Epitaph: A Gripping Murder Mystery

By Anita Waller

An English pensioner and PI is drawn into a baffling case that strikes close to home in this cozy mystery by the author of the Kat and Mouse series.

Doris Lester has taken a well-deserved break from work. She’s planned a holiday with her best friend Wendy on a journey across the Yorkshire and Derbyshire Dales. But before they depart, a letter arrives that stirs up trouble and memories of the past. Soon Doris and Wendy are drawn into the mystery surrounding a troubled family, a missing person and gruesome murder.

When Doris and Wendy join the investigation, intriguing revelations about Doris’s life come to the surface, which shock even those closest to her. Step by step they uncover secrets that could tear a family even further apart. Can Wendy and Doris solve the mystery? And if they do, will their lives ever be the same again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Aug 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781504072281

Anita Waller

Anita Waller has written and taught creative writing for most of her life, and at the age of sixty-nine she sent a manuscript to her publisher and it was immediately accepting. In total, she has written several psychological thrillers and one supernatural novel. She married her husband Dave in 1967 and they have three adult children.

Book preview

1

April 2019

‘D on’t forget to pack a swimming costume,’ Doris Lester said, switching her phone from one ear to the other so she could tick that item off her to-do list with her right hand.

‘I thought we were visiting cemeteries,’ Wendy Lucas said. ‘Why will I need a swimming costume? They’ve not had pools in any cemeteries I’ve ever been to.’

‘Are you being deliberately obstructive, Lucas? A couple of the hotels I’ve booked for us have pools. So unless you plan on swimming in the nude, you’ll need a costume.’

‘I’m giddy.’

‘I can tell.’

‘Okay, got it. Swimming costume. Anything else?’

‘Not yet. I’ll ring if there is. What time are you getting here tomorrow?’

‘If you’re going to nag me, Lester, about ten minutes before bedtime.’

‘Nag?’ Doris tried not to laugh. ‘I’ve never nagged in my life.’

There was a splutter from the other end of the phone. ‘Yeah, right. I’ll be there for about four. Shall we eat at the Bowling Green? My treat to say thank you for doing so much of the organising.’

The eating place Wendy referred to was a seventeenth-century pub only a couple of hundred yards from Little Mouse Cottage, Doris’s home for the past year.

‘Great minds and all that,’ Doris responded. ‘Then an early night. I’d like to be on our way by nine on Monday morning. Belle is booked in at the cattery from tomorrow morning, so my first holiday in six years is actually happening.’

---

They disconnected, the two close friends both feeling buoyed by the thought of the strange holiday they had planned over many nights and phone calls, and they were sure adventures were waiting around the corner. Doris hoped for quiet adventures and an answer to a problem, Wendy slightly more rambunctious ones.

At first Wendy had laughed. Let’s go visit famous dead people’s graves, Doris had said, and five minutes later Doris’s enthusiasm had spread to her friend. Subsequently they had a file full of spreadsheets, timetables, hotel bookings and a big fat journal each, for the sole purpose of recording their discoveries. They planned on having overworked pocket-sized Sprocket printers producing picture after picture after picture to stick in the journals, recording their travels over two weeks of some pretty intense driving. Wendy had laughed at her friend’s meticulous preparations, saying other people made lists of clothes to take, trips to go on when they got there, eating stops on the journey – Doris had planned every footstep and every gravestone. A week earlier she had made a last-minute addition with several question marks on it, but it wasn’t on Wendy’s paperwork.

---

Doris settled down for the evening. She felt refreshed by the shower following her shortened daily run around the village, and she pushed her wavy silvery-grey hair around, hoping she could get away with it drying naturally. The small lines around her blue eyes crinkled as she smiled at the thought of the holiday to come.

It was the end of April, but England’s temperatures hadn’t reached any giddy heights so she lit the log burner. She could give it a good clean before leaving, she decided, then hopefully that would be it until early October.

She patted her knee and Belle obligingly jumped up. ‘Good girl,’ Doris said. ‘I’m really going to miss you. I need you to be well behaved for two weeks. Think you can manage that? No shredding tea towels, clawing at furniture, and no demanding tuna. Dry food only for the next fortnight. Think you’ll cope?’

‘Miaow.’

‘I’ll take that as a yes then,’ Doris said. The cat stood and kneaded with all four of her paws until she was convinced she had made her mistress’s knee as comfortable as it could be, then the cat settled herself with a purr.

Doris too felt comfortable. Connection, the investigation business in which she was a partner alongside her granddaughter and her friend, was exceeding all their hopes and this holiday was at everyone’s insistence. Connection will manage without you for two weeks, they had said, so bugger off, old woman.

Old woman. She smiled at their words, a reference to her recent seventieth birthday celebrations when she had declared herself to be a fully paid-up member of the Old Woman Society. An old woman with a black belt in karate and a phenomenal brain for absorbing facts and making computers sing.

---

Cat and mistress listened to a play on Radio Four in the absence of anything palatable on television, and Belle was finally put into her bed in the kitchen. Doris knew the beautifully slender animal would go in and out through the cat flap a couple of times during the night but would be waiting for her breakfast the next morning as soon as Doris entered the kitchen. A lovingly predictable animal.

---

Doris spent Sunday folding clothes neatly into her suitcase, checking things off against her list, and missing Belle. She had felt tears prick at her eyes when she had left through the main door of the cattery, but it came highly recommended and she knew Belle would be safe. The cat would probably be huffy with her when she returned, but she guessed she would be able to deal with that.

She placed a hot water bottle into the spare bed, knowing it hadn’t been slept in for a while, and hoped Wendy would be comfortable. The room was pretty; white paintwork against small-flowered wallpaper gave it a cottagey feel, and Doris had enjoyed choosing antique furniture to help the ambience even more.

She sat in the armchair for a moment and looked around her. When the previous owner had lived here this had been the unused room, the one where everything went that didn’t have a home elsewhere in the cottage. Now it was as it should be, and Doris loved it. She placed the little card welcoming Wendy to her home in front of the tiny vase of fresh flowers, took a last look around to make sure all was good, and went back downstairs.

Her guest would be here in an hour, so time for Doris to put up her feet and relax.

---

Wendy sat down in the armchair with a sigh. ‘I’m stuffed. That was a lovely meal.’ She patted her stomach. ‘I might have been nine stone when I left home earlier, but I’ve just added half a stone.’ Her brown eyes twinkled as she spoke. ‘I’ve been on a bit of a diet for this holiday, and had my hair cut.’ She ran her hands through her hair. ‘I’ve not had it coloured or anything for the last year, I’ve given in to old age.’

Doris laughed. ‘Your hair is a lovely grey. It never needed colouring. And as for going on a diet, numpty, is this in preparation for overeating for the next two weeks?’

‘Certainly is. And that holiday eating clearly started tonight at the Bowling Green.’

‘You want a brandy?’

‘That would be nice. Only one though, if we’re setting off early. Why are we setting off at nine if we’re only going as far as Chesterfield?’

‘I’m taking you somewhere else first. I told you it would be an adventure, and an adventure it will be.’

Doris poured them both a drink, and then sat down in the armchair. ‘You’ve brought your file of paperwork with you?’ she asked Wendy, well known for being a little scatterbrained.

‘Too right I have. I’m planning on having an hour or so every evening filling in my journal, printing off the little photographs, and keeping these dead bodies alive.’

‘They’re dead.’

‘I know they’re dead, but I’m never going to have another holiday like this one, am I? I want it recording, and besides, I like this little Sprocket thing. I’ve bought loads of papers so we don’t run out.’

Doris smiled, remembering Luke’s comments about the tiny printer. She had taken a selfie, printed it and stuck it to his computer in the Connection reception area.

‘What’s this?’ he had asked. ‘Why are you glaring at me?’

‘I’m not good at selfies,’ she had responded. ‘And it’s to let you know that I expect that new course to be finished and submitted by the time I come back to work; my eye is on you at all times.’

He had laughed uproariously, winked at her and said, ‘As if I’d dare have you come back and that course be unfinished. Still, it’s nice to have your picture, I might even frame it and sit it on my desk properly. It’ll frighten all the baddies away, that’s for sure.’

---

The two women sat almost without speaking, Doris going through her own file which she intended keeping in her laptop bag; she knew every step of the journey, and had toyed with the idea of maybe writing a small travel book about this particular holiday when she returned. It would fill the long winter nights of November through to March, but their journals, handwritten, decorated, ticket stubs stuck in with the glue sticks they had packed, would be her primary focus for the book, and a pleasurable end-of-day activity for them when they returned to their hotel.

‘I went to see Bingo Jen last night. Thought I’d better tell her we were going away, because if I missed two sessions she’d have the police round at mine checking I wasn’t dead.’

‘You tell her where we’re going?’

Wendy nodded. ‘She asked. I said we were visiting dead bodies in cemeteries, famous dead people. I mentioned one or two of the names, but she looked a bit blank.’

‘It’s different people having different interests, isn’t it? Take me, for instance, I couldn’t call a game of bingo to save my life, but Bingo Jen can. And she’s brilliant at it, it’s why we have such a laugh when we go. But she couldn’t kill a man with a precisely placed foot or hand.’ Doris spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, and Wendy shivered.

‘No, I don’t suppose she can. I don’t suppose I can, either. We’re not going to have to kill people on this trip, are we?’

‘Nah, shouldn’t think so,’ Doris said with a laugh. ‘I’m not actually allowed to do it anyway. I just can. Did Bingo Jen make any further comments about our unusual holiday?’

‘She did. She said two little ducks, twenty-two.’

‘What?’

‘I think she meant we’re quackers.’

---

Alarms set for eight rang out in both bedrooms and twenty minutes later they were in the kitchen enjoying a cup of tea. They chatted quietly, neither lady being a morning person, and then washed and stashed away the cups and plates they had used.

Stowing everything away in the boot was an art form in itself, but finally they were ready to leave. Doris checked all lights were switched off and every door secure, then went out to join Wendy, patiently waiting in the passenger seat.

‘Everything okay?’ Wendy asked.

‘All good. I’ve asked Luke to pop round a couple of times while we’re away to make sure it stays that way, so we can go and not worry about anything. Ready, partner?’

‘Ready, partner,’ Wendy responded, and Doris drove down the hill towards the village outskirts.

---

They didn’t speak much. Wendy lived in a Sheffield suburb, so didn’t get to see Derbyshire in the way that Doris did; her eyes were glued to the scenery, envious of the beauty that Doris enjoyed every day.

Knowing that their first foray into grave spotting was Chesterfield, Wendy felt slightly puzzled by the route Doris was taking; she said nothing until they began the long drop down into Sheffield.

‘This isn’t the way to Chesterfield.’

‘I know. We have another one to visit first. Indulge me.’

Wendy could sense an edge in Doris’s voice and was wise enough to say nothing further, knowing an explanation would be there eventually.

---

Fifteen minutes later they turned into the entrance of City Road Cemetery, the largest one in Sheffield.

‘We’re here to visit Harry?’

‘We are.’ Doris no longer had an edge to her voice; it was grim. ‘And tonight I’m going to show you some stuff that will explain why I’m here, because I think this is the final goodbye, not the one I said at his funeral.’

2

Doris stood by the graveside, and Wendy sensed anger flowing from her in waves. It hadn’t been an easy marriage, that much she knew, but Harry had been dead a long time. She glanced at the headstone.

Harry James Lester

25.12.44 – 18.7.05

Much loved husband, dad and granddad

Rest in Peace

He’d been dead nearly fifteen years but clearly he’d managed to upset his wife from beyond the grave. And upset seemed a pretty mild word.

‘What’s wrong, Doris?’ Wendy asked quietly.

‘Possibly everything. Everything I thought was okay, and it wasn’t. I’ve something to show you that I’ve only been aware of for less than a week, and I almost cancelled our holiday because of it, but then I decided we could make it part of the holiday. I don’t want to say anything more until you see things for yourself, but I needed to come here this morning, get him off my mind for ever and do it without benefit of Connection. He was Mouse’s granddad after all. She loved him.’

Wendy said nothing further; she waited by the side of the grave until Doris felt it was time to move.

---

They stood for a few minutes; Doris appearing lost in her thoughts. Suddenly she turned.

‘Let’s go.’ She glanced around, moved a couple of steps and plucked a dandelion. She threw it on the grave, and walked away, heading towards the car. The action said more than any words, as far as Wendy was concerned, and she followed her friend, thinking it was going to be an interesting evening.

---

The sight of the Crooked Spire rising up into the heavens told them they were in the heart of Chesterfield, the satnav directed them straight to Holy Trinity Church and the remains of George Stephenson. A small plaque in the grounds informed them that he was buried in a vault inside the church, and further information added to that said he was under the altar.

Doris’s foresight in emailing to ask that the church be unlocked for them had proved to be a smart move, and they were met at the door by the vicar, who told them his wife would make them a drink once they were ready for it.

They viewed George Stephenson’s resting place together and they decided it made sense to split up and gather booklets to add to their journals, sharing everything between them each evening.

Doris switched off from her thoughts of Harry, and began her holiday in the beautiful church. She stood by the altar for some time. All her life she had been in awe of people who had contributed in some way to society; the only way to feel their presence, once they had died, was to stand by their gravesides and think. She did this in the welcoming church. Her father had given her a love of railways, and a love of George Stephenson. She felt honoured to be standing by the side of such a great man, even if it was only in death.

She didn’t want to take photographs; she sat on a pew and did a quick sketch of his final resting place, then moved on to inspect the church properly. She met up with Wendy, and together they found the small room used for after-service drinks by the congregation.

The vicar’s wife made them tea and scones, and then left them to talk.

As they left they dropped money into the donations box, and walked out into the sunshine.

---

A quick tour of the grounds, and they were back in the car, and heading out of Chesterfield towards their first stop for the night at Cromford.

‘That was fab,’ Wendy said. ‘I thought you were crazy when you suggested this, but when you’ve done a bit of research and you feel you kinda know the chap, it makes a difference. Clever bloke, wasn’t he?’

‘Certainly was. You want to stop for lunch?’

‘Not bothered if you’re not. That scone was huge. I can wait till we have our evening meal, maybe have a mid-afternoon coffee at the hotel. Does that suit you?’

‘It does, and I promise, after we’ve eaten tonight, I’ll explain what all that was with Harry’s grave. It’s too complicated for me to have told you when we were there, and I couldn’t tell you last night because I still wasn’t sure I was going to do anything about anything. But around two this morning I knew I was.’

Wendy stared at Doris. She couldn’t ever remember a time when Doris had been unsure of anything.

---

The two women settled into their hotel rooms, and after eating in the hotel rather than going out to find food, they headed back to Doris’s room.

Doris pulled her file towards her and removed a letter. ‘I need to talk to you about Harry.’

Wendy grinned at her. ‘The dandelion said a lot.’

‘He might have been dead fifteen years, but he’s not taking it lying down, believe me. When I had Claire, things were definitely not good with us. I had to take leave of absence from work to have the baby, and as you know I was much higher than him in pay grade and it always rankled. I believe now that if we hadn’t had Claire, our marriage wouldn’t have lasted.’

‘This was when you were in work and pensions?’

Doris gave a brief smile. ‘Kind of. Work and pensions was my cover. I can’t say much more about what I did because when you sign the Official Secrets Act it’s a lifetime thing, but I know a little about work and pensions.’

Wendy’s eyes widened slightly. ‘And you were senior to Harry?’

‘I was. I think he thought having a baby would stop me, but it didn’t. I really only finally gave up my work when Mouse came to live with me. Even now my knowledge is still sought, but nobody at Connection knows that. However, that’s irrelevant. I discovered he had been having an affair while I was pregnant. I wasn’t good while I was carrying the baby, sick a lot, uncomfortable pain, that sort of thing, and I asked him to leave as soon as I found out.’

‘You must have backtracked on that.’

‘I did. I listened to him. I think he must have kissed the Blarney Stone or something because he persuaded me it was over, he had ended it because he didn’t want to lose me or the baby I was carrying. He promised he would never stray again, it was a weak moment in his life… you know, the usual rubbish men come out with when they’ve been caught dallying. Anyway, I had Claire, went back to work when she was six months old and we lived a comfortable life. I never had any reason to doubt him again, until this week.’ Doris stood. ‘Shall we have a cuppa?’

‘It’s that serious? Shall I fetch my whiskey?’

‘No need. I’ve brought mine.’ Doris reached into her suitcase and took out the Jameson’s. She made their drinks, and sat back down by her file, picking up the letter as she did so.

‘When I bought Little Mouse Cottage I arranged for mail redirection, stating mail addressed to anybody with the surnames Lester or Walters should be forwarded to my new address. I paid for a two-year provision. I get maybe one a month now, usually junk mail, but last week I got an actual letter, and it was addressed to Harry.’

‘Wow! Did it upset you?’

‘Receiving a letter addressed to him? Not initially, I thought it was strange. Once I’d read it… I can’t say I felt upset, but I felt bloody angry.’ She passed the letter to Wendy. ‘Read it and then we’ll talk.’

Wendy took the A4 sheet of paper that had been folded into three and smoothed it open.

---

27 Long Lane,

Hucknall,

Notts.

NG23 7WY

---

Dear Harry Lester,

I’m sorry, I don’t know how to address you. My name is Rosie Steer, although when I was born forty-six years ago (on the fourth September 1973) it was Rosie Chambers. My mother was Lily May Chambers.

My mother died two months ago and I am in the process of sorting out her papers and clearing her home. She never married anyone after you left, and has always said that you were a fly-by-night who couldn’t commit to anything.

It now seems that was wrong, and that she had a long-term affair with you that lasted the best part of three years, and, according to her diary, she gave you up because I was growing older and she didn’t want me to have memories of you. It seems you had another family and a wife, who you wouldn’t leave to go to her. I know she told you lies, and it is important I set the record straight.

I would like to meet with you at some point. My mother became really bitter and I can only assume it was because of the hand she had been dealt in life.

I won’t give you my email because the only one I have is connected to work, but I would like to hear from you. You can write to me at the above address.

Regards,

Your daughter,

Rosie

---

Wendy read it through a second time, then carefully refolded it. ‘The bastard. The evil bastard.’

Doris gave a slight laugh. ‘Don’t hold back, will you? You’re right though. So I need to make a decision. Do I go to see Rosie, or do I simply write to her and say her father is dead?’

‘I think you have to see her. She’s clearly not happy that she missed out on seeing her father, and it might soften the blow of finding out he’s dead if that information doesn’t arrive in a letter. And anyway, aren’t you a little bit curious?’

‘No, but you obviously are.’

‘So when are we at the nearest point to her?’

‘Tomorrow we’re going to track down Sir Richard Arkwright’s grave, spend the rest of the morning in his Masson Mill then on to Hucknall and Lord Byron straight after lunch. As you can see, Rosie lives in Hucknall. That’s the day we stay at the Cockcliffe Country House. We’re only there for one night. So if we can see Lord Byron in

Reviews for Epitaph

[miamuse · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

The writing was tedious with many repetitions. The characters of which there were many were not really fleshed out. There were FAQs brought in and names mentioned that had never been mentioned before in the book and no explanation was given. They were obviously from previous books written, but only took away from the flow of the story. The plot line wasn’t bad, but the path to the resolution was to disjointed.