Mydworth Mysteries - A Deadly Match E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A Cosy Historical Mystery Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 166

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

From the authors of the best-selling series CHERRINGHAM

When heart-throb American tennis coach Todd Winters careens off the road in his speeding car one night and plunges in the river, it seems like a tragic accident. But Winters was a young man with many dangerous secrets, and Harry and Kat discover there’s no shortage of people who wanted him out of the picture. Soon they discover clear evidence: the accident was no accident at all. And now Harry and Kat had best be careful too... even in the genteel world of the Mydworth Lawn Tennis Club, a desperate murderer could be ready to kill again.

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

Inhalt

Cover

Mydworth Mysteries

About the Book

Main Characters

Titel

1. A Roman Road

2. Set and Match

3. Afternoon Tea

4. The Search Begins

5. A Spot of Car Trouble

6. Dead Man’s Curve

7. A Pint at The Eagle

8. Alice Confesses

9. Deuce Cottage

10. The Clouds Part

11. Curiouser and Curiouser...

12. A Chat with Emily

13. Knives Out...

14. A Match with the Baileys

15. London Calls

16. A Murder Solved – Or is It?

17. A Light Is Shed

18. Telling All

The Authors

Impressum

Mydworth Mysteries

Mydworth Mysteries is a series of self-contained novella-length mysteries, published in English and German. The stories are currently available as e-books and will soon be available as audiobooks in both languages.

About the Book

When heart-throb American tennis coach Todd Winters careens off the road in his speeding car one night and plunges in the river, it seems like a tragic accident. But Winters was a young man with many dangerous secrets, and Harry and Kat discover there’s no shortage of people who wanted him out of the picture. Soon they discover clear evidence: the accident was no accident at all. And now Harry and Kat had best be careful too ... even in the genteel world of the Mydworth Lawn Tennis Club, a desperate murderer could be ready to kill again.

Main Characters

Sir Harry Mortimer, 30 – Born into a wealthy English aristocratic family, Harry is smart, funny and adventurous. Ten years in secret government service around the world has given him the perfect training to solve crimes; and though his title allows him access to the highest levels of English society, he’s just as much at home sipping a warm beer in the garden of a Sussex pub with his girl from the wrong side of the tracks – Kat Reilly.

Kat Reilly –Lady Mortimer, 29 – Kat grew up in the Bronx, right on Broadway. Her mother passed away when she was only eleven and she then helped her father run his small local bar The Lucky Shamrock. But Kat felt the call to adventure and excitement, first as a nurse on the battlefields of France, then working a series of jobs back in New York. After finishing college, she was recruited by the State Department, where she learned skills that would more than make her a match for the dashing Harry. To some, theirs is an unlikely pairing, but to those who know them both well, it’s nothing short of perfect.

MATTHEW COSTELLONEIL RICHARDS

A Deadly Match

1. A Roman Road

Todd Winters slipped quietly out of the side door of the house – more of a mansion in his estimation – and hurried to his Austin 7, tucked away under the trees on the drive. A bright red that made the car look speedy and bold.

A slick little British beauty like this? Not a car he would have ever seen back in the States. No – not even in wealthy and stuck-up Newport with its summer set who filled the beach-front homes.

He might have preferred if it was a convertible, but having suffered through one long and bleak English fall and winter, the less flashy hardtop made a lot more sense, even on this summer night.

And he thought – as he popped the door and slid in – it made it harder for anyone to see just who he might be driving around with.

Isn’t there some line somewhere about discretion... valour?

Well, he had to admit, he was perhaps not exactly discreet.

But whatever the hell valour was, he imagined he had more than enough for this genteel part of the world.

He started the car up, the engine turning over a tad reluctantly then chugging into life. Into first gear, to pull away from the house, down the gravel driveway, out to the road that ran through the little village of Amblesham.

Headlights not on just yet – best wait until he was down the road a ways.

Don’t want any nosy neighbours peeking out of their windows, now, do we? he thought.

Though it had been a warm day, the night had grown chilly, even damp from dew. He kept the window up.

He thought – certainly not for the first time – how fortunate that, a year ago, he’d chosen to come here from the good old U S of A.

New place, new faces, new opportunities.

It certainly had worked out that way. Landing a plum position at the Mydworth Lawn Tennis Club as the resident pro giving lessons – and now with a nice little venture on the side selling kit and rackets after only a year.

And the other benefits that went with the position of coach?

Even better.

He hit the lane, flicked the headlights on and headed out of the village towards Mydworth and home; narrow lane, trees clustered tight above, as if eager to make sure no light of any kind hit the road.

It had taken him a while to learn how to manage the driving here – the wrong side of the road, tricky for sure. Then – these crazy narrow lanes where two cars had to joust for space that could barely accommodate one.

And just ahead now...

One of those crazy underpasses where you had to hope there wasn’t a truck barrelling right your way.

Ah, lorry, he reminded himself, coming through the brick bridge under the railway safely, the road deserted. The lingo was just different enough here to make things interesting.

Required pretty risky driving. But now? He had all that under his belt.

He checked his watch: nine o’clock.

Mydworth in ten – plenty of time to get back to his little apartment, wash, brush up – then walk down to the Eagle by the river, grab a warm English pint and check out the pub garden to see if any of the “crowd” were out having fun.

Because “havin’ fun” was the name of the game, always had been.

He followed the winding curve of this country lane, past farms and cloistered estates until – all of a sudden – the vista opened up, lit by a soft half-moon in the misty sky.

The trees were now replaced by a literal wall of hedges on either side. Apparently put there, so he was told, to mark off property boundaries “in the olden days”.

But now he hit a long straight stretch of road that he loved. A so-called Roman road, built originally – the locals enjoyed telling him – by the Roman invaders who had figured that the simplest and fastest way between two points was, of course, a straight line.

Imagine that! Roman soldiers right here on this very road! Maybe riding in chariots just like that Ben Hur movie he’d seen in Brighton with...

Hmm, now which of my Mydworth sweethearts did I see that movie with? Forget!

Anyways – pretty impressive road.

He especially loved this stretch because it was long, going up and down gentle sloping hills, but straight as the proverbial arrow, where he could let his Austin 7 open up.

Like now.

He crunched the gears up to third quickly, the engine noise now not so much a roar, more an angry whine – so close in this small car – full, as if eager to really begin speeding.

Could use a fourth gear, he thought.

Maybe in the works soon for the 7, he’d read in Motor Age Magazine.

And now, with the road all to himself, this time of night? He pushed the car as fast as he could, his headlights carving out the path ahead.

*

In minutes he was doing a bracing fifty miles an hour, the needle pretty much at its limit on the right side of the dial.

Two hands on the wheel. Straight road, all right – but still, one never knew about a stray rock or branch. Best to keep eyes wide open, especially when tearing along at speed.

That speed, this intensity? Thrilling.

More than any tennis match he’d ever played.

Not a bad sport, tennis, he thought. But there are so many others...

He also knew that at the end of this stretch of Roman road there was a wicked curve. First time he’d hit it, few months back... it had been a bit of a near thing.

So... slowing down there... absolutely necessary.

But not too much; just enough to take that curve feeling the wheels push to the right. In some ways, it was the best part of this drive, before he hit the sleepy meandering roads and byways closer to Mydworth.

In his rear-view mirror, he saw a flash of light in the distance. And then another one – and, for a second, he thought a car had joined the road behind him.

But the light disappeared.

He was all on his own.

In seconds, he saw the curve in the headlights ahead, right where the narrow bridge crossed the river. He downshifted hard, slowing just enough – he thought – for that curve and crossing the river.

But what happened next...

Happened fast.

*

Just where the curve began, signalling the end of the straightaway, Todd steered the Austin left, the car responding so well.

All under control, he thought, the tyres gripping well.

But then, just before the bridge—

Headlights. Another car, turning into the road from the left, and now coming right at him!

He had a quick jumble of thoughts: How come he didn’t notice the car’s lights before? And what the hell is the idiot doing coming out of nowhere?

And now aiming right at him!

The bright headlights – close together, like two brilliant eyes – were blinding him.

He responded as fast as his reflexes allowed, sharply steering his car over to the right.

He was going to have to drive on the wrong damn side of the road to get past this idiot!

But was there room for the two cars to pass? Not that he could see.

He grappled to hold the steering wheel steady as he felt the Austin’s right side wheels drift off the road and fight for traction in the dirt.

The other car’s lights now filled his vision – there was no way past, they were going to hit head on!

He pulled the wheel even more to the right, shut his eyes instinctively, bracing for the smash, this had to be the end – but then he felt a bump.

The other car had passed! With just a scrape. Nothing hard. Just a bit of a sideswipe.

But – wait – this wasn’t over! He’d left the road, the car now bucking and jarring on the rough ground, the river somewhere ahead.

He gripped the wheel tighter and slammed his foot hard on the brakes.

But the Austin’s brakes – never much use even on a dry road – were no match for the overgrown grasses by the river, wet with evening dew.

A tree rose up in his lights and he flew past, missing it by what must have been mere inches.

And now his car was – in this slippery slide, hitting the holes and hummocks of the shore of the riverbank – out of control.

*

Todd felt the car hit the water, then begin a quick slide under the surface.

Until – totally submerged – he saw the headlights illuminating the mud and murk.

He could still breathe; there was air enough.

For now.

He told himself not to panic. Just have to get out of the car, shoot to the surface.

Then find out what drunken idiot made this happen!

But then the headlights went out.

And in the darkness, alone, he realised that muddy water was already filling the cramped passenger cabin of the Austin 7.

Already over his waist.

Already rising to his chest.

His chin.

His thoughts went back and forth, like a tennis ball in a life-or-death match.

Need to get out. Now!

The water hit his face as he tried to breathe, sputtering.

Immobilised for a moment by the fear of what was happening, by his confusion.

He grabbed the door handle, yanked it up – tried to push.

But the door was stuck. Jammed shut by the impact.

And he paused in that effort, now realising his lungs were burning, needing air. But when he turned his head left and right – seeking any air pockets still trapped here, his mouth needing to dodge the water rising all around him – he was struggling to find a space in which to take that life-giving gasp.

When he did... it was a watery gulp. Nearly as much water in that breath as air.

He coughed as more water flooded in. And he had a torrent of thoughts.

The first, terrifying: I’m not going to get out.

Then... I’m trapped here.

He thought of how much he liked being alive, how – only moments ago! – he was enjoying this night, his life and this world.

How could it all end here?

A last thought before he had to take a breath – doing what the lungs simply demanded, a primitive reflex that could not be denied, no matter that it would fill his mouth with the river water.

The thought:

Who was it that came out of nowhere, made me swerve and plunge right into this death trap?

Because he knew now, as the fiery spots before his eyes were replaced with darkness...

That’s exactly what this was.

2. Set and Match

Sir Harry Mortimer watched his wife Kat smoothly throw the tennis ball into the air.

Rather a different style from the way he’d been taught. Perhaps an American version of tennis, he thought. Or at least the one Kat had learned in the rough-and-tumble Bronx.

Then, always fun to watch, a quick downstroke and a crisp thwack as his wife sent the ball flying to the pair they were playing in a match of mixed doubles.

On the other side of the net – Arthur and Alice Finch. Not a couple that Harry knew at all, but then he and Kat weren’t regular members of the Mydworth Lawn Tennis Club.

This was their first time entering the annual Mydworth Open – with Kat suggesting that the mixed doubles competition could be a good way of finding out if the club might be fun to join for the summer.

The first set – which they’d won rather easily – had been pleasant enough.

Arthur and Alice, however, were not having nearly as much fun in this second set as Harry and Kat raced ahead.

Harry followed the track of the ball as it rocketed over the net to Alice, who hurried to make the return. The score was currently thirty–love, and he knew Kat was not one for holding back.

Alice was able to hit the strong serve back, sending it down the line to Harry who, knees bent, keeping as agile and bouncy as he could, easily shuffled over and, with a backhand – not his strongest suit – hit the ball back.

This time to Arthur, whose demeanour during this second set had been one of – for lack of a better word – disgruntlement.

The man was barely able to return it. Clearly neither as fit nor as energetic as his wife.

Harry took advantage of the husband’s weak ground stroke, and powered a forehand towards Alice at the back of the court.

But – as happens on grass courts – the ball took an odd bounce... and she missed it.

That was all Arthur needed.

“Dammit, Alice! Can’t you move, woman?”

Harry looked over at Kat. This sort of chap? Ghastly. And certainly not her cup of tea at all.

Alice: quiet, shrugging. Her husband: not terribly good at tennis but certainly pretty skilled at blaming people.

Or perhaps he reserved that unpleasantness only for his unlucky wife?

“I say. Bad luck, Alice,” Harry said, smiling. “Took an absolutely awful bounce – most unfair – shall we replay the point?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Arthur briskly, not giving his wife a chance to replay. “Forty-love, I believe?”

“Thank you anyway, Sir Harry,” said Alice quietly as her husband walked to the back of the court, ready to receive service.

“Not at all,” said Harry, smiling again at her.

The match resumed. Nearly over, with what looked like being an easy first-round win for Harry and Kat.

But playing those two? Took all the joy out of the game.

*

After a cursory shaking of hands across the net, Harry watched Alice and Arthur go off to their side of the court to gather their things – Arthur muttering as they went.

Harry retrieved two towels from the bench at their side and handed one to Kat. Then he took out a thermos of water, still a little cool, from their sports bag and gave her first sip.

“Well played, partner,” he said after he’d taken a sip too. “You must teach me that sneaky serve of yours.”

“What? And have you use it on me next time we play each other? No sir. My secret weapon.”

He laughed and popped the water back in the bag.

Then he saw Kat look over at the next court where two athletic-looking young couples were battling it out like pros, the ball zipping back and forth across the net.

“Got a feeling our next matches might not be so easy,” said Kat.

“Those whippersnappers? Not a chance. You, with your tricky moves straight out of the Bronx, will totally bamboozle them.”

“Bamboozle? Not sure I’ve ever done that before!”

“Oh, I think when I first laid eyes on you, well... I was certainly bam—”

He stopped there as Arthur briskly came over, rackets under his arm.

“Well, jolly good match, Sir Harry. Certainly showed us. Alice and I clearly need to sharpen our game for next time.”

Arthur was all smiles, as if he hadn’t been a complete lout during play.

Kat took the bait.

“If you ever need some pointers,” she said. “You know, some quick tips to improve your game? Be glad to pass them along.”

The man’s toothy smile faded a bit.

“Kind of you,” he said. “Won’t be necessary, thanks all the same.”

Harry could see Alice standing back, her physical distance from the man perhaps reflecting an emotional gap as well.

“Well, heading back to the dressing rooms, eh, old chap?”

Harry realised that Arthur was looking to join him for an affable stroll to the pavilion.

“Be along in a bit,” Harry said. The meaning clear.

Best you make your own way, old chap.

He saw Arthur pause for a second, then with an icy smile, he nodded to his wife and they both headed back to the club dressing rooms.

“I’ll forfeit if we ever get paired against them again,” said Kat as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Me too. I mean, correct me if I am wrong, it is a game? Supposed to be fun?”

But he saw Kat still looking, as the downcast wife walked slowly to the ladies’ dressing room.

“Feel bad for her, though.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Harry said.

Then she turned. “Not everyone wins the husband lottery like me.”

“The lottery? So that’s how you did it! You are too kind.”

She smiled, but then put a hand on his forearm.

“Know what, Harry?” she said, still looking at Alice. “Think I’ll go have a word with her. See if she’s all right.”

“Yes. Absolutely, cheer her up. I’ll rustle up some tea and scones, shall I?”

“Can’t wait,” said Kat. “See you in the pavilion.”

*