Murder at Little Minton

Miss Busby Investigates Murder at Little Minton Karen Baugh Menuhin& Zoe Markham Copyright © 2023 by Karen Baugh Menuhin Published by Little Cat Publishing, Ltd. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents either are 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. For Mum,who’s going to love Barnaby.From Zoe. CHAPTER 1 Cotswolds: Christmas 1921 ‘And he was dead,’ Mrs Adeline Fanshawe said with unnecessary drama. ‘I imagine he was, if he were floating face down in the lake at Little Minton.’ Miss Isabelle Busby’s response was dry. Christmas was fast approaching, a heavy frost had settled on the surrounding trees and meadows, glazing winter gardens and thatch in seasonal white. The ladies were seated either side of a blazing fire in Miss Busby’s comfortable cottage. ‘But what was he doing there?’ Adeline speculated. ‘Nothing at all, if he were dead.’ Miss Busby wasn’t the sort for idle conjecture. ‘Was he married?’ ‘I don’t believe so, but he had a following,’ Adeline replied. Bright sunlight falling through the window highlighted silver strands in her hair. A mature lady of comfortable proportions, she had dressed for the weather in a russet-coloured frock, matching cardigan, paisley scarf and a fur-trimmed coat, which she’d left hanging in Miss Busby’s small hallway. Lavender Cottage was her first port of call that morning and she’d just informed Miss Busby of the astonishing news currently speeding through the village of Bloxford. ‘What sort of following?’ Miss Busby leaned forward to pour more tea from a rose painted teapot into matching cups. ‘The romantic type?’ ‘Well, according to gossip, he was known to visit at least five ladies in Little Minton on a regular basis,’ Adeline replied. ‘Five, good heavens! He was a busy chap.’ Miss Busby feigned shock, although she felt nothing of the sort. A lady of around seventy years, rather short but still as slim and lively as the young girl she’d once been. Neatly attired in a lilac twin set, a string of modest pearls, and a rather old-fashioned tweed skirt, she was acutely clever, having taught at the local school, where all life could be observed for those who cared to look. ‘Actually, he was a life insurance salesman for the Prudential, so I suspect the gossip has been embellished.’ Adeline sipped her tea and eyed the cake dish. ‘Another lemon melt?’ Miss Busby was quick to spot her friend’s focus. She’d made the shortbread roundels only that morning, before creaming icing sugar, butter, and lemon for the sharply sweet filling just moments before Adeline’s unexpected arrival. ‘Oh, Isabelle, you know I adore shortbread.’ Adeline’s plump face creased into a smile as she delicately picked a roundel from the dish. ‘And where did you find lemons at this time of year?’ ‘I pickled them in gin last September,’ Miss Busby replied. ‘Now, this man who died – who was he and why was he floating in the lake at Little Minton?’ ‘He was Mr Vernon Potter, and I’ve no idea why he was there; perhaps he’d been meeting a client and some accident befell him.’ ‘But why didn’t the client help?’ ‘Oh, good question, Isabelle, I always said you were clever,’ Adeline paused mid biscuit. ‘Perhaps the client was too frail, or some such. It’s said that his customers were mostly spinsters and widows.’ ‘Spinsters and widows?’ Miss Busby tilted her head in a bird-like gesture. ‘Surely they would need money when alive, it’s no use to them once they’re dead.’ ‘I suppose it depends on one’s circumstances,’ Adeline replied, content in the knowledge that her late husband, who’d been a highly respected surgeon, had left her very comfortably off. ‘But it doesn’t make sense.’ Miss Busby’s eyes fixed for an instant while her mind raced through the puzzle. ‘What do the police have to say about it?’ ‘I’ve no idea, you could ask your nephew.’ Adeline put her hand to her mouth to prevent crumbs escaping. Miss Busby’s nephew had been the local police Inspector until recently. ‘They’ve moved him to Nottingham. He’s quite useless, and it’s better he be useless in Nottingham than in Bloxford.’ ‘Bloxford is hardly a hotbed of crime, Isabelle.’ ‘Apart from the terrible murders earlier this year,’ Miss Busby reminded her. ‘Yes, at the Hall,’ Adeline recalled. ‘But that’s best forgotten, and it’s not at all likely to be repeated, is it?’ ‘No.’ Miss Busby’s blue eyes darkened at the memory. ‘The death of this Vernon Potter fellow sounds most peculiar, though.’ ‘I agree, and it could cause considerable hardship, from what I understand.’ ‘I imagine it could.’ Miss Busby placed her empty cup back on its saucer and leaned forward. ‘Do you know who has been affected?’ ‘I heard the sister of the vicar at Little Minton was one of the ladies concerned,’ Adeline said, and bit into the last lemon melt. Miss Busby paused for a moment. ‘But how…and what is being done about it?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Adeline replied. ‘But I sincerely hope something is!’ Shortly after Adeline had departed – eager, no doubt, to spread the news further through the close-knit village – Miss Busby once more picked up her latest novel and settled back into her armchair beside the fire. With the cottage now quiet, there soon came a soft padding of paws down the stairs; Pudding, her ginger tom, appeared in the doorway with an indignant mew, as if berating her for taking quite so long to attend to the important business of the day. Or rather, his important business of the day. Miss Busby shifted in the chair to offer the maximum amount of lap space – Pudding being rather on the large side. ‘Still not keen on