Daisy Thorne: hairdresser, amateur sleuth and main character
It’s snowing again. Heaps of fluffy white snow knee-deep on the ground, covering up the imperfections, frosting the trees and turning the cottages in my street into gingerbread houses.
Luckily, I don’t live far from work.
Where is that? Ooh La La hair salon in the tiny village of Edgemead, in Surrey. It’s my salon, my pride and joy, and it’s the only salon in the village. Almost everyone’s been in it at some time or another.
I trudge indoors, bringing mounds of snow in with me. Penny, my senior stylist, comes running with a mop to clean up the puddle.
“Health and safety, Daisy,” she tells me with a flick of her mop. It’s true, one of the customers could go flying if they slip on that.
I check the appointment book. It’s going to be a busy day.
First up is Liz Roberts, the formidable head of the Edgemead Women’s Institute. She sweeps in in a haze of faux fur and leather boots, dripping all over the floor. Penny’s still going with the mop.
“Have you heard?” she stage whispers loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Heard what?” says Krish, my other senior stylist and a genius with colour. He’s also the village gossip.
“Dame Serena’s dead.”
Krish gasped. “Oh, my gosh.”
Asa, my junior hair washer comes running out from the back. Even Penny stops mopping.
“Dead?” I stare at her. Dame Serena is a village icon. A National Treasure, she’s been called in the press. A world-renown opera star who lives in a palatial country mansion outside of Edgemead. She is also my best friend, Floria’s mother. “How can she be dead?”
“Well,” says an ecstatic Liz, dropping her voice even lower, “her latest fall from grace was over the balcony at Brompton Court.”
“No!” hisses Asa, her hand flying to her mouth. “Had she been drinking?”
In recent years, Dame Serena had been known to overindulge. Her voice was going, and rather than contemplate her musical demise, she’d hit the bottle. Rather hard, as it turns out.
“That’s the terrible thing,” says Liz. “They’re saying it wasn’t an accident.”
“You mean she was murdered?” breathes Krish.
“I’m afraid so. That hunky detective, DI McGuinness is on the case.”
“Ooh, I do like him.” Krish, who’s gay, keeps tabs on all the hot men in the village. “Do you think he’ll come and question us?”
“I hope not,” says Asa, who has a deep mistrust of the police thanks to her family’s checkered past.
“Does Floria know?” I blurt out. Floria and her mother weren’t close, but her death will still come as a shock. My only thought is to find her. She’ll need a shoulder to cry on.
I needn’t have worried, for the front door flies open and in rushes Floria in a cloud of Chanel, tears and snowflakes.
“Oh, Daisy, have you heard? Mother’s dead. She’s been murdered!”
I take her into my arms and hold her while she sobs. Penny shows Liz to her chair and begins to prep her. Not the easiest task when her head is twisted round in an attempt to hear what Floria is saying.
“I heard,” I say, leading her to the Victorian ball and claw sofa in the entrance. Krish rushes to make us tea. “What did the detective say?”
Between sobs, she manages to fill me in. Dame Serena was home alone last night. The housekeeper left around six. When she got in this morning, the opera diva was lying at the foot of the stairs. It appeared she fell from the top landing.
Krish places the tea beside us, then makes a quiet exit. By now, the salon is filling up and Asa has her hands full at the basin. Krish leads Mrs Firth, the librarian, to a chair in front of a gilt-edged mirror. Everyone is talking about Dame Serena’s demise.
Eventually, I take Floria out for coffee to get her away from flapping ears and prying eyes. We go to Paul’s, across the road and find a quiet table at the back.
Fortified by hot chocolate and iced Chelsea buns, Floria turns to me. “Daisy, the police think Violeta killed mother.”
“Violeta?” I bark. The housekeeper had been with Dame Serena for nearly a decade. “How can he think that?”
“I know,” she sniffs. “Daisy, you’ll help me, won’t you? You’ll help find out who really murdered mother?”
I stare at her. “I’m not sure, Flo. DI McGuinness won’t be too happy with me poking my nose in. You know what he’s like?”
We’ve butted heads before.
“But you know the family, Dais. You know Violeta wouldn’t kill anyone, let alone mother.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Please,” Floria begs. “You’re her only hope.”
I sigh, a sense of foreboding building in my stomach.
“Okay,” I say reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Oh, thank you, Daisy. If anyone can find out who did this, it’s you.”
I lean back and pick up my hot chocolate.
And so it begins. . .
Death at a Country Mansion is the first book in the NEW “Daisy Thorne” cozy mystery series, released December 1, 2020.
No one would ever accuse famous opera star Dame Serena Levanté of lacking a flare for the dramatic. Unfortunately, it’s curtains down on the dysfunctional diva when she’s found dead at the bottom of a staircase in her elegant home. Solving an opera singer’s murder may not be the typical hairdresser’s aria of expertise. But Dame Serena was the mother of Daisy’s best friend Floria, so Daisy must do-or-dye her best to get to the roots of the case.
When a priceless Modigliani painting in the house is reported missing, the mystery gets even more tangled. Even though the gruff but handsome Detective Inspector Paul McGuinness tells the stylist to stay out of his hair, Daisy is determined to make sure the killer faces a stern makeover—behind bars.
Meet the Author
Louise R. Innes is an English cozy mystery author. She lives in Surrey, in a village not unlike Edgemead, the fictional village where her series is set. When she’s not writing, she can be found traipsing through the parks or kayaking on the River Thames. Connect with Louise at louiseroseinnes.com, on Instagram, or on Facebook.
All comments are welcomed.
Best wishes on your new series! Sounds intriguing…