Delia Darling Mysteries Box Set Read online

  DELIA DARLING MYSTERIES

  A Box Set of Mystery Stories 1 – 5

  JESSICA LANCASTER

  This mystery book box set includes; The Mysterious Maple Smith, The Secretive Scarlet Jones, The Menacing Mona Wilson, The Atrocious Agatha Bell, and The Villainous Vera Cooper.

  www.JessicaLancasterBooks.com

  Copyright © 2018 Jessica Lancaster

  Gemini House Publishing © 2018

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your respect and support of the author is appreciated.

  All characters, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are used fictionally and without intent of slander. Any resemblance to actual people are purely coincidental.

  Delia Darling Mystery Series

  The Mysterious Maple Smith (Story 1) OUT NOW

  The Secretive Scarlet Jones (Story 2) OUT NOW

  The Menacing Mona Wilson (Story 3) OUT NOW

  The Atrocious Agatha Bell (Story 4) OUT NOW

  The Villainous Vera Cooper (Story 5) OUT NOW

  WITCH PARANORMAL MYSTERIES

  Midnight Witch Cozy Mystery series

  The Curse of Crescent Road (Book 1) OUT NOW

  The Secret of Kingsway House (Book 2) OUT NOW

  The Mystery on Mercy Avenue (Book 3) OUT NOW

  The Death of Destiny Graves (Book 4) OUT NOW

  Crystal Café Cozy Mystery series

  A Pinch of Death (Book 1) OUT NOW

  A Sprinkle of Chaos (Book 2) OUT NOW

  A Slice of Revenge (Book 3) OUT NOW

  Every THURSDAY there’s a giveaway, just for newsletter subscribers!

  VILLAGE MAP

  THE MYSTERIOUS MAPLE SMITH

  ACT ONE

  ACT TWO

  ACT THREE

  THE SECRETIVE SCARLET JONES

  ACT ONE

  ACT TWO

  ACT THREE

  THE MENACING MONA WILSON

  ACT ONE

  ACT TWO

  ACT THREE

  THE ATROCIOUS AGATHA BELL

  ACT ONE

  ACT TWO

  ACT THREE

  THE VILLAINOUS VERA COOPER

  ABOUT JESSICA LANCASTER

  VILLAGE MAP

  THE MYSTERIOUS MAPLE SMITH

  A Delia Darling Mystery

  JESSICA LANCASTER

  THE MYSTERIOUS MAPLE SMITH

  Delia Darling is the leader of Huntington’s unofficial neighbourhood watch group. So when a homeless man is spotted rummaging through Maple Smith’s bins, Delia takes it upon herself to stop him.

  Informing restless DC Finley Fletcher, Delia damages her reputation as the homeless man cannot be found. Without proof, Delia won’t be taken seriously again.

  Delia and her best friend, Betsy Bennett, must plot to find out who the homeless man is and why he’s only going through Maple’s bins.

  A cozy mystery short story set in a small fictional Cotswold town, featuring a cast of quirky characters and strange storylines.

  THE MYSTERIOUS MAPLE SMITH

  “You can’t sew buttons on your neighbour’s mouth.”

  - Russian Proverb

  ACT ONE

  Welcome to Huntington

  As the self-appointed leader of the Huntington Village neighbourhood watch group, it was my job to make sure there was always a vigilant eye on the street. I was that vigilant eye; awake all hours of the morning, twitching at my curtains. And it didn’t matter what Norma Newton said, the old bat, I was doing my duty.

  Huntington Village, situated in the town of Huntington, Oxfordshire, had been my home for over forty years, although at my age, years just flew by. I’d watched people come and go, but never me, I stayed put. 7 Robb Road, and my best friend, Betsy Bennett lived to the left of me, next door at number 9.

  After my husband died seven years ago, I retired and settled into finding hobbies. None of them stuck; I’m a dab hand in the garden, but the strenuous work at my age doesn’t do me any favours. I tried to crochet, but that played havoc with my fingers. My most recent attempt at something was painting; it wasn’t as easy as I’d have hoped – who would’ve known the amount of turpentine solution it took to clean a single brush.

  Alongside the gardening, the one constant in my life was a TV series called ‘Doctor Manhattan’, a show about a fancy American doctor who went above and beyond for his patients. I related to him on a level that only the character understood; we were both a little intrusive and nosey. Plus, he was easy on the eyes.

  Midnight came. I brushed my teeth and settled onto the bottom of my bed, rubbing a night cream into my hands and spotting it across my face. I would often pause in place, sighing in reflection of over forty years’ worth of memories.

  “Soft plump skin,” I read aloud from the container of the handpump cream. I had no idea what that was supposed to do, but my mother had always told me, ‘prevention is better than cure’.

  I wore my hair back with a cotton headband to bed, it revealed the greying roots I’d been trying to hide with the blond box dyes. Hairdressers were far too fancy and out of my price range, but I wasn’t out trying to impress anyone.

  Massaging out the cream into my hands and arms, I stared straight ahead to the wall across from my bed; my memory wall, pictures of every major moment in my life, it was nice to sit and look, especially as I lived alone, and my daughter was all the way up in Scotland with her husband and their son.

  A rustle came from outside the open bedroom window. My head moved to the sound, it was close. I finished massaging the lotion out, my brow creasing as I strained to listen to the sound outside.

  The second rustle came, and this time I was on my feet at the window.

  It was approaching summer, almost the end of May, and there wasn’t a single breeze bustling down the road, nor were there leaves to blow. Peering out onto the dark street, I squinted, looking beneath the street lights spaciously placed on Robb Road.

  A door light flickered on ahead. Number 6. Maple Smith’s house.

  Beneath the light, a shadowy figure moved around, the rustling continued, a jangle of items mashing together.

  “Fudge,” I said in a shallow gasp, holding a hand to my mouth.

  Someone was stealing from Maple Smith’s house. I continued to watch, my limbs stiff and still in place. I hadn’t prepared for something like this happening, at least not to Maple’s house; she’d lived here for over ten years and her husband recently passed away.

  My moisture greased hands grabbed the landline telephone from the bedside table. I punched in number 3 on my speed dial, my teeth chattering with chomping clamps. It rang three times before a groggy voice spoke on the receiving end.

  “H—hello?” a hoarse voice spoke.

  Clearing my throat away from the phone, I pressed my mouth on the end. “Hello,” I said. “I’d like to report an active crime.”

  “Delia?”

  “Yes, Delia.”

  “Delia, why are you calling me?”

  I scoffed. “You are a detective constable.”

  “But I’m home, in bed, if it’s serious, call the police.”

  I scoffed louder. “You are the police, are you not.”

  “I’m not on duty.”

  Crime never slept, and nor should the officers sworn to protect us from such crimes. “Well, there’s someone outside going through Maple’s bins, they might even be stealing from her home.”

  “Is it an emergency?”

  “Not qui—”

  Click. The phone cut off.

  I placed it back on the receiver, my voice shaky a
nd my heart beating rapidly. I picked the phone up again, this time punching in number 1 on my speed dial.

  “Delia? What’s happened?” a panicked voice answered.

  Betsy Bennett was there no matter what.

  “Oh, Betsy, I think there’s a vagabond on the street.”

  “Who? What?”

  “He’s going through Maple’s bins.”

  “Maple?” she gasped. “No?”

  A deep hum broke from the back of my throat. “I saw it,” I said, standing and approaching the window sill. “He was carrying something. A large bag.” A finger twitched against the curtain. “Oh, he’s still there!” I gasped.

  The figure was tall, on the heavier side, they must have packed a lot inside their clothes.

  “Let me see.”

  A muffle came as she moved away from the phone, most likely to check on the criminal infiltrating our neighbourhood. Betsy’s husband spoke, asking her what she was doing getting out of bed.

  “You alright?”

  “Oh, Delia, do you think he’ll go through our bins?” she asked.

  “Lord, I hope not.”

  She sighed. “I’m not going to sleep tonight.”

  “Yes, you will,” Billy, her husband, chuckled.

  It was a worry, he could get into all of our bins. “Finley Fletcher isn’t taking me seriously at all.”

  “Did you call him?”

  “Right before I called you.”

  “Who?” her husband asked.

  “DC Fletcher,” she said. “There’s a man rummaging through all the bins.”

  I hummed along to her. “Don’t forget to tell him, we could be next.”

  “And we could be next!” she said.

  My heart raced as I twirled the cord connecting the phone to the receiver. “I’m going out to see,” I said.

  “What’s she saying?”

  “She’s going out.”

  “I’m putting my slippers on.”

  Billy’s gruff voice came on the phone. “Delia, you’re not leaving that house,” he said. “If he’s armed and you’re hurt, David will give me earache in the afterlife.”

  I sat back on the bed, pulling away from the commotion of the man as he filled a plastic bag with the contents of Maple Smith’s bins. I closed my eyes and repeated Billy’s words back in my head. “You’re right,” I said. “We need to call Maple and tell her.”

  “No, no, no,” Billy’s voice called out loudly. “If she finds out and goes to check, he might cause some serious damage.”

  “But I should go and check on Maple, her husband’s only been in the grave for four weeks, we can’t have her worrying about theft too.”

  “Delia, it’s me again,” Betsy’s voice came through. “We’ll go see Maple tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I stood once again, twitching at the curtains. The homeless person had gone, and hopefully, they hadn’t gone to another house or another set of bins. And as the president of the neighbourhood watch group, I should’ve been out there in the thick of it.

  “Looks like he’s gone,” I said, pulling at the telephone cord a little too tight. It fell to the ground with a crash, pulling the phone along with it. “Fudge!”

  I wasn’t sure how I was able to get the thought of someone roaming the neighbourhood, stealing from our bins, but I did, eventually, and had a good night of rest, only waking once after snoring so loud I thought someone tore a hole through the bedroom.

  Pulling myself out of bed, I settled upright and curled my toes slightly. I didn’t know what I was going to be doing today, but I knew I needed to check on Maple. Heaven forbid something horrible happened or the homeless man actually rummaged through more bins on the street.

  A shudder ran through my back. I pushed myself out of bed and strolled across to the window, opening my curtains to flood the room with light. The bin men must have already been. He was a clever homeless man, coming late at night, just before the bins were to be taken away. I had to give him credit.

  Ring. Ring.

  My hand grabbed the receiver in a swift hook. “Hello?”

  “You up?” Betsy asked. “I tried before but the back door was locked. I’m coming over.”

  I chuckled softly. “I’m not dressed. I’ve only just opened my eyes.”

  “Oh, then I’ll bring coffee,” she said.

  As Betsy lived next door, she practically lived here most of the time too, and I didn’t mind, as long as she kept me in a constant supply of coffee.

  I wore a floral dress with frills around the arms and neckline. It was almost summer, and my summer clothing was growing restless in the back of my wardrobe. I paired it nicely with some white kitten heels, the same pair I used for church.

  Betsy appeared around the back of the house, tapping on the conservatory door.

  My house was way too large for any one person to live in alone, but I couldn’t sell it, my daughter had grown up here, and I’d lived a happy married life. It did occasionally feel like I would need to downsize, but where else would I live?

  “Morning,” her chipper voice called out as she walked inside, holding two large white ceramic mugs of coffee.

  Betsy had a thick head of black hair, all combed back on top of her head. Naturally, Betsy was completely grey now, we all were.

  “Have you been to see Maple?” I asked, nodding to the long oak dining table.

  “Not yet,” she said. “I didn’t want to disturb her.”

  I sipped from the cup, my eyes rolling at the taste of coffee. “We should go over soon,” I said, “I’d hate to think she’s the gateway to a crime that might affect the rest of us.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” she shuddered, sitting beside me. “I mean, could you imagine; the poor woman has been through enough, and plus, Billy and I already donate to the local charities.”

  Betsy always made her coffee strong. Sometimes too strong, the type that went right through me. “I think we should call DC Fletcher again,” I said. “I want one of those CCTV things going up in the area.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” She nodded in agreement. “Maybe we should bring it up at the neighbourhood watch meeting?”

  I snapped my fingers. “Yes!” DC Fletcher volunteered his time to the village and the weekly meetings, considering his mother lived here at number 16. “I don’t know how to work one of those fancy phones with the camera,” I grumbled. “Imagine if I did, I could take the pictures myself.”

  “Is that what Doctor Manhattan would do?” she asked.

  I waved a hand at her. “Goodness, no.” The truth was, Doctor Manhattan would pay an investigator to do some of the legwork. “Anyway, that’s a television show.”

  She raised her coffee cup to me. “Here, here.”

  “Have you had breakfast?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Of course, the most important meal of the day.” Her gaze turned into an eye roll. “I’m guessing you haven’t yet.”

  “I woke up when you called.”

  “Make something now then,” she said.

  Betsy knew what was best. I stood and walked into the kitchen with her trailing behind. I placed some bread into the toaster. “Want some?”

  She gestured the cup cradled in her head. “I had mine already.”

  After the coffee and a small bite to eat, I was ready to talk with Maple. We hoped the news wouldn’t come as too much of a shock. The poor woman had been through enough already.

  Neither Betsy nor I had seen Maple since the funeral, we thought she was going to throw herself on top of the casket when it was being lowered into the ground. The poor thing couldn’t even think about having an open casket.

  “We should phone the council too,” Betsy said as we walked up the driveway from my house.

  I nodded. “Next step, after we speak with Maple and tell Finley he needs to upgrade his police detective game.”

  Approaching Maple’s house, she opened the door and stood with her nightgown wrapped tight at her wais
t and her eye mask pushed to the top of her forehead. She smiled. “Oh, hello.”

  “Maple, sweetie,” I said. “I’ve witnessed the most heinous of crimes being committed.”

  She gasped, grabbing at her nightgown. “Oh, goodness. Well, I hope you’re both okay.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “We’re both fine.”

  She clutched her neckline. “So, what happened?”

  I glanced at Betsy, sucking in a breath through my two front teeth.

  “Someone’s been stealing from your rubbish bins,” Betsy blurted.

  “No?”

  I nodded. “I witnessed it last night. I even tried to call Paulette’s son, but he was sleeping. Figures, right.”

  “Oh, well if he’s a homeless person, he’s probably in need,” she said.

  “Well, we donate to the shelters,” Betsy said.

  “Exactly. We’re already donating. I don’t know what else they’re wanting from us, but theft, I will not stand for theft,” I said.

  Maple huffed. “Well, I’d best bring my bins inside.”

  “We just wanted to inform you,” Betsy said. “Once one of them comes sniffing around, it will lead to many more people and then before you know it, property prices will drop and we’ll have one of the houses turned into one of those--those--” she snapped her fingers.

  “Halfway houses,” I finished. “Or shelters.”

  She snapped again. “That’s it,” she said. “Imagine not feeling comfortable enough to leave your doors unlocked at night for fear of being robbed.”

  Maple sighed. “If he comes over again, I’ll call Finley,” she said. “The last thing I want is for the two of you to be going crazy about a man looking for his next meal.”

  Both Betsy and I nodded in a synchronised bob. “That’s fine,” I said. “But we need to deter them, and if anyone else’s bins are spotted being gone through, we’ll speak with them too.”

  “The neighbourhood watch is a serious business,” Betsy added.