The Bed Body: Gerald Bunting, #1

By Adam D. Rice

Dorothy Sutton believes she knows who killed her mother, but secrets and lies abound in this sleepy English village.

When critical evidence goes missing, local constables are at a loss, but the eccentric detective, Gerald Bunting, refuses to give up until details of his investigation hit the newsstand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pitmix Press
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201085186

Book preview

The Bed Body

Gerald Bunting Mystery #1

Adam D. Rice

Copyright © 2021 Adam D. Rice

All rights reserved.

Any similarities to persons, living or dead, are a coincidence.

Dedication

To Agatha Christie, the legend.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About The Author

Chapter One

A leopard? What would I want with—right. Officer Marrow sipped his coffee. To go with the other one. Where do you? On the credenza? If you think you can snag one for a fair—hold on. Marjorie, somebody’s trying to get through on the other line. I’ll call you back.

The constable pushed a button. Hello, sir, how can I—a body? Where? Yes, I’ve got it all down—the officer ransacked a drawer until he remembered the pen behind his ear—right here. Pearl Street? Yes, alright. Heading there now.

The door creaked apprehensively. Enter, Marrow said, reaching for his badge.

Officer Andrews leaned into the office. Jacob, I’m glad I caught you. There’s someone here I’d like you to meet. Marrow’s colleague stood aside, revealing a short, middle-aged man with a scruffy beard. He was bundled up in two overcoats and a conspicuous scarf.

It is the pleasures, I am sure, the man said, pinching the brim of his hat.

Marrow sized up the stranger but didn’t learn much. Yes, what is—who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?

Come on, Jacob. You know who this is! He’s one of—

The man coughed. "Never one of. What is this one of? I am great—as great as the several. As esteemed as the many! Of this I am assured by paper scribblers and camera-holders who press in the crowds and stand by closely. For this, he dug a thumb in his scarf, is Gerald, the worldwide detective of Cornwall."

Silence grabbed a cocoa and settled in.

It’s Gerald Bunting! Andrews said. You know, the bloke who’s always solving crimes on the Continent. You’ve heard of him. I’m sure we’ve talked about—

The Continent, yes, yes, surely, the detective said, "but all of this earth marble is the oyster I possess. Wherever I make the costly travels, I find the sneaking clues and track down sly killers—save the capped ice with the penguin hoards. There, I shall not go."

Bunting sneezed, tugging at his outermost coat. Apologize.

Beg pardon? Marrow said. I don’t follow.

Apologies, Andrews muttered. Leave it alone.

Mr. Bunting, where exactly in Cornwall did you say you’re from? Officer Marrow asked. Amsterdam?

I was born at Cornish seasides—Bude, the town. England, yes.

Marrow’s head twisted precariously. "Oh, alright. Yeah, I know the place. But let me get this straight. You were born in Cornwall."

The detective nodded. So it is.

And you’ve always spoken like that? Where are your parents from?

Bude, also, yes. We are the Cornish, through and through again. Bunting shivered. Apologize, again, I must. I fidget with the drafts here. Oh, that the fueled cookstove could follow me always. He sighed. Sometime, I will find the eyes open for this dream.

Officer Marrow clapped his hands. Well, I’d love to chat about some of those cases, Mr. Bunting, but I’d best be off. I have a bit of investigating to do myself.

Ah, the detective clucked his tongue, you have scents for a case, and you find yourself stingy, Marrow man. You have laid out the tease. Would you trifle with G. Bunting this way? Tell of this case. Was it the phone I heard to ring? I notice all the little things—crumbs too small to stomach.

Andrews added, It’ll only take a minute. I checked out Mr. Bunting’s file. He’s got special clearances. There’s no harm, whetting his thirst a bit.

Whet my mind blade with this thirst you speak of. Yes—do, Gerald said, cleaning his spectacles with a spare scarf.

Marrow polished off his coffee, buying him a few seconds. He cleared his throat—then, twice more. Bunting leaned in. There’s... a body. Well, a death.

A body! Gerald chuckled. Let me make the guesses. Witnesses, they say she was felled from the camel by heat’s stroke, but yet, why is the bullet in the back? The great detectives, as I am, we often see this.

Officer Andrews asked, Well, Jacob? Was he right? We don’t often get many camels in this part of Britain, Mr. Bunting.

Marrow pulled on his jacket. No camels—not yet, anyway.

Then where? The thirst, it continues!

Pearl Street.

The detective’s smile disappeared beneath his coat collars. He mumbled, What a precious place to be doused in the spilt bloodies. Of course, I know not this place exactly, but I have habits of mopping up whiffs and inklings handy to me in... handing me truths, yes. I have heard of this tidy, quiet Pearl where many raise small ones to bigger ones.

I really need to be leaving. You’ll have to excuse me, Officer Marrow said, grabbing his cap. I’m sure, if you’ve got a little time on your hands, the folks down in cold cases would love some help sniffing around those inklings. Good morning. The inspector tipped his hat and left.

Chapter Two

Officer Marrow checked the address. 31 Pearl Street. He knocked again. The curtains were drawn. It was nearly dark, but no lights glimmered within the brick two-story. He glanced up the street—completely deserted.

Constable. Marrow rattled the knocker. Hello, open up. We received a call.

He heard movement inside. A latch was drawn back, and the door opened a crack. Yes, who is it? a woman asked.

Officer Marrow, madam. A death was reported at this residence.

Yes, yes. Get in, the woman disappeared into a darkened sitting room. Marrow gripped his baton a bit tighter and followed the scent of her pungent perfume.

Coffee? she fussed, clearing a stack of