Matilda's Wish
Matilda’s Wish
Beth Prentice
Contents
Books By Beth Prentice
Matilda’s Wish
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the Author
Books By Beth Prentice
The Westport Mysteries
Lizzie
Dangerous Deeds
Give Murder A Hand
Deathly Desire
The Christmas Gift – A Mini Lizzie Mystery
* * *
Molly
Wicked Little Lies
The Unleashed Mysteries: Killer Unleashed
Deadly Tails
* * *
The Aloha Lagoon Samantha Reynolds Mysteries
Deadly Wipeout
Lethal Tide
Fatal Break
* * *
The Dandelion Ponds Mysteries
In High Spirits
The Hollyday Spirit - novella
That’s the Spirit
Invitation to Murder
Novella’s
The Ivory Veil
Author: Beth Prentice
Website: www.bethprentice.com
Copyright 2021 Beth Prentice
The moral rights of the author have been assured.
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferrable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention. The author acknowledges fair usage of various trademark names.
Prologue
Fate. It’s a fickle master. One minute I was riding the wave of happiness and success. Everything in my life was just the way my ten-year-old self had imagined it would be. I had a successful bakery specializing in cupcakes, my days were filled with sugar filled creations and customers lined the streets to buy my wares. I had a gorgeous kind-of boyfriend, and my parents were on a trek to Machu Picchu, their phones out of signal, leaving me alone.
But was Fate happy? No. It was not. Fate was only happy once it set me up and then ripped the carpet out from under my feet so that I fell flat on my face.
I’m Tilly Lockhart, and this is my story.
Chapter One
Back on my feet.
Those words played on a loop in my head, like a mantra. It was the only way I could keep moving forward.
I stood on the pavement and took a deep shuddery breath, adjusting the container I was holding. Looking up at the foreboding building at the top of the steps, I gulped. Two stories of dark brick, and soulless windows glared back at me, daring me to enter. The busy streets of Westport buzzed behind me with vehicles and pedestrians bustling about their day as the threat of rain loomed dark overhead. A bus pulled to a stop at the traffic light, horns blared, and in the distance a siren screamed someone’s pain. But it all fell into the background as the brass sign on the high gloss black door in front of me alerted me to the fact that I had reached my destination.
Blackburn & Associates
Attorneys at Law
I’d received a call two days ago from the secretary of Gregory Blackburn the Third, requesting an appointment with me. I did tell her when she called that I thought she had the wrong person, but she confirmed she was after Matilda Mary Lockhart of 76 Ivy Road, Westport. I was only Matilda on my birth certificate, and it was technically my parents who lived at 76 Ivy Road. I was just staying there while I got back on my feet, but there was no doubt that she had the right person and so the appointment was set up.
My stomach contracted with anxiety as the events of the recent past played through my mind. One month ago, today, I had closed the door on my beloved cupcake shop. The shop that had held all my hopes and dreams, where I belonged and where I could help people.
Sure, my cupcakes didn’t cure the world of disease, or end wars but they definitely made people happy. I loved seeing the smiles of my regular customers light up when I kept a stash of their favorites aside, just for them. I loved seeing the mums call in after school to buy their children a treat for getting a good report card, and I loved those special occasions like Christmas and Valentine’s Day which gave me the opportunity to create the most amazing, sugar filled delights. To see it all fall in a heap because I sucked at business had broken my heart.
Baking cupcakes was what I was good at, and I wasn’t good at much. I had a list of failed careers behind me as a testament to that, but hey, no one could say that I hadn’t tried.
“Look out!”
I spun on my heel at the sound of a bicycle bell. A Lycra clad cyclist with a beer belly, cursed loudly as he swerved around me, causing me to squeal. My heart missed a beat and the plastic container I was holding slipped from my grasp, my hands fumbling to catch it before it hit the ground.
“Bugger, that was close!” My entire body shook as I clutched the container tight. Like I wasn’t anxious enough. I did not need to destroy the one thing that may put me on Mr. Blackburn’s good side.
I’d spent hours last night baking this batch of cupcakes to give to him in the hope that he would go easy on me. I hadn’t been told what this meeting was about, but I was certain that it was to do with my looming bankruptcy which was why I’d decided to sweeten him up with sugar. My plan may not have been perfect, but it was the only one I had.
I stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows inside Gregory Blackburn the Third’s high spec office, watching the rain pelt the glass. Smoothing a few stray locks, I looked around. The glass topped desk glistened under the overhead lights; a high-backed leather chair pushed neatly under it. Dark oak shelving holding many intimidating looking books lined the wall, and the plush white carpet felt luxurious under my feet.
I slipped off my high heeled pumps and dug my toes into the soft carpet using it like a stress ball. My stomach rumbled. I’d missed lunch, and low sugar levels didn’t help my anxious mood. I loved sugar in all its forms. To be low on it was a terrible, terrible thing.
My gaze fell to the container of cupcakes that sat on the chair. Moving to it, I pulled back the lid and peeked inside to double check they were all safe. Gratitude swept over me as I eyed the rows of deluxe Butterfinger cupcakes with the ganache filling, their red icing balancing the fondant legal scrolls I’d spent hours making.
The scent of chocolate and sugar filled my senses and a calm enveloped me. My creations were safe.
Smiling, I adjusted one of the cakes slightly to the left in order for the rows to line up perfectly, just as the door behind me abruptly opened.
I jumped and the container slipped from my hands. It fell through the air as I fumbled after
it. But alas the Gods of coordination had already favored me once today, so instead of an Olympic worthy save, my fingers slipped against the smooth plastic, flipping it upside down. It landed perfectly with a thump. Urgh.
Mr. Blackburn walked toward me, his made to measure expensive suit molding to his body perfectly, his hand extended for me to shake. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” His eyes dropped to the mess on the floor.
“I’m so, so sorry,” I stammered, dropping to my knees. The red icing and dark rich ganache were oozing their way into the fibers of the white carpet, and the world spun as the blood drained from my face.
“What on earth...?” His voice faded.
“They were cupcakes,” I mumbled, hurriedly attempting to scoop the mess back into the container. “I made them for you, but...”
I looked up and our eyes connected.
His jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed. I could see how as a lawyer he could intimidate his opposition.
“That was very thoughtful of you,” he said, tersely.
I flicked a dollop of icing from my fingers, ready to scoop some more.
“Leave it! You’re just making it worse.”
I wasn’t sure it could be worse.
I sat back on my heels and gulped.
“I’m sorry. So sorry,” I mumbled.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get my secretary to clean it up after our meeting.”
“Please send me the bill for the cleaning.” Or add it to the cumulative total, more like.
“Really, don’t worry about it. It’s not a big drama.” He waved his hand dismissively, yet his eyes belied the truth. “Why don’t you take a seat and I can fill you in on why you’re here.”
My stomach did a little flip with apprehension.
He unbuttoned his navy jacket and moved fluidly around the desk, sidestepping my shoes that I’d left near the window.
Mr. Blackburn wasn’t at all what I was expecting. To be honest I’d been imagining a man who was about to retire and had lots of nose hair. This guy was definitely not old and from what I could see, his nasal hairs were perfectly well-groomed. Just like the rest of him.
Sitting back on my chair, I licked my fingers to remove the mix of cake and icing, regret momentarily displacing my anxiety. These cakes tasted as good as they looked. Not that Mr. Blackburn would ever know.
He sat behind the desk, his nose scrunched and his eyes narrowed studying me, before he opened a drawer and offered me a box of tissues.
“Thank you.”
He stared at me for a bit before his finger moved to the edge of his lip. “You have ummm, you have some there.”
Oh geez.
I swiped at my lip. “You’re younger than I expected,” I blurted out before my brain could stop my mouth.
He smiled, flashing a perfect set of dimples. “You were probably expecting my grandfather. He retired a few months ago and passed the business to me.”
I tried to remember to think before speaking next time. But nerves did that to me.
“I’ve just finished the remodel. Brought it into the twenty first century so to speak.”
“So, the carpet was new?” Heat flushed my cheeks as I cringed.
“Ah, yes. Laid just last week.”
“Did I mention that I’m sorry?” I whispered.
“Yes, but don’t worry about it. Now, let’s get on to business, shall we? Do you mind if I call you Matilda?”
“It’s Tilly, actually. But really, I’m not fussy. Just don’t call me late for dinner.” I nervously laughed.
Gregory Blackburn the Third didn’t seem to get my joke. Oh well, I tried.
He opened a folder on his desk. “Now you’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here today?”
That was an understatement. “Am I in trouble?” My stomach tightened as I prepared myself for what was to come.
“No.”
Huh?
“Quite the opposite, in fact.” He shuffled the papers in front of him and cleared his throat. “You’re here for me to read you the last will and testament of your great aunt, Matilda Mary Lockhart.”
“You can just call me Tilly.”
“Pardon?”
“You can just call me Tilly. You don’t need to keep saying Matilda Mary Lockhart.”
“I was referring to your great aunt.”
“Huh?”
“Your great aunt,” he repeated on a sigh. “She passed away a few months ago.” His brows furrowed. “You didn’t know?”
“Sorry, but I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, let me start at the beginning, then. Your great aunt passed away and we’re here today to read her last will and testament.”
“How am I related to this great aunt exactly?”
“Well, it appears that she and your great grandfather on your father’s side were siblings.”
“And she kept the Lockhart name?”
“She never married.”
“Oh. How old was she?”
“Ninety-five.”
“Geez,” I chewed my thumb nail. “You said she passed away a few months ago?”
“Yes, she passed on October 8th, about ten weeks ago. Probate holds these things up.”
“How did she die?”
“Please be assured she passed peacefully in her sleep.” Sincerity shone from his eyes. “She’d had good health and it was old age catching up with her in the end.”
“Okay. Well, that’s good at least. But why am I the one who’s been called here? Why didn’t you tell my dad or his cousin, Tony?” I pushed my back into the chair and crossed my legs, my foot jiggling.
“I was instructed to call you as the sole beneficiary of her estate.”
I sat up straight. Did he just say estate? And sole beneficiary? Now he really had my attention.
Chapter Two
My heartbeats were fast in my chest as my car idled at the entrance to the property. It was pretty unimpressive, just two rusty iron gates held back by bricks, allowing visitors to pass through. A worn sign advising me this was ‘Dun Roamin’ swung from a white timber mail box. It leaned precariously, the tall grass swaying gently as the breeze moved across the flat plain and I expected a tumbleweed to stop by any second. I looked ahead of me, down the gravel driveway. There, in the distance, was a group of trees. I guessed that was where I’d find my new home.
Swallowing the anxiety that sat like a heavy lump in my throat, I depressed the accelerator and moved my powder blue Fiat 500 forwards onto the gravel, leaving the safety of the single lane road behind me. The roadside grass disappeared, and crops rose high from the ground obscuring the life I knew from view.
A cloud of dust billowed behind my car. I shivered. What was I doing? I wasn’t this person. I actually couldn’t remember the last time I’d driven on gravel. And my little car was not appreciating the rough drive.
Ignoring my racing pulse and the tightness in my chest, I took some deep calming breaths and concentrated on driving, only stopping when my path was blocked by a large cow. Thankfully I wasn’t driving fast, but a trailing cloud of dust surrounded me when I hit the brakes, and the car came skidding to a halt only meters from the cow’s white belted black coat. Once the dust had settled, the cow looked me in the eye, casually chewing a blade of grass hanging from its mouth.
I swallowed hard against my dry mouth. I’d never been this close to an animal heavier than my car before and if I was completely honest, it scared the beejeezus out of me. Plus, I had no idea what I should do next. The cow didn’t seem fazed by my presence and definitely didn’t appear to be moving any time soon.
Assessing my options, I wondered what I knew about cows. Hmmm, I knew they were large, gave us milk, that they had the biggest, most beautiful eyes, and according to the nursery rhyme they could jump over the moon. None of which was going to help me now, though.
Okay, what would David Attenborough do? He’d probably send his camera crew to shoo it away, i
s what he would do. Without a camera crew to do the job for me, I wondered if I should drive around it. But that would put me in the crop. I could move closer to the cow to see if it took the hint and got out of the way, or I could get out of the car and shoo it. I gave my horn a little toot to see if it would move along. When it didn’t work, I opted for option A and drove around it.
“Eeeek,” I squealed, flattening the crop. The cow looked me in the eye as I maneuvered past it.
Only once the cow was clearly visible in my rear vision mirror, I released the breath I was holding, and continued along the gravel path until I reached a T-section. Wondering which way to go, I took a guess, turned left, and followed the path through the tall, pretty flowering oleanders.
My thoughts raced over the events of the last week. I still couldn’t quite believe how Fate had changed its mind so quickly again. One minute there I was on the verge of bankruptcy and then the next I was an inheritee. I’d never inherited anything before, let alone a farm. Even though Mr. Blackburn had informed me that it was technically half a farm as Matilda had sold the other part off a few years before.
I had to live here for a year before the deed was transferred into my name, and if I left before the time was up, the inheritance would go to the local Arts society. As much as I liked the arts, I couldn’t bear to lose this opportunity. So, I could do this, right? I mean, how hard could it be?