Tup and Stern and the Skipping Rope Scandal.
At Tampin's Stern Mystery.
Written by S.
D.
Hudson Performed by Stephanie Poppins.
Chapter 6 Talpin Stern had never expected to be living in an apartment in her late 40s.
But here she was standing before the bathroom mirror in the golden light of another Yorkshire morning.
And finding much to her own surprise that she rather liked what she saw.
Leaning in closer to the mirror,
She studied the thin streaks of grey threading through her blonde hair.
There were more of them now than there had been last year.
But rather than reaching for the dye bottle tucked in the back of the cabinet,
She ran her fingers through them instead and let them be.
When she first spotted them.
Dairy!
Her ex,
Suggested she'd be wise to cover them up.
He said grey hair made her look past her prime.
Which was rich coming from a man who'd lost all his twenty years before.
Yes,
The Grey could stay.
She'd earned every strand of it.
She reached for her pants,
Nay,
The armless glasses her grandmother left her years before.
Its little gold hinge was worn smooth by decades of other fingers before her own.
Tuppence liked to think it connected the generations somehow.
Settling it on the bridge of her nose,
She began the painstaking process of eyeliner.
Why bother?
She could just hear her late mother's words now.
I never do.
And that was exactly why Tuppence did.
She liked the colour,
The glamour,
The defiance of it all.
Life would not be getting the better of her any time soon.
And makeup had always brought a smile to her face.
Tuppence had decided in her twenties being old was all in the mind.
Was laughable really,
Even some of her uni friends back then had been old before their time.
Grey clothes,
Grey thoughts,
A grey outlook.
But that was not for Tuppence Stern.
Though conversely she'd always been drawn to old things,
It was typical of her to be contradictory.
She preferred antique glasses to perfectly good ones from steeple-bloodstained opticians,
For example.
And in her apartment,
The antique books were stacked three deep on every surface,
Their spines cracked and margins full of other people's pencil notes.
Take that battered volume of plants of Yorkshire,
For example.
That had been written last century,
But its inner knowledge still held true.
She consulted it only the evening before,
Hunting down the entry on lavender for essential research.
It's said pure lavender essential oil is toxic if swallowed.
And ingestion can cause severe throat pain,
Vomiting,
Confusion.
A lack of coordination and extreme lethargy.
Could be something,
She thought,
Adding her mascara.
There was a potent smell of lavender in the gym.
That could be a contributing factor.
To Malcolm Marshall's demise.
And what about that woman's footprint in powder on the gym floor?
Hmm,
Curiouser and curiouser.
Tuppence always quoted Alice in Wonderland when she had something curious on her mind.
It brought everything into focus,
She reasoned.
She looked out of her apartment window.
Living on the top floor of the teacher's block in the main building meant she could see everything that came and went at St.
Ethelburg School for Girls.
Including the headteacher,
Martin Bonas.
He was another vintage thing worth collecting.
In the best sense of the word,
Of course.
He was weathered in a way that suited him,
Unhurried and entirely unbothered by fashion.
That was precisely what Tubbets found so attractive about him.
She knew from experience the pitfalls of marrying someone younger than herself.
Although quite why she was drawing any comparison she couldn't say.
Martin Bonus was a distraction,
Nothing more.
Didn't he live and breathe this bachelor headteacher's life?
She doubted the man had ever been in a long-term relationship.
Applying her favourite coral lipstick,
She smiled.
And there was the dimple that had recently appeared in her left cheek whenever she grinned.
That real grin the way she did now,
Thinking about the look on Try-Hard's face whenever they met.
The inspector was a great source of entertainment.
And he did a lot to boost her ego.
Not to mention today was the day of the released post-mortem.
It was time to find out exactly what the results said.
The inspector had been waiting on these,
Tuppence assumed,
And in the meantime he relied upon Miss Wee to do any interim research.
The deputy head was certainly everywhere at the moment.
Tuppence couldn't breathe without coming across her in the corridor.
Planted in the school to keep an eye on Martin Bonus,
Amongst other things,
She supposed.
Inspector Tryhard fancied her and mistrusted Martin Boners in equal measure.
If he had his way,
He would pin most of Steeple Bloodstead's problems on the man.
No questions asked.
But that was by the by.
She was more concerned with Miss Weed.
Putting her in Talpence's path had done little for inspector teacher relations.
Not that anyone at the school was aware she was working undercover,
Apart from her and Bart.
She'd made sure to confide in him.
Where the Martin you was another thing entirely.
She'd been shipped in through the Board of Governors.
And the Board of Governors went over his head,
As far as things like that were concerned.
Tuppence considered weed in her entirety.
The woman was man-mad and now her latest acquisition,
Marshall,
Was dead.
She would doubtless be moving on to Martin Boners.
He was big and beefy,
Just the way she liked him.
But what did any of this matter?
Tuppence had local Lord Heffingway on speed dial and that stood for a lot in Steeplebloodstead.
They were old pals.
So when things got really difficult,
She could always call in a favour or two.
Tubbins wasn't sure she could stay at St Ethelberg's much longer if Miss Weed would be hanging around indefinitely.
Completing her look with a brown kohl pencil.
Tuppence noticed her eyes held something they hadn't held in years.
Contentment.
She'd made a good little life for herself at St.
Ethelberg's and had become very protective over it.
Gone were the days she stressed about Derek and Chantelle,
Making happy in her old house.
She knew when it was sold both of them would be long gone.
But for now,
Why waste energy on that?
He was Ares.
She was Cancer.
The thing would never work out.
Pulling on a long fringe waistcoat Tuppence had brought in Camden Market 30 years before.
She adjusted the huge plastic daisy on the end of her long neck chain.
That with a vintage gypsy bag completed her mood.
Funky and full of life.
She headed downstairs to begin the job in hand,
The repair of her trusty bicycle.
Then once done with any luck,
She'd complete her mission to sneak a peek at the post-mortem results and get back in time for more of Bart's delicious chocolate cake.
The man was a genius in the kitchen.
It was great having him around.
But when she reached the gravel drive where she expected her bike to be still laying abandoned in a nearby bush.
.
.
She realised to her delight.
The job had already been done.
She ran her thumb along the covered seat.
The frame had been fixed and the wheels freshly pumped.
She paused.
But there would be time enough to work out who had helped her later.
For now,
There was a report waiting to be pried out of Inspector Tryhard's possession.
And Tuppence Stern was not a woman to let a good opportunity go stale.
As she wheeled the bike towards the large school gates,
She spotted Bart over at the school allotments leaning against a gardening fork and looking very proud of himself.
Morning,
He called across the lone lawn.
Whose day are we ruining today then?
Tuppence smiled back,
Dimple and all.
Bartholomew Bowman,
She declared,
Propping the bike against her.
Did you fix my bike?
Couldn't tell you,
" he said,
Examining the sky with sudden great interest.
Not the faintest idea what you're going on about.
Is that right?
Tuppence folded her arms to match his,
Because even from here I could see a dark smear on your boots.
Oh yeah!
Looks like bike oil to me.
A bit of oil goes a long way for me parsley and thyme,
He replied,
Gesturing to the bunches of both he'd just collected.
Really?
All right,
Tea,
" he sighed.
It was driving me mad knowing it was broken in that bush all the time.
I couldn't sleep for thinking about it.
Daft old thing.
Tuppence wanted to reach out and cuddle him,
But she didn't have the time.
Well it's good now?
" he asked.
The best thanks.
You and your bike.
You and your big heart!
We don't go telling anyone,
" he muttered.
Already pink about the ears.
I've a reputation to protect and there's a murder on the loose,
Remember?
I don't want people thinking I'm a soft touch.
Your secret's safe with me,
Smile Toppens.
I'd better get going.
What's with the open padlock anyway?
I take it lockdown's over.
Only for me,
" said Toppan,
Smiling.
The results are through today.
I need to get to the police station and fast.
Good luck with that then,
Said Bart.
And any chance you could speak to the caretaker while I'm out?
Beg Tuppence,
He's been avoiding me.
Barked went red.
Do anything to get us two together,
I'm sure.
No Bart,
As much as I love getting involved in your love life,
This is serious.
He initially said he was asleep on the night of the murder,
But I'm not so sure.
I saw him locking up the gym one night after hours.
Right you are then,
Said Bart in a mock salute.
Here to serve.
Plus,
It's the weekend and I've got nothing better to do.
I'll take the key then,
So no one else gets to leave while I'm gone,
Said Tuppence.
No problem,
Said Bart.
I'll let Bonus know.
See you later!
Ten minutes later,
Tup and Stern were cycling down Bloodstead Lane,
Where the Cricket Pavilion still wore its bunting from some long-forgotten fate,
And the War Memorial stood ankle-deep in wilting daffodils.
As she reached the call of the tea shop,
She rang out her bell.
She looked at the straight awning that was being cranked into life and Mrs.
Matchett weaved back.
Then passing the bakery and making the most of her freedom,
She locked in as an eager customer sought the best of the morning's Chelsea buns.
The bakery it was then.
It would afford her two things,
A free cream bun and a download of village gossip.
Both of which he needed.
Once that was done,
Past the duck pond she flew,
Past the notice board fluttering with jumble sale flyers,
And a warning notice about litter fines.
And up the gentle rise where the cobbles gave way to the tarmac apron in front of the police station.
Steeple Bloodstead station was a converted cottage with roses trained optimistically over the front door.
Those petals would pay the price,
One way or the other.
Then,
Wheeling her newly restored bicycle up,
She propped it against the wall and smoothed down her waistcoat before pushing through the station's panel door.
Good morning,
She said warmly,
Catching Inspector Tryhard halfway between his desk and the kettle,
A manila folder tucked under his arm.
You'll never guess who I ran into at the bakery.
Mrs.
Ashworth from the parish council.
She was in an absolute state about the flower show committee.
Apparently there's talk of moving it to the same weekend as the church fete.
No one's told the W.
I.
Try hard stead.
Tuppence was looking particularly pretty with her windswept fringe and soft blonde bunches.
Tuppence,
I wasn't expecting you.
But isn't that your job,
Inspector?
To expect the unexpected?
Tuppence beamed,
Her pearl white teeth betraying a little of the compassion she felt.
Inspector Tryhard might well be a bit of a walkover as far as she was concerned.
But he did have the responsibility of steeple bloodstead on his shoulders,
And that was no mean feat.
Can we have some tea in here,
Please?
" Tryhard called through to the back office as he sat down.
Make it nice and sweet and none of that cheap stuff.
Only Yorkshire tea for our special guest.
Now what can I do for you?
Straightening up,
He faced Tuppence and looked her in the eye.
2nd September She continued with the same nonsensical story,
Drifting all the while closer towards the corner of his desk,
Where he'd now settled the open folder.
It's dreadful timing.
But it's just the same day as the WI's jam competition and if there's one thing that Mrs Ashworth does take seriously.
.
.
It's her dams and reserve.
She shot the inspector a wink.
And he seemed altogether flustered.
Then quickly Tuppence looked around.
There was no activity in the back office.
Hmm,
This was an opportunity.
Is that tea going to be put on or shall I put the kettle on for you?
You look run off your feet.
No,
I've got it,
Thank you,
Tuppence.
Only you do seem terribly tired.
Inspector Tryhard was distracted.
She pressed on regardless and the more she spoke,
The more flustered he got.
Her plan was working.
Then all at once he said,
Won't be a sec.
And he left to see why the kettle was making no sound at all.
This was the opportunity Tuppence was waiting for.
Craning her neck so she was close enough to see.
Even though the folder was upside down and at an angle that would have defeated a lesser woman,
She caught the tight heading of the top page.
Cause of death,
Strangulation.
Stomach finding consistent with ingestion.
Her eyes found the word lavender toxicology on the line below,
And something about confusion or lack of coordination.
Then Inspector Tryhard emerged victorious.
You really shouldn't let yourself get so run down.
She went on smoothly,
Giving him no chance to recover his senses.
It must be so demanding for you at the moment.
Are you sure you're okay?
By the time he'd stirred in the sugar,
Tuppence had already retreated to a respectful distance,
Waistcoat now buttoned up,
Handbag over her arm,
Remarking that she had suddenly realised she was really short on time.
She owed it to him to tell him about the flower show crisis,
She said,
Because everyone knew how things got in Steeple Bloodstead when people had a strong difference in opinion.
And then before he had time to realise what was going on,
She was back through the station door and down the hill peddling for all her might.
Her chain gliding silent and smooth beneath her,
Her back wheel running true for the first time in over a week.
All the while turning over these words in her mind.
Confusion and coordination.
Consistent with ingestion.
Lavender.
