The Guestbook Read online

  Right, that’s it, you’re in for it now. I need a big knife.

  I have one. You’re welcome to come round and borrow it.

  Monday:

  After dinner with my sister-in-law I feel much better about the murder. We talked things through and she gave me some great ideas on how to commit the perfect crime. I now know how I’m going to dispose of the body too. No one will ever find her. Claudette Montana is going to die tonight. I will not rest until she is lying in the ground.

  Claudette Montana? Really? Please kill me off, not her.

  I am not killing you off. I’ve told you before, Annie Butterworth just isn’t sexy enough to be in one of my books. Annie Butterworth sounds like an old granny with fluffy slippers and someone who wears cardigans no matter how hot it is. Why do you think I changed my name to Oliver Black? Oliver Butterworth would be smoking a pipe and sucking on his Werther’s Originals, he certainly wouldn’t be the number one crime writer in Britain, nay the world.

  You think a lot of yourself don’t you? And yes, I’m well aware I’m not sexy enough for you.

  Are we still talking about the book here? Let’s not go down that weird road again. Besides you were in my last book, you obviously didn’t look hard enough.

  I was not, I would have noticed that.

  Try the very front of the book.

  What’s this? The Great Oliver Black having writer’s block? Surely not.

  Sophia Lorenzo. Cleaner.

  Oh Annie. Please tell me, with all your money, why you still haven’t got yourself a decent cleaner yet? Why do you still have this old bag hanging around like a bad smell?

  Oliver Butterworth, don’t think you are too old to be put over my knee. Sophia

  Oh Aunty Sophia, are you still mad that I killed you off in Behind Closed Doors.

  I was more bothered that you made me into a prostitute.

  High class escort actually, I couldn’t resist. Besides Sophia Lorenzo is a much sexier sounding name than Annie Butterworth.

  You dedicated your last book to me!! How did I miss that? I can’t believe you did that. That’s… Thank you.

  Oh don’t get all soppy on me. Jeez if I knew it was going to get this reaction I would have dedicated it to my local Chinese take-out, who kept me fed through the duration of the book.

  And Sophia, it wasn’t so much writer’s block, more murderer’s block. I had made the character of Claudette so clever, underhanded and cunning that she wouldn’t fall for the plots and ploys of Maxwell Hunt. I also needed to make sure the reader would feel sympathetic towards him, they had to want Claudette dead almost as much as he did.

  Tuesday:

  It is technically Tuesday. 3.27 Tuesday morning to be precise. But Claudette has been killed. I feel like singing ‘ding, dong the witch is dead’. I have cracked open a bottle of Whin Hill Cider to celebrate but may sneak next door and top up my celebrations with some of Annie’s amazing trifle.

  Note to self: When breaking into your sister-in-law’s place either go blindfolded or call out to make sure she is decent first. I don’t know who was more shocked when I walked in to find her stark naked tucking into the trifle. Admittedly we’re experiencing one of the hottest springs since before dinosaurs roamed the earth but still, one should wear a robe when wandering about downstairs.

  Why should I wear a robe in my own house? Normally my guests don’t just take it upon themselves to wander into my house and help themselves to my food. That’s not part of the service. Besides you have seen me naked before.

  Yes. You’ve put on weight since the last time.

  Oh my god! Thanks very much!

  Annie! You know very well that I meant that as a good thing. You were a bag of bones the last time I saw you. I’m so glad you’re eating properly again now.

  Nag, nag, nag.

  I’m just saying, what I saw in the light of the fridge for those brief seconds was damned sexy.

  Sexy enough to be in one of your books?

  No.

  If you won’t kill me off how about making me into a murderer instead?

  Annie Butterworth, blonde hair, blue eyes, face like an angel, cast as an evil murderer, who would believe it?

  Wednesday:

  My sister-in-law has gone mad. Maybe the grief of my brother dying has finally got to her and it’s pushed her over the edge. She tried to kill me three times yesterday.

  The first time she leapt out of a cupboard with an axe. Scared the bloody crap out of me, but only because she was screaming like a banshee. When I turned around and saw Annie brandishing an axe in her little flowered blouse and denim shorts with those stupid oversized sandals she loves so much I burst out laughing, hardly the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.

  The second time a quiche appeared in my kitchen with a packet of rat poison next to it. The quiche tasted amazing, Annie always could cook.

  I had to give her points for trying on the third attempt. I woke to find her straddling me, dressed head to toe in a black leather cat suit, her hair slicked back, her eyes lined with black and a knife pressed to my throat. I must admit she did look mean, but I was too busy trying not to be turned on to be scared of her. Quite frankly if she had killed me then I would have gone with a huge grin on my face.

  Annie, I know you just don’t have it in you to be a killer. I’ve seen you stop the car for a frog to cross the road. You didn’t even have the guts to use a real knife, you had a spoon handle pressed to my throat.

  I didn’t want to hurt you. I could be believable as a killer, just you wait and see.

  Thursday:

  Annie may be a better killer than I thought. Last night I nearly died laughing.

  She had made a dummy by stuffing old clothes with newspapers, a head out of an old melon and fastened it all together to look like a body then wrapped it in a black bin bag. Just as it was starting to turn dark she went out to her front garden, and in full view of the rest of the village, dug a hole to bury the body. She obviously wanted to raise suspicions and prove that people would think she was capable of such a thing.

  She was in luck. David Lambeth, the local constabulary, was driving past and he stopped when he saw her digging. I think she nearly did a little victory dance that he would ask her what she was doing and to explain the body shaped bag on her front lawn. But without a word, David went to the shed, grabbed another spade and helped her to dig the hole only stopping once to clarify how deep she wanted it. I laughed so much I think I ruptured something inside.

  Even when I told him I wanted the hole six feet deep he didn’t bat an eyelid. I did relent in the end and told him I’d finish the hole the next day. He’s coming round later to help me finish it off.

  Friday:

  I’m being kicked out today. Apparently a paying guest is more important than family.

  You can stay in my spare room, you know that. I promise not to jump you.

  I’d prefer to keep the boundaries a bit stricter, after last time.

  Prude.

  I’ll be back for the grand re-opening of The Painted Plate. Take Care Annie, Sophia, take care of her.

  I will. Don’t stay away so long next time. Sophia x

  **********

  14th – 17th March

  Mrs Applecroft.

  FRIDAY:

  THE LAST TIME I WAS HERE MRS BUTTERWORTH WAS GRIEVING THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND. THE PLACE WAS A MESS.

  I APPRECIATE THAT THE UPKEEP OF WILLOW COTTAGE WAS NOT HIGH ON HER LIST OF PRIORITIES WHEN SHE WAS TRYING TO ORGANISE A FUNERAL BUT STILL I WOULD HAVE EXPECTED SOME STANDARDS. WHEN MY HUSBAND PASSED AWAY, I MADE SURE THE HOUSE WAS STILL CLEANED EVERY DAY.

  HOWEVER, WELLS-NEXT-THE-SEA IS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE AND AS I HAD BEEN A REGULAR GUEST UP UNTIL THE WEEK OF THE FUNERAL, I THOUGHT I WOULD COME BACK AND GIVE WILLOW COTTAGE ONE MORE CHANCE.

  I’M PLEASED TO SEE THE PLACE HAS BEEN REDECORATED AND ALTHOUGH SOME OF THE DÉCOR IS NOT TO MY TASTE, THE HOUSE IS MOSTLY CLEAN.

  MRS APPLECROFT

 
; My apologies that Willow Cottage was not up to the usual standards you had come to expect the last time you were here. It’s such a shame that you have stayed away because of that. We have missed you and your very helpful advice on how to improve the cottage. I know Sophia especially will be delighted you are back.

  I did let things slip a bit when Nick died and I have never forgiven myself for not being clean and tidy in the months after his death. It is a burden I will have to live with for the rest of my life. Hopefully we can go some way to restoring your faith in us this time. After all Cleanliness is next to Godliness.

  Annie Butterworth.

  YOU ARE SO RIGHT.

  I HAVE JUST BEEN FOR A WALK ON THE BEACH AND THOUGH IT IS STILL BEAUTIFUL I WAS ANGERED TO SEE THERE WERE HORSE FAECES ON THE PATH LEADING DOWN TO THE SEA FRONT. DISGUSTING! IF DOG OWNERS HAVE TO PICK UP AFTER THEIR PETS, HORSE OWNERS SHOULD BE NO DIFFERENT.

  HAVE WATCHED FOUR MEN LEAVE SOPHIA LORENZO’S HOUSE IN THE LAST TWO HOURS. HER HUSBAND IS SEEMINGLY AWAY ON BUSINESS. WHILE THE CAT’S AWAY…

  THE SIGN TO BUTTERWORTH FARM IS SQUEAKY AND IN NEED OF OILING.

  ANNIE BUTTERWORTH SINGING IN HER BACK GARDEN IS DISTURBING MY READING.

  SATURDAY:

  THE SUN SHINES TOO BRIGHTLY THROUGH MY BEDROOM WINDOW; IT MIGHT BE AN IDEA TO INVEST IN SOME BLACK OUT CURTAINS. THE PILLOWS ARE HARD. THE BIRDS SINGING ALSO DISTURBED ME FROM MY SLEEP.

  I SEE YOUNG SHELLIE GILLESPIE STAYED OVER WITH MICHAEL ATKINSON LAST NIGHT, I SAW HER LEAVE HIS HOUSE VERY EARLY THIS MORNING. IT SEEMS THE TINY VILLAGE OF CHALK HILL HAS BECOME A HOTBED OF SIN.

  JUST GOT BACK FROM A WALK ROUND THE SHOPS. I WAS DISAPPOINTED TO SEE THE WOOL SHOP HAS BEEN REPLACED BY SOME CRASS LOOKING CAKE SHOP.

  SUNDAY:

  SOPHIA LORENZO DISTURBED MY BREAKFAST TO COME AND CLEAN. I MUST TELL HER ABOUT THE DUST ON TOP OF THE WARDROBES. I WILL LEAVE A NOTE. I DON’T FEEL COMFORTABLE REPRIMANDING THE HELP.

  The help???

  Firstly, if you’d had the decency to cancel your booking when we told you about Nick’s death you wouldn’t have come at the worst possible time in Annie’s life.

  Secondly, the four men that left my house on Friday night were all builders and decorators who were giving me a quote for a new fitted bathroom. I may be bloody amazing in bed but even I could not satisfy four men in less than two hours.

  Thirdly, Shellie Gillespie is now married to Michael Atkinson and was leaving early to go to work, but even if they weren’t married this is the twenty first century and what consenting adults do behind closed doors has nothing whatsoever to do with you.

  Fourthly, if you want to climb up on top of the wardrobe and dust it, be my guest.

  Sophia Lorenzo

  AFTER SPEAKING TO MRS LORENZO EARLIER TODAY I FEEL COMPELLED TO SAY HOW CLEAN I HAVE FOUND THE PLACE. FURTHERMORE I WILL DEFINITELY BE BACK. WILLOW COTTAGE IS DELIGHTFUL. MY SINCERE APOLOGIES IF MY PREVIOUS COMMENTS DID NOT DO THE COTTAGE JUSTICE.

  **********

  18th – 21st March

  Hetty O’Donahue.

  Tuesday:

  Hetty, I’m so looking forward to seeing you again. I know you won’t mind but I’ll be popping in and out during your stay to see to the garden, it’s got a bit tangled of late.

  Annie x

  My lovely Annie, the garden looks great but yes of course you can come in and tend to it. The house looks spectacular. I loved it before, but now it’s amazing. I’m so glad to be back.

  Hetty x

  I’m so glad to have you back. The money to do up the place came from Nick. He was apparently insured up to the hilt. It seemed a fitting tribute to him to use the money to do up Willow Cottage, what started as an on-going project for us five years ago and make it into the place we always dreamed it would be.

  I have also used some of the money to renovate The Painted Plate, my little pottery painting studio. It has sat closed ever since his death as I couldn’t face working with the public anymore. It seemed weird that people would come in, happy, cheery, life continuing as normal when my life had stopped. I couldn’t bear it. But I’m in a really good place now and the grand re-opening is in a few weeks. We’re just doing Sundays and Tuesdays to start with. I really need to be around to greet guests when they arrive in the peak season on Saturdays. Chloe Sayles is going to be trained up as my Saturday girl so she can run the place for me on those days in the summer.

  You’re looking good. I’m so happy you are on the mend. Would Oliver have anything to do with your beautiful smile being back on your face?

  Olly was a great help after Nick died. It’s safe to say I wouldn’t have got through those first few months without him. The whole of Nick’s family were so supportive, especially Sophia and Olly. He stayed with me for nearly seven months, helping me get through each day one step at a time, he sorted out the insurance, bills, everything. We drew very close but now we are just friends.

  You three used to be as thick as thieves growing up. Mary Gillespie and I always used to joke that you had two boyfriends and would probably end up marrying them both.

  I loved them both, still do. Though I think what I have with Olly is a brother/sister kind of love. Hell, you’ve seen him in the magazines, on the arm of a different woman every week, turns up to all these glamorous parties and premieres. He’s hardly going to give up all of that for me.

  Why does he have to give it up? He’s a writer. He can write anywhere and it seems, reading some of the other messages, he gets his best ideas around you. The parties and glitzy lifestyle are only a small part of his life. At the end of the day he still wants a place to call home.

  You’re talking like this is an option. Sometimes he can hardly bear to look at me.

  Well after the accident he probably felt guilty, he was driving after all. He probably thinks he could have done something to prevent it.

  It wasn’t his fault, he knows that. I don’t blame him.

  Yes, but he’s alive, Nick’s not. He’s bound to feel guilty about that regardless of where the blame lies.

  You should go and see Butterworth Farm whilst you’re here, William would love to see you.

  Nice change of subject there. Ok, I won’t say any more about it. For now. And are you still trying to get me and William together? Unless I had black and white spots and went moo, William wouldn’t give me a second glance. He loves them cows.

  He does, but he likes you too. There were five calves yesterday, there may be more today, little new-born babies, surely you can’t resist.

  I may pop over.

  If you do, pop in and take some muffins and eggs with you. I also have some Shepherd’s Pie I made for him; they’d be plenty left over for you tonight if you didn’t want to cook.

  I saw the cows, the little ones were very cute. William said ten words to me the whole time I was there.

  Ten, really?

  Yep I counted them.

  Oh dear.

  Wednesday:

  I found an engagement ring on the beach this morning, beautiful little thing, a diamond the shape of a teardrop and two clusters of tiny sapphires on either side. It looks antique. Makes me wonder how it got there. Was the girl lost at sea, did it belong to a sailor who lost his bride to scarlet fever and wore it as a memento of his sweetheart? I wonder how long ago it was given as a token of some man’s affection.

  Hetty, you old romantic. I hate to break it to you but knowing Sally Jenkins down the road it probably belongs to her. She has been engaged more times than I’ve had hot dinners; to the same man three times and to eight others at the last count. She never marries them though. Lucky thing seems to be having men practically queuing up to offer their hand in marriage, always some rich bachelor too. At the book club last night she told us the last one, some Lord somebody or other, had the audacity to give her a cubic zirconia ring instead of a diamond one, apparently it ended up in the sea, along with the rings of the other men that either cheated or lied to her.

  I’d be grateful to get any kind
of ring. I’m still tainted at the moment, the grieving widow. Half the eligible bachelors in the village and surrounding areas, of which there aren’t many, look at me like I’m an unexploded bomb and they’re scared I may go off at any time. They let me win at pool in the pub and they never charge me for car repairs just in case I might start crying again. The other half still see me as Nick’s and think it would be disloyal to him to go behind his back and court me.

  I’m not really looking for a man at the moment. It’s still hard to think of being with another man that’s not Nick. But although I’m not in the market, an appreciative glance wouldn’t go amiss, instead of the looks of pity or fear I get from most men.

  You need to get away. You’re welcome to come and stay with me in Tenby. I can take you over to Skomer. If you come in a few weeks they’ll be hundreds of Puffins.