A is for Arrivals

Hello, and welcome to my 2025 Blogging From A To Z April Challenge! This year, I’ve written you a complete murder mystery novelette. The setting is rural England, a few years after WWI. The extra challenge that I set myself for this story is that the first murder will not take place until the letter “M”–halfway through! And the second murder will happen at “S.” There may be murders after “S,” of course, but they are less structural or foundational or something.

And now, without further ado…

Arrivals

Mr. Jack Grimsby sat in the passenger seat of his Bentley and watched the rural English landscape—once so familiar to him as to be almost invisible, but after forty-five years away, possessed now only of that familiarity known as “haunting”—whiz by. His daughter Penelope, a capable and enthusiastic driver, was at the wheel, her pretty face tense and focused.

Jack groaned inwardly. That was Penny’s question-face. She tended to fall into a certain pattern when she drove: long periods of silence punctuated by short bursts of rapid-fire interrogations. She said that the answers provided her with matter for reflection during the periods of silence, and that she only asked more when she’d used up all the old material. Like fuel, she explained. She wasn’t actually convinced, not on any deep level, that one could drive a car without this process. Jack sometimes pointed out that when she was alone, she managed to move the car along okay without peppering anyone with questions, but Penny only replied that when alone, she went in for interrogating herself, sometimes even aloud. Jack had no proof that this was true, but he believed it.

Now he looked at his daughter, smiled grimly, and accepted his fate.

“Question time?”

“Almost.” Penny swept expertly around a bend in the road. “Yes. Now. Why haven’t you been home in forty-five years?”

“I’ve never been big on sea voyages. And there was the war. Remember the war? Very hard to travel in wartime.”

“Bunkum. Try again.”

“Well, I don’t like sea voyages, and it would’ve been difficult to get here in wartime. And then there was the ‘flu. I would’ve felt pretty silly, traveling all the way to England just to die abroad of ‘flu, when I could die at home in New York much more comfortably.”

“Yeah, but none of that is the real reason. You didn’t go home for kind of a while before the war, either. Come on, Dad, spill the beans! Is your brother some kind of ogre or something? I have a right to know if he is. I’ll be staying with him too, you know.”

“Frank’s no ogre. Anyway, he wasn’t when I left. We always got along okay.”

“A swell guy and close blood relative you haven’t seen in forty-five years? And barely ever wrote to?”

Jack sighed. This might be awkward. But Penny was old enough to understand. “We fell for the same gal. She chose him. I left the country the day after the wedding.”

“Aunt Lottie?”

“Aunt Lottie,” Jack said with feeling. “Yeah.” Then an uncomfortable thought hit him straight between the eyes. “Hey—don’t go thinking this means I wasn’t gone on your mother. Sadie and I were over the moon for each other. And she knew all about it. Didn’t seem to mind that she wasn’t the first gal to catch my eye—she always said that the other girl was only theoretical, while she was the one in possession, darning my socks and all that.”

Penny nodded. “Ma was practical.” For a moment, her eyes shone with unshed tears. But she dismissed them. Tears interfered with the operation of the vehicle. “You stayed for the wedding?”

“Well, sure! My brother’s wedding. I was best man.” Jack smiled. “It was the worst day of my life—for a while. For a long time, really. But there have been worse ones since.”

“Ma’s death,” Penny said.

“And the day you fell off your horse and we didn’t know if you’d ever wake up. And there have been some other doozys too. Frank and Lottie’s wedding day probably isn’t even in my top ten now. But it held the lead for a damn long time. After the ceremony, when Frank and Lottie’d gone upstairs to the King Charles suite, and I was all alone, I busted open the liquor cabinet and drank myself practically to death. Passed out, I guess, and seemed to only wake up again on the boat to America. How I made it in time I don’t know. And then I discovered I was a poor sailor—not fun, with a hangover like mine.”

“From his letters—I’ve only seen a couple—it looks like they have three boys. That right?”

“Yeah, three boys. Think of that—old Frank’s boys, and I’ve never seen ‘em, except a picture—and that wasn’t very good. Frank and Lottie’s boys.” There was wonder in his voice. “But I’m not sure ‘boys’ is the right word, here. The two youngest are maybe a whisker older than you—both served in the War. And the oldest boy—well, he must be middle-aged by now. He was born just as soon after the wedding as it was decent, I understand. Probably that King Charles suite—it was always supposed to be lucky for the family. So he’d be in his forties now.”

“There was a hint that money was tight in the letter, wasn’t there? Or was I just reading too much into it?”

“Oh, I don’t think money’s tight right now, Penny. But Frank has got to think of the future. The farms aren’t producing like they used to, and the timber is almost all cut—and that can’t be replaced in a day, you know. When Frank’s oldest boy inherits—his name’s Archie or Percy or something like that—”

“Reggie, Pa.”

“Reggie, then—when he inherits, he’ll need a good dollop of money if he’s going to keep the old place going.”

“And is he going to get it?” Penny asked.

Jack sighed. “You mean, am I going to change my will and cut him out in favor of you?”

“It would be useful to know. Preferably before we show up for a good old family reunion.”

“You’ll come in for a big slab of dough—and so will the people in the old family home. I’m meeting with old Jacobson, the family solicitor, in a week or so to make that good. That okay?”

Penny’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s perfect, Pa. You were so grim about this trip, I thought maybe you were gonna hand ‘em a bag of lemons and tell ‘em to suck. I didn’t want it to be my fault they went bust. Not the makings of a friendly visit.”

“They still might not like it, chick. They might take the view that the dough should all go the head of the family and trust him to look after your interests.”

Penny looked appalled. “I’ve got an eye on my own interests, personally. That’s how you and Ma raised me.”

Jack chuckled. “I got some old-fashioned notions about family, I know—but not so bad as that. You’ll get yours, all right. But the funny part is, it’s gonna be darned hard to broach the point long enough to to tell ‘em I’m not disinheriting them.”

“Why?”

“Because, kiddo—gentlemen don’t discuss money. They just quietly panic about it.” And then Jack let out a low whistle as they pulled around a curve. “And here we are,” he said.

*

“Mr. Jack Grimsby—and Penelope. Allow me to welcome you home, sir,” said a beaming man in correct morning outfit.

“Why, you must be young Sneakfork! I guess your old man passed?”

“No, sir, but he has moved to a cottage on the estate, where he lives in complete retirement. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear that you have returned. Allow me to take your bags, sir.”

And Sneakfork, smiling, led them into the massive central hall of Grimsby Manor. A giant marble floor, punctuated at regular intervals by soaring columns, all framing a beautiful sweeping staircase leading to a mezzanine with ornately carved wooden railings. Behind the staircase, a giant window a full story high. Hanging down over the hall was a massive chandelier. It was, at the moment, silhouetted and blackened against the brightness of the window behind it, and looked like a great black spider swaying above the room on a silken thread.

“I forgot it looked like that,” said Jack, staring upwards.