have any idea who did it?’
‘It’s early days, Ian. Is it in tonight’s paper?’
He ducked behind the bar for the Evening Telegraph and handed it to her. A photo of Carol Blakely dominated the front page and several more had been printed on page two.
Jill skimmed the article and handed it back.
‘Did you know her, Ian?’
‘No. On the rare occasions I need to get flowers for something or someone, I stay local. I don’t know the husband either, although he’s a member at the golf club and I’ve seen him up there. That reminds me . . .’ He pointed at some raffle tickets. ‘Can I sell you a ticket?’
‘You usually do,’ she replied with amusement. If he hadn’t been a publican, Ian would have made a great salesman.
With raffle tickets in her purse, Jill picked up her drink and moved away from the bar. She headed outside to see if anyone was taking advantage of the tables in the small garden at the back of the pub.
Finlay Roberts was sitting at one, staring into an almost full pint of beer. It was rare to see him alone. Usually, he was surrounded by people, carrying on as if he were the life and soul of the party.
‘May I join you,’ she asked, ‘or would you prefer to be alone?’
His face cleared, he rose to his feet and gave her a sweeping bow. ‘My darling girl, what a wonderful surprise!’
Stunning-looking he was, but Jill suspected his over-the-top gestures would drive people mad in a short space of time.
‘You were looking thoughtful,’ she remarked as she sat opposite him. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Wonderful!’ The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘How’s your day been? You had a day at the races, I hear.’
‘Sadly not. I had to cancel. Police work,’ she said.
‘Ah, yes. The murder. It puts our burglaries into perspective, doesn’t it?’
‘It does.’ Jill took a sip of her drink and waited for him to say more. Nothing was forthcoming, however. ‘I gather you knew her,’ she said at last.
‘Not really.’ He pushed his hair back from his face. ‘It was like this. I had flowers to order for my ma’s birthday so I went into her shop. Three days later, my sister had her baby so I went back. I had to reassure her that I wasn’t a stalker.’ He smiled at that. ‘She was a beautiful woman.’
‘So I gather.’ He was being surprisingly reticent. ‘It’s awful when something like this happens, isn’t it?’ she murmured. ‘Especially when you know the person involved.’
‘As I said, I didn’t really know her. We had a brief chat and a laugh, but that was it.’
It wasn’t ‘it’. According to Ruth and Cass, he’d taken her out at least twice.
‘Hark at us,’ he said, smile firmly back in place. ‘It’s a beautiful evening and I’m sure you don’t want to talk work. Let me get you another drink.’
Jill put her hand over her glass. ‘Not for me, Finlay. I only called in for a quick one. I’ve got the car.’
‘A soft drink?’
‘No, thanks. Really.’
‘I don’t blame you. Soft drinks are the devil’s own brew.’
She smiled, as was expected, but her mind was racing. Why hadn’t he said he’d taken her out? Possibly because he thought it was none of her business, she answered her own question. In a way, he was right. She wasn’t working with the police officially.
She finished her drink. ‘Right, I’m off. Be seeing you, Finlay.’
‘See you later, darling girl!’
Chapter Six
Max forced open his eyes and focused on the alarm clock. Five forty-two. The knowledge that he could lie in bed for another hour was bliss. He closed his eyes and rolled over. All was quiet. There was nothing to keep him awake.
Nothing except case notes, witness statements, photographs of murdered women, and memories of the day Edward Marshall drove over that cliff to his death. Possible death . . .
It was Wednesday. Carol Blakely’s body had been found on Saturday evening, and they still had nothing concrete to work on.
This morning, he
‘It’s early days, Ian. Is it in tonight’s paper?’
He ducked behind the bar for the Evening Telegraph and handed it to her. A photo of Carol Blakely dominated the front page and several more had been printed on page two.
Jill skimmed the article and handed it back.
‘Did you know her, Ian?’
‘No. On the rare occasions I need to get flowers for something or someone, I stay local. I don’t know the husband either, although he’s a member at the golf club and I’ve seen him up there. That reminds me . . .’ He pointed at some raffle tickets. ‘Can I sell you a ticket?’
‘You usually do,’ she replied with amusement. If he hadn’t been a publican, Ian would have made a great salesman.
With raffle tickets in her purse, Jill picked up her drink and moved away from the bar. She headed outside to see if anyone was taking advantage of the tables in the small garden at the back of the pub.
Finlay Roberts was sitting at one, staring into an almost full pint of beer. It was rare to see him alone. Usually, he was surrounded by people, carrying on as if he were the life and soul of the party.
‘May I join you,’ she asked, ‘or would you prefer to be alone?’
His face cleared, he rose to his feet and gave her a sweeping bow. ‘My darling girl, what a wonderful surprise!’
Stunning-looking he was, but Jill suspected his over-the-top gestures would drive people mad in a short space of time.
‘You were looking thoughtful,’ she remarked as she sat opposite him. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Wonderful!’ The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘How’s your day been? You had a day at the races, I hear.’
‘Sadly not. I had to cancel. Police work,’ she said.
‘Ah, yes. The murder. It puts our burglaries into perspective, doesn’t it?’
‘It does.’ Jill took a sip of her drink and waited for him to say more. Nothing was forthcoming, however. ‘I gather you knew her,’ she said at last.
‘Not really.’ He pushed his hair back from his face. ‘It was like this. I had flowers to order for my ma’s birthday so I went into her shop. Three days later, my sister had her baby so I went back. I had to reassure her that I wasn’t a stalker.’ He smiled at that. ‘She was a beautiful woman.’
‘So I gather.’ He was being surprisingly reticent. ‘It’s awful when something like this happens, isn’t it?’ she murmured. ‘Especially when you know the person involved.’
‘As I said, I didn’t really know her. We had a brief chat and a laugh, but that was it.’
It wasn’t ‘it’. According to Ruth and Cass, he’d taken her out at least twice.
‘Hark at us,’ he said, smile firmly back in place. ‘It’s a beautiful evening and I’m sure you don’t want to talk work. Let me get you another drink.’
Jill put her hand over her glass. ‘Not for me, Finlay. I only called in for a quick one. I’ve got the car.’
‘A soft drink?’
‘No, thanks. Really.’
‘I don’t blame you. Soft drinks are the devil’s own brew.’
She smiled, as was expected, but her mind was racing. Why hadn’t he said he’d taken her out? Possibly because he thought it was none of her business, she answered her own question. In a way, he was right. She wasn’t working with the police officially.
She finished her drink. ‘Right, I’m off. Be seeing you, Finlay.’
‘See you later, darling girl!’
Chapter Six
Max forced open his eyes and focused on the alarm clock. Five forty-two. The knowledge that he could lie in bed for another hour was bliss. He closed his eyes and rolled over. All was quiet. There was nothing to keep him awake.
Nothing except case notes, witness statements, photographs of murdered women, and memories of the day Edward Marshall drove over that cliff to his death. Possible death . . .
It was Wednesday. Carol Blakely’s body had been found on Saturday evening, and they still had nothing concrete to work on.
This morning, he
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