Hunting Jan Tregeagle

By JJ Alleson

The Thirteenth Suspect  

 

Psychic Kenny is enjoying a festive break in a Cornish castle when he finds himself at the centre of a mystery over a stolen diamond. With twelve suspects under castle arrest, finding the culprit won't be easy. Especially when the thief may be someone that no-one alive—or dead—can identify.

 

Hunting Jan Tregeagle

 

While out on Bodmin Moor, Ettie and Curtis's walking group is caught in a blistering downpour. Is the mysterious cave in which they find refuge linked to King Arthur as rumour has it? Or to something much further from romantic legend?

 

The One-Eyed Man

 

It's the Annual Brifon Festival and Zak Delancey already has enough problems. His mother is an enraged psychic, his father is going blind, and his twin brother Chad is haunting them. Their new gardeners are all convicts, and one of them is hunting his daughter's killer. But everything will go smoothly for the final festivities, right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JJ Alleson
• Release date: May 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224014477

JJ Alleson

Born in beautiful Barbados, and living in the incredible city of London, UK, J. J. Alleson stays in no lane, but traverses merrily into science fiction, mystery, romance, horror, and maverick poetry. She started writing around 2005 after realising the voices in her head were stories and not an invitataion to the funny farm. Her stories have appeared in various small press publications, including: "Shoe Foot Other." Beneath the Twin Suns, ed. Renee Gendron, (Ontario, 2020)  "The One-Eyed Man." The Eight: City University, (London, 2019) "Leaving Earth." Vintage Voices, Talma Theatre Press, (London, 2019)  "Between a Rock and a Soft Place." The Future Is Short: Science Fiction in A Flash, Volume 3, Lillicat Publishers, (California, 2017) When not writing, she's busy finding a happy work-life balance and enjoying all the sights available. She is currently finishing a full-length mystery, a science fiction novel, and a collection of non-fiction essays on life.

Book preview

The Thirteenth Suspect

HERE ABOVE THE TOWN of Camelford, Merelyne Hall makes its own claim to the legendary romance of King Arthur. Within these ancient walls, the past challenges the present with knightly chivalry and the present concedes with a courtly bow.

The Scottish brogue beside me cut through our guide’s metaphysical delights. Come now, laddie, it burred in my ear, "ye’ll simply be returning the Munandi Stone to its rightful owners."

As usual, my brother Taiwo had faded into the background, which was his safe harbour for whenever Merry McIntyre showed up. Merry was the worst kind of client: a speed demon impatient to settle old wrongs. But my greatest priority for the time being was spending—exclusively—some of the Yuletide season on this Cornish Advent Tour, with my one and only sibling.

Merry, however, had other priorities in mind, such as examining Merelyne Hall’s collection of jewellery—specifically, the famous Isolde Diamond. I tried to keep my irritation down as I turned to her. "I’ve said I’ll look, Merry, but I’m not here to nick the china. If I chased up every claim about pilfered heirlooms that came my way, I’d have a lawsuit against the Vatican City, several disinterred regents, a Tower of London stripped bare, and ninety-five disembowelled teddy bears."

The look she threw me was as fiery as her blood-red hair, but I continued undaunted. Merelyne Hall has on public record, a fifty-year-old proof of purchase from a private dealer, while your family holds no evidence of the ownership you claim. That portrait of your great-grandmother sitting beside a jewel may be very pretty, but it’s entirely inconclusive.

Ignoring my logic, Merry switched to persuasion, and in her vocal tones Lauren Bacall met Robert the Bruce. D’ye no ken how to steal the thing, laddie? Just put yer hand out and take it. Think of it as a nice something fer ma Christmas!

Thankfully, the distant chant of madrigals muted her growling as they floated down the passageway, bringing images of mince pies, chestnuts on open fires, and robin-redbreasts on snowy mistletoe. They softened my mood, inspiring me to offer Merry an alternative. ‘Very well, Meredith, let’s see ... today’s December 13th. How about I get you ... thirteen Alexander Flemings, er, phlegming?"

"That auld malarkey begins Christmas Day, and there’s nae thirteen o’ anythin’ in it!"

I refrained from offering her a clock that struck the witching hour. "Fine.  No doubt I can find you something in the souvenir shop."

Tai laughed, and then went quiet again. Merelyne Hall didn’t sell tat, though. A standard five-day stay cost £4,000, and I’d booked three weeks in a deluxe suite. Aunt Lola had paid for the entire stay over my fervent protests and even though I could afford it. Just think of it as an early Christmas present, Kenny.

I tried to maintain a grateful frame of mind as our emerald-bedecked guide ramped up his spiel. As the evening draws in, the Knights of the Round Table drift in from the shadows, leaving their touch on both history and faerie legend ...

"Ach! The only thing drifting in from the shadows round here is the diabolical theft of the Munandi Diamond!"

Please, Meredith, let’s not go there again.

She went anyway. "My great-great grandfather, Thomas McIntyre, had a most fearful wanderlust. He travelled the world without a colonial bone in his body, never staying more than six weeks in the same place. It was in Zambia he found his spiritual home with the Bemba. Eight years he lived with them, and when he left, eight honoured stones they gave him to celebrate each year of his ‘childhood’.

"Imagine then, upon arriving back in the Highlands after this joyous send-off, to find yer entire family in the puirhouse! He sold seven of the stones, making them all as rich as Croesus. But he stipulated that the Munandi, the first stone given, should never, ever be sold, but instead passed down through the generations as a reminder that our value lies beyond any coin."

That’s very inspiring. But her last three words had put me on alert. "You never did mention the size of this ‘stone’.

Now she seemed unusually coy. It’s just a wee little thing, laddie ...

"How wee?"

Och, I cannae really say. Think Cullinan 1?

I did try. The Cullinan 1, or Hey, that’s ours—as it was better known in Africa—was the second largest cut diamond in the world. Locked away in the Tower with other imperialistic bounty, it weighed over 530 carats.

"Somehow, lassie, I told her grimly, I think your wee little thing might leave a bit of a bulge in my trouser pocket."

By now our guide had enchanted us into a glittering reception area. However, its roaring log fire was mainly cosmetic. Beneath the Hall’s Baroque and Palladian petticoats ran underfloor heating that offered warmth from water closet to reception room.

...You’ll notice how much the Upper Gallery here differs from that of nearby Pendennis.

I doubted it. To me, all stately buildings looked alike. Gargoyles high above, getting ready to give the inadvertent viewer a cardiac infarction. Cupid in a forecourt fountain, peeing just enough water for the inebriated guest to drown in. And a secret oak-panelled room inside, still freeze-drying someone who’d disappeared the same day they moved in.

From here we continue towards the Isolde Suite, home to one of the most stunning gem collections on public display ...

NINETY MINUTES LATER, I sat in the dining room dialling my aunt’s number and trying to restore my bedazzled eyes to normal vision.  When she answered, the sounds of group festivities jumped into the room.

"Kehinde! You rang."

As promised, Auntie. How’s everything?

Aunt Lola always took the question literally. "Wonderful, Kenny. Some back