30 Nov HELEN HOLLICK A MYSTERY OF MURDER COFFEE POT BOOK CLUB BLOG TOUR #JanChristopherMysteries #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @HelenHollick @maryanneyarde

FEATURED AUTHOR: HELEN HOLLICK

Welcome to The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour for author Helen Hollick which is being held from November 22nd  – December 3rd, 2021. She is the author of the Cosy Mystery,  A Mystery of Murder (Jan Christopher Mysteries, Episode 2), which was released by the Taw River Press on 14^th November 2021 (160 pages).

Below are highlights of A Mystery of Murder, Helen Hollick’s author bio, and an excerpt from her book.

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HIGHLIGHTS: A MYSTERY OF MURDER

A Mystery of Murder

(Jan Christopher Mysteries, Episode 2)

By Helen Hollick

‘Had I known what was to happen soon after we arrived at Mr and Mrs Walker’s lovely old West Country house, my apprehension about spending Christmas in Devon would have dwindled to nothing.’

Library Assistant Jan Christopher is to spend Christmas with her boyfriend, DS Laurie Walker and his family, but when a murder is discovered, followed by a not very accidental accident, the traditional Christmas spirit is somewhat marred…

What happened to Laurie’s ex-girlfriend? Where is the vicar’s wife? Who took those old photographs? And will the farmer up the lane ever mend those broken fences?

Set in 1971, this is the second Jan Christopher Cosy Mystery. Join her (and an owl and a teddy bear) in Devon for a Christmas to remember. :

Will the discovery of a murder spoil Christmas for Jan Christopher and her boyfriend DS Laurie Walker – or will it bring them closer together?

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AUTHOR BIO: HELEN HOLLICK

Helen Hollick and her family moved from northeast London in January 2013 after finding an eighteenth-century North Devon farmhouse through being a ‘victim’ on BBC TV’s popular Escape To The Country show. The thirteen-acre property was the first one she was shown – and it was love at first sight. She enjoys her new rural life and has a variety of animals on the farm, including Exmoor ponies and her daughter’s string of show jumpers.

First accepted for publication by William Heinemann in 1993 – a week after her fortieth birthday – Helen then became a USA Today Bestseller with her historical novel, The Forever Queen (titled A Hollow Crown in the UK) with the sequel, Harold the King (US: I Am The Chosen King) being novels that explore the events that led to the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Her Pendragon’s Banner Trilogy is a fifth-century version of the Arthurian legend, and she also writes a pirate-based nautical adventure/fantasy series, The Sea Witch Voyages. Despite being impaired by the visual disorder of Glaucoma, she is also branching out into the quick read novella, ‘Cosy Mystery’ genre with the Jan Christopher Mysteries, set in the 1970s, with the first in the series, A Mirror Murder incorporating her, often hilarious, memories of working for thirteen years as a library assistant.

Her non-fiction books are Pirates: Truth and Tales and Life of A Smuggler. She also runs Discovering Diamonds, a review blog for historical fiction, a news and events blog for her village and the Community Shop, assists as ‘secretary for the day’ at her daughter’s regular showjumping shows – and occasionally gets time to write…

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EXCERPT: A MYSTERY OF MURDER

Jan Christopher is spending Christmas 1971 with her boyfriend DS Laurie Walker and his parents who live in an old farmhouse in Devon. Evidence of a murder has been found…

A BIT OF A SMELL

I half expected Gran to want to come with us to visit the Haywoods at Upper Valley View – she had already declined to go shopping.

“Goodness, no,” she exclaimed when Laurie asked if she wanted to walk up the lane with us, “my days of trudging up these steep Devon hills are well past. I’ve plenty to occupy myself here.”

“I’ll light the sitting room fire for you, then,” Laurie offered, “if you’re sure?”

“Very sure,” Gran insisted, “I’m half way through Simenon’s La Folle de Maigret, so I’ll be plus de contenu, merci.”

“Très bien, grand-mère.”

I was hopeless at French, so had no idea what they were saying. I smiled, though, and uttered the only French I could remember from school. “Oui!” Well, in all honesty, I also remembered ouvre la porte but ‘open the door’ wasn’t exactly appropriate.

“Is she really reading Maigret in French?” I whispered to Laurie as we left the house.

“Naturellement. She’s fluent in several languages. Including Russian.”

“Oh. Jolly good,” I answered, feeling about as clever as an illiterate ant.

There didn’t appear to be anyone at home when we knocked at the Haywoods’ back door. (I’d already realised that very few people in the country used front doors when making an informal visit.) Borrowing the idea from Reverend Passwith, I’d made the suggestion that we could take Bess for a walk and drop in a Christmas card to the Haywoods, so, all apparently innocent, except Laurie said they never exchanged cards, so we dropped that bit and just used Bess instead.

I enjoyed the walk up the lane, and remarked that it must look lovely in spring and summer. Even this early (late?) there were a few primroses braving the smattering of snow.

“Primroses are very hardy,” Laurie explained, “some clumps have been in situ for over fifty years, re-seeding and regenerating. There’ll be foxgloves, stitchwort, columbine, cranesbill, ragged robin, dog roses and such; come next summer… Loads of daffodils in spring.”

“But daffs are not wild flowers, are they? How do they get there in the first place?”

“Many that you see at the side of busy roads were planted to mark the spot of fatal accidents, but these lane daffodils originate from the Second World War.”

I must have looked puzzled, because he laughed and squeezed my hand that I’d nestled snuggly in his. “Pre-war, Devon and Cornwall were noted for growing daffodils which were sent up to London’s Covent Garden overnight by train. Then the war came and every field that was suitable had to be turned over for growing food – human or animal. The daff bulbs had to be dug up, but, rather than destroy them, many growers dispersed them among the hedgerows. They’ve been there, quietly multiplying, ever since.”

“I can’t imagine someone like Mr Haywood being all sentimental and scattering his daffs,” I remarked as we tied Bess’s lead to the farmyard gate at Higher Valley View and walked into the main yard – avoiding as much of the muck as we could. I was glad Laurie had suggested we don wellington boots.

“Mr Haywood?” Laurie called, several times. No response.

We walked to the nearest dilapidated building, a block of what had once been stables, but were now in various states of broken doors, crumbling walls and holed roofs. Ivy, bramble and weeds filled most of the gaps. Laurie continued to call out. We still received no answer. The furthest, end, stable – the only one which looked relatively solid and intact – had a front ‘wall’ of chicken wire and it stank of something pungent.

As we got closer, my eyes started to water, the stink was so strong.

There were about fifteen or so lithe and sinuous animals inside the pen, climbing up the wire or playing on logs and branches scattered inside. There was quite a bit of debris as well: a shredded blanket, the remains of an old leather shoe, a headless teddy bear with its stuffing spilling out. (I made a mental note to ensure that my teddy, Bee Bear, was safe at home.)

I thought the creatures with their long, thin bodies and tiny eyes could be weasels or stoats; Laurie corrected me.

“These are ferrets from the family of carnivores which include weasels, badgers, otters and mink.”

I giggled. “Aunt Madge used to have a mink coat, I hated it because it smelled.”

A voice behind us made me jump. “Reeked o’ mothballs, I expec’. What you two snoopers want?”

Chloë.

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