Cozy Mystery: Dining With The Dead (A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series): A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series
By Carrie Marsh
2.5/5
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About this ebook
A new receptionist. A mysterious death. A talking cat. A haunting. A village in disguise with dark secrets.
The Woodend Cottage Hotel has stood at the end of Millerfield Village, Kent, for as long as anyone remembers. Miss Laura Howcroft has been receptionist for only three months. The naturally suspicious villagers eye her with suspicion as a “foreigner”. Fortunately, the villagers don't know just how unusual Laura is.
While in every other respect she is an ordinary, if beautiful, receptionist, she has an extra-special ability: she can talk to animals. Especially Monty, her cat. And she can understand what they say back.
When small items start going missing from the hotel, the cook pleads insanity and Farmer Hogarth takes a funny turn, level-headed Laura is the first person anyone asks for help. Laura tends to treat the village goings-on with humor. But then a visitor from London is found dead, and she must take it seriously.
Then, the finger of suspicion points at her, and she must do something to clear her name.
Braving dangerous threats, ghostly sightings and stale apple pie, Laura delves into the dark side of village life. By her side is Howard Lucas, a gentle and soft-spoken doctor with a black-belt in karate, and the indomitable Monty.
Can Laura uncover who is the murderer and what’s the motive. Could she survive those death threats?
Dining With The Dead is a gripping standalone mystery in Carrie Marsh ’s second Cozy Murder Mystery series - A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series. With plot twists, turns coupled with interesting characters that you will sure love.
Buy this book because it’s cozy very good!
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Book preview
Cozy Mystery - Carrie Marsh
CHAPTER ONE
INTRODUCTIONS
Millerfield is a small village .
That means, for those of you who don't know, that there is only one street in total, the population is divided equally between the extremely old and the very young, and, most importantly: everyone knows everyone else.
Laura Howcroft, standing behind her desk at the Woodend Cottage Hotel, realized, not for the first time that day, just how small Millerfield was. The thing that made her realize it was that nobody knew her. And that, surprisingly, hurt.
Eh...who's the new girl?
she heard a farmer say as he headed past her.
Dunno...she's not from here – never clapped eyes on her afore.
Oh,
the farmer said, eying her with mistrust, a foreigner.
Laura rolled her eyes. It was, she thought, rather rude. To say nothing of unreasonable.
I'm from Cambridge, she wanted to shout. That's a hundred miles away! She suddenly realized that, for people whose entire world was slightly over two square miles, a hundred miles away was another galaxy. For them, she was practically from outer space.
She leaned on her desk and sighed. Not for the first time, Laura wondered why she had moved here from her own larger village of Cambridge.
It seemed like a good idea...
she said under her breath.
Just then, a voice interrupted her thoughts.
Miss?
Laura looked up, and carried on looking. She was staring into the darkest eyes she had ever seen. Mesmerizing and almost-black, framed by long, dark lashes, the eyes were warm and intelligent.
Good afternoon,
she replied, swallowing.
Something in those eyes tugged at her heart, making her feel things that sensible, practical Laura Howcroft did not feel. Ever. The love of her life was Monty – her cat – and that was just fine.
I think I have a reservation,
the man said, genially. His voice was warm as melted butter on a crumpet, and Laura felt something peculiar happen in her heart.
Uh...
she went blank. What was the Maître d' of a restaurant supposed to ask, again? ...name?
she remembered, relieved.
That would help,
the man agreed.
Laura bridled. That was, she thought, a bit cheeky. Even though he was her age, or maybe even older, she felt a need to reprimand him.
No need to be rude, you know,
she said crisply, not looking up from the list of the day's reservations.
Apologies,
the man replied frostily.
Fine,
she mumbled, secretly pleased that she had made him feel uncomfortable. Since it would help so much, could I have your name?
she smiled sarcastically.
Well, most people in the village know me,
the man said distantly. I'm Doctor Lucas.
Oh, heck...Laura thought, shutting her eyes. Rule number one of village life: never, ever offend the only doctor.
Fine,
she said, quietly. She ran her finger down the list of surnames. Dr. Howard Lucas...we put you at table Three. Enjoy,
I shall do my best,
the doctor said archly, and walked off without a backward glance.
As soon as he had gone, Laura collapsed on the desk. Why, she thought, sadly, am I doing this? I should have stayed at home, and joined Emma when she moved into a caravan...
Laura ran a hand through her blonde hair, and, turning, caught sight of herself, reflected in the mirror behind the counter. Of middle height, with delicate features and blue eyes, Laura had never quite known how to classify herself. A friend had told her she looked like Sharon Stone and Laura, not being one for movies, had had to look her up on the Internet. Laura grinned at herself.
I'm sure Sharon Stone never had under-eye rings like that, she thought critically. Fine bloody film star I'd be.
Laura!
A bright, genial voice broke through her miserable reverie. Laura blinked. Inwardly, she quailed. It was not that Janet was unwelcome, exactly...she was just so loud!
Janet,
Laura said, giving the red-haired receptionist a watery smile. Miss Janet Lister worked at the front desk of the hotel, a position she had held for a few years before Laura arrived. Janet had also been an incomer
, and had sympathy for Laura.
What's the matter?
Janet asked convivially. Not enjoying your first day at work...?
Not at all...
Laura said indistinctly, ...what makes you think that?
Come on, Laura!
Janet boomed, I've seen more cheerful murder victims!
Laura sighed. I am enjoying it, Janet,
she began, ...it's just that everyone seems so – so unfriendly! So suspicious of me. And I can't seem to do anything about it.
Janet laughed.
That's not your fault! It's just the way it is around here. You know, small village, tight-knit community? They'll get used to you – you'll see.
Laura swallowed. She was not too sure how reassuring that was. The day these people got used to me is the day I move out she thought.
How could she be absorbed in this small, mean-spirited community? She shuddered at the thought.
Never mind,
Janet said carefully. I brought you a scone. That'll make it better, you'll see.
She produced the scone, arranged on a little plate, and left it at Laura's side. Nothing ever happens here, and no-one ever changes,
Janet added, ...but you can be sure a scone will make it all all right.
Patting Laura on the shoulder, she turned and left, headed back to the hotel reception desk.
Watching her go, Laura felt a lump in her throat that had nothing to do with the scone-induced hunger, and more to do with feeling truly moved.
Perhaps this village, and its inhabitants, aren't too bad after all,
she muttered under her breath. Looking around the restaurant to make sure she wasn't needed, she went into the office and bit into her scone. Creamy and covered in strawberry jam, it was warm and crumbly, fresh out of the oven.
As her eye fell on Dr. Lucas, sitting by the window with a sandwich and the local paper, she felt somewhat less certain that a scone could improve everything.
I shall forget about him,
she told herself primly. For the moment, I shall allow that scones, while not making things better, can make them more bearable.
Even, she thought, in villages where nothing ever happens.
CHAPTER TWO
A COMFORTABLE EVENING
The late evening sun slanted through the window of Laura's rented cottage. She sat at the kitchen table, looking idly through the newspaper while she drank her last coffee of the day. She sighed, enjoying the immense peacefulness of the countryside.
She heard something solid thump in the sitting-room. She grinned.
Monty!
Her whole face lit up as the large, black cat walked in through the kitchen door. How are you?
Not too bad actually, the cat's thought-voice replied. The field up there is full of mice, did you notice?
No,
Laura grinned. Is that good?
Depends, Monty grumbled, as he sat himself firmly down on a