Midsomer Maiden |1| The Trials of Midsomer

10. Death of a Stranger

It was a beautiful, sunny day, and Tom Barnaby hadn't heard the word 'murder' for weeks.

The reason for this was that he was not in Midsomer, not even in the country. In fact, he, Joyce and Cully were on their holidays in France and, at this exact moment, were reading the menus at a picturesque French restaurant.

"You see this?" Tom asked, impressed. "Menu gastronomique. Escargots farcis, saumon fume, coquilles Saint-Jacques a l'orientale..."

"It all looks very rich," Joyce worried.

"Joyce, this is France," Tom pointed out. "This restaurant has a Michelin star for its excellence. We should honour the chef by sampling the very best he has to offer."

"Barnaby!" came a very British sounding voice, and all three members of the family simultaneously groaned inwardly as a thick-moustached man marched over to them. "Chief Inspector Barnaby, eh?"

Tom winced. "Yeah, that's right."

The man pumped his hand enthusiastically. "James Fitzroy—we were on the charity night committee together."

"Oh, yeah, that's right," said Tom vaguely, for he had done his level best to block all memories of said committee from his mind.

"Yes, just popped over for a couple of days," Fitzroy said, then gestured to the woman beside him. "Oh, this is my wife, Sarah."

Here, Tom was on more solid ground. "This is my wife, Joyce, and my daughter, Cully."

"Oh, Cully Barnaby!" Sarah exclaimed. "You're in The Importance of Being Earnest at the Causton Playhouse, aren't you?"

"Er, yes," said Cully, surprised. "I'm going back tomorrow to rehearse."

"Sarah's on the committee there," Fitzroy explained.

"The Friends of the Causton Playhouse, you know."

Cully tilted her head, interested. "Oh, really?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "She'll bore you to death about it. Well, we mustn't bore you any more. On you go, Sarah." He made to follow, then stopped and turned back to them. "Almost forgot. We had a murder in Upper Marshwood—some old tramp. Superintendent Pringle's on the case."

"Yes," Tom agreed. "He's standing in for me and my team while we're off."

"Damn fine chap," Fitzroy nodded. "Had the bloke who did it inside within a week. That's what I call police work. Heh! On you go, Sarah!"

As the pair of them moved away to find a table, the mood had dropped considerably. Tom was practically grinding his teeth in annoyance. "Pringle solves a murder while I'm away? Amazing! Ron Pringle—he's an oaf!"

"Dad, forget about Ron Pringle," Cully tried. "You're on holiday, remember?"

A waitress came over to them, notebook in hand. "C'est décidé, Monsieur?"

"Bien sur, mon ami," Tom replied, putting on a smile for her sake. "Just to help me forget. Pour moi, c'est le menu gastronomique." He grumbled under his breath. "Ron Pringle!"

***

Back in Causton, the young man who'd been arrested for the tramp's murder was in custody, being visited by his mother, Cathy Gurdie. She handed him a packet of cigarettes, and he groaned. "They're menthols, Mum. It's like smoking cough sweets."

She deflated. "Sorry, Billy. I... I knew you had a green packet. I'll get it right next time."

"I'm out of here before 'next time'," he insisted. "I've done nothing, Mum. I didn't kill anyone, even that stinking old tramp."