Something in the Blood (A Honey Driver Murder Mystery) by Jean G. Goodhind Page A

bag slung over her shoulder. She grinned. ‘Not unless you’ve left me a fortune in your will. I might chance it then.’
    ‘I suggest you speak to your grandmother on that score.’
    Gloria Cross had had three husbands. All of them had been millionaires including her own father. He’d shoved off back to Connecticut with a trophy wife. Undeterred, her mother had sued for settlement, got it, got a new millionaire and drank a toast to her former husband’s memory when he’d died in bed on his honeymoon.
    ‘A fitting end to a man who loved women,’ said her mother. That night she’d drunk two bottles of Krug and ate a whole lemon meringue pie – her favourite. It still was.
    On marrying a Methodist she’d become teetotal. He was dead and gone. It was a matter of time before champagne corks popped again.
    Honey smelled her daughter’s freshness as though she’d just showered.
    ‘What are you doing?’
    Honey began tucking the passports, papers and flight tickets back into the plastic zip-up and then into the safe. Before finally turning the key, she paused, her eyes again falling to the calendar.
    ‘There’s a disparity between the booking he made at Ferny Down Guest House and his return flight from London Heathrow. Where did he intend going between those two dates? Had he booked in somewhere? Had he failed to arrive?’
    Lindsey shrugged. ‘Perhaps he was going to stay on at chez greasy spoon a few more days.’
    Honey thought about it, then shook her head. ‘To book in for a week at a bed and breakfast is unusual in itself. Most tourists aren’t that specific – certainly not in an establishment like Ferny Down. It caters for the lower end of the market.’
    ‘We’re not being snobby here, are we?’
    ‘Realistic!’
    Lindsey didn’t argue. She was as aware as her mother that most tourists staying in certain establishments had definite travel plans. Depending on budget, one or two days sufficed in each place they visited.
    ‘But there are always exceptions.’
    Honey waved the airline ticket. ‘He was flying home two days from now. That doesn’t leave long for travelling anywhere. A day at most. The last day would have been set aside for travelling to the airport.’
    Lindsey agreed. ‘Most people travel up to London the day before.’
    Honey fluttered the tickets against her mouth as she thought things through.
    ‘That means he would have left for the airport tomorrow.’
    ‘And what else?’
    Honey slid her eyes sidelong. ‘He was researching his family tree, and yet there are no birth, death or marriage certificates in his luggage. I find that strange.’
    Lindsey sighed and looked at her watch. ‘So you think he’s been murdered.’
    ‘Do you think so?’ Honey’s eyes stretched and a mix of fear and excitement tingled in her ample bosom. The possibility had entered her mind, but surely there was no hard evidence. Had Lindsey spotted something she hadn’t?
    Her daughter’s response swiftly removed any hope of enlightenment.
    Lindsey grinned. ‘It’s my off-the-cuff opinion – purely because I’ve got no time to consider anything else.’ She glanced at her watch again. ‘Oops! Must get changed. I’ve a bar to open.’
    ‘Where do you get your energy?’
    Lindsey kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I inherited it from my mother along with her good looks.’
    ‘Really?’ exclaimed Honey while studying her muted reflection in a glass fronted cabinet.
    Lindsey wrapped a loving arm around her shoulder.
    ‘See,’ she said, her head resting against that of her mother. ‘We’re more like sisters than mother and daughter. But it’s a safe bet that my love life is more intriguing than yours.’
    ‘You wait. I am an amateur detective you know. Who knows what delicious men I might come across.’
    ‘And today you went to the police station. So tell me. Did you meet any good-looking policemen?’
    Honey opened her mouth to deny the fact when Doherty popped into her mind.
    Lindsey had