Millie's Game Plan by Rosie Dean

could be trusted. I was bumping along a wide, pitted track, flanked on either side by mature trees. It would make the ideal location for a murder scene – something dark and gruesome. After a while, the trees thinned out until, to my right, they revealed a broad lawn, sweeping down towards an orchard. I was considering turning back when I caught my first view of the house – large and imposing. I was approaching it from the side and its terrace overlooked the lawn. Surely I hadn’t ventured onto a National Trust property by mistake, had I? Maybe Vonnie lived in a flat, here. But if not, and this was her house, it explained why she was so well-connected in the village – she practically owned it. And then the penny dropped; her name was Vonnie Marshal…of Marshalhampton.
    Duh!
    The driveway split and I drove behind the house to some out-buildings and a group of cars. As soon as I pulled up alongside an aged Landrover, I heard the deep and intimidating barks of more than one dog. I glanced around to see two lively black labs, one very melancholy greyhound and a shaggy dachshund. I lowered the window and peered out. Arabella was jogging down a short flight of steps at the far corner of the building. She was wearing some sort of uniform.
    ‘It’s okay,’ she called as she approached, ‘They’re really friendly, just a bit excitable.’
    I gathered my camera bag from the passenger seat. As soon as my door was open, three snouts began investigating me, while the greyhound held back. I stood up and one of the large black snouts immediately foraged around my crotch.
    ‘Leave!’ shouted Arabella with alarming force, as I attempted to appear unruffled by such canine intimacy.
    The dogs backed off, although the dachshund kept darting forwards, its tail going like a metronome. Arabella, her face beaming, draped her arms around me and dipped her face to left and right of mine. ‘Hellooo.’
    ‘What’s with the uniform?’ I asked.
    ‘Explorers. It’s our parade practice tonight. I’m going in ten minutes.’
    ‘Oh, shame. You’re not going to be here to see me photograph your mum, then?’
    ‘I know. I was sooo cross about that. But she says I’ll see the results.’
    ‘This house is lovely,’ I said. ‘Do you live in all of it?’
    ‘Oh yes.’
    Silly me.
    ‘Well, most of it. One or two rooms are a bit shabby so we don’t go in those.’
    We went through what must have once been the laundry. There were black and white tiles on the floor and airing racks hanging from the ceiling. Top of the range appliances were packed beneath a work surface that had seen better days. Piles of magazines leaned against an old printer, empty wine bottles and a couple of silver trophies. Four wicker dog baskets filled the corner behind the door, blankets and toys were strewn across the tiles.
    And I thought Sacha was untidy.
    There was a delicious smell of garlic being fried in butter. As Arabella guided me into the kitchen, I saw Vonnie standing against an old, cream-coloured Aga, briskly stirring something which promised to be very tasty. The kitchen units were old, with wonky doors and a laden pan rack hung over a refectory table. She left her creation to greet me with a hands-free peck on either cheek.
    ‘Sorry, Millie. I’ve got tacky hands from onions and garlic. Bit rushed. Once I’ve put this in the oven, we can chat. What would you like to drink?’
    The honest answer was a large V&T but since I had to drive home, I opted for fizzy water.
    ‘How cleansing,’ she remarked, tipping chunks of meat into the pan, which sizzled and steamed. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll have the other kind of fizz.’
    Arabella opened a huge refrigerator to pull out two bottles, then began pouring the drinks.
    ‘Have you lived here long?’
    ‘Personally – twenty-two years. The family’s been here for generations.’
    ‘So, Marshalhampton is named after the family?’
    ‘Indeed so. Abraham Marshal made a fortune out of wool. Farmed