he was in high school.
Tom’s best friend was killed, and it triggered something in him that took
precedence over what he thought would be a future as a fisherman like his
father. As it turned out, fishing was how he spent his downtime. He had the
uncanny knack to balance work and family life, which so many people lack, and
was well known in town for being a great family man. He spent almost as much
time with his family as he did in his work, and in his moments alone, took to
the outdoors for solace. Maggie always imagined he spent his off days fishing
and contemplating revenge for her spoiling his arrests.
Once, when he was certain he’d caught the killer of
Julie Duncan, a primary school aged girl, it was Maggie’s eye for detail that
nailed what seemed like a random passer-by as her killer. Tom never would have
even suspected; in spite of his thorough yet traditional investigation. Once
again Tom’s inner anxiety was heightened; at least this time he could hide it
from prying eyes.
“Morning!” Melissa Shepherd, the baker’s daughter sang
as she waltzed through the doors of the bed and breakfast. She was here to do
two things: break Maggie’s train of thought and deliver the morning’s
pastries. Guests at Lawler’s Loft looked forwarded to their early morning
croissants and Danish pastries; something the guesthouse had become known for
with travelers who were food connoisseurs.
Maggie smiled and threw her arms around her, as she did
everyone who walked through the doors. Maggie maybe a Lady in title but she was
no stuffy aristocrat, rather a warm and endearing person that people naturally
gravitated to. “Morning, dear! You know where they go.” She pointed toward
the kitchen and followed Melissa through the foyer. “How’s Constable
Greenaway?”
Everyone knew Daniel Greenaway, the town constable, was
in love with Melissa. And why shouldn’t he be? She was as sweet as they came,
very pretty in a plain sort of way, and as quiet as a mouse. Perhaps self-imposed
as Melissa, born and bred in the district, had never ventured far from its
borders and was not aware of worldly delights that lay beyond. It embarrassed
Melissa when Maggie mentioned his name. The poor girl was smitten with the
constable, but was too naïve to really think he fancied her back, and Maggie
teased her endlessly about it.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” she answered, her cheeks
reddening as she hurried to the kitchen. “He came by the bakery this morning
and looked well enough.”
“I’m sure he did, dear.” Maggie pulled the dish towel
from her shoulder and popped Melissa with it. As a woman who had her fair share
of male suitors of the years, Maggie knew that Constable Greenaway had more
than strawberry tarts on his mind whenever he visited the bakery.
If she was any good at setting people up, she would
make it her hobby to get them together. They’d be perfect for each other, as
the constable was also a quiet sort of fellow. He didn’t speak unless he was
spoken too, and was generally revered as a vanilla kind of gentleman. He
wasn’t much to look at, Maggie thought, but when he was around Melissa his eyes
lit up like a schoolboy in a candy shop and it was adorable.
****
“Are you going to the charity fete?” Melissa asked,
changing the subject.
“Well what else will there be to do in this town next Saturday,
dear? Of course I’m going. I’ll bet the constable will be there, too,” she
teased.
“Alright alright! That’s enough out of you. What are
you, my grandmother?”
“Is your father ready to become mildly rich with that
prize money?” Maggie knew when to change the subject, and it made her giddy
thinking that old man Shepherd would finally be acknowledged for his wares.
The man knew his way around the kitchen better than any female Maggie had ever
met, and she’d been all over the world. No one, however, held a candle to Jack
Shepherd’s scones and tarts, and he made one hell of a flat white sponge as
well. Maggie could spend all day, every day in his bakery if she were of the
mind to gain an extra few pounds a week. But being in her early fifties, Maggie
knew that putting on those pounds was far easier than taking them off. She cut
a trim, toned figure for a woman of her vintage; not unnoticed by quite a few
of the town’s male folk; single or married.
Melissa laughed and nodded her head. For a shy girl,
she knew her father had more talent than most and was fairly confident he’d win
every category. There was to be a purse of five hundred dollars for the best
strawberry sponge cake, two hundred dollars for the best English scones, and
one hundred dollars for the best fruit tart.
“Who’s the weird old fella that’s putting it on,
again? I can never remember his name,” Melissa asked.
“Mr. Stewart, that handsome old Scottish coot with all
the money.” He obviously appealed to Maggie’s eye; albeit he was probably
thirty years her senior.
“How’d he get so much money, anyway, Mrs. Turnbull? I
don’t remember ever having a benefit before he showed up and it’s like he can
just afford to do….anything.”
“No one knows, dear. But he doesn’t seem terribly
strange in a bad way, so no one really cares!” Maggie laughed and imagined Mr.
Stewart probably made money as a voice-over actor in secret, what with his
thick Scottish accent. It drove the ladies mad and he found great joy in
really working it when he was in front of a microphone. Maggie suspected that
was why he did things like throw galas and benefit picnics, to fight the
boredom of being incredibly wealthy and give the ladies something to fuss over.
He probably considered himself to be a bit of a Sean Connery, although Maggie
could never see His Majesty’s service employing him. Mr. Stewart was not the
most athletic man she had ever laid eyes on. She couldn’t quite be sure he
cared terribly about the Bangalow Boarding School receiving all the benefit
money either…the man had never even stepped foot in the town’s home for
disadvantaged and delinquent children.
****
For the last four years, the fete has been renowned for
its good food, fun rides, and fantastic baking prizes. Everyone in the town
loved going, as it gave them something to look forward to every year. All the
proceeds from rides and games went to whatever charity or organization Mr.
Stewart chose, and the soirée even attracted people from many neighboring
villages of Byron Bay, Clunes and Lismore.
Even though Maggie was not a baker, herself, every year
she was a guest judge of the baking contest. And every year, she vowed to
learn how to bake properly, though her apple pies and the occasional lemon
meringue were the extent of her efforts in that regard. Her big dream was to
have a famous guest chef run a cooking school at her Lawler’s Loft bed and
breakfast. Jamie Oliver was her ultimate wish, but she’d settle for some local
Australian talent to mesmerize her guests with their culinary skills.
Her nephew, Simon, would be driving into town for the
festivities and to spend some time with her. Maggie loved her nephew, he was a
fine young man, but she wished he would get his act together quickly and settle
down with a nice girl so she could have a little one to bounce on her knee.
That was the only thing she lacked in life, family with
little ones running around. She loved when people brought their young children
to the bed and breakfast, though it was mostly older couples or couples on
vacation without their kids that came to stay. Occasionally, though, there
would be five or six little ones running through the halls and racing up the
stairs, and Maggie loved it. Simon was her best chance at having young ones
around to spoil, and she couldn’t quite convince him to settle down.
****
When Saturday finally arrived, Maggie helped Melissa
unload the truck with her father’s contest entries. They were there early
enough that it was very quiet, though everything was already set up and ready
for enjoying.
The children’s rides were set up overnight, the
caterers had already set up the restaurant tent and snack bar, and the local
carpenter, along with the assistance of several farmers, had set up the stage
and judges table inside the large food tent. Maggie followed Melissa carefully
toward the table along the far side of the tent that was labeled Baking Contest
Entries, and a young boy held the rope aside for them to pass by without
dropping their pies and tarts.
****
Maggie is quite impressed with the range of pastries
and delicacies offered at this particular fete. It seems that the village
ladies have outdone themselves this year. Once the judges will have awarded the
prizes, she has already put her name down to purchase six of Mrs. Grant’s scones.
“Her scones are the best in the county,” she tells her nephew, keeping her
voice low so as not offend old man Shepherd who considers himself this year’s
champion scone maker. Simon, whose favorite meal is a hamburger and fries,
shrugs but smiles at his aunt’s delighted face.
“Thank you, dear,” Maggie crooned without looking at
the young man.
“You’re welcome, Auntie.”
Maggie spun carefully to see Simon, who had arrived
early to spend time with her before the festivities got started.
“You little! Come here and give me a kiss.” He leaned
toward her, careful not to knock the pie from her hands, and kissed her on the
cheek. Maggie walked past him and set the pie on the table, eyeing the other
entries. “Wow, they’ve really outdone themselves, this year. Mrs. Grant’s
scones are the best in the county…will you put me down for six of them,
sweetie? I’m going to ask Melissa what else she needs.”