The Mystery of GOLDCREST GRANGE

Nothing much happened in the village DS Dottie Reed was posted to – until a body was found

- Gabrielle Mullarkey

Avis Walters arrived that summer morning as usual at The Jaunty Jaguar antiques shop, hailing the large, moth-eaten cat mounted over the door.

During her first week working there, she'd christened the jaguar Henry after her old boss at M17 - the cat sharing the same patient but anguished expression. Dear Henry. Her years in 'the Service' had been the happiest of her life.

'Miss Walters, a word,' frowned her employer Hugo Plumstead, emerging from the back of the shop as Avis hung up her jacket.

'Not even a good morning,' thought Avis.

Hugo was younger than her but twice as fusty. He strode to the counter and flipped open the sales ledger. 'Last time you were in, you sold a figurine of Taweret, the Egyptian hippopotamus goddess.'

She thought back. 'No, that was your nephew, Tarquin, here on work experience, remember?'

Hugo went on as if she hadn't spoken. 'It was a 19th century reproduction, nine inches high, bronze with gold-leaf overlay. Which should not have gone for less than £450.'

'Yes, the price tag was clear.'

'This ledger says it was sold for £50.' Hugo peered at her. 'Fifty measly quid!'

'I refer you to Tarquin,' Avis replied calmly, heart thumping.

'He blames you.'

'He would, wouldn't he? To deflect blame.'

Hugo's glare deepened. 'Nevertheless, I'm letting you go.'

Avis sighed, but said nothing. Families. They always stuck together. She'd taken this three-day-a-week job last year because she had no family herself to speak of - unless you included the feathered kind.

This 'gig' (as young people called paid employment) had filled a void and provided her with purpose. But really, this was beyond the pale. Should she defend herself?

'I'll make up your final wages today,' said Hugo.