A Death Of Fresh Air by Helen Golden — Let us talk of many things
Intro
In the serene seaside town of Windstanton, royal amateur sleuth Lady Beatrice, and her best friend and business partner, Perry Juke, embark on the restoration and refurb of Ryan Hawley, and Perry’s husband, Simon Lattimore’s, soon-to-open restaurant, SaltAir. With the Grand Opening only three weeks away, the town is buzzing about the new restaurant and advance bookings are flooding in. Everything is looking great. There’s just a stud wall and an ugly old bar to knock down and they’ll be finish on time. But as the sledgehammer falls and the wall crumbles a chilling discovery is revealed…
A Death Of Fresh Air
In a charming seaside town, secrets don’t stay buried for long…
Body of Chef Found in Wall Three Years After He ‘Left to go to Australia’
Human remains found inside the wall of a disused building have now been identified as those of Victor Blackwell. He was the head chef at Windstanton’s The Seaside Lounge until just over three years ago, when, according his friends, he left for a job in Australia. Detective Inspector Albert Finch from Fenshire’s Cold Case Unit has asked for anyone who has information about the chef’s movements three years ago to come forward.
We have no choice! With only three weeks until the Grand Opening, the last thing Bea and Perry need is the grim discovery of a skeleton in the wall of Simon and Ryan’s soon-to-open restaurant, SaltAir. But when it’s designated a crime scene, and the policeman in charge of the investigation into Vic’s murder refuses to let them have access to continue the refurbishment, they have no other option than to investigate the murder themselves or risk letting Simon and Ryan down.
But in a town where everyone harbours secrets, can they uncover the truth in time or will SaltAir’s opening be a damp squib?
Extract
Bea’s heart raced as her eyes fixed on the newly uncovered compartment. Is it human?
Perry leaned in, his expression sombre yet undeniably captivated by the grim tableau before them. “It looks like human bones to me. Look. There’s a skull.”
Charles stood stock-still, his usually composed demeanour replaced by a look of stunned disbelief. He removed his hard hat and safety glasses, then ran a hand through his neat blond-grey hair as he peered into the cavity. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I think so too.”
Oh my goodness! Bea’s stomach did a somersault. Who?
“Remember what Claire’s sister said about the previous chef here?” Perry murmured, his voice a low thrum against the silence.
“Victor Blackwell?” Bea swallowed hard.
“She told Claire he would have been in contact to at least say goodbye. Maybe she was onto something—”
“And he never went in the first place?” Bea finished for him, her mind a whirl of possibilities. How did he end up inside a false wall? She let out a long breath through her nose. Someone must have put him in here…
“It could be Vic all right,” Charles said, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the remains. “But then, I guess it could be anyone.”
Bea felt the chill of the room seep into her body as she stepped backwards. “We should call the police,” she said in a slightly wobbly voice.
“Absolutely,” Charles agreed, already reaching for his phone. “No more work today, boys,” he called out to his crew. “Don’t touch anything. Go down to the staff room, and I’ll join you in a minute.” The workmen left as Charles wandered off, his mobile phone glued to his ear.
Perry had already whipped out his camera and was snapping photos from every angle. Bea shot him a look that was mixed with horror and admiration—it had been useful in the past when Perry had taken photos of the crime scene, but it still felt tasteless to her. “Must you?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“You never know; they might come in handy when we start our investigation,” he replied, clicking away.
What? Bea’s shoulders tensed. No! No more investigations. “Perry, we’re not investigating this. Surely, the police will—”
“Bea. We open in three weeks, remember? We can’t have this room tied up as a crime scene. We need to get it finished.”
Bea’s heart sank. Perry was right. They were on a tight schedule as it was. A delay like this could jeopardise the opening.
Hello. I’m Helen Golden. I write British contemporary cozy whodunnits with a hint of humour. I live in small village in Lincolnshire in the UK with my husband, my step-daughter, her two cats, our two dogs, sometimes my step-son, and our tortoise.
I used to work in senior management, but after my recent job came to a natural end I had the opportunity to follow my dreams and start writing. It's very early in my life as an author, but so far I'm loving it.
It’s crazy busy at our house, so when I’m writing I retreat to our caravan (an impulsive lockdown purchase) which is mostly parked on our drive. When I really need total peace and quiet, I take it to a lovely site about 15 minutes away and hide there until my family runs out of food or clean clothes
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