Murder Mystery & Suspense Short Stories

By Marie Sever

Seventeen short stories demonstrating the greed and temptations of the characters. These stories include some alternative sources of meat, shrunken heads, poisoning, a hit-man and more. Some are not for the squeamish.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marie Sever
• Release date: Jan 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310347399

Book preview

Murder, Mystery and Suspense

Seventeen Short Stories 17 short stories

Published by Marie Sever 2013

Discover other titles by Marie Sever:

Wipe Your Feet Please! Diaries of a Guesthouse (First in the series)

No Food in Rooms Please! (Second in the series)

Don’t Slam the Doors Please! (Third in the series)

Key Under Blue Pot and Please Milk The Goat

Radiographers Do It In Monochrome (Published under B B Blunt)

Published by

Marie Sever

E-book edition

Copyright 2013 Marie Sever

Smashwords License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords or your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations and incidents portrayed in this book and the names herein are fictitious. Any similarity to or identification with the locations, names, characters, incidents or history of any person, product or entity in coincidental and unintentional.

Introduction

These seventeen short stories show the extent people will go to in order to obtain their desires. They are a mix of murders, deception, greed and misunderstanding.

Acknowledgement

I’d like to thank the following people who have helped support me in my writing:

My daughter Zee Malan, my husband Ian Sever, and my friend, an author in her own right, Wendy Carter.

INDEX

Freefall

Liver and onions

Diamonds aren’t for ever

As close as sisters

Twin problems

Life’s a lottery

DNA

Tick-Tock

Farmers must diversify

Let the best man win

Where there’s a will there’s a way

Mid life crisis

Robbing Hood

Double dealing

The flight now leaving.............

I wish I’d stayed in bed today

Don’t take your brother to work!

FREE FALL

The Micro-light was flimsy, and very noisy. When his daughter and wife had given him the flight as an early birthday present, James hadn't realised he would be flying under a kite powered by what appeared to be a lawn mower engine. An experienced parachutist, he was more used to twin engine planes that felt more stable, however it would be a memorable experience.

The Micro-light club was only a mile from his house and the pilot had asked if he would like to bring a camera, and take aerial photos of his house and grounds. At the time James had thought it a good idea. Whereas he could look on Google Earth for photos, it would be great to take a couple himself and frame them. With difficulty in the confined space, he managed to extract the compact camera from his pocket. Wrapping the cord around his wrist, to avoid dropping it, he waited for the micro light to be in position so that his house was in shot. The wind whipped into his face, an experience he wasn't used to.

After taking several shots, he judged there should be at least one good enough to frame. He sat back, feeling slightly more confident in this mode of transport, and began to enjoy the view, the pilot still circling. There was his house again, with his wife's BMW on the drive. And another car. What was it? A Blue Volvo estate with a roof rack. And a tree shaped air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror. Whose was it? Davina, his wife had said she was staying at home, doing some cleaning. He wondered who had dropped in.

The initial excitement on entering the micro light had waned. During the rest of the flight he pondered the car. He didn't recognise it. Probably it belonged to one of her friends. That was it. Someone had popped around for a coffee. One of many of his wife's ‘ladies who lunch.' Davina had a private income, having inherited over fifteen million pounds from her paternal grandfather. She had no need to work, although she did a few hours a week as a volunteer at the local hospice.

James had worked his way up in the leisure industry before he met his wife. He owned a chain of exercise gyms, and could now afford to just manage his managers and ensure his accountant didn’t rob him. So, despite not being able to compete in the wealth stakes, he had no need to expect that any of her money would come his way.

His wife's days as a dilettante bothered him. She painted landscapes, did light gardening, baked and hosted lavish dinner parties and managed the nanny, gardener, cleaner and swimming pool cleaner. She wasn't wasteful with her inheritance, dressing well but usually adding to her wardrobe only when she really didn't have something suitable in her collection. They went skiing at least once a year and took suites on prestige cruise-liners where they could avoid the ‘little people’ as she called them. He still felt like a ‘little person’ having dragged himself up from a poor area in the north of England. His parents were still boasting that he was the first in his family to go to university, despite Janes having graduated nearly thirty years ago.

His main concern was that Davina would be bored and take a lover. She was beautiful at thirty-one, and looking at her mother, she would still, he hoped, be as beautiful in her fifties. James sometimes felt every one of his forty-nine years. He sometimes still found it hard to believe that he had snagged such a beautiful wife, almost twenty years his junior. Their daughter Maisie had just turned five and was the image of her mother. Now she was at school, Davina had more time on her hands.

When James admitted to himself his main concern, he would feel nauseous. He was worried sick his wife would meet someone younger, more attractive, wealthier, more charming, and wittier. In fact, everything he wasn't.

In the month since Maisie started school, he quizzed his wife re the content of her days. Her answers seemed unnecessarily boring: gardening, shopping, and tea out with friends. He had problems believing her life could be so mundane and felt that she was inventing inconsequential activities to mislead him. Then he would remember that as they had a nanny, who had been appointed a week before Maisie's birth, Davina could go off at any time, leaving their daughter in good hands.

Suddenly, he realised the pilot was pointing towards the ground. They were about to land. His concerns about the strange car on his drive had taken over, causing him to miss the views during his flight. He’d taken fewer photos than he had intended.

The short drive from the airfield gave him only a little time to ponder the mysterious car. If it was still there when he returned home, he would then find out who had visited. The nanny would have collected Maisie from school by now, delivered her to Davina, and left for the day.

Davina's BMW hadn't moved, and was the only car on the drive. The sound of his key in the front door lock told Maisie that her father was home. Rushing toward him and flinging her little arms around his legs gave him the familiar warmth in his heart. He was home with his family.

Davina came through having heard their daughter's excited screeches. 'Hello darling, how was the flight?' She kissed him and awaited his answer.

'Cold, noisy and rather frightening, actually. But thanks to both of you for such a wonderful present.'

Davina hadn't mentioned the visitor, so he would. 'What did you get up to today sweetheart?'

'Not much. I was at home all day. I emailed Mum and booked a taster riding lesson next Saturday for Maisie. Other than that, all I've done is a bit of tidying, started reading a new thriller and plucked my eyebrows. Not exciting!'

No mention of the visitor with the Volvo estate, he noted. 'Did anyone drop in?' He thought he detected a flush to her cheeks and her eyes slid sideways as she denied that anyone other than the nanny had been to the house.

In bed that night, sitting side by side, she reading her novel, he trying to proof-read the next issue of the leisure magazine he published for his sports centres, his doubts about his wife's fidelity festered. He tossed and turned all night, worry burrowing into his heart like a maggot. By morning, he was convinced she was having a full-blown affair with someone wealthy, younger and far more attractive than he. She had bought him the micro-light flight so she could spend a couple of hours with her paramour. He felt sick.

The three of them had breakfast together, Maisie chattering away nineteen to the dozen. James tried to eat the scrambled egg and bacon that Davina had cooked for him. It was like eating sawdust. It seemed so dry in his mouth. His stomach was churning and he thought he would be sick. Davina chattered away to both of them as if nothing was wrong. He had to know whose car was in the photo.

He realised that Davina had asked a question. She repeated, 'Did you take any photos from your flight?'

'Yes, yes I did.' Abruptly, he left the table and dashed into his study, his wife staring after him, her mouth open at his odd behaviour. Half an hour later, the breakfast things and his half-eaten breakfast having been cleared away, he showed his wife and daughter the photos. She made no remark about the other car on the drive, and he decided not to mention it. He returned to his study to further examine the mysterious car.

The photos loaded onto his computer showed some very good views of the house and grounds, and a couple had the cars clearly in shot. He enlarged those, and whilst he couldn't see the number plate of the mystery car, he saw the roof rack and what could be an air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror. He printed the two clearest photos of the car and slipped them into his pocket.

The next day, while Davina and Maisie were in church, James put his clubs in the car boot to meet Paul for a round of golf. On arrival at the club, he couldn’t see Paul’s car, a grey Mazda MX5. Paul, his golf partner, was late. James parked the car and went into the clubhouse to wait for him. Fifteen minutes later he received a text from Paul to say he was late but would arrive soon. By the time Paul arrived he was half an hour late.

'I'm so sorry James, something cropped up. Let's get going, shall we?' They enjoyed their round, with Paul winning as usual.

The customary couple of drinks in the clubhouse followed, and then James said he had to be off home for lunch. Walking out together, the two friends made another golf date for two Sundays away. James arrived at his Mercedes and said farewell to Paul. The latter, having arrived late, was parked further away from the club, so carried on walking.

At the exit, James had to wait to turn right into the busy traffic. He was conscious of a car pulling up behind him. It was Paul, in a blue Volvo estate, with a roof rack and a tree-shaped air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror. Paul had changed his car. The realisation that his friend had been visiting his wife, and having an affair was like being punched in the stomach by a heavyweight boxer. A red mist covered his eyes. A car horn tooted behind him, and then Paul arrived at his window, looking concerned.

'Are you ok? You've missed several large gaps in the traffic. You look awful.'

James was speechless. Here was the man, whom he considered a close friend, playing around with his wife, making a fool of him. How dare he. There were plenty of single women out there. Why did he have to have his wife?

The mist finally clearing, James pulled into a gap too small for safety, and the car behind had to break sharply, the driver's anger demonstrated by repeated punching of the horn.

On reaching home he sat in the car for a few minutes. He clenched fists and tears streaked down his cheeks. He was losing his wife. She'd take his daughter away from him. He had to stop it. He had to stop Paul taking his wife away. Eventually, Davina went out to his car and asked if he was all right. Paul had phoned her, saying James hadn't seemed well. His former friend's name caused his heart to thump again. Davina didn’t even feel guilty telling him her boyfriend had been on the phone, chatting to her.

That evening he kept looking at his wife and child, knowing what