Murder at the Castle by Jeanne M. Dams

Author:Jeanne M. Dams [Dams, Jeanne M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
Publisher: Severn House Publishers Ltd
Published: 2013-01-28T13:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

‘Well, that didn’t get us anywhere,’ I said when we were back at Tower. I had kicked off my shoes and stretched out on the bed.

‘No,’ said Alan, taking off his own shoes. ‘Not very far. We confirmed that Pat wasn’t on the boat. If you nap now, you won’t be able to get to sleep tonight.’

‘We already knew she wasn’t on the boat. Or at least we deduced it. I’m not going to nap. I just wanted to put my feet up.’

Alan chuckled, and that was the last thing I heard for a couple of hours.

‘Well, I didn’t intend to fall asleep,’ I said when I finally roused.

‘It’s all those carbs. Lays you out flat, every time. Are you ready for some dinner?’

‘After “all those carbs”? You must be kidding! I never want to eat again.’

‘There are not a lot of other options for evening entertainment in these parts. We could always go for a walk. It won’t be dark for at least another three hours.’

‘I don’t feel like a walk.’

I was feeling, in fact, contrary. It was a predictable result of an afternoon spent on an emotional roller-coaster, with a big meal and an unwise nap. Knowing that didn’t make me feel any less prickly.

‘Well, it’s that, or television, or a pub. Or I could borrow a spade from Charles and dig a hole you could crawl into.’

‘It doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Oh, I suppose we could go to a pub. I’m not in the mood for a raucous one, though. And I’d just as soon not run into any of the musicians.’

‘Shall we ask Nigel if he knows of a quiet spot nearby? Or does he count as a musician?’

‘No, he’s more like a grandson, even if he does sing. I won’t hold his voice against him.’

Nigel and Inga were amenable, and Nigel was amused at my request that he name a pub. ‘Just because I’m half Welsh,’ he said mildly, ‘you expect me to know all about Wales. I’d never been here before we came to rehearse. And though my mother had learned a little Welsh from my father, I’ve forgotten everything she tried to teach me about the language, except how to pronounce it – after a fashion. But I do know how to use a computer.’ He fired up his laptop, quickly searched the Internet, and found two or three pubs that looked suitable. One was quite nearby and proved to be, as promised, quiet, if unremarkable.

‘Beer?’ Alan asked all of us.

I still felt contrary. ‘Wine for me. A good burgundy, if they have it.’

Somewhat surprisingly, they did. It was in fact good enough that my mood actually mellowed after a few sips. I even began to feel some pangs of hunger.

‘Nigel, do they do food, do you know?’

‘Aha!’ said Alan. ‘This is the lady who, about an hour ago, was never going to be hungry again.’

‘A lady,’ said Inga firmly, ‘is entitled to change her mind. I’m hungry, too, though I wouldn’t have believed I could be.

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