Murder at the Bonfire

Book 2: The Cherrywood Murders

by Penny Blackwell

Genres: Mystery; Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Private Investigators; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Return to Cherrywood in the gripping and addictive new instalment in The Cherrywood Murder series. If you love a charming and quintessentially British cosy murder mystery, packed full of witty one-liners and an eclectic cast of characters, you won't want to miss this one. Perfect for fans of Fiona Leitch, Hannah Hendy and Robert Thorogood.

WELCOME BACK TO CHERRYWOOD!

Preparations are underway for Cherrywood's annual celebration of Guy Fawkes Night . . .

When it's announced that the hotly anticipated 'Penny for the Guy' trail will have a celebrity judge - former DJ 'Screaming' Ade Adams - competition steps up amongst the villagers.

But as everyone gathers for the show, Ade is found dead atop the bonfire with three mysterious tarot cards in his pocket, and barmaid and part-time sleuth Tess Feather suspects foul play. Why would anyone in Cherrywood want the retired disc jockey dead? And could there be a connection to a recently returned villager: Tess's estranged brother Mikey?

Once again, Tess is forced to team up with her ex-boyfriend - private investigator Liam Hanley - and her friends Raven and Oliver as they investigate a tale of murder and vengeance that could go all the way to the top.

(P) 2024 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: October 26, 2023

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

Tess Feather would never have believed something so truly horrible could occur in Cherrywood. And now it was all over the papers, visitors from far and wide would soon arrive to witness the ghoulish spectacle.

‘Would you look at that?’ she observed to Roger, her flatmate Raven’s cockapoo. The little dog had one leg cocked against Neil and Sally Hobson’s garden fence as he answered an apparently urgent call of nature – his third in the ten minutes they’d been out.

Roger deigned to glance upwards at the poorly stuffed figure in Puritan dress that had taken up residence in the Hobsons’ front garden, its sad papier-mâché head lolling pathetically, and Tess was sure she saw him grimace. Practically every garden in the village was now host to a similar dummy as Cherrywood geared up for the opening of the Penny for the Guy Trail this afternoon, one week before Bonfire Night.

It was while examining the dummy that Tess noticed a suspicious figure peeping furtively around the corner of Royal Row. As she watched, it sidled out and broke suddenly into a run, before stopping short and proceeding to jog in a meandering zigzag in the direction of the park.

‘What’s he up to?’ Tess gave Roger’s lead a tug. ‘Come on, trusty canine sidekick. It looks like the game’s afoot.’

Tess eventually caught up with the figure in the park. It was lurking behind the bonfire pyre, peering around the side.

‘What’s going on, Liam? Are you on a case?’

‘Yes, Tess, I’m on a case,’ Liam whispered. ‘Look, can you keep your voice down? You’ll scare her off.’

‘I knew it! Are you chasing down a perp? What did they do, what’s their MO? Come on, tell me.’

‘You really need to stop watching so many cop shows.’ Liam Hanley, the village’s first – and almost certainly last – private detective-cum-freelance gardener, turned to face her. ‘It’s an escaped dog, all right? Fred Braithwaite’s border collie bitch, Molly. She’s in season and he wants me to track her down before she gets into trouble. I had her in my sights a minute ago, then she got the scent of something and was off in the other direction.’

Tess felt a surge of disappointment that Liam wasn’t working on anything more exciting, then instantly berated herself. She knew it wasn’t right, selfishly wishing for drama. The events of this spring, when a number of the village’s old guard had found themselves either dead or under suspicion of murder, had sent shockwaves through the tiny community that it was only now beginning to recover from. Still, Tess couldn’t forget that working on the Women’s Guild murder case with Liam had given her the sort of mental stimulation she struggled to find in her everyday life.

‘Another missing dog?’ she said. ‘You’ve had nothing but missing dog cases since you moved here, Lee. I swear it’s only errant canines and rose-bush pruning keeping you in business.’

Liam looked wounded. ‘I don’t just find missing dogs. I get other cases.’

‘What other cases?’

‘Well . . . there was that missing ferret two weeks ago.’

‘Wow.’

‘Hey, I found him, didn’t I? And he was a third of the size of a dog.’

‘Again I’m going to have to say, wow.’

He sighed. ‘I am starting to wonder what I was thinking when I decided to relocate here from London. I must’ve been mad to think I could get enough work to keep me busy in a sleepy little place like this.’

‘What were you thinking?’

He glanced at her. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

Tess lurched forward suddenly as Roger lunged to the full length of his lead, sniffing frantically at the air. A flash of black and white appeared in the hedge surrounding the park, then just as quickly disappeared.

‘Aha!’ Liam glanced down at Roger. ‘Now there’s an idea. A honey trap.’

Tess shook her head. ‘I refuse to allow you to pimp out poor Roger just to catch Fred Braithwaite’s sheepdog.’

‘Oh, come on. She only needs to get a whiff of him and she’ll be bounding over. Don’t worry, I’ll grab her before Randy Rodge can take it any further.’

‘Hmm. Do we get a fee?’

‘A G&T and a dog biscuit at the pub?’

‘I’d hardly call that a fee, but all right.’

Tess followed Liam to the bushes where the streak of black and white had been seen. Roger was practically pulling her arm off to get ahead. With Liam’s encouragement Tess walked back and forth with him, letting Molly pick up the scent. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before a twitchy canine nose appeared out of the bushes.

‘All right, just a little further,’ Liam muttered. ‘Come on, Molly. Come out where I can grab you.’

Roger was wagging his tail like mad now his lady friend had shown herself. Tess felt guilty that she was going to have to scupper his amorous intentions. Canine bachelor life must be frustrating.

She let the cockapoo edge a little closer. It worked, and Molly shuffled out of the hedge fully. As soon as her collar was visible, Liam made a grab for it, fished a lead from his pocket and clipped it on her.

‘Gotcha!’ He gave the dog a stroke between the ears. ‘Sorry to ruin your fun, girl, but your dad thinks you’re not ready for a family just yet. Time to go home, eh?’ He looked at Tess. ‘You going my way?’

‘I’m due to meet Raven for the Guy Trail opening in a bit, but I’ll walk through the village with you. Roger needs the exercise.’

She walked beside him, being careful to keep the two dogs separate. Roger was determined to get to Molly and she seemed equally intent on making his acquaintance, so it felt like Tess and Liam were perpetually tripping over dogs, leads, each other or themselves as they tried to navigate the main street.

‘So it looks like – whoops, sorry Molly – I solved yet another case for you,’ Tess observed to Liam.

‘Were you born this smug or did you have to practise?’

She shrugged. ‘Bit of both.’

Liam bent to guide Roger out of his way. ‘I’d say Rodge ought to take the credit for this one. He was a top-notch honey trap.’

‘Do you think you’ll ever get a case that isn’t to do with missing pets?’

‘I could have a juicy infidelity sting lined up, since you ask. Potential philandering wife.’

Tess’s ears pricked up. ‘Anything I can help with?’

Liam shook his head. ‘Tess, we’ve talked about this. The Clemmie Ackroyd case was a one-off, all right? I’m not letting you get involved in my work again.’

‘Why? Worried I’ll show you up by solving your cases before you do?’

‘No, because it could put you in harm’s way. I wouldn’t have involved you before if I hadn’t needed someone on the inside at the Women’s Guild.’

‘Oh, right. Just because I’m a lass you think I’m some delicate bloom who needs protecting from all the big, bad men in the world.’

He laughed. ‘I promise you, Tess, I’ve never thought you were a delicate bloom in my life.’

‘Well, then why so reluctant to let me help?’

‘Because it’s not your job, is it? I get paid to put myself in that kind of danger; you don’t. We’re not partners.’

‘That wasn’t what you said last time.’

‘I told you, that was different. You ought to focus on your singing. It’s great you’ve been getting some paid gigs outside the pub. Put your efforts into that.’ He glanced at her. ‘I do owe you a fee for helping with Molly, though. What about coming for that drink with me? Roger’s more than welcome to tag along and claim his biscuit.’

‘Lee, I told you—’

‘I know what you told me. What I don’t understand is why.’

‘I just think, with everything that’s happened between us . . . it’s for the best if we steer clear of anything that feels like dating.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting a date. Just some nice, platonic socialising where we’re both on the same side of a bar for once, that’s all.’

‘Anything that feels like dating, I said, which means anything that involves just the two of us, alone. You’re trying to build your business, I’ve got my singing career to focus on, and then . . . well, there’s our history. It isn’t the right time.’

‘Will there ever be a right time?’

Tess looked away. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe not.’

Liam sighed. ‘OK, forget it. Apparently I have to bump someone off around here for you to want to spend time with me.’

‘That isn’t fair, Liam.’

‘I like being with you, Tess, and I think you like being with me. I know there’s still the Porter case looming over us, but after everything we went through this spring I don’t understand why—’ He swore as he tripped over Roger’s lead. ‘Bloody dogs!’

Tess looked at her watch. ‘I don’t have time to go over this again. I’m meeting Raven soon. See you later, Lee.’

Liam didn’t reply. He just marched off in the direction of Fred Braithwaite’s place, ignoring Molly’s protestations as she pulled on her lead to get back to Roger. Tess sighed, wondering when everything had become so horribly messy.

She did like being with Liam. That was the problem – she was worried she might start to like it a little too much. Tess hadn’t forgotten that there’d been another time when she’d allowed herself to grow too fond of Liam Hanley’s company, and it hadn’t led anywhere good. In fact it had led right here to Cherrywood, the village she’d grown up in. It was thanks to Liam that she’d found herself back here eighteen months ago, her high-flying London job kaput, nursing a broken heart and propping up the wrong side of a bar for minimum wage. That was the sort of thing that made you cautious about men generally, let alone the exact same one who’d landed you in the mess. Yes, she’d forgiven Liam to an extent when they’d worked together to solve Clemmie Ackroyd’s murder in the spring. But forgiving wasn’t forgetting, and Tess wasn’t about to repeat the mistakes she’d made in her dealings with Liam Hanley the first time around.

She was still early to meet Raven so she sauntered in leisurely fashion back to the park, stopping to examine some of the other contributions to the Penny for the Guy Trail.

It had all been the idea of Angela Campbell, the new president of Cherrywood Women’s Guild, who’d moved here from Scotland three months ago to take a job on the local paper. Traditionally Cherrywood held a scarecrow festival in the autumn months, but as Angela had pointed out, they were becoming pretty old hat these days. The Penny for the Guy Trail was more original and it served a double purpose in celebrating both Bonfire Night and Halloween, since most of the guys had been dressed in appropriately spooky costumes.

Angela had guaranteed them some column inches in her paper if they went ahead with the idea, which had won over the publicity-hungry village bigwigs who tended to decide these things (and who felt it might be nice, after the spring, to be in the papers for something other than yet another murder). She’d promptly been elected head of the Guy Trail organising committee and swept through the village like a cyclone, gathering volunteers up in her wake. Somehow Tess and Raven had found themselves recruited, along with their best friend Oliver Maynard. As village vicar, Oliver tended to find himself on committees whether he volunteered for them or not.

Nearly every building in Cherrywood now had some form of guy in its garden. As she walked to the park, Tess observed devils, witches, spooky dolls, plague doctors, evil clowns and all sorts of other horrors – horrors in the badly-made-and-a-bit-naff sense rather than being genuinely frightening, although she wasn’t fond of walking through the village at twilight now, when the guys became spooky silhouettes against the setting sun. Every dummy had a money box next to it, raising funds for this year’s chosen charity. Villagers were happy to leave the cash unattended, trusting to people’s honesty for its safety. In spite of the spate of murders earlier in the year, this was, after all, still Cherrywood.

Tess wondered again how she’d ended up getting dragged into this guy business. Angela hadn’t so much invited her and Raven to join the committee as commanded them, and Tess had found the firm ‘no’ she’d been planning to give turning into a grateful ‘yes’ even as it travelled from her brain to her vocal cords.

This always seemed to be happening to her. If she wasn’t accidentally joining Guy Trail committees, she was accidentally volunteering to do refreshments for the am-dram society’s Mamma Mia! production or finding herself a member of the Cherrywood Women’s Guild. Clearly there was a part of her that longed to be public-spirited and it would keep popping its irritating little do-gooder hand up. Surely, at thirty-one, she was too young for this level of civic duty? Still, it was something to fill the chill autumn days – at least until Liam got himself a nice juicy case she could inveigle him into letting her help with.

Tess had stopped outside the Cartwrights’ place to examine their dummy when she felt a chummy elbow in the ribs. She turned to face Kennedy Hamilton, the new village GP.

‘The Cartwrights have gone a bit daring with the political satire,’ Kennedy said, nodding to their guy. One of the better-made dummies, it was clearly supposed to be their local MP. He was shown sitting on a toilet with his trousers round his sock suspenders, guzzling a pie.

‘It’s not very scary, is it?’ Tess observed.

Kennedy shrugged. ‘I suppose that depends which way you vote.’

‘What do you think the pie represents? Taxes or something?’

‘No. Sometimes, Tess, I think a pie is just meant to be a pie.’

Kennedy wasn’t so much a newcomer to the village as an oldcomer. She’d lived here with her parents as a kid but the family had moved down south when Kennedy was sixteen, leaving her grown-up siblings behind. Her mum and dad had passed away now, and Kennedy, having no family of her own, had moved back to Yorkshire to be closer to her brother and sister.

Tess, Raven and Oliver had been friends with Kennedy at school. Tess had been pleased to see her old classmate back in Cherrywood, her accent rather different now, but otherwise slotting into village life again as if she’d never been away. Still, Tess always felt slightly intimidated by Kennedy and her siblings. The Hamiltons were a family of high achievers, to such a daft extent that it would make anyone feel intimidated. Kennedy was a GP, her older sister Seana a university professor and her brother Nicholas a Church of England bishop, for God’s sake. Mr and Mrs Hamilton must have been very proud to have three children all answering to the title Doctor.

Being reminded about the existence of the Hamilton siblings couldn’t help but make Tess reflect soberly on her own achievements. At school, there’d always been a healthy academic rivalry between her and Kennedy as they’d competed for the top grades. Now Kennedy was the village doctor, fixing people’s ailments, while all barmaid Tess could offer them was a pint of something warming at the bar of the Star and Garter. After her career as a London PA had tanked following Liam’s exposure of the Porter scandal, which had seen her boss go to jail for embezzlement, Tess had found herself working as a barmaid-cum-singer whose ambition soared no higher than that one day she might become known as a singer-cum-barmaid. And as for Tess’s siblings, her three older brothers . . . well, the less said on their career choices, the better. Certainly none of them was going to be offered a bishophood any time soon.

Kennedy glanced into the garden next door to the Cartwrights’. It was one of the few not to be graced by a guy, although it wasn’t empty. Outside the house was a painted sign, decorated with pentangles and other symbols. It read:

Peg Bristow (Ms), Wiccan and foreteller

The Cunning Woman of Cherrywood

Spells, palmistry, tarot, astrology

Readings from £8 (student and OAP concessions)

‘No guy for Peggy Bristow, I see,’ Kennedy observed.

‘No, she says the burning of effigies is offensive to her people. I don’t think she’s keen on that witch the am-dram society contributed for the big bonfire in the park.’

‘I thought that was to plug their December production of Macbeth.’

‘Yes, but Peggy’s decided to take it as a personal slight. I guess modern witches are sensitive to that whole burning at the stake thing.’ Tess turned to face Kennedy. ‘Are you coming to the park for the trail’s grand opening, Kenn? I’m meeting Raven there, and I guess Oliver will be on his way with his mum and dad. They’re staying at the vicarage for a couple of weeks.’

Kennedy laughed. ‘Poor little Oliver. You should see the terror in his eyes when he sees me. Ever since Nick was appointed bishop of our diocese, Ol lives in fear that I’m going to tell tales to his boss.’

Tess shook her head. ‘It’s so weird your brother’s the new bishop. It’s so weird your brother’s a bishop! I still remember him as that lanky student who worked a summer job at HMV when we were in primary school.’

‘Oh, right, it’s weird for you. How do you think I feel?’

‘Did it put a lot of pressure on you growing up?’ Tess asked, genuinely curious. ‘I mean, having a brother and sister so much older who were these academic high flyers. Your parents must have expected a lot from you.’

Kennedy shrugged. ‘I never felt that way. Having me later in life did seem to make my mum and dad more protective, though. They wrapped me in cotton wool in a way they never had the older two.’

Roger started pulling at his lead, and Kennedy smiled.

‘Looks like your friend wants to get to the park,’ she said. ‘I’ll walk with you. I was headed to the opening ceremony anyway.’

As they passed the village hall, Tess noticed some Halloween bunting had come loose and was skittering among the leaves like an escaped ferret.

She frowned at it. ‘Who’s done that? People are heading over there for buns and hot chocolate after the trail’s been opened and now we’ve got bunting flapping about, making the place look untidy. I’ll have to ask Benjamin to sort it out.’

Kennedy laughed. ‘Get you, Miss Pillar-of-the-Community. First the Women’s Guild, now the Guy Trail committee. Is this the same young rebel who once got our entire patrol drunk at Guide camp with a stolen bottle of her aunty’s Archers?’

‘I know, I don’t know what happened to me. I swear I’m one step away from a tweed twinset.’

A yip from Roger reminded them where they were bound.

‘Peggy’s wrong, you know,’ Kennedy observed as they carried on walking. ‘About witch-burning, I mean. We hardly burnt any witches in this country – or alleged witches, I should say.’

Tess frowned. ‘Didn’t we? I thought we spent most of the Middle Ages hunting them down.’

‘We did, but in England they were mostly hanged. Only a few were burnt at the stake. In Scotland they burnt quite a lot, but only after they’d strangled them first. I know it’s the first thing we tend to think of when we imagine the Witch Trials, but burning alive was more of a European thing.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

‘I’ve picked up bits from my sister over the years,’ Kennedy said. ‘Seana lectures in the history of magic, folklore and witchcraft. Pretty interesting. I keep telling her she ought to write a book – one us normal people can read, not something in that opaque style academics are expected to write up their research in.’ She glanced at Tess. ‘How’s the singing going?’

Tess tried not to flinch. Of course, Kennedy didn’t know how she was feeling. She certainly wasn’t trying to make Tess dwell on the gap between her own career and that of the high-flying Hamiltons. But that was the effect of it, all the same.

‘Yeah, not bad,’ Tess said, trying to sound bright. ‘I’m performing at a hotel this weekend. The lead singer with their house band is ill so they’ve booked me to fill in.’

‘As Cher?’

Again, Tess tried not to wince. It was bad enough that she was the village pub’s resident singer without being one half of an unbelievably naff tribute act into the bargain. The costumes she was forced to wear while impersonating either Cher or Dolly Parton did nothing for her already fragile dignity.

‘No, as Dolly. It’s for a wedding. The grooms are fans.’

Kennedy squeezed her arm. ‘That’s great, Tess. Your voice is too good to waste doing duets with Ian Stringer at the Star.’

Again, Tess knew her friend was just trying to be nice. Kennedy really would be happy to hear that Tess’s career prospects were improving. Still, that didn’t make her feel any better.

They’d reached the park now, and Roger was straining towards a couple embracing near the bonfire pyre.

Tess nodded to them. ‘Check out love’s young dream.’

Kennedy laughed. ‘Raven and Benjamin. Locked at the lips again, I see.’

‘Yeah, you get used to it. We’d better go tell them to pack it in before they make it to second base.’

They approached Raven and her boyfriend. Raven detached herself from Benjamin’s lips to look at them.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s just you two. That wasn’t worth interrupting a snog for.’

Tess shook her head at Kennedy. ‘You see what I’m forced to live with?’

‘You’re just jealous,’ Raven informed her in a superior tone.

‘It’s a pleasure to see you as always, ladies.’ Benjamin gave Raven a nudge. ‘See that? Chivalry, they call it. I’ve been practising.’

‘I’m glad one of us is a gentleman, darling.’ Raven beamed at Roger, who’d jumped up to put his front paws on her legs. ‘And here’s my other favourite boy. Come here, handsome.’

She crouched down to make a fuss of him, and he wagged his tail vigorously.

‘You nearly became a granny today, Rave,’ Tess told her. ‘I bumped into Liam on the trail of that sheepdog of Fred Braithwaite’s: Molly. She’s in season. Lee recruited Roger to act as a honey trap.’

‘Oh, my little boy’s far too young and innocent for that sort of thing,’ Raven crooned while Roger rolled over for a belly tickle.

‘He’s getting to be a right dirty old man. You’re going to have to have him snipped, before the village is overrun with half-cockapoo pups.’

‘Not yet. He’s still growing, aren’t you, darling?’ Raven shot her a look. ‘All he really needs is for Aunty Tess to keep a proper eye on him instead of getting distracted by pretty detectives.’

‘I’m going to ignore that remark.’ Tess turned her attention to Benjamin, who was an electrician and general odd-job man for the village hall. ‘Benjamin, have you got time to get your ladder out and reattach the bunting that’s come loose from the hall? We’re going to have half the village there in a little while, not to mention the Lord Mayor. We don’t want the place looking scruffy, do we?’

‘Anything for you, Tess.’ Benjamin turned to give Raven a kiss. ‘I’ll be back soon, gorgeous. Don’t miss me too much.’

‘Now don’t ask me to make promises I can’t keep, Benjy.’

‘Keep her warm for me, girls,’ he said to Tess and Kennedy before he strode off. Raven watched his broad figure with what could only be described as a simper on her face.

Kennedy shook her head. ‘I’d never have believed it. Raven Walton-Lord, in love with someone nice.’

Raven flicked her black hair. ‘You’ve been gone a long time, darling. I grew out of that bad-boy phase years ago.’

‘She didn’t,’ Tess mouthed to Kennedy.

‘Oi. I saw that.’ Raven beamed in Benjamin’s direction as he exited the park. ‘He is wonderful, though. I’ve never been with someone like Benjy. All warm and considerate and . . . well, sweet. And of course Grandmother’s thrilled we might be moving to the heir-producing stage of the relationship any day now.’

‘She approves of him then?’

‘They haven’t been formally introduced yet, but she approves of the fact I’m dating someone. I mean she’d definitely prefer to see me with one of the chino-clad Hooray Henry types she was always trying to set me up with when I was single, but she’s getting desperate now.’

At eighty, Raven’s grandmother Candice lived in dread that the last of the Walton-Lords would fail to provide an heir to the family estate in her lifetime. When her granddaughter had been a teenager, Candice had disapproved of Raven’s boyfriends as a matter of principle. Now that Raven had reached her early thirties, as soon as any relationship got serious Candice was drawing up guest lists, seating plans and lists of baby names.

Kennedy raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re not talking babies yet, are you? It’s only been two months.’

‘Of course we’re not.’ Raven smiled a soppy little smile. ‘But you know, girls, for the first time in my life, I can actually see it going that way.’

‘Really?’

‘I think so. I don’t want to rush things, but I’ve got high hopes for Benjamin.’

Tess, who had heard all about Raven’s high hopes for Benjamin already, was only half listening. Her gaze had drifted towards the witch that had been given pride of place in the park as the village’s official guy, ready to go up in smoke on Bonfire Night. Not that it was better than the others, but it had been donated by Cherrywood Players to promote their forthcoming production of Macbeth and since Angela Campbell was both the chair of the Guy Trail committee and a keen member of the am-dram group, she’d wangled it the star position.

As dummies went it was pretty basic: just a stuffed sack with a couple of sausage legs shoved into stripy tights, with a papier-mâché head stuck on top. Some of the junior am-drammers had helped to make it, and the cartoon-like face had been crudely scrawled by the kids. The witch had a couple of protruding ping-pong-ball eyes and a wide lipstick grin that the Joker would’ve been proud of.

Still, it always drew Tess’s eye. Clothed in an old black dress and a cape that flapped, Dementor-like, in the keen autumn breeze, pointed hat pulled low over its face . . . caught at the right time of day, the witch seemed almost otherworldly. Tess was rather looking forward to watching the thing burn.

When she tuned back in to the conversation, she found that Kennedy and Raven had moved on to the subject of families.

‘I know this is rather a personal question, Rave, but do you actually want kids?’ Kennedy was asking. ‘I suppose in your family it’s sort of expected, and your grandmother’s obviously mad keen, but I’ve never heard you express an opinion one way or the other.’

Raven looked thoughtful. ‘I honestly don’t know,’ she said. ‘You’re right, it was expected – the great and glorious Walton-Lords must have an heir, right? Still, I’ve never been in any hurry about it. I suppose the idea rather scared me.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I’ve not been set much of an example in that respect, have I? Of course, I barely knew them myself, but by all accounts my parents hated one another.’

Tess was listening now. It was rare for Raven to volunteer information about her parents. All Tess knew about them was that Raven’s father had been a racing junkie who’d died at the wheel, and that her mother, who was rumoured to have been very beautiful, had dumped Raven with her grandmother shortly after her husband’s death – supposedly for a handsome fee, if you believed village gossip. After that, Raven had been raised at Cherrywood Hall by her grandmother, Candice, and her nanny, Marianne Priestley.

‘Did they hate each other?’ Tess asked. ‘I never heard that.’

‘I don’t know for sure. That’s just the impression Grandmother gave me.’

‘Do you know much about your mother?’ Kennedy asked. ‘I don’t think I ever heard her name, even.’

‘Oh yes, I know everything about her,’ Raven said breezily. ‘At least, as much as I ever wanted to know. Eva Russo, she was called.’

‘Did she live here in the village?’

. . .