Not Forgotten: Welsh detectives search for one of their own (The Welsh crime mysteries Book 3) by Nicola Clifford

Author:Nicola Clifford [Clifford, Nicola]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Book Folks - Welsh crime fiction publisher
Published: 2021-06-26T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter seventeen

The kitchen in Stacey’s cottage was crammed with bodies. Erica, Jack and Heidi sat round the table, glasses of wine in their hands, while Stacey stood by the Aga and stirred a rich lamb curry as the aroma of many spices rose from the large pot. Julie had sent her apologies, said that carrying the twins around all day had worn her out.

‘You have a lovely home,’ Erica said. ‘Thanks for the invite. This is so much better than a ready meal for one in front of the telly with a box set for company.’

‘I’m glad you could make it,’ Stacey said, busy washing rice. ‘Good to put a face to the name. Heidi talks about you all the time.’

‘Does she?’ Erica was surprised.

‘Yeah, pretty much.’ Stacey filled wide bowls with food and the group dug in.

‘This is wonderful, Stace, as always,’ Jack said. ‘Just what I needed.’ He shovelled in more food then asked, ‘How are you coping with all this? I know Julie’s been keeping an eye on you, but can we do anything?’

‘No, it’s fine. I’m just about holding everything together and going back to work was a good move.’ She grinned and looked more like herself. ‘Got another front-page story in the morning. I couldn’t believe the state of the caravans, those poor lads.’ She sighed. ‘Yeah, work is a good thing, but it isn’t a substitute for Ben, just a good distraction from thinking too hard about bad things.’

Jack covered her hand with one of his. ‘Hang in there. We’re making real progress now and we will find your man – I promise you.’ He sipped from his wine glass. ‘Now, tell me, who tipped you off about the raid?’

‘You know I can’t say – a good journalist never reveals her sources – but wish I felt as confident as you are about finding my man.’

She spooned curry onto a piece of naan bread, stuffed it in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Ben had been missing too long and the longer he was away, the less likely his story would have a happy ending, she knew that. Her friends had been remarkable, showered her with love and support, but the bed was still too big and the cottage was still missing an essential part. She knew she was good at hiding her distress, but found it more difficult each day to plaster on an optimism she didn’t feel. The last ten days had been like riding an emotional roller coaster, hope one moment, despair and fear the next.

When supper was over they gathered on garden chairs at the back of the house, lit candles and watched bats swoop in and out of the low eaves as they chased moths for their own supper.

Jack groaned. ‘That was a superb meal, Stacey, thanks. I won’t need to eat again until next week I’m sure.’

‘My pleasure,’ she said. ‘So, tell me about the investigation. Are you any closer to finding Ben?’

‘We might be,’ Jack admitted. ‘Certainly have more to work with now – even Nettle has shut up about Ben leaving by choice.

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