Promenade with Death

By Cecilia Peartree

This is the 14th novel in the Pitkirtly Mystery series, set in a fictitious small town on the coast of Fife.
When an amateur theatre group plans a promenade performance on Pitkirtly Island in the dark - on Hallowe'en - this seems to Amaryllis like a recipe for disaster, so naturally she pays close attention to the project.
By the time it is over, several people's lives have been changed forever, and at least one case a life has come to an abrupt end.
Warning: this book may not be suitable for readers of a nervous disposition and those who love Shakespeare!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cecilia Peartree
• Release date: Oct 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370186945

Cecilia Peartree

Cecilia Peartree is the pen name of a writer from Edinburgh. She has dabbled in various genres so far, including science fiction and humour, but she keeps returning to a series of 'cosy' mysteries set in a small town in Fife.The first full length novel in the series, 'Crime in the Community', and the fifth 'Frozen in Crime are 'perma-free' on all outlets.The Quest series is set in the different Britain of the 1950s. The sixth novel in this series, 'Quest for a Father' was published in March 2017..As befits a cosy mystery writer, Cecilia Peartree lives in the leafy suburbs with her cats.

Book preview

Promenade with Death

Cecilia Peartree

Cecilia Peartree

Copyright 2017

All rights reserved

Smashwords edition

Contents:

Chapter 1 So Fair and Foul a Day

Chapter 2 Not Speaking

Chapter 3 Early Warning

Chapter 4 Eavesdropper

Chapter 5 In the Dark

Chapter 6 El Presidente - Deposed

Chapter 7 In Two Minds, like Hamlet

Chapter 8 What, in our Hut?

Chapter 9 Reinforcements

Chapter 10 Peace! The Charm’s Wound Up

Chapter 11 Even More Questions

Chapter 12 Entertaining Mr Miller

Chapter 13 Taking Things Forward

Chapter 14 An Encounter

Chapter 15 Monday Comes Round Again

Chapter 16 On Sticks

Chapter 17 Visitors or Customers?

Chapter 18 Not a Word to Anyone

Chapter 19 Amaryllis is Bored

Chapter 20 Friendly Faces?

Chapter 21 Mr Miller Comes to Stay

Chapter 22 Supper at Christopher’s

Chapter 23 Doing it Again

Chapter 24 All Bang and No Sparkle

Chapter 25 Research Overload

Chapter 26 Looking for Jan

Chapter 27 Revisiting the Scene

Chapter 28 Conclave

Chapter 29 Silent but Sparkly

About the Pitkirtly Mystery series

Chapter 1 So Fair and Foul a Day

The scene was lit by an eerie glow that came from a bonfire somewhere in the background. Three figures wrapped in dark cloaks followed each other round in a circle, then turned and went the other way.

‘Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble.’

Next to her, Jock McLean drew in a sharp breath.

‘What are they playing at?’

‘It sounds like Shakespeare to me,’ said Amaryllis in a low voice.

‘I’d better get Hamish on the lead,’ muttered Jock. ‘You never know. It might be a cult that sacrifices dogs.’

He whistled to Hamish, who had been scuffling about in the undergrowth, probably looking for rabbits. Amaryllis admired the dog’s insouciance. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the odd-looking women.

Someone else emerged from behind a tumbledown wall, almost as if in response to the whistle. As she came closer, Amaryllis saw in the half-light that it was Fiona Fitzgibbon. No doubt she was hatching some plan to disrupt the peace of the local area again. Excellent!

‘I didn’t think there’d be anybody out here at this time in the evening,’ said Fiona, making a disapproving face.

‘We’re walking the dog,’ said Jock, clipping Hamish’s lead on. ‘We didn’t think anybody would be doing – whatever they’re up to.’

The three figures came to a halt and approached Amaryllis, Jock and Fiona. As they came closer, Amaryllis recognised one of them as Jan, originally from the wool-shop and now also part-owner of a café.

‘We’re rehearsing,’ Fiona explained.

‘I didn’t know you acted, Jan,’ said Amaryllis.

Jan tried to hide behind the woman next to her. It wouldn’t have been difficult, for the other woman was much taller than she was and had a more imposing presence. When she pushed her hood back, she revealed long dark curls.

‘This is Aurora,’ said Jan with apparent reluctance.

The tall woman advanced on them, hand held out. ‘Aurora Lightfoot.’

She shook Amaryllis’s hand, but Jock McLean pretended to be adjusting his dog’s lead.

Amaryllis hoped the third woman would turn out to be either Penelope Johnstone or Maisie Sue McPherson, but she saw that this one had the hood of her cloak up and was hanging back behind the others. It was too dark to identify her tonight, but Amaryllis had high hopes of finding out the third sister’s name from Jan on some later occasion.

‘So where are you planning to put on your show?’ enquired Jock. ‘Surely not the Cultural Centre.’

Fiona made an expansive gesture taking in the whole of Pitkirtly Island, and some of the River Forth too. ‘Here.’

‘What – here in this spot?’ said Jock.

‘Here, and further along there, and round by the ruins at the far side,’ said Fiona. ‘But that’s all I can tell you at the moment. You’ll have to get a ticket and come along on the night if you want to find out all about it.’

‘A ticket? To come for a walk on Pitkirtly Island?’ said Jock.

Amaryllis could tell he was spoiling for a fight. He probably felt threatened by all the women, she reasoned. There had been something quite scary about the circling figures and the flickering light from the fire, although of course once you realised one of them had been Jan from the wool-shop, the mystique went out of it slightly.

‘Is there anyone else we know in the cast?’ she enquired.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Jan. ‘It’s mostly people from a group in Dunfermline. They put an advert in the local paper for extra actors, and I answered it.’

‘Have you done this kind of thing before?’ said Amaryllis. It would have been an understatement to say she had never thought of Jan as having any dramatic aspirations. The woman was usually so self-effacing that everyone tended, very unfairly, to forget about her.

Jan shook her head. ‘But it’s something I’ve always wanted to have a go at. And the play’s really interesting.’

‘I suppose it is,’ said Amaryllis.

‘We’re not just doing Macbeth, either,’ said Fiona Fitzgibbon airily. ‘It’s a mash-up. Macbeth and Hamlet.’

‘Both of them?’ Amaryllis wondered exactly how long this open-air performance was expected to take. And whether the rain would hold off for it.

‘Not quite,’ said Fiona. ‘But of course you’ll have to come along to see it to find out how it works. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by its originality. And the acting of course.’

Jock opened his mouth again, probably to put his foot in it, and Amaryllis decided to hurry him away for his own protection.

‘We’ll let you get on,’ she said, and tugged at Jock’s arm. ‘Hamish doesn’t like standing about for too long, does he?’

‘See you on the night, then!’ Fiona called after them.

Amaryllis half-turned. ‘What night is it?’

‘Oh, Hallowe’en, of course,’ said Fiona.

‘Of course it is,’ said Amaryllis under her breath.

She towed Jock and Hamish along until they dug their heels in and refused to go any further at that speed.

‘I don’t see why they should take over the Island like that,’ said Jock. He walked on at a more moderate pace. Amaryllis tried to slow her steps to match, although she was keen to drop in on Christopher and pass on the news, and perhaps also on Maisie Sue to find out if she knew about Jan’s involvement.

‘If it’s only for one night that isn’t so bad,’ she said.

‘Hallowe’en, though,’ said Jock. ‘Isn’t it bad luck to do Macbeth on Hallowe’en? And on the Island, too – you never know what might happen there.’

‘No, you don’t know,’ said Amaryllis. ‘It’s great, isn’t it?’

The walk back into town was taken up with a long diatribe from Jock about people thinking they owned the place, and the dangers of laughing at historic traditions. She wasn’t entirely clear about what he meant by that. Jock had never struck her as being a superstitious man. Perhaps he had been spending too much time with Jemima and Dave lately. Not that they were the kind to believe in ghosts and legends either, but Jemima was obsessed with local history. Perhaps there was something in that to frighten people.

Fortunately for her sanity, Jock took Hamish off home when they reached the end of his street. Christopher, who had eaten his evening meal and was relaxing in his front room over some statistics he claimed Mr Miller from the Council wanted by the next day, seemed unusually happy to be interrupted.

‘You knocked on the door!’ he said to Amaryllis accusingly.

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You can’t always expect me to come in through the ceiling like a deus ex machina.’

He looked at her oddly. ‘What made you think of that?’

‘It’s a dramatic device,’ she told him. ‘A god from the machine.’

‘Yes, I know that, but...’

‘There’s a drama in hand.’

‘Isn’t there always? Do you want a coffee now you’re here? Or have you come to drag me down to the Queen of Scots?’

‘Don’t you want to know about the drama?... A coffee would be nice. Have you got biscuits?’

They went into the kitchen, and she rootled around in the Prince George tin she had given him as a joke.

‘So what’s this about?’ he said.

‘Fiona Fitzgibbon. Jock and I were walking Hamish when we met her out on the Island with three weird sisters.’

‘I didn’t know she had sisters? Are they all like her?’

‘No – they’re witches.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if...’

‘No, I mean they’re the witches from Macbeth,’ said Amaryllis, carefully selecting a piece of shortbread. ‘They were rehearsing.’

‘Ah! That explains it,’ said Christopher, staring at the kettle. ‘Fiona did leave a poster on my desk the other day, but there was an accident with the shredder before I’d really looked at it properly. Something about Hallowe’en.’

‘That’s it,’ said Amaryllis. ‘They’re planning to do a mash-up of Macbeth and Hamlet on Hallowe’en. At Pitkirtly Island.’

Christopher blinked, apparently trying to take in all the information.

‘I didn’t know there was any kind of theatre there. Unless they’re putting up a marquee on that flat bit by the railway line.’

‘I don’t think they are,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Are you going to make the coffee or will I do it? It’s to be what you might call a promenade performance.’

She moved towards the kettle, observing that Christopher was now deep in thought, which often meant that he couldn’t do anything else at the same time.

‘I think I’ve seen one of those before,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Only it had to be called off halfway through because of the thunder and lightning. Of course, if they would choose June to do it...’

‘What are the chances of it staying dry on Hallowe’en, though?’ said Amaryllis.

She poured the coffee and took the mugs to the table, where they sat with the biscuit tin between them.

‘What did Jock and Hamish think of it?’ said Christopher.

Amaryllis rolled her eyes. ‘What do you think they thought? I had to put up with Jock ranting all the way back.’

‘Maybe the Council will put a stop to it,’ said Christopher. ‘There’s still time.’

‘Only a week to go until Hallowe’en,’ Amaryllis reminded him. ‘I hope they weren’t relying on your poster to sell the tickets.’

‘They’ve probably got a website as well,’ said Christopher. ‘I’m surprised Jemima hasn’t said anything. She usually keeps tabs on what’s going on.’

‘She and Dave were away on holiday last week, though,’ said Amaryllis. ‘She might not have been online lately... I hope they got on all right. I don’t know that she wanted to go on a coach tour but Dave talked her into it.’

Christopher shuddered.

‘There’s another thing,’ added Amaryllis. ‘Jan was one of the witches.’

‘Jan from the wool-shop?’

‘Yes.’

Christopher shook his head. ‘I just hope she knows what she’s getting into.’

Chapter 2 Not Speaking

It was difficult to work in the café and shop with somebody who was determined not to speak to you, Jan discovered. Of course, if she had realised beforehand that Maisie Sue found the whole idea of witches and Hallowe’en so abhorrent, she would never have agreed to play the part, but it was too late now. She wished Maisie Sue would accept that it was all just for fun, and didn’t mean Jan had actually enrolled in some sort of a coven.

To get round Maisie Sue’s hostility, Jan concentrated on staying in the wool-shop part of the premises as much as possible, only venturing into the café when it was absolutely necessary. She had to allow Maisie Sue a lunch break, after all, even if the other woman, to judge by her attitude, would prefer not to have taken one but to have carried on working until she dropped rather than ask Jan to help.

It was only when a customer approached her tentatively with a question the day after the rehearsal on the Island that she realised how serious it all was.

‘Mrs McPherson said to ask you if you would mind the till in the café for five minutes while she goes down to the supermarket for some change,’ said the woman, rushing her words. Maybe she had been worried about forgetting them.

Jan opened her mouth to ask why Mrs McPherson couldn’t have asked her in person, but the woman appeared so nervous that she didn’t have the heart. Instead she smiled and thanked the messenger, who scurried off as fast as her legs would carry her. To calm herself, for a moment she carried on re-arranging her 4-ply selection, which was proving unexpectedly popular these days as people wrestled with knitting their own socks, then went through to the café area.

There were no customers in evidence at the moment, and Jan knew there wouldn’t be very many more if this kind of thing continued.

She went to the door and turned the sign to ‘Closed’ before confronting Maisie Sue, who was fiddling about selecting notes from the till and peering at each of them closely before putting them in a bag.

‘This can’t go on,’ said Jan.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Maisie Sue.

‘This thing,’ said Jan, waving her hands about as if to indicate the enormity of the thing. ‘Not speaking to each other.’

Maisie Sue straightened up and turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry? I thought you had started it.’

‘I didn’t start the not speaking thing,’ said Jan, wishing she could be more articulate, like Amaryllis. It was the first time she had even contemplated wanting to be like Amaryllis in any way whatsoever, so that was a bit of a shock in itself. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘Apart from going over to the dark side,’ said Maisie Sue.

There wasn’t the slightest sign that she might be joking. Her mouth had turned down, and her expression was serious, maybe even sad.

‘The dark side?’

Maisie Sue nodded.

‘The dark side?’ repeated Jan. ‘I’m in a play, that’s all. If you think I’m taking any of this seriously...’

‘But it surely is serious, Jan!’’ said Maisie Sue. ‘It may be all play-acting to you, but it’s black magic all the same... Who knows where it will end?’

‘It’s a play,’ said Jan. ‘If you can’t see the difference between real life and theatre, then... I just don’t know.’

‘I don’t know if we can work together any more,’ said Maisie Sue, frowning. ‘If I’d known you were the kind of person to dabble in black magic....’

‘But I’m not!’ cried Jan. ‘I’m not any kind of person. I’m just me. I’m the same person I was yesterday, and last week, and last year. Nothing’s changed.’

Maisie Sue gave her a hard look. ‘In that case I’ve been very much deceived all along.’

‘I just don’t see the problem,’ said Jan helplessly, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Is it play-acting you don’t like? Or is it the idea of witches?’

Maisie Sue shuddered. Her hands twitched, and Jan had the silly idea that she wanted to cross herself but she was holding back this urge. Surely Maisie Sue didn’t believe in all that kind of thing? She did have her little quirks of course, being American, but this seemed like a particularly odd and unexpected one.

‘I have my reasons,’ said Maisie Sue after a long pause. She gathered up the bag of notes and moved towards the door. ‘I guess you’d better open it.’

Jan saw two people peering through the glass. She opened the door to let them in, and Maisie Sue pushed past rudely and rushed off down the street.

‘My goodness,’ said Jemima Douglas. ‘Where’s she off to in such a hurry?’

‘She didn’t even tell us to have a nice day!’ said Dave, her husband, indignantly.

‘Are you open now?’ said Jemima.

Jan nodded. ‘Just sit anywhere. Tea or coffee? Cake? Scones?’

When she delivered the order to their table – two coffees and a scone each – Jemima grabbed her arm and said in a stage whisper, which was quite unnecessary as there was nobody else in the place,

‘What’s wrong? Have you two had a falling-out?’

Jan blinked. Of course she had known Jemima and Dave for a while, but she had never really considered herself a friend of theirs or one of their circle. On the contrary, she had felt excluded in some indefinable way. They were such a close group. Amaryllis, Christopher and Jock McLean. And Charlie Smith, of course. But she didn’t really want to think about him.

She was surprised by Jemima’s concern, anyway.

‘Not really. Well, yes, I suppose we have. But I’d better not say any more.’

‘Is it anything to do with this Macbeth thing?’ said Jemima.

‘Macbeth thing? Oh – the witches.’ Jan tried to appear casual, although she was afraid Jemima could see through it.

‘How did you get into that anyway?’ enquired Jemima.

‘Oh, it was just one of those things. I saw an advert for the group and I thought I’d have a go at it. I didn’t really expect to get a part but they seemed to think I could do a few lines. But it’s nothing to do with real witches or anything.’

‘Real witches?’ Dave gave a roar of laughter.

Just at that moment Maisie Sue came back in. She gave the little group a stern look as she went back behind the counter and put coins into the till with a great deal of noise..

‘Don’t laugh,’ whispered Jan.

‘When is it happening?’ asked Jemima.

‘It’s on Hallowe’en,’ said Jan, still in a low voice. ‘Were you thinking of coming along?’

‘Can you get us tickets?’ said Jemima.

Jan nodded. ‘Just pop in for them on Thursday,’ she mouthed.

‘Thursday?’ said Dave loudly.

‘Sssh, Dave!’ Jemima told him.

‘You’ll really enjoy it,’ whispered Jan. ‘It should be quite spectacular, what with the flaming torches and everything.’

Maisie Sue, almost right behind her, made Jan jump by saying to Jemima, ‘Mrs Douglas, would you kindly tell Jan that I don’t need her help any longer?’

‘Tell her yourself!’ said Dave, indignant on Jan’s behalf.

‘Sssh, Dave!’ said Jemima again. ‘Let them sort it out between themselves.’

Blushing furiously, Jan scuttled away and took refuge between