Aunt Bea's Legacy Read online

  “I will stay here with you, dad, and Jim will go across the road,” I said quickly, eager to put dad out of his embarrassment.

  “That’s right, Mr Dixon. I’d like to go across now and book in, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Oh yes, do that and Lucy can bring her things in here, then when you’re all sorted, we’ll go out for some dinner, if that suits you? I’m not much of a one for cooking you know.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  Jim and I got up and we went across the road to the B & B. We were shown his room, which looked very comfortable. Jim looked around in satisfaction.

  “Looks fine; not quite the standard I’m used to but it will do for a couple of nights.”

  I like dad’s small spare bedroom; it was just as well that Jim and I weren’t expecting to share. I was quite happy to be staying there because I hoped to have some private ‘daddy-daughter’ natter while Jim was enjoying the facilities offered over the road.

  We walked down to the Bay Horse to have our dinner. It was close and I knew Jim would want some wine with his meal, dad too, maybe. I think that the Bay Horse would probably not ‘be what he was used to’ for my fiancé but I also knew the food they served was good. Give Jim his due, although he looked around a bit scathingly, he never said anything, for which I was grateful. One just can’t compare a Hereford pub with the posh London restaurants, but give me a Hereford pub any day, I decided. Even though I’m a chef and often have to produce some fine recipes, I do appreciate a well-cooked steak and yummy chips. At least they fill you up and for a decent price, unlike some of those London places that charge you an arm and a leg to give you a meal that makes you want to visit the nearest chip shop on your way home.

  It was nine-thirty by the time we set off up the road for dad’s house. Jim decided he might as well go back to his B & B now as he was going to be walking past it. I was relieved really as I was quite tired and didn’t fancy sitting up too long. He gave me a quick kiss and said goodnight, then shook dad’s hand.

  “Goodnight, Mr Dixon, I’ll come round after breakfast.”

  “Do call me dad, or father as I’m going to become your father-in-law,” said Tom, “Or, if you prefer, call me Tom; ‘Mr Dixon’ always seems a bit, well, stuffy as we are going to be family.”

  “Very well – um – Tom. I feel a bit strange calling someone ‘father’ other than my own – if you don’t mind?”

  Dad clapped a hand on Jim’s shoulder.

  “Not at all, my boy, I suggested it after all. Goodnight, then, I hope you sleep well.”

  We watched Jim let himself into the front door of his boarding house and then we linked arms the way we always did and made our way back to the bungalow.

  Once inside, dad let Butch out into the garden and while the dog was out there, made us both a mug of hot chocolate, which had always been our favourite bedtime drink. Butch came back inside and dad shut and locked the back door. We carried our drinks into the lounge and sat down to relax.

  “So, when did you last see Aunt Bea?” I asked.

  “I’d only seen her the day before. You are aware I went there often. When the police came to tell me she had died, it was a big shock. Mind you, now I come to think of it, she hasn’t been right for some time. She looked all right, but there was – something – something I can’t quite put my finger on.” Dad frowned into his mug.

  “Try, dad, try, please?” I pleaded, leaning towards him and putting my hand on his knee. He covered my hand with his and cleared his throat.

  “Well, she seemed not really like herself. You know your Aunt, she was always so cheerful and positive; she smiled and laughed a lot. The last few times I was with her, she didn’t come across too bright, you know, she was more – serious, somehow – and a bit, well, jumpy.”

  “Jumpy? That doesn’t sound like Aunt Bea.” I frowned.

  “No, not at all.”

  I sipped my chocolate slowly, turning over in my mind what dad had said. I thought about the poker she was holding when she died.

  “Do you think someone was terrorising her in some way?” I asked him carefully. Dad looked at me sharply.

  “The evidence seems to point that way,” dad responded slowly, after he’d taken a few minutes to think my question over.

  “But Aunt Bea doesn’t have an enemy in the world. Who on earth would want to hurt her – and more to the point – why?”

  Chapter 4

  The Funeral

  The quaint Parish Church in the village of Sutton-on-Wye was absolutely packed for Aunt Bea’s funeral. As I walked up the aisle, arm in arm with dad, following the coffin, I was stunned to see so many people. I thought the whole village had turned out to be here; she must have been a well-liked person, I mused.

  It seemed the vicar knew her personally, for he talked of her in such a way you could tell that he’d had regular dealings with her and had often visited her. She had been a ‘pillar of the community’ and had done much to help all sorts of people and had led an active church life too. All that I had previously experienced with my aunt was underlined by the knowledge of her from others. It seemed that the village was going to be the poorer without her and that wasn’t just an empty saying, such as one often says about a departed one. In this instance it was true.

  I was surprised to learn, that apparently Aunt Bea had a thriving business, supplying various outlets with cakes and other confectionary. I had no idea; I was learning more about Aunt Bea than I ever suspected. Certainly those places were now going to have to look elsewhere for their supplies.

  After the funeral service in the church, she was laid to rest in the churchyard. I must admit, I don’t really like burials and I left the graveside as soon as I could. Jim and I stood on the path until dad was ready to come away. It was a chilly, late March day, even though the sun was doing its best. I stood, shivering a little and stamping my feet, trying to keep warm while we were waiting. Jim was being very good, supportive without being demanding. I thought he was rather quiet for him but perhaps he was just answering the solemnity of the occasion.

  As we stood there quietly talking, I noticed a couple of men standing not far away, with a group of villagers but slightly apart. They seemed to be watching me and I wondered why. A few moments later, they started walking towards us and looked very purposeful. One of the men was slightly ahead of the other and as he got within speaking distance of me, he said,

  “Excuse me, are you Miss Lucille Dixon?”

  “Erm – yes. Who is asking?”

  He held out his hand and as I took it to shake, he replied,

  “Dan Cooke, Detective Chief Inspector and this is Detective Sergeant Grant.”

  The other man nodded to me. “Miss Dixon.”

  D.C.I. Cooke looked questioningly at Jim.

  “Oh, er, this is my fiancé, James Netherfield.”

  “How do you do, sir?”

  “Inspector,” Jim nodded.

  The man turned back to me.

  “Excuse this intrusion at this time, Miss, and may I offer you my condolences on your loss?”

  “Thank you, my aunt was very dear to me,” I wiped a rogue tear from my eye and Jim put his arm protectively round my shoulders.

  “May we ask what this is about?” asked Jim, gruffly.

  “I don’t want to bother you at this time but I did want to make your acquaintance, Miss Dixon and to give you my card. I would appreciate it if you would contact me when this upsetting time is concluded; I would like to have a chat with you when you can spare the time in the not-too-distant future. There are a few things I’d like to ask you about. There’s no desperate rush, so whenever you’re ready.”

  “Oh! Well, I don’t know that there’s anything I can help you with, I’ve been living in London for the past four years.”

  “I would still like to talk with you, if you would be so kind.”

  “Yes of course, Chief Inspector.” I took the card he held out and he gave me a little nod as did
Sergeant Grant and then I watched them walk down the path and out through the gateway.

  “Hmm, odd,” observed Jim.

  “Yes, very,” I agreed as I popped the card into my handbag.

  “Here comes your dad.”

  Dad joined us and together we made our way across the road to the village hall where the ladies of the village had got together to put on refreshments.

  The next couple of hours were a haze of various people coming up to me and offering their condolences and sharing stories they had of Aunt Bea. It was pleasant really; I know that’s a strange thing to say under the circumstances but I enjoyed hearing their memories of my aunt and we even laughed sometimes at some of the stories. It seemed the whole village community was here and wanted to tell me their memories of Aunt Bea. I hadn’t a hope of remembering their names or their stories. Eventually, I felt I just needed to get away. People were beginning to leave when Jim came up to me. I realised at that point that he hadn’t been in the room for a while.

  He drew me to one side.

  “Lucy, I’m sorry, but I need to get back to London today. There is a crisis that I need to go back to deal with. Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”

  I looked at him, shocked.

  “But Jim, what about dad? He should have someone with him, I can’t just leave him.”

  At that point, dad had joined us.

  “What’s this?”

  “Jim says he needs to get back to London this afternoon, he wants to leave in an hour. I can’t leave you now, dad! Don’t you need me to stay on? I could go back on the train tomorrow.”

  He patted my arm.

  “Don’t you worry, Lulu. I will be all right. I have Butch and I have some good friends. I’ve lived with this alone for the past three weeks, so don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You go with Jim. You don’t want to be bothered with waiting around at railway stations and things.”

  “Are you sure?” I was doubtful.

  “Yes, of course I’m sure,” he said firmly. “I’m ready to leave here; I had just come to tell you. I have thanked the village ladies for putting on this spread for us but I’ve had enough now. I just want my quiet home and Butch.”

  “Okay, dad, if you’re really sure. Come on then, let’s go.” I linked my arm lovingly through his and we waved to the people still in the room. Jim went ahead to open the car.

  Minutes later, we were in Jim’s car, purring along the twisty road back to dad’s bungalow. An hour later, Jim had checked out of his B & B and I hugged dad, promising to call him as soon as I was home in the flat and we were on our way back to London.

  I didn’t question Jim about having to go back already; he was quiet, his face set like stone. I thought he was probably worried about whatever he was going back to deal with. However, I couldn’t help feeling resentful that his work prevented me from staying where I felt I should be – with my father.

  Chapter 5

  Strategic Plans

  The letter came only three days after the funeral. It was a Saturday, so there was nothing I could do about anything until the following week anyway. I had all weekend to think about it. Obviously, Jim didn’t want me to go and live back in Herefordshire and I kept swaying back and forth. I loved my job here and my flat – and of course, Jim. Although I was a bit niggled now that I realised we had been engaged a year and as yet he had not suggested naming a day. Maybe some time apart would do us good…?

  Telling him about it that night was not a great experience but his suggestion that I should go and see this solicitor was a good idea. I was glad I had an understanding boss; I would make the arrangements as soon as I could. In the meantime, I sent off an email to Mr. Gamble’s office to say that I was hoping to come up to Hereford shortly and would like to meet with him and would confirm when I would be coming on Monday after I had been able to speak with my boss.

  That done, there was nothing more I could do. When I called dad for my regular weekend call, I told him about the letter and the rather strange conditions of the will. He was as puzzled as I and agreed it was a good idea for me to come and talk with the solicitor.

  “I also still have to see that police bloke who wants to see me,” I told him, “so I might as well do everything while I’m there.”

  “Yes, they will expect you to do that. When do you think you will come?”

  “I hope about Tuesday, if it can be arranged. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

  “Will you come alone or will Jim be coming too?”

  “Oh, I will come alone. Jim can’t have any more time away from his work so soon after last week.”

  “Right you are then. In that case, you can stay with me. I was just wondering if I needed to book B & B for him again.”

  “No need for that. And this time, we’ll have the time together that we should have had last week.”

  “That will be wonderful.”

  “I will give you a call as soon as I know when I am coming. Must go now, Jim will be round soon and we are going to some friends for the evening.”

  “Oh well, have a good time. I will wait to hear from you. Goodbye, my dear.”

  “Goodbye dad. Love you.”

  “Love you too, my little Lulu.”

  When I finished the call to dad, I looked at my watch – oh my goodness, I only had half an hour before Jim would arrive! He hated to be late for anything. I flew up the stairs to get myself ready.

  **********

  As it happened, it was Thursday by the time I could get away. I had to be considerate of my workmates and give them time to rearrange the work schedules and get a temporary cook. My second-in-command, Sue Sims, would fulfil my role as supervisor until I got back. At this point, I hadn’t warned anyone that this situation might become permanent. I would drive up to Hereford Thursday and would see Mr Gamble on Friday; dad made the appointment for me after I’d called him on Monday to tell him when I’d be coming.

  Although my little car was not nearly as comfortable as Jim’s purring Merc, I enjoyed the drive. I took it at a leisurely pace, stopping at a service station around halfway, and I had some refreshments and a good break. I walked around a bit to stretch my legs. It was a lovely day for late March, clear and bright, cheerful for a drive in the car.

  In spite of the circumstances, when I caught sight of the rolling countryside as I approached Hereford, my heart gave its usual lift. I knew that, wherever I lived, I would always think of Hereford as ‘home’; sometimes I felt a deep longing for the place of my nativity; the green hills and valleys, the Malvern Hills, the stunning scenery of the Wye Valley as the river meandered on through the Welsh countryside and the Black Mountains on the west side of the county. Herefordshire is a county without any motorways cutting through it and it gives one the feeling that life is somehow slower and more leisurely there than elsewhere. (I’m sure it probably isn’t really for the people who live there.) ‘Hiraeth’, the Welsh call it – that inbred longing for a place; what a wonderful word.

  ‘Leisurely’ was not a word I would now use for Hereford city as I crawled slowly in the line of traffic on my way through to the Whitecross Road. Like everywhere else, the traffic in Hereford had doubled, trebled, in my lifetime and at times the city roads were as clogged as every other city in the United Kingdom. Really, there was no escape, even here.

  However, I eventually managed to extricate myself from the majority of traffic at the roundabout as most went off left to cross the ‘new bridge’ or to the right to head that way. The ‘new bridge’ was so-called because it was a modern, four-lane bridge crossing the Wye, as opposed to the ‘old bridge’, built in the days of horses and carts, far too narrow to deal with the demands of modern transportation.

  However, today I wasn’t crossing the Wye but heading out towards Credenhill. It only took a few minutes then to reach dad’s bungalow. He and Butch appeared on the doorstep as I pulled into the driveway. As I climbed out, Butch leaped towards me to give me his usual effusive greeting and I made a fuss o
f him for a couple of minutes before I stood up to give dad a hug.

  “Oh dad, it’s so good to be here. I hated leaving you last week straight after the funeral.”

  “Don’t you worry, I was fine. But I am glad to have you back again. Do you need some help with your things?”

  “Well, I guess you could get a bag in for me. I tried not to bring too much but wasn’t sure how long I would be here.”

  We soon got my things in; I didn’t have that much, just a suitcase, a coat and my laptop. I locked the car and we dumped my case in the small bedroom.

  “Do you want to unpack or have a drink first?”

  “How about you go put the kettle on and I’ll just unpack my case. It won’t take me long and I’ll be through in a jiffy.”

  “It’s a plan,” dad nodded and headed towards the kitchen. I set to, putting my clothes away in the drawers and hanging a dress, a skirt and a pair of jeans in the small wardrobe and popping two pairs of shoes in the bottom of the same. I was wearing my trainers; they are comfortable for everything, but I also liked to be prepared for more formality, such as when I go and see the solicitor.

  While I was there, I hastily sent off a text to Jim to let him know I’d arrived safely. A few moments later, I received one back:

  ‘Glad you have arrived safely. Come back soon.’

  I smiled to myself. That was typical of Jim, no ‘take care’, ‘keep me informed’, or ‘give my best to your father’ and no sending his love either. Ah well, I know him well enough to know that the ‘come back soon’ is as near as I’ll get to ‘I love you’ or ‘I’ll miss you’….

  About ten minutes later, I was sitting on the sofa in dad’s cosy lounge.

  “Do you want to nip down The Bay and get something to eat? Or shall we have something here?” Dad asked me.

  “Oh, I can’t be bothered to go out any more, dad. What have you got in your kitchen? I can probably rustle up something. I’m tired and I’d rather stay home if you don’t mind.”