Deathbed of Roses

By Alannah Foley

Scott Chevalier - part campervan-surfer, part Crocodile Dundee - is thrust into a few amateur-sleuthing adventures in this light mystery series...

DEATHBED OF ROSES - Book 2 in the Campervan Bushman Mystery Series

Arriving at the Barrington-Bowles manor estate in the picturesque Lake District in the north of England, Scott Chevalier and the crew are all set to film the next episode of the Campervan Bushman TV show.

Everything seems to be off to a flying start, with Scott set to get in some windsurfing on the lake. But all that gets put on hold when they discover the body of another guest at the manor – that of celebrity gardener, Simon Sinclair – a man bristling with charm, ambition and good looks.

At first, it looks like Scott might be under the spotlight as a suspect, but was Sinclair killed by the infamous Lakes Killer, or is his murderer a lot closer to home?

Each book in the series has an edge of humour, a sense of adventure, and a hint of romance.

Join Scott and the crew for more mystery & adventure in the beautiful Lake District!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pyjama Writer Publishing
• Release date: Jul 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370698820

Alannah Foley

Alannah Foley... aka The Pyjama WriterAuthor of mysteries, travel tales, fiction, and other maverick titles that won't fall in line...Raised in the UK, Alannah lived in her Aussie birthplace for five years in her twenties, where mozzies regularly used her for target practice. She managed to return to Old Blighty devoid of shark or snake bite, however, and currently lives in picturesque Cornwall with her cycling-obsessed partner.Alannah is a multi-genre author who has published mysteries & other works of fiction as well as travel tales about her capers in a campervan and adventures Down Under. She also enjoys writing humorous portraits of life (some still in the pot!).When she's not writing, Alannah likes to hit the trails on her bike, take walks in nature, and go kayaking – basically, anything that will get her butt out of the chair for a while that doesn't involve going to a sweaty old gym.Get the author's pester-free newsletter and be the first to hear about upcoming titles, early discounts on new releases, and a few other goodies exclusive to her VIP Readers Group. Simply visit bit.ly/PJW-Newsletter to sign up.To find out more about the author & her work, visit her website at www.thePyjamaWriter.com.

Book preview

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Where it all Began…

What stormy events drove Scott Chevalier to become the Campervan Bushman?

Find out in your free copy of WIPEOUT, the series prequel - available exclusively to members of the author's VIP Readers Group!

CLICK HERE to get started.

CONTENTS

FREE SERIES PREQUEL

NOTE on Lingo

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

EPILOGUE

FREE SERIES PREQUEL

PREVIEW – BOOK 3 in the Series

Faux Reviews

Author's Note

Acknowledgements

ABOUT the Author

CONNECT with the Author

OTHER TITLES by Alannah Foley

COPYRIGHT Information

NOTE on Lingo

British terminology and spelling are used predominantly through this series along with some light Australian slang.

I trust non-Brits will be savvy enough to look up the odd word they may be unfamiliar with. But here are some popular ones you'll encounter:

mobile phone = cellphone

torch = flashlight

CHAPTER 1

Did you know, Dorian said with an air of authority as he looked over his clipboard, that the meat from the Herdwick sheep here in the Lake District was served up to Queen Elizabeth the Second at her Coronation banquet back in 1953?

Oh, God, no! Red sighed as he stood his video camera on its tripod outside Scott's campervan. Not another oh-so-interesting fact marathon from our beloved director!

Fair dinkum! Scott said as he stepped out of the side door of his campervan and onto the grass, ready for a morning of being filmed windsurfing down on the stunning blue lake nearby. The top half of his wetsuit was off and hung over the top of his legs, leaving his toned and tanned bare chest on show, adorned with a simple shark's-tooth necklace given to him by his father when he was young. And did she like it?

Dorian tucked the clipboard under an arm and frowned. I'm sorry?

You know, the mutton – did the Queen enjoy eating it at this coronation of hers?... I mean, just because they served it up to her didn't mean she liked it, eh?

Hey, Scott's got a point there, Red chimed in. "I mean, just what does the Queen do if she doesn't like the food her servants dish up to her? Spit it into a tissue and stuff it in her pocket so she can chuck it away later?"

…Or maybe she slips it to those corgis of hers under the table – y'know, kind of on the sly, like, Scott added with a smile.

Dorian let out a huff, adjusting his burgundy cravat. "Well, as her ancestor, Queen Victoria, would say, We are not amused!" He looked down at his watch, trying to forget that, not for the first time in his long career in the film-making industry, was he being forced to tolerate uncouth coworkers. Some people just have no sense of decorum.

Scott and Red exchanged glances and rolled their eyes.

Hmm… I wonder where Penny's got to... Dorian said, thinking he'd feel better once he had someone around who had a little more sense. Penny might be in her early twenties, about the same age as Scott and Red, but she was a darned sight more mature, that was certain, he thought. Trying to keep the two lads in check seemed nigh on impossible.

Oh, well, Dorian thought, I'm only here temporarily. After Penny's mother had been killed barely two weeks ago, Frank, the owner of their little production company, had asked him to step in at short notice to fill her boots as director and team coordinator of the Campervan Bushman TV show. They only had another five episodes of the show to film, thought Dorian, but getting someone in to take his place couldn't come fast enough. What heaven it would be to get back to London, working as Frank's assistant again – and away from youngsters who he felt he had to babysit.

It's not like Penny to be late normally, Red said. Maybe she overslept.

"Yes, well, that oaf of a celebrity gardener, Simon Sinclair, did seem to monopolise her time after dinner last night, Dorian said dismissively. If he kept her up all evening talking about himself, she may well have slipped into a coma by now. The man's full of his own self-importance. I really don't see what women see in the fellow."

Well, she's also been through a lot lately, what with her mum dying and all, Red said, ignoring Dorian's rant.

Yeah, I'm just glad Frank saw sense and made her take that extra week off when he saw what she was like at the funeral, Scott said. I know it's mucked up the filming schedule a bit, but she wouldna taken a break unless he made her.

Although Penny came across as the strong and determined type, it was obvious to all that she needed someone to rein her in sometimes. Soldiering on after such a traumatic event wasn't always the best policy. In fact, it wasn't until the funeral service, with friends and family giving her reassuring hugs, that the feelings she'd kept bottled up inside since her mother had died were able to come out. And, once the wake was over, the tears finally tumbled in buckets – many of them onto Scott's shoulder.

Hmm... Dorian frowned. He realised with some concern that they were right – and was somewhat taken aback at their hidden capacity for depth. Perhaps they weren't quite as immature as he'd pegged them to be.

Ah, here she comes, Dorian smiled, seeing Penny in the distance carrying a boom microphone as she trudged down from the manor house across the grass wearing sturdy walking boots. Despite the good weather upon their arrival at the Barrington-Bowles estate the day before, it had rained during the early hours of the night, leaving the ground a little soggy.

For goodness' sake, cover yourself up, man! Dorian said as he glanced back at Scott, who still had his wetsuit folded down.

Scott raised an eyebrow. I thought the viewers liked a bit o' bare flesh – according to our glorious leader, Frank, anyway, he countered.

That may be so, but save it for the camera. I doubt Penny wants to be accosted by your naked form this early in the morning.

Oh, I dunno, he teased, Dorian trying to keep his annoyance in check. Scott acquiesced and pulled on the top half of his wetsuit, thinking that the nickname of 'old fossil' he'd given to Dorian fit just right! Talk about being old-fashioned. Scott might be an ex-model, but he was pretty sure the sight of his torso wasn't going to turn Penny into some kind of babbling idiot while they were filming. In fact, if anything, the opposite seemed more true, Scott thought. Unlike some of the women he'd known back in his Australian homeland, Penny seemed to be the sort who had her own mind and didn't want to know him just for his good looks.

From the moment he met Penny, he'd felt a spark, but she was set on playing the I don't date people I work with – let's just be friends card. Still, Scott was an optimist by nature – all surfers were, he reckoned – so he hadn't totally given up hope. Besides, with her mother's death so fresh, he realised, she had more important things on her mind right now.

If nothing else, Scott had been able to deliver on the let's be friends part of the deal by being there for Penny after the funeral. And maybe one day not too far off she'd come round, he thought. After all, she had taken up his invitation to come down to his campervan the night before for a nightcap, so maybe his charm was working more than he realised. Probably best not to mention it to Dorian, though, he thought. The guy'd probably have a fit.

Scott zipped up his wetsuit, wandered round to the side of the campervan and breathed in the fresh morning air, laced with the scent of pine trees to the rear. His eye followed the line of trees which briefly followed a path along the side of Lake Conimere before entering into the woods. It formed a great visual backdrop to the campervan when filming for the TV show – even if it was Dorian's idea to park it there. He couldn't have picked a better spot himself, he admitted.

Just then, Scott thought he saw movement and narrowed his eyes, scanning the edge of the woods. Then he spotted something and his eyes flew open with excitement. A young deer, foraging.

He stepped back to Red and gave him a prompt tap on the shoulder. He spun round to see Scott silently pointing and beckoning. Quick! Bring your camera! he seemed to be saying. Red creased his brow as Scott whipped back round the side of the camper. What on earth's he up to?

Red glanced back at Dorian to see him throwing a smile in Penny's direction. What the heck! Dorian won't miss me for a minute, he thought, following on behind Scott who was now moving like some ninja on a stealth mission towards the trees.

What…? Red started to say as he caught up with Scott. Scott swiftly raised a finger to his lips to hush him then pointed towards the woods. Red squinted. He thought he spotted something – a dash of white? – but then it was gone.

Quick! It's gettin' away! Scott tried to whisper, tugging at the sleeve of Red's black and red polo shirt, urging him on. Scott moved swiftly in a semi-crouch along the path, then suddenly jabbed a finger. Red turned his head in the direction to see the white tail of a small deer as it sprang away into the depths of the darkening woods.

They sped along the path in hot pursuit, but as they entered the forest, it was clear they weren't going to catch up with it. There was too much dark undergrowth up ahead and the deer was just too quick and agile.

Scott came to a stop where a tree had fallen down and was blocking the path. Red soon caught up with him, glad that Scott had finally stopped running. I'm seriously out of shape, he thought, trying to catch his breath.

Looks like we lost the deer, Scott said.

Well, I'm not sure how good the footage would've been with it being so dark in here, anyway, he shrugged, looking around and seeing that the only source of light came through the trees on the lake side to the right.

Hey, what's that? Red said, noticing something bright red down on the rocks, just past the fallen tree.

Scott creased his brow as he looked in the direction, stepping over the tree trunk to investigate. Red followed, hefting his camera tripod up as he went.

Suddenly realising what he was seeing as he approached the patch of red, Scott sped up. Jeez! It was a body lying face down on the rocks at the side of the lake. His heart quickened as he leapt down over the rocks, stooping to check for a pulse. He might still be alive.

Red drew nearer, his eyes bulging in horror as Scott took the man's wrist.

Christ, mate! Scott said, looking back up at Red. He's dead!

Oh, God! Dorian's going to... Red gulped.

"Dorian's going to what?"

Red's head spun round to see Dorian standing above them, somewhat out of breath, with Penny following on a short way behind him.

Dorian's eyes moved from Red to Scott, and then down to the body at his side. His breath stopped for a moment as he took in the enormity of the situation.

A moment later, Penny stepped out from behind him. What's going o…? she began, but as she looked down, her throat caught. She'd seen that red shirt before. It belonged to Simon Sinclair, the celebrity gardener who was a guest at the estate. And the shirt was the one he'd worn at dinner the night before. She might not be able to see his face beneath his wet mop of dark hair, but there was no mistaking it was him.

Penny's face contorted and her hand flew to her mouth. Oh, my God! she said in a half-whisper. Yesterday, Simon Sinclair had seemed so full of life. In fact, she was pretty sure he'd been flirting with her all evening, despite the fact he was married. But now he was, quite literally, all washed up.

I don't know what the hell's happened here, but he's gone, Scott said solemnly. I reckon we'd better call the cops.

CHAPTER 2

19 hours earlier

Come on, darling, open another present, Lady Charlotte smiled eagerly at her daughter, Felicity, as they stood beneath a white marquee in the rose garden of their manor estate.

With the summer sun shining and only a hint of a breeze, Felicity couldn't have picked better weather for her eighteenth birthday party. Her only regret was that all her friends from school were either on holiday, swanning about at some sun-drenched location overseas, or had a rather less enviable family engagement to attend.

Felicity looked up with a smile as she ripped the colourful wrapping paper off another gift from the pile on the painted-white wrought-iron table. The small gathering watching her consisted of the small crew who were going to film an episode of the Campervan Bushman show that would be airing on TV later in the year; along with the celebrity gardeners, who she'd known for years, who'd been invited there for the week to work on a garden project… although, it looked like one of them still hadn't arrived.

Felicity pulled a fine-knitted pink cardigan from the mess of wrapping paper and held it up, beaming. Looks like Great-Aunt Flora's been busy again!

Yes, I told her you were always borrowing the cardigan she knitted for me, so she thought she'd make one for you, too, Lady Charlotte smiled back at her.

I wonder where on earth that scoundrel Sinclair is, Sir Percy moaned under his breath as he watched Felicity open another present. It's not like him to miss out on a party, he added sarcastically, frowning at his watch before sticking his pipe back into the side of his mouth. If there was one thing he hated, it was tardiness.

Fellow celebrity gardener, Virginia Craig, stood to his left, dressed in a pastel-pink blouse for the occasion, her dark bob neatly coiffed. Her arms were folded as she narrowed her eyes and dragged on a cigarette. Don't worry, Percy, she muttered her reply, Simon'll turn up soon enough – fashionably late, of course.

The Campervan Bushman TV crew – Scott, Penny, Red and Dorian – stood behind them, the combined smoke from Virginia's cigarette and Sir Percy's pipe snaking its way towards them. How is it that smoke always drifts towards the non-smokers? Red winced, making exaggerated movements with his hands as he tried to waft it away.

Dorian turned his way and glared. If Red wasn't careful, he thought, he was going to get on the wrong side of Lady Charlotte's celebrity gardener guests. And that was the last thing he wanted. He had high hopes that they'd agree to be featured in their TV show while they were at the manor.

When they'd arrived earlier that day on the Barrington-Bowles estate, a week later than originally intended, due to Penny's mother's funeral, Dorian was delighted to discover that their visit would overlap with that of the celebrity gardeners. Lady Charlotte had been most apologetic, but since there were plenty of rooms at the manor, she was pleased Dorian didn't mind his crew 'muddling along' with the rest of them.

Secretly, Dorian had been overjoyed at the prospect of rubbing shoulders with the gardening stars. After all, Virginia Craig and Sir Percy Catcher had been household names for years, with Simon Sinclair a relative newcomer, brought in a couple of years back to sex up the face of TV gardening. Although Virginia and Sir Percy had now been cut from their old show on TV, they still made regular appearances on the Gardeners' Quiz Time radio programme; and all three of them would be broadcasting the show live at the end of the week from the conference room in the manor.

Dorian reasoned, if he played his cards right, they might be able to get some footage of the celebrity gardeners in action in the garden. Perhaps he could film them recommending some vegetables or herbs Scott could use in a campervan meal. Either way, it would be a great boost to the show.

With any luck, Red wasn't going to blow his dreams apart by being rude to any of the guests. Waving his arms about in the face of Virginia's and Sir Percy's smoky indulgence wasn't exactly going to build any bridges, he thought, continuing to glare at Red to press the point home.

Dorian's thoughts were interrupted by a confident voice from behind.

Sorry I'm late, darlings!

Eyes turned to see it was the missing celebrity gardener, Simon Sinclair, entering in his usual whirlwind style, looking more like a rock god than a gardener in his black leather trousers and jacket, and bright red shirt. His crowning glory of long, raven-black hair wafted behind him with the photogenic grace of a model in a shampoo ad.

Was Scott's imagination running on overdrive, or did he hear a small gasp from the female contingent as he swooned in?

Simon made a beeline for Sir Percy and gave him a knowing smile as he dumped the cardboard box he was carrying into his arms. Thanks, old boy, he said, pulling books from the box and handing them out. Hot off the press, darlings! he beamed as Sir Percy gritted his jaw.

A book landed in Scott's hands and he looked down at the hardcover's dust jacket. Life in Bed was the title, with a picture of Sinclair standing behind a rose bush, his toned, naked chest showing proudly above it. So this is how they do gardening books in England, eh? he frowned before noticing the subtitle, Confessions of a Celebrity Gardener. Oh, right, so this was an autobiography, not a 'how to' book!

Simon walked over to the table where Felicity and her mother were, passing a copy over to Lady Charlotte. Felicity went to take it. "Hey, don't I get one?" she said.

"Too hot for you, Poppet," Simon replied, pulling the book away from her grasp and giving her