Frances Evesham's Blog
August 19, 2021
Murder on the Levels reading
CHAPTER ONE
Forest Chocolates
The warm tang of yeast percolated through Brown’s, the Exham on Sea bakery.
‘This must be the quietest place on the planet.’Libby Forest didn’t mean to complain, but there hadn’t been much excitement here lately. Not since she’d found local celebrity, Susie Bennett, the rock singer, dead under the lighthouse on the beach. At least she’d finally tracked down Susie’s killer.
Frank Brown, owner of the business and master baker, dumped a pair of disposable gloves in the kitchen bin, hoisted a crate of fresh loaves onto his shoulder, grunted and shuffled backwards through the door to the car park. ‘Time to revamp the bakery. Make space for those Forest Chocolates of yours.’ Libby’s knife clattered to the table. Had she heard right?
‘Seriously? You’re not kidding?’
Mandy, Libby’s lodger and Exham on Sea’s resident teenage Goth, hooted. ‘When does Frank ever kid anyone?’ She pumped a tattooed arm in the air. ‘Our very first proper chocolate shop. Great stuff, Mrs F. The place will be famous in no time.’
A big fat grin forced its way across Libby’s face. It was weeks since she’d presented her business plan. Frank had sucked his teeth, scratched an ear and mumbled, ‘We’ll see,’ in the way people spoke to children when they asked for unlikely birthday presents. Libby had given up hope and spent several waking nights wondering how she could find another outlet for her home-made creations. She’d even pondered setting up her own website.
Maybe it was the constant supply of free samples that had worn Frank down.
His head bobbed back around the door. ‘Fancy a drive, Libby? Those cyclists left their sandwiches in the shop.’
He thrust packages into Libby’s arms. She’d made them to order not half an hour ago while the cycling club members boasted to each other about the miles they’d ridden. She’d packed them carefully into separate bags; cheese and pickle, egg and cress, and ham salad.
Mandy giggled. ‘Too busy stuffing themselves with free chocolates to care about lunch. Kevin Batty gobbled up at least three lemon meringue truffles, and some of his mates put them in their pockets. They’ll be growing out of their Lycra before they know it. Mind you,’ she added, ‘my clothes are getting a bit tight, too.’
Still in a happy daze, thrilled by Frank’s offer of space to sell her chocolates, Libby loaded the packets of sandwiches into her ancient purple Citroen, crunched the gears and drove out onto the Somerset Levels. She followed the cyclists’ route through corkscrew lanes beneath a broad blue spring sky filled with blackbird song, head whirling with plans for packaging, marketing, future outlets and exotic new chocolate flavours. Her second cookery book, unimaginatively called More Baking at the Beach was half written, and she spent at least one morning a week fending off phone calls from the elegant Christian Fortescue, her publisher, begging for updates.
‘Not that I’m pressuring you, but your readers are clamouring – clamouring, I tell you – for more of your perfectly scrumptious recipes.’
Mr Fortescue would have to wait.
Libby turned up the CD player and bellowed ‘We Are The Champions’ at the top of her voice. Why not? No one could hear it, in this peaceful corner of Somerset.
The car squealed round the final corner, narrowly avoiding a row of bicycles propped against a wooden fence. It lurched to a halt and Libby jumped out. Beyond an open gate, clumps of sedge and willow lined the placid waters of a stream. Moorhens ducked in and out of overhanging branches and a pair of geese honked in the distance.
Libby slithered on the grass. Patches of mud, still damp from a brief overnight rainstorm, squelched under her feet. Not quite a country girl yet, then. Just a year since she’d left London, and she still had plenty to learn. She’d keep a pair of wellies in the car in future.
Murder on the Levels reading
The opening of Murder on the Levels
Murder on the LevelsCHAPTER ONE
Forest Chocolates
The warm tang of yeast percolated through Brown’s, the Exham on Sea bakery.
‘This must be the quietest place on the planet.’Libby Forest didn’t mean to complain, but there hadn’t been much excitement here lately. Not since she’d found local celebrity, Susie Bennett, the rock singer, dead under the lighthouse on the beach. At least she’d finally tracked down Susie’s killer.
Frank Brown, owner of the business and master baker, dumped a pair of disposable gloves in the kitchen bin, hoisted a crate of fresh loaves onto his shoulder, grunted and shuffled backwards through the door to the car park. ‘Time to revamp the bakery. Make space for those Forest Chocolates of yours.’ Libby’s knife clattered to the table. Had she heard right?
‘Seriously? You’re not kidding?’
Mandy, Libby’s lodger and Exham on Sea’s resident teenage Goth, hooted. ‘When does Frank ever kid anyone?’ She pumped a tattooed arm in the air. ‘Our very first proper chocolate shop. Great stuff, Mrs F. The place will be famous in no time.’
A big fat grin forced its way across Libby’s face. It was weeks since she’d presented her business plan. Frank had sucked his teeth, scratched an ear and mumbled, ‘We’ll see,’ in the way people spoke to children when they asked for unlikely birthday presents. Libby had given up hope and spent several waking nights wondering how she could find another outlet for her home-made creations. She’d even pondered setting up her own website.
Maybe it was the constant supply of free samples that had worn Frank down.
His head bobbed back around the door. ‘Fancy a drive, Libby? Those cyclists left their sandwiches in the shop.’
He thrust packages into Libby’s arms. She’d made them to order not half an hour ago while the cycling club members boasted to each other about the miles they’d ridden. She’d packed them carefully into separate bags; cheese and pickle, egg and cress, and ham salad.
Mandy giggled. ‘Too busy stuffing themselves with free chocolates to care about lunch. Kevin Batty gobbled up at least three lemon meringue truffles, and some of his mates put them in their pockets. They’ll be growing out of their Lycra before they know it. Mind you,’ she added, ‘my clothes are getting a bit tight, too.’
Still in a happy daze, thrilled by Frank’s offer of space to sell her chocolates, Libby loaded the packets of sandwiches into her ancient purple Citroen, crunched the gears and drove out onto the Somerset Levels. She followed the cyclists’ route through corkscrew lanes beneath a broad blue spring sky filled with blackbird song, head whirling with plans for packaging, marketing, future outlets and exotic new chocolate flavours. Her second cookery book, unimaginatively called More Baking at the Beach was half written, and she spent at least one morning a week fending off phone calls from the elegant Christian Fortescue, her publisher, begging for updates.
‘Not that I’m pressuring you, but your readers are clamouring – clamouring, I tell you – for more of your perfectly scrumptious recipes.’
Mr Fortescue would have to wait.
Libby turned up the CD player and bellowed ‘We Are The Champions’ at the top of her voice. Why not? No one could hear it, in this peaceful corner of Somerset.
The car squealed round the final corner, narrowly avoiding a row of bicycles propped against a wooden fence. It lurched to a halt and Libby jumped out. Beyond an open gate, clumps of sedge and willow lined the placid waters of a stream. Moorhens ducked in and out of overhanging branches and a pair of geese honked in the distance.
Libby slithered on the grass. Patches of mud, still damp from a brief overnight rainstorm, squelched under her feet. Not quite a country girl yet, then. Just a year since she’d left London, and she still had plenty to learn. She’d keep a pair of wellies in the car in future.
March 28, 2021
Map
Welcome to my interactive map of Somerset, showing locations from the Exham on Sea Mysteries.
Click on one of the icons to read more…
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Low Lighthouse [image error] The Exham on Sea stories began when I looked at the Low Lighthouse on Burnham on Sea beach and thought, 'What if I found a body there?'
Dunster CastleDunster Castle stands high in Exmoor, looking out over the Bristol Channel. Allow plenty of time to visit as it's crammed with history.
Read more.
Glastonbury Tor, the centre of myths and legends, rises from the Somerset Levels. Climb up to see Somerset laid out before your eyes.
Read more
Wells Cathedral, in the smallest city in England, is full of beautiful masonry - and an ancient chained library.
Read more
Gallox Bridge (a corruption of Gallows Bridge) is a picturesque stone bridge in Exmoor National Park.
Read more
Clifton Suspension Bridge spans the Bristol Channel at the northernmost part of Somerset.
Somerset LevelsThe Somerset Levels support so many wild birds, including short-term visitors, that they are a magnet for birdwatchers.
Read more
Lower Hembrow is a fictional village in Somerset, near to the (real) Ham Hill, where Imogen and Adam, the detectives in the Ham Hill Mysteries, live.
Wincanton RacecourseWincanton Racecourse features in A Racing Murder, out soon.
Cleeve AbbeyCleeve Abbey is at the heart of Murder at the Abbey, due for release in November 2021
Somerset map
Click on an icon for information
1 [image error] The Exham on Sea stories began when I looked at the Low Lighthouse on Burnham on Sea beach and thought, 'What if I found a body there?'
Read more about the lighthouse here (opens in new window)
6Dunster Castle stands high in Exmoor, looking out over the Bristol Channel. Allow plenty of time to visit as it's crammed with history.
Click here to read more (opens in new window)
3Glastonbury Tor, the centre of myths and legends, rises from the Somerset Levels. Climb up to see Somerset laid out before your eyes.
Read more here...(opens in new window)
4Wells Cathedral, in the smallest city in England, is full of beautiful masonry - and an ancient chained library.
Click here to read more (opens in new window)
5Gallox Bridge (a corruption of Gallows Bridge) is a picturesque stone bridge in Exmoor National Park.
Read more here (opens in new window)
7Clifton Suspension Bridge spans the Bristol Channel at the northernmost part of Somerset.
read more (TBC)
2The Somerset Levels support so many wild birds, including short-term visitors, that they are a magnet for birdwatchers.
Read more about the Somerset Levels here... (opens in new window)
ALower Hembrow is a fictional village in Somerset, near to the (real) Ham Hill, where Imogen and Adam, the detectives in the Ham Hill Mysteries, live.
BWincanton Racecourse features in A Racing Murder, out soon.
9Cleeve Abbey is at the heart of Murder at the Abbey, due for release in November 2021
8Leigh Woods is central to A Village Murder
March 25, 2021
Murder at the Lighthouse
The waters of the River Parrett meet the Bristol Channel at Burnham on Sea. Notoriously dangerous, with a huge range of 40ft, the tide in the area is the second highest in the world.
The builders of the nine-legged Low Lighthouse also had to contend with shifting sands and mud-flats that would soon destroy the foundations of a conventional stone building. Wooden stilts were an ingenious solution that make the lighthouse unique in the UK.
Victorian ingenuityThe Victorians built the Low Lighthouse in 1832, a time of enormous interest in technology and travel, to replace the Round Tower. This was a tall building originally situated next to the Church, funded by the local curate on condition the Burnham fishermen and residents paid for its upkeep.
The Low Lighthouse fell out of use in the 20th century but was recommissioned in 1983 and now flashes every 7.5 seconds.
Leading lightsThe Victorians built another lighthouse, the Tower or High Lighthouse, at the same time, and the two buildings worked together to lead navigators through the River Parrett. The Tower is now a private house.
NumbersThe Grade 11 listed Low Lighthouse is a wooden square, constructed on strong oak legs, with a single, dramatic, vertical red stripe. Set at a height of 36ft, the light reaches 23ft above the high spring tides and shines out over 9 miles.
Murder at the LighthouseThe Low Lighthouse stars in the first Exham on Sea Mystery. Libby Forest finds a body on the beach under the lighthouse and discovers her unexpected gift for investigation, helped by Bear, the gigantic Carpathian Sheepdog and Fuzzy, her aloof marmalade cat.
Buy Murder at the Lighthouse
February 9, 2021
Dragon Ring
A dyslexia-friendly book for children aged 6-9
Dragons! Pirates! Treasure!
Dragons aren’t real…
…or are they?
The dragon’s ring is Arkan’s most precious possession. It keeps him alive. When it’s stolen, Thomas must save his friend from a terrible fate.
Thomas needs brainpower, courage, and magic to take on Wicked Wilf, the pirate, in a night-time race to find the dragon ring.
Can Thomas save Arkan, defeat Wicked Wilf, and be home in time for tea?
Early readers, kids just beginning to enjoy reading, and children who want to read on their own will love this easy-to-read, fun story packed with dragons, pirates and magic.
Introduce your child to the wonderful world of books with clear text, pictures and dyslexia-friendly design.
The author spent many years as a speech therapist, working with children who struggle with the demands of language and reading. Using all this experience, she tells an exciting story in a way your child will enjoy.
It’s extra readable, to kick-start interest in reading in any child between the ages of six and nine, especially someone with dyslexia, who’s ready to leap into the wonderful world of books and enjoy an exciting adventure.
Click to get this book for your child now and spark their love of reading.
For a style guide on dyslexia friendly writing, visit the British Dyslexia Association website.
A writing cave. A state-of-the art computer set-up. A luxurious retreat in the South of France.
That was my dream.
I would sit and write there, one day, when I became a author. Or so I thought.
After a lifetime in a variety of other careers, I now have several books to my name. I even describe myself as a writer. But, like so many aspirations, the reality turned out to be a little different, and infinitely less glamorous.
I have a study. It’s the smallest bedroom in the house, boasting enough space for a desk and not much else.
I bought a suitably tiny desk, and a special ‘office chair’.
Both were mistakes.
I need space. I need a stack of books to reference. I need many, many pens, because they magically ‘walk’ to other rooms.
I can’t work without piles of paper where I doodle and write research reminders, like ‘buy more cake.’
My special chair rotates. This would be perfect in a large, open-plan office; the newspaper office in Superman, for example. I could swivel round, waving a paragraph of brilliance, shouting ‘hold the front page.’
Instead, I spend my days fighting the swivel. This involves pressing my legs firmly against the edge of the desk.
Besides, my children keep having children. They are delightful, a blessing, the loves of my life, but when they all come for Christmas, we have a challenge.
You have to store those grandchildren somewhere.
The answer is bunk beds – the smallest on the market. They fit in (just) against the wall. They’re great for stacking a couple of grandsons, but access to my desk is severely restricted.
‘A laptop. That’s the answer,’ I cried. ‘I can work anywhere.’
That’s what led to the recent sad tale, the title of this piece…
…In the Conservatory, with a Computer Cable.
Here’s the cast list:
an annoying fly,my special fly-friendly, fly-removing implement,a lap-top cable,a tiled floor, andmy kneecap.My leg is much better now, thank you, but chocs, flowers and cups of tea still very welcome.
The conservatory has other disadvantages. These include:
the body count of dead insects on the floor every morning during the summer, no matter how often I attack those pesky spiders’ webs with a broom,the tempting presence of the garden, just a step away, where the sun shines, the bees buzz, and a seat in a cosy corner for reading tempts me away, while my poor, patient editor waits in vain for the next story,
the constant nagging desire to visit the vegetables to see how they’re doing. See carrot below.
This is my first ever home-grown carrot. Don’t you dare laugh.I’ve banished myself to the dining room table to write this post, which is intended to celebrate the publication of A Village Murder, the first in my new series of murder mysteries set in Somerset.
And, as I move on to the next adventure for Adam and Imogen, my ‘odd couple’ heroes of A Village Murder, instead of luxuriating in those glamorous venues I used to dream of, I’m faced with a blank page, an empty mind, and a ticking clock.
But, all is not lost. The kitchen is close by and I think, in fact, I’m almost sure, there’s a slice of coffee cake left in the tin.
Excuse me while I check…
November 16, 2020
Murder at the Gorge
October 13, 2020
And the winner is…
[image error]
Hello from Somerset.
Where I’m still holed up in my writing cave, writing. I’ve been lucky, because none of my nearest, or dearest, has succumbed to this virus. Not even the family’s great grandmother, due to celebrate her 90th birthday next month.
Believe me, I’ve been counting my blessings.
I’m extra excited just now, as Murder at the Gorge, the next Exham on Sea mystery, will be released on 17th November.
So, today, I can announce the long-awaited result of the competition to name the new Exham on Sea café.
Here’s a video of me, doing just that… (If it doesn’t play straight away, click the three little dots to download it.)
If you’d rather not watch the video, and who can blame you, I shall tell you the result right now.
The winning entry is…
The Crusts and Crumbs Café
That very clever name came from you, Spook, which I believe is a pseudonym. (If not, you may want to have words with your parents.)
Dear Spook, please email your actual real-life address to me, so I can make sure your winning paperback of Murder at the Gorge goes to the right place. I’d like, also, to put your name in the acknowledgements, so please tell me if you’re happy with that, and what name you’d like to use.
Thank you to everyone who sent an entry – over one hundred people entered! I loved many of your suggestions, and I’m kicking myself that I didn’t think of any of them!
Don’t forget to pre-order your copy of Murder at the Gorge – you don’t want to miss publication day, do you, and have all your neighbours reading the book before you?
Meanwhile, Happy Reading,
Frances
Sadly, no PS quotes from the grandchildren, this time, as I see less of them now that they’re at school, terrorising their long-suffering teachers.
Even Mr Five has survived his first three weeks in class, without being expelled. So far, so good…
June 23, 2020
The Unfortunate Incident in the Conservatory
A writing cave. A state-of-the art computer set-up. A luxurious retreat in the South of France.
That was my dream.
I would sit and write there, one day, when I became a author. Or so I thought.
After a lifetime in a variety of other careers, I now have several books to my name. I even describe myself as a writer. But, like so many aspirations, the reality turned out to be a little different, and infinitely less glamorous.
I have a study. It’s the smallest bedroom in the house, boasting enough space for a desk and not much else.
I bought a suitably tiny desk, and a special ‘office chair’.
Both were mistakes.
I need space. I need a stack of books to reference. I need many, many pens, because they magically ‘walk’ to other rooms.
I can’t work without piles of paper where I doodle and write research reminders, like ‘buy more cake.’
My special chair rotates. This would be perfect in a large, open-plan office; the newspaper office in Superman, for example. I could swivel round, waving a paragraph of brilliance, shouting ‘hold the front page.’
Instead, I spend my days fighting the swivel. This involves pressing my legs firmly against the edge of the desk.
Besides, my children keep having children. They are delightful, a blessing, the loves of my life, but when they all come for Christmas, we have a challenge.
You have to store those grandchildren somewhere.
The answer is bunk beds – the smallest on the market. They fit in (just) against the wall. They’re great for stacking a couple of grandsons, but access to my desk is severely restricted.
‘A laptop. That’s the answer,’ I cried. ‘I can work anywhere.’
That’s what led to the recent sad tale, the title of this piece…
…In the Conservatory, with a Computer Cable.
Here’s the cast list:
an annoying fly,my special fly-friendly, fly-removing implement,a lap-top cable,a tiled floor, andmy kneecap.
My leg is much better now, thank you, but chocs, flowers and cups of tea still very welcome.
The conservatory has other disadvantages. These include:
the body count of dead insects on the floor every morning during the summer, no matter how often I attack those pesky spiders’ webs with a broom,
the tempting presence of the garden, just a step away, where the sun shines, the bees buzz, and a seat in a cosy corner for reading tempts me away, while my poor, patient editor waits in vain for the next story,
the constant nagging desire to visit the vegetables to see how they’re doing. See carrot below.
This is my first ever home-grown carrot. Don’t you dare laugh.I’ve banished myself to the dining room table to write this post, which is intended to celebrate the publication of A Village Murder, the first in my new series of murder mysteries set in Somerset.
And, as I move on to the next adventure for Adam and Imogen, my ‘odd couple’ heroes of A Village Murder, instead of luxuriating in those glamorous venues I used to dream of, I’m faced with a blank page, an empty mind, and a ticking clock.
But, all is not lost. The kitchen is close by and I think, in fact, I’m almost sure, there’s a slice of coffee cake left in the tin.
Excuse me while I check…
