Dead Certainty by Glenis Wilson

Author:Glenis Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780106403
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2015-01-13T16:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

A furry tornado hurtled across the kitchen, landing with a solid thump on my shoulder. Instinctively I reached up for Leo’s tail and steadied him.

His action prompted a thought. Had the cat jumped on Carl as, intent on arson, he’d entered the cottage that night? If so, and it was more than likely, that would explain the dislocated tail. Odds on, Carl would have grabbed him. Not to steady, but to try to pull the cat off. The nearest bare flesh would have been his face. And it would certainly have resulted in a nasty mauling, I could guarantee it. The squalls and yells of pain I’d heard were consistent with that scenario.

If I’d found out earlier that Carl was to blame, I could have had a good look at his face. But I hadn’t known and I hadn’t noticed.

I went through into the lounge, poured a small whisky and sat sipping it whilst doing some serious thinking. Halfway down the glass, I placed it on the coffee table and reached for my mobile.

‘Mike, Harry. You eaten yet? Fancy a bite at the Unicorn? No, no way, I’m not a charity case yet. This is my shout – besides, I need to run stuff by you … OK? Great, meet you in half an hour.’ I rang off and put the mobile back in my trouser pocket.

Reaching for my jacket and the last couple of issues of the Racing Post, I locked the cottage and pointed the Mazda towards Gunthorpe.

The Unicorn was a well-known watering hole. Standing right beside the River Trent at Gunthorpe, it was a favourite haunt for anglers, boating enthusiasts, walkers and the ubiquitous motorbikers. A rambling country pub-cum-restaurant, it boasted a very long conservatory running along the south-facing wall. The views from there over the river to the rise of woods on the far side were magnificent. Farther down from the pub, the narrow tarmac road petered out at the stile and start of a footpath over the fields beside Gunthorpe’s impressive lock and weir.

I glanced at my watch as I entered through the back entrance, directly accessed from the generously accommodating car park. Barely seven o’clock, early yet so every chance of getting a table for two overlooking the Trent. I went to the bar, picked up a still mineral water and wandered through into the conservatory. Definitely a place to unwind and appreciate the wide spread of sky and water. Although half-full, mostly with couples, there was a good choice of tables. I chose one at the end nearest the lock and weir.

Mike would be along in his own good time; he had much to do at the stables, unlike myself. I felt an unwelcome flood of longing to be back riding horses. I doubted I’d ever come to terms with just being a writer, it didn’t seem like a proper job at all. I shrugged my shoulders irritably. The jury was still out – it wasn’t a sentence yet.

I spread out Saturday’s issue of the Racing Post on to the table and flipped through to the declarations on page eighty-two.

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