The Black Hill Hotel Mystery

By Julian Worker

Someone is leaving tracks in the snow around The Black Hill Hotel and no one can work out why. Inspector Colin Knowles is called in when one of the guests has their wallet stolen in the middle of night. Knowles is attacked and left for dead in a snowy field, but is rescued by his favourite dog, Bingo the retriever, and his owner Adelaide Hills. Then a body is found in a snowdrift and Knowles realises that at least one person in the hotel has a lot to hide.

The Black Hill Hotel advertises itself as a place to get away from it all in the Winter. The hotel is fully booked, though not all the guests arrive when they are supposed to. The snow piles up and the hotel becomes more and more inaccessible to vehicles. Some guests are content to watch it fall, but others try to use the winter conditions to get away with murder and other crimes. An escaped prisoner, kidnapped children, impersonation, and old-fashioned revenge are all on the menu at the hotel.

Can Knowles, assisted by Sergeant Rod Barnes and Constable Linda Smythe, determine which guests have committed which crime before the snow melts? Will the murderer get away with the perfect crime? Will Knowles's attacker be found? Could they be the same person? Find out by reading the book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirador Publishing
• Release date: May 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781911473930

Julian Worker

“Little Known British Traditions” is my first book of humourous stories. One of my stories, Safari Sickness, has been recently published in an anthology called “Leave the Lipstick, Take the Iguana” by Travelers’ Tales. Other articles have recently appeared in the Expeditioner online e-zine, and in Americas the magazine of the Organization of American States. My travel stories have appeared in The Toronto Globe and Mail, The National Catholic Register, International Travel News, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and the Southern Cross newspaper in South Africa. On the Internet my writing has appeared on the following websites: In the Know Traveller, Go World, Paperplates, Intravel, and GoNomad. I have also taken many photographs that have appeared in travel guides/articles by National Geographic, Thomas Cook, The Rough Guides, and The Guardian.

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The Black Hill Hotel Mystery

An Inspector Knowles Mystery

By

Julian Worker

First Published by Mirador Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 by Julian Worker

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

First edition: 2017

Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflect the reality of any locations involved.

A copy of this work is available though the British Library.

IBSN : 978-1-911473-93-0

Other Books By Julian Worker

Julian’s Journeys

40 Humourous British Traditions

Sports The Olympics Forgot

Travel Tales From Exotic Places Like Salford

The Inspector Knowles Mysteries

The Goat Parva Murders

The Manton Rempville Murders

The Frisby Waterless Murders

Chapter 1

Tuesday, 7pm - December 13th – The Black Hill Hotel

The snow fell out of the sky as though it was impatient to build a barrier between the Black Hill Hotel and the outside world. During the previous three hours around a foot of snow had fallen on the flat asphalt roofs of the garage and shed. The wood pile for the hotel lounge’s open fire was disappearing behind a sheet of white. The four cars in the car park were becoming less recognisable by the minute; the 10-year old Skoda and the brand-new BMW would look the same in the morning. Albert, the hotel cat, surveyed the scene from his warm spot in the shed and knew that little animals left tracks in the white stuff and so he might have a successful hunting trip later, if he felt like it.

The snow coated the conifers in the woods and dampened the footfalls of Clifford and Margaret Benson as they climbed over the stile and headed for the welcoming light over the back door of the hotel. They’d been walking all day. The final leg of their walk had been from Frisby Magna, where they’d had a quick, fortifying brandy in the Eagle and Child Pub, knowing the last part of their hike would be uphill through falling snow with many slippery roots on the way. The exertion would be worth it though as it appeared the snow would continue to fall for the next 48 hours, although not always at the current volume. Although the hotel might be snowed in for a day or two, Clifford and Margaret Benson would still be going for walks.

Roger Scott rubbed a pint glass absent-mindedly as he looked around his rather crowded bar. His boss, the hotel owner Andrew Croft, certainly knew how to pull in the punters in a notoriously slow time of year, playing on the possibility of being snowed in with little chance of obtaining a signal with their cell phones. All the rooms were booked through the week, with just rooms 7 and 8 still to arrive this evening. With the snow piling up, the customers in the bar were a happy crowd and some were certainly hoping to be cut off for several days. Mr Walker, from Room 1, placed another log on the fire and shouted across to Roger that they would need some more wood soon.

Roger acknowledged the remark with a thumbs-up and wondered, for a fleeting instant, whether Walker was the man’s surname. He’d come across some Walkers who were probably faking it and he wondered whether this was another one. The man’s wife was playing the part well and was a similar age to her husband, so they might just be the genuine article. The Smiths from Room 2 were definitely not. He was overweight and had a hairpiece, a good one mind you, but still fake. She was around 20 years younger and had a large cleavage. There was no prize for knowing what the attraction was - a large bosom on one hand, a Bentley in the car park and a large bottle of Champagne on the other.

Roger’s reveries were interrupted by the doorbell ringing from the back.

I will get that, said Andrew Croft bustling through the lounge from Reception, it’s either Robert Wooster or the Bensons, my money is on the Bensons. What do you reckon, Rog?

The Bensons it will be - Robert Wooster sounds like someone who would come in through the front door.

It does, you’re right as usual, said Croft, taking his time to clean his spectacles before peering through the panes of glass in the back door, oh yes there’s two of them, so you are correct.

Croft opened the door slowly and peered into the darkness to see two people backlit by the bulb dangling down from the sloping roof. The light illuminated the seating area where people could put on and take off their outdoor shoes. Croft kept six pairs of wellingtons here at this time of year, so people could take some outdoor exercise during their stay.

Mister and Mrs Benson? Do come inside, you must be soaked.

We’ve got good waterproofs, replied Margaret Benson, but I am looking forward to a lovely, hot shower and getting all my clothes out of this rucksack.

Me too, said her husband Clifford, can we dry our boots anywhere?

Of course, just give them to me, and I will put them in the airing cupboard by the kitchen, replied Croft.

The boots were given to Croft and he hurried off to start the drying out process. The Bensons came into the bar slightly apologetically, but were quickly put at their ease.

Would you like a whiskey or a brandy, on the house? said Roger Scott, seeing you’ve been walking around in the snow, you must need warming up.

Oh, that’s lovely, said Margaret, I’d like a Cognac.

And I’ll have a Singleton, please, I see you’ve got some on the go, continued Clifford.

We certainly do, great choice, replied Scott.

Andrew Croft came into the bar with the key for Room 7 - here’s your key, your room is at the top of the stairs and then second on the right. There’s only eight rooms for guests in the hotel, so it’s almost impossible to get lost. You can take your drinks with you, if you wish. Dinner starts at 8pm and we’d ask you to be in the restaurant by 9:30pm at the latest. The restaurant is through the double doors just before the stairs on the right-hand side - you’ll also see the airing cupboard.

Excellent, thank you so much, said Margaret and took the key from the owner of the hotel, we will be down well before 9:30pm.

With that she walked off towards the staircase carrying her rucksack and drink with her. Clifford downed his whiskey and swished the liquid around his mouth.

That soon warms you up, doing that, he said, because the whiskey splashes on to the gums and some of the alcohol seeps into your bloodstream and warms you - at least that’s my theory. I’ll have another of those later on, and with that he set the glass on the bar, winked at Roger, and headed after his wife.

Roger Scott looked after Clifford Benson and smiled. He turned around and saw the blonde Miss Helen Baxter coming towards him holding out her glass - another G & T, charged to the room, in her case Room 4. After serving her, Scott put on his coat and headed out to the woodpile, so the fire could be kept going for the rest of the evening.

=========

At the table by the window Wanda Bowles and Anne Martin held hands and looked at the snow falling on top of the garden shed. They were excited. This was just what they’d hoped for; to get away for a few days to a place where no one could bother them and be together. Anne pointed at Roger Scott, who was swishing away the snow from the wood with his glove and pulling out a few large blocks.

Rather him than me, she said, it must be cold out there.

He’s doing us all a favour, it’s very cosy in here, replied Wanda, and that’s the way, ah ha, ah ha I like it.

KC & the Sunshine Band already? I’ll get you another red wine; it sounds like this will be a fun evening.

Well there’s going to be nothing to get up for on the next three mornings, other than to go for a little potter in the snow and perhaps walk to the nearest village for a pub lunch, so we may as well have a good long evening together.

We should make sure the car’s OK in all this snow, said Anne.

Well, we aren’t leaving for at least three days and I am sure I saw a spade in the garden shed earlier, so I think the future should take care of itself.

What will you be having for dinner tonight? The restaurant’s supposed to be really good here.

Wanda looked up to the ceiling and tried to remember the menu - I will be having the squash soup and then the chicken and finishing with the hazelnut tart; what will you have?

Anne shook her head. I thought it all looked wonderful and I will decide when I am sitting at the table.

That sounds very practical, Anne, oh look the barman’s back carrying the wood, so how about that wine you promised me?

One red wine coming right up, said Anne, oh look he dropped his glove, I’ll put it on the bar for him to collect later on.

Anne picked up the wet glove and hung it, almost apologetically, over the rail at the front of the bar. Seeing that Roger was placing wood on the fire, Annette Verdun, the co-owner of the hotel, excused herself from the conversation she was having with Aneurin James from Room 3 and came over to the bar.

Another glass of the Merlot? she asked Anne.

Oh yes, please and another G&T for me - could you put them on the bill for Room 5?

I can certainly do that, said Annette, and what is it you do for a living, Anne?

Annette prepared the drinks as Anne explained her work at the benefits office in North Birmingham, which was becoming increasingly fraught due to the latest round of government cuts.

Sounds like a job with real responsibility, said Annette placing the drinks carefully on the bar. She thought her job was difficult enough, trying to attend to the foibles of her guests on a daily basis, but Anne’s job sounded awful when she was having to tell people they would have even less money to feed their families with for the foreseeable future.

It is, replied Anne, and I do find myself drinking too many of these in the evenings from time to time. She held up her glass as she said this.

Well, at least you’re aware of it and perhaps can moderate your alcohol intake by drinking juices instead, said Annette, anyway Roger’s back, so I will go back to continue my conversation with Mr James about moles and other garden pests.

Thank you, Miss Verdun, for serving me, said Anne and carried the drinks back to the table by the window.

How’s the pile of wood doing out there? Annette asked Roger.

We have enough for about 3-4 days, but I will go out into the woods tomorrow and see whether any branches have been brought down by the snow.

Thank you, Roger, and if you need to stay the night, you can always sleep in the spare room above Room 8. Talking of Room 8, has Mr Wooster arrived?

I haven’t heard anyone arrive through the front door and only the hiking couple have come through the back door, as I am sure you saw.

I did, Roger, I certainly did see, I assume they came over the stile from the woods?

They probably did, but there were no tracks out there as the snow had covered them up, even after 10 minutes.

Well, it’s a heavy fall that’s for sure, anyway I should go back and talk to Mr Aneurin James for a few minutes longer. I would talk to that couple to the left of the fire, but they seem locked in some deeply meaningful conversation.

That would be Room 6, my namesake Benny Scott and his friend Cloda, both drinking real ale.

You have such a good memory for names.

Well, Annette, I do for people who introduce themselves and who drink the Wobbly Bob real ale. I think we might run out of that the way they’re going.

There’s some more on order, said Andrew Croft as he put his arm around his partner Annette’s waist, and it should arrive by the end of the week. I asked for four barrels or casks this time as the news has got around that we serve good drinks here.

Has Robert Wooster arrived, Andrew? asked Annette stepping aside to allow Mr Benny Scott a clear path to the toilet by the side of the bar.

That’s why I came in, because in his email he said he’d be arriving at around 3pm, probably on the local bus, and yet he’s not here and he’s not answering his phone. His key is still on the rack at Reception, so he’s not sneaked in. He said he’s been here before and asked for Room 8. I was getting a bit worried that he might be stuck somewhere or might have fallen down or something. I am going to put my wellingtons on and have a look around the grounds and go up to the road.

Take care, Andrew, said Annette, and put your bobble hat on.

It messes my hair up, said Andrew, running his hands through his full head of black hair.

Annette pointed her finger at him I don’t want you catching cold out there and not being fit to help run things. She was only half-joking as she knew things would be busy in the run up to Christmas.

OK, OK, I’ll wear it, said Andrew, holding his hands up.

Did you want me to check around the back and head along the path to Clarke’s farm, just to see there’s any sign of him there? suggested Roger.

Thanks for the offer, I’ll just check along the path with the torch that’s out by the wellingtons, it doesn’t make sense to have both of us out there.

There was a crashing sound and a large slab of snow landed outside the lounge window, causing Anne Martin to jump although Wanda Bowles just glanced at the offending mound and didn’t seem that alarmed.

I will take that as my cue to leave, said Andrew. Oh look, Roger, another drink for Miss Baxter.

Roger returned to the bar and served the young lady a Rum and Coke. Annette smiled and headed back to Aneurin James, who had just moved his walking shoes from the airing cupboard to the rack by the back door. The fire crackled in the grate as the flames reached wet wood. A spark flew out of the fire and landed on the fireside rug, causing a wisp of smoke to rise. No one noticed that happening, just as no one noticed that Roger Scott’s glove was no longer hanging from the rail in front of the bar.

=========

Andrew Croft put on his wellingtons, bobble hat, and outdoor coat. He opened a wooden box on the shelf and took out his torch.

"That’s strange," he thought, I am left-handed and I don’t put the torch in the box that way, but perhaps someone borrowed it?

He opened the backdoor and looked up at the conservatory roof. He decided to knock off some of the snow with the broom hanging on the wall. There was around two feet of snow and he was concerned any great build-up might cause the roof to sag. He grabbed the broom and swished it around for a minute or two covering himself in snow, but removing most of it from the roof. It would have to be done again after dinner if the snow kept on falling at this rate. He put the broom back and closed the door. He headed to the garage where he kept his car, an Audi A3. The