Murder in the Village: A Lady Margaret Turnbull Cozy Mystery Book (International Cozy Mysteries 2) by C T Mitchell

Chapter 1
    Lady Margaret’s birthday was coming up, and it wasn’t
something she was too keen on thinking too hard about.  There wasn’t anything
wrong with birthdays, really, she just didn’t feel as old as her birthday cards
told her she was, so she was disinclined to open them.  She’d have the cake,
but the reminder of getting older?  Not so much.
    She was drinking her first cup of tea of the day, standing
in the large kitchen of her bed and breakfast property, Lawlers Loft, she ran
on the outskirts of town, reading the paper.  There wasn’t really anything noteworthy
happening in the small town of Bangalow, New South Wales.  One of the quieter cities
in Australia, it was an old favorite of Maggie’s and her late husband’s during
their many travels over the years from the UK.  For some reason it struck her
as the perfect amount of quaint and city life, kind of a cozy village and it
suited her perfectly since she decided to move here after her husband passed
away.
    She bought the bed and breakfast on Lawler’s Lane, and was
the strange mother-figure of the small town.  Everyone loved her, even though
she was a bit forthright. Her posh British accent, not to mention her
knighthood, was much the talk of the district and it certainly helped in
getting onboard with the local community councils; great venues for Maggie to
listen in on the town’s gossip.
    Disappointed in the lack of enthusiastic news reporting for
the week ahead, Maggie refreshed her tea and strolled over to the little
picture window over the sink.  Clad only in her bathrobe, she was caught off
guard by the knock at the door.
    “Who on Earth would be ringing me at this hour?”  She wasn’t
expecting any deliveries for the inn, and the mailman would never ring her so
early for fear of catching her in her bathrobe.  And Lord knows that even
though she was in decent shape for her age, she was pretty sure no one wanted
to see that.  After all, it wasn’t proper.
    Nevertheless, whoever was at the door was knocking so
adamantly that they couldn’t be kept waiting.  She hurried to the front door,
careful to look quickly through the foyer to make sure no guests would see her
in her robe, and shuffled to the door.  When she opened it, she gasped a
little, greeted by the flushed cheeks of Inspector Tom Sullivan of the local
police force.
    “What’s the matter, Tom?” she asked, making sure the robe
was closed all the way and pointing to his reddened cheeks with her free hand. 
“Cat got your tongue?  Or has it just been a while since you’ve seen someone
other than your wife in a bathrobe? Don’t flatter yourself, dear.  I’m not interested.”
    Inspector Tom cleared his throat mid-laugh and asked to be
let in.  He didn’t look, Maggie thought, like he was really in the mood for
joking.  Though she was glad she got that one in, because seeing his cheeks
flus was worth all the flack she would catch for it later.  She waved her arm
out in front of her and gestured for him to go into the kitchen quickly.
    He did as he was told and shuffled in with a medium sized
box under his arm.
    “Tom, you’re soaked, hun. Do you want some dry clothes?  I’m
sure I can find you something around here?”
    “Aaah, no thanks, Maggie.” The thought was going through
Detective Sullivan’s mind as to how Lady Margaret would have some men’s
clothing in her possession considering her husband had passed over ten years ago.
Anyway he thought better of it to ask.
    “I hate when you call me that. So what do you need?  Anything
at all, you know that, Detective.  Let me take your coat.”
    Tom let her remove his coat, and she draped it over the back
of one of her kitchen chairs.  Eventually, when she saw that he wasn’t going to
stop pacing her kitchen floor, dripping wet, without saying anything, she made
him a cup of tea.  Maggie tapped him on the shoulder, breaking his train of
thought.  Tom grumbled a bit and nodded his thanks to her,