Chapter One, in which Nathalie makes new acquaintances and someone makes a gruesome discovery
“Tonight, I’ll come here with my camera and then we’ll do the whole thing again, but professionally,” said Bill Purvis as he walked with Nathalie from the Black Feather to the car park.
“Is that necessary?” she asked. “You can see quite well from the mobile phone photos which pieces of furniture are involved.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Miss Ames,” the man replied, stopping to pull the car key out of his pocket. “You see it that way because you know this furniture. Everyone else only sees the photo — and that just shows some old furniture. Good photos and lighting will make all the difference.”
Nathalie shrugged. “You’re the professional, Mr Purvis.”
“Shall we say … seven o’clock? Does that suit you?”
“Yes, seven o’clock sounds good. If something comes up, I’ll call you,” she promised, and said goodbye.
Purvis got into his red Toyota pick-up. Nathalie was about to return to the pub when she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that someone was coming towards her. She turned and saw Louise Cartham, her cook and right-hand woman at the Black Feather. She was more than that though. For as a former agent of a still nameless secret service — “it wouldn’t be a secret service if I told you the name” — she had the most unusual contacts. Thanks to these contacts, and thanks to a remarkable archive that Nathalie’s Aunt Henrietta had bequeathed to her along with the combination of pub, café and boarding house, they had together succeeded in solving three crimes and convicting the perpetrators in the last few months.
Crime fighting was naturally the responsibility of the local policeman, Constable Ronald Strutner, but he was described by Louise as, amongst other things, “adorable but dim-witted”. Nathalie’s late aunt had taken a fancy to the man, however, and had actively supported him in his police work to prevent him from being transferred as soon as one of his superiors noticed his terrible working methods.
Nathalie couldn’t shake off the suspicion that Strutner wasn’t quite as obtuse as people thought, but had merely pretended to be because he liked that Henrietta wanted to help him. Nathalie had inherited the role of helping Strutner, but, in the long run, she wanted to try to steer him a little more in the direction of independence. Then they’d find out if he had a decent brain hiding in that head after all.
“Louise, what are you looking so grim about?”
“Grim? I’m furious,” Louise replied, straightening her black Iron Maiden T-shirt. Her edgy short hairstyle made her look many years younger, despite the grey. Today she was sporting leather trousers too. A brave look. “Graham didn’t show up.”
“Probably your rock chick outfit scared him,” Nathalie returned with a grin. “Isn’t eleven in the morning a bit early for a date anyway?”
“Not for brunch. But it wasn’t a date.”
“What was it? Who’s Graham?” asked Nathalie.
“Jimmy Graham. The potato farmer,” said Louise. “He promised me he’d meet me and bring this new variety … well, an old variety, actually.”
“An old variety?” repeated Nathalie. “He doesn’t sell old stock, does he?”
Louise looked irritated. “Of course not. I mean heritage varieties that were grown fifty or a hundred years ago but were displaced by new varieties that are more resistant to disease or easier to care for. This happens with all kinds of fruit and vegetables, especially apples. Local varieties are displaced by imported ones, and after a while the old varieties are forgotten. Have you really never heard of this?”
“Yeah, remember I lived in the city until a few months ago,” Nathal
