The Skeleton in the Closet [NOOK Book]

Overview

Ever since the death of his father, poor Fellworth Dolphin has slaved away as a waiter to support his miserly, cold-hearted mother. When his mother suddenly dies, Fellworth is shocked to discover that she has left him a sizable inheritance. confused, Fell teams up with Maggie, a plain girl with a similar background, to investigate the source of the riches. But what they find is a closet full of skeletons...



Is it really possible Fell's father was involved in a long-ago train ...

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The Skeleton in the Closet

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Overview

Ever since the death of his father, poor Fellworth Dolphin has slaved away as a waiter to support his miserly, cold-hearted mother. When his mother suddenly dies, Fellworth is shocked to discover that she has left him a sizable inheritance. confused, Fell teams up with Maggie, a plain girl with a similar background, to investigate the source of the riches. But what they find is a closet full of skeletons...



Is it really possible Fell's father was involved in a long-ago train robbery? Who's the mysterious woman in the portrait hidden in his mother's wardrobe? As Maggie and Fell poke around the village for answers, they find themselves on a surprise-filled path to danger and adventure, and--just possibly--love. But Fell's sudden good fortune could come to an abrupt end if he doesn't stay one step ahead of a cunning killer...



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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Taking a break from her two long-running series (Agatha Raisin and Hamish Macbeth), Beaton introduces a pair of engaging misfits whose struggles to cope with overbearing families and overweening circumstances teach them, eventually, to rely on each other. When diffident fortyish virgin Fellworth Dolphin's mother dies, he finds himself surprisingly relieved and freed from a bondage he was only partially aware of. That's nowhere near the astonishment he feels when he learns that, in spite of their penurious existence, he's heir to a large sum. In a moment of panic, when it seems an aunt might assume the tyrannical role his mother once played, Fell pretends an engagement to mousy waitress Maggie Partlett. In fits and starts, Maggie and Fell begin their separate transformations--she to a swan, he to a drake. One catalyst is the money and its questionable provenance--perhaps the result of an infamous train robbery that occurred many years ago and that Fell's father might have been involved with. The other is the transformation wrought by their shared investigation and their shared lives, as Maggie falls in with the pretended engagement for her own purposes. Various relatives and villains attempt to derail the couple as they journey, but there's never a question of where the author is taking her odd couple, and never a doubt they will arrive safely. The trip will delight fans of either of Beaton's other series. (Mar. 21) FYI: Beaton's latest Hamish Macbeth mystery, Death of a Dustman, will be published on Mar. 6 (see Forecasts, Dec. 18, 2000). Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
Fellworth Dolphin's uppermost emotion is anger when he learns that he is inheriting a great deal of money upon his mother's death. His youth had been one of deprivation; any spirit he may have had was beaten out of him by his parents. Totally dominated by his mother, his main act of rebellion was to get his own house key, made on the sly. In awkward starts Fellworth begins to remake himself into a man, as he tries to find out if his father had acquired the money illegally. These efforts bring him into the sphere of dangerous criminals and a glamorous fortune hunter. Donada Peters, while always an excellent reader, is a surprising choice for a male coming-of-age (even at 40 years old) novel. Fel's point of view predominates, so the listening experience would be enhanced by a male voice. However, the always professional Peters adds a husky timbre to impersonate Fel and generally brings in entertaining accents and pacing for supporting characters. Recommended for mystery collections. Juleigh Muirhead Clark, John D. Rockefeller Jr. Lib., Colonial Williamsburg Fdn., VA Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
From The Critics
In Buss, England, thirty-eight years old Fellworth Dolphin is still a virgin in more ways than just the sexual. The depressed Fellworth Dolphin knows life has passed him by. He works as a waiter at a local hotel during the day and cares for his chronic complaining mother at night. Fell has no hope for a future until the evening he came home from work and sees his widowed mother sitting in her armchair. She is dead.To his shock, Fell inherits a fortune which enrages him even more towards his parents as they blackmailed him into giving up the university to bring in income to insure the family never starved. He begins to wonder where the loot came from and wonders if his father, a railroad signalman, was involved in an unsolved train robbery. Fell begins to investigate the train robbery accompanied by Maggie Partlett the waitress who is also equally emotionally deprived. As they work together making inquires, they begin to fall in love, but neither one was ever the recipient of unselfish love. Will they recognize their feelings before the danger they stirred with their sleuthing causes permanent harm? What will the truth do to the already fractured psychological psyches of two individuals with deep emotional scars? The Skeletons In The Closet is a delightful amateur sleuth tale, but not quite at the level of M.C. Beaton's wonderful Raisin or MacBeth novels. The characters make the story line gel, but readers will feel anger and pity for the stars, who allowed emotional blackmail to cripple them. That reaction by the audience slows down a tale that fails to attain the mark of excellence expected by Ms. Beaton's fans.
Kirkus Reviews
In a rare departure from her usual fictional sleuths, Hamish MacBeth and Agatha Raisin, Beaton here introduces Fellworth Dolphin, the painfully shy, insecure, 40-ish son of penny-pinching, recently deceased parents. His father Charles was a signalman at the time of a still talked-about train robbery some years back. When Fell discovers a substantial trove of cash hidden in the house and is told by local lawyers that his mother had left him a small fortune, he begins to explore the details of that train robbery, his interest shared by Maggie Partlett, a waitress he'd met while working in the local hotel. Maggie now shares his house, providing protection from his smothering Aunt Agnes, who had threatened to move in. There's a sudden appearance of Andy Briggs, son of one of the men convicted of the robbery. He wants money from Fell, claiming to have proof of his father's participation in the crime. The confrontation turns violent; Briggs departs, leaving Fell and Maggie to continue their probing, uncovering in the process the identity of Fell's true parents and the source of that long-concealed income. There are more repercussions when Fell begins to suspect retired Inspector Rudfern of complicity in the robbery he was investigating. That confrontation has a tragic aftermath, but it provides some answers even as Fell and Maggie's relationship takes fire. Confused plotting and uninspired characters make for an easy-to-read, easy-to-forget excursion: not quite up to Beaton's usual standard.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781429901581
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 3/15/2002
  • Sold by: Macmillan
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 224
  • Sales rank: 131,271
  • File size: 255 KB

Meet the Author

M. C. Beaton has been hailed as "the new Queen of Crime." She is The New York Times bestselling author of the Agatha Raisin mysteries, including As the Pig Turns and Busy Body, set in the English Cotswolds, as well as the Hamish Macbeth mysteries set in Scotland. She has also written historical romance novels and an Edwardian mystery series under the name Marion Chesney. Before writing her first novels, Beaton worked as a bookseller, a newspaper reporter, a fashion critic, and a waitress in a greasy spoon. Born in Scotland, she currently divides her time between Paris and a village in the Cotswolds. She was selected the British Guest of Honor for the Bouchercon World Mystery Convention in 2006.





M. C. Beaton, who was the British guest of honor at Bouchercon 2006, has been hailed as the "Queen of Crime" (The Globe and Mail). In addition to her New York Times and USA Today bestselling Agatha Raisin novels, Beaton is the author of the Hamish Macbeth series and four Edwardian mysteries. Born in Scotland, she currently divides her time between the English Cotswolds and Paris. The Blood of an Englishman is her 25th Agatha Raisin Mystery.
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Read an Excerpt


Chapter One


    IN the way that illiterate people become very cunning at covering up their disability, Mr. Fellworth Dolphin, known as Fell, approaching forty, was still a virgin and kept it a dark secret.

    His long-standing virginity had come about because he had been a shy, lanky, oversensitive boy, the single child of strict and emotionally blackmailing parents. He had been born when his mother was in her early forties. His father, a railway signalman, and his mother, a housewife, had dinned it into him that his duty in life was to get an education and be the sole support of his parents. When he was older, they chose "suitable" girls for him, girls who seemed foreign to the young Fell with their vapid conversation and the way their minds seemed to be set on a white wedding and a neat bungalow, both with a total absence of romance. For Fell was a romantic, living through books.

    He had been set to go to university, but his father had fallen ill and it was borne in on him that he must take some sort of job immediately or "they would all starve." They lived in the market town of Buss in Worcestershire. In Buss, there was a rather grand hotel, the Palace, and it was there that young Fell found employment as a waiter.

    His father died from a heart attack several years after Fell had started work. His mother became cross and morose, always complaining. Sometimes when he had finished a late shift in the hotel dining room, he would return home to their scrupulously clean two-up two-down terraced house, and he would see the light in the livingroom still burning and his feet would feel as heavy as lead for he knew he would have to drink the hot milk he hated and listen to his mother's complaints. In his spare time, he lived through books: spy books, adventure books, detective stories, thrillers, relishing those other worlds of action and mayhem.

    He had acquaintances, but no close friends.

    Although he was not often prone to depression, as he approached his thirty-eighth birthday, and once more walked home from the hotel, he felt a terrible darkness of the soul. Life had passed him by. He did not look unpleasing, being tall with a good figure, a pleasant face with wide-spaced grey eyes and a long, sensitive mouth. But his thick hair had turned prematurely grey.

    The light was on in the living room. He braced himself for another wearying end to the day, listening to his mother's droning complaints, cradling that glass of hot milk and wondering if he could tip it somewhere.

    He had not been allowed his own key. "Why should you have one?" his mother had complained. "I'm always here." But he had secretly had one cut, just a little bit of rebellion. He rang the bell. Nothing. The door did not open, nor did his mother's whiskery face appear at the window.

    He took out his key and let himself in. He went into the living room. His mother was lying back in her usual armchair. He knew somehow that she was dead.

    He felt numb. He phoned the ambulance and the police. He travelled in the ambulance to the hospital. He was told in hushed whispers that she, like his father, had suffered a heart attack.

    He walked home at dawn—he had never been allowed to take driving lessons—trying to fight down a guilty feeling of relief. He was free at last from the chains of duty.

    As he plodded homeward, he looked about him at the silent streets of the market town. This town had been his cell. He had never even been to London. The clock on the town hall sent down six silvery chimes. The rising sun sent his elongated shadow stretching out in front of him. He shivered, although the day was already warm. What on earth was going to become of him?


The next day a call from Mr. Jamieson, one of the town's solicitors, came as a surprise. Mr. Jamieson said a doctor friend at the hospital had told him of Mrs. Dolphin's death, and asked Fell to call round at his office to go through his mother's will. Fell could not imagine how his mother, who never seemed to leave the house, had got round to writing a will and visiting a lawyer. Fell had already phoned the hotel to say he would be taking time off until after the funeral. He still felt strangely numb. He put on his only suit and a shirt which his mother had turned at the collar and cuffs when they became frayed, a dark blue tie and highly polished shoes. He could now let his shoes get dirty if he liked, he thought, and then was ashamed at the pettiness of the thought. As he clattered down the stairs to make his way out, he looked at his mother's usual chair by the window, almost amazed to see it empty.


Mr. Jamieson seemed too young to have had any dealings with Fell's mother. He appeared to be in his early thirties. He had thick, shiny black hair and a smooth face with pale eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. After commiserating with Fell on his mother's sudden death, he got down to business. "Your father," said Mr. Jamieson, "left everything to your mother on his death and Mrs. Dolphin left everything to you."

    "It won't be much," said Fell apologetically, for the lawyer's offices seemed too grand to deal with such a small inheritance, "although I suppose I will get the house."

    "It is in fact a very comfortable amount of money."

Fell blinked at him. It was a sunny day. The weekly market in the town square below the windows was in full swing. The sun glittered on the glass front of a large bookcase.
The lawyer smiled. "Did you never look at your parents' bank books?"
Fell gave a rueful smile. "I haven't had time to look through any bank books or documents."
"Well, apart from the house, there is the sum of five hundred thousand pounds, plus some shares. Of course, there will be death duties to pay. The first two hundred and fifty thousand is tax-free, and then there is a straight forty per cent off the remainder."
"But that's impossible!" Fell turned red. "Quite impossible. We never even had a television set."
"Your father saved as much as he could all his life. The savings were kept in a high-interest account."

    "But I couldn't go to university! I had to go to work. They lived on my earnings!"

    "Perhaps they wanted to make sure you had a comfortable future."

    It burst out of Fell. "But they took my youth."

    The lawyer looked uncomfortable. "To business, Mr. Dolphin. I have been made an executor. Would you like me to arrange the funeral?"

    "Please," said Fell, still bewildered and shaken. "I wouldn't know where to start."

    "The expenses from the funeral will be paid out of the estate. These things take some time to wind up, but in the meantime you can draw any money in advance."

    "May I draw, say, two thousand pounds now?" Fell did not know how he had the temerity to ask for such a sum.

    "Certainly."


When Fell left the lawyer's office, he could feel rage boiling up inside him. He was free at last—free to travel, to set up his own business, to start living. But his parents had filleted out his ambition and his guts. He felt like someone who has come out of prison after a long sentence, wondering how to cope with life and reality and the modern world.

    He did not even have a bank account. He had handed his pay cheques first to his father, and then, after his father's death, to his mother, and a small sum had been handed back to him.

    He went into the nearest bank, holding the lawyer's cheque, and opened an account. It was all so easy.

    Then he returned home and began to go through his father's old desk. Tucked away in a drawer at the bottom was a cash box. It was locked. With a strange feeling of intrusion, he searched his mother's battered old calfskin handbag. On her ring of keys was a little silver one. He inserted it in the lock and found it worked. He opened the box up. It was full of money in neat bundles, each marked "one thousand pounds." With shaking fingers, he counted it out. There was nearly fifty thousand pounds. He was about to put it back in the box, take it round to the bank and put it in his new account when he suddenly began to wonder how his father had come by such a large amount of loose cash. He had obviously not declared it to the income tax.

    Fell went to the sideboard and took out a bottle of whisky which had been produced only at Christmas and poured himself a generous measure. He sat sipping it, looking around the living room, at the dark cheap furniture, at the old horsehair—horsehair!—sofa and the brown paint on the doors and skirting and the dull, faded wallpaper. He felt trapped in these familiar surroundings. What did his inheritance matter? He would never have the courage to do anything with it. He roused himself to find the address book which held the numbers of the few surviving relatives and phoned them, telling them he would let them know the day and time of the funeral. Then the undertaker's rang. Fell agreed on the price of a coffin, and that the body should be buried in the town cemetery in three days' time at ten in the morning. The undertaker asked if Mrs. Dolphin had been Jewish, Catholic or Protestant. Fell told him, "Church of England," and the efficient undertaker said he would contact the vicar of St. Peter's to conduct the service. Fell replaced the receiver. He suddenly wanted his mother back, so that he could ask her why they had skimped and saved all those years. He wanted to ask her what she had thought about during her long days in the house alone. But it was now too late.

    He rang the relatives again and informed them of the time of the funeral and the date. Things like that he could do. He had always been dutiful.


The next day, the doorbell rang and he went to answer it. The ancient and unlovely figure of his mother's sister, Aunt Agnes, stood on the doorstep.

    "Come in, Aunt," said Fell. "Have you come all the way down from Wales?"

    "Yes, but I'm staying with my friend, Nancy, in Worcester until after the funeral." Her eyes ranged round the living room. "There are some nice pieces here. You'll need someone to look after you. Doris always said"—Doris was the late Mrs. Dolphin—"'I don't know who's going to take care of my boy when I'm gone and give him his hot milk.' So I've decided to sacrifice myself. I'll move in with you."

    Terror gripped Fell. His aunt looked remarkably like his late mother. Whiskery face, small weak eyes, round figure in a tightly buttoned jacket.

    "How kind of you," he said. "But I am surprised my mother didn't tell you. I'm engaged. This tragic business, of course, puts off the wedding."

    Aunt Agnes sat down suddenly and goggled at him. "Who is she?"

    Desperation lending his fantasy wings, Fell said, "Maggie Partlett."

    There was a waitress at the hotel in which he worked called Maggie Partlett. She was extremely plain with thick glasses, lank hair and a lumpy figure.

    "What does she do?"

    "She works as a waitress, same hotel as me."

    "Well, I never. And you've got the house and all this lovely furniture."

    It seemed as if something had broken loose in Fell. "Maggie doesn't like the stuff," he said. "Tell you what, after the funeral, I'll put it all in a delivery van and send it up to you in Wales."

    Aunt Agnes said, "That's awfully good of you. All this lovely stuff. I 'member when they bought it. Oh, my. You are a good boy. And that's what I'll tell this Maggie of yours when I meet her at the funeral."

    "She won't be there. Her mother in Bedford isn't well, so she's over there at the moment."

    "Sad. But I'll come back in a few months and you can introduce me then. I must be on my way."

    "Let me get you a taxi and pay for it."

    "What! All the way to Worcester."

    "I've got a bit saved up."

    "I must say, it would be better than waiting in this heat for a bus. It's going to be a scorcher of a summer. It's the dandelions, you see."

    "Dandelions?"

    "Yes, dandelions. You'll have seen masses of them all along the roads on the verges. Country people always said when you saw a lot of dandelions, it was going to be a hot summer."

    "Dandelion summer," said Fell and laughed.

    "You must forgive me laughing," he said quickly. "Grief takes me that way." And God forgive me, he said silently to himself, because I am not grieving at all.


When his aunt had left, he wondered why he had not told her about the legacy. Most of his other relatives were dead. But there was Cousin Barbara, and Cousin Tom. He should maybe see the lawyer and share it out. No, cried a voice in his head. I earned it with every bit of my youth. It was then he began to cry because he had not loved his mother and he was glad she was dead.

    After some time, he dried his eyes and began to look through his home with new eyes. There were two bedrooms upstairs, a living room and sitting room downstairs and a small kitchen. The sitting room was kept for "best," in the old country way: three-piece suite with the plastic covers still over the uncut moquette upholstery, a fringed standard lamp, the shade covered in plastic, a display cabinet with bits of china, a fitted mushroom carpet, and a glass coffee table on white wrought-iron legs. He mentally cleared it all out and stripped the heavy flock wallpaper from the walls, tore up the carpet to find what was underneath. What if, once he had cleared everything out—just what if he turned the living room into a large kitchen, with modern appliances, with long counters, shiny copper pans and bunches of herbs? His eyes filled with tears of guilt again. Something dark was telling him that his days of living would never come. Better leave things as they were. Go home every night to the dark, lonely house and hear the ghost of his mother's complaining voice.

     He had to get out again, into the sunlight, take action, any action. He walked to a driving school and booked in for a course of lessons, he ordered a television set to be delivered that very day, then he went to the hotel and handed in his notice.

    He was just leaving the hotel when with a guilty start he saw Maggie arriving for the evening shift.

    "Oh, Fell," she said, blinking at him through her thick glasses, "I am so very sorry about your mother."

    "Thank you, Maggie. I've resigned."

    "It won't be the same place without you," she said shyly. They were both book readers and talked a lot about their favourite authors.

    "Look here, Maggie, I did a silly thing. My aunt was threatening to move in with me and I told a lie on the spur of the moment. I said I was engaged to you."

    If I were pretty, you wouldn't find it so silly, thought Maggie. Aloud she said, "What will you do when she finds out it isn't true?"

    "I'll cope with that later," said Fell, suddenly weary.

    "I don't mind pretending," said Maggie quickly. "I mean, we could always break it off after the funeral."

    Fell looked down at her as if seeing her for the first time. Her lank hair could do with cutting and shaping, and her clothes were a ragbag of shapelessness, and the thick glasses were ugly, but her mouth was well shaped and her eyes were kind.

    "That's good of you," he said.

    "Do you want me to go to the funeral?"

    Fell laughed and Maggie blinked up at him, thinking that she had never heard Fell laugh before. "I told Auntie that you were nursing your sick mother in Bedford."

    "I think you'll need some support at the funeral," said Maggie practically. "You'll need to have some drinks and eats for them at the house."

    "I didn't think of that."

    "You can tell Auntie she misheard. My mother is home in bed, not Bedford. I think she'd buy that one and then you can leave the catering to me. It can be expensive."

    "As far as expense is concerned, Maggie, I think maybe we'd better meet for lunch tomorrow if you're free. I've got something to tell you I don't want anyone to know."

    "I'd love that. Where?"

    "That French restaurant down by the river—at one o'clock?"

    "All right. I'll pay my share."

    "That's what I want to talk to you about. I'll pay. But don't tell anyone."

    "That's not hard," said Maggie ruefully. "No one talks to me except that wretched Italian barman who's always jeering at me."

    "I'll see you then."

    Fell headed home, just in time to see the television van arriving. What, he wondered guiltily, would the elderly neighbours on either side make of an aerial being erected on the roof and a television set being carried indoors right after his mother's death? He felt suddenly ashamed, but he had used up his small stock of courage for the day and somehow could not tell the television men he had changed his mind.

    He tipped the men, and when they had left, decided to watch something on television.

    A ring at the doorbell.

    He jumped guiltily and somehow his thoughts immediately flew to the money in the cash box, now diminished by a wad of notes in his wallet.

    He opened the door. The vicar, Mr. Sneddon, stood on the step.

    His heart sank. He did not like Mr. Sneddon, for Mr. Sheddon was unoriginal. He had read about Mr. Sneddon in many books, the trendy clap-happy vicar with a burning desire to attract the spotty youth of Buss to the church while disaffecting all his regulars. It is all very irritating when a character who has been written to death turns up on one's doorstep.

    Mr. and Mrs. Dolphin had been regular attenders while the old vicar had been in office, but Mrs. Dolphin had latterly given up going to church, sitting behind the lace curtains in the living room watching the world go by.

    "Come in," said Fell, thinking, no lace curtains ever again.

    The vicar came in and sat down. He was wearing a scarlet shell suit and trainers. He had very big feet. People with very big feet should not wear trainers, thought Fell, because those feet dominated the small room.

    "My boy," began the vicar, who was about the same age as Fell, "this is a dark day for you."

    "Indeed," murmured Fell.

    "I gather the undertakers, Taylor and Fenwick, have all the arrangements?"

    "Yes, the lawyer is kindly attending to everything."

    "I will gladly officiate. Are there any special hymns you would like?"

    "I would like `To Be a Pilgrim,' the Twenty-third Psalm, and `Onward Christian Soldiers.'"

    The vicar frowned. "I feel that `Onward Christian Soldiers' is a teensy bit militant."

    Fell was about to back down, but suddenly found himself saying calmly, "Those are the hymns Mother would have wanted. And the burial service from the old Book of Common Prayer."

    "But we must move with the times and—"

    "The old Book of Common Prayer. I—I mean Mother—preferred it."

    "Very well," said the vicar reluctantly.

    After the vicar had left, Fell suddenly wanted to get out of the house. He decided to go for a walk. The river Buss bisected the town, flowing between the old castle gardens. Buss Castle had been a second home in medieval times of one of the Earls of Warwick. It was now owned by the National Trust. Its thick walls plunged straight down into the glassy waters of the river, where launches and barges ploughed up and down and willow trees trailed their new leaves in the water.

    The castle gardens were almost deserted. Fell sat down on a bench by the river as two swans cruised past. I'm like that, thought Fell. Serene on the top and the little paddles of my brain working furiously underneath. Why all that cash?

    His parents had surely been law-abiding—strictly so. His father had always been complaining about layabouts and drug takers. Why not put the money in the bank? Had it been hidden from the tax man? But why? If it had been legally come by ...

    His busy thoughts turned to Maggie. It would be nice to have a confidante. Maggie was kind and trustworthy. Fell was not nervous in her presence, because he did not see her as a woman. In his many fantasies, women were always tall and beautiful and long-legged. Perhaps he might have asked a woman out in the past, but that would have meant asking his parents for the money to entertain her and then facing endless questions. And the fact was that both his dumpy little parents had possessed very powerful and domineering personalities. His father had given up beating him when he was twelve, but Fell could still remember the terror he had experienced when his mother would utter those dreaded words, "Your father will deal with you when he gets home." Then the waiting to endure the beating on the bare backside with his father's leather belt. He had never spoken to anyone about those beatings and had assumed for a long time after they had stopped that they were all part of parenting.

    He rose and walked up the main street. So many shops containing so many things he could now buy if he wanted. He stood outside a men's outfitter's and then stared at his dim reflection in the shop window. His suit was shabby and the material cheap.

    Again he thought of the money. He should really share it with the few relatives he had. But he would put it off until the funeral.

    He bought himself fish and chips, went home and switched on the television set and lost himself in the moving coloured pictures until midnight.


He rose early next morning and with a new feeling of adventure went to the local Marks & Spencer and bought a blazer, trousers, striped shirt and silk tie. Then he went to the jeweller's. He would need to buy a ring for Maggie. At first as he looked at the engagement rings, he thought that anything simple might do. But at last he shook his head and refused them all. Maggie was doing him a great favour. Why not buy her a ring that she could keep, something more original?

    He went into an antique shop where he knew they had a case of jewellery. With great care he finally selected a Victorian heavy gold ring, with a large square-cut emerald. The price made his eyelids blink rapidly. He paid cash, but with a dark little worm of doubt again plaguing his brain. Where had the money come from? He banished the thought and retired home and changed into his new clothes. He was beginning to feel like a totally different person.

    Maggie was nervously waiting outside the striped awning of the restaurant, which was in an old Georgian mansion beside the river in the castle gardens. Fell would never know what pains Maggie had gone to with her appearance. She was wearing a long biscuit-coloured linen skirt, a tailored jacket and a lemon silk blouse. Fell only saw reassuringly familiar Maggie.

    They went into the restaurant. The restaurant, although very grand, did not intimidate Fell. He was armoured in his new clothes. He had left shabby Fell behind.

    They were given a table by the French windows which opened onto the terrace.

    "You order for me," whispered Maggie. "I eat anything."

    Fell ordered a simple meal of cucumber soup, followed by poached salmon and salad, and then with great daring also ordered a bottle of champagne. When the waiter had gone off with his order, he produced the jeweller's box and handed it to Maggie. "It's for you," he said. "You may as well look the part."

    Maggie opened the box. The emerald blazed up at her. She caught her breath. She was suddenly intensely aware of everything, of the sunlight sparkling off the cutlery, of the peppery smell of the geraniums in pots on the terrace, of the chuckling sound of the river.

    "It's beautiful," she said. "Is it real?"

    "I hope so."

    "I'll give it back to you."

    "No, don't do that. I wanted to give you something special, something you could keep."

    Maggie gave a shaky laugh. "It matches my eyes."

    Fell looked at her, puzzled.

    "See?" She removed her heavy glasses. Her eyes were very large and green with flecks of gold.

    "You have beautiful eyes," said Fell. "You should wear contact lenses."

    Those eyes filled with tears. "What's the matter?" asked Fell quickly.

    Maggie took out a handkerchief and dried her eyes and put her glasses firmly back on. "I'm just tired, Fell, that's all. You know what it's like. The last customers didn't leave until one in the morning. Now, first I had to tell my mother about our engagement. She doesn't know it's a pretend engagement and wants to meet you. I told her you were too grief-stricken, and then afterwards I can tell her it's all off."

    "I hate making you lie for me."

    "I always lie to my mother anyway. It's a form of self-protection. My father's dead. Mother always says I'll never get a man, so from time to time I invent a boyfriend. They never jilt me, you know, they either die or go abroad. Anyway, enough about me. What do you want to talk to me about?"

    Fell had meant to tell her only about the inheritance. But somehow, under her sympathetic eyes, he found himself beginning at the beginning. He told her everything—about his childhood, about his relief at his mother's death, about his guilt, and about the mysterious money in the cash box. He ended by saying, "I can't understand why I didn't tell the relatives about the money I'd been left or offer to give them some. I don't know their financial circumstances. My parents never talked about them. They never really talked much about anything. I only know I want all the money for myself. Is that greedy?"

    "No, it's your inheritance. You'll never satisfy them. You'll simply cause a lot of envy and upset. We'll talk to them at the funeral and find out if any of them need money. If they don't, you've got nothing to worry about. It's yours, so keep it."

    "I'm worried about that fifty thousand. I've already started to make a hole in it."

    "I can't believe it's anything illegal. Was there anything else in the desk to give you a clue?"

    "I didn't look further."

    "I'll come back with you after lunch. I took the day off. I'll need to see your kitchen because I'll need to prepare some food for after the funeral."

    "I know," said Fell. "I could hire a catering firm."

    "Might give them the idea you do have money. Do you have a microwave?"

    "No, but I can buy one."

    "We can buy lots of savouries and things from Marks and I can heat them up. Leave it to me. So what will you do? Travel?"

    "I thought about that. But I don't want to see all that money drain away. Maybe I'll start some sort of business. Maybe a restaurant."

    "A restaurant's a bit too much like what you've been doing for most of your life."

    Fell smiled lazily at her, enjoying the unaccustomed effect of half a bottle of champagne and the heady relief of having been able to talk about himself at length with another human being. "What would you do, Maggie, if the money was yours?"

    "I'm like you. Books are my solace, my friends. I would open a little bookshop with a coffee bar and a few tables at the back. I would have poetry readings, things like that. Oh, I'm being silly."

    "We could do it!" said Fell, suddenly excited.

    "We?" said Maggie faintly.

    "Maybe you want to keep on at the hotel."

    "God, no. Could we actually do it?"

    "Why not?" Fell spread his arms. "There's so much we can do. Maggie, you've listened and listened to me. I know nothing about your life. Tell me."

    "I'm trapped a bit like you were," said Maggie, "but not because my mother's possessive—far from it—but out of fear of living, fear of taking risks, lack of money. I've two older sisters—they're married. Mum has various men friends, who sometimes stay the night. She's got a sharp tongue. She runs me down a bit."

    Perhaps it was the champagne or Maggie's worried and suddenly depressed face that made Fell say, "Move in with me."

    She stared at him.

    "Well, why not? It's a new century. We're friends."

    "I'm beginning to feel as if I've been run over by a truck," said Maggie.

    "We'll respect each other's space," said Fell. "I've promised my aunt Agnes all the furniture from the house. I want new stuff, light and airy."

    "And everything clean," breathed Maggie.

    "Oh, it's always been clean."

    "My home's a tip. I keep my own room clean, but Mum has the rest of the place in a mess. I try clearing up after her, but lately I've given it up as a bad job."

    "So why don't you just give up your job at the hotel?"

    "Just like that?"

    "Just like that. I need you, Maggie."

    "Is this a real proposal?" asked Maggie with a light laugh.

    Suddenly the old Fell was looking at her, his face wary and tight and set.

    "I was only joking, Fell," said Maggie quickly. "We're friends, right? No funny business. Just friends."

    Fell looked relieved. "Just friends."

    "I'll go and powder my nose."

    Maggie went through to the ladies' room and leaned against the handbasin. "The Maggies of this world," she told her reflection severely, "must take what they can get."

    But a dry sob like that of a hurt child escaped her lips. She firmly reapplied her make-up and went back to join Fell.


It turned out that Maggie owned a small car, something Fell had not known before. She went home to fetch it, asking Fell to wait for her. It was too soon for him to meet her mother.

    When Maggie returned with a suitcase of clothes they went out and bought a microwave and then loaded up the car with savouries from Marks.

    As they unloaded the stuff in the kitchen, Fell said ruefully, "I'll need to buy a new fridge. There's hardly room in this little thing for all the stuff."

    They had also bought bottles of various drinks and glasses. Maggie bustled about, examining everything. "How many relatives do you have?" she asked.

    "Very few," said Fell. "There's Aunt Agnes; she's a widow. Then there's Cousin Tom and my other cousin, Barbara, and her husband, Fred. That's all."

    "I hope they're hungry. We've bought rather a lot."

    "We could eat some of it tonight and open a bottle of wine."

    "Right. Which room shall I take?"

    "I'll take my parents' room and you can have mine. What did your mother say?"

    Maggie blushed. "She was out, so I left a note."

    "She'll be round here any minute."

    "I didn't tell her where I was going. I said I would phone her."

    "Better get it over with," said Fell. "The phone's over there."

    "Is that the famous desk?"

    "Yes. Phone first and then we'll take a proper look through it."

    Maggie phoned her mother. The conversation seemed to be very one-sided, with Maggie saying, "But ... well, you see, it all happened suddenly. But ..." At last she replaced the receiver. "She's furious. She says she needs my rent."

    "Will she manage?"

    "Of course she will. I'll need to get some sort of job, Fell. I can't live off you."

    "Oh, I'll arrange money for you," said Fell expansively. "We'll be starting our business soon. I mean, just help yourself to what you need out of the cash box."

    "Desk?"

    "Yes, let's have a look."

    Fell sorted out bank books and statements. "Nothing odd here," said Maggie. "Except for one thing."

    "What?"

    "Well, since you started work, your pay has been deposited each week. But there are no withdrawals. I mean they would have to draw money for bills, council tax, electricity, gas, things like that. There's not one withdrawal. And you said they gave you an allowance."

    "That's odd. You would have thought the tax people would have been after them."

(Continues...)

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 21 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 21 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 22, 2006

    A real gem of a book. One of Beaton's best!

    This is one of the best novels I have read in a long time. I don't understand the reviews that say this is not as good as her other books. It is different in that the characters are more fully developed and it is in fact one of the most moving love stories I have ever read. The mystery is gripping. I wanted to know how it would all work out. I expected this to be a light read I could pick up and put down between chores, and ended up reading it in one day. I feel that I know Fell and Maggie much better from this one story than I've ever known Hamish and Agatha, and I rooted for their success until they finally reached the satisfying ending - which did not seem guaranteed at all to me.

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 18, 2012

    Frustrating

    Although I have truly enjoyed M.C. Beaton's Hamish Macbeth series, I found the shallow sappiness of these characters to be frustrating and, frankly, boring. I only made it through about a third of this story before skimming through to the end and moving on. I don't understand the raves from other reviewers. You be the judge, however. I recommend reading a sample before purchasing. The immaturity and wishy-washiness of Fell and Maggie never really ends.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 10, 2014

    The Skeleton In the Closet.

    MC Beaaton never lets me down. I loved this book and want to read more of the Fellworth Dolphin Series. It is about two unlikely people who come together. They are searching for answers to an old robbery in which Fell is trying to determine if his father was innocent or guilty. It is based in England and a little on dry side, but has a love story,mystery and twists.

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  • Posted December 5, 2013

    my favorite m.c.beaton book--fell and Maggie are a great team!

    my favorite m.c.beaton book--fell and Maggie are a great team!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted October 11, 2013

    Addicitive!!!

    Addictive!
    Have gotten hooked on M. C. Beaton since I got my nook and she is SUPERB!
    Highly recommend to all mystery hounds, especially if you like the English country side settings!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 28, 2012

    Great!

    Awesome book. If you like MC Beaton, you will like this one. The ending is really good.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 16, 2012

    M.C. Beaton once again falls short.

    I thought I'd take a chance on this new character, but didn't take me long to discover that errors once again stole the show. I'm checking M.C. Beaton off my list of favored authors.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 26, 2007

    A Cozy Mystery With an Edge To It

    In M.C. Beaton's exciting mystery novel 'A Skeleton in the Closet', the book opens with a short portrait of a man who feels his life has been wasted. The middle-aged protagonist of the story, Fellworth Dolphin, is a man who literally has been turned into a man-servant for his demanding old mother. Living in a small English village for all of his life, poor Fellworth has not had much opportunity for travel, education, excitement, and most importantly-love. Forced to work for a living to support his mother when his father passed away, Fellworth has been practically put under lock and key by his mother who forbids him to do everything from having his own key to their small home they share to driving a car. His bondage swiftly ends, however, with the surprising discovery one day of his mother dead in an easy chair. The shocks are only beginning in the stalwart Fellworth's life, however, with the discovery of a secret horde of money, a photo of two strangers hidden in his mother's room, and the arrival of danger and mayhem that shows up right at his doorstep. As the story continues, absolute chaos erupts in Fellworth's life at the discovery of the mysterious money as he keeps having to dodge a very persistent assassin's attempts on his life! I am a big fan of the 'cozy' style of mysteries, and although pleasant and fun reading, I hardly ever think of them as having a great deal of originality or uniqeness. However, I have to say, that this particular title breaks the mold. The storyline and characters are more realistically drawn and the plot twists are very clever. Altogether, this is definitely one of the better cozy mysteries I've read and I would recommend it to fellow enjoyers of the genre. A solid 3 stars.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 16, 2003

    This is a terrific new series by a great author

    Fellworth 'Fell' Dolphin grew up in a family lacking the normal love. His parents took good care of him and he never went hungry, but they never had any of the extras. Matter of fact, when his father became ill and later died, Fell had to get a job. His mother took his checks and gave him a small allowance to spend. She was a cold-hearted woman and controlled his life. Then one day he returned from work at the hotel to find his mother dead. Instead of grieving, he feels relieved. Even before he can decide what he will do, his parents' lawyer calls. Fell finds out that his mother left him a large sum of money. Where did the money come from? They lived like misers. He could have gone to the university. They stole his youth! Fell goes home and begins going through his father's desk to find out more about his parents' financial situation. He finds a cash box full of money. Why would they hide money in the desk? Could it have been gotten illegally? Aunt Agnes, his mother's sister, comes to call. She is concerned that Fell will need someone to care for him so she has decided to make the sacrifice. Fell is stricken with horror. He immediately tells her that won't be necessary because he is engaged to Maggie, a co-worker at the hotel. Next he needs to tell Maggie and see if she will go along with his charade. She is a very plain girl and it turns out her home life hasn't been great. She is thrilled with the idea. She ends up moving into Fell's home -- separate rooms of course. Fell and Maggie begin redecorating his house. Things are going well. They even begin discussing opening a bookstore. Then Andy Briggs shows up accusing Fell's father of being a part of the old Post Office train robbery. Now Fell and Maggie begin looking into the old robbery to try to clear his father's name and discover where the money came from. Many things begin to happen. Fell meets Melissa who wants him to invest in her business. Fell is mesmerized by Melissa but Maggie is worried Melissa is only after his money. She tries to alert Fell and he only becomes more upset with Maggie. Maggie has fallen in love with Fell but is worried he is about to throw her out. Then Peter, a local newspaper reporter, comes into the picture. He writes a piece about Maggie and Fell investigating the old robbery. Peter is smitten with Maggie. They begin dating. Fell has no problem with this in the beginning. Fell's house is vandalized. Is this related to the old robbery? Fell and Maggie are great characters. Underdogs all the way. You can't help but root for them. This is the first book in a new series by a terrific author. I already like her other two mystery series. This is another terrific series and I can't wait for the next book. I had a little trouble with some of the terminology because it is set in England, but I really enjoyed the book and recommend it highly.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 27, 2001

    Engaging Characters

    Ms. Beaton's rather simplistic writing style is very much in evidence here; for some reason it seems to work better with the delightful Agatha Raisin and Hamish MacBeth series than with this tale. However, the two lead characters are sympathetic, and though we have no doubt that they will finally have a happy ending, it is hard not to root for them just the same. Fellworth Dolphin is an unhappily and reluctantly chaste bachelor who has unexpectedly been left a sizeable fortune. In order to keep an unpleasant relative at bay, he and a willing co-worker, the drab Maggie Partlett, agree to pretend to be engaged. The two begin to investigate the mysterious and suspect source of his inheritance, running into a variety of supporting characters and risky circumstances along the way. The course of true love does not run smoothly, either; missed signals and misunderstood communication seem to be the lot of the hapless and likeable pair. Anyone looking for a quick, fun read - as well as most M.C. Beaton fans - will enjoy gobbling up this bonbon of a book.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 16, 2001

    A great cozy read!

    What a great read! Never a boring moment in this story. Characters that you can feel for - the ugly duckling who gets her man and a shy man who finds love and money! A predictable mystery but an excellent break from the norm. This is the type of book you could start on a Sunday morning and not be able to put down until late into the night - you just have to know what's going to happen next! I greatly recommend this to all M.C. Beaton fans.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    Enjoyable relationship drama

    In Buss, England, thirty-eight years old Fellworth Dolphin is still a virgin in more ways than just the sexual. The depressed Fellworth Dolphin knows life has passed him by. He works as a waiter at a local hotel during the day and cares for his chronic complaining mother at night. Fell has no hope for a future until the evening he came home from work and sees his widowed mother sitting in her armchair. She is dead. <P>To his shock, Fell inherits a fortune which enrages him even more towards his parents as they blackmailed him into giving up the university to bring in income to insure the family never starved. He begins to wonder where the loot came from and wonders if his father, a railroad signalman, was involved in an unsolved train robbery. Fell begins to investigate the train robbery accompanied by Maggie Partlett the waitress who is also equally emotionally deprived. As they work together making inquires, they begin to fall in love, but neither one was ever the recipient of unselfish love. Will they recognize their feelings before the danger they stirred with their sleuthing causes permanent harm? What will the truth do to the already fractured psychological psyches of two individuals with deep emotional scars? <P>THE SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET is a delightful amateur sleuth tale, but not quite at the level of M.C. Beaton¿s wonderful Raisin or MacBeth novels. The characters make the story line gel, but readers will feel anger and pity for the stars, who allowed emotional blackmail to cripple them. That reaction by the audience slows down a tale that fails to attain the mark of excellence expected by Ms. Beaton¿s fans. <P>Harriet Klausner

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    Posted June 27, 2010

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    Posted May 16, 2011

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    Posted March 31, 2012

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    Posted February 1, 2012

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    Posted July 1, 2011

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    Posted March 12, 2012

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    Posted June 27, 2011

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    Posted April 18, 2011

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