Point of No Return

By Diana J. Febry
Mystery/Crime, 284 pages, cover art provided by author

Blurb:
The significance of the noose left hanging outside James Palmer's barn is obvious to everyone in the village. When threats turn to violence DCI Peter Hatherall has to unmask a master of disguise determined to have their revenge.

Excerpt:
Detective Chief Inspector Peter Hatherall stretched his legs out, interlocked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. The last two weeks spent with Sally and the boys at her mother's house in Cornwall had been wonderful. With unlimited time together, free from other pressures, they'd talked and found one another again. The genuine love and concern in Sally's eyes still made his stomach muscles curl up in unworthiness.

When they had discussed it together, it made perfect sense for Sally to stay in Cornwall with the boys until the end of the school holidays. Since his return home alone, old doubts and fears had crept into the corners of his mind and they continued to relentlessly churn away in the background.

He dreamt last night she'd telephoned and asked for a divorce. They'd come pretty damn close to going down that route. The fear it left behind prevented any hope of sleep for the rest of the night.

Story of his love life, he   thought, always coming pretty damn close. Like he'd nearly started an affair with Fiona, his junior officer. With closed eyes, he speculated about what could have happened if he'd taken that step.

"Hatherall!"

Peter dropped his hands abruptly, leaving his head unsupported and he was momentarily disoriented as he was dragged from the warm floating place between consciousness and sleep. Superintendent Rogers looked less than impressed. Peter looked over for some support, only to see Detective Inspector Fiona Williams sitting primly in front of her lap top, looking the perfect teacher's pet, leaving him to play the role of the class dunce.

"Hatherall, I know you work in unusual ways, but could you at least try to appear awake?" Rogers said.

Peter pulled his legs in and crossed them, trying to look suitably contrite.

"What are you working on, if anything, at the moment?" Rogers asked.

Peter pulled the yellow post-it note from his laptop screen. "Mrs Archer of Frampton is very concerned about the theft of her daffodil bulbs."

Rogers frowned and looked down at Peter through his spectacles. Undeterred, Peter carried on, "They dug them up in the night from her garden."

"Peter! Pass it to uniform. You're not paid to concern yourself with flower arrangements."

"The village-in-bloom committee view it as a most serious matter."

"Well, as you're not busy with anything else…"

"I'm tying up the loose ends on the Bert Jones case and waiting for preliminary dates of his hearings. We're also trying to capture the underwear thief of Littleton."

"So, nothing new. Good. I'd like you to visit a Mister James Palmer, out at Lamington." Rogers handed over a thin file to Fiona, but spoke directly to Peter. "He's received a number of threats and is experiencing problems with petty vandalism on his farm. He thinks the two are linked and is claiming there is some sort of local vendetta against him. He's a fellow member of the Kendleshire Golf Club and I'd like him reassured we are taking his concerns seriously. Give him some advice on security and leave him feeling his taxpayers' money is being used wisely."

"So he'll stop bothering you on the nineteenth hole. And that's more pressing than daffodil bulbs and stolen underwear?" The look of annoyance on Rogers' face warned Peter his humour wasn't appreciated. He pulled himself up straight and asked, "What's he like?"

"I don't know him well. He seems a nice enough chap and he's always generous at the club bar, although a little flirtatious with the female members." Rogers turned and smiled at Fiona. "I'll leave it in your capable hands," he added, leaving the room.

Peter furrowed his brow into a pained expression. He walked towards the window while Fiona studiously ignored him, flicking through the thin file left on her desk. He leant one arm against the window pane and watched life happening down below on the busy high street of Tibberton. He turned from the window. "Well, that's a pleasant morning arranged for us. A drive through the countryside followed by us saying all the right words over a civilised cup of tea."

"It's the next village along from Littleton. There could be a connection to the thefts from washing lines."

Bells On Her Toes

By Diana J. Febry
Mystery/Crime, 439 pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud
Purchase Link

DCI Peter Hatherall is called in to investigate a shooting on the Earl of Ditchburn’s country estate. The Earl’s activities have angered animal rights and environmental groups but subsequent deaths suggest Elmsgrove Racehorse Yard is the target. There is more at stake than a horse race and time is running out for Hatherall to solve the case before the culprit kills again.

Excerpt:

Jolted from her reverie, Gladys withdrew from the window when the golf buggy came into sight. She called to Bert to come in for lunch and headed to the kitchen. The kitchen was like everything at Elmsgrove…over-sized, expensively decorated with solid wood furniture and plastered with horse images. Gladys placed the plates on the heavy oak table as the three men, her boys, scraped their chairs along the stone floor. It was like clockwork, every day of every year. Gladys was sure…if she ran away, her absence would register only after they looked down to see empty table mats. Only Bert had the decency to wash his hands before sitting down. She had given up insisting a long time ago.

Through a mouthful of food, Ben said, “Did you give a statement to the police?

Gladys put down her cutlery and finished chewing before replying. “I don’t think so. They spoke to me, but nothing was written down.”
“Poor sod, shot through the head they reckon,” Ben continued as he slurped his cup of tea.”

“Must be some Townie,” Mike said. “A drug dealer or an addict, I reckon. Maybe they screwed the bird of the local gang leader and got caught.”

“Michael, not at the table,” Gladys said. She watched the three of them with heads bent over their plates, shovelling in the food without tasting it.

“Bloody fools the police are,” Ben said, waving his fork. “Don’t know their asses from their elbows. Would you believe they started asking questions about my insurance claim from years back? Complete idiots.”

“I expect the proper police will appear tomorrow, Dad. Today’s lot were just the local bobbies who deal with shoplifting and stuff like that.”

Picking at her food, Gladys imagined her picture in the newspapers with the headline, ‘Resting actress solves murder mystery.’ The report went on to say, “Gladys, a well-loved member of the community, solved the case when the local police failed. She gave up her glittering career on the brink of stardom to support her husband’s dreams of training a winner. She was coy and modest when the chief of police thanked her publicly for her gallant bravery and fortitude.

“Gladys! Gladys! Are you listening, woman?”

“Sorry darling, what did you say?”

“I’m going to finish at least an hour late tonight, because of the time wasted dealing with the police.”

Gladys started to clear away the empty plates. “I’ll make supper an hour later, then, sweetie.”

“What are you planning to do this afternoon?”

Placing the plates in the dishwasher, Gladys said, “I might go out for a drive to look for clues.”

“Well for God’s sake, stay out of the way of the police.”

“Don’t worry, darling. I shall wear my invisibility cloak.”

Taking his coat from the stand in the hallway, Ben said, “I do wonder sometimes, what goes on in that daft woman’s head.”

“Nothing of any great interest,” Mike replied. Pulling on his work boots, he added, “I’ve arranged to go out with the lads tonight. Any chance you could lend me a few quid?”

Ben tousled his son’s hair. “Come and ask me later, after you’ve completed a full day’s work.”

Each to Their Own

By Diana J. Febry
Mystery/Crime, 369 pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud

Dan is determined to prove Kayleigh’s fall was not accidental. But when witnesses start to disappear it seems someone else is pursuing their own brand of justice. Dan must decide who to trust as he confronts the same dangers as Kayleigh to uncover the truth.

Excerpt:

I fire off a few urgent e-mails before stepping out of my silver Jaguar and heading up the driveway to Sunnyside Retirement Home. The sun makes a brief appearance but does little to soften the sharp chill of the frosty morning. My blazer would be more use on, than flung over my shoulder as I hurry across the car park.

Inside the foyer, the air is stale and overheated. I try to wrinkle my nose to block out the smell of decay and disinfectant and ring the bell on the reception desk. I give my perfect work smile as a young girl in a starched uniform appears. I read her name badge, “Hello Amanda, can you tell Mrs Fisher Anthony Lines is here to see her, please?”

I resist the urge to flick through the magazines on the low coffee table while I wait, preferring to stand looking out of the bay window at the sweep of the drive. This would make a perfect family home.

“Hello, Mr Lines,” Mrs Fisher says as she walks briskly towards me, hand outstretched. “It’s a pleasure as always to see you.”

Mrs Fisher has her camp firmly in the world of business rather than the caring profession. It is my cheque arriving each month that gives her pleasure, but the home is efficiently run and I’m happy my money is put to good use. I give her my customary smile, “Did the nurse from last night explain I’ve come to collect the package from last week before I pop up to see Father?”

With an equally professional smile painted on her face, Mrs Fisher replies, “Follow me into my office.” The sharp heels of her shoes clack along the sanitised corridor while mine squeak occasionally on the buffed surface. Once she’s ushered me inside and closed the door she repeats the smile, “Won’t you sit down?”

Her office is a comfortable sitting room over- looking the front drive and manicured gardens. A small desk, computer monitor and a heavily disguised filing cabinet, the only functional office equipment in the room, take up a small space in the corner. The main purpose of the room is to put relatives at ease when she gives news of death or an increase in costs due to a decline in health. Yet I feel a slight sense of unease as I sink deep into the sumptuous armchair, “I’m in a bit of a rush this morning, I’m afraid. I need to get home to the boys.”

Mrs Fisher takes up her seat on the end of the sofa. She perches with her ankles crossed, hands resting in her lap and a sympathetic look on her face, “Yes, of course. It’s a shame you haven’t brought them. There’s a definite change in Bill when he sees them.”

“Next time, I promise,” I reply quickly. I might be trapped in here all morning if I explain my concerns about Father’s deteriorating state of mind. The last time I brought Matt and Simon to visit, he’d skipped back a generation and thought it was me and Jamie sitting on his bed. That conversation I’d prefer to delay for a day I have time to waste, “Could I have the package, please?” I wait anxiously while Mrs Fisher plays with a stray thread from her woollen skirt. I’m guessing something has happened and the time for that conversation unfortunately is now.

“I’m afraid, Mr Lines, there has been a slight mix-up.”

“Go on,” I reply, thinking the package had been destroyed by accident.

“Yes, you see there was a new girl working and we’ve been so rushed off our feet I didn’t have a chance to explain about our little arrangement.”

“What?” I fight the gravitational pull of the armchair and try to lean forwards. Through a forced smile, gripping the arms of the chair, I pointlessly say, “But we agreed.”

“I know and I’m terribly sorry. I know how difficult it can be when our parents become confused. I understand you want to save him from embarrassment but I’m sure no real harm has been done. The recipient will probably throw it in the bin if it’s complete gibberish.”

I instantly regret the lie I told to ensure Father’s mail was intercepted.

“We really have been very busy recently.”

Gravity pulls me to the back of the chair once again as I let go of the armrests. It gives the impression I’m relaxed about the oversight. In reality, alarm bells are ringing loud and clear in my ears, “Is it possible to speak to the girl who posted it?”

Elephant In The Room

by Diana J. Febry
Mystery/Crime, 380 pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud
Blurb:

Penny Jackson is slowly re-building her life after the abrupt end of her marriage, when she falls in love with the charismatic hotelier, Robert Carver. When dark unspoken family secrets start to surface, Penny has to re-evaluate everything and rely on her own wits to stay alive.

Excerpt:

With a flicker of regret, Josh turned his full attention to the voice becoming increasingly agitated on the end of the phone. “I understand, Mac, but I can’t interrupt him at the moment. I’m sure he won’t be much longer.”

Josh held the phone away from his ear to avoid Mac’s rant perforating his eardrum. Satisfied Mac had finished, he tried again. “The circus isn’t scheduled for another fifteen minutes. I’m sure he’s aware of the time and he won’t want to keep them waiting.”

Josh struggled to attach his cufflinks with his free hand. “I don’t need to ask him. I can categorically say he will not want a private interview with Wendy Humphries. There’s not a chance of him agreeing to that.”

Josh held the phone against his suit leg to try and mute the sound and listen to the raised voices on the other side of the thin partition wall. “I’ll knock on the door in ten minutes. I will tell him the black widow is here, but he isn’t going to happy about it.”

Josh carried the phone into his adjoining room, opened the first closet and selected a tie. From an early age he’d realised the office was his father’s home and it was the only place he was likely to attract his father’s attention. “If that’s really what you want, I’ll let you know when he’s free.”

He closed his phone and wandered back to the wall separating his suite from the vast expanse of the office next door, making a mental note to improve the soundproofing when he moved in there. He had not seen Sophie arrive, and he didn’t want to see her leave. The noise of something hard thrown with force across the room sent a vibration through the wall. He heard the anger in her voice and reluctantly had to admire her guts. “Absolutely no way—I want nothing to do with you. I’m not interested and never have been. You’re all imprisoned in those expensive dark suits you swan about in. Did you really think I could be handcuffed to a Louis Vuitton handbag?” This was followed by the slamming of the door and silence.

Josh slipped out his phone and speed dialled Mac. “Give us another five minutes.” He counted to ten and checked that his tie and the crease in his trousers were perfectly straight, a habit Josh as a small boy had picked up from his father. Appearances are everything. Josh knocked tentatively on the door to his father’s office and opened the door when instructed. Pulling himself erect, he strode purposefully forwards, his eyes warily searching the elegant frame of his father for signs of fatigue.

Without turning or averting his gaze from the bay below, Robert said, “Sit down, son.”

Josh sank into the deep leather seat and ignored the shattered paperweight on the floor. Then he checked the heavy gold watch his father had presented to him on his twenty-first. “Mac would like to see you before the press conference.”

Robert turned from the window, sat on the edge of his heavy, old-fashioned desk and said, “Stupid girl.”

Josh focussed on his father’s shiny black shoe rhythmically swaying backwards and forwards. “I take it things didn’t go well with Sophie?”

Debts And Druids

By Diana J. Febry

Suspense/Thriller ● 319 pages ● Cover art by Pat Evans

Bob wants to avoid financial ruin at any cost. Tina wants to compete at the Regionals at any cost. Sarah wants to hide her past at any cost. Dick wants to find a new way of life at any cost. But who will pay the highest cost?

Excerpt:

Bob didn’t have a clue how everything had got into such a muddle so quickly. He’d tried blaming everybody but himself for the financial mess threatening to destroy him: the banks for allowing him to borrow so much, the credit card companies for encouraging more debts, Tina for seeing him as a cash outlet and Tina’s bloody horses. Now it was all so terribly out of control and getting progressively worse.

Recently he’d shifted blame to a person he’d never met but Tina praised constantly. Duncan. Duncan the wonderful vet who made all Tina’s dreams possible. Without Duncan her horses would not move the way they did. Without Duncan she could never have dreamed of achieving all she had. Bob had developed a deep hatred for this demon called Duncan. He was sick to death of hearing about Duncan, seeing bills from Duncan and watching his money disappearing out of their dwindling account heading in the direction of wonderful, perfect Duncan. Without Duncan, Bob could have had a good night’s sleep and an easy relationship with his bank manager.

Bob didn’t even know if any of his cards would cover the cost of the meal. He had borrowed cash from Dick, just in case. And Dick was yet another worry playing on his mind. Really it was all getting too much to bear. He had to say something now.

“I know it’s your birthday. But I wondered if you’d thought anymore about what we were discussing the other day?”

The Skeletons of Birkbury by Diana J. Febry

Mystery/Crime, 364 pages, ebook & print
Cover art by Pat Evans
Purchase link for The Skeletons of Birkbury

Twenty years ago no connection was made between the disappearance of a girl from Cheltenham and a fatal car accident in the small village of Birkbury. But that changes when the body is found buried in Birkbury and there are two further car accidents and a local girl goes missing.

Excerpt:
Frank could think of nothing useful to say and felt uncomfortable alone with Graham in the confined space of the old Land Rover. The vehicle's suspension thudded their spines as they sped back across the fields towards his discovery. Graham was clearly not best pleased at having been disturbed and made no attempt to hide his irritation.

Graham fidgeted, becoming increasingly annoyed by the vehicle struggling to get friction on the greasy layer of mud on the steep incline. He eventually broke the heavy silence and said, "I will telephone the police after I have seen this body myself. I'm not making a fool of myself on the basis of what you think you've seen, Frank." He added irritably, "Just how many did you have last night?"

Frank merely shrugged. He had known Graham since he was a child. There was no point even trying to discuss anything with him when he was in one of his moods. When things weren't going his way, Graham always oscillated between shouting unreasonable accusations and feigning partial deafness to show his complete contempt for anything anybody else may have to say. Instead of responding, Frank looked out of the passenger window and counted silently to ten.

"Get the gate, Frank."

Frank waited at the gate and let Graham go on ahead to the base of the tree. He had seen enough already. This was nothing to do with him. There was nothing he could do or say to improve things, so it was best to stay out of the way for the rest of the day. He tried to avoid eye contact when Graham returned looking shaken and pale from what he'd seen.

"Frank, this spot can't be seen from the road. I want you to go back to the main gates so you can show the police where we are when they arrive," he said as he pulled his phone from his pocket. "I'll ring them now. And Frank, no wandering off anywhere; just wait at the gate until they arrive." He added "If you see Gillian, don't tell her anything yet. Leave it to me."