Murder on the Village Green: A Diane Dimbleby Cozy Mystery by Penelope Sotheby Page A

of her working years teaching in Apple Mews, and most of all her years living in Apple Mews.
    For two years, Diane had lived in London with her late husband, David. They had fallen in love almost instantly when David was holidaying in Apple Mews. When they were married, Diane moved to London with him, since David was already serving as a police detective at Scotland Yard.
    Although the pace of the big city was not exactly Diane’s cup of tea, she relished learning as much as she could about her husband’s line of work. It quite simply fascinated her. While David was not technically permitted to divulge any information about the cases he was working on, he could not refuse his wife’s blue eyes and enthusiastic spirit.
    Their marriage was an extremely happy one but cut much too short. When David was killed during the course of a robbery, it was an easy decision for Diane to move back to her home village and resume the profession she loved.
    This time though, she had an additional pastime: crime solving, which she happens to be very good at, much to the dismay of Inspector Crothers of the Shrewsbury Police, the closest major police station in the region. And now that Diane is retired, she spends much of her free time writing detective mystery stories, partly inspired by her own, real-life experiences.
    This very Saturday afternoon, in fact, Diane is sitting at her computer, typing away. At this very moment, she is trying to contrive the perfect red herring for her latest crime novel. I could trick the readers into thinking that the husband did it… no… too cliché.
    “ AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaa! ”
    Diane is jolted back into reality by the sound of a terrifying scream. It sounded like a woman’s scream. Diane feels spooked up and down her spine.
    “ Ruff au au Ruff au au! ”
    Now, that sound Diane recognizes immediately – it is Carys Jones’ dog, Rufus, who clearly sounds distressed. His yap morphs into a howl. The mournful sound immediately propels Diane to her front door. Something must be dreadfully wrong. Carys has either had a nasty accident or… worse…. Diane does not want to think about that.
    Without giving a second thought to red herrings, whodunits, or the slow-cooking crockery pot she just turned on a half-hour ago, Diane rushes out the door. Still in her slippers she runs – she is in marvellous shape for her 60-some years – to her friend Carys’ house three doors down.
    Unlike Diane, Carys Jones has not lived in Apple Mews her whole life. The long-time resident was immediately drawn to the new neighbour, and in recent years, the two ladies have shared numerous meals together and often enjoy chats over a cuppa.
    Diane admires Carys’ loving and caring nature and how she often volunteers for a homeless charity in Shrewsbury. Diane likes to bake cookies or make sandwiches to send along with Carys, but she admires how Carys regularly spends that face-to-face time with some of the area’s most vulnerable individuals.
    Arriving at her home, Diane sees Carys’ front door wide open. Richard, one of Carys’ caregivers, is standing in the front foyer, looking rather pale.
    “Richard, what’s happened?” shouts Diane, racing towards the entryway.
    “I’ve called the ambulance and the police,” says Richard shakily, pacing back and forth.
    “The police!?! Ambulance! Oh dear, where is she?” Diane pushes past Richard towards the sound of Rufus yapping.
    Inside the living room, Diane finds Carys awkwardly lying on the floor, her limbs splayed in every direction. Rufus is next to his owner sensing that something is wrong. For a moment, Diane stares in shock at her friend who is eerily lying in complete stillness. Diane hurries to her side and kneels on the floor.
    Careful not to shake her for fear of causing any more physical injury, Diane places a hand on Carys’ back. She does not detect any movement.
    “Carys,” Diane whispers. “CARYS,” she says louder this time, barely keeping a sob from