Murder in the Goblins' Playground (DCI Arthur Ravyn Mystery Book 1) by Ralph E. Vaughan

Author:Ralph E. Vaughan [Vaughan, Ralph E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dog in the Night Books
Published: 2016-06-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8: The Weakest Link

DCI Arthur Ravyn looked at the array of cucumber, egg and cress sandwiches, all cut into neat little triangles, crusts removed and points as sharp as spears. There were scones with clotted cream and assorted biscuits, as well as thick slices of Battenberg cake and Victoria sponge. The tea was delicious, served in eggshell china cups decorated with vines and roses.

“Are you expecting anyone else, Aunt Althea?” Ravyn asked.

“Now, don’t be difficult, Arthur,” the old woman scolded. “A stickman, that’s practically what you are. I expect you to do more than gawk at the sandwiches and cakes.”

“Yes, Aunt Althea,” he said, dutifully placing two triangles and a chocolate biscuit on a tiny plate.

“And I expect you to take a box when you leave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Share them with whomever you have at the village hall.”

“It’s a small group.”

“And I am sure none of you are eating properly,” she said. “I understand you took rooms at the Three Crowns.”

“Well, I…”

“You could have had your old room,” she said. “You’re likely eating wretched fare served up by that wearisome Woodcock boy, fried foods, and shepherd’s pie all gristle and dishwater.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he said. “It was very late…”

“Pish-posh!” she snapped. “You know I keep late hours, always have, else how would I know all the times you snuck out.”

Ravyn reddened. “I was not…”

“Small boys always assume their elders are stupid, ignorant or deaf,” she said. “Here, have a skosh more tea.” She poured out. “Of course I knew you sometimes went out, but I also knew you were not up to mischief, at least nothing serious. It was your nature to be inquisitive, to suss out everything about your surroundings.”

Ravyn smiled. “Really, Aunt Althea. ‘Suss out’ is now part of your vocabulary?”

“I can also say ‘take a dekko at this, mate,’ and ‘he lay doggo while the coppers searched’,” she said. “I find detective thrillers a pleasant diversion. Not all the time, you understand, but now and then. I don’t suppose you read them, do you?”

“Now and then, from time to time.” The thought of his erudite aunt picking up words and phrases more suited to Whitechapel than Hammershire amused him, but he hid his smile behind his teacup. “I find the order they present a welcome change from the chaos that usually attends my investigations.”

“I particularly enjoy Christopher Fowler’s tales of the Peculiar Crimes Unit,” she said. “Always so inventive, even if convoluted, and I find it a nice change of pace to encounter literary characters older than me.”

“Might I suggest John Rigbey?” Ravyn said. “Very well written stories, very accurate.”

Aunt Althea wrote the name in a small pad she kept in a pocket of her jacket. “Accurate, you say?”

“He’s a former detective with the Met.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh no, not another one.”

“His first book was The Strange Michael Folmer Affair, about a killer who replicates Jack the Ripper’s murders in modern times,” Ravyn said. “His series character is DCI Michael Gregory, middle-aged, but a clever chap.

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