Thieves!

Table of Contents

 

 

“Spend an afternoon with Vicky in Gipping-on-Plym—you’ll enjoy your visit and be back for more!”

—
Reader to Reader Reviews

 

“Dennison provides plenty of laughs in this third installment in the series—and a tricky plot, too. Miss Marple might not recognize Gipping-on-Plym, but it’s guaranteed to make you smile.”

—
Richmond Times-Dispatch

 

“Her heroine is charmingly gullible and gets herself into a lot of tight spots. The plot is very Agatha Christie-like and Vicky Hill is delightful and very amusing. Don’t miss this cozy English mystery—you’ll love it.”

—
Once Upon a Romance Reviews

 

 

 

“Vicky’s story is a cozy mystery with a dash of Bridget Jones-type humor thrown in. Fans who enjoy a mystery yarn without the violence should check this one out.”

—
NewsandSentinel.com

 

 

“A dizzy romp with an endearingly gullible investigator and a plot twist on every page.”

—Ann Purser, author of the Lois Meade Mysteries

 

“Hannah Dennison rings up a laugh a page . . . a racy romp and hilarious debut.”

—Carolyn Hart, author of
Dare to Die

“A smashing debut! Yes, Vicky is more Lucy Ricardo than Christiane Amanpour, but CNN’s loss is Gipping-on-Plym’s gain—and ours. Hannah Dennison writes a delightfully clever mystery with wit and warmth to spare. May the dead bodies abound.”

—Harley Jane Kozak, award-winning author of
Dead Ex

 

“Vicky Hill is a delightful heroine who would be right at home in a Jane Austen novel. When author Hannah Dennison plunges her into an Agatha Christie-like plot, she gives readers the best of both worlds.”

—Linda Palmer, author of the Daytime Mysteries

 

“An intriguing journalist investigative mystery because the heroine has such a vivid imagination that is not always anchored in just the facts . . . Fans will enjoy Hannah Dennison’s front page whodunit.”

—
The Best Reviews

A VICKY HILL EXCLUSIVE!
SCOOP!
EXPOSÉ!
THIEVES!

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

THIEVES!

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / January 2011

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-47689-5

 

BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA)
Inc.

 

 

 

Writing can be a lonely labor of love, which is why treasured company, helpful guidance, selfless encouragement, and endless snacks fed by family and friends make each book a team effort.

I’d like to continue to acknowledge my wonderful friend and mentor, Claire Carmichael.

My IOU tally has gone beyond the purchase of a small island to an entire galaxy.

Mark Davis, chairman of Davis Elen Advertising and my long-suffering boss, whose constant refrain is “this
is
your last book, isn’t it?” but who continues to give me paid days off to meet my deadlines.

Linda Palmer, who finds time in her own busy writing and teaching life to boost my morale and provided the spark that inspired the plot in this, Vicky’s fourth adventure.

Credit and a special thanks go to my daughter Sarah and her sister Emily for creating a new character for Gipping-on-Plym. May Phil Burrows live on.

A huge thank-you to kindred spirits Carolyn Hart, Rhys Bowen, and Marcia Talley, who are all inspiration personified. Thanks to Gail Elen for her innovative spirit and creative PR strategies, and to Cam Galano’s friendship and endless generosity.

Heartfelt thanks to Natalee Rosenstein, my wonderful editor at Berkley, along with Michelle Vega, a multitasking superwoman, and to my amazing agent, Betsy Amster. Thank you for everything you do.

And last, but foremost in my heart, my husband, Jason, who had no idea what he was letting himself in for when he encouraged me to follow my dream. Jason—without you, none of this would be possible.

“
Y
ou can’t leave
now
!” Barbara Meadows cried as I drifted nonchalantly toward her front door to make my escape.

“It’s nearly one in the morning,” I protested.
How many more hen parties can the human body take?
“I’m really tired.”

“You’ll miss all the excitement.” Barbara readjusted her glittering tiara—HERE COMES THE BRIDE—that had slipped rakishly over one ear. “You youngsters have no stamina.”

It wasn’t that I begrudged our receptionist her newfound happiness at the grand age of sixty-plus. This was the third hen party of Barbara’s that I’d been to in the last two weeks, and I knew of at least three more in the works.

“Olive bought the director’s cut of
The Full Monty
on eBay,” Barbara burbled on. “We’re in for a real treat.”

That settled it. There are some things a young woman should never be subjected to—and full-frontal nudity in a room filled with members of the Graying Tigers Society was definitely one.

I grabbed my safari jacket from the hall coat stand and pulled it on. “Sorry, I’ve got to be at St. Peter’s the Martyr Church at eight tomorrow.” It was only a tiny white lie. The service didn’t start until nine thirty.

“Why bother? No one will go to Gladys Trenfold’s funeral,” Barbara said with scorn. “She was a horrid old bag.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “But the
Gipping Gazette
does have a reputation to keep up.”

Obituaries were my area of expertise, and it was my responsibility to make sure that no funeral went unreported and no mourner was left out. “Unless you’d like to have a word with your fiancé and ask for an exception?”

“Oh no, dear,” said Barbara quickly. “Wilf is a stickler for tradition.” She stretched out her left hand and gazed rapturously at the solitaire diamond ring on her finger. “I still can’t believe he proposed.”

I couldn’t either! I was still grappling with the idea that after years of working together, Barbara was marrying our illustrious—and intimidating—editor, Wilf Veysey.

It had all happened so suddenly—but at least it gave me hope. It was never too late to find love.

Olive Larch emerged from the kitchen accompanied by the raunchy sounds of Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff” starting up for the fourth time. Perched atop her sleek gray bob was a pair of striped cat’s ears. She carried a silver tray of tumblers decorated with slices of fruit and was moving toward us at glacial speed.

“Good grief, Olive,” said Barbara. “We’re all dying of thirst. What took you so long?” She turned to me and mouthed, “She’s always
so
slow.”

“Vicky, you’re not leaving, are you?” said Olive aghast. “You can’t!”

“Sorry, I hate to go, but I really must.”

“Well, you shouldn’t—” Olive started to titter nervously. “Tell her, Barbara.”