Murder at the Mousetrap: A Cosy Mystery Series. Episode 1 (Countryside Mysteries: A Cosy Shorts Series) by Helena Marchmont

Author:Helena Marchmont [Marchmont, Helena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bastei Entertainment
Published: 2018-08-31T23:00:00+00:00

6. A Country Walk

“Hey, Al!”

Alfie didn’t register the call until the sound of running feet and a shout of “Al! Wait up!” reminded him that Betty had renamed him.

“Out for a walk?” she asked when she caught up with him.

“As you see.” Alfie displayed the waxed jacket and walking boots he had just bought in Bunburry’s outdoors shop.

“Quite the country gentleman,” she said. “All you need is a deerstalker and plus-fours to complete the look.”

He had been pleased with his purchases. “What’s wrong with my look?” he demanded.

“You look like a model in a catalogue. Cute but impractical.”

“Please, don’t hold back on my account, just say what you think,” said Alfie.

“Cute, impractical and sensitive. A winning combination. I’m out for a walk too, and was going to ask if you wanted to tag along, but I wouldn’t want those lovely new boots of yours to get mussed up.”

“And I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of the pleasure of my company. My boots will have to take their chances. Where are we going?”

She looked up at the sky and studied the scudding clouds. “A shower or two at worst. Wildshaw Woods, okay?”

He had been to Wildshaw Woods many times as a boy but never for a walk. The woods had been a source of delicious terror. Everybody, or at least everybody under the age of ten, knew that the woods were haunted. It was a trial of bravery to go into them unaccompanied. They would huddle in a group at the edge and then go in one by one. When Alfie’s turn came, he would pray his air of nonchalance disguised his agitation as he headed into the gloom. At any moment, a menacing branch might hurtle towards his unprotected back, or a terrifying figure might leap out screeching from behind a tree. Knowing it was going to happen, and that Andrew Henderson and Kevin Fletcher would be responsible, didn’t help. Even now, in the safety of Bunburry High Street, he gave a reminiscent shudder.

“Wildshaw Woods. Okay.”

He fell into step beside Betty. She had a long easy stride and they were soon out of the village on to a rough track.

“You know why I’m in Bunburry,” said Alfie. “But what’s brought you here?”

“I was born and raised in Washington DC, majored in politics, came over to Oxford to take a masters degree. That’s when I fell in love with the Cotswolds.”

“And you’ve been here ever since?”

“No – once I got my masters, I went back to DC and became an environmental lobbyist. But I couldn’t stand the atmosphere.”

“Yes, I’ve heard Washington is very humid,” said Alfie.

“No, that’s not – oh. Funny. Cute, impractical, sensitive and funny. Going to have to remember all that.”

“And that’s when you came back here.”

“Who’s telling this story? No, then I became executive director of an environmental non-profit.”

She had been running a charity, Alfie translated to himself. As Oscar Wilde had put it, “We have really everything in common with America nowadays except, of course, language.”

“But eventually I’d had enough,” said Betty.

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