Poetry and Mayhem: An Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance #2

By Lizzie Lewis

Abi Button gets involved with the lazy nephews and nieces of their elderly uncle who lived in the creepy house at the far end of her road. Isaac Whittard Magritte Newton, to give him his full name, has set a cryptic clue in his will for the siblings to solve. The will says the first nephew or niece who can solve the clue is going to be extremely wealthy, but the puzzle seems unbreakable. The old man once set crossword puzzles for two of the national newspapers, and other puzzles for various magazines. Abi, with her modest skills in cryptic crosswords, has to admit defeat.
Also on Abi’s mind, perhaps as a matter of greater importance than solving the clue that will help four squabbling siblings, is her developing friendship with junior solicitor Danny Wells. She wonders if she has at last found the right man. Melanie Upton ‒ Abi’s co-owner of Button Up coffee shop ‒ assures Abi that this one is definitely a keeper. But as Abi points out, Melanie says the same thing about every man Abi gets to know.
This is the second Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Tree Publishing
• Release date: Dec 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781912529490

Book preview

About the Book

Abi Button gets involved with the lazy nephews and nieces of their elderly uncle who lived in the creepy house at the far end of her road. Isaac Whittard Magritte Newton, to give him his full name, has set a cryptic clue in his will for the siblings to solve. The will says the first nephew or niece who can solve the clue is going to be extremely wealthy, but the puzzle seems unbreakable. The old man once set crossword puzzles for two of the national newspapers, and other puzzles for various magazines. Abi, with her modest skills in cryptic crosswords, has to admit defeat.

Also on Abi’s mind, perhaps as a matter of greater importance than solving the clue that will help four squabbling siblings, is her developing friendship with junior solicitor Danny Wells. She wonders if she has at last found the right man. Melanie Upton ‒ Abi’s co-owner of Button Up coffee shop ‒ assures Abi that this one is definitely a keeper. But as Abi points out, Melanie says the same thing about every man Abi gets to know.

This is the second Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance.

Poetry and Mayhem

An Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance #2

by

Lizzie Lewis ©2020

This eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-49-0

Also available as a paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-55-1

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

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Poetry and Mayhem is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this abridged edition.

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Book

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

Epilogue

More Abi Button Books

About White Tree Publishing

Chapter 1

In my rather limited experience, men who are tall dark strangers are not necessarily all they are cracked up to be. Again, in my admittedly limited experience, a man who is the right height for who he is, and has fair hair, can beat the opposition hands down. Which means Danny Wells must be the right one for me.

Melanie Upton, who is co-owner with me of Button Up coffee shop in town says he’s a keeper. But she says that about every man I tell her about. What does she know? Come to that, what do I know? But Danny and I have been seeing each other for a few months now, so perhaps Melanie is right for once.

Danny and I met in a purely professional capacity, when the elderly lady of ninety-one in my road sadly passed away. At the time, I was seeing Jack Thornley, but I’ve already forgotten about him completely. Jack who? I expect he has also forgotten about me, because he moved away in shame after his disgraceful behaviour. By disgraceful behaviour, I don’t mean he molested me in any way. Ivy Smith, the elderly lady who died, was his aunt. It is his treatment of the old lady that should be filling him with shame every moment of every day ‒ and the way he used me to put on an appearance of innocence.

Danny is a junior solicitor in town, and he even has his own office with his name on the door. He seems to be moving rather slowly on his side of our relationship, but I guess that’s a good thing. No point in rushing into a new relationship until we’re sure of each other – although I’m pretty sure about Danny.

Danny comes into Button Up coffee shop most days for lunch. I reserve him a small table in the corner where we can chat, if I’m not too busy. Melanie does her best to make sure we don’t get disturbed, although Pete Wilders who is nineteen perhaps resents the extra work involved. Not that he has any reason to complain. His girlfriend Hayley, who is just eighteen, now has a regular job in the café, much to the delight of both of them.

I was glad Melanie had taken care of Pete when he’d had a bit of trouble with the police a year or two back. He’d mixed with the wrong people, but he seemed to have a decent enough set of friends now. I certainly have no problems with Pete working at Button Up. It helps him pay for evening college which should enable him to get a proper job in the future ‒ not that working in the café isn’t a proper job, but well ... you know what I mean.

When Danny came in, I naturally seated him at his usual table. We wear jeans in Button Up, so it’s not a big deal when they collect the occasional spill or splash. We have short cream and black striped jackets with the café logo on them. I reckon we look pretty smart, and I always feel proud showing Danny Wells to his seat.

I’ve not been able to share information with you before, Abi, but I’ve been given work that’s just up your street. Literally, Danny said, lifting the knees of his trousers as he sat down so as not to spoil the line. Danny is obliged to wear a suit for work, to impress the clients. It’s a slate blue Italian-cut mohair wool tailored suit that I’m sure must impress the clients no end – although I’m not too keen on Danny impressing the female clientele.

I frowned. Up my street?

Danny nodded. Isaac Newton, the old gentleman at the other end of your road passed away several months ago, and the probate came to Branks, Davis & Waters.

Work just up your street. I smiled in acknowledgment of Danny’s somewhat obscure play on words. Branks, Davis & Waters is the name of the solicitors’ practice Danny works for. Maybe he will have his own name in that mouthful one day. I think Waters and Wells together is going to cause some wry comments! Anyway, if or when the time comes, Mr Waters might have left Branks, Davis & Waters, in all probability due to death or disgrace.

Old Isaac Newton? He died a few months ago. Wasn’t much of a funeral. I heard only four people came to it. He’d never once left the house in the past few years, so no one in the road knew him. I think that’s really sad.

I never saw the man, and I knew I never wanted to meet him in the dark. Or in the light. When I was young I heard he’d lived with his mother, although she’d been dead for donkey’s years. The house was built with the ground floor raised from the garden level, with a flight of stone steps leading up to the front door.

You can see the top half of the basement windows, because the garden has been cut away to let the light in. And the windows have bars on them. At school we used to tell each other scary stories about the house, and dared each other to go there after dark and knock on the door and run away. I don’t think anyone did. Certainly I didn’t.

When I think of it now, I can’t believe we really thought his mother was still alive and shut in the basement behind the bars on the windows, living the life of a witch, a vampire or a zombie ‒ take your pick.

I knew the old man was dead, because someone told me, but there was no way anyone would know just looking at the house. The curtains had not been pulled open for years, and various species of plants grew rampantly in the chimney stacks and gutters, and the garden was a jungle ‒ the town’s own natural rainforest.

Do you know much about him?

Danny shook his head. Nobody does. I gather his grandmother was Russian, and fled to England before the Revolution, with Isaac’s mother as a small child. His mother married someone called Newton. And that’s about it.

So has he left a fortune? I asked Danny.

He has and he hasn’t, Danny said paradoxically. A good word, that. Paradoxically.

I sat well clear as Melanie served Danny with a cheese and ham panini with salad. I always insist Melanie places the sauces on the table well clear of customers. I’d hate Danny to get any marks on that lovely suit.

Well?

Danny smiled. I expect you’ve heard the story over the years that he was a miser sitting on millions. That doesn’t seem to be the situation ‒ as it stands at the moment.

I’ve heard gossip that he has nephews and nieces who only visited their uncle when they wanted money. Perhaps they were the four at the funeral.

Danny nodded. Indeed, they were.

If he’s left them the house, surely they’re going to be in for a shock when they go inside. Has he left them loads of money? Fabergé eggs from his Russian grandmother?

Danny put his hand to his lips. I couldn’t discuss this with you until now. It came under the category of client confidentiality. Mr Newton‒‒‒‒

"Was he really called Isaac Newton? That’s what we all called him when I was at school. We probably thought he was so old that he must have been the Isaac Newton. I take it he wasn’t." I grinned, just in case Danny thought I was serious, although surely he knew me too well by now to understand it was my sense of humour. Well, what passes for a sense of humour.

Danny returned the grin and put a hand on the back of my hand that was still on my lap. This was yet another promising sign that the relationship was going well, although I had gone out with guys who thought it was appropriate to do that on the first date. And they didn’t seem bothered that my hand wasn’t actually on my lap at the time.

Isaac Whittard Magritte Newton, to give him his full name. Did you know he once set crossword puzzles for the national newspapers, and all sorts of puzzles for various magazines?

I shrugged. All I know is he once lived with his mother, and when she died he never came out again. Or if he did, it might have been at night when he grew wings and flew out looking for young maidens he could bite on the neck.

I think that was his mother, Danny said, keeping a straight face. He seemed to be developing a weird sense of humour. Can’t think why. She died when the plumber opened a large box in the basement, looking for some tools. Unfortunately the sun was shining through the window at the time.

So he wasn’t really a multimillionaire with a collection of Fabergé eggs?

Danny took a deep breath. "Not eggs. What he has left is a conundrum. In writing. He often set obscure clues for his nephews and nieces to earn a birthday or Christmas present, but they usually failed and got nothing. They are brothers and sisters, the children of his brother who died some time ago. He called them spineless scroungers, with no love of poetry and the arts!"

That must have gone down well. You’ve seen them. Are they?

Danny nodded. They’re all single, with a poor standard of living. And yes, I would call most of them lazy. The will suggests the first nephew or niece who can solve a cryptic clue is going to be extremely wealthy. But I can’t make head or tail of it. They’ve each had a copy, and from the responses I’ve received they seem to be having the same problem.

"But if you solve it, will you get the money if the family don’t?"

Danny knew I was joking, but he shook his head firmly. Don’t even think about it, Abi. As far as I can tell, if the two nephews and two nieces are unable to solve the cryptic clue, the money simply disappears into thin air and no one gets it.

Hasn’t Isaac Newton left the answer?

Danny shook his head. Not with us.

"Perhaps it was cremated with him. Did anyone think to check the coffin? Anyway, if I solve it, does that mean I get the money?"

Danny started on his panini. I think my questions came under the heading of rhetorical,