An Invitation to Murder: An amateur sleuth murder mystery (A Mary Blake Mystery Book 1) Read online

  “So, what did Pea say on the phone when you called him? Have I got a part in this murder mystery party?” Dot asked.

  “You’re going to play my maid,” Mary answered with a smirk.

  “Oh, that’s great that is,” Dot grumbled. Her East London accent was becoming stronger, as it always did when she was annoyed. “So, who are you playing then? The Queen?”

  Mary laughed. “Not quite. I’m playing Lady Gossover, whoever she is.”

  “So, do I even have a name? Or am I just servant number three or something?”

  Mary opened the folder on her lap and flicked to the third page. “Your name is Esther.”

  “Just Esther? No surname?”

  Mary closed the folder and leaned back in her seat. “I think only the nobility get surnames, Dot.”

  “Well I’m sure it will be a fun crowd knowing your brother. He’s always one for a good time.”

  Mary frowned as she stared out of the window. Something had been playing on her mind. Pea had been deliberately vague when she had asked who else was coming, and for some reason it made her suspicious.

  “I’m honestly not sure who’s coming, he just said it would be a good crowd.”

  She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, signalling to Dot that she didn’t want to talk anymore.

  All she really wanted was to be back on her sofa, wallowing in her own misery.

  Mary was woken by a punch in the arm from Dot.

  “How on earth do you do that?” Dot asked irritably.

  “Do what?”

  “Close your eyes and fall asleep like that! Even when I’m exhausted it takes me ages.”

  “I don’t know, just always been able to. Where are we?”

  “Well I woke you for a reason, we’re here.” Dot pointed out of the window to her right.

  Mary shifted herself upright and saw the familiar flat face of Blancham Hall flashing between the tall trees that lined the road.

  “Oh, that was quick.”

  “It tends to be if you sleep through all of it,” Dot said bitterly.

  “Sorry. A good drive was it?”

  “All right actually, no traffic and at least you going to sleep let me listen to my gardening podcast. We’re going to be early.”

  “Great, that’ll give me time to catch up with Pea before it all kicks off.”

  They pulled up outside the hall’s grand entrance five minutes later and were greeted by Percy, who jogged down the front steps towards them.

  He was thin, and tall like Mary, but with the bright red hair of his mother rather than her dark hair from her father’s side. He had an angular but kind face that always seemed to be working itself into the next expression and gave the impression of constant motion. Mary had always thought he rather looked like a pencil and told him so frequently.

  He was laughing as Mary opened the door and stepped out onto the gravel.

  “Mary!”

  “Hi, Pea,” she said, embracing him. “So how is the hall? Not going to freeze to death, are we?”

  “Nope! The plumbing’s working again, thank God.” He laughed before his face clouded. “Had to sell another field off to do it though, one down by the village.”

  “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do,” Mary said, squeezing his arm.

  “Oh, hello!” he said as Dot climbed out of the car. “If it isn’t the ravishing Miss Tanner!”

  Dot blushed a deep scarlet and shook her head. “Hello, Percy. Thanks for the invite.”

  “Did you hear that, Mary? Proper manners.” He pushed past her and gave Dot an overly flamboyant kiss on the cheek.

  They turned to see Mary staring at them with her hands on her hips. “Am I going to have to throw a bucket of cold water on you two by the end of the weekend?”

  “Oh, don’t be such a grump, Mary,” Pea said, embracing her and kissing both cheeks. He turned and ran back up the steps. “Come and get yourself in, it’s freezing out here and I’ve got the fire lit! We’ll sort the bags out later.”

  They followed him up the broad steps and into Blancham Hall.

  To Mary, the building had always had a slightly unreal quality since she had left it. It was as though she were visiting a museum dedicated to her past rather than the actual house she had grown up in. It was almost like being back on set, playing the role of her younger self.

  Despite the grand name, the house wasn’t as substantial as most English manor houses, and it had certainly seen better days. Its walls were pockmarked with age, its windows thin and draughty. And yet it was pleasing to the eye, like a comfortable piece of old furniture.

  Wooden beams crisscrossed the high ceiling, dark oak furniture loomed against the white walls and the air was tinged with the musty weight of the years that hinted at a damp problem.

  “I see the old place is still standing then?” Mary said, looking around the entrance hall.

  “Of course it is! Just don’t lean on anything.” Pea laughed. “Have you eaten? I could get Hetty to make you something if you like?”

  “You know I’d never turn down any of Hetty’s cooking. How is she?”

  “Same as ever, she’d like to see you I’m sure.” Pea moved across to the right-hand wall where he tugged on a small velvet rope that vanished into the ceiling.

  “You have servants?” Dot asked in surprise.

  “Oh lord, no!” Pea laughed. “Hetty’s just my lady from the village. She comes up and cooks when I’m having a do. Amazing woman, arms that could knead bread and kill a man in thirty seconds.”

  “And you’d be wise to remember that last one,” came a voice from the far side of the hallway.

  Mary turned slightly and looked at the shuffling figure of Hetty Wainthropp. No more than four foot ten, shaped like a rugby ball, and with a kind, rubbery face in which two mischievous eyes sparkled.

  “I’ve told you before,” she said, slapping Pea on the arm as she reached him. “I don’t like it when you ring that bell for me. I’m not a bloody cow being called in for milking.”

  “Heaven forbid!” Pea said, looking horrified at the thought.

  “Well, if it isn’t little Mary!” Hetty said, throwing her short arms as wide as they could go to embrace her.

  “Hello, Hetty, how are you keeping?”

  “Oh, not too bad, had a new hip, and every time it rains my knees stop working, but I don’t complain.”

  Behind her, Pea rolled his eyes, suggesting that Hetty’s complaining skills were almost as good as her cooking ones.

  “I’m sorry to hear you won’t be doing your show anymore,” she continued. “I always liked watching you in that and I shan’t watch it without you.” She waggled her finger to emphasise the point.

  “Thank you,” Mary said, feeling suddenly emotional. “This is Dot,” she said, hoping to move on before she cried.

  “Nice to meet you, Dot,” Hetty said. “Are you an actress an’ all?”

  “No, I was Mary’s PA, now I’m just a friend.”

  Mary raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Well you’re welcome here right enough,” Hetty said before turning to Pea. “So, what did you want then?”

  “I was just wondering if you could rustle something up for our guests?” Pea said sheepishly.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?!” Hetty said, swiping him on the arm again. “You go and make yourselves at home and I’ll bring you something lovely through.”

  She winked at Mary, turned, and waddled off the way she had come.

  “Do you know?” Pea said, leading the way. “If she wasn’t such an absolute goddess in the kitchen, I’d have half a mind to hire someone with a little less feistiness about her.”

  “Don’t be silly, Pea,” Mary said dismissively as she followed him. “You’d lose a leg before you lost her apple crumble.”

  “Bloody hell, don’t even joke about me losing her apple crumble,” Pea said in a grave voice.

  Mary laughed and headed through the door he had
opened for her and Dot.

  “Well this is lovely,” Dot said as they entered.

  Mary had to admit it was. The room was a long rectangle of high, corniced ceilings, dominated by a large fireplace on the left-hand wall. French doors lined the far wall and gave views across the estate, a piano and bar were situated at the end they had entered, and three huge sofas were positioned in the centre, arranged around the fireplace and television.

  This had been the main living space of the house for as long as she could remember. In her childhood, various rooms had become uninhabitable on and off due to leaks, damp and an assortment of other issues she had never really paid attention to. This room had always remained a warm oasis in winter and a stunning garden room in summer.

  Pea moved over to one of the dark leather sofas and flopped onto it with one arm behind his head and his long legs crossed.

  “So, Mary, what are your plans?”

  “Plans?” Mary said, confused. She was sitting on the sofa opposite him, with Dot taking the place next to her.

  “Now that you’re not on the show anymore. What’s next?!” He spread his arms wide, an encouraging smile on his lips.

  “Oh, she thought she’d just wallow in her flat drinking gin in the middle of the day,” Dot cut in before Mary could answer.

  Mary pursed her lips at her in a threatening way before turning back to Pea. “I’m just taking some time to let the dust settle,” she said firmly, wondering if she was trying to convince the others or herself.

  “The dust’s settled on you so much that you could be a museum exhibit,” Dot muttered under her breath.

  “Anyway!” Mary said loudly, hoping to put an end to this particular conversation thread. “Tell us who’s coming tonight.”

  “Well,” Pea said, leaning forward on the sofa and putting his elbows on his knees. “That’s why I was wondering what you’re doing next.”

  Mary noticed his eyes flicker to Dot momentarily, as though uncertain about something, before returning to hers. “Dot told me how you weren’t getting much in the way of good offers.”

  “Did she now?!” Mary said, staring daggers at Dot.

  “You were the one complaining about Terry and his old people adverts!” Dot said defensively.

  “Then I thought,” Pea continued, oblivious. “Why don’t I get back in the game and help an old friend out?”

  “Back in the game? You don’t mean you’re going to sink more money into those awful sci-fi things, do you?” Mary asked, amazed.

  Some years ago, when the family had been more solvent, Pea had decided he wanted in on the TV scene and had funded a small run of a sci-fi program that had quickly become the laughingstock of the country. In fact, it now enjoyed an almost cult following of people who found the low-budget effects and wooden acting hilarious. He had approached Mary at the time to be part of it, and she thanked her lucky stars every time she heard mention of the ghastly thing that she had said no.

  “Oh no, this is going to be much more up your alley,” Pea said, all seriousness. “A drama of some kind, you know, something you can get your teeth into.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Pea,” Mary said, the aforementioned teeth currently gritted. “But I don’t need to take a charity job offer from my brother, thank you very much. Anyway, what on earth has that got to do with who’s coming tonight?”

  Pea frowned at her, clearly disappointed that she wasn’t enthused by his idea.

  “Well, I thought it might be a good idea to get a few people together who could be involved in the project. Steve Benz, Emily Hanchurch, Freddie Hale.” Pea shrugged.

  Mary stared at him, her mouth slightly open and her mind whirling over these three names. Steve Benz was a well-renowned TV director who she was acquainted with; Emily Hanchurch an award-winning writer; and Freddie Hale an actor, beloved by the nation and considered an annoying and immature man-child by anyone who actually knew him. Mary included. There was also the small issue of whom Freddie was dating.

  “You do realise Freddie Hale is going out with Melanie Shaw, don’t you?” she said bitterly.

  “Oh,” Pea said quietly, the smile freezing on his lips. “Um, no. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’s not going to be talking about her all evening.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that you’ve invited a crew and cast to this thing in order to persuade us all to be in your next big idea?”

  Pea grinned at her and spread his hands, palm out towards her. “Not bad, eh?”

  Mary turned to Dot. “I think we might have to review that rule on daytime drinking.”

  Chapter Three

  Mary finished the last mouthful of the cheese and cucumber sandwich Hetty had made her and washed it down with another sip of the potent gin cocktail Pea had produced.

  She sighed at the words on the page in front of her. The magazine was fawning over the new star of Her Law, Melanie Shaw. The press loved her, of course they did. She was a goldmine for quotable quips and was a blonde bombshell to boot. The fact that she was now rumoured to be dating Freddie Hale only added to the stampede to crown her the new queen of British TV and the two of them the golden couple. Mary gave up on the words and instead stared at the large glossy picture that accompanied them in the magazine.

  “I mean, she’s just so bloody…” Mary waved her glass, trying to think of the words.

  “Young?” Dot offered from the sofa opposite her.

  “Exactly.” Mary nodded. “She’s bloody young.”

  To Mary, it felt like all the media outlets in the world were about Melanie these days. Everywhere she turned she was reminded of how she had been traded in for a younger model, like a second-hand car that’s body shape had suddenly gone out of fashion.

  “It’s not a crime to be young,” Pea offered as he leaned forward and helped himself to another handful of nuts.

  “No,” Mary said sharply. “But apparently it’s a crime to be old.”

  The doorbell rang out loudly from the hallway and Pea leapt from his seat.

  “Here we go! The guests are arriving!”

  “Whoopee,” Mary said miserably.

  She watched Pea skip across to the door on the far side and turned away towards the large windows and the view of the grounds stretching away beyond them.

  “You need to stop being such a grumpy sod, Mary,” Dot said. “Try and forget about all the nonsense with the show and just have a good time tonight.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t seen through your part in this little devious plan here, Dot,” Mary countered as she fixed her with a fierce gaze.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Dot’s eyes moved to her plain grey wool skirt, which she began to brush down distractedly.

  “You know exactly what I mean. That you and Pea got together and concocted all this, didn’t you? There’s no way Pea came up with all this on his own. How would he even contact these people? You, on the other hand, would find it quite easy…”

  “I was only thinking of what was best for you,” Dot said defensively.

  “Yes,” Mary answered softly, feeling guilty. “Yes, of course, thank you for going out of your way of course, but come on! This was never going to work! You can’t just throw some people together and expect a show to come out of it.”

  Laughter burst from the doorway, making them both jump.

  “Well then, I guess we’re all wasting our time here, aren’t we?” a voice chuckled from the doorway.

  Mary turned to see a short, round figure dressed in a dark blue suit which despite being clearly expensive, looked cheap on the man. She imagined that almost anything would. He had the kind of face that exuded cheapness, and no amount of Armani could cover it up. Mary had met him before, recognising with a shudder the look of lecherous smugness that seemed to permanently play on his toad-like face.

  “Dave Flintock,” Mary said in an unwelcoming tone.

  “As I live and breathe!” Dave said, widening his arms. “How are you doing, Mary? Tough break yo
u had.” He plonked down on the sofa next to her, his face showing mock concern before turning back to his normal lopsided grin.

  “What are you doing here?” Mary said bluntly, placing her drink back on the coffee table in front of her. “Percy didn’t mention you were coming.”

  “Small oversight on his front, I guess,” Dave answered, the grin tightening. “I always go where my client needs me.”

  Mary frowned for a moment before making the connection. “Freddie Hale?”

  “The one and only!” Dave laughed. “You’re just as good a detective in real life as you are on the screen, Mary. Oh!” His hands moved to his face, which was locked in a mock horror. “Sorry—when you were on screen, that is.” The grin returned instantly as Mary’s hands balled into fists at her side. “You know, I could help with that in an instant,” he said, sliding a card from his jacket pocket and holding it out to her.

  “Oh,” a voice from across the room said.

  A willowy, red-haired woman hovered in the doorway, her rapidly blinking eyes staring at Dave Flintock.

  “Hello, Emily,” Dave answered with a leer. He rose from the sofa, moved across to her and kissed her on both cheeks, causing her body to go rigid with what looked like a mixture of fear and repulsion. He took her arm and led her back to the sofa.

  “This is Mary Blake, as I’m sure you know, and this is?” He frowned at Dot, as though seeing her for the first time.

  “Dot Tanner, I’m Mary’s friend.”

  “Right, Dot.” Dave nodded. “This is Emily Hanchurch. Shall I go and rustle us all up some drinks?” He turned towards the bar in the corner without waiting for a reply.

  Mary eyed the new arrival as she hovered, seemingly uncertain what to do. Mary had met her before, but she couldn’t recall where or how. Over the years the various parties and functions she attended had melted into one.

  “Nice to see you again Emily, have a seat here before he gets back,” Mary said, patting the sofa to the right of her where she moved over to leave a gap.

  “Thank you,” Emily said appreciatively, realising that Mary had given her space where Dave Flintock could not sit next to her.