Mydworth Mysteries - Danger in the Air E-Book

Matthew Costello

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

Seitenzahl: 163

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

From the authors of the best-selling series CHERRINGHAM

The famous aviatrix Amelia Earhart has come to England on a mission to raise money for her planned continent-spanning air rally - with all-female pilots. Lady Lavinia naturally supports the amazing Amelia, inviting her to stay at Mydworth Manor. But when Amelia's life is threatened - Harry and Kat must figure out who is behind this deadly game before it turns fatal...

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

Mydworth Mysteries

About the Book

The Authors

Title

Copyright

1. A Perfect Day for Flying

2. Just Another Flight

3. A Fall from the Heavens

4. Welcome to Sussex

5. Sabotage

6. Suspicions

7. Where’s Amelia?

8. Yet Another Worry

9. High Stakes

10. An Unexpected Display

11. A Delicate Situation

12. Night Falls in Mydworth

13. A Real Mydworth Mystery

14. Secrets in the Night

15. The Air Show Goes On

16. The Pantry

17. The Race of Their Lives

18. Bon Voyage

Mydworth Mysteries Episode 7

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

The famous aviatrix Amelia Earhart has come to England on a mission to raise money for her planned continent-spanning air rally – with all-female pilots. Lady Lavinia naturally supports the amazing Amelia, inviting her to stay at Mydworth Manor. But when Amelia's life is threatened – Harry and Kat must figure out who is behind this deadly game before it turns fatal...

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.

The Authors

Matthew Costello (US-based) is the author of many successful novels published around the globe, including Vacation (2011, in development for film), Home (2014) and Beneath Still Waters (1989), which was adapted by Lionsgate as a major motion picture. He has written for The Disney Channel, BBC, SyFy and has also designed dozens of bestselling games including the critically acclaimed The 7th Guest, Doom 3, Rage, Pirates of the Caribbean, and, with Neil Richards, Planet of the Apes: Last Frontier.

Neil Richards (based in the UK) has worked as a producer and writer in TV and film, creating scripts for BBC, Disney, and Channel 4, and earning numerous Bafta nominations along the way. He’s also written script and story for over 30 video games including The Da Vinci Code and Planet of the Apes, and consults around the world on digital storytelling.

MATTHEW COSTELLONEIL RICHARDS

Danger in the Air

BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT

Digital original edition

Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG

Copyright © 2020 by Neil Richards & Matthew Costello

Copyright for this editon © 2020 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6 – 20, 51063 Cologne, Germany

Written by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards

Edited by Eleanor Abraham

Project management: Kathrin Kummer

Cover illustrations © faestock / Shutterstock | © Neyya / Istock | © fotoslaz / Getty Images | © Artem Makovskyi / Getty Images | © leskas / Getty Images | © Tarzhanova / Getty Images | © valio84sl / Getty Images

Cover design: Guter Punkt, München

E-book production: 3w+p GmbH, Rimpar (www.3wplusp.de)

ISBN 978-3-7325-6958-8

For information about the authors and their projects please visit: www.facebook.com/CherringhamMydworth

1. A Perfect Day for Flying

Amelia Earhart squinted, looking up at the stunningly bright sun, sitting in the deepest of blue skies.

Could not be a better day to be in the skies of England, she thought.

And she’d be there soon enough once the formalities here on the ground were taken care of.

The thought of the imminent radio interview made her feel uncomfortable. She never felt this way piloting a plane.

But standing here in front of a BBC microphone, just waiting – the slightest of breezes blowing her short hair – this was scary.

All she really wanted to do was walk over to the Sandbourne Aviation Firefly, hop into the single-seater, and take off.

Because that was just it, wasn’t it? To take off, as if she was escaping – not just the place, the people, the responsibilities, the expectations – but the very planet itself.

Up there, everything looked different. Distant, yet so beautiful. Normal life carrying on below while she sailed above it all.

Was there anything better?

But for now, Amelia waited as the gnome-like engineer from the BBC fiddled with a black box attached to electrical cables, getting all set to capture her words before her departure.

Hovering over him, impatiently, the owl-eyed radio reporter who was going to conduct the live interview gave her an optimistic wave.

“All set, Miss Earhart!” he said. “Won’t be a moment now!”

Amelia nodded. She had butterflies.

She looked to her right, where a crowd waited to see her take off. The Great Western Aerodrome, just a few miles west of London, was like most English airfields she’d seen so far on this trip – not much more than a grassy field and a couple of hangars.

But it seemed there were big plans in store for the place. Hard to imagine on this bright, sunny morning, with just a few biplanes parked up, and no hint of a decent coffee.

She turned and looked left. There sat the brilliant yellow Rolls-Royce supplied by Sandbourne, who had sponsored her trip over from the States.

Lounging against the hood, fedora tipped back, cigarette in hand, stood Wallace Smythe, the commercial agent who’d been forced upon her by Sandbourne.

His sole reason for existence seemed to be to take as big a cut as he could from the proceeds of her country-wide tour.

Back home, since her first barnstorming days, Amelia hadn’t really trusted anybody to organise the flights, the schedule, the stops.

But here on this hop-scotching tour around the English countryside, she didn’t have a choice. She’d been told that Smythe was indispensable. Word was, without Smythe there’d be no bookings, no tour and – most importantly – no fundraising.

Wonder whose pockets he’s lining apart from his own, thought Amelia, watching him in his sweat-stained shirt sleeves, his expansive stomach eager to pop the shirt’s buttons, looking about as uncomfortable as a man could in the summer heat.

Also looking on, standing at the back of the Rolls, was her sister Muriel – her beloved “Pidge”, as the family had called her since she was a toddler.

And standing rather close to her, the American journalist Ronald Greene.

He was the man hired to file the regular stories about Amelia’s English trip.

But he also seemed to have taken a rather strong interest in Pidge.

And with his dark good looks, easy smile, and also… what was the word?

Yes – she thought – glibness.

She wasn’t too sure how she felt about his interest in her sister.

“All right,” the radio interviewer said, hurrying over to adjust the plate-sized microphone. “Nearly there, Miss Earhart!”

Amelia nodded. Sooner this was done, the sooner she could take off, into that beautiful blue sky.

*

“And we are live in five, four, three…”

The interviewer held up fingers, counting down until the microphone, standing ominously in front of her, would be “live”.

She felt a tightness in her stomach.

This was something she never experienced in the skies above.

“Two, one… and…”

Then the reporter leaned in to the microphone.

“Good afternoon, everybody. We are broadcasting to you live from London’s famous Great Western Aerodrome, and with us is the world-famous aviatrix, Amelia Earhart! Miss Earhart would you like to say hello to our listeners!”

Amelia nodded, then felt silly. It wasn’t like anyone with their radio sets could see.

Why was this so hard?

“Oh, yes! Hello everybody.”

“Jolly good! Now can you tell everyone exactly what you are doing flying this wonderful British plane around the beautiful English countryside?”

“Ah well, I’m, uh, very lucky to have been loaned the Firefly here, by Sandbourne Aviation, and I’ve spent the last two weeks flying around your beautiful country—”

“You didn’t fly your own plane here, I gather? I imagine that old pond does rather get in the way!”

“Well, yes, I haven’t flown solo across the Atlantic – yet. But don’t you worry, I will soon!”

“Wonderful, wonderful! And you are here on a very special mission, yes? Can you tell our audience at home all about that?”

And this Amelia could answer.

A mission very close to her heart.

“Yes, you see, at all these stops I am raising money for the ‘Ninety-Nines’.” A pause. “Th-that’s the new organisation I am helping found for all the woman pilots worldwide. First of its kind!”

“Most excellent. I am sure all our female listeners, snug and safe at home, admire your guts and determination.”

Amelia gave a look back towards her waiting plane.

“I think it’s important that flying should be open to women and girls everywhere, and that—”

“And how are you finding the Firefly here?” said the reporter, clearly not wanting to hear more about the Ninety-Nines or women pilots. “British engineering at its best, eh?”

Amelia instinctively looked across the grass at her plane, where final flight checks were being made, the gas bowser just driving away.

“Oh, she’s an absolutely lovely plane to fly,” said Amelia. “Very sensitive. Very fast, too. Sixteen cylinders, air-cooled, three hundred horse power, supercharged you see, and—”

“Yes, jolly interesting, I’m sure. Must play absolute havoc with your hair!”

“Not really, I wear a—”

“Now, Miss Earhart, do tell us, where next on your thrilling whistle-stop tour?”

“Well, I’m off to Sussex now for one final flying display at the weekend, then—”

“Back to New York on one of our great Cunard liners, I hear?”

“Er, yes. On Sunday.”

“Excellent! Well it sounds to this reporter as if you’ve had the very best of British, so long may these delightful feminine hands across the ocean continue!”

Amelia nodded, then saw the reporter gesture hurriedly towards the microphone.

She leaned in. “Oh yes, thank you. And thanks everybody for looking after me so well.”

“Marvellous! Well that’s it for now, listeners, from the Great Western Aerodrome. As we wish the fabulous aviatrix Amelia Earhart a bon voyage!”

And the torture was over.

Time to get into the air at last.

2. Just Another Flight

Harry? Anything interesting?”

Sir Harry Mortimer sat in a deckchair in the back garden of the Dower House; a beautiful morning for a pot of tea, and catching up with the news.

Kat was dressed in her gardening outfit, looking ready to wrangle any bush or hedge into submission.

So domestic, he thought.

“Oh, the usual. The king, God bless him, is still rather poorly. It seems China and Russia are about to go to war. Oh – and a rather impressive riot in one of your New York prisons.”

“You can always count on us New Yorkers for a good riot.”

“Believe such a thing played a role in your country’s quest for independence! Something about tea – Boston harbour?”

She laughed and came and sat down in the black iron chair facing him. She had a single smudge of brown on her cheek.

But that too – altogether charming.

“Any news from Cairo?” she said.

“Spot of unrest.”

“I miss the place sometimes, don’t you?”

“The place and the people? Why yes, I do,” he said. “Food too, actually. But the secrets and plots and all that? Not me. Give me my English garden and my American wife, and I count myself a very lucky man.”

“You know, if I wasn’t so dishevelled I’d lean over and give you a great big kiss for that.”

“Oh, don’t let a little dirt stop you.”

She smiled.

Then he thought, What about her? Was life too domestic for her?

“And you? Missing any of that skulduggery this lovely morning?”

Kat kept her smile. But did she hesitate a bit there?

“No. I mean, it was all rather exciting. But must say, Sir Harry, you have done an excellent job of keeping me entertained right here.”

“Hasn’t been too uneventful hasn’t it?”

“That’s how I like life.”

“Me too. And I have to say – this weekend might be rather fun. House party, lots of people flying in and out.”

“Literally,” said Kat. “In fact, you keeping an eye on the time, darling? Shouldn’t our special guest be arriving soon?”

Harry checked his watch and sat up fast.

“Good Lord – you’re right. Dammit, I was settling in for a nice snooze there.”

He watched Kat gather up the tea things.

“You coming up to the manor with me?” he said, folding The Times then helping her carry stuff into the house. “We can take the bike – be quicker.”

“Are you kidding?” said Kat. “Amelia Earhart landing at Mydworth Manor? I wouldn’t miss that for the world!”

*

With the tall microphone finally removed, and all the official farewells and handshakes completed, Amelia hurried over to the Rolls – that brilliant yellow colour, just as she’d requested.

After all, if we’re to have fun doing this – she had told the executives at Sandbourne – then let’s have some real fun!

She saw her young sister still chatting away with Greene in the back seat.

“Pidge, you all set?” She shot a look at the journalist. “Why not sit up front, with Mr Smythe?”

She hoped her message had gotten through to Greene. But neither he nor her sister showed any sign of shifting places.

“Know where you’re heading, my dear?” said Smythe from behind the wheel.

“Flight plan all sorted,” said Amelia. “Mydworth Manor – sounds like something from a story book.”

“One with a happy ending, I hope. Lot of money at stake this weekend, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Smythe,” said Amelia. “I know.”

“Landing strip should be all marked out for you. We’ll be just an hour or so behind you, I expect.”

She looked across at the expectant crowd, the Movietone and Pathé cameras all lined up.

“I must go. Looks like we are all set.”

“Don’t forget,” said Smythe. “Big wave, happy face, make it dramatic.”

Her sister smiled. “Mellie, Be safe.”

“Always, Pidge.”

Smythe cleared his throat. “Yes, of course, safety too, jolly good idea.”

But Greene offered a different thought.

“But if you do try anything a little risky, Amelia, do tell me, and all our readers, later? After your safe landing, of course.”

Amelia gave him a slight smile, though she felt little warmth for the man.

Greene was the pipeline to all the syndicated columns in newspapers back home.

So, she had to be nice to him… somewhat.

And, with that, Amelia turned again to the crowd that had been waiting behind a rope barrier, eager to see her take off.

Taking off was something she couldn’t wait to do. To fly, on a perfect day like this.

It was going to be – she knew – absolutely wonderful.

*

Amelia walked towards the plane, buttoning up her flight overalls.

She knew that this walk – the brave, lone woman striding towards the death-defying machine – always made for a great newspaper photo.

Sometimes a cover.

And, as Smythe never ceased telling her, covers sold papers, and papers brought interest. And interest? Well, that brought cash.

She knew he was right: so far this amazing two-week trip had earned thousands of pounds, 80 % of which would go towards launching the Ninety-Nines and training other women to make this “walk” too, this historic march into the future.

All thanks to Sandbourne and the loan of their prototype fighter plane – the Firefly. They wanted publicity, she wanted publicity.

It was the perfect match. And the plane – with its sleek single wing, its lean, aerodynamic lines – sure was a beauty.

Though she had her eyes on a very different sort of plane when she got back to the states.

A Lockheed Vega.

That she would make sure was the deepest of reds.

There’d be no missing that as she flew around the country, or even when – and she knew the day was not far away – she crossed the Atlantic.

This time, not as a passenger, but as the pilot.

As she got close to the Firefly, her engineer, an old timer supplied by Smythe, stepped out of the cockpit.

Paddy O’Brien. One of the best, Smythe had told her.

And sure, he was good. He knew the Firefly backwards and forwards – a real flyer’s engineer.

But when Amelia had been introduced to him two weeks back, she’d immediately noticed the tell-tale crisscross of bloodshot eyes.

And having grown up with that – with her father – the clues were not something Amelia would ever miss. Paddy O’Brien, good engineer and all, liked a tipple, and it showed.

As she reached the plane, she saw him crouch down and fiddle with the maze of pipes and wires beneath the cockpit.

“We all set, Paddy?”

“Just about, Amelia,” said the engineer, not looking up. “Nearly ready for you.”

Amelia picked up her flying goggles and aviator hat from the seat of the single-seater.

As she put them on, and adjusted the straps, she looked down again at O’Brien, his hands deep in the pipework.

“We got a problem?” she said.

The engineer moved back, then rose and turned to her, wiping his oily hands on a rag.

She caught an expression on his face – an expression she’d not seen on him before.

Anxiety.

“I dunno,” he said. “Fuel gauge acting up.”

“How?”

“Bit random. Full one minute, then empty.”

“She’s fuelled up though?”

“Two full tanks.”

Amelia looked back at the waiting crowd. Delaying was not an option.

“Right,” she said. “Can’t be more than a thirty-minute flight. Got the gas. Who needs gauges? Let’s go.”

“You’re the boss,” said O’Brien, with the usual shake of her hand. Then he took the cable from the starter battery trolley and plugged it into the side of the plane.

Amelia stepped up to the wing and gave a wave to the crowd who in mere moments would all shrink to the size of dots. Then she hopped into the seat and pulled the plane door shut.

Her flight cap on tight, she buckled it under her chin as she scanned the now-familiar instruments before her.

Altimeter, air-speed indicator, compass.

The fuel gauges – both reading full.

She reached forward and pressed the button for the ignition. The engine turned, coughed – but nothing.

Amelia frowned, looked through the cockpit glass at Paddy, who wiped his forehead with the oily rag, his face serious. He nodded. She hit the button again.

And then, as if awakening from a deep sleep – like some beast in a cave stirring – the engine coughed as it came to life, then rumbled as the propeller began to spin, slowly at first, waiting for the pilot to pull on the throttle, to increase speed.