Midsomer Maiden |1| The Trials of Midsomer

9. Blood Will Out

In Martyr Warren, there were few sights so unwelcome as Ms. Tilly Dinsdale pulling up her flat bed truck outside your friendly village shop, which was something old Peter Fairfax knew all too well. Many a time he had heard her call "Are you interested in my carrot thinnings, young Fairfax?".

This time, like every other, he gave a polite if somewhat strained smile, and said, "Always, Tilly."

She nodded sharply. "I'll get Felicity to pull them. Can't stop."

Peter sighed in relief as she pulled away. "Thank God for small mercies." He turned to go back into his shop, but stopped upon hearing hoofbeats. Coming up the road was an ornate horse-drawn traveller's caravan, and at its helm was a very familiar face. "Orville Tudway?"

Orville grinned, guiding his horse to a halt. "Whoa, whoa." He climbed down from the caravan, handing over the reins to some of the village children. "You watch your feet there, now." And finally, he came over to the shop. "Hello there, Peter."

"Hello, Orville," Peter returned. "You're looking as prosperous as ever, I see." They hugged, clapping each other on the back. "Oh, erm, listen. I've got something for you."

Orville raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Good or bad?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "It's a letter, came just before Easter."

"What do you reckon? A tax return?"

Just then, a young man arrived, still buttoning up his shirt cuffs. "Sorry I'm late, Mr. Fairfax. My alarm—"

Peter waved him off. "Steffan, there's a grey envelope on the left of the counter. Fetch it for us, will you? There's a good lad." Steffan disappeared into the shop, and Peter turned back to Orville. "So... staying long?"

"Well, a couple of weeks," Orville replied, shrugging.

"You, erm... got anything special lined up?"

Orville smirked. "I might have."

Steffan came back out then, handing Peter the letter. "Oh, thanks," he said, and passed it on to Orville. "There you go."

Orville turned the letter over, raising his eyebrows at the broken seal. "See you're still as nosy as ever, Peter." He pulled the letter out, scanning it. "You, er... you keep this Saturday free."

Peter frowned at his sudden quietness. "Bad news?"

"For someone, yeah."

***

Meanwhile, Tom Barnaby was in the process of being frogmarched into a clothes shop by a very determined Joyce and Cully. "You do know I'm dreading this, don't you?"

Cully rolled her eyes. "Of course you are, Dad. You're an Englishman."

"Now, no picking on the shop assistant," Joyce ordered.

***

Ten minutes later, he had found the fitting room sadly impermeable to his escape attempts, and so he was forced to return to the shop floor in the pair of trousers Joyce had picked out for him. "I like them," he said. "Let's just get these."

"Hang on a sec." Cully went over to the shop assistant, lowering her voice. "Could you see if you do them in a larger size?"

The shop assistant looked Tom up and down. "Mmm." He disappeared in the direction of the back room.

Tom blinked. "Where's he going?"

"Dad, stop panicking," Cully soothed. "No one's gonna see you in here. And yes, they're very nice."

"So they should be," agreed Joyce, fiddling with the waistline. "Turn around."

He did, and at the same time heard a very familiar voice go, "Oh, hello, you lot! Fancy seeing you here!"