MAXWELL’S CHRISTMAS a thrilling murder mystery with plenty of twists (Schoolmaster Murder Mysteries Book 17) by TROW M.J

Author:TROW, M.J.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JOFFE BOOKS crime thrillers and mysteries
Published: 2024-11-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Peter Maxwell was used to odd hours. He was married to a Detective Inspector, for a start, which meant that odd hours were not odd at all to them, but more the norm. And before he had started sharing his home with someone of the police persuasion, he had had no one to please but himself, so if he wanted to stay up all night, painting and gluing, reading or sleuthing, or even — Heaven forfend — marking, then he could. He was therefore wide awake and as chipper as could be when the doorbell rang at nearly midnight. Jacquie was out for the count beside him, having got back home exhausted and monosyllabic not many minutes before. He knew better than to probe when she was like this. He knew that Jeff O’Malley was not the guy, as Monk would have it, and that was it. It could wait.

He wriggled into his dressing gown and padded downstairs, feeling every tread in advance for lurking felines or — worse — the little gifts of mice and similar that the feline may have deposited there. The snow had curbed Metternich a bit, but Maxwell was afraid that, like Francis Bacon, he had discovered the secret of freezing food for later using snow. He and Jacquie were expecting a vole glut around St Valentine’s Day.

Maxwell’s front door had a peephole in it but he had never used it until today. The thought that Jeff O’Malley may be rampaging through Leighford was almost too much to bear, but the thought of him rampaging through his house was much, much worse. So he checked and found that his gut reaction had been partially right. The distorted face on the other side of his door lens belonged to Hector Gold and the semi-conscious shape he was supporting just had to be Alana O’Malley.

He opened the door and prepared to catch the woman as she fell forward. ‘Hector,’ he said. ‘You’re very welcome, of course, dear boy, but what the hell are you doing on my doorstep at midnight? Some quaint Minnesotan custom?’

‘I’m sorry, Max,’ the historian said, hefting Alana into a more comfortable carrying position before attempting the stairs. ‘You’ll have heard about what happened, I suppose?’

‘Some,’ Maxwell told him, guardedly.

‘Well, after Jacquie and Mr Hall took Jeff away, Camille went into meltdown and Alana just passed out. By the time I had Camille on a bit more of an even keel, I went to check on Alana and she was still out for the count. So I took her to the hospital, and they took a look at her. There wasn’t any immediate danger, well no more than she has always been in; liver’s like a piece of shoe leather, has been for years. They did a blood alcohol level and they nearly passed out. But I showed them her usual level and they said in fact she wasn’t quite so bad as usual. It’s just she’s not eating and her liver really is on the fritz, and the stress and everything .

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