The Measby Murder Enquiry

Table of Contents

 

 

“Purser always comes up like roses . . . This mystery thrives on its characters and lively dialogue.”

 

“A delightful spin-off.”

 

“Full of wit, venom and bonding between new friends.”

 

“Purser’s Ivy Beasley is a truly unique character, a kind of cross between Jessica Fletcher, Miss Marple and Mrs. Slocum . . . Pair this with Purser’s charming storytelling technique, and you have a fast-paced tale that will keep readers guessing to the very end.”

 

 

“First-class work in the English-village genre: cleverly plotted, with thoroughly believable characters, rising tension, and a smashing climax.”

—Kirkus Reviews
(starred review)

 

“Well paced, cleverly plotted and chock-full of cozy glimpses of life in a small English village.”

 

“Purser’s expertise at portraying village life and Lois’s role as a working-class Miss Marple combine to make this novel—and the entire series—a treat.”

 

“Fans of British ‘cozies’ will enjoy this delightful mystery with its quaint setting and fascinating players.”

 

Lois Meade Mysteries
MURDER ON MONDAY
TERROR ON TUESDAY
WEEPING ON WEDNESDAY
THEFT ON THURSDAY
FEAR ON FRIDAY
SECRETS ON SATURDAY
SORROW ON SUNDAY
WARNING AT ONE
TRAGEDY AT TWO
THREATS AT THREE

 

THE HANGMAN’S ROW ENQUIRY
THE MEASBY MURDER ENQUIRY

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

THE MEASBY MURDER ENQUIRY

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / May 2011

Copyright © 2011 by Ann Purser.

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-51484-9

 

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The Professional Gambler’s Handbook—
Beating the System by Hook and by Crook
by Weasel Murphy
A Paladin Press Book

“IF YOU ASK me,” Ivy Beasley said to Roy, as she sat down and carefully straightened her serviceable tweed skirt, “the fees in this place are daylight robbery! And what do we get for it? Bed and board, and not a lot else!”

She had lived at Springfields Luxury Residential Home in the Suffolk village of Barrington for over two years now, exiled, as she said, to Suffolk from her native Round Ringford, where she had lived for most of her long life. “All Deirdre’s fault,” she said often. “Made me agree to it when I wasn’t meself. That flu was very weakening, and before I could say knife, she’d booked me in.”

Deirdre Bloxham was Ivy’s only cousin, much younger, rich and bossy. She was a widow, and had inherited her wealth from her husband, Bert, who had built up a network of car sales showrooms all around the county. Ivy was a bit of a tartar herself, used to organising Round Ringford to suit herself. But times had changed, and when Deirdre had suggested the move, Ivy was perceptive enough to see that in Ringford she had been reduced to an awkward old woman who lived in the past. Newcomers had taken over, and she was ignored. Added to that, she had reluctantly agreed to having help in the house from New Brooms, a cleaning business run by a Mrs. Meade in Long Farnden, not far away.

“Now Ivy, see sense,” Deirdre had said. “You’re in your eighties, and the only friends you have left are a couple of old women no longer able to get about, and you’re not too frisky yourself.” And so Ivy had agreed.

Deirdre herself was very frisky, and, well positioned in her oddly triangular-shaped home, Tawny Wings, she had renewed a friendship with Theodore Roussel, the squire of the village, who lived in the Hall. He was still a bachelor, possibly even more frisky than Deirdre. Both of them were in their early sixties and well preserved. Plenty of money in the bank allowed Deirdre to buy the best designer clothes, and her apricot gold curls were kept immaculate by the best hairdresser in Thornwell, the nearest big town.

Soon after Ivy had moved to Springfields, she had been persuaded by a newcomer to the village, Augustus Halfhide, a thin, bony man with a charming smile, to join him in an agency entitled Enquire Within. They began in a small way, and the two of them, along with Deirdre bankrolling expenses, and Roy Goodman, another Springfields resident, supplying local knowledge, had played a large part in solving a very nasty murder in the village.

Augustus Halfhide was still something of a mystery, even after some while living in Barrington. Ivy was at first convinced he was an undercover agent, now retired, either from choice or expediency, and was keeping his hand in with Enquire Within. But now she was not so sure.

The fourth member of this oddly assorted group, Roy Goodman, had been a farmer, and had been resigned to boredom in Springfields for the rest of his days. Apart from the inevitable wearing away of his wiry frame, he had all his marbles intact. He had taken to Ivy at once, partly as a fellow prisoner, as he described their incarceration, and partly because she stirred in him feelings which he realised were unaccustomed affection, and occasionally as—could it possibly be?—love. Though Ivy had never actually said as much, he suspected and hoped that she returned these in some measure at least. When Roy had taken a recent tumble and retired to his bed for a few days, it was noticed by everyone in Springfields that Ivy Beasley spent most of the day in Roy Goodman’s room.

“He’s having a whale of a time,” said Mrs. Spurling, the home’s manager, sourly. “We shall have to stop Miss Beasley visiting him so much. His ankle is quite better now, and he should be downstairs with the others.” She need not have worried. As soon as Ivy judged it was time, she told Roy that she would see him downstairs for breakfast next day, and he duly obliged.

Now, on this blustery day, he had come down saying he was quite restored, and sat close to Ivy in the residents’ lounge. She had told him that something important had come up, and began to speak in hushed tones. “Time to convene,” she said. “Gus just phoned and said he’s got another case for us. Meeting tomorrow at Tawny Wings. Two o’clock sharp.”