THE SHREWSBURY MURDER an absolutely gripping and unputdownable British crime mystery by PRISCILLA MASTERS

Author:PRISCILLA MASTERS [MASTERS, PRISCILLA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books Mystery, Crime Thriller, Suspense Fiction
Published: 2026-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Saturday

Gethin Roberts was feeling disgruntled.

It wasn’t anything like he’d imagined. Having told Flora, his girlfriend, that he was off to Spain for the weekend on a trip (top secret) connected with the current investigation, and watching her eyes grow satisfyingly round, he was now sitting on a lumpy bed in a dingy room in a scabby pension that was more like a block of council flats. To cap it all it wasn’t even quiet. It was on a main road, right on a traffic island and there was no swimming pool, let alone the imagined bathing beauties, strutting their stuff in skimpy bikinis. And it wasn’t even hot. The girls around were all muffled up in coats, boots, scarves and woolly hats. They’d been held up for hours at the airport because of ice and fog and then, to top it all, when they had landed, his suitcase had burst open on the carousel, scattering hastily and carelessly packed clothes and he was sure people were making jibes about his dingy underwear in whispered Spanish. Not a good experience. PC Roberts decided there and then that next time he flew he would put a band around his suitcase. He and the inspector had had a very late and indigestible dinner of some tough meat and a bottle of Spanish wine between them. The wine had been the only thing that had lived up to expectations. Then Randall had told him the Godfrey’s house was four hours’ drive away and they would have to make an early start.

Roberts was wondering what he had given his weekend up for, but then he remembered Flora’s wide-eyed excitement and pride. He could embellish the drama. He bit his tongue and commented only that it wasn’t quite how he’d expected it.

Randall looked at him kindly. ‘Nothing ever is, Sonny Jim,’ he said, resting his hand for a moment on the young constable’s shoulder.

* * *

There was only one way to describe chez Godfrey. Opulent. In a hired Seat Ibiza they drove up a winding road that was in places single track, meeting farmers on the way herding goats. The tinkle of bells would always remind them both of this expedition and recall their mixed feelings.

Near the end of the road they were faced with huge gates and a plaque announcing El Hacienda. Very unoriginal. Randall glanced at Roberts whose mouth had dropped open as he took in the pink palace. ‘In your dreams, Roberts,’ he said kindly. ‘Or else a bit of luck with the lottery.’

Gethin Roberts managed a half-hearted smile. ‘First I’ll have to do it, as they say.’

‘Quite,’ Alex said drily.

There was an electronic voice receiver in the wall. Randall climbed out of the car, pressed the button and announced their arrival.

He got the same bored voice that he’d met on the telephone and the gates swung open, lazily, as though they too had got the message, mañana.

They circled round the front of the house which had the most amazing views right

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