Cidered in Sidmouth Read online

  Cidered in Sidmouth

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Cidered in Sidmouth

  by P.A.Nash

  A Cider Vat murder provides a third age couple with renewed reasons to live.

  “This is Sidmouth, sir. Nobody gets murdered in Sidmouth!”

  Newly retired Frank and Ella didn’t expect to be confronted by cheeky Billy Bowd’s upturned body in a cider barrel.

  WPC Knowle called it a tragic accident, Frank and Ella didn’t agree. But who was right?

  Each suspect had motive and opportunity. However, each suspect had an alibi…‌ so who killed Billy Bowd?

  A pacy whodunit set in glorious East Devon. This is the first book in the East Devon Cosy Mystery series.

  Enjoy the walks. Enjoy the views. Enjoy the mystery.

  PA Nash has written his debut cosy mystery in which a mixture of two Agathas, Christie and Raisin blend in with scenic local walks and landmarks. It’ll make you want to visit!

  This is a work of fiction.

  Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Cidered in Sidmouth

  Copyright © 2019 PA Nash.

  Written by PA Nash.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Published 2019

  www.eastdevoncosymysteries.com

  Chapter One

  You’ve ruined everything

  You’ve ruined everything. How dare you think you can get away with it.

  The vase was within reach. Picking it up in anger with no thought for the consequences, it was a simple and automatic action to crash it down on his head. The man stumbled backwards, ricocheted off the single armchair in the room and fell head first on the stone floor.

  There was silence. Not even a moan.

  I’ve killed him.

  Chapter Two

  A mis‌‌-‌‌delivered package

  The postman took 3 hours to deliver a giant roll of bubble wrap. Someone told him, “pop it in the corner.”

  Retirement is wonderful, Frank thought. No more pressure and stress. No more looking at the clock. No more living by other people’s expectations. No more…‌ well, everything.

  Now, there’s time to while away. Old friends to greet, new friends to meet. Time to enjoy the pleasure of enjoying time well spent. Like today. The autumn sun was lighting up the top of the trees, there was a breeze to just keep it this side of cool, the leaves were floating sporadically to the moist earth and Frank and Ella were strolling with another couple, Bella and George, friends from the village. They were heading through the woods along the old railway track from the Bowd down towards Harpford.

  “Couldn’t have done this ten years ago.”

  “No, we would’ve been too busy mollycoddling teachers,” Ella smiled, “and then endlessly trying to see the best in children.”

  “Yes, rather than seeing the best of each other and this glorious countryside.”

  Frank never regretted for one nanosecond taking early retirement and moving down here to East Devon. Particularly on a carefree day like today.

  “Autumn is definitely one of the best four seasons.” Bella sighed.

  They crossed over the East Devon Way footpath and followed the old railway track down to Knapp’s Lane. Here they branched off to the right and ambled back over the stone bridge and into the pretty village of Harpford. They walked past the medieval church of St Gregory the Great. Crossing the River Otter by the rickety metal bridge, they trudged through the muddy field that led back to the Recreation Ground car‌‌-‌‌park. Here they bid each other farewell and both couples headed for their village homes.

  Ella had enjoyed the walk and the companionship of their two friends. Retirement is wonderful. Except…‌ you need a routine. You need something to live for. A reason to get up in the morning. You need interests and enthusiasms. At the moment, Ella wasn’t totally sold on retirement.

  ***

  At home, hidden somewhat obviously beside the green garden waste bin, was a small brown paper package that wouldn’t fit through their letterbox. Ella picked it up before heading indoors. They made their usual cups of coffee and tea before Ella went to open the package. She wasn’t expecting a delivery because she had bought nothing online in the last week. Ella stopped and examined the writing on the front.

  “They’ve done it again. Almost the right address, totally the wrong location.”

  Living in River Street, Otterbury caused no end of problems to the jolly postmen at the local sorting office. They were forever getting mail intended for River Street in Sidmouth. Most of the time, Ella just underlined the postcode and put it back in the post‌‌-‌‌box down by the war memorial.

  This time the autumnal sunshine was promising to continue and Sidmouth was a wonderful place in which to wander around. Being out of season, you could park the car without too many problems.

  “Why don’t we find out where this doppelganger lives?”

  Frank put down the local paper. “What are you talking about?”

  “This package. It’s not for us. It should be for River Street in Sidmouth.”

  “Not again. Surely someone must be able to read in the Post Office. This never used to happen when we were in Kent. Well, not as often.”

  “They sort it by machine these days, Frank!”

  “Well, they ought to sort it out. Can I see how they messed it up this time?”

  Frank took the package before bursting into laughter.

  “They haven’t even got the number correct. Look, it says 23. Since when have we lived at 23? The sorting machine can’t read. 23 is an age I’d love to be once again, but it’s nowhere near our address.”

  “If you were 23, then we wouldn’t have been married all these years!”

  “Right, scrub my last comment. Where was it posted?”

  “Postmarked Cullompton.”

  “Local post office sorters should know better. Surely they know this is not Sidmouth?”

  “I suppose the sorting machine could have mistaken the postcode for ours.”

  “It’s written so scruffily. Someone was in a hurry.” Frank put the package back down on the table.

  “I’m going to phone the sorting office in Sidmouth about this. It happens all too often.”

  The automated phone message told them that this call may be recorded for monitoring and training purposes. Then Frank was connected to a gentleman who took their name and address, the details of the package and apologised for the mis‌‌-‌‌delivery. He suggested taking the package to the nearest post office and asking them to post it to the correct address. Then before Frank could vent any amount of scorn upon the Post Office, the line went dead. Frank stared at the phone before putting it down on its stand.

  Ella watched his face become even more thunderous.

  “Frank, you need to calm down. It’s most unlike you. Let’s have dinner and then we’ll go into Sidmouth this afternoon, deliver the package to the correct address, have a walk along the seafront and g
rab an ice cream at Taste.”

  Taste was one of Sidmouth’s secret delights. The best ice cream outside of Cornwall with a multitude of flavours and always exceedingly generous portions.

  Frank visibly relaxed. “Good plan. Who’d have thought we’d be eating ice cream at the seaside in October.”

  ***

  Sidmouth had a reputation in some circles as the regency preserve of the elderly and infirm. Today that appeared to be so true as evidenced by the ponderous speed of much of the traffic. The ten‌‌-‌‌minute journey took well over double the usual time. The sunny weather was more like June than October. It had brought tourists and elderly locals out onto the streets. In the High Street, two large cars were attempting to reverse into spaces in which only a motorbike could safely park. The result was gridlock. Frank eventually was able to turn off left and sidle into the car park that only the locals know. He was grateful to find a space. They paid for an hour at the ticket machine and were soon nimbly dodging the dawdling crowds in their quest to find 23, River Street.

  “It’s so busy today.” Ella had to shout as a muddy quad bike with an even muddier trailer zoomed up the narrow road past them. Ella stared at it as it roared around the corner.

  There were houses with numbers and no names, houses with names but no numbers and a couple with neither names nor numbers. They were interspersed with a couple of shops that had names but never any numbers.

  A group of cyclists travelling three abreast, passed them by. The group included two couples on bright red and orange tandems. Ella smiled at them and called out “Lovely afternoon!”

  They all looked at her with disdain and carried on holding up a queue of cars behind them. Ella raised her eyebrows. “All sorts out today!”

  Eventually, they found what appeared to be the right address. It was the end house of a terrace‌‌-‌‌a small trio of mellow red brick Edwardian dwellings. Frank called them two up, two downs. Ella called them quaint. Next door, separated by a walled alleyway, was The Mariner pub.

  “I didn’t know this pub was here. I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “Doesn’t look too grand. Could be one to explore in the future.” Frank added as he opened the black rusting metal gate that led up a short, uneven flagstone path.

  The blue painted door was flanked by two flowerpots. Both had the remains of last year’s annuals. Ella could not find a bell, so she knocked gently on the door. No‌‌-‌‌one answered.

  “Can’t we just leave the package on the doorstep and go for our ice‌‌-‌‌cream?” she said.

  “Knock again‌‌-‌‌but louder.”

  Ella did so with the same result.

  “If this were Otterbury, then someone would have left the key underneath the flowerpot,” Frank chuckled.

  “But it’s not…‌ This is Sidmouth.”

  “No harm in checking.” Frank knelt down and lifted up the right‌‌-‌‌hand flowerpot and looked underneath.

  “I don’t believe it!” whispered Ella.

  Frank picked up a sturdy looking latchkey and tried it in the lock. The key turned, the door opened and Frank stuck his head inside before calling out. “Hello, anybody home? We’ve got a package for you!”

  No‌‌-‌‌one answered.

  “Hello?” repeated Frank.

  “Just leave it on the doormat!” Ella was pleased that no‌‌-‌‌one was home. It would avoid a discussion about the Post Office, or even worse, the incorrect addressing of too much post these days. They would now just deposit the package and head off towards the seafront.

  Frank had other ideas. Taking the package from Ella, he disappeared into, what he assumed to be, a hallway. He put it down on a small circular table hidden behind the front door.

  “Wait a minute. I’m going to leave a note with the package. Have you got a pen and paper?”

  Ella shook her head.

  “Well, in that case, I’m just going to find something to write on in one of the rooms. I’ll be straight back.”

  He called out again, “Hello, anybody in?”

  There was no reply. As he ventured further into the house, Ella called out to him, “I’m not staying out here in full view of the suspicious Sidmouth public. I’m coming in as well!”

  Frank casually walked into the front room. Ella looked around to see if anyone nearby was watching them and then quickly followed.

  The room was dark, sparsely furnished and unkempt. A stone floor, a single battered old sea‌‌-‌‌blue armchair and a couple of stacked wooden chairs. No television, the remains of a coal fire in a dirty grate. The curtains were half open, but the windows were opaque with smudges of dirt. On the mantelpiece was a photo of a man and a woman, smiling lovingly at each other.

  Getting accustomed to the lack of light, they could both see that someone had been having a severe disagreement. A coffee table lay overturned with its magazines and newspapers scattered on a threadbare rug. Two cushions from the armchair were also on the stone floor by the fireplace. Ella bent to pick one up and immediately jumped back with a startled “Oh! Frank, come here. Is this blood on the floor? Here, by the fireplace.”

  Frank had just opened the door leading to a back room which appeared to be a kitchen. Before he went in, he turned back towards Ella to examine the patch. Picking the other cushion off the floor, he let out a similar cry.

  “You’re right. It certainly looks like blood. Put the cushions back, exactly where you found them. Let’s check out the rest of the house.”

  Ella hastily replaced the cushions and stepped around the scattered papers and magazines before following Frank into the kitchen. From here, they could see a sight they would take them a very long time to forget.

  “Ella, have you got your phone with you?”

  The back door was open and, in full view, on the right‌‌-‌‌hand side of the tiny paved and gravelled courtyard stood a huge wooden Cider Vat. It was quite the largest barrel that either had ever seen. Sticking out from the top of the vat were two bare legs.

  Chapter Three

  Is that Billy’s legs?

  I want to die like my grandfather, peacefully in his sleep. Not screaming and terrified, like the passengers on his bus.

  “Frank, is that a person?” Ella’s voice was on the verge of cracking. “What? What are they doing upside down in the Cider Vat?”

  “Ella, just phone the police. There’s no movement. I’m pretty sure whoever is in there is dead!”

  Ella’s face expressed her shock. Without another word, she turned slowly back into the kitchen, took out her mobile from the pocket of her jeans and dialled 999. Frank took ten seconds worth of deep breaths. After a protracted silence, Ella started to report the incident.

  Frank, feeling slightly more in control of himself, began to look around the courtyard. The Cider Vat must have been full of liquid because there were wet spillages all over the courtyard’s paving stones and gravel. It smelt like cider. Frank knew the barrel was a cider vat due to the lettering wrapped around the middle of the vat – Sowden Valley Farm Cider.

  The bare hairy legs looked like a man’s. It didn’t take much brain to guess that this might well be the homeowner.

  The barrel was huge. It looked like a Tun Barrel. He’d only been reading about Devonshire Cider farms the other day in a local magazine. The Tun Barrel was the biggest – over two hundred gallons.

  But why on earth would anyone want to climb head‌‌-‌‌first into such a barrel? And then get stuck and be unable to get out again? Especially when it’s full of cider. No‌‌-‌‌one gets that thirsty! Could it have been a horrible accident? If so, what a way to go!

  He went back into the kitchen searching for the name of the owner of the house. On the wall, a cork noticeboard, next to the only kitchen cupboard, was covered with paper bills and official letters. It didn’t take long for Frank to deduce the homeowner was one Billy Bowd. Was he the dead man?

  He went back out to the courtyard. On the gravel were scuff m
arks. Some of them were mixed with blood. Yes, there were drops of blood on the paving stones as well. Did he do that? Did he tread in any of the spots of blood in the front room? He couldn’t really remember. All he could remember was coming out of the kitchen and seeing the barrel and the bare legs.

  Both Frank and Ella had read enough detective books to know that they must touch nothing else. It was called Contaminating the Evidence.

  Ella had finished on her mobile and came back out into the courtyard. She stood beside Frank, staring at the barrel. Frank put his arm around her shoulders but said nothing.

  “They’re sending a constable. He’ll be here as soon as possible.” Ella’s voice was stronger but she was unable to conceal her shock.

  “We’d better go indoors and wait.”

  They turned to go back into the kitchen. Ella sat down at the table.

  “I’m going to take a quick look around.”

  “Don’t go!” Ella stood up, deliberately facing away from the courtyard.

  “I’ll be one minute at most. Shout if you need me!”

  Frank left the room. Ella awkwardly sat back down. She stared at the cork noticeboard not daring to turn around and look out into the courtyard.

  She could hear Frank clomping around upstairs. A minute can be a very long time. She hoped he wouldn’t be much longer.

  A piercing scream hit her full in the face. Ella’s shock immediately returned.

  “Billy, what you done with Billy?”

  A woman with long purple straggly hair, wearing a vivid flowery purple summer dress and clad in red Doc Marten boots, stood in the middle of the kitchen. She waved her arms and breathed as if she was about to give birth.

  “Good afternoon, young lady. And who might you be?” Ella quietly replied, disguising a feeling of growing fear.

  “Don’t you give me all that posh talk rubbish, old woman. I want to know what you done with Billy? How did you get in here? The front door was wide open.”

  Frank had heard the commotion and rapidly re‌-‌appeared in the kitchen. He stepped in between the two women. “I think my wife asked who you might be. Why don’t we all sit down here at the kitchen table and converse like three intelligent, civilised human beings?”