Blog Tour: SHADOWS IN SUSSEX by Emma Dakin

 

Shadows in Sussex

by Emma Dakin

 

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GENRE: Cozy Mystery

 

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BLURB: Claire Barclay and her band of tourists are full of enthusiasm for her trip to Sussex and Kent, the beautiful southeastern part of England. A tragic death of a young man the son of the guest house manager sends Claire into comforting mode and makes it more difficult for her provide a bright and care-free holiday. Laura was not surprised at her son’s death as he had been a drug user and she expected he had taken contaminated drugs, a common fate. But the police lab said otherwise. He was murdered. Claire’s fiancé, Detective Inspector Mark Evans, investigates, so Claire is involved and privy to much information. Too much. In spite of her busy life with demanding guests, she discovers the motive for the murder and finds herself in danger.

 

A fun tour of Sussex with the extra treat for mystery lovers as Emma Dakin ties places to favorite books

—Rhys Bowen (NYT bestselling author of the

Molly Murphy and Royal Spyness series

 

If you are looking for a cozy crime novel that evokes a wonderful sense of place - look no further. Emma Dakin skilfully weaves a new mystery into a fascinating and informative tour of Southern England featuring heroine and literary tour guide, Claire Barclay, and a host of interesting characters.

—Julie Wassmer, Author of The Whitstable Pearl Mysteries

 

This engaging story will appeal to traditional mystery-lovers who like their murders set against the authentic backdrop of quaint English villages.

—Clara Benson, USA Today bestselling author of the Angela Marchmont Mysteries

 

 

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Excerpt One:

 

                        Approaching the small town of Rye, I marked the route to Canterbury and the road to Hastings where I’d take my guests later in the week, I didn’t know this area well but had done two quick reconnaissance trips earlier. Jacqueline Winspear set her books near here in the war years. Her descriptions had given me a sense of familiarity with the green land around me, but the miles of delta before the sea surprised me. Rother Manor, our guest hotel, was large, but not, I was sure, large enough to have ever been a manor house. The name was probably applied to the house recently to attract tourists. The common meaning of ‘manor’ was a large house on a huge estate, but sometimes it just meant a large house. Mark told me that his colleagues sometimes called their police district their manor. I ruminated on the application of the word. I tended to do that. I’d not brought guests here before, but it looked ideal, sufficiently old to satisfy the North American appetite for a romantic setting but not so old it was decrepit. Laura Wright, the manager, had seemed organized and experienced.

 

I loved trying out new guest hotels and the whole experience of taking a tour to the sites of mystery novels. The tourists shared my itch for mysteries and were usually interested in what I offered. I’d had a career as a teacher of English to executives in many parts of the world. I enjoyed it as I was fascinated by linguistics and the way people use language. Now at forty-eight, I had achieved stability with a reliable partner, my own house and tour business and a legacy from my much-missed step-father. I should be able to feel comfortable, not always expecting a disaster. I admonished myself. This time the tour will go smoothly. This is a beautiful house; you will enjoy it here.

 

Rother Manor House was a three-storey rambling Victorian and was as close to a gracious house as was possible at the edge of Rye. The grounds were beautiful. Laura's son, Reece Martin, looked after them she’d told me. He was in his late twenties and committed to creating beauty. The owners of the guest house were glad to hire him, Laura had told me, as staff was hard to find. It was unusual to see so much land around a house of this age in a town but it made a picturesque setting for my visitors. Across the street and well below it lay the cricket grounds, still green in the July heat. Beyond the grounds, the salt marsh stretched to the sea. The tourists would love this view.

 

I pulled my eyes away from the vista and turned into the car park, a graveled area to the left of the entrance. After unloading my small suitcase, knapsack and briefcase from the van, I climbed a few steps to the front door. It was unlocked. I entered into a long hallway and saw a side table with an open guest book and a prominent bell. I called for Laura but there was no answer. I hit the bell. No one came. I hadn’t told her the exact time I’d be here. She was likely nearby. I wandered into the lounge which was off the hallway. A small table held two cups and saucers, sugar and a milk jug and a plate of cake. My guests weren’t arriving until tomorrow. She could have others guests tonight, but I hoped that cake was for me. I dropped my luggage on a chair in the lounge and walked down the hallway to the rear of the house. There was no one in the kitchen. I pushed through the back door and stepped into the garden. The minute I opened the door I heard the keening of a woman in distress, a soft, desperate cry that rose in the air and hung there. There was anguish in every tone. The hairs on my forearms rose and I stood frozen for a moment.

 

 The wail receded, then rose again. It came from the area at the back of the property. I walked towards a shed. I moved cautiously to the open door and peered in.

 

Laura was sitting on the floor beside a young man who lay still. His skin on his arms was pale, deadly pale. His head was turned so I just saw his dark hair. He was muscular, wearing a black T-shirt, denim jeans, black trainers. At first, I thought he’d fallen or had a seizure of some sort. Then I saw the Prenoxade kit open and the syringe on the floor nearby. Prenoxade, naloxone, the life-saving remedy for drug poisoning. Tour guides carried it; police carried it; teachers had it handy and, apparently, so did mothers.

 

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GUEST POST

 

What is Shadows in Sussex about?

 

Claire Barclay plans to take her tourists to explore Sussex and Kent in southeast England, aiming for a satisfying tourist experience. She isn’t expecting murder, especially so close to her group. At first the death of the young man is thought to be another tragic case of toxic drug use, but lab results show murder. Claire is disturbed by the death but is determined to keep her tourists away from the tragedy. While showing her guests the sights of Rye in Sussex—the Ypres castle, the Romney Marsh, the Lamb House and the fine cuisine of the Mermaid Inn—Claire carves out time to help her fiancé, Inspector Mark Evans investigate. Everyone talks to Claire: the victim’s mother, his girlfriend and local acquaintances. She brings the information to the Major Crimes Investigations Team. Her main job, however, is guiding her tourists: three young women from Toronto, Canada who are interested in the events of the Second World War, two couples from Friday Harbor, Washington who are interested in the theatre and literature, ranchers from Montana who are interested in history, and an older lady from Vermont who is interested in everything. Claire manages to keep this disparate group together, for the most part, but the murder investigation intrudes and the tourists are curious. Her own curiosity propels her into an unexpected confrontation with the murderer. This is one situation where Claire wishes she wasn’t picked to be the recipient of a secret. There is too much danger in that position.

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Except from
Chapter 6 of Shadows in Sussex

 

“My name is Mark Evans,” he said. “I'm a Detective Inspector with the Hampshire Constabulary and I'm the fiancé of your tour guide, Claire.” He didn’t mention Reece, so he was here socially.

Susan was the first to respond. “My name is Susan and I'm at delighted to meet you. I'm a great mystery novel fan and I have met many detective inspectors in the pages of books. It’s a pleasure to meet a real English inspector. Please join us.” 

“Bring a chair,” Heather said. “I would love to talk to you about the way English detective inspectors actually deal with a mystery.”

Mark smiled at me again and I could feel my heart expand. I knew he came to the café because I was having trouble with Richard and he wanted to help. I was sure I could handle Richard without any help as Heather was used to dealing with him and the three young women seemed quite able to deflect and control him. But my heart warmed at the notion that Mark would come and see if he could be of use to me.

I was so distracted it took me a moment to realize that Andy Forsyth was with him.

“Please join us,” I said, then turned to the guests. “This is Detective Sergeant Andrew Forsythe. He's Mark’s teammate.”

“Hello, everyone,” Andy said. “We have eaten, but we love to join you for tea.”

Andy was dressed impeccably in pressed jeans and a blue, open-necked sports shirt. He wore a gold earring and the wedding band I’d watched his husband Bruce put on his finger. That had been quite the society wedding. Bruce comes from a wealthy and supportive family and they had hosted an elaborate reception.

Susan brought me back to the present. 

“That would be wonderful.” Susan invited him by a gesture to sit beside her. “What's it like to be a sergeant in the Hampshire police force?”

He laughed. “It's pretty busy.”

“I was wondering if the police still give those warnings that I read about in novels.” 

“Not quite the way you read them in the novels,” Andy said. “I read thrillers myself so I pay attention to police procedure. We do make a statement when we make an arrest, but not the one you commonly see in fiction.”

Mark was at the other end of the table and seemed to be having quite a lively conversation with Heather, Richard, Howard and Poppy.

I ordered some small fairy cakes and some chocolate and nuts to be passed around with coffee and tea. The guests stayed for some time chatting with each other and with Mark and Andy. The group was enjoying themselves but eventually prepared to leave. The older guests were returning to Rother Manor House. The three young ones told me they were going to visit a pub.

“Waterworks Pub is a nice one,” Andy advised. “It's just down the street on this block.”

“Sounds perfect,” Julie said. “We're not big drinkers. We just like the liveliness of the English pubs. At least we think we will.”

“You have my cell number,” I said. “Just call if you need help or for anything at all.”

“We’ll be fine,” Julie said. “Thank you for a delicious dinner.” Off they went, leaving Mark, Andy and me at the table.

“How do you like working with DS Flynn?” I asked.

“He’s a marvel,” Andy answered me. “Meticulous, conscientious. Digs for information.”

Mark leaned forward. “He’s so competent that if the Super gets wind of him, Andy will be recalled.”

That was a possibility. Superintendent Addison wasn’t one to waste personnel.

“What about DC Sandhu?”

They both grinned. I expect Jas Sandhu had that effect on most people.

“I can work with him,” Mark said. “He seems a good team player with Flynn.”

I could see that: one was methodical and one imaginative.

“Flynn put Jas onto tracing Reece’s movements on his last day. Once Travis has the info, he’ll put it on a chart for us.”

“We’re looking into a gang motivation. That’s my job,” Andy said. “I have an appointment with someone in the know later tonight.”

“Be careful,” I said.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

I don’t know why I urged Andy to be careful. He was always careful. It must be some kind of superstition that makes those of us who have no control over the situation offer a kind of blessing on the one in danger. My mum used to caution me to stay dry if it looked like rain. Of course, I’d try to stay dry. But cautioning me was her way of trying to protect me. It can be annoying.

 “Do you still think Reece was murdered?” I asked into the silence created by our mutual concern about a gang contact.

“Looks like it. He would be unlikely to get hold of Nembutal. None of that drug is circulating in this area.”

“We aren’t positive, though,” Andy said. “All we can say is that he died of Nembutal poisoning and it is unlikely he gave it to himself.”

“He could have taken it by accident, thinking it was something else.”

“He could have, but we are going to treat this case as homicide until we can prove it isn’t, or until we run out of leads.”

Andy left us at the door of the café to walk back to the Rye Lodge Hotel while Mark escorted me to the Rother Manor House.

I invited him to my room where I plugged in the tea kettle and set out two cups and some biscuits—not that we needed any more to eat. While the room was small, it had a table and two chairs near the window.

For some reason we talked about birds. Mark had recently visited his Uncle Lionel and gone on a birding venture with him along the coastal walk of Cornwall. Mark was only mildly interested in birds, but enjoyed his uncle's enthusiasm. Like Lionel, I was keen on birds, so I listened to Mark’s descriptions, enjoying the sound of his voice.

We spent quite a few minutes saying goodbye, but he finally left me for the night. I heard the front door close but couldn’t watch him leave from my back garden window.

It was going to be a busy day tomorrow as I had to drive Richard and the older guests to Godinton House and deposit the three young women at the train station in Ashford. I checked that I had fresh supplies for their daily packs: chocolates, biscuits, hand sanitizers and tissues. I wished Mark could have stayed but I understood his need to be with Andy and available to the local constabulary. We were both working. We were used to being apart for weeks. Still, he wasn’t far away but I wished he was with me. I conjured up a picture of Gulliver. I expect he was cuddled up with Deirdre’s two dogs and was happy enough. I missed him as well.

 

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:

 

Emma Dakin writes a series of mysteries set in Britain. Her protagonist is a tour guide who takes different characters in each book to the sites of mystery novels in the countryside. She appreciates the elegant, people and humor of each area. But in that idyllic country, Claire stumbles on murder. Author Emma Dakin has five books so far in this series with the latest release September 12th 2023. An historical mystery set in Vancouver in 1886 is due out soon. She won a prestigious 2022 Lieutenant Governor’s Community History Award for her non-fiction account of life in the 60s.

 

Website: www.emmadakinauthor.com

Email: emma@emmadakinauthor.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarionCrookAuthor

https://twitter.com/author_mcrook

 

 

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GIVEAWAY 

Emma Dakin will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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