Murder in the Blood: A Doyle & Acton Murder Mystery by Anne Cleeland

Author:Anne Cleeland [Cleeland, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07XRJFWGL
Goodreads: 48123421
Published: 2019-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

S

omethin’s up,” Doyle admitted. “I wish I knew what it was.” “Didn’t you hear what he said?” asked the heiress in surprise. With a negligent gesture, she paused to draw on her cigarette holder. “You’re worried about nothing, silly you.”

“It’s not nothing,” Claudia Peterson chimed-in with a scowl. “He’s going to kill the baby.”

But Doyle was distracted, thinking about the conversation she’d just held with her husband. “He truly doesn’t want to go on a trip—he’s not one who likes to go anywhere. It’s crackin’ strange that he keeps suggestin’ it.”

The heiress laughed lightly. “If I had your money, I’d never stay home.”

“Whatever it is,” Doyle mused, “its buried deep. He’s that worried I’ll catch a glimpse.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” asked Peterson in exasperation.

But Doyle ignored her. “He can’t get any—any peace. He’s that fashed, poor man.”

“Not poor at all,” the heiress offered fairly, and took another puff.

“You’re not much of a copper.”

“Hush, you,” Doyle snapped back at the deceased police officer. “You’re not one to talk, after all. And why are you bein’ so nasty, sayin’ all these terrible things? Crackin’ vengeful, is what you are.”

“I am not,” Peterson retorted in outrage. “He’ll say its regrettable-but-necessary.”

Brought up short, Doyle stared at the woman in alarm. “Holy Mother—that’s exactly what Acton said about Navarro, murderin’ his own team.”

The ghost nodded emphatically. “That’s how they think—all those nobs. They don’t care; they’re ruthless.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked the heiress, amused. “Take your class-warfare elsewhere, if you please.”

“You were ruthless, yourself,” Doyle pointed out to Claudia. “So, I’m not so certain that I should be listenin’ to the likes of you; Acton says you’re just my subconscious-somethin’-or-other.”

“You see?” said the heiress, waving the cigarette lighter in a casual arc. “You should listen to the man—you’re working yourself up over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Claudia retorted. “Don’t listen to her, she’s a creep.”

The heiress eyed the police officer with a playful touch of scorn. “Well, aren’t you the vulgar one?”

“Everyone should just leave me alone,” Doyle declared crossly, and wished she could hold her palms to her eyes. “I can’t think, with the two of you bickerin’ like a pair of jackdaws.”

“No—you’ve got to pay attention, Sergeant,” Claudia fired back.

But Doyle snapped back at her. “Don’t you be givin’ me orders—you don’t out-rank me.”

“You’ll soon out-rank me,” the heiress interjected wistfully. “I should have been a Countess, at the very least.”

“There’s somethin’ here that I’m missin’,” Doyle admitted. “And I’ve a feelin’ it’s somethin’ obvious, somethin’ in plain sight.”

“I don’t know how it could be more obvious,” Claudia retorted. “He’s going to kill the baby.”

“No, he’s not—for the love o’ Mike, stop sayin’ it.”

“A strange sort of subconscious, you’re got,” the heiress offered in an amused tone.

“Oh,” Claudia said in a fury. “If only I still had my Glock.”

“No violence,” Doyle admonished in alarm. “Please, ladies.”

“Too late,” said the heiress, and then chuckled as though at a private joke.

With a gasp, Doyle started awake, and lay for a moment, waiting for her heart to stop pounding.

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