Joffe Books Murder Mystery & Suspense Short Story Collection

By GRETTA MULROONEY, HELEN H. DURRANT, DAVID HODGES and 3 more

DISCOVER SIX GRIPPING SHORT STORIES BY SIX BESTSELLING AUTHORS.

These authors have together sold over 8 million books. Now you can read a selection of their short stories.

 

THE WORM TURNS by Gretta Mulrooney

Gammy Doreen died a gruesome death, cold and alone in a tunnel beneath the house — now it's up to Tyrone Swift to uncover the truth.

 

THE CARRION CROW by Helen H. Durrant

Detective Tom Calladine can't even take a holiday without getting involved in a murder investigation in Helen H. Durrant's classic short story.

 

CREEPER ON THE LEVELS by David Hodges

Detective Kate Hamblin is on the hunt for a twisted serial killer.

 

TIME TO KILL by Bill Kitson

Time to kill? The stage is set for murder in this gripping short story.

 

FORGIVE ME by Joy Ellis

A man is found dead with a note in his hand. It reads: Please forgive me. Find out what happens next in this moving short story by Joy Ellis, one of Britain's most beloved crime writers.

 

THE PROOF IS IN THE PUDDING by Faith Martin

Jenny Starling has come to the pretty village of Upper Craydon to cater a thirtieth wedding anniversary lunch. But just as she's putting the last tray of apricot muffins into the oven to bake, she notices an exquisite gold ring buried in the batter. As Jenny sets out to discover who put the ring there and why, it becomes clear that at least one of the guests is hiding a shocking secret.

 

ABOUT OUR AWARD-WINNING AND BESTSELLING AUTHORS:

Gretta Mulrooney is a critically acclaimed author of literary fiction, crime novels and short stories, including the Tyrone Swift Detective Series.

 

Helen H. Durrant has sold over 1.5 million books and regularly reaches the top ten of the Bookseller's Digital Bestseller Lists. She is well known for her brilliantly gritty series including Calladine & Bayliss, and Detective Rachel King.

 

David Hodges is an ex-police officer, having served for thirty years with Thames Valley Police, and is author of the Detective Kate Hamblin Mystery Series.

Bill Kitson is author of the DI Mike Nash Thrillers, The Eden House Mysteries, the Greek Island Romances, plus the Byland Crescent Saga.

 

Joy Ellis was nominated for audiobook of the year at the British Book Awards 2019 for Their Lost Daughters and Crime and Thriller Book of the Year at the British Book Awards 2021 for The Patient Man. She's sold 3 million books. Actor Richard Armitage, narrator of many of her audiobooks: 'Joy Ellis is the closest thing we have to a contemporary Agatha Christie.'

 

Faith Martin is the beloved author of the Jenny Starling, Hillary Greene and Monica Noble series. She has sold over 2.5 million books and is one of Britain's most popular crime writers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joffe Books Mystery and Thriller
• Release date: Sep 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201580711

Book preview

JOFFE BOOKS

MURDER MYSTERY

& SUSPENSE SHORT

STORY COLLECTION

GRETTA MULROONEY

HELEN H. DURRANT

DAVID HODGES

BILL KITSON

JOY ELLIS

FAITH MARTIN

Six totally gripping tales

First published 2021

Revised edition 2023

Joffe Books, London

www.joffebooks.com

‘The Worm Turns’ © Gretta Mulrooney 2021

‘The Carrion Crow’ © Helen H. Durrant 2021

‘Creeper on the Levels’ © David Hodges 2021

‘Time to Kill’ © Bill Kitson 2021

‘Forgive Me’ © Joy Ellis 2021

‘The Proof is in the Pudding’ © Faith Martin 2022

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events in each are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this. The moral right of the authors has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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We’re delighted that you have chosen this box set of short stories. These six authors have collectively sold 8 million books.

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Contents

1. ‘THE WORM TURNS’ by GRETTA MULROONEY

2. ‘THE CARRION CROW’ by HELEN H. DURRANT

3. ‘CREEPER ON THE LEVELS’ by DAVID HODGES

4. ‘TIME TO KILL’ by BILL KITSON

5. ‘FORGIVE ME’ by JOY ELLIS

6. ‘THE PROOF IS IN THE PUDDING’ by FAITH MARTIN

Love Free Bestselling Fiction?

The Joffe Books Story

1.

‘THE

WORM

TURNS’

by

GRETTA MULROONEY

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Tyrone Swift’s first case as a private investigator arrived entirely by chance. He’d been in Brighton, and on the drive back to London he saw a sign for Little Heath vineyard in Surrey. He made a detour on a whim. It was a bright, hot day in late July and the grapes were almost ripe. He wandered around the vineyard and noticed a beautiful, pale yellow-brick Regency house set on a rise in the distance as he made his way back to the shop. Inside, Swift tasted some surprisingly decent reds and got chatting to Nick Frain, the owner. Frain was a convivial, portly man in his early forties, the epitome of a wine-lover and an all-round bon vivant. When Frain asked him what he did, Swift explained that he used to be in the Met, and had recently left Interpol to set up his own investigation agency.

‘That’s funny,’ Frain said, ‘because I’ve just decided I want to find out the truth about my grandmother, Gammy Doreen. I’m sure there’s no point in talking to the police, they’d just politely tell me to go away. It’s a fascinating story. Have you got a minute?’

It took almost an hour, aided by strong coffee. Frain was long-winded and tangential, but Swift skilfully steered him into parting with the information he needed. Doreen Frain had been found dead in the summer of 1960.

‘She was in a tunnel under the back of her home, Little Heath,’ Frain explained. ‘You’ll have seen the house just up the way. The tunnel was used as a wine cellar. Gammy was claustrophobic. She hated it, never ventured down there. Gamps, my grandad, came home late that night from a Masonic dinner. The front door was ajar, which alarmed him, but there was no sign of a break-in or any disturbance. Gammy wasn’t in bed and he couldn’t find her. He was worried, because she had a heart murmur and sometimes she suffered dizzy spells. Her car was in the garage. So he woke her sister, Monica, and they looked everywhere, all over the house and grounds. My dad helped them too — he was only a teenager then. They didn’t consider the tunnel, because Gammy never went down there and certainly wouldn’t have gone in her own.

‘Gamps called the police at two in the morning. They arrived promptly and searched the tunnel a while later. The door was locked. When they got down there they found Gammy lying dead on the steps. Her knuckles and nails were bloody and torn from where she’d been knocking and tearing at the door in desperation. The door is heavy, it would be almost impossible to hear someone shouting for help through it. She died of a heart attack. Bruising on her head and legs indicated that she’d fallen or been pushed down the steps before she managed to crawl back up to call for help. Someone had locked her in there. She must have been terrified out of her wits. It was a cruel, awful way to die.’

It was certainly a grim tale for a high summer’s day. Frain had become serious and quiet as he spoke. He rubbed his arms, as if speaking of it had chilled him. Swift disliked confined places himself. He never used the Tube unless he really had to.

Swift thought for a moment, then asked, ‘Was anyone convicted of the crime?’

‘Yes, that’s the thing — Monica was. She confessed a week later and was charged with manslaughter. She spent almost fifteen years in prison and then she went into a home. Monica had what would now be called a mild learning disability. Back then she was labelled subnormal or, by the more polite, ineducable — although in fact she could read and write. She never had a paid job and she was a sort of general cook and bottle-washer at Little Heath. It’s a big house — mine now, since my father retired and handed it over to me — so she’d have been kept busy as six people were living there back then. My dad disapproved of the way his parents treated Monica, but things were different in those days.’

‘Did your father think his parents were cruel to her?’

‘Not as such. Just took her for granted. Gammy in particular regarded her as a bit of a handmaiden. That was supposed to be the motive for Monica pushing Gammy down the steps. Apart from confessing that she did it, all she would say was the worm turns. The consensus was that she’d had enough of her sister’s high-handed manner towards her and finally snapped in a moment of anger.’

Swift wanted to find out what was driving Nick. ‘Why do you want to revisit what happened now?’ he asked.

Frain rested his hands on his ample belly. ‘Monica died a couple of months ago, in the home. I used to visit her now and again, although I’m not sure she remembered who I was. I found her a gentle, timid sort of person. The staff in the home used that demeaning phrase, that she was no trouble.’ He winced. ‘As if I’d find that reassuring. I’ve always struggled to believe that Monica could have done that to Gammy. It strikes me that the police found her a useful patsy. As you can imagine, it’s been a bit of a blight on the family over the years. When I collected Monica’s things, I found a letter she’d written, dated from last year. It said that she didn’t push her sister into the tunnel, but she knew who’d been there with Gammy when it happened.’ He shook his head. ‘I found it so sad. It indicated she’d never had much of a life anyway, so she didn’t have a lot to lose, and felt the guilty person had deserved to live theirs. I can show you the letter if you like. Poor old Monica. Poor old Gammy, too.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘It’s been on my mind recently. I don’t like loose ends. If you take the case, I’ll pay your fee and throw in some good wines. I have to prepare for an evening event here now, but if you’re interested and could come back tomorrow . . . ?’

Swift was hooked by the story’s possibilities. It was an intriguing case to kick-start Swift Investigations. That was why, the following afternoon, he found himself deep below ground at the back of Little Heath, fighting a panic attack.

The tunnel was narrow and chilly, and the air was stale with a hint of mould. There were lights on the walls, but it was still dim and shadowy. It was just over six feet in height, so Swift had to crouch slightly. He shivered. He’d had to brace himself descending the steps, but this was where the crime had taken place, so he had to see it.

The loose-limbed woman with a swan-like neck who was showing him the tunnel below her home was Nick’s wife, Cathy Frain. She had a friendly, open manner. He smelled the trace of her light scent in the confines of the passage. Cathy had allowed her nine-year-old daughter, Viola, to tag along. She was highly vocal and kept kicking Swift’s ankles.

‘This is called the love tunnel,’ she told Swift, her voice echoing. ‘The man who built it used it for going to smooch another lady. It was spooky and dark back in the olden days. You had to bring a candle. Must have been scary.’ She spoke with relish and held her arms out, pushing her hands against the stone walls on both sides.

‘Shush now, darling. Mr Swift’s working,’ her mother said indulgently.

‘Are you going to find out who really killed Gammy Doreen?’ Viola asked him.

‘If I can,’ he replied curtly.

Her mother picked up on his tone and told her daughter to run along. Viola pouted and reluctantly left, glancing backwards as she went.

‘The tunnel was constructed in 1819 by Edmund Banville, the original owner of the house,’ Cathy explained. ‘As far as we can make out, he told his wife it was for storage. But its true purpose was for him to covertly meet his lover in the grounds: he’d been having a dalliance with a local lady for years. The wife, Agatha, was very fat — twenty stone, apparently — and he had the tunnel made so that it would have been almost impossible for her to enter, should she ever have tried. It didn’t turn out well for Mr Banville, though. He had a seizure down here and died early one morning when he was returning from a tryst. It was hours before he was discovered. It’s strange that Gammy Doreen died down here too. History repeating itself.’

By this point, they’d walked the length of the tunnel, all the way to the stone steps that Banville once climbed to pursue his adulterous rendezvous. Swift glanced up at a square metal plate, blocking the top of the steps.

‘That was put there to secure the exit after Banville died,’ Cathy said. ‘The tunnel wasn’t used for years after that. Then early last century it became a wine cellar. It’s been closed since Doreen’s death. We’ve considered sealing it off completely, but it is part of the house’s history, so Nick decided we should maintain it. It’s always locked, though, and the key’s now kept in a safe.’

Swift had a crick in his neck. Despite the chill, his forehead was slicked with perspiration and he was feeling trapped. ‘Thanks for the tour. Let’s head back up and you can give me the details I need.’

Cathy hesitated. ‘It’s a nasty story. The 1960s seem so long ago. Surely, there’s little chance of discovering if someone else locked Doreen in here, after all this time?’

He detected hope in her voice. She didn’t want the past being raked up. She understood there was a chance he might unearth something truly shocking.

‘It’s a long shot, but I can try. I would like to get out of here now.’

They returned along the length of the tunnel and went up the steps through a solid, arched oak door into a large utility room with a churning washing machine. A hugely relieved Swift took some deep breaths while Cathy was locking the door. She pulled a heavy curtain across and gestured to the wheeled pedestal that stood beside it, bearing a large bronze bust.

‘That’s Osiris, the Egyptian god of the underworld. He gives me the willies. He stood in front of the curtained door when the tunnel was built, to obscure the entrance. Mr Banville had a sense of humour, as well as a talent for deception. The key used to be kept here, in Osiris’s mouth.’ She rolled the bust in front of the curtain and patted the god’s head. ‘I do that to placate him.’ She tutted at herself.

Swift studied Osiris’s wide eyes, pharaoh’s beard and inscrutable expression. ‘Is that where the bust would have been the night Mrs Frain died?’

‘That’s correct. Whoever locked her in pulled the curtain across, moved Osiris back and replaced the key.’

Swift glanced around. ‘What was this room used for in the sixties?’

‘It was a huge, rather dim and damp scullery, with larders, boot racks and shelves full of all sorts of bits and bobs. It was still like that when we took over. I spent weeks mucking it out. We had it completely remodelled. I’ll take you to the kitchen now and leave you with Nick. He’s got the coffee on, I can smell it.’

Swift sat with Frain in a comfortable kitchen. The folding doors looked out over three linked ponds. Viola lay on her stomach along the edge of the largest, dabbling her fingers in the water.

‘This is Monica’s letter.’ Frain passed Swift a sheet of pale pink notepaper. It smelled slightly of camphor. He noted the rounded hand and read the statement.

I just want to say I didn’t shove Doreen down the steps. I know who was with her and how it happened. But I’m not telling. No point spoiling that life. I said it was me to keep that person out of trouble. I was fed up to the back teeth skivvying for D. Bertram was okay, but with her it was always do this and do that and haven’t you finished that yet? I didn’t mind prison. It was nice, being waited on. I made some friends. I’m not sorry she died. She wasn’t a nice person.

That’s all. Just wanted to get it off my chest.

Monica

Swift took a photo of the letter. ‘Bertram was your grandfather?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Who was living here at the time?’

‘Doreen and Bertram, my dad, Victor, Donna, his older sister, Donna’s daughter Suzette, and Monica.’

Swift had taken out his notebook. ‘Was anyone else around that day?’

‘There was a handyman who did outdoor jobs. I can’t remember his name. My dad or my aunt can tell you.’

‘Where was your Aunt Donna that evening?’

‘She was out at a party with her fiancé, Terry Martens. This was one of the first commercial vineyards in the UK and my grandfather had taken Terry on as a general assistant. He lived in Dorking and that’s where the party was. Terry dropped Donna back here just after Gamps had called the police.’

‘How old was Suzette?’

Frain thought for a moment. ‘Seven. Monica was babysitting her for Donna. Suzette’s birth father didn’t feature in her life and we’ve never been told who he was.’

Swift paused in his note-taking. ‘That must have caused tension in the family.’

‘I gather that it did. Gammy took it as a personal insult. My dad might tell you more, although he doesn’t approve of what he calls my meddling and prying. He and Donna refused to see or speak to Monica after the court hearing. She pleaded guilty, so there wasn’t a trial. Neither of them ever saw her again and