Catherine Cliffe, author of the
Tales of Whittington Edge books

Hello and welcome to my website.I'm Catherine, and my book series Tales of Whittington Edge is all about a small town where strange things have been known to happen...There are four books so far, and a fifth is already in the pipeline. Sign up to my email list on the below if you want to be kept informed of publication news.You can read more about – and buy – the first four books here.

Whittington Edge was the perfect village with an ancient church filled to the belfry with eccentric citizens – that’s why Lottie Colenso moved there. She had plans to join the Women’s Institute and excel at jam making and quilting. She would learn to garden and grow and bottle her own fruit. She would become an accomplished artist and sell her paintings in one of the village shops.And she would have done well to stick to that plan.Instead she found a body that had lain undisturbed for many years. This was a problem since she was in Whittington Edge hiding away from a very nasty man who had threatened to kill her and public attention was the last thing she needed. This discovery upset many of Lottie's neighbours too and one of them could be the murderer.Lottie began to delve in places she may have done well to leave alone. Another murder brought panic. Everyone seemed to have secrets and, if there was one thing Lottie was good at, it was getting people to give up their secrets. When there is another death she realises that her main difficulty may be staying alive to tell the tale...

Three men came to Whittington Edge. One man came to cause mischief. One man came for glory. One man came to kill.And they all came at the time of the witches Sabbat when things known and unknown can collide.After the Sabbat a man is found dead on Maiden Hill by the standing stones. The villagers took the Sabbat to be a bit of fun. The Witches took it far more seriously. They know that something is afoot. They know that a spell has been cast.They fear the consequences and this causes upset amongst the various magickal factions. No one in Whittington Edge expects anything nasty to upset the smooth running of their delightful village.This book will appeal to fans of TV shows like Midsomer Murders and who love reading authors such as Rebecca Shaw, and those who enjoy a little humour with their cosy story. A standalone fun crime story and a whole village full of engaging characters. No cliff hangers, no gory descriptions, no swearing, no intimate or graphic scenes.

Mrs Bettinson, Whittington Edge's resident little black cloud, was at it again.She had told Lottie Colenso a few months ago that her house was haunted, and a reminder was the last thing she needed. Lottie had put this out of her mind then, but a visit from the local psychic was now essential.The arrival of two strangers in the village was to shake up Mrs Bettinson. One of them was a Shade from her own past, and he was here to stay. Some less charitable folk watched with glee to see how she dealt with the situation.Lottie found other Shades. A pair of star crossed lovers from many years ago changed the way she looked at one of the most eminent people in the village. A clue to the death of a schoolgirl in the more recent past took her mind off ghosts and concentrated many neighbours on the task of sorting through their memories. Goomersbury Award participants surrounded Horse and Trumpet Cottage every day and were a further thorn in Lottie's side.And it was coming up to the Summer Solstice when the handsome chief witch would possibly return to stir up hearts and trouble once more; one resident, at least, hoped he would. Added to that, Mercury was retrograde and all sorts of trouble could trail in its wake.This Summer Solstice would find a shock for the witches and the whole of Whittington Edge was to discover that Shades existed on both sides of the veil, and everyone had at least one.

The heat in Whittington Edge is sizzling everyone in their shoes. In Whittington Edge the only cool place is St Jude's where Rev Sidney Phipps spends most of his time. St Jude's needs a new churchwarden to replace Arnold Pickard and Sidney wants the post filled for an amazing service he has planned.A renowned medium has heard rumours of the village and the circle of standing stones and moves into one of the grand houses on The Green. His first demonstration predicts death and sends at least one person into shock when an almost forgotten secret threatens to raise its head.
The High Priestess has a disturbing vision and unfortunately it comes true. Beau comes face to face with someone he never expected to meet again and is a turmoil of stress in case his tranquil life is thrown into disarray.A villager returns from holiday bringing upset and delicious scandal to delight the neighbours. And, as a bonus, the perfect way to make a cup of tea is revealed to Sidney by an old villager.It's never dull in Whittington Edge.

Catherine Cliffe has been a writer ever since she could read.She has also been a lot of other things from a bingo caller to an investigator.Now she is simply a writer and enjoying every minute of it.

• About the Books

Chapter 1Up until the moment that her rear offside wheel hit the pothole, talking on her mobile phone whilst driving was the only reason Lottie Colenso had to fear discovery.She had left Jonas Milton laughing in the car park of the hotel where they had spent the weekend.‘You're never taking the hood off?’‘I am.’She had laughed too as he helped to peel back the canvas on her ancient sports car and stow it away.‘It’s far too cold. You'll get a red nose.’‘Think yourself lucky you won’t be there to see it.’Her eyes smarted as she threw back her head and laughed a laugh that was caught on the wind and carried away to join the birdsong and the fluttering of leaves discarded by autumn trees.She zipped away, waving to him as he shook his head and wiped his hands on his handkerchief. He was right; it was freezing, but, Jonas was laughing and that was all that mattered. She wanted Jonas Milton to think her wacky and fun to be with. She wanted to leave him with an indelible picture in his mind. And she didn’t want that picture to be of a staid woman of a certain age.Jonas was a professor – a sober enough career one might think – but he was surrounded all day with bright young things who could easily catch his eye and that would never do.She could park further down the road and replace the hood.This idea was attractive; the icy fingers of October explored her scalp with ferocious thoroughness. But Lottie was no quitter.She was close to quitting half an hour later when the turn for Whittington Edge came up and her phone rang on the seat beside her. Jonas.‘Is your nose red?’ he was still laughing.Lottie tilted her head so that she could see in the mirror. ‘Like Coco the clown,’ she said laughing too. ‘Hold on.’She put the phone down and negotiated the bend before picking it up again.‘Where are you?’‘At the university. My lecture starts in fifteen.’‘I’d better not keep you then. Damn!’‘What's wrong?’Lottie pulled to a stop and put on her hazard lights. ‘I've lost a wheel trim. Got to get it back.’ She was out of the car and running across the road.‘Where did it go?’‘I hit a pot hole. It bounced off and flew over the bushes on a traffic island.’‘Can’t you get a new one?’‘Probably, but I'm there now.’‘You are one crazy lady, Coco, this could only happen to you.’Lottie smiled. Wacky and fun to be with. Score one for Lottie.***The tangle of shrubbery pulled at her woollen dress and snagged her stockings. Tugging herself free, she realised that the cost of the wheel trims was a fraction of the cost of the dress and stockings that would now be ruined. But it was too late to worry about that and Jonas thought her amusing, so, with the perseverance of Stanley in hot pursuit of Dr Livingstone, she blundered through brittle branches letting out a small cry as her ankle almost turned on a stone. That gave her pause and she ensured that her footing was secure before moving on.It was impossible to hear the traffic in the centre of the island. The trees formed a perfect sound barrier. Even the birds fell silent. She took a deep breath, regretting her impulse as she forced her way onward. Even her voice as she spoke to Jonas was hushed.‘The wheel trim can’t be far away now.’A clearing opened. In the centre was a pile of rags and on top of the rags was her wheel trim. ‘It’s landed on top of a pile of rags’ she told Jonas.‘Serves you right,’ Jonas laughed.Fly tippers were a scourge.Only a few steps now. Lottie carefully placed one foot in front of the other. The ground was uneven and soft. She giggled and Jonas laughed. She bent down, reached out, picked up her property, sighed with relief and straightened up. She gave Jonas a running commentary which she hoped was sparkling with wit. He was laughing anyway so that was something.And that was when she saw the skull.‘Jonas, there's a skeleton here.’ Her voice was a whisper.‘A skeleton?’‘A skull and a pile of rags.’‘I’ll come to you. Where are you exactly?’‘No. Don't do that. I'm fine. Really. I'm nearly at home. I’ll call the police from there.’The shock rocked her back on heels that sank into soft earth. She staggered backwards a few steps until her free hand managed to grasp a sturdy branch and a thorn plunged deep into her palm. She winced. She blinked. A skull? On the bypass roundabout outside Whittington Edge? It couldn’t be.It was. And it had been wearing a red hat.Thankfully, Lottie's brain closed down all her thought processes at this point and concentrated its efforts on removing her from the scene and back to the safety of her car. She pulled her hand free of the thorn and sucked at the drop of blood that welled up on her skin. Then, carefully, she made her way, step by sliding step, to the firmer ground near the trees. She hoped no one would see her bursting dishevelled and windswept, from the shrubbery. No one did. She could see her car now; a canary yellow haven waiting patiently, hazard lights flashing with their reliable rhythm.Lottie was feeling better in a surreal sort of way. The rags, the red hat, even the skull were turning into some sort of hallucination. She couldn’t really have discovered a body. Could she? Returning to her car, she tossed the wheel trim onto the small back seat and carefully drove away only to pull into a lay-by a hundred yards down the lane to regroup. She sat with her hands covering her face. This was impossible. This was not happening.***When she left Lyeminster and moved to Whittington Edge she had visions of herself as a countrywoman; a woman whose stack of mud-encrusted plant pots were photographed for glossy magazines. She had left her life as an investigator far behind. She had not expected to discover a body; no, a skeleton. Not here. Not in this new, secure life.Part of her couldn’t believe what she had seen. Part of her wished she had overcome her natural parsimony, waved the wheel trim goodbye and invested in a new set. The more honourable part of her was riddled by the guilt of this thought.Checking that no one was near, she peeled off her ruined stockings and put them in her handbag. Any hope that this hadn’t happened was dashed. Reality broke through again. A poor woman had died ages ago on that traffic island and no one had found her. How could that happen?Someone must have reported her missing and sat by the phone day after day hoping for word that she was safe and well. The memory of the jaunty red hat faded in parts that had fallen from the skull made Lottie’s lip quiver.Hot tears replaced the icy ones brought on by the cold wind. Lottie bit into her lower lip. She had no cause to cry. She wasn’t the body on the roundabout. She was a fortunate woman. She had to do the right thing. Even if it meant that her carefully constructed new life would suffer in the process.But why should her new life be destroyed? The woman was dead. Nothing could help her now. Lottie was alive. Her life would be at risk if she spoke out. Possibly. These thoughts chased themselves around her head until she felt quite sick.

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