Just a Simple Little Painting: Everything Changes

By bea kendall

♥ Moving on should be easier than this ♥

All is quiet at the newly-opened BlackLeaf Private Investigations Agency, apart from the blame game running amok in Fern and Raven's minds. Tetchiness is alive and well.

When a local hotel owner calls upon them after a spate of thefts threatens her trade prior to the Summer Fête, Raven is hired as a mystery guest. But before she can even check in, a real case comes knocking.

A particularly disagreeable guest has reported the theft of a painting from her hotel safe, and she insists the rookie investigators find it ...quickly. She even tells them who took the painting. Yeah, weird, right?

Confused as to whether it can now count as a legitimate case, Raven and Fern must act like the professionals they claim to be. But tracking the culprit down is not so straightforward, drawing them into a much bigger drama involving the painting's true provenance.

A trip to The Netherlands ensues, uncovering a WWII heroine and a vast network of art fraud, but little do they know a bigger nightmare awaits them back in Framleigh.

Just a Simple Little Painting tests the two young women as wounds of the past continue to inflict harm on their working relationship and, ultimately, their friendship.

What could possibly go wrong?

Women's Fiction with a mystery thread and a hint of psychopath

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkfellows Publications
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201750701

Book preview

Just a Simple Little Painting

Bea Kendall

Written in British English

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Epilogue

A note from me to you

Stay in touch

Coming Next

Copyright

First published by Inkfellows Publications 2021

Copyright © 2021 by LS Fellows

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

LS Fellows asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Written in British English

Dedication

To readers everywhere.

Without you, these stories are just voices in my head,

and we all know that’s the first sign of insanity.

Inhale the future

Exhale the past

Chapter 1

HONEY TRAPS, LOST DOGS and the disappearance of a large marrow were the first cases that came into the Blackleaf Private Investigations’ Agency.

‘Living in a village has its downsides,’ said Fern, scrunching her brow while staring at the spreadsheet listing the six jobs they'd completed successfully since they'd opened their doors only five weeks earlier.

‘Yeah, it’s early days though. Things’ll pick up, after all Framleigh can’t just be a hotbed for Lotharios and lost dogs.’ Raven laughed.

‘I don't think Mr Walsh intended to disappear on a Caribbean cruise with that salsa dancer. The dance lessons were meant to be a surprise for his wife at their fortieth anniversary.’

‘Pity his wife didn't see it that way. Though, I hear she's taken a fancy to the very sexy Vicente herself and is hellbent on screwing her husband out of every penny.’

‘You're pulling my leg. Pardon the pun.’ Fern chuckled, stretching out her Louboutin-clad feet and pushing back from her desk, ramming her wheelchair into Raven.

‘Oof! Have you got a licence for that thing?’ Raven bent down to rub her throbbing shin.

‘Sorry!’ Fern eked out an apologetic grin.

‘I’ll forgive you this time. And no, it's no joke. Mum said she heard about Vicente and Vicki, as she's now calling herself, down at the village hall. Victoria Walsh has cast off the twin set and pearls for leather trousers and a belly piercing.’

‘Now I know you’re teasing me. Even so, we need to expand our net if we're going to attract more interesting cases.’ Fern frowned. ‘I'm going to make some tea. Do you want anything?’

‘No, thanks. I'm off now. Another day, another dog to find. I'm going to put up these posters and walk the route again. Might see something new, but my guess is the poor dog's been sold on. See you later.’ Raven threw the bag across her body, zipped up her jacket and left their newly-created office. ‘Bye, Mum,’ she yelled before pulling the front door shut behind her.

The Agency premises were located in the back room of the townhouse Raven shared with her mum. Since both Fern and Mrs Hegarty needed wheelchair access, it made sense to use the converted property until the business took off. The back room had been a glorified dumping ground for excess suitcases, unused chairs and spare bedding once the extension - now Mrs Hegarty's bedroom - had been built. Now, it was their office. Four magnolia walls and a desk, though it might as well be a prison cell based on the hours she spent in there alone since Raven was rarely in. Fern rode into the kitchen and shook the kettle, before igniting the burner and going through the arch to the lounge.

‘Morning, Rachel. Do you want some tea?’

Rachel Hegarty, wearing a fluffy peach-coloured dressing gown and matching mule slippers, sat in front of the patio doors, newspaper in hand, watching Dougall running around the garden. ‘I'm fine, love. Your dog is quite the entertainer. He chased next door's cat as far as the apple tree and has been waiting patiently for her to come down. Bless him, he doesn't realise she's gone.’ Rachel laughed, her eyes crinkling. ‘You all right, Fern?’

‘I'm okay. A bit worried about not bringing in any business though. I feel pretty useless, sitting in that room staring at empty spreadsheets.’ Raven, as the only currently qualified investigator, was literally doing all the legwork. It didn't sit well with Fern, who was now doing the same Private Investigator's course so she could be a full partner beyond the office walls.

Originally, the business had been Raven's baby; she'd completed her studies, taken the self-defence classes and planned the whole enterprise before even asking Fern to join her. Their relatively new friendship had been cemented during the trial in Portugal, and they complemented each other both in skills and attitude. Raven was the justice-seeking former police cadet, Fern the studious, cool-headed accountant. Together they had most bases covered. What they lacked in experience, they made up for with a solid network of family and friends offering support, advice and plain old common sense.

‘It's early days. Things will pick up soon.’

‘You sound like Raven. I know you’re right and it’s probably a touch of cabin fever, but I can’t wait to get stuck in. I’ve had my nose in a book for too many years now; if it wasn’t such a bad pun I’d say I’ve got itchy feet.’

‘I know, love. I get days like that too. It’ll pass. Did Raven tell you about the mystery guest job at the Framleigh Inn?’

'No, she didn't.' Fern moved beside Rachel and grinned at her Pomeranian, Dougall, now snoozing under the tree.

‘My friend, Alice, is the owner. There’s been a spate of thefts at the hotel lately and she's worried the local rag,’ - Rachel waved her copy of the Framleigh Echo - ‘will run the stories and put people off staying there. Summer's her busiest time too. The village fête brings in lots of tourists and Alice can't afford to lose their trade.’

‘I can understand that. Mum had a cake shop before she retired, and she was run off her feet in the summer. How does this mystery guest thing work?’

‘Alice reckons it has to be one of the staff. She's had to take on a lot of temps for the summer, and since it's mainly items from the safes in guests' rooms going missing, she can only surmise there's a connection. Besides, the thefts have occurred over multiple days. A regular thief isn't going to keep coming back when a new guest arrives.’ Rachel paused to cough, clutching her chest at the effort.

‘Let me get you some water.’

‘I’m all right. A frog in my throat, nothing to worry about. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, ... I suggested Raven check in as a mystery guest. She can mooch around and see if there is anything to find. You know Raven: she loves sticking her nose in where it's not wanted. It'd be good practice to see if she can be as invisible as she claims she can. What d’you reckon?’

Fern plastered on a smile. ‘That's a great idea. Thanks, Rachel. We're lucky to have you and your ideas.’ The kettle whistled and she went to make her tea. Another job for good old Raven. ‘Let me know if Dougall becomes a pest. He can come and sit with me in the office. Do you need anything before I go?’

‘No, love. I’m just having a lazy old morning. Another one.’ She coughed again and Fern backed away hesitantly.

In the office, Fern sipped her tea and typed how to be a mystery guest into the search engine. Her screen displayed the question: Do you mean mystery shopper? She leaned in closer, her interest piqued. Of course, with Framleigh being so small, the opportunities were a big fat zero but the neighbouring big cities had potential.

‘Maybe I can be a mystery shopper at Shoe-tique. The staff in there need bringing down a peg or two.’ The idea made her smile. Those snooty assistants in that shoe shop treated wheelchair shoppers like dirt. What she wouldn’t give to return the favour.

‘Now, now, don’t stoop to their level,’ she muttered her dad’s mantra aloud. It had been his go-to comment ever since the hit-and-run accident that left her so reliant on her wheelchair, and when she first experienced those whispered comments and snide stares. She huffed and closed down the computer. Having learnt to read her own mood swings, it was pointless doing anything on days like this, days when the veil of vulnerability engulfed her. She hated being dependent on anyone and yearned for her old life back; constantly being told to be patient only wore her down. Nonetheless, she’d almost convinced herself that working with Raven would be good for her. A new start in a new business. She’d have no time to dwell on the past, especially the traumatic events of the all-too-recent trial. How wrong could she be?

Two months had passed since she and Raven returned home from Portugal, hell-bent on switching their focus from Stefan Pereira, her attacker, to the more fruitful challenge of building their agency. His parting words - Don't ever feel safe - which he spat at her as the guards took him away still festered in her mind. Her nights were filled with nightmares, reliving his attempt to drown her and imagining all sorts of new ways for him to kill her. It didn't help matters when he escaped from the remand centre only three days after he was found guilty. He was on the run and his threat was now tangible - at least in her mind. Not that she could reveal her concerns to Raven. Her friend had already done so much more for her than anyone outside of her immediate family. She couldn't dump any more on her. Besides, Raven had enough to deal with as her mother's health deteriorated. No, this was something that Fern would simply have to manage herself.

Chapter 2

RAVEN SHIVERED. IT was the middle of June and still no sign of summer. The park was bustling with joggers, dog-walkers and young mums with toddlers. Framleigh had experienced something of a population boom in recent years, mainly due to Eastern European migrants settling in the area, working on farms and in the factories of the nearby big cities of Birmingham and Coventry. She enjoyed hearing a spattering of foreign phrases; there was a certain mystique about not understanding what everyone was saying. Like being a foreign spy, or so she told her policeman boyfriend, Quinn. Strangely enough, he'd told her she was not only a few sandwiches short of a picnic but she was missing the whole hamper. She didn't mind his teasing though. At least she could be herself around him. No pretending to be something she wasn't. At home, she so wanted to appear to be strong for her mum's sake whose illness had taken her unawares. Even though Mrs Hegarty was a total fighter, Raven had watched her health deteriorate, spotted the extra frown lines, the grimaces when she tried to hide her pain. Quinn was her rock. The one person with whom she could open up and show her vulnerable side.

Fern, too, needed that same kind of constant support from her. Despite her aloofness, the girl was a mess of emotions. Paranoia perched on her shoulder, whispering messages of self-doubt in her ear. The trial in Portugal had lived up to its name - trying. Raven had hoped returning to Framleigh would be an end to it. But news of Stefan's escape came barely a few days after they'd got home. She could see it in Fern's eyes, or rather beneath them. The dark shadows she tried to hide under makeup still made themselves known. Clearly, she wasn't sleeping. Her mind wasn't on the job either. Raven had expected starting a new business to be tough, but she hadn't banked on carrying any dead weight. In the office, Fern managed the paperwork, creating invoices and monitoring expenditure. But she hadn't been much help generating any new cases, her mind still consumed with the whereabouts of Stefan damn Pereira.

Unfortunately, no-one knew where he was, not the police, not Nessa - his so-called girlfriend and mother of the child he'd kidnapped - and definitely not Fern. For all they knew he was still in Portugal.

Lost in her thoughts, Raven strolled along the leafy paths on automatic pilot, stopping only to pull another missing dog poster from her tote bag and slip it onto one of the numerous community noticeboards dotted throughout the park, advertising local services for local people. Stepping back from one such board she bumped into a small creature sniffing at her feet.

‘Hey, watch out, love. I think you must've trodden in summat. My dog's taken a liking to your shoes.’

The Westie gave an excited bark as Raven stumbled backwards.

‘Careful, there,’ said the white-haired owner at the other end of the lead. Bright beady eyes mirrored those of his pooch and all Raven could think of was the saying that owners grow to look like their pets.

She laughed. ‘Sorry, I was in a trance.’ She bent down to stroke the pup and saw exactly what his attraction to her was. Traces of ketchup and mustard stained a greasy paper trail, the remnants of a hot dog wrapper that had glued itself nicely to the sole of her shoe. Raising her foot, she peeled the offending item from her footwear, silently thanking God she'd not worn her expensive Nike ones that day. The dog jumped up, as though expecting a treat, his owner giving her a don't you dare look. She hopped over to the waste bin bolted to the frame of the noticeboard and dropped the wrapper inside, then scraped the heel of her trainer on the grass verge.

‘Kids, eh? Don't give a fudge about the village, do they? Dropping their rubbish wherever they like. Didn't happen when I were a lad.’ The white-haired man tugged at the dog's lead. ‘Come on, Benson, time we went home. Ta-ra, Miss. Best watch where you're going though, this park's a minefield of nasty droppings like that.’ He shuffled off, the Westie wagging his pert little tail as he followed his master.

Raven watched them disappear from view before continuing on with her mission. It never ceased to amaze her how the older generation always blamed the younger one, as if they'd never been guilty of anything. Her nan used to tell her stories about when she was a child and the tricks she'd played with her cronies during the war. Their antics made these litter louts seem like angelic choirboys. Besides, the old man couldn't say for sure if it was even kids. Plenty of older people ate fast food.

Her phone beeped and she swiped the screen to answer. ‘Hi Fern, what's up? I'm about halfway through here. Then I thought I'd go to—’

‘Alice, your mum's friend from the hotel, just called. There's been another theft and she's getting more desperate by the minute that the papers will catch on. Can you pop over and see her now? I'll meet you there. I need a break from staring at these four walls.’

Raven sighed. ‘Yes, sure. I'll go straight there. Bye then.’ She ended the call. Note to self: Tell Fern she’s not supposed to be staring at the walls anyway. With a huff, she checked the sole of her trainer was clear and headed for the South Gate. The Framleigh Inn was in the centre of the village, across from The Green. She could walk it in less than fifteen minutes.

Chapter 3

RAVEN ARRIVED TO FIND Alice Swift pacing the floor, the feverish nail-biting revealed all too clearly the stress she was under.

‘Oh, thank goodness you're here. This is turning into a nightmare. I really need some help, Raven. If it gets out that the hotel is besieged by robberies, I can kiss my summer trade goodbye.’

The front-of-house manager hovered behind. ‘Please, Alice, if anyone hears you or sees you in this state, they'll know something's wrong. Can you take the matter into your office? Leave me to manage things out here.’ The glamorous and perfectly-coiffed woman ushered Alice and Raven out of the foyer with elegant poise, as if her feet glided across the floor, and nimbly resumed her position behind the large oak reception desk.

I see you. A fine cat burglar you'd make. Raven tucked the thought away for later.

Alice had re-branded the hotel three years ago, after a major refurbishment: marble flooring, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the lush greenery at the rear, and an elegant, crystal chandelier in the foyer. Ever since, it had become the gem in the village's tourist crown, drawing in visitors from all corners of the globe. Her high standards had earned the Inn many awards from the hospitality industry, resulting in a prestigious Five Star Seal from a leading, worldwide travel website. But it was the Annual Summer Fête that had visitors scrambling for places to stay. The event took place in early July, now lasting just over a week since the addition of new competitions. The wine competition had been a huge success and registration was at a peak, much like the bake-off, following the format of the hugely popular TV show. Supermarkets and stockists were regulars on the judging panel and many locals had gone on to get a deal selling their home-made wares on a grander scale.

Alice's office bore testimony to the successful cases with framed newspaper clippings of jubilant trophy-holding residents on the wall behind her sleek glass-topped desk. ‘Please, Raven, take a seat until your colleague arrives. Would you like a drink while I fill you in?’

‘I'm fine. Please, let's get to the details. Fern may be some time and the sooner I can get started on this, the better.’

‘Of course. I want this sorted out as quickly and quietly as possible. The guest in question, a Ms Greenberg, only checked in yesterday. This morning she alerted me to the theft while she ate breakfast in our restaurant. She didn't want to get the police involved just yet, something to do with an appointment she has tomorrow with an art gallery. I've asked our technical chap to get you a copy of the recordings for the foyer area during those hours. He should be here any minute now.’ Her non-stop glances at the door made Raven edgy; the woman was a nervous wreck.

‘That'll be great, thanks. You didn't say what exactly was stolen.’

‘A painting. A rather expensive family heirloom, or so Ms Greenberg says. She kept it in one of those tube thingies.’ Alice gave a feeble laugh. ‘I'm sure my staff would have noticed someone leaving with a huge picture under their arm.’

‘Even so, a large tube should be quite easy to spot on the CCTV images. Don't worry, I reckon this will all be sorted out before lunch.’

Alice Swift's mood lifted instantly. ‘You really think so?’

A knock distracted them, and the front-of-house manager popped her head around the door.

‘Esme, what is it?’ Alice said, her tone crisp.

Esme flinched at her boss’s curtness, her beautifully outlined lips agape. ‘There's another young woman to see you.’

The sound of rubber on marble alerted Raven's attention to her partner's arrival. ‘Alice, this is Fern Mortimer, my colleague.’ She glared at Fern, giving her a What kept you? look.

Fern returned with a Don't even go there roll of the eyes, before she stretched out her arm. ‘We spoke on the phone. I came as quickly as I could. It was a nightmare finding a parking space.’ Fern's Colgate-white smile oozed confidence and Alice immediately surrendered to her charm.

‘Yes, of course. We've only just started. Please, come on in. Esme, let me know when the IT chap surfaces, please.’

Esme nodded and pulled the door shut.

‘Alice was telling me the stolen item is a painting,’ Raven said, ‘unframed, apparently taken from the guest's room while she was at breakfast. The IT guy is pulling off the CCTV images of the reception area as we speak.’

‘The main doors I came in through, is that the only exit?’ Fern asked, looking directly at Alice.

‘Other than through the delivery zone.’ Alice tutted. ‘I should have asked for those images, too.’

Fern turned to Raven, a self-satisfied grin taking its place on her pale face.

‘Maybe we should just go and speak to Ms Greenberg.’ Raven said, pointedly ignoring her partner's smugness.

‘Very well. She's in room 57, and she is expecting you. Alice said, picking up the phone. ‘I'll chase up those images and get him to bring them up to you.’

Raven stood, opened the door and waited for Fern to follow her out.

‘What? Did you expect me to play the dumb blonde again?’ Fern said, in response to Raven's narrowing eyes and pursed lips.

‘Actually, I expected you to stay in the office and sort out some advertising. But now you're here, come on, the guest is waiting for us.’ Raven went over to check the floor map behind the reception desk. ‘Fifth floor,’ she said, pointing at the lifts.

‘Aren't they always? No one is ever on the ground floor these days.’

‘Stop whining. There's a lift, isn't there?’

‘Yeah, but I'm a little claustrophobic. You know, something about drowning does that to you.’

‘Almost drowning, you mean.’ Raven pressed the call button with a resolute thump and stepped back until the lift arrived and the doors opened. ‘You coming, or not?’ She stepped inside, her hand hovering over the panel of floor numbers, and waited. Eventually, Fern came into view and rode in, her wheelchair bumping over the gap. Raven slunk into the corner, her bag swinging as she reached over to press for the fifth floor, almost hitting Fern's face.

‘Hey, careful!’

‘Sorry, I'm just a bit stressed. I didn't think you'd come along too, but now that you're here, we need to be professional. No more smug grins. This could be a great case for us to get under our belt.’

Fern nodded. ‘I know. We can do this.’ Her eyes fell upon the magazine sticking out of Raven's bag. ‘What's that you're reading?’ She reached over and pulled out a glossy comic book. ‘You read these things?’ she asked, laughing. ‘Wow, I never knew that. Don't tell me you go to those conventions too?’

Raven's gaze dropped to the floor. ‘It’s for my art course.’

‘Yeah, of course it is. You read these comic books, don't you?’ Fern shrieked, ‘Do you dress up too?’ When Raven failed to answer, Fern gasped. ‘OMG! You do!’

‘I did - once - and it was a few years ago now.’

‘Oh, please tell me you didn't wear one of those skintight PVC numbers, like Catwoman or something?’

Raven's lips twitched. ‘No, I didn't.’

‘So what did you go as? You might as well tell me now, you know I'll keep on at you until you do.’

Raven zipped her lips and faced the doors as they opened at the fifth floor. ‘Room 57, this way,’ she said, turning left.

Fern followed her. ‘Batgirl? Supergirl? Marina? Wonder Woman?’

Raven flinched.

‘That's it, isn't it? Wonder Woman?’

‘Yes, and I was one of hundreds. We were awarded the prize for least original female outfit because there were more of us than any other. And, just for your information, it's Aqua Marina!’

Fern giggled. ‘Uh-oh, fangirl alert.’

Raven fell silent, throwing Fern a death stare before changing the subject. ‘Can we concentrate on the job now?’

‘One question first: why didn’t she call the police?’

‘That bothered me too. Alice doesn't want it to get out, it gives the place a bad name. After her chat with Mum about the mystery guest job ...’ she paused, remembering she hadn't mentioned it to Fern yet. ‘Mum used to work here, you know, before her diagnosis, and before Alice took over. They both worked in housekeeping together. Besides, she said Ms Greenberg was adamant about not calling the police.’

‘Sounds a bit suspicious, though. Don't you think?’

‘Well, let's not get carried away. Give the poor woman a chance before we sentence her to a life of hard labour.’

Chapter 4

RAVEN KNOCKED ON MS Greenberg's door. It opened only enough to catch a brief glimpse of a petite woman with bleached yellow hair and dark roots.

‘Hello?’ Her cautious approach and voice lacked warmth.

‘Ms Greenberg. My name is Raven Hegarty. The hotel manager asked me to call upon you to discuss your—’

The door flew open. ‘Shush. There's no need to tell everyone. Come in.’

Fern, from her position across the hallway, peeped left and right, then cast a befuddled look at Raven, who was already over the threshold and staring back at her colleague with a don't say anything expression firmly planted on her face.

‘My partner, Fern Mortimer,’ Raven said, indicating