Free Murder on Page One by Ian Simpson

and Sayers as well as newer books by McDermid and Walters.
    ‘My husband and I both love books,’ Mrs Dalton said as she returned, carrying a tray of tea and a pile of griddle cakes.
    The officers sat on the sofa. Mrs Dalton poured the tea into Old Chelsea cups and handed round the cakes. Flick noticed slight stains on her jumper and trousers, both brown and well-worn. She put her age at about fifty.
    Mrs Dalton took a mouthful of cake and a sip of tea. ‘Well,’ she said, as if they were about to discuss the church flowers.
    ‘Did you ask Jessica Stanhope to represent you?’ Flick asked, before Baggo could say anything.
    ‘Why, yes. I did as a matter of fact. She was murdered, wasn’t she?’
    ‘I’m afraid so. Did you resent the way she turned you down?’
    ‘I did. She said she’d seen promise, and asked to see the whole book, but after three months I just got a two-line letter, and she didn’t even send it back.’
    ‘Did you try Lorraine McNeill as well?’
    ‘Yes, but she was pretty small-time.’
    ‘Were you upset by the way she rejected you?’
    ‘I don’t think she looked at it properly, but that’s life, I’m afraid. Do you like the griddle cakes? I made them this morning.’
    ‘Delicious,’ Flick said, as Baggo reached for a second.
    Mrs Dalton beamed. ‘They’ve won Best Baking in Show at the Harvest Festival for the last three years.’
    Baggo said, ‘I’m not surprised. Is there much competition?’
    ‘Mrs Cardew, two doors down, thinks hers are better, but she uses a food processor to make the dough. There’s nothing like elbow grease, don’t you agree?’
    ‘Definitely,’ Flick said quickly. ‘Did Denzil Burke turn you down too?’
    ‘He turned everyone down,’ she spat.
    ‘How did that make you feel?’
    ‘Disappointed, of course. No different from anyone else, I imagine. But we can’t always have our prayers answered.’
    ‘We got a warrant to recover the entries for the Debut Dagger, and I couldn’t help noticing that revenge was the motive in your entry.’
    ‘It’s a good motive for fictitious murders. You can keep the reader guessing before you reveal it. But you can’t think … Oh dear, no. Not in real life. Not for this. It’s just not important enough.’
    Flick turned to Baggo and nodded. For a moment he looked blank then smiled.
    ‘There is a lot of sex in your book,’ he said. ‘That is perhaps strange, as you are the vicar’s wife.’
    Mrs Dalton sat forward and looked earnestly at Baggo. ‘We are all born with the desires that God gave us. Some societies function better when that side of life is kept private. This village, for example. But keeping such things suppressed, in day to day living, does not eliminate them. People, most people, like to read racy literature. Look at the best-sellers. I don’t think it does any harm. Perverted, abusive practices don’t come from sexy books.’ She smiled. ‘A bishop once told me that human sexual behaviour shows us that God has a sense of humour. I think that’s right. It’s a mistake to take sex too seriously.’
    Trying to appear non-committal, Flick asked, ‘How many books have you written?’
    ‘I’ve completed eight, with several unfinished. I’ve been writing in my spare time for ten years, until recently all clean and pure. And not short of admirers. But no one wanted to publish my work. Three years ago, I decided to give myself a new name and let it flow, so to speak. I really want to get published, and I’ve promised God that I’ll give my first advance to Hopeful Homes. It’s the charity I work for.’
    ‘Yet your husband does not know about this?’
    ‘He knows I write. Of course he does. But I admit I’ve kept the nature of the last few books from him. I will tell him. But in my own time. When I get published.’
    ‘Do you have family?’
    Mrs Dalton’s left shoulder twitched. For a second, Baggo thought she would tell him to mind his own business, but she closed her eyes and