Midsomer Maiden |1| The Trials of Midsomer

15. Destroying Angel

In the vast car park outside the Easterly Grange Hotel, car upon car was pulling up full of mourners for the late owner, Karl Wainwright. Among them were Tom and Joyce Barnaby, who were waiting for an older couple to get out of the car.

"We might manage this more efficiently if I do it myself," said Evelyn, using her walking stick and the door handle as leverage to get out of the back seat.

"Very good," said her husband, Woody, nodding. "I'll just stand here and pick you up from the tarmac when necessary, shall I?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Joyce, could you please tell Woody to stop fussing?" She made it to her feet and hobbled over to greet them properly. "How lovely to see you. And this must be your husband!"

"How do you do?" said Tom, shaking her hand.

"Tom, this is Woody and Evelyn Pope," Joyce introduced. "It's Woody's croquet stall that I'm taking over in the village fete."

"What a pleasant surprise, Chief Inspector," Evelyn smiled.

Tom grinned. "Mr. Punch still keeping the locals on the straight and narrow is he, Professor?"

She laughed. "Oh, you flatter me. No, I've handed it all over to someone more able-bodied. I was expecting Gregory to be here." She looked around, frowning.

As he looked around too, Tom couldn't help but notice a bit of a disturbance near the entrance to the hotel, where a short-haired ginger woman was confronting a nurse—if the uniform was anything to go by, anyway. "I hope you don't mind," the nurse was saying, "I wanted to come—"

"I do mind," snapped the ginger woman. "I really don't think it's appropriate you being here."

"What?"

"If you'd done your job properly, Karl would still be with us. Now please, just go!"

***

Later, that same ginger woman—who had been introduced by the vicar as Suzanna Chambers—was giving a eulogy at the funeral. "Karl Wainwright was an old-fashioned man, with old-fashioned values and an old-fashioned heart. When I first arrived here, I remember how he used to extol the virtues of tradition, how he used to warn us against the evils of modern gimmickry.

"I think we probably all felt he was a little too suspicious of the central heating as our hands turned blue in the harsh winters and our bedside water froze solid—but we loved him, nonetheless. And there's no denying his personality is firmly stamped on the hotel he owned for forty years. It's a tradition to which I know his successors will be committed—with a few necessary modernisations, of course.

"But enough of the hotel. We're here to celebrate the full life of a wonderful, caring, and much-loved human being..."

***

After the service, they headed back to the cars. "You probably don't feel up to the reception," Woody was saying, making his wife scoff.

"He means he's not up to it. You're not much of a sweet sherry man, are you, my dear?"

Meanwhile, Suzanna was accepting the condolences of some of the other mourners. "Mr. and Mrs. Bream."

"What a delightful service."

"Thank you."

"Why don't you come back to the house for a drink?" Woody suggested. "Tom doesn't look much of a small talk and sherry man himself."

Evelyn snorted. "You're as bad as each other."

"Of course, Karl was always a generous supporter of the fete," Mrs. Bream continued. "We can depend on the continued use of the hotel grounds in future years, I hope?"