This version of sporting games dated back to the 1600s and some thought that William Shakespeare had once attended them when he’d been living not too far away in Stratford-upon-Avon. It involved an array of different competitions which anyone could enter.
Keya was disappointed when they reached the location of the reported road rage, as there were no vehicles in sight. They continued up the narrow, single-track road until they reached a farm. Spotting the farmer moving bales of hay with a forklift tractor from a trailer to a nearby barn, they decided to speak to him.
They drove into the farmyard, alongside a long single-storey stone building with a steep black slate roof and grey wooden support posts. There was an assortment of old garden furniture in the bays, along with rusting farm implements and stacks of colourful plastic animal feed bags.
“Aye, that was me,” admitted the farmer when they questioned him about the reported incident. “The other bloke must have called you about it. He came tearing round a corner and nearly drove into me. Then he flashed his lights, expecting me to get out of his way. How could I? I was towing a trailer load of hay bales. So I just sat there and waited. He shouted some expletives at me, but nothing I haven’t heard before.”
The farmer removed his worn flat tweed cap and scratched his wispy brown hair. “Eventually he reversed back along the road, turned round in a field entrance and shot off back the way he’d come.”
As they only had the farmer’s account, and he seemed an honest type, they left him to finish unloading his hay bales and dismissed the incident.
Gilly Wimsey called as they were driving from Guiting Power to Lower Slaughter.
“I might lose you Gilly, as the phone signal is intermittent where we are,” Keya told her friend and business colleague.
“I’ll be quick. We didn’t have a chance earlier to discuss the outdoor cinema event next month. The film company wants to know which film to allocate to us.”
“What are the choices?” Keya asked.
Gilly and her family had attended a pop-up cinema screening the previous year, and Gilly had discovered that she could hire the company to provide a similar event at the cafe and antique centre.
They were going to hold it on the grassy area between the cafe’s outside seating area and the deli, and the bank sloping down to the River Coln. Although the cafe would be open, they’d both agreed that visitors could bring their own picnics if they preferred, but alcoholic drinks had to be purchased from the cafe. Maitri also hoped to serve ice creams, as long as her display unit and stock had arrived in time.
Gilly said, “I’ve already rejected Pretty Woman, as I don’t think its betrayal of women is appropriate, and I don’t want Thomas getting ideas from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I’m struggling to keep him at school as it is. But there is a sing-along version of The Greatest Showman. If we encourage people to dress up and …” Gilly trailed off.
“That’s a fabulous idea. I can’t sing, but it’ll still be fun. But aren’t you concerned about circus costumes degrading women?”
“No, they’re practical, and not everyone has to wear leotards and tights. I certainly won’t!” Gilly said.
“Sing-along to The Greatest Showman it is then,” Keya declared.
Her trip to Lower Slaughter with Ryan was just as unproductive as the one to Guiting Power. The shopkeeper was brusque and dismissed the shoplifting issue, saying that it had been resolved. She was extremely evasive when questioned about locking the suspect in a toilet. But as the suspect had left, with the rest of the tourists, there was nothing Keya or Ryan could do.
“Back to the station?” Ryan asked, sounding disappointed.
“I guess so,” Keya replied.
But just as they were leaving Lower Slaughter, Keya’s phone buzzed.
“Hiya, Stan,” said Keya, answering the call.
“The inspector asked me to call you. There’s been a report of a crop circle appearing near Cold Ashton, which is not too far from you, if you’re still in Lower Slaughter.”
“We’ve just left, but we can head over to Cold Ashton. What does the inspector want us to do?”
“Speak to the farmer whose field’s been vandalised, create a report, and log it on the system. He’s worried that now we have our first crop circle sighting, we’ll have a spate of them turning up all over the area.”
Keya finished the call and sighed. “Take the next right,” she told Ryan. “We’ve been asked to investigate the appearance of a crop circle.”
“Aliens,” said Ryan, perking up.
“There’s no such thing. It’s just kids causing trouble.”
“But you don’t know that,” Ryan countered. “Actually, while some people do still think they are caused by aliens, the new age belief is that they are linked to ancient energy and nature, and that they appear in areas near historic ley lines and stone circles.”
Keya moaned, “I hope none appear near the Rollright Standing Stones before the summer solstice. I could do without more people being drawn to the area. Still, I suppose we better investigate.”
CHAPTER SIX
On Friday evening, Dotty picked Keya up from her home in the small Cotswold village of Ampney St Martin, five miles to the east of Cirencester.
Dotty drove a smart metallic-grey Audi A1 and Keya half expected to find Dotty’s large, fluffy grey cat on the back seat.
“How’s Earl Grey?” Keya asked as she climbed into the passenger seat.
Dotty tucked a strand of her bobbed fair hair behind her ear as she replied, “He loves being back at Meadowbank Farm. As the weather’s warmer, he spends most of his time outside, either searching for mice or keeping Agatha, Aunt Beanie’s pig, company.”
After over a year away, Dotty had returned to the Cotswolds and to Meadowbank Farm where Aunt Beanie lived. Ryan had moved into Dotty’s farm cottage when she’d left, but he’d found himself similar lodgings at a farm in Stratton, a village to the north of Cirencester, which had been swallowed up by the expanding town.
“And are you settled back in the cottage?”
“Oh yes. Ryan’s looked after everything well, although Aunt Beanie did mention that Monica came the Monday before I moved back in, and she probably gave the cottage a thorough clean.”
“And how is your course?” Keya asked.
Dotty was taking a business course in Oxford as she prepared to set up her own antique emporium in a barn at Meadowbank Farm. Keya had thought Gilly would be annoyed, but she was actually delighted and said that another local antiques shop would only draw more people to the area.
