The Vicarage and Murder: Murder Mysteries

By T M Goble

In the quaint and traditional village of South Yorkshire, nestled amidst rolling hills and eccentric characters, Amy's life takes an unexpected turn in "The Vicarage and Murder" by T. M. Goble.

Amy's world has crumbled after a devastating rejection by her fiancé, just days before their long-anticipated wedding. Desperate to escape her melancholy, she seeks solace in the company of her brother, a beloved vicar in the picturesque village. Little does she know that her visit will plunge her into a labyrinth of intrigue and danger.

As Amy immerses herself in the village's traditional ethos, she hopes to find respite from her troubles. However, tranquillity proves elusive when a local resident is found murdered, sending shockwaves through the tight-knit community. The unsettling proximity of the crime strikes fear into Amy's heart, and she can't help but feel that danger is lurking around every corner.

Her brother, the vicar, is thrust into the role of calming the villagers and assuring them that all will be well. But as complications arise and dark secrets surface, Amy finds herself clashing with the enigmatic locals, each harbouring their own suspicions and eccentricities. The murder has transformed the once-peaceful village into a hotbed of gossip, paranoia, and unfriendly behaviour.

As the atmosphere grows increasingly tense, Amy becomes entangled in a web of mystery, with dangerous incidents pushing her closer to the heart of the investigation. With the police struggling to make headway, Amy is faced with a daunting question: Can she, armed with her determination and resilience, help her brother and the authorities solve the crime that has shattered the tranquillity of their beloved village?

In "The Vicarage and Murder," T. M. Goble masterfully weaves a English murder mystery filled with quirky characters, hidden motives, and unexpected twists. Join Amy as she navigates the treacherous waters of village life, unravels the secrets buried beneath the surface, and strives to bring justice to a community torn apart by fear and suspicion. This gripping tale will keep you guessing until the very last page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Creative Peak
• Release date: Feb 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224229727

Book preview

02

Amy sat in a green leather wing-backed chair waiting for her brother. The vicarage was silent apart from a dog barking on the track outside. Feeling tired, she sat straight as she did not want to fall asleep. Amy stirred herself to walk around the room and glance at the books and desk. She aimlessly drifted, as she had done since her man had let her down so badly in Scotland. She shuddered every time she thought about him. It was such a trauma after expecting to become Mrs McDougall. She had been so close but had suddenly discovered that the marriage would not take place. Shock had replaced surprise when the man she adored said that he was leaving her just before their wedding day.

In the eerie quietness of Gus’s study, tears rolled down her cheek, but a steely glint came into her eye. Snap out of it. It’s gone, it’s past! Do something positive.

Amy wanted to stick to the resolution that she had told her parents. She would absorb herself in an activity that caught her imagination. There wouldn’t be men in the foreseeable future. She again looked around the room. So, this is what her parents and Gus came up with to make her positive, but she shook her head in disbelief.

She returned to the chair to eat her scone. Before the first mouthful, a distinctive creak came from the floor in the hall. Someone was there. Her stomach tightened. The creaking came towards the library.

Amy stared at the door, which she had left slightly ajar. Her eyes widened, and she prepared to scream as it creaked open. Full of tension, she waited. The first signs made her jump. A long nose on a black face appeared. The deep, doleful black eyes peered at her. She laughed. ‘Come, boy.’ Although her tone had been gentle, the head disappeared. She opened the door, but the dog was gone. A quick thought crossed her mind. Was it a ghost? No, it was a real dog. Why does Augustus have a dog?

She looked out of the window. Coming along the track was the familiar flowing black cassock. His huge frame strode out, creating a swirl of dust behind him. His thinning black hair hadn’t changed, and it stuck out at eccentric angles. A warm smile crossed her face. She left the library to meet him and reached the hall as he entered the front door. Running towards him, she flung her arms around his neck. ‘Gus, it’s so wonderful to see you. I’ve missed you.’ She burst into tears.

‘Hello, sis.’ His voice was calm as he hugged her and lifted her from the floor. He carried her backwards so he could shut the front door. He had picked her up in that manner ever since she was little. Although she was now tall, with extra height from four-inch heels, she still had to look up at him. He took no notice of the tears and gently put her down.

‘Let me look at you.’ She had yearned to hear his deep, gentle voice. He held her at arm’s length. ‘You look pale, but I expected that after the events that unfolded.’ Not noticing the tears, he led her back into the study. ‘But I have a plan for you which will make your cheeks glow and bring back your wonderful smile.’

Amy sighed and hoped that Gus would be right.

‘What do you think?’ Gus waved his hand around. ‘The village? The church? The vicarage?’

‘This house is so spooky.’

They laughed.

‘Will my little sis be frightened of the ghosts?’

Amy laughed. ‘No, but it’s like something from a horror movie.’

Gus grinned. ‘An estate agent would say that it had character.’

‘Definitely. Oh, Gus, it’s lovely to see you and it has been a long time since we were in Africa together.’

‘Yes, it is, and I have missed you, but we move on. Do you want the first part of your recuperation?’

‘I’m perfectly okay and I don’t need you to look after me.’

‘I’ll always look after my little sister.’ At which point, Amy promptly burst into tears again and hugged her brother.

‘Stay there.’ He left the room. As he returned, he put his head round the door. ‘He’s wary of new people.’ Brightness shone on Amy’s face as that same black nose appeared again. Augustus entered the library. The large dog stayed close behind him. Amy called to him, as he stayed half hidden by the door and her brother. She dropped to her knees and called him again. Augustus patted him. The dog, taking it as a sign of approval, came out from behind the door and slowly came across to Amy. ‘He only has three legs, poor thing!’

‘He has had a bad time, but he’s obedient and he can run the same as a normal dog.’ Amy made a fuss of him and his tail wagged enthusiastically.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Desmond. The rescue centre called him Des, but I thought that naming him after Desmond Tutu was much more appropriate.’ Amy laughed. It was good for her after her recent troubles. She followed her brother into the hall, followed closely by the padding of three paws.

‘Let me show you around. It’s a grand old house.’ Augustus spotting the suitcases, picked up one in each hand and bounded up the stairs. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’

Amy didn’t know what to expect. Augustus opened the door and then stood aside so she could enter. As Amy stepped into the room, she took in the magnificent view of the huge four- poster bed. The crisp clean sheets caught her attention. A wide bay window made a bright room. Even the eight-foot bed seemed to be lost against the cream walls. ‘It’s delightful. It’s so clean.’

The old furniture was highly polished. As she opened one of the old oak wardrobes, the fragrance from the fluffy towels wafted over her. ‘You didn’t do all this, did you?’ Amy grinned at her brother.

‘No, I must own up. It wasn’t me. It was Mrs Battersby.’

‘Oh! It’s a pity it’s not Miss Battersby.’

‘She is a widow.’

‘Gus, there’s hope for you yet!’

‘But she is nearly eighty.’ Augustus smiled.

‘You certainly work them hard in this village. The taxi driver was in her seventies.’

‘I spoke to her when she came to Mrs Braithwaite’s. She thought the world of you and that there would be plenty of men in the village who would turn their cap to you.’

‘I’ve finished with men.’

Augustus wouldn’t rise to the bait. He smiled, put his arm around her shoulder, and gave her a hug.

‘How did she come to that conclusion about me?’

‘Respect.’

‘Respect?’ Amy’s brow creased with puzzlement.

‘Yes, you called her Mrs Rudd. Most people in the village call her Mavis, because she is the taxi driver. She believes it is a lack of respect to call an old woman by her first name. Local village lore is that anyone older than you, are called Mr or Mrs, but anyone younger, you can call them by their first name.’

‘That’s old-fashioned.’

‘This is a traditional village.’

‘Why was she at Mrs Braithwaite’s? I thought she was the old lady who died.’

‘She’d come to collect the body.’

‘In a taxi!’

Augustus laughed, ‘No, of course not! The Rudds are the village undertakers, as well as the taxi drivers.’

‘Why did you want me to visit this village? You intimated on the phone it needed my skills?’

‘Yes, exactly right.’

Amy grinned, ‘You want a fully qualified outdoor instructor, who is good at skiing, rock climbing and canoeing?’

‘You have other skills as well.’

‘Hmm... dare I ask?’

‘Your organisational skills. The two church wardens died last month and I’m struggling to cope without them.’

She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice. ‘You want me to be a church warden?’

‘Only if you want to be, but I prefer you to help, especially as the village festival week starts tomorrow.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Could you man the home-made jam stall at the Visitors’ Centre tomorrow. Also, can you help me judge the best garden in the village on Sunday afternoon?’

Amy laughed. ‘A jam stall and a garden competition?’

Augustus wasn’t daunted by her teasing. ‘I need help in the church on Saturday, as there is a big wedding.’

With that word, wedding, Amy looked out of the window, so that Augustus couldn’t see her expression.

03

Amy pulled back the big heavy curtains. The sun streamed into the bedroom. There had been a dull scratching noise at the door as she had settled last night, but the noise had made her wide awake, and it had taken a few moments to realise it was nothing sinister. Desmond had been outside her bedroom door, wanting to enter. The dog had loped into the room, flopped by the bed, and went to sleep. He had stayed all night.

The bedroom overlooked the secluded burial ground of the aristocracy from the old hall. The ornate railing surround differentiated it from the remainder of the cemetery. The tall trees, which overshadowed the elaborate Gothic memorials, blocked the view across the countryside so it was a sombre sight.

The weather forecast for the day was good, and she looked forward to exploring the village before manning the jam stall.

A jam stall! I thought it was the spinsters who did them, so she looked in the mirror. No, she had not become an old spinster. After dressing, she pulled on her purple trainers and trotted down the stairs. Desmond, who was now awake and lively, followed her. ‘Coming for a run?’ She went to put his lead on, but he backed away. As she went to leave, he approached her again. ‘Okay, I give in, no lead.’

She would explore the village on her first jog, so she ran along the track outside of the vicarage towards the country house in the distance, which she assumed to be Crimpton Manor. Crossing the road, she followed the footpath along the drive towards the stately home. She was surprised at the immense size of the building. It had been built for the aristocracy, but she had pictured a discreet country house. She had to revise her opinions as she ran towards the house as it had a long frontage, with large columns in the centre.

There were extensive wings on both sides of the main building and she guessed it must have several hundred rooms and be one of the biggest houses in the country. She approached a gate. Several signs prohibited entrance. Private Trespassers will be Prosecuted and Beware of the Dogs. Amy had been enjoying her run but realised that she had lost Desmond, so she stopped. His lopsided trot came around the bend towards her. Following the permitted footpath, it took her to the old stable block which had been transformed into a Visitors’ Centre, where she would spend her afternoon.

The path led her out onto the main road through the village. She crossed the road and carried on along the path past the Marquis pub. The route took her across the fields to the railway station. A footbridge took her into the lane. It was the road along which she’d had her frightening taxi ride of yesterday. As she increased her speed down the lane, Desmond was no longer with her. But she kept looking round to see if he was coming. She was running in one direction and looking back for Desmond.

Amy hadn’t noticed a drive that opened onto the lane. As she ran on, she looked for the dog and didn’t see the car exit the drive. The car driver saw her and stopped. When she saw the car, she was too close to stop. Her trainers skidded on the loose gravel on the roadside and she fell headfirst across the bonnet of the large Mercedes. Her water bottle jumped from her hand and the top fell off. The water from the bottle splashed down the front of the windscreen. As she spiralled across the front of the car so her purple headband fell onto the bonnet.

The water splashing on the windscreen set off the automatic wipers. As they moved, her headband became entangled with a wiper blade.

The driver leapt from the car. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’

Amy pulled herself to her feet. ‘No harm done, I frightened myself.’ She turned bright red with embarrassment. The driver, in his early forties, had thin grey hair and wore a blue Armani suit. A handsome man.

With a bland face, ‘If you’re not hurt, I’m in a hurry.’

She caught her reflection in the darkened windows of the car. Her hair was a mess, and the tracksuit was dishevelled and her trainer had come off. She would glow pink from her jog, made worse by her embarrassment. He stood close to her, and she didn’t smell pleasant, as she had been sweating in the sultry morning sunshine. When she had dressed, she declined perfume, as she did not expect to meet a good-looking man.

Furthering her embarrassment, ‘Can I have my headband back?’ The bright purple band was assiduously wiping the windscreen as it had trapped under the wiper.

The man sighed and turned off the wipers.

He went to stretch across, but she wanted to avoid his suit becoming wet. ‘I’ll do it.’

They collided. He smoothed down his suit while she extracted the headband and muttered, ‘Sorry.’

With a stony face, he climbed back into his car and sped away along the lane.

Sitting on the verge, she put her trainer back on. She blushed at the incident, despite there being no one around. Desmond had caught her up and relaxed on the grass next to her.

Jumping to her feet and reattaching the headband, she jogged at a slow pace along the lane, making sure Desmond was nearby.

She was near a building, which had peeling paint and grass growing from the cracks in the front steps. The old broken sign read, Brace of Pheasants. The footpath sign on the opposite side of the road caught her attention. It appeared to lead between the buildings. Crossing the road, she jogged along the concrete between the two barns.

A tall, wiry man, about her age, exited from a small door. She considered him good looking before remembering her resolution of not wanting a man. But he was easily dismissed as his hair was unkempt and clothes were scruffy. The dirty jeans and an old tee-shirt were partly covered by a torn red check shirt.

‘Morning, do you want me?’

‘No.’ Amy stopped running. Desmond approached the man, who fussed over him.

‘I’m Ged. You must be Amy, the vicar’s sister?’

‘Yes.’ Her face creased with puzzlement but realised he had recognised Desmond.

‘The path is on the other side of the barn.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ She turned to go.

‘While you’re here. I could do with a lift. It’s not heavy, but I can’t pick it up on my own.’

‘Okay.’ Amy followed him in a door. ‘Oh my God.’

Ged stood at one end of a coffin and expected her to take the other end.

‘The Chapel of Rest is through there.’

She did as requested, put it down, turned, shouted goodbye and ran out of the barn. She glanced but did not know how she had missed the sign which read, Rudds, Funeral Directors.

04

Amy hadn’t been sure what to wear for serving on a jam stall but had opted for an embroidered tee-shirt, summer trousers, and flat strappy red sandals. She regretted the shoes as she walked along the track to the Visitors’ Centre. Not only were they covered in dust, but the sand had crept under her toes. Also, every sharp stone poked through the thin soles.

The Visitors’ Centre was a large square seventeenth century building, with ornate stonework, and elaborate arched entrances. In the olden days they could take a coach and four. In the middle of the building, there was a large square courtyard, originally, an enclosed riding area. The old stables had been converted into a restaurant, an information centre and a bar. There were also small gift and tourist shops, with several small craft outlets in the Craft Centre, at one end of the courtyard.

Outside the Craft Centre, the local parish sold its produce, which was mainly jam. This would be her life for the next few hours. At least it would be peaceful. She might have time to consider life after Nether Crimpton.

As she approached the stall, an old lady, who had been sitting knitting, stood up. ‘Mrs Battersby?’

‘Yes, and you must be Amy. Such a pretty name. Aren’t you tall, just like the Reverend?’ The little old lady typified the picture of a kindly old aunt. It was hard to believe that she was Gus’s housekeeper. ‘I’m glad you’ve come as it gets so busy.’ Amy scanned the two people browsing holiday gifts. The rest of the courtyard was empty. She chose not to comment.

After Mrs Battersby had left, she took a book from her handbag. Before she sat, a man came striding purposefully towards the stall. Putting her head on one side. He will not want jam. He was tanned, had a large beer gut, and his open shirt revealed tattoos and several medallions. The large gold watch on his wrist glinted in the sun. He boomed, ‘Hello’ from the far side of the courtyard. The greeting was directed at her. She gave a weak grin and waited for him to reach her.

As he shook hands, ‘I’m Damien Smith, the owner of the Visitors’ Centre.’

Amy tried to pull her hand away, but he had it in a firm grip. ‘I’m Amy, the vicar’s sister.’

‘Yes, I know. I’ve heard about you.’ Finally, he released her hand.

‘From Augustus?’ Gus would have said little.

‘No, from the villagers. Did you enjoy your run this morning?’ Amy sighed. Nothing would be private in Nether Crimpton.

‘Yes, thank you, I did.’ But she blushed at the memory.

A woman in a white summer suit, with short dark hair, approached from the bar. Her jewellery bounced as she struggled to walk in high heels across the cobbled courtyard.

‘What’s this stall doing here? I wanted it in that corner, out of the way.’