Cherringham--Too Many Lies Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

  About the Book

  Main Characters

  The Authors

  Title

  Copyright

  1. A Village Divided

  2. A Chill in the Air

  3. No Fishing Today

  4. Pop-up Protest

  5. A Free Lunch

  6. A Motive for Murder?

  7. Suspects

  8. Father and Son

  9. Empty Nest

  10. An Early Drive

  11. Builders’ Tea

  12. A Trip to Repton

  13. An Act of Desperation

  14. Scene of the Crime

  15. Finally, the Truth

  16. The Vote

  Epilogue: One Last Surprise.

  Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

  “Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series” is a series made up of self-contained stories. The series is published in English as well as in German; and is only available in e-book form.

  About the Book

  When Cherringham’s Council debates selling the historic village hall for development as a luxury restaurant and hotel, all of Cherringham is up in arms; some seeing the sale as needed, others deeply opposed. For many, the centuries-old hall is the very heart of the community! But when the leader of the protestors is attacked after a raucous meeting and death threats are made, Jack and Sarah are asked to investigate. Can they find a possible killer before the crucial Council vote? And maybe stop a murder?

  Main Characters

  Jack Brennan is a former NYPD homicide detective who lost his wife three years ago. Being retired, all he wants is peace and quiet. Which is what he hopes to find in the quiet town of Cherringham, UK. Living on a canal boat, he enjoys his solitude. But soon enough he discovers that something is missing — the challenge of solving crimes. Surprisingly, Cherringham can help him with that.

  Sarah Edwards is a web designer who was living in London with her husband and two kids. Three years before the series starts, he ran off with his sexy American boss, and Sarah’s world fell apart. With her children she moved back to her home town, laid-back Cherringham. But the small-town atmosphere is killing her all over again — nothing ever happens. At least, that’s what she thinks until Jack enters her life and changes it for good or worse …

  The Authors

  Matthew Costello (US-based) is the author of a number of successful novels, including Vacation (2011), Home (2014) and Beneath Still Waters (1989), which was adapted by Lionsgate as a major motion picture. He has written for The Disney Channel, BBC, SyFy and has also designed dozens of bestselling games including the critically acclaimed The 7th Guest, Doom 3, Rage and Pirates of the Caribbean.

  Neil Richards has worked as a producer and writer in TV and film, creating scripts for BBC, Disney, and Channel 4, and earning numerous Bafta nominations along the way. He’s also written script and story for over 20 video games including The Da Vinci Code and Starship Titanic, co-written with Douglas Adams, and consults around the world on digital storytelling.

  His writing partnership with NYC-based Matt Costello goes back to the late 90’s and the two have written many hours of TV together. Cherringham is their first crime fiction as co-writers.

  Matthew Costello

  Neil Richards

  CHERRINGHAM

  A COSY CRIME SERIES

  Too Many Lies

  Digital original edition

  Copyright © 2019 by Neil Richards & Matthew Costello

  Copyright for this editon © 2019 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany

  Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards

  Edited by Eleanor Abraham

  Project management: Kathrin Kummer

  Cover illustration © shutterstock: Ihnatovich Maryia | JJFarq | Ian_Sherriffs

  Cover design: Jeannine Schmelzer

  E-Book production: Jilzov Digital Publishing, Düsseldorf

  ISBN 978-3-7325-5313-6

  Follow the authors: www.facebook.com/Cherringham

  1. A Village Divided

  Jack turned to glance at Sarah, sitting next to him in the packed Village Hall. It was standing-room only.

  Up front, the Parish Council sat at a long table. Some chatted, but most of them were looking out at a crowd drawn here by a controversy. One unlike anything Jack had experienced since he moved to Cherringham from New York City.

  Back home, in the NYPD, he had been used to dealing with crowds of hostile people — making sure that nobody got too upset.

  To the left, the front rows of the hall were occupied by a group of people literally on the edge of their seats. Villagers of all ages, many of whom Jack recognised.

  Dotted among the group were signs on wooden sticks, currently resting on the floor, but obviously ready to be raised at a moment’s notice.

  And that was where Sarah kept looking.

  Because amid that fired-up, tightly wound group, and ready to turn this meeting into an explosive show, sat Chloe, Sarah’s daughter.

  Chloe, now aged twenty-one, and back home in Cherringham, was clearly making her own decisions on things.

  “You okay?” Jack said, leaning close to Sarah.

  “I am not,” she said, turning back to him. “That group … I mean, yes of course, I understand their position. But … to be honest, I’d like my daughter to stay out of this.”

  “Well,” Jack said, smiling, “think that ship has sailed.”

  “And that guy? Their leader?”

  Jack nodded. He knew that Sarah was referring to the organiser the group had hired to help them save the venerable Village Hall building.

  Ralph Syms.

  Ever since he had shown up on the scene, the temperature of this battle about building repairs, money, preserving the past, and the future of the ancient village of Cherringham, had turned fiery.

  A lot of people — Jack included — didn’t like that.

  Finally, with the chatter from the audience reaching a crescendo, Jack saw the current Parish Council Chair, their friend the lawyer Tony Standish, stand up.

  He attempted to start the meeting.

  *

  “Excuse me,” Tony said, in a voice that might possibly have garnered attention in a courtroom, but not here.

  Sarah saw Tony look at the other council members with an expression of “what do I do?”

  He should use a megaphone, thought Sarah. Or at least a big gavel to rap on a solid chunk of wood.

  Tony tried to raise his voice.

  “If we could have everyone’s attention now — please!”

  Not bad, thought Sarah.

  And finally, the noisy crowd stilled.

  Tony looked surprised that he was able to effect such a change. Now, with their grumbling attention, he could proceed.

  But as he did, Sarah shot another look at Chloe, sitting close to the “Save Our Hall” group’s organiser, Syms.

  Handsome, charismatic, and a good ten years older than Chloe.

  All things that made Sarah uneasy.

  Even though she kept reminding herself that, after Chloe’s breakup with her French fiancé Pascal, well, her little girl wasn’t so little anymore. She was an adult. And now, back in the village where she grew up, she was clearly showing it.

  For now though, the “Save Our Hall” group — as tense as they looked, perched on their folding chairs, ready to spring into quick action — remained quiet.

  Tony moved to the business at hand.

  *

  “This is — as I’m sure you all know — not a meeting proper of the Parish Council. It is an informal hearing. A chance for us all in the
village to learn more about the umm … challenging plans for this, our very own and dearly-loved Village Hall. And for you to umm … share your views with your council members before our crucial vote on the proposals at the formal meeting on Friday.”

  At this, Jack saw Tony smile benevolently at the audience packing the room, more like a vicar at a Christmas service than a council leader in a charged political meeting.

  But if he was expecting applause, he didn’t get any.

  Just mutterings from the various groups across the room. The tension in the room — thick.

  “Ahem, yes,” said Tony, frowning. “Um, so in order that we might hear about the proposal — as it were — from the ‘horse’s mouth’, we have with us this evening Mr Ted Ross of Ross Leisure Holdings, who will talk us through his company’s plans.”

  Jack was surprised that Tony, used to the civility and restraint of a courtroom, got that far into his opening.

  On the word “plans”, the “Save Our Hall” group immediately sprung to their feet.

  They turned and faced the sea of people looking at them.

  “Save our hall! Save our hall!”

  On cue, the signs were hoisted up — that simple message scrawled in big black letters.

  Some in the audience joined in, Jack could hear. Others yelled out for the group to sit down.

  The crowd divided. On both sides, Jack saw faces he knew from the village — many of them good friends.

  Tony meanwhile, was a rabbit in the headlights.

  He must have expected this, Jack thought.

  Jack leaned into Sarah.

  “Think it’s going to be a tough night.”

  “Poor Tony,” she said.

  “And your dad too,” Jack said, nodding to the podium where he could see Sarah’s father looking out rather nervously at the crowd.

  Michael Edwards, Jack knew, had agreed — pro temps — to fill a sudden vacancy left when one of the older council members decided that it was — hello! — time to make the big move to the Costa del Sol.

  Sarah’s dad probably didn’t bargain for this, Jack thought.

  “Yes. And the thing is, I’m not sure how he feels about the issue. Money in the village is so tight — they’ve pretty much had to freeze spending.”

  “Which is why you’re ‘pro’ the development, I guess?” said Jack.

  “Me?” said Sarah. “God, I don’t know. I’m hoping I’ll be clearer after tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” said Jack, smiling.

  The chants of protest went on for a few minutes until, like a conductor, Ralph Syms turned to his cadre of protestors and held up his hands.

  That’s all he had to do.

  With a nod, he signalled they should sit down.

  Their presence made known, Tony now could take a deep breath.

  The hearing could actually begin.

  *

  Looking relieved, Tony took his place at the centre of the table. Council members flanked him on either side, including both Buckland sisters — the twins looking like bookends on opposite ends of the long table.

  Jack saw Pete Bull, local plumber; Julie, one of the owners of the Spotted Pig restaurant; and Carl Coleman, slick head honcho of Cherringham’s Chamber of Commerce.

  No doubting his view on the development, thought Jack.

  Other locals rounded out the group of sixteen members, who now looked to a large monitor to their left, as a stocky man — mid-sixties Jack guessed — made his way to the stage.

  A few boos from the left side of the hall, but they were quickly quieted by a turn of Syms’s head.

  This guy knows how to control his troops, thought Jack.

  Ted Ross might have been on the old side, but Jack could see from his frame, his hands, he was a man maybe comfortable throwing his weight around.

  A tough cookie.

  Jack had seen the type in the cut-throat world of NYC construction and real estate. Self-made guys who were used to getting what they wanted — one way or the other.

  Ted Ross smiled, nodded at the crowd.

  “Thank you, Tony.” Some accent there Jack couldn’t place. Yorkshire maybe? “Tonight, Ross Leisure Holdings will show you — show Cherringham — our detailed plans for what we intend to do to both preserve and enhance this wonderful hall as we turn it into a premiere hotel destination venue, with a Brendan Fox restaurant.”

  Again, grumbles from the left side of the room, but not enough to disrupt Ross’s presentation.

  “First, we will — as promised — preserve many of the unique elements of this landmark Victorian building, while transforming it into something very, very special.”

  Images flashed on the screen, showing an artist’s rendition of the very building everyone was in, right here in the heart of Cherringham, transformed into a glittering hotel.

  With, as Ross promised, many of the historic features of the building still visible, but clearly transformed.

  “And,” Ross said, “with the more than generous purchase price we have offered to the council, your village will have the funds to construct a new Village Hall and centre, on a more suitable site, right outside the village proper. A modern, state-of-the-art community asset.”

  At that, Ted Ross looked up, smiling. He was bald save for a hint of grey peach fuzz on the side of his head. Using a tiny hand-clicker, he put up the first slide of his presentation.

  “First of all, let me tell you a little about Leisure Holdings and our commitment to sustainable development. Over forty years, I am proud of having built Ross Leisure into the country’s most prestigious, legacy property developer …”

  *

  Sarah sat forward in her folding chair and tried to stretch her back.

  Twenty minutes in and it seemed Ross’s presentation was still not even nearing its end.

  “Well, if the plan was to bore us into submission,” she whispered to Jack, “then I think it’s working.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Jack. “Just watching him is making me thirsty. As in, can we slip away for a pint?”

  “God. Love to. But I think all eyes would be on our escape.”

  “Pity.”

  Sarah had listened and made notes as Ross clicked his way through the plans of his other five hotel developments across the country: parking analyses, impact assessments, architectural strategies, safety audits, cost benefit analyses to Cherringham commerce.

  All t’s crossed, i’s dotted.

  And all delivered in the barking, gruff monotone of a man more suited — she guessed — to bawling out his management team than charming investors.

  As yet another slide popped up on the screen, she saw a younger man come up to Ted Ross, handing him something.

  “Yes, what is it?” said Ross impatiently, hardly lowering his voice. Then he turned to the audience. “Excuse me a moment.”

  Having written a piece for the village newsletter about the project, Sarah knew that the young man was Callum Ross, the developer’s son. Ross took the paper from his son roughly as if it was an annoying distraction, then read it and looked across at Tony who nodded.

  “Um … it seems I have over-run a bit here. Got an urgent matter to attend to, so I … er … hope that was all clear. And now you’ll see why this state-of-the-art hotel is such a damn good idea. Good for Cherringham, good for you all, good for business. My son here, Callum, who is managing the project can field any questions you might have, in the meantime — um, thank you.”

  Sarah watched Ross nod, return to his seat amid a smattering of polite applause, then pick up his briefcase and head out of the hall.

  She turned back to the “Save Our Hall” group, who were suddenly, as if orchestrated, now all on their feet, but so far silent. Ralph Syms walked purposely to the front of the stage.

  Almost as if he too was about to make a formal presentation but — in a near theatrical way — he didn’t take the steps up, instead, spinning on his heels and staring at the audience.

&nb
sp; “If I may? Goodbye, Mr Ross. And thank you for that enlightening piece … of fiction. Or, should I say, BS?”

  A mix of laughter and boos filled the hall at Syms’s statement.

  “Yes, fiction!” said Syms, his voice now echoing from the wood-panelled walls. “For the sake of truth and honesty, all you need do, council members, residents of Cherringham, is look at the slimy history of Ross’s properties, those slick steel and glass monstrosities he’s so proud of. Tells the tale, I’m afraid. Yes, he says he loves old buildings: But this historic building that we now are in will disappear. That will be the true state of the art!”

  Loud cheering from Syms’s supporters, which Syms allowed to run for half a minute, then silenced with a dramatic hand gesture.

  “Ross here makes a big show of all of his environmental credentials, his audits, his soft development jargon. But he doesn’t care about any of that. He doesn’t care about your mother-and-toddler group which will have to now walk a mile to their sessions. Or the elderly whose library will now be out of town. Or the local businesses whose parking spaces will be stolen.”

  Sarah noticed an energy in the crowd. After the sleep-inducing presentation, Syms had everyone now alert, listening.

  A look to Jack. He too had picked up on that shift with Syms taking the floor.

  “And not a word about the light pollution from these energy-guzzling lights. The noise from his trendy bars, the all-night music, the weddings, the smarmy Londoners and weekenders who’ll—” Syms’s voice raised a notch, perfectly timed “take over your town night and day, winter and summer!”

  Loud cheers erupted from the crowd, mixed with boos and hisses from Ross’s staunchest supporters.

  Sarah looked at Jack — raised her eyebrows. This meeting was coming to life all right.

  But in a good way?

  “No!” shouted Syms, clearly warming up. “You don’t have to listen to Ross and his lies! Look at our website and see the truth about what he’s really building! It’s all there. The truth! I’m not going to stand here and go through his lies one by one — it would take too long!”