The Death of the Old Lady

By Daniela von der Fecht

The Death of the Old Lady is a woman's pledge to come to the bottom of her employer's sudden and unexpected death.
Anna Petersen lives and works with Nora Simps in a small Cornish village. In spite of the age gap, Nora and Anna are close friends. When Anna finds Nora dead in the kitchen, she turns into a sleuth; during her investigation, she is joined by the local artist David, the police inspector Ryan, and her sister, Stella. By and by the secrets behind Nora Simps's life and death are uncovered. Also her own and her sister's life change drastically as the story unfolds and takes us from Cornwall to the Lake District and briefly to Germany.
Things and people are not always what they seem, and dreams can be shattered in the blink of an eye; however, they can also be reconstructed through faith and love, and sometimes we need to change to meet our true purpose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504991155

Daniela von der Fecht

Dani von der Fecht was born and raised in Germany but has been living and working in the UK since 2001. She holds a BA in German literature, philosophy, and sociology and an OADipl in forensic psychology and profiling. Her love for the written word runs like a thread through her life. Her MA papers were titled “The Women in the Life and Work of Franz Kafka.” Her first novel, “The Deck of Cards,” was published in August 2014 and is available through Authorhouse UK. Apart from literature and the theatre, Dani loves arts, music, travelling, and socialising with friends and family. She lives in Cheshire.

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© 2015 Daniela von der Fecht. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/21/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-9113-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-9114-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-9115-5 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

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About the Author

For my sister and my parents

The summary of our life are the hours in which we loved!

—Wilhelm Busch

1

It was a beautiful August morning. The sun definitely had its hat on when Anna opened the small window on the eastern side of her bedroom – the side which overlooked the sea and thus, in a certain sense, limitlessness and eternity. Anna loved the view from this window: a few wildflowers in the cottage garden, a strip of green, the rough cliffs, and then the endless blue-green sea.

I shall never leave this place again! she said, breathing in the clear fresh air swept with the untamed waves to the coast. She picked some clothes and went to the nearby bathroom. While a morning shower got rid of the last bit of sleep left in her, Anna thought of home and her family in Stuttgart. She was a true Swabian girl who loved her grandmother’s hand-cut spaetzle. And where had life’s road taken her? To a small village in Cornwall, close to the Bay of St Ives and far away from a good Viertele of Trollinger and her nana’s spaetzle board.

About three years earlier, during a holiday tour through England’s stunning southwest, she had on her way from Perranporth to Land’s End stumbled across a sign for Huffington. Something about that name had strangely attracted her, so she had parked her car near the black cliffs and strolled in. A truly picturesque English village presented itself to her: a handful of black-and-white cottages more or less grouped around a marketplace built not of old cobbles but of lush, thick, almost olive-green grass. A few sheep were grazing, and there were hardly any cars visible. Her eyes were next drawn by a little bakery with a tearoom, where she eventually got to talking to an elderly lady while enjoying a Cornish pasty and Darjeeling tea.

Anna had been 27 years old and Miss Simps exactly the opposite at 72. The two women instantly found common ground and got along like a house on fire. Both had a true passion for books. Anna had just finished her MA studies in literature; Miss Simps owned a lovely little bookshop underneath her living quarters in one of the black-and-white cottages just off the village green, facing the sea. Miss Simps spontaneously invited Anna to have a look around the bookstore and the cottage. Anna came, saw, and loved.

I will do all I can to come back here soon and spend some time in this place! she had promised herself.

Now Anna had been living and working alongside Miss Simps for a year and a half. Almost every day she started and ended with a walk along the seafront. Today should be no different. Dressed in her typically English flowery Laura Ashley summer dress, she went back into her room to pick up her cream-coloured cardigan and open the big window to air the room properly. She pulled the curtains back and now had a clear view to the village centre. Everything was still quiet.

She grabbed her cardigan and was just about to leave her room when she noticed a man out of the corner of her eye, seemingly messing with their back door. She carefully stepped back to the window and peeped from behind the curtains. She could not see the person properly, but it was clearly a man. Something about him seemed familiar. He looked around himself, glanced through the kitchen window again, and then disappeared with long strides towards the cliffs and the access to the sea.

David? Anna wondered, pulling the curtains into place again. Dark brown pants and beige cotton jumper – like so often! She smiled thinking about this man she had started to feel a little attracted to. He came to the shop quite often, and according to Miss Simps, he had only started to do so since Anna had moved in. Still with a warm smile on her lips, she walked down the stairs to make the first cup of tea of the day for Miss Simps and herself.

Everything was still quiet on the first floor, which housed Miss Simps’s bedroom, a gorgeous living room, and a bathroom. On tiptoes, Anna walked onto the stairs leading down to the street level – the shop, a good-sized dining and living room, and the kitchen. Quietly she opened the kitchen door.

Oh my God – Miss Simps! She dropped her cardigan and dashed into the kitchen. Directly next to the solid wooden table was Miss Simps, lying on the tiled floor. A red puddle was growing between her head and the kettle that she must have dropped.

Miss Simps – God, what happened here? Without further delay, she started resuscitation methods. Come on, Miss Simps – please don’t do this to me! She could not hold back her tears any longer. Finally she had to accept the futility of her actions. Nora Simps was dead. Anna knelt next to her friend. What am I to do? What happened here? Eventually she got up, went to the telephone in the hall, and dialled the number of the police station in St Ives.

Anna still had tears in her eyes when she opened the door in answer to the weirdly purring doorbell that she had become so familiar with.

Good morning, Miss Petersen. How sad to see you again under such circumstances! The inspector remembered very well their first encounter at a charity ball a few months ago, when he had been pleasantly surprised by Miss Simps’ adorable companion.

Good morning, Inspector Ryan. Please do come in. I am still simply beside myself. I really cannot understand how this could have happened without me noticing … Anna was in tears again.

Please do try to calm down. I have brought the doctor with me. He will firstly attend to the cor– … ahem, I mean, Miss Simps, and then he will have a look at you. You can rest now; we will take care of everything.

Inspector Ryan and Dr Wyatt let Anna lead them to the kitchen.

Have you touched anything or changed anything since you first found Miss Simps? Inspector Ryan asked Anna while the doctor examined the corpse. Anna leaned with her back against the door frame.

No, of course not. Oh, actually, yes. After trying to get her pulse and noticing that the head wound had stopped bleeding, I ripped her blouse open and started cardiac massage and mouth to mouth. But unfortunately … Anna dug her fingers into the door frame. I thought of a heart attack – after all, she did suffer from a light angina pectoris …

You have tried your best and reacted really admirably, Miss Petersen! Dr Wyatt said, smiling at her.

Yes indeed – you did react promptly there. Most people are incapable of rational actions in such a shocking moment. You and Miss Simps were very close, were you not? Inspector Ryan asked, staring at Anna.

"Yes, Inspector. Even though a lot of people might find it strange due to the age gap, Miss Simps and I are … no, were very close. We simply were on the same wavelength. And my actions are not so surprising, really, if you take into consideration that I studied five years of medicine before changing direction."

The doctor and the inspector exchanged a glance before the policeman continued his questions.

The kettle … was it in this position on the floor, as we can see it now?

Yes.

And the blood?

I think she must have hit the table corner when collapsing, or she hit the stone floor hard … Anna could not help it, she started gagging at the thought of poor Miss Simps gone out of her life like a flash. She felt an overwhelming sickness and rushed to the little toilet next to the store.

Well, Doc, what do you think?

As far as I can determine here without a proper autopsy, the old lady had a heart attack. She let the kettle drop to the floor and collapsed, hitting her head on the way, which then caused the small wound on her head. Just like the young lady said, really.

Small wound? How can a small wound cause such a puddle?

Well, the puddle is a mix of water from the kettle and blood from the scalp. That makes it look far worse than it is. Also, head injuries always bleed easily.

So – no violent external forces at work?

As far as I can judge here and now, no. Why are you even contemplating that?

Because there is something not right here. Inspector Ryan was looking around the kitchen, lost in thought, when Anna returned.

Would you like me to give you something for your nerves, Miss Petersen? the doctor asked kindly.

No, no, thank you. I have not known her all that long, but during the last year and a half she has grown so dear to me. I will miss her tremendously!

Miss Petersen, one last thing! The inspector turned round. Why did you not hear anything, since you were in the house? I mean, a body hitting the floor is not that quiet, is it?

I have been asking myself the same question. Maybe she sank down more than fell … and I was in the shower … and I am two floors above …

Hmm – not seen anything, not heard anything. Heart attack. All clear then, really. But somehow there is something that nags me. I just don’t know what yet. The inspector looked down on Miss Simps once more and then stepped to the window. What a peaceful view this is!

David! Anna exclaimed all of a sudden when she saw the inspector standing in the window. David was here! I wonder why …

Pardon me?

David Hull. I saw him from my window before coming downstairs. I completely forgot about that … and really, it can’t have anything to do with all this … it would not make any sense!

Ach – could you please explain in more detail?

Yes, of course. I picked my cardigan up from the chair near my big window, and out of the corner of my eye I saw someone at our back door. That window faces the village green. I could not recognise the person, but I am sure … well, fairly sure that it was David Hull. He is an artist, a painter, and lives in Seagull Cottage. Why did I forget that? Anna frowned.

And why do you think that this was Mr Hull, even though you are not sure?

Well, the man was of the same build. He also had dark blond hair, and most importantly, he wore brown corduroy pants and a light coloured jumper – sort of David’s trademark!

You seem to know Mr Hull well – very well, Miss Petersen.

Anna blushed. No, not really. He … he often comes to the shop. Then we have a chat. He is also interested in literature – he loves Byron, Yeats, but also modern novels – and sometimes I meet him during my walks on the beach. That’s all.

So so … really? Hmm, then what did he want here on a Sunday morning? Did he ring the bell?

No, I am sure I would have heard that. I really do not know what he could have wanted to talk to Miss Simps about.

Well really, to be honest, I am liking all of this less and less!

Hmm, yes – he did look around himself a bit strangely as well … Anna talked more to herself than to the two men present.

Well, I don’t think it would harm if I had a look at this painter. You, miss, please remain available for us. I think we will now let the doctor leave with the … the old lady. You relax a bit, and I will take a walk to this Seagull Cottage!

Yes. Thank you.

Should we get any further news from the autopsy or indeed from talking to this painter, we will of course be in touch. I suppose you are the person closest to the … deceased.

Oh … yes. Well … I … as far as I know, there are no relatives.

Okay then, goodbye for today.

After seeing the inspector and the doctor off, Anna closed the door and slowly went back to the kitchen. A big bloodstain on the floor was all that was left of the horror of that morning. Anna walked to the window and followed the car with her eyes as it took the doctor, his two helpers and the body of Miss Simps to St Ives. She saw Inspector Ryan light his pipe while taking the path to the seashore.

I do wonder what happened here. Miss Simps was not really that ill. She always took her medication and lived healthy … Anna sat down at the kitchen table, staring at the big bloodstain. Miss Simps had been her boss and so much more: her friend, her replacement family for those back in Germany. In spite or maybe because of the difference in age, they had been very close, had let each other be.

Innumerable books they had discussed. Miss Simps always had an open ear, was interested in everything, and helped Anna through a tough period in her life. She had never said much about herself really; she was the perfect listener. Over the rim of her small gold specs with the oval glass she had smiled while Anna related her life and opened up her soul. Anna’s perfect childhood with the so dearly loved father from the north and the bubbly mother from the south. Those easy years in the land of forests and grapes. Thousands of wonderful little memories of her parents, her younger sister, weekends at the grandparents’ house. The primary-school years filled with fun and little adventures; grammar school and first love; and then the start of medical school.

For Anna there had always been just two focal points in her life: books and her dream to become a doctor and then go and save children in a Third World country. But medical school was tough. Many illusions were taken from her about those people looked upon as half-Gods in white. The further she got with her studies, the less she knew whether this really was her calling, whether she really wanted to spend her life with such a stressful, worrying, and over-demanding profession. It all depressed her more and more.

There was one person by her side throughout those years: Martin. She had met him on the first day of her first academic year at university. It had not been a passionate affair with butterflies in the stomach; no, it was a friendship that grew and grew and bound them closer together as time passed. All of a sudden, they found themselves in love – or so they thought – and got married when Martin finished his studies and started his first job as a young doctor. Martin was a few years older than Anna, and he certainly was the best friend she’d ever had. He encouraged her to leave medicine behind and change her direction.

Unfortunately, their relationship started going wrong. Anna went on her holidays alone and discovered Huffington. That’s when she made the decision to leave Martin and leave Germany in order to change her life for good and start a new one in Cornwall with Miss Simps. Miss Simps had been a true godsend, helping her over the initial hiccups and homesickness. And now Miss Simps was dead.

After saying goodbye to the doctor and stuffing his pipe with his special mix, Inspector Ryan made his way towards the sea and the cottages outside the actual village. He sucked in the fresh sea breeze and mulled over the events of the morning.

Not a good day to die, Miss Simps. Something does not add up here – and I will find out what it is! Thinking and smoking, he finally reached Seagull Cottage, a beautifully restored two-storey brick building with big windows.

Well, let’s see what this guy has to tell me! Inspector Ryan used the old-fashioned door-knocker, but a brief bark was the only answer. The inspector kept enjoying his pipe while he walked around the cottage. He could see nothing suspicious through the windows. Just as he reached the front door again, he saw a not-so-young man approaching from the beach. David Hull jogged towards him.

Good morning, Inspector! he called and then offered the policeman a hand. To what do I owe this honour?

Good morning … Mr Hull, I suppose. I am sorry to disturb you on such a gorgeous day, but I have a few questions for you. The inspector followed David inside. An extremely beautiful and equally big Irish wolfhound welcomed both men with a dark bark.

It is all okay, Damon! Be quiet now and lie down, and leave the inspector in peace! Damon obediently stopped sniffing the guest and walked into David’s studio, from where he could keep an eye on things.

A cup of tea, Inspector?

Yes, that would be splendid!

While David prepared the tea, the inspector looked around the spacious living room. You have it very nice here, Mr Hull. Beautiful furniture – Scandinavian, I dare say?

Yes indeed. I simply love the combination of beauty and practicality – and wood is my favourite material where furniture is concerned. It is natural and gives off an aura of warmth and cosiness. Do sit down, Inspector, I shall be with you in a minute. David placed some Wedgewood china on a tray, poured some ginger biscuits in a bowl, and carried everything through to the inspector in the living room.

Scandinavian furniture is not really cheap, is it? Unless of course you build it together yourself after shopping at Ikea. the inspector asked.

Well, quality always has its price. But I am sure that is not the reason you came to see me.

While the two men got comfortable on the big sofa (with a cotton fabric in earth colours and Red Indian motifs) in front of the unlit fireplace, Damon trotted in. Ginger biscuits were his absolute weakness, and he used every possible opportunity to remind David of that fact. With a friendly short bark, he lay down next to David and waited.

Very nice, this tea! The inspector put his cup down and returned to his pipe. The reason for my being here is not very pleasant, I’m afraid. You do know Miss Simps, I assume?

Miss Simps from the bookshop? Of course! Such a charming old lady!

Yes, she was.

"Why was? What are you saying?"

Well, Miss Simps is dead!

Pardon? That is impossible! I saw her … David’s hand started shaking when he put his cup down on the little table. I can’t understand that! Only a little while ago she was alive and well – or so I thought. Was she ill? Her heart? David sat up and pushed his right hand through his thick hair. His tangible nervousness was immediately picked up by the dog, who sat up and pricked up his ears in order to follow the conversation better.

"When did you see the