Free Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall by Hannah Dennison

the Snug from which a back staircase could be accessed through a latch door up to a handful of bedrooms for a B and B. Another door led to the toilets.
    In a corner to the left of the fireplace stood a Wainscot chair with a tattered tapestry cushion. I had wondered why it was always left empty until the landlord told me it was reserved for Sir Maurice who, centuries ago, had courted Lady Frances Honeychurch.
    Rumor had it that Sir Maurice was the same ghostly Cavalier who roamed Hopton’s Crest on his big black steed. On the fateful night when he’d lured the platoon of Roundheads to Coffin Mire, Sir Maurice had stopped at the pub for refreshments where he sat in that very Wainscot chair. Here, the legend got fuzzy but the bottom line was that misfortune would follow anyone who dared to sit in Sir Maurice’s chair. Bottles had been known to explode, dogs refused to lie by the fire, and even I had experienced a distinct “chill” in that particular corner despite the heat from the flames.
    The Hare & Hounds was very popular among locals and tourists alike. Landlords Stan and Doreen Mutters had run the pub for forty-odd years and were well known for their unusual pets that roamed around the bar. I never met Deidre, their fourteen-year-old ferret who died just weeks before I arrived, but Mum had. Their newest addition was an Indian Runner duck called Fred who held court at the end of the counter wearing a green bow tie.
    Tonight, he was napping next to a large red collection bucket labeled SAVE FRED & FRIENDS! STOP OPERATION BULLET!
    I gave Fred’s silky white head a scratch and he rewarded me with a quack.
    The bar seemed unusually busy for a Monday evening and more than a few familiar faces gave me a surprisingly warm welcome.
    â€œKat! I knew you’d come!” beamed Stan. With his round, ruddy face, shock of white hair, and corpulent figure, Mum nicknamed him Tweedledee and his equally rotund wife, Doreen, Tweedledum.
    Tables were being pushed together and chairs rearranged. There was an air of purpose and when Suzi, one of the waitresses, started laying out notepads and pencils I realized that something was going on.
    â€œWe’re expecting a good turnout tonight, aren’t we, Fred?” Stan said to the duck. “You’re early, Kat. The meeting doesn’t start for another hour. Where’s Iris?”
    â€œWhat meeting?”
    â€œDidn’t Eric tell you?” said Stan. “He changed the meeting from Thursday night to this evening.”
    Eric had not told either of us and I would bet my last pound that it was because he and my mother had had “words.”
    â€œHave you seen this?” Doreen joined her husband behind the counter and set down a stack of green flyers with photographs of local beauty spots BEFORE HS 3 and graphically Photoshopped AFTER HS 3 . They were jarring and, frankly, shocking.
    S AVE F RED & H IS F RIENDS ! S TOP T HE B ULLET !
    S AVE M INUTES ! L OSE C ENTURIES !
    I NTRODUCTION BY B ENEDICT S CROOPE : E NVIRONMENTAL S PECIALIST
    P ROPOSED R OUTE /A LTERNATE R OUTE
    C OMPENSATION /O PTIONS
    F UND - RAISERS FOR A PPEAL
    â€œFred is our mascot,” Doreen went on. “We wanted to bring to the public’s attention the fact that it’s not just our village and the Honeychurch estate that will be destroyed, it’s about protecting our wildlife.”
    â€œThe images are very powerful,” I said, surprised at how angry they made me feel.
    â€œFarmers will lose their livelihoods,” said Doreen. “Woods and hedgerows will be destroyed. And what about the wildlife? Our bats, badgers, foxes, and deer—to say nothing of the Honeychurch dormice.”
    Stan put his arm around her shoulders. “We know, my luvver. That’s why we’re doing something about it. What do you think, Kat? Are you on board?”
    â€œYes,” I said firmly. “I am.”
    â€œThat’s fantastic.” Stan beamed.