Hate Bale by Stephanie Dagg
Grumbling guests
and escaping piglets are precisely what Martha doesn’t need. She’s
already struggling to run a holiday cottage and a rather large
smallholding single-handedly. Since her husband Mark died, three
years ago, her rural property in France, beautiful as it is, has
become an increasingly heavy millstone around her neck.
So whilst she’s
horrified to stumble across a corpse at the local farm supplies shop,
it does at least distract her from her own woes. Best friend Lottie,
the cheese to Martha’s chalk, swoops in to offer moral support, and
encourages Martha to join her in some unofficial sleuthing.
Meanwhile, police officer Philippe Prudhomme, a former fellow
chess-player of Mark’s, undertakes a rather more professional
investigation.
However, despite
everyone’s efforts the killer remains at large. And when more
bodies (one and a bit, to be precise) come Martha’s way, it
definitely feels like he’s closing in on her…
There’s
suspense, humour and excitement in this entertaining cosy mystery set
in the French countryside.
At the weekly
market in Bousseix, all the locals want to find out more about the
recent murder, the victim of which Martha discovered yesterday. News
spreads fast in rural France.
To escape a group
of determined pursuers, Martha ducks into the nearest bakery. But
that wasn’t such a wise move…
“Madame, is it
true it was you who found poor Daniel Frobart?” the shopkeeper
gushed before Martha could even open her mouth to ask for a
croissant.
Martha was
stunned. She hadn’t been aware that the shopkeeper knew her from
Adam, or, more appropriately, Eve.
The few people
who had been forming a straggling queue behind her at once broke
ranks and crowded round, staring at her eagerly.
Martha shrugged.
The news was out anyway, and neither Philippe nor the two other,
grumpy police officers had told her she couldn’t tell anyone about
the incident.
“Was he really
stabbed in the neck with a pitchfork, madame?” asked an elderly
man.
A middle-aged
woman with a tiny dog under one arm snorted. “Pfft. He was
throttled with bailer twine, wasn’t he, madame?”
Martha was
alarmed at both how wild the rumours had become in less than a day
and how much her audience were looking forward to hearing all the
gory details, but she was also very impressed by the politeness of
her interrogators, despite their eagerness.
“He was stabbed
through the heart by a hay spike. You know, the ones on the front of
tractors that farmers use to lift bales of hay?”
A collective gasp
went round and there were murmurs of “Mon Dieu” and
“merde”.
Martha went into
as much detail as her French permitted. Her audience listened in rapt
attention, only occasionally correcting her grammar. When she’d
finished her account, they all thanked her, then lunged for the
counter, shouting their requirements to the shopkeeper, who Martha
had by now, thanks to comments by her audience, worked out was called
Veronique. Veronique served them quickly, and they all dashed off at
speed, even the elderly man, to share this horse’s mouth news and
gain enormous street cred. Martha was the only one left.
“And for you,
madame?” urged Veronique impatiently.
“Oh.” Martha
had almost forgotten she’d come in to buy something. “An almond
croissant please.”
Veronique grabbed
one with tongs, shoved it in a bag and thrust it at Martha. She
opened her purse, but Veronique shook her head. “Free gift!”
“Gosh, thanks,”
smiled Martha. “Good-bye.”
She got no verbal
reply as Veronique was already on the phone. She just waved to
Martha, who turned and clanged out of the bakery.
“Well, that was
weird,” Martha muttered to herself. But it had been profitable. She
bit into the delicious pastry, all the tastier for not having to be
paid for.
Martha needed
something to go with her croissant. To match the three bakeries,
there were three cafés in the town. Again, Martha opted for the
smallest but nicest one, at least in her opinion. This one was
down-to-earth, borderline shabby but perfectly serviceable. It didn’t
have a fancy frothy coffee machine, so for a café crème you just
got a shot of espresso in a tiny chipped cup with a few drops of milk
grudgingly dripped in.
Martha plonked
herself down at one of the wobbly tables on the pavement, prepared
for a five-minute wait or so before the café owner appeared to take
her order. However, today it was only a matter of seconds before he
was hovering over her, a gleam in his eye. Martha groaned inwardly.
“Madame, is it
true—”
“That I found
Monsieur Frobart dead?” she couldn’t stop herself saying. “Yes,
it is.” And she ran through events yet again.
When she’d
finished her host jogged back into the café, quite an accomplishment
given that he was a very large, unfit man. From where she was Martha
could hear him reporting what he’d just learnt to the hard-core
crowd, who eschewed the sunshine and opted for the dim gloominess of
the café interior, only emerging for a quick smoke or vape. A young,
skinny, scruffy waiter soon appeared with her coffee. It was served
today in a gleaming and matching white cup and saucer, accompanied by
three sugars, two tiny wrapped biscuits and one mini dark chocolate
bar. Usually it was one sugar and only a biscuit if the owner was in
a particularly good mood, a rare event.
“My boss said
there’s no charge for the coffee, madame,” said the waiter,
unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.
I'm an English
expat living in France, having moved here with my family in 2006
after fourteen years as an expat in Ireland. Taking on seventy-five
acres with three lakes, two hovels and one cathedral-sized barn, not
to mention an ever increasing menagerie of animals, has made for
exciting times. The current array of creatures ranges from alpacas to
zebra finches, with pretty much everything in-between! Before we came
to France all we had was a dog and two chickens, so it's been a steep
learning curve.
I'm married to
Chris and we have three bilingual TCKs (third culture kids) who are
resilient and resourceful and generally wonderful.
I'm a
traditionally-published author of many children's books, and am now
self-publishing too. As well as being an author, I’m also a
part-time editor and, with Chris, manager of three carp fishing
lakes. My hobbies are cycling, geocaching, knitting and sewing.
Twitter-@llamamum
