Murder in California: Dodie Fanshaw Mystery

By Marina Oliver

A stolen pistol plopping into the pool beside Dodie, former starlet, announces murder.
Instead of relaxing in the Californian sunshine, she and Joe Broughton, her ex-husband with whom she is staying in his house overlooking the Pacific, set out to discover who could have killed one of his neighbors and disposed of the pistol.
Dodie becomes aware of several tensions and jealousies among the neighbors. They all deny having taken it, but any one of the neighbors could have stolen the pistol on the day they are avoiding an escaped Mexican convict whose sister is a maid in a nearby house.
Asking questions and testing alibis proves difficult.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belgrave House
• Release date: Jun 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781610846639

Marina Oliver

Most writers can't help themselves! It's a compulsion. Getting published, though, is something really special, and having been so fortunate myself I now try to help aspiring writers by handing on tips it took me years to work out. I've published over 60 titles, including four in the How To Books' Successful Writing Series, and Writing Historical Fiction for Studymates.I have judged short story competitions, been a final judge for the Harry Bowling Prize and was an adviser to the 3rd edition of Twentieth Century Romance and Historical Writers 1994. If you want to find out more about your favourite authors, consult this book. I once wrote an article on writing romantic fiction for the BBC's web page, for Valentine's day.I have given talks and workshops for the Arts Council and at most of the major Writing Conferences, and helped establish the Romantic Novelists' Association's annual conference. I was Chairman of the RNA 1991-3, ran their New Writers' Scheme and edited their newsletter. I am now a Vice-President.As well as writing I have edited books for Transita, featuring women 'of a certain age', and for Choc Lit where gorgeous heros are the norm.I was asked to write A Century of Achievement, a 290 page history of my old school, Queen Mary's High School, Walsall, and commissioned to write a book on Castles and Corvedale to accompany a new circular walk in the area.Most of my Regencies written under the pseudonym Sally James are now published in ebook format as well as many others of my out of print novels which my husband is putting into ebook format. Our daughter Debbie is helping with designing the covers. For details of all my books and my many pseudonyms see my website.

Book preview

OLIVER

Author Note

In previous Dodie mysteries her daughter and one ex-husband have been her co-sleuths, so I felt it was time to involve her other ex-husband, Joe. As he is a Californian, it seemed appropriate for Dodie to leave the rain and cold of England and go to stay with him.

I loved California when I was there, especially the varied scenery and the historical sites relating to the Gold Rush. It was while exploring the area that I met my first sheriff.

Chapter 1

Dodie Fanshaw looked round cautiously. Could she be observed? How private was she? She'd been surprised the previous day by Ed Longton, Joe's gardener cum handyman, mowing the grass, and had cowered in the water for half an hour until her skin had looked like a wrinkled peach. She'd only been able to get out when Joe had appeared and drawn Ed away.

'Were you going to stay in there all day?' Joe had asked.

'Of course not.' She'd tried to sound confident, but Joe had grinned. Her former husband had always been able to spot any of her equivocations.

The house, on one side, she knew was empty. Joe Broughton had gone to a business meeting, driven there by Ed in the big Mercedes. Ed's wife Maisie, Joe's housekeeper and cook, had gone shopping in her small BMW and would be away for at least two hours. Not that she would be likely to come to this side of the house, the garages and kitchen were on the north side. A fence on which various climbing plants such as the orange trumpet vine and a variety of bougainvillea grew, fronted by a wide bed with many other plants she did not recognise, hid the house on the other, south side. Joe had explained the layout when he brought her from the airport.

'We're not overlooked, as there were no houses further up the hill behind, just orchards and vineyards. The gardens in front slope towards the road which serves just a dozen houses.'

It was, Dodie saw, invisible, still lower down the slope of the hill.

'This pool terrace overlooks just a few houses and more orchards on the hill below, then the coast road, the beach and the Pacific.'

'What are those buildings?'

'Those roofs belong to a livery stables near the beach.'

Dodie nodded. She could see several horses grazing in the paddocks.

'Half a mile to the left on the coast road, you can just see it, there's the mall, with a filling station and a couple of diners, and beyond that the main residential district.'

'And is that a road behind us? I can hear a car.'

'Just a narrow unpaved track, big enough for one small truck. It serves the orchards to the east.'

It was uncomfortably close to the house and pool, Dodie thought, but at least it was screened by another thick hedge. Only horse riders and a few cyclists ever used it, Joe said, apart from the workers in the orchards and vineyards. No one could see her.

Reassured, Dodie slipped off the thick white towelling robe she'd found in the changing room and slid into the pool. Thirty years ago, when she was a shapely Hollywood starlet, recently widowed after her first husband, a soldier, had been killed, she would have happily displayed her curves. Today she was regretfully aware there were too many curves, in the wrong places, and she had no desire to display them to anyone until the unlikely event she managed to diet for longer than a week at a time. Which was why she intended to restrict her dips into the outdoor pool to times when she could be certain of being alone.

She swam slowly up and down. It was warm for January, even in California, but the pool was heated to just the right temperature, comfortable but invigorating.

Joe had bought this plot and built his house only a year ago, and this was the first time she'd visited him here. When they'd been married they had lived in a much smaller house closer to Los Angeles. He'd been rich then, and she had received a substantial settlement when they divorced. He must be several times richer now, and briefly she wondered if she would have been better off accepting a percentage of his income. Then she grinned. She had plenty of money and didn't need more. She'd earned well while on the stage as a dancer and in Hollywood, until she'd left it all behind in the hope of finding true love with Joe. He had been generous when, after two years, they had reluctantly concluded they were good friends but could not live together. She'd inherited a fortune from her next husband, Elena's Brazilian father, when he had died, and another generous settlement from her fourth husband, Gerald.

She reflected briefly that despite urgent appeals from a London banker she had met a few months ago, she would never take on another husband. It was too fatiguing, and surely four times was enough for anyone. She was on good terms with both the surviving ones, and enjoyed visiting Joe, especially when it meant she could escape some of the English winter. Gerald lived in London, as she did, and she saw him frequently. That was enough.

It was a hot sunny day, hot even for California, and when she was tired of swimming, she lay back on a lounger. She'd arrived two days ago and was still feeling jet-lagged, and when her eyes closed she relaxed. It was some time later that she realised Maisie must be back. Dodie recognised the sound of her car and the slam of the garage door. She saw the January sun dropping towards the horizon. It was time to go in. She clambered from the lounger, grabbed the robe and slung it round her, and went into the house. Joe would be back soon, and she needed a shower to wake her up. Fortunately she and Joe would be on their own tonight. She didn't feel like making bright conversation. It would be time for socialising later when Joe introduced her to his neighbours.

* * *

Maisie had laid the table for supper in the courtyard facing west to the ocean, screened from the wind but catching the sunset. The house, single storeyed, was built in the shape of an H, creating two such courtyards. Flowering plants and small trees in huge tubs decorated them, and each contained several small tables, chairs and loungers. Further down the slope a hedge of hibiscus, currently in full flower, edged one of the many paths which meandered through the five-acre plot. It was still warm, and Dodie relished the contrast with the grey, rainy weather she had left in London.

Joe was in an expansive mood. He had just concluded another business deal which would, Dodie gathered, bring in a few more thousand dollars each month. He was something in insurance, but exactly what she didn't know. His original fortune had been inherited from his father, who had started the business, but Joe had increased that fortune by several times, and spent as much time dealing with his investments as he did in the business. He had opened a bottle of French Champagne to celebrate, and poured some for Dodie.

'I'm considering buying an apartment in London,' he said as he forked up some salad. 'What's the best address? Knightsbridge or Mayfair? Or should I go for one of those apartments in converted warehouses down by the Tower? I like being near water even if I don't enjoy being on it.'

Dodie shivered. She felt sick in a rowing boat on a still pond.

'I'm not sure a view of the Thames is anything like the Pacific,' she said. 'Why do you want an apartment in London? You very rarely go there.'

'But it would be convenient. I can't always stay with you, and I don't like hotels. Where should it be?'

Would she like to have Joe in London more frequently? Though having an apartment there did not necessarily mean he would come more often. He had apartments in other parts of the world which she knew he might visit once a year, if that. She could always use them if she wanted to visit Geneva or Hong Kong, and he'd just bought one in Delhi.

Before she could reply there was some rustling in the hibiscus bushes, and a head, a closely shaven dark head, rose above them. The dark eyes closed for a moment as the man saw them, then he shrugged.

'Beg pardon, but I'm looking for Carlotta. Doesn't she work here?'

He had an accent, and Dodie thought he might be Mexican.

'How did you get onto my property?' Joe demanded, and to Dodie's astonishment he reached behind him and dragged a small pistol, smaller than his hand, from below the sweater he had dumped there when they came to the table.

Dodie blinked. She knew Americans treated guns with great familiarity, but why did Joe need one when they were dining peacefully at his own house, and why was he so suspicious of a man who seemed to have strayed accidentally into the wrong garden?

'Don't shoot, man!' He was trembling violently. 'I mean no harm! The gate wasn't locked. I swear it wasn't. I saw lights. Carlotta, she's my sister. I thought she was the maid here.'

'No, she isn't.' Joe kept the pistol aimed at the intruder. He rang a small bell on the table, and Mrs Longton bustled out from the kitchen. 'Get Ed please, Maisie.'

Maisie, with barely a glance at the intruder, simply nodded and went back indoors. She was in her fifties, a buxom blonde, and had worked for Joe since a few years after Dodie had divorced him. She was a superb cook and an efficient housekeeper. Ed was less reliable, but Joe tolerated his occasional drunken bouts for Maisie's sake.

'Get out onto the path behind you and hold up your hands,' Joe ordered, and the man, shaking with fear, did so.

He was small and swarthy, his hair cropped short. He clearly hadn't shaved for a couple of days, and was wearing jeans that were too big for him, Dodie thought. The legs were rolled up, and he had on a t-shirt with some kind of logo printed on the front. She thought it was for a baseball team.

'Honest, boss, the gate wasn't locked,' he said again, and muttered something in what Dodie thought was Spanish.

Joe ignored him, and a few minutes later Ed appeared from the house. Joe handed the gun to him.

'Escort this fellow to the Richards' house, and if their maid vouches for him as her brother, leave him there. Then I want a word with you.'

As Ed led the intruder away Joe pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialled. He ignored Maisie, who was bringing dishes of sea bass and rice to the table and clearing away the salad.

'Peter? Joe here. I'm sending Ed with someone who came here looking for Carlotta. Says he's her brother. Get your gun ready, and make sure Carlotta tells you the truth. He looked Mexican, OK, but I'm suspicious. I don't know how he got into my garden. Speak to you later.'

He put the phone away and turned to Dodie. She was still feeling shaken, more by Joe's reaction than by the man's sudden appearance.

'My apologies. Have some of this fish. Maisie has a special way of cooking it.'

'Do you often have people coming into your garden? How did he get in? You told me you kept the gates locked.'

He helped Dodie to some fish and she took some rice. Joe poured out more Champagne.

'I do keep them locked, but when Ed's been drinking he's not totally reliable. What were we talking about when we were interrupted?'

Dodie had lost interest in the location of Joe's London apartment.

'Is it really so dangerous here? Do you carry a gun with you everywhere?' she demanded, ignoring the fish. 'If you buy an apartment in London you won't be allowed to keep one there!'

He laughed. 'I doubt London is as lawless as the good old US of A.'

'Could the gate have been unlocked, as he claimed?'

Joe shook his head, but he looked worried.

'It should not have been, and if it was Ed has some explaining to do. He is supposed to keep both the big gate and the small pedestrian one that's set into it locked all the time. But an agile man could have climbed over it, perhaps, or climbed over the wall,' he mused. 'Or he could have come from a neighbour's yard, through one of the hedges from Robert's, or Peter's. It would be possible to climb through either hedge, though I'd have thought the bougainvillea thorns would have deterred him. But Carlotta works for Peter, so it's odd he would have left there. He must somehow have come from Robert's. He could have gotten into their yards easily enough, either from the road or the track at the rear.'

'So they don't lock themselves away in the houses next door? Is that what you are saying?'

'I think Peter leaves the gate open during daytime. Foolish, but they tend to have lots of visitors, and I suppose Peter feels it would be a nuisance to have to keep unlocking the gate. He also has a small gate which he probably never locks. And Robert's a bachelor, maybe less security conscious.'

'Could he have pushed into your garden through the hedge behind the pool? That's a public path behind it, you said.'

'From the track? It's unlikely. There's a wire fence inside the hedge, which is thorny, and the two would be impossible to penetrate.'

Dodie thoughtfully began to eat the fish, which was truly delicious.

'Who are your neighbours?'

Dodie sipped the wine as she listened.

'You'll meet them tomorrow, they are all invited to dine here. Peter and Sylvia Richards live in the house to the south. He runs a travel agency. Their maid Carlotta is Mexican, so it's possible our unwanted visitor is her brother. Sylvia's brother Greg Turnbull, who's a writer, is staying with them. He's just home from somewhere in South America, with, I'm told, material for a new travel book. On the far side of their house are the Beaties, Dave and Judith, and daughter Belinda, who's seventeen, spoilt, and ripe for mischief. Dave has a chain of convenience stores and I believe Judith is the mainstay of the local chapel. To the other side of my spread behind the tennis court and the orchard is Robert Marley, who made a pile with computers, and now writes books about them. He's the target of all the unmarried females around here, and many of the married ones too. I think even Maisie's daughter Gina has her sights on him, though as far as I can tell he takes no notice of any of them.'

Dodie laughed. 'You mean they prefer him to you? You are wealthy and a bachelor.'

Joe grinned and topped up her wine.

'But he's only thirty, and good looking as well as rich.'

Dodie regarded him with affection. He had the craggy good looks of some of the he-men film stars she had known during her time in Hollywood. His figure was perhaps not so muscular and toned as it had been then, for he had gained weight, but so had she. In her case far too much. In many ways she had been surprised he had not remarried after their divorce, but she was aware he did not lack feminine company. She had to time her visits to California carefully, first checking with Henriette, a fellow starlet who still played cameo roles in TV dramas, that Joe was not entertaining his latest lady-love at home. She must arrange to stay with Henriette for a few days