A Cozy Beatles Mystery: Larceny in Liverpool (A Cozy Beatles Mystery Series Book 1) Read online

  A Cozy Beatles Mystery

  Larceny in Liverpool

  Kal Smagh

  Copyright © 2021 Kalwant Smagh

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Disclaimer: This is a fictional work of alternate history. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are drawn from the historical record, then altered and used fictitiously. Apart from the Beatles and other well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. This work has not been endorsed nor affiliated with any of the Beatles or their estates.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Kal Smagh

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  Also By Kal Smagh

  A Cozy Beatles Mystery:

  Larceny in Liverpool

  Punching Up:

  A Cozy Beatles Mystery Short Story

  Coming on May 19, 2021: (available for preorder)

  A Cozy Beatles Mystery:

  Mayhem for Her Majesty

  Coming on June 22, 2021:

  A Cozy Beatles Mystery:

  The Beverly Hills Beatles Burglary

  Coming on July 20, 2021:

  A Cozy Beatles Mystery:

  The Beatle Car Bandits

  A Cozy Beatle Poll

  If the opening chord to

  A Hard Day's Night,

  were a WORD, it would be:

  A) --------------What George says in the Prologue

  B) ---------------- What Paul says in the Prologue

  C) ---------------- What John says in the Prologue

  D) -------------- What Ringo says in the Prologue

  E) What no one says in the Prologue (name it!)

  Please vote

  by sending me an email and joining my email list

  (you'll get notified when new stories come out and the running total of this poll)

  Kal Smagh can be reached at:

  [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  CHAPTER 1: FLORIDA, USA, PRESENT DAY

  CHAPTER 2: THE POLICE

  CHAPTER 3. LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND, FALL, 1962

  CHAPTER 4: THE BOYS

  CHAPTER 5: AN AFTERNOON AT THE CAVERN CLUB

  CHAPTER 6: GEORGE...(gasp)...HARRISON

  CHAPTER 7: AN EVENING AT THE CAVERN CLUB

  CHAPTER 8: ROBBERY

  CHAPTER 9: INSPECTOR TUFFLE

  CHAPTER 10: MY MOTHER AWAITS

  CHAPTER 11. THE CONCERT

  CHAPTER 12: SCHEMING

  CHAPTER 13: AMATEUR SLEUTH

  CHAPTER 14: TAMARA MARYLEBONE

  CHAPTER 15: MR. HENRY

  CHAPTER 16: THE GOLDEN PHOENIX

  CHAPTER 17: MELANIE BUMPUS

  CHAPTER 18: A FAVOR

  CHAPTER 19: ON THE STREET WITH THE BEATLES

  CHAPTER 20: RULE NUMBER 3

  CHAPTER 21: THE MEN IN THE CAR

  CHAPTER 22: BEATLE GIRL

  CHAPTER 23: BRIAN’S OFFICE

  CHAPTER 24: JOHN’S LETTER

  CHAPTER 25: THE SPLINTER BAR

  CHAPTER 26: TO CATCH A THIEF

  CHAPTER 27: THE ACCUSED

  CHAPTER 28: MARCUS JACOBS

  CHAPTER 29. MR. EPSTEIN

  CHAPTER 30: IN FRONT OF THE CAVERN CLUB

  Prologue

  The Hollywood Bowl was rocking and rumbling so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. Could anyone? The summertime California heat added to the bursting festival outside, my perfume mixing with my sweat, feeling giddy and nervous at the same time.

  We want!...BEATLES!...We want!...BEATLES!

  The 17,000 person-strong chant resounded, echoing through the early evening’s red sunset, shaking the whole structure like an earthquake...stomping feet in the seating outside bursting like thunder...

  We want!...BEATLES!...We want!...BEATLES!

  Backstage I guessed the boys were dressed by now and waiting to go on. In the hall I asked big Mal, their giant sized, spectacled, bodyguard-stage crew and staunch supporter, if the boys had a minute for me to ask a question. He smiled looking down at me, easily twice my size. By this time everyone knew me well, it had been years, three or so, that I’d been working with them. Mal rapped one knuckle on the closed door three times and popped his head inside, speaking words I could not hear in the waterfall of noise around us. Turning back he opened the door fully for me, almost nineteen years old in 1964, to enter.

  I walked over the threshold to the inside and as usual felt their presence, just like the opening chord to A Hard Day’s Night; crisp and energetic. They looked sharp, in white shirts and black ties, shiny boots gleaming in the room’s dressing lights. An enormous orange and banana filled fruit basket lay on a table untouched. Of course they exuded calm and confidence. Damn, they were brilliantly self assured. And absolutely relaxed. They were on their first American tour and this is how it was...crazy, loud, raucous, and they were calm in the eye of the storm. Mal closed the door behind me and it was quieter in here, the chants dimmed but still clearly bouncing outside like a thousand beach balls.

  We want!...BEATLES!...We want!...BEATLES!

  Three of the boys, Ringo, Paul, George, all looked up from their chairs at once, smiling a hello of recognition with their eyes. John was seated, his face in a book, scribbling in the page margin. As usual, I’d need to be quick and focused.

  Now for my question.

  I asked George if he was to write out the sound of that opening Hard Day’s Night chord into a word, what would that word be?

  He smiled, showing his teeth, “That’s your question? The opening chord?" he shrugged, "It’s Bang.”

  Paul leaned in, grinning, “I feel like it's more of a Clang, myself.”

  “John?”

  He looked up from where he was writing, “What?”

  Paul repeated, “Opening chord to A Hard Day’s Night: how would you write it as a word?”

  “What’s me choices?”

  “Clang and Bang. So far.”

  “Sounds like every Tuesday night in Hamburg," John deadpanned.

  Paul smirked. “So what's your vote?”

  He winked at me, “Wang.” He looked back down to his book.

  Paul turned to me, “John is no help.”

  All eyes turned to Ringo, “It's a cross between Paul and George.”

  Paul asked, “How so?”

  “It’s all of the sounds crashing together at once.”

  John looked up, “Like clang-bang-wang?”

  Ringo shook his head once, “Just the one sound. From where I sit, it’s... Blang.”

  George said drolly, “Well, there you have it.”

  John laughed gleefully, dropping his book, “Bloody hell, that's a new word, Mr. Starkey!”

  Paul looked on trying to figure out if Ringo was serious.

  There was a knock on the door, the rallying pleas from outside spiking up as big Mal poked his head in, “Time to go.”

  All stood, and
Ringo asked me, half shouting now in the invading noise, drumsticks in hand, “Who's asking?”

  I shrugged, sheepishly, half shouting back, “My mum.”

  “I should have known it, Helen.”

  “What’s it to her?” Paul asked.

  Shrugging, “It just popped in her head. That’s how she is.”

  It seemed to satisfy them. They filed past little me, striding to the celebration that was a Beatles concert in front of thousands of screaming and adoring fans. Last in line to leave John patted me on the head with a warm open palm, like a kid sister.

  We want!...BEATLES!...We want!...BEATLES!

  A moment later I heard them announced, and the roars of adulation grew tenfold, driving an electricity I’d come to know when the Beatles entered a stage to pick up guitars. Absolutely deafening, and wonderful...

  ...AAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!...

  But, we’re getting ahead of my story. Let’s start at the beginning, two years before 1964.

  #

  Running on Liverpool’s shiny black streets toward the Beatles concert, in the group of teen girls and boys, excited as only one could be when infatuated and in love.

  The curve of the guitars, the suits and skinny ties, the yellow lights glowing overhead, the warmth of a perfect chord, played in blended blue harmony.

  And I remember the voice of the scary, robber man who chased me through the same foggy, darkened Liverpool streets.

  But most of all I remember loving John, Paul, George, and Ringo; and Brian Epstein and Freda Kelly.

  They are who I recall first and last in my Beatles adventures.

  CHAPTER 1: FLORIDA, USA, PRESENT DAY

  BLANG!

  A Hard Day's Night movie is playing on my television and I see the boys being chased down the street by a happy mob. I'd met them two years before that movie was filmed.

  Hello, my name is Helen Spencer. In my seventies now my days are fairly predictable. I wake up in the morning, make a cup of tea, and prepare a single piece of toast done on one side; it calms to use a roasting fork and hold my bread to the stove’s orange flame. It’s in my British roots to face the fire.

  Each morning I turn on the television and tune in to the news and also check out which programs will be shown. My happiness these days comes from game shows. My favorite is The Price Is Right. So much enthusiasm, and a matter of luck! A metaphor for my life. My old favorite movie was To Catch A Thief by Alfred Hitchcock. Takes one to know one. I like to keep up with what is going on in England, because I grew up there, before retiring here in Florida. Thank goodness for BBC America, and for random re-runs of A Hard Day’s Night striking once again to clear the gray of the day away and make it blue in my mind like the sky.

  There was a knock at my door, and it took me a moment to rouse myself to answer. Down my long hall I reached the door. I looked through the peephole and on the other side was a gentleman who appeared to be in his forties with a ruddy complexion and a square and shiny forehead. Unless my powers of perception are failing me, he looks very British. I opened the door just a crack and I felt the rising daytime humidity entering my nose. The man was sweating in the heat.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Hello. My name is Tuffle. I am looking for Ms. Spencer. Are you her?"

  My stomach clenched. Tuffle. Long ago there was a man with that name who accused me of robbery. Close the door now, my mind yelped at me. But I never shied away from trouble, even as mousy as I appear.

  I squeaked, "I may have misheard you. Can you repeat what you said?"

  "Tuffle. Here for Ms. Spencer."

  A wave of lightheadedness came to me, I put a hand to the wall to steady myself. Despite that I said, "I might be." No one had called me Spencer in decades.

  "Oh great!" grinning. "I have traveled from England to visit with you. I hope you have a minute for me."

  Yes, I certainly recalled the name Tuffle. The particular name itself brought back pangs of nervousness and doom in my stomach. I looked closer and I did see the resemblance. Better to ask. I reminded myself it was always okay to ask a question.

  "I knew an Inspector Tuffle who was with Liverpool police. Any relation?"

  "Yes," he said happily. "My father."

  "And what is it you want with me?" I was noticing he was tall. But I’m short so everyone seems tall.

  "I understand there was a robbery and you were part of the investigation that led to an arrest. Am I correct?"

  Again, I felt the twinge in my stomach, "If there was, what is it you want to know today?"

  "You are the Helen Spencer who worked for the Beatles, isn’t that right?"

  "Yes."

  But I don’t talk about them. Discretion was extremely important in working for the Beatles. Mr. Epstein insisted upon it as did Freda Kelly, my bosses. Really Freda was more of a friend.

  He stood for a moment and then mentioned, "I never really knew my father. And yours was the greatest case he ever worked. I’ve heard about it my whole life, and finally I decided I needed to come speak with you to learn the full story."

  I opened up, just a little. "You must understand I was just a girl who opened fan mail. I ran errands. I helped out at concerts."

  "Absolutely. I do understand. And you were very young. Isn’t that right?"

  "I was 17."

  When it started at least.

  He was getting perturbed at my delays, closing his eyes. "Can we please sit together so I may ask some questions?"

  Well, he seemed earnest. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and let the man in my front door, sifting my remaining memories of 1962.

  I motioned, waving my hand, "Follow me a bit. We can sit down."

  "It’s my pleasure. Thank you!" He seemed relieved. Was he for real? Or was this a trick?

  He followed me as I slowly descended from the tiled entryway through my small kitchen and down a few steps to my Florida room on the back of my cottage. Along the way we walked past my framed Beatles photos on the wall. My favorite possession is the movie poster from A Hard Day's Night with their cheeky faces in that black and white montage.

  I offered him a cup of tea and he hesitated to accept, then acquiesced, looking at his watch. I went into the kitchen. The water was still warm but I boiled it again so the tea would steep correctly. Treating guests with courtesy was ingrained in me.

  When we were settled, he asked, "I never really knew my father. He passed when I was still young. But it was a story I was told by the family of how he once worked on a case with the Beatles. Your name has been something my family has mentioned many times over the years. And at my work, too. ‘Helen Spencer. She was suspected of robbery of music. And she worked for the Beatles’. He must have seen my expression darken because he added, again, "I know somebody else was arrested."

  Hearing his words I almost toppled over backwards in my chair. And how would that have looked...my legs flying up over my head? Sending my tea flying with it?

  I had to admit to myself, Inspector Tuffle had me off balance.

  CHAPTER 2: THE POLICE

  "What is it you do for a living?" I tried to find some space for my mind to gather what was going on right now.

  "Inspector with Scotland Yard. Police, like my father."

  Oh god. They were back. My heart began thumping in my chest. "Are you here on official business?"

  "No. It’s more personal business. To fill in the gaps in my life."

  Quietly I breathed a small sigh of relief, however the fact was I did have an inspector in my home asking questions about a robbery. Where I was the accused. I reminded myself to stay composed, just as we always told ourselves back in those days. Despite any hardships to soldier on and come through. I owed more to the Beatles than they ever owed to me. I would continue to be discreet as always.

  "Well inspector, I don’t talk about the Beatles too much. But I can certainly have a conversation. I don’t know if I will be much help. But I will try to fill in the gaps, as you say." Truthfully, I was s
till a little dizzy.

  "Where do you suggest we start? How about telling me how you came to be in the employ of the Beatles."

  "Everyone has always wondered that, including myself." I wondered if I would like him. I was most certainly not a fan of his father.

  "Very good. So how did you get the job, Ms. Spencer?"

  "Please, Helen. Or you can call me HMS. That’s what the boys called me, after a while."

  "Certainly. Helen."

  My insides were quivering. Relax, Helen. Stiff upper lip. I breathed in and exhaled, then began, "In the fall of 1961 I was living in Liverpool. I was already in my first job, a stocking clerk in Brian Epstein’s store. The North East Music Store called NEMS. Have you heard of it?"

  "I have heard of it. It fell into disrepair."

  It saddened me to hear it. I could still see it in my mind’s eye as a gleaming bright room filled with sounds of orchestras and rock and roll.

  I continued, "At the time it was a brightly lit haven for music. A gathering place for musicians and their followers. I liked to spend time looking through the records when I wasn’t helping customers. My job was to put the records in their places, alphabetized, by genre. You know, one gets good at it. I developed an understanding for the different types of music and the artists and groups as you do."

  He smiled, showing teeth again, "I would imagine."

  "One day Mr. Epstein asked me for a recording and I handed him one from the Beatles. It was called My Bonnie. A single. Recorded in Germany with Tony Sheridan, the Beatles as backup. Customers had been asking about it."

  "They were already pretty big at the time I imagine."

  "Actually no. At that time, they were up and coming but still largely a Liverpool band trying to make their breaks."