The Odd Fellow: A Mystery

By Ian Honeysett

It’s the mid-1770s and Pierre Reynard is a humble curate in Montmarte. One evening, over dinner, a parishioner warns him about a rather odd newcomer (just look at his waistcoat!) who claims to be a Count with a large country estate. But when Reynard meets him, he seems quite genuine albeit rather shabby for a Count. He thinks little of it until he learns that the former owners of the estate – a mother and son – suddenly disappeared just before the Count moved in. No one has seen them since. Reynard decides to investigate – somewhat against his better judgement.

Who is this “Count”? How did he come to own such a substantial estate? And what has happened to the former owners?
It looks like those may be the very last questions Reynard ever has answered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Honeysett
• Release date: Sep 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370582914

Ian Honeysett

I’m Ian Honeysett and I write historical crime fiction with an old college friend, Pete Stevens, with whom I wrote a number of comedy reviews when we were students at the Kent College for the Careers Service. Pete tells me we agreed that, when we retired, we would write books together. And that is what we have done. We share a love of history and murder (purely theoretical of course). Together we have written 4 historical novels set during the French Revolution and I’ve written a free novella (The Odd Fellow). I am also part of Godalming Writers' Group, based in my home-town of Godalming (Surrey, England) which has produced 2 books of short stories: Godalming Tales 1 & 2.I am married to Jan. We have 3 children and live in Godalming, Surrey. My interests include travelling (well, I am retired), running quizzes, military history, parish work, editing a newsletter for laryngectomees, painting and playing the ukulele.

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Other Books by Ian Honeysett

The Bastille Mysteries with Peter Stevens

The Eighth Prisoner

The Year of The Oath

I am Abbé Pierre Rene Reynard, Parish Priest of Saint-Merri church in Paris. I have been described as short and stocky. I like the word stocky as it sounds as though my excess weight is mostly muscle. However, that is a moot point. You may have seen me as I limp along the streets of Paris due to an accident many years ago. I’ll tell you the story some other time. I have a full head of hair which is rapidly greying. One Bishop said I smiled rather too often for comfort. I have achieved a certain fame because of my involvement in helping to solve one or two crimes. Recently, one of my parishioners asked me, jokingly, when I first developed an interest in crime? I asked him if he was proposing to hear my confession. He quickly changed the subject but, later, as I sipped a glass of wine with a couple of fellow clergy, I reflected on my previous criminal involvement.

About twenty years ago - back in the mid-1770s - I was a curate in Montmartre, Paris. It was a wealthy parish and I was regularly invited to dine by parishioners in their often palatial homes. I would like to claim that my tastes were simple but, in truth, I had always enjoyed a comfortable life as my father was a successful businessman and we lacked for nothing even though there were six children. However, I always liked to tell myself that such material comforts were not that important to me. I was a fervent reader – our father owned a substantial library – and particularly enjoyed reading the lives of the saints. My favourites were St Francis of Assisi and St Clare. Both had renounced riches for a life of poverty. I never quite managed that, even as a priest.

One evening, I was dining with the Baudins and, half way through the most delicious dinner of mushroom broth, stewed beef brisket and stuffed mullet, I recall, the conversation turned to a new arrival in the Parish.

He’s an odd fellow, I must say, commented Philippe Baudin, between mouthfuls. Philippe loved his food and his substantial girth confirmed this all too well. As did his shirt front. He was a very successful notary and, some said, a rather less successful member of the church choir. But he had immense self-confidence even when just missing that high note. Or several others on the