Death at the Caravan Park Blog Tour!

 

Death at the Caravan Park

Clive Thompson heads for Whitley Bay caravan park to finish writing his novel. He’s never had a caravan holiday before and is warmly greeted by the manager, Liz Mathews, who lives on the park. She is single and cares for her ninety year old mother who has Alzheimer’s Disease. Clive meets the people in neighbouring caravans and has an amazing view from his veranda over the sea to St. Mary’s Lighthouse. However, Audrey goes missing during the night and Liz is beside herself with worry. The police are out looking for her, but disillusioned by their efforts, Clive begins his own investigations.

Purchase Links - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Death-Caravan-Park-Thompson-investigates-ebook/dp/B0C6YGTH79/

https://www.amazon.com/Death-Caravan-Park-Thompson-investigates-ebook/dp/B0C6YGTH79/

                                         

EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER 35

Clive Thompson, bumbling sleuth, is suspicious of the German guest staying in the caravan behind him and is determined to see what he is up to.

I’m out of my caravan like Jack Flash and cut over the grass to stay behind him. Although his tracksuit looks like it’s seen better days, I can tell he’s been used to a better standard of living and am desperate to know about his life and what he’s doing here.

He strides down from Ash Mews towards reception and heads inside. I can’t follow him into reception, so decide to hang around on the corner. There’s an ice cream van parked up and I lick my lips – I can never resist. I’m not sure how long Dennis will be in reception and figure I’ve time to devour a cornet. I do so and lick at the soft ice cream which has a great flavour and is cooling me down.

Dennis reappears and turns the corner so quickly that he’s right in front of me and I’m flustered. I wipe the cream from my lips with the back of my hand.

‘That looks good,’ he says. ‘I’ve just been into reception to let them know I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.’

I’m startled at this news. ‘Oh, right,’ I mutter. ‘Are you going home?’

Dennis doesn’t answer this question. I watch him chew at the bottom of his moustache and change the subject by saying, ‘Hey, I’m reading your book - I got it from Amazon - it’s a good story and I’ve stayed near that place in London.’

This floors me and even though I’m supposed to be questioning him I can’t help but glow at the compliment. I stutter, ‘O…oh that’s great - thanks!’

I wonder how he knew my surname because I haven’t told him and figure maybe Jim has. My brain kicks into gear and know if he’s leaving tomorrow, I have to find out his connection to this caravan park and decide to go straight in with my main question.

The ice cream begins to drip on my hand, and I pull back my shoulders. ‘Dennis, you know that I’ve been helping Liz,’ I say. ‘So, can I ask you where you were last Monday night when Audrey disappeared?’

I realise I’ve used a sharper tone to my voice mainly because I’m concerned about Audrey’s death and not knowing about this man is bugging me. There’s an awkward silence between us as a seagull squarks noisily up above on the reception roof.

Dennis draws his bushy eyebrows together in a severe frown. It’s obvious he’s not happy about being asked although I can’t see his eyes because he’s wearing mirrored sunglasses. I notice the rough red score marks on the back of his hands. A dermatological complaint, I wonder, Psoriasis?

He removes his sunglasses, stands with his legs planted wide and puts his clenched fists on his hips. His eyes are ablaze and seem to be protruding when he shouts, ‘What the hell has it got to do with you - you’re not the police!’

And he’s right, I think startled at his raised voice. He takes a step towards me and snarls, ‘Just who the devil are you?’

I decide a change of mood is necessary if I’m to get him to talk. I drop my shoulders and smile trying to look more friendly sucking a big mouthful of ice cream before it runs down the side of the cornet. I’m just about to say, hey, I didn’t mean to upset you, when he moves swiftly. With steady hands he grabs the hem on the bottom of my T-shirt and pulls it up and right over my head.

I’m plunged into darkness. 

Susan is a published author of eight novels and six novellas with short stories published in Women’s Weekly magazines. She is now retired from Food Technology and scribbles away in County Durham. Writing psychological suspense and cosy-crime novels with strong, lovable North East characters, is her passion. Last year, she brought us, Clive’s Christmas Crusades, set in York. Following the Harrogate Crime Writing Festival, Susan wrote six Curious Casefiles which is now published by Northodox Press. She has incorporated up-to-date issues: poor mental health in a kidnap scene, the perils of social media, and an intruder on Skype.

Social Media Links –

You can find Susan’s books here: https://amzn.to/2S5UBc8

www.facebook.com/susan.willis.710

https://twitter.com/SusanWillis69