The Deadly Fun Run (Abigail Summers Cozy Mysteries Book 4)

Book summary

In this fourth installment of Ann Parker's Abigail Summers Cozy Mysteries, ghostly sleuth Abigail Summers investigates a campathon committee member's death and a looming murder during a 10K fun run. Joined by psychic Hayley Moon, other spirits, and PC Tom Bennett, Abigail uncovers connections to a 12-year-old cold case, weaving suspense, humor, and the paranormal.

Excerpt from The Deadly Fun Run (Abigail Summers Cozy Mysteries Book 4)

In the Cricketers Inn on Becklesfield High Street, the chairwoman of the Children’s Hospital Appeal Fund was sitting in the corner of the bar. Penelope Aston-Whyte and the race director, Melody Myatt, were meeting with a group of sponsors for the upcoming campathon.

Drinking his single malt whisky was Harvey Bonson, owner of Bonson’s Butchers, who were supplying the meat for the barbecue. Sitting next to him was the farmer, Sebastian March, who was giving up one of his larger fields for the festivities afterwards. The last to arrive was Verity Pikestaff, the glamorous co-ordinator from Gorebridge General Hospital.

Looking over her glasses at the latecomer, Penelope started the meeting by getting out a large folder and taking the lid off her gold fountain pen to take notes.

“Now we’re all here, at last, let’s get started. You’ll be pleased to know that tickets are selling well. So far we’ve sold forty tickets for tents, at thirty pounds a time, and I’m pleased to say that one hundred and fifty people have signed up for the fun run at twenty pounds each.”

“And we’ve still got three weeks to go yet,” said Melody. “How many tents have you got room for at Polehanger Farm, Sebastian?”

The smart-looking farmer rubbed his chin. “Fifty maximum, I reckon. I’ll have to get extra portaloos ordered now.”

The Bonson Butchers’ owner sat forward. “Now look here, when I said I’d provide the meat for the barbecues and sausages for breakfast, you said nowt about that many going. I’ll be bankrupt if you don’t watch out,” he said in a strong northern accent.

“Hardly,” said Penelope. “You own the largest chain of butchers in the south. I’m sure you’ll be fine. And don’t forget all the publicity you’ll get. I heard the local television channel is covering it, and it’s been in the papers. After all, we have got a world-famous band headlining. And they’re doing it for free.”

Sebastian asked, “I don’t want any promotion like Harvey. All I want to know is who this famous band is. Can’t you even tell us, Penelope?”

“No. That was part of the agreement. I can quite understand it. If everyone knows who they are and it gets out, all the fans will turn up and there wouldn’t be room for the runners. There would be havoc on the night.”

“Good, keep it quiet. You’ll get no more meat off me than what we agreed. No more than fifty tents then,” said Harvey. “And I want plenty of signs with the Bonson’s logo on, pet.”

“I’m definitely not your pet. But thank you, Harvey. You and Sebastian have already been mentioned in the press and it will say Bonsons on all the flags. Now Melody is going to give us an update on what she’s been doing.”

Melody opened her notebook and said, “I’ve tried to get as many donations for things as I can, so we owe a huge thank you to Chiltern Springs, who have agreed to supply the water for the drinking stations all the way up and down Chittering Downs. To keep in line with our green theme, they’re giving out drinks in paper cups rather than bottles. Er, I’ve found someone who will make and put up the flags. And someone to supply the marshmallows and sticks for free, so we can sell them for profit. We’re going to hire a couple of fire pits to toast them on. But that is very reasonable. Chilly Ices is having an ice cream van near the start, and I’ve been in touch with the council and they’ve agreed to shut the lanes and put up diversion signs from midnight to midnight. The only thing we are a bit short on, is volunteer marshals for the day. People would rather give up money than time.”

Verity Pikestaff spoke for the first time. “I might be able to help with that. There’s a lot of staff and patients at the hospital that would love to run, but they aren’t fit enough, so I’m sure they will want to do their bit.”

“That’s good. Thank you. Have you put the posters up yet at the hospital?”

“Yes, and I’ve put out flyers. The advert is coming out in the next edition of the Chiltern Weekly.”

“Good,” said Penelope. “Because we need plenty of spectators to put money in the buckets that people will be walking around with. There are two companies that I need to get in touch with that have promised help or a large donation for their names as sponsors. Let me see, er, I had phone calls from Walker & Francis Pharmaceuticals, a drug company, if any of you have heard of them, and Estryke Bikes. And The Marquee Company has promised us a large one for free. We need all the help we can get so that the kids get as much as possible. Is there any other business or shall we have another drink first? Mine’s a white wine.”

After another round was bought by the young farmer, they got down to talking about times and the amount of rolls and salad that they might need. This would have to come out of their own funds unless they found a donor.

“Don’t expect me to cough up,” said Harvey. “I’ve done my bit.”

“We didn’t think you would. I’m not too sure why you even got involved in the first place. You seem to be doing everything possible to spend as little as you can,” said Penelope.

“It was the wife’s idea. The hospital took care of our bonny granddaughter a few years back, so I said I’d help out. Didn’t realise you’d have the shirt off my back though.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Put the bread rolls on my bill, Penelope.”

“Aye, when you think about it, all you’re giving is an empty field,” added the butcher.

“And the toilets, and the stage, and sorting out the parking. I’m seriously wondering why nobody has ever smacked you one.”

“Plenty have tried, believe me. But you’re welcome to come outside and try yourself, laddie.”

“Please boys, that’s enough,” said Penelope. “We’re very grateful to both of you. Now, Harvey, don’t forget that you have to supply a vegetarian option as well.”

The butcher turned red. “What? I’m a butcher. The world’s gone mad. My dad would turn in his grave.”

“The world has simply moved on from killing animals, Harvey. I’m a vegan myself,” said Melody.

“Don’t even get me started on vegans, lassie! I can see I’m outnumbered, so okay, I’ll get the wife to supply some. It was her idea to volunteer, so she should do something. I don’t want anything to do with that kind of blasphemy. Vegetarians, huh. I’ve been eating meat all my life and it’s done me no harm.”

Penelope raised her eyebrows at the overweight butcher, who looked like he had high blood pressure, but just said, “Perhaps now is the time to close the meeting and call it a day. So, Sebastian, if you could sort out those things for us, that would be marvellous. I know you’ll do what’s needed. Now before I forget, Verity, can you give me the financial printouts for the donations we’ve raised for you in the past? Oh, and what you’ve spent the money on.”

“Whatever for? I’ve never been asked that by anyone else. They leave it up to us where we spend the money. I can assure you that it all goes to the children or the ward. Last time, if I remember rightly, we bought extra folding beds so the parents could stay and toys and books for the playroom. Plus equipment that the nurses requested. I expect I’ve got the receipts somewhere.”

“Well then, you’ve got nothing to worry about, have you?” Penelope closed her folder and said, “I don’t know about you, but I could do with another drink.”

Within two hours, one of the five people in that bar would be dead.

In Gorebridge, Lydia Aston-Whyte was looking out of the office window. The boss had gone and she decided she would go herself. So what if she got the boot. She had been working at Sutton Insurance for six months now. One more week and she might die of boredom, if that was possible. Lydia was beginning to regret leaving home and moving into the shared flat. Although she had her freedom, she couldn’t do much because she had to pay the rent. She’d been so excited to move out, envisaging parties and friends staying over, but the only thing she gained was the responsibility of paying bills and tidying up after herself. Her flatmates were worse than her mum if she left her plate unwashed on the side. At least at her mum’s house she didn’t have to pay for anything or do any housework. But she was twenty-one now; she should be out on her own.

But it wasn’t that great. She was on her own but was missing her home comforts: a nice garden, cable TV, and all the food she could eat. There, she had a view of the Downs; at her flat, she had a view of the paper factory. And she had to admit, although her mum could be a control freak, she was actually missing her and their chats.So she decided to drive to Becklesfield and see her mother.

Lydia checked that no one was looking and got her bag and phone out of the drawer, then she sneaked out. The other two girls didn’t even notice. At least she had a nice car, she thought, as she started the engine. Her mother had bought it for her twenty-first birthday, bless her. She wasn’t that bad. Lydia was getting close to home when her phone pinged, as a text came through. She pulled over in case it was work, but she smiled to herself; it was her mum, who texted that the meeting at the Cricketers had gone well and asked if she had booked her place on the 10K run. Also, could she pop to Becklesfield and help her with the leaflets as soon as she could.

She took back all the nice things that she had just been thinking about her mother. She was still trying to run her life. She texted back that she had a day off and would be there soon. More to have something to eat than help with the fun run. Then another text came through, telling her that the silly cat had got stuck on the roof again, and she was going to get the ladder out and would see her later. That was the last text that she would ever receive from her mother, Penelope Aston-Whyte.