Cherringham - A Fatal Illusion E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 164

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

When an elderly, world-famous magician is found dead in his Cherringham mansion, there is nothing suspicious about the passing. According to the doctor, it was a heart attack - plain and simple. But the performer's long-time assistant suspects something sinister and she asks Jack and Sarah to investigate. And like the great magician's amazing tricks, it soon becomes clear that his death is anything but simple: in the world of magic, nothing is ever what it seems, and sometimes even illusions can turn deadly...

Set in the sleepy English village of Cherringham, the detective series brings together an unlikely sleuthing duo: English web designer Sarah and American ex-cop Jack. Thrilling and deadly - but with a spot of tea - it's like Rosamunde Pilcher meets Inspector Barnaby. Each of the self-contained episodes is a quick read for the morning commute, while waiting for the doctor, or when curling up with a hot cuppa.

Co-authors Neil Richards (based in the UK) and Matthew Costello (based in the US), have been writing together since the mid-90s, creating innovative content and working on major projects for the BBC, Disney Channel, Sony, ABC, Eidos, and Nintendo to name but a few. Their transatlantic collaboration has underpinned scores of TV drama scripts, computer games, radio shows, and the best-selling mystery series Cherringham. Their latest series project is called Mydworth Mysteries.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

About the Book

Main Characters

Title

1. Now You See It …

2. Watch Closely Now

3. A Discreet Enquiry is Requested

4. The Scene of … Well, What Exactly?

5. Unexpected Visitors

6. A Suspect Appears

7. Hot Tickets

8. Not Quite the End of the Night

9. A Deadly Secret?

10. Where There’s a Will …

11. There’s a Way …

12. Presto, Changeo!

13. Just a Phone Call Away

14. A Most Surprising Trap

15. The Rabbit Comes Out of the Hat

16. Abracadabra!

17. Real Magic

The Authors

Copyright

Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

“Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series” is a series made up of self-contained stories. The series is published in English as well as in German; and is only available in e-book form.

About the Book

When Cherringham choir stalwart Arthur Chisholm is robbed in the dead of night, ending up in hospital, it seems he’s just the victim of bad luck. Bad timing too, since he will now miss the choir’s special holiday performance of Handel’s Messiah — to be performed with scores of other local choirs, in London’s Royal Albert Hall. But as more of their fellow choir members are burgled, Jack and Sarah realise these crimes are no coincidence. With just days before the concert, can they unravel the mystery of who is responsible — and why — before the Messiah reaches its grand finale?

Main Characters

Jack Brennan is a former NYPD homicide detective who lost his wife a few years ago. Being retired, all he wants is peace and quiet. Which is what he hopes to find in the quiet town of Cherringham, UK. Living on a canal boat, he enjoys his solitude. But soon enough he discovers that something is missing — the challenge of solving crimes. Surprisingly, Cherringham can help him with that.

Sarah Edwards is a web designer who was living in London with her husband and two kids. Before the series starts, he ran off with his sexy American boss, and Sarah’s world fell apart. With her children she moved back to her home town, laid-back Cherringham. But the small-town atmosphere is killing her all over again — nothing ever happens. At least, that’s what she thinks until Jack enters her life and changes it for good or worse …

Matthew CostelloNeil Richards

CHERRINGHAM

A COSY CRIME SERIES

A Fatal Illusion

1. Now You See It …

Ludovico Visconti put down his glass of port on a small table designed to do nothing more than hold such a delicate glass, and looked around his sitting room.

Not for the first time, he recalled what this space had looked like when he bought Compton Manor a decade ago: the exposed timbers blackened, the stench overwhelming, the floor completely ruined with all the water that they’d had to pump in to quell the flames.

There had even been talk — according to the over-eager estate agent — of knocking the place down. And, Visconti thought, probably putting up God knows what kind of modern monstrosity.

But then, of course, he’d entered the picture. He’d done his best to hide who he was — after all, he was an established star. In fact — dare he say it — still the best-known stage magician in the world. If a seller was armed with that information the price for that burnt-out wreck would have surely soared.

Of course, despite his instructions to the estate agent — shifty-looking fellow named Cauldwell — the man had clearly shared the identity of the person interested in the ruin.

Visconti had ended up paying millions.

But then, he thought with a smile, in those days I had no shortage of millions.

And what wonders he had worked with that burnt-out shell of a manor house!

Not a traditional rebuild at all — he’d meticulously designed Compton Manor to be a home that, once inside, you’d know it clearly belonged to a magician.

A building as grand and perplexing as his most clever illusions. With secrets that would never be revealed — to anyone.

He loved it.

And as to resale? Well, that was a concept that didn’t concern him. This was his home — his last home. A place not just for him, but for his remarkable collection drawn from a life devoted to wonder. A life devoted to performing.

A life, yes, devoted to illusion.

From his deep, leather armchair he gazed at the wall of framed posters not only from his shows but priceless originals from some of the greats of all time. Houdini! Yarrow! Harry Blackstone!

All of whom were his “company” for his nightly port. Gentlemen who would completely understand his love for what they all did.

Magic.

For them, for him … never a truer word.

He turned to look at the wall by his side. His own personal collection of memorabilia. What he liked to call his trophy wall.

Black and white photos capturing his life of magic.

Chatting with Her Majesty the Queen after he’d topped the bill at the Royal Variety Performance.

The White House — a handshake with Bill Clinton.

So many photos with movie stars on that long, wearying run in Vegas.

And then — the shelves crowded with awards. His Emmys. His Bafta for Best Entertainment Show.

And finally — in pride of place — his Lifetime Achievement Award from the Magic Circle.

Such fond memories.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes, then took a last sip of his port and placed the now-empty glass on the table.

Enough of this. Time for bed.

Ludovico got up from his chair. He was, despite his age, still limber. All those years of contorting and twisting essential to his most dramatic routines had kept him in flexible shape — albeit that both his knees did issue complaints as he began his regular pre-bed ritual.

He took one last look around the expansive sitting room, so familiar, so comforting.

Then he turned off the table lamps, crossed the thick carpet, entered the great hall and closed the door behind him.

*

The staircase featured a railing of what looked like curved branches of rich mahogany — twisting, turning as one’s hand tried to follow the polished wood.

Though Ludovico did not often welcome guests of any sort here.

On the occasions when he absolutely had to entertain a visitor — a peer who perhaps had also performed on the world’s great stages — they would quickly realise that this handrail was itself an impossible and intricate puzzle.

You could spend a lot of time trying to figure out where one strand of curling wood ended and another began, and never find the answer.

Ludovico made his way up the stairs, past classic paintings, showing the skill (and superstition) that surrounded magicians.

But, at the top of the stairs, he was startled — nearly losing his footing!

From a massive armoire in the hallway, a black shape came flying down, landing at his feet like some haunted spirit.

His cat, Midnight, who, for some unknown reason, liked to secrete himself in hidden areas of the house and suddenly appear.

Ludovico just loved that!

Could he be a more appropriate pet?

Midnight looked up as Ludovico bent down: a pat to the animal’s jet-black head, that small dollop of white around one eye giving the feline a truly dramatic look.

“Good kitty,” he said. To which the cat agreed with a single meow before strolling away — its work for the evening apparently done.

Though — Ludovico was soon to learn — that would not be the case.

*

Ludovico walked along the hallway, which was dotted with tables holding all sorts of odd and perplexing statuary, then turned to the right, down another corridor, away from his bedroom.

There were, in this nightly ritual, things that he loved to do, but also felt that he needed to do. Like someone checking on precious offspring, he thought, to make sure that all were safe and dreaming peacefully.

He passed his library, which held irreplaceable tomes on both the history and the performance of magic through the ages, including the oldest known book on performing magic, the aptly named Hocus Pocus from 1635.

He reached an ordinary looking oak door, which anyone would assume would open onto a bedroom.

He grabbed the doorknob. He always smiled at this point because a simple twist would never suffice to open it.

The knob was an intricate lock that he had had specially made in Bruges, where the metal worker had been clearly mystified as to why such a contraption was being fabricated in the first place.

A twist to the left. Then a twist to the right. Then, when it caught, yet another twist to the right.

Again, back and forth, until hidden tumblers within the lock popped open.

And Visconti could enter his favourite room in his perfectly unusual home.

A chamber of mirrors.

As the door opened, lights flashed on, and suddenly there were dozens of his image reflected back at him, and — to someone unfamiliar — no clear way at all to move forward.

Ludovico never found this nightly navigation of the mirror maze tedious.

Each night it brought him joy, especially when he thought of what it protected.

*

Through the maze, leaving behind the last mirrored panels, Ludovico stepped through into the most remarkable room in the whole mansion, the lights coming on as if welcoming him.

A room he called the Treasury.

He looked around and could see — in great cases on walls, and in display tables standing in the room — props and instruments he had used throughout his long career.

Some with such wonderful history.

The handcuffs employed by the great Harry Houdini himself to escape a chest wrapped in massive chains.

The wooden coffin-like case that Visconti used to perform his floating-head illusion, one that — for those seeing it for the first time — was beyond mystifying. He knew — with the right lighting, the right setting — that effect could be quite terrifying.

And so many decks of cards, all with undetectable modifications that allowed incredible feats of mentalism.

Many of those routines had long ago been retired from his act. Ludovico was always one for introducing new effects, or taking a classic illusion in some remarkable new direction and transforming it.

Now, he walked the room as he did every night, his fingers brushing the velvet of a card table, trailing across cabinets, checking the bookcase, gently alighting on leather-bound books and ancient artefacts.

Just taking a minute to make sure that these treasures — almost like his children — were all safe, all sound.

Here, behind glass, was the silken scarf once used in a grand show for the Prince in Monte Carlo to produce a beautiful dove that flew off into the deep blue sky.

There, on a special stand, was one of his favourites. The classic and irreplaceable wand that would not merely produce some phony bouquet or turn into a bendy piece of black liquorice.

This wand could vanish in thin air with a flash, before everyone’s eyes.

All done with a mix of clever sleight of hand and a mechanical gimmick that Ludovico had never shared — and never would.

Finally, he stepped back and gazed at the ornate casket in the room’s centre — itself a piece of magical art — its surfaces composed of intricate metal tiles decorated with entwined serpents.

And so cleverly designed too! Only when those tiles lined up in a particular — meticulous — way, did the lid spring open. That fiendish puzzle alone would provide a most interesting challenge should someone intrude here.

Some foolish thief — without a knowledge of the various mechanics and gimmicks of magic — who would never even come close to cracking it.

Ludovico smiled: for he knew that inside, should it be opened, there were even more surprises.

At last, with this nightly survey done — as if gazing across his decades of such a wonderful career, a career that sadly appeared to be reaching an end — Ludovico turned and retraced his steps.

Lights shut off automatically behind him as he left each room, making for his bedroom.

The hallway was cooler now, night air sneaking in here and there despite all the care he’d put into his design of this resurrected manor house.

To bed now. To sleep.

At least that was what he thought was ahead.

2. Watch Closely Now

The noise was almost undetectable. Something perhaps to shrug off, then simply turn over, pull a pillow close and return to whatever dream had just been interrupted.

And Visconti loved his dreams: the mesh of beautiful cities at night, gala receptions, elegant guests, flutes brimming with the finest champagne. And the people … always showering him with attention. So dizzying.

But now — in the darkness, in the middle of this soft summer night — his eyes popped open.

He raised his head slightly from the pillow, listening, to see if it was simply some errant creak, a timber deep in the house, cooling after the hot day. A gust of wind, perhaps. Or even Midnight again, strolling about deftly on his little cat paws — brushing against things, or landing upon something with a sudden bang.

But now — nothing.

Nothing to be concerned about.

But no. There it was again.

The noise.

No question about it. Even closer now … as if just down the corridor.

Ludovico wondered what he should do. His phone — an item he didn’t exactly have a close relationship with — was sitting on the dresser.

A call to the police perhaps? But what if it was nothing? He was sensitive that the judgement of a man of his age could easily be called into question.

That kind of attention — all things considered in his current life — he did not need and could ill afford.

So, he slipped out of his Victorian four-poster, a beast of a bed that he loved, each thick pillar showing a classical dragon design wrapped around each post as if ready to claw its way to heaven.

With one tap of a finger, he turned on a small lamp on the night stand. Slippers on, he tiptoed across to the bedroom door, gently opened it and peered into the dark corridor.

*

Again, the sounds seemed to vanish.

Maybe nothing? He was about to turn around, get back to his comfy four-poster, but, with another noise, that was not to be.

There was no doubt: it had come from down the corridor. Yes. Near the mirror room.

He started walking down the corridor, breathing steadily. And not without some trepidation.

Though in his years of performing he had faced moments that would turn most people’s blood ice-cold, these days he knew he had to be careful of his heart.

What had his old friend Doctor Rasmus said to him? Avoid stress. Shocks. Surprises. And of course — drink less. Eat more healthily.

What did the good doctor expect from him? To live forever? What nonsense!

He reached the oak door, grasped the knob — but felt the door move. No need to release the complicated lock. His heart jolted: the door was ajar.

He knew he had locked it behind him when he went to bed.

Someone had opened it.

He stepped into the mirror room, the mesmerising maze that one could get hopelessly lost and confused in.

But apparently not intimidating whoever was in there now.

*

As Visconti navigated the maze, lights coming on and going off again, he thought: Maybe Amelia was here for some reason?

She was such a good and loyal friend, his onetime stage assistant, now dedicated to making sure the many details of his life went well.

Had she come back to the house, in the dead of night?

But as he reached the end of the maze, that theory seemed ridiculous.

Middle of the night! Why on earth would she be here?

Then he heard another noise — this time closer. Coming from the direction of the Treasury.

He pressed on through the maze, breathing heavily.

Too heavily. He paused, deliberately slowing his heartbeat.

But then there was the noise again: a scraping sound, metal on metal.

He kept moving, until, in the last stretch of mirrors, in the myriad reflections, he could see that the lights in the Treasury were on.

He took the final turn of the maze — stepped into the hidden room.

And there — in the middle, close to the casket — he saw someone standing.

It seemed, at first, that the man — the intruder! — had not heard him. Ludovico started to tiptoe around the room, looking for something he might use as a weapon. A defence — any kind of defence.

But then, the figure turned.

*

The first thing the man did was cagily slide to one side, as if he was edging closer to the opening back to the maze, perhaps to flee.

Ludovico could see that the man had on a face mask.

A dark — what was it called? — balaclava. Eye holes. Mouth hole. Near comical.

The stranger’s physique: unimposing. Ludovico, from years of practice on stage, was more than able to assess someone with a glance, their body itself revealing so much.

The intruder had a similar build to his own, perhaps a tad heavier. His simple brown shoes in the purposely pale-yellow light of this room revealed scuff marks. Clearly not prosperous in any way, that was for sure.

Ludovico swayed, his heart pounding. Yet his fear in this moment, neither of them saying anything, was matched by his curiosity. About a number of things.

Starting with, how did this man get through the maze? It was designed to be hopelessly confusing and frustrating.

Fun for a bit, perhaps, but then even a little frightening.

Or perhaps he hadn’t entered through the maze?

No, surely not! That wasn’t possible!

The man’s hands were empty, he noted.

That was good. Nothing had been grabbed from the display cases.

He took a few steps to his right, away from the entrance to the maze — and, as he did, he saw the man take a few steps to his right too. Both of them circling each other at the edges of the room.

Ludovico spoke now. Using what he hoped was a steady, commanding voice, in spite of the thudding of his heart in his chest.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

But the man didn’t reply. Instead, he looked left and right, as if searching for something.

Ludovico hoped that if they both kept moving, then when the man got to the maze entrance he would just continue. Turn, bolt — exit the house.

Incident over, and something to discuss with the people who installed the various CCTV and security devices in the home.

But the man didn’t do that.

He stopped. As if standing his ground. And then Ludovico saw something he should have noted, in the man’s side pocket, something thick. And from the shape, the size, and with a healthy conjecture, he guessed: a gun.

This man has a gun.

“Where is it?” said the intruder stepping closer, crossing the room, no longer circling it.

And when he spoke, the voice sounded like someone trying for a different register from his normal speaking voice. Trying to inject a gruff edge to it, a bark.

At that, Ludovico could only shake his head. “It” could mean any number of things.

He saw the man’s hand move to his side. To the gun.

Ludovico — again trying to keep his voice steady — started to speak slowly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. And you had best get—”