Murder on the Village Green: A Diane Dimbleby Cozy Mystery Read Online Free Page A
Author: Penelope Sotheby
still…
Yes, Darrell has seen a lot in his 36 years of life. But illegal organ harvesting? This is a first for him. He had wondered whether organ theft was even real or an urban legend instead. But here it is, a case right here in the county of Shropshire, and the body was found in the one of the safest villages in the country, Apple Mews!
“Nobody… nobody … deserves to die like this,” says Darrell.
“Has anyone spoken to his next-of-kin?” asks Dr. Jackson.
“We have someone from the Sheffield police driving a Mrs. Tucker here right now,” says Darrell solemnly. “She’s coming to confirm the victim’s identity.”
♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠
The next morning Diane is up even earlier than usual. A cup of tea in hand, she stares outside her window instead of at her computer screen. Although she had planned to write at least another chapter today, she is finding it quite difficult to concentrate.
A whole chorus of songbirds are singing in Diane’s garden and in the village green across the way. Their morning melodies are forever consistent—they are not cancelled on holidays or for “moments of silence” when somebody dies, even if the dearly departed had been “resting peacefully” against one of their favourite perching places not even 24 hours ago.
After her tea, hardly touched, turns much too cold to enjoy, Diane sees children in uniforms running towards the primary school. For a moment the retired schoolteacher is swept back to the times where she drank up the enthusiasm of her former students. She had been a favourite for many of them; they never dreaded coming to her classes, although Diane is much too modest to admit this.
Diane sees a police car pull up and park next to the green. A constable gets out and walks towards the crime scene. It only takes him a couple of minutes to remove the yellow police tape, get back in his car and drive away.
That’s strange, thinks Diane. The police tape has been taken down already. She’s quite sure no forensic team personnel had analysed the scene. And she has been at her window from the time Inspector Darrell Crothers left until nightfall yesterday, and then again early this morning.
Perhaps they did not need to perform any forensic sweeps because the man had died of natural causes. Or he had died of suspicious circumstances, but someplace else and the oak tree is merely the dump site.
Diane decides she’ll do a little forensic investigating of her own… just in case something was missed. She grabs her notebook, hangs her camera around her neck and puts on her glasses.
She walks across the street at a brisk pace, looking over her shoulder several times. Before entering what had been the cordoned-off crime scene, she pulls out a pair of gloves and booties and puts them on her hands and feet. She often carries a pair of each on her person, knowing that one never knows when one might stumble upon the scene of a crime.
Diane walks concentrically around the oak tree, slowly moving closer and closer to the where she had found the man the day prior. She stops suddenly, crouches down, and picks a four-leaf clover. She has a knack for spotting them from feet away.
She continues inspecting the scene with a fine-toothed comb. She stops and takes several pictures of the grass the mystery man had been sitting on top of yesterday, before jotting something down in her book. She then takes a photo of the bark at the base of the tree trunk and writes another note.
She crouches down and walks slowly around the tree without breaking her squat-pose. She sees something sticking out of the dirt, so uses her gloved fingers to dig and uncover the item. She manages to pry the item from the grips of the ground and continues crouching and moving around the trunk.
In the corner of her eyes, Diane sees something or someone moving slowly behind her. A flurry of thoughts fills her mind.
What if the mystery man had indeed been murdered?
And his killer is back…
And
Yes, Darrell has seen a lot in his 36 years of life. But illegal organ harvesting? This is a first for him. He had wondered whether organ theft was even real or an urban legend instead. But here it is, a case right here in the county of Shropshire, and the body was found in the one of the safest villages in the country, Apple Mews!
“Nobody… nobody … deserves to die like this,” says Darrell.
“Has anyone spoken to his next-of-kin?” asks Dr. Jackson.
“We have someone from the Sheffield police driving a Mrs. Tucker here right now,” says Darrell solemnly. “She’s coming to confirm the victim’s identity.”
♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠
The next morning Diane is up even earlier than usual. A cup of tea in hand, she stares outside her window instead of at her computer screen. Although she had planned to write at least another chapter today, she is finding it quite difficult to concentrate.
A whole chorus of songbirds are singing in Diane’s garden and in the village green across the way. Their morning melodies are forever consistent—they are not cancelled on holidays or for “moments of silence” when somebody dies, even if the dearly departed had been “resting peacefully” against one of their favourite perching places not even 24 hours ago.
After her tea, hardly touched, turns much too cold to enjoy, Diane sees children in uniforms running towards the primary school. For a moment the retired schoolteacher is swept back to the times where she drank up the enthusiasm of her former students. She had been a favourite for many of them; they never dreaded coming to her classes, although Diane is much too modest to admit this.
Diane sees a police car pull up and park next to the green. A constable gets out and walks towards the crime scene. It only takes him a couple of minutes to remove the yellow police tape, get back in his car and drive away.
That’s strange, thinks Diane. The police tape has been taken down already. She’s quite sure no forensic team personnel had analysed the scene. And she has been at her window from the time Inspector Darrell Crothers left until nightfall yesterday, and then again early this morning.
Perhaps they did not need to perform any forensic sweeps because the man had died of natural causes. Or he had died of suspicious circumstances, but someplace else and the oak tree is merely the dump site.
Diane decides she’ll do a little forensic investigating of her own… just in case something was missed. She grabs her notebook, hangs her camera around her neck and puts on her glasses.
She walks across the street at a brisk pace, looking over her shoulder several times. Before entering what had been the cordoned-off crime scene, she pulls out a pair of gloves and booties and puts them on her hands and feet. She often carries a pair of each on her person, knowing that one never knows when one might stumble upon the scene of a crime.
Diane walks concentrically around the oak tree, slowly moving closer and closer to the where she had found the man the day prior. She stops suddenly, crouches down, and picks a four-leaf clover. She has a knack for spotting them from feet away.
She continues inspecting the scene with a fine-toothed comb. She stops and takes several pictures of the grass the mystery man had been sitting on top of yesterday, before jotting something down in her book. She then takes a photo of the bark at the base of the tree trunk and writes another note.
She crouches down and walks slowly around the tree without breaking her squat-pose. She sees something sticking out of the dirt, so uses her gloved fingers to dig and uncover the item. She manages to pry the item from the grips of the ground and continues crouching and moving around the trunk.
In the corner of her eyes, Diane sees something or someone moving slowly behind her. A flurry of thoughts fills her mind.
What if the mystery man had indeed been murdered?
And his killer is back…
And
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