The Final Crumpet by Ron Benrey & Janet Benrey

Author:Ron Benrey & Janet Benrey [Benrey, Ron & Benrey, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, tea, Tunbridge Wells, cozy mystery, Suspense, English mystery
ISBN: 9781597221924
Goodreads: 1881718
Publisher: Barbour Publishing
Published: 2005-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Eight

Halfway along Castle Road, in the heart of the Tunbridge Wells Common, Nigel regretted his decision to walk to the museum that Thursday morning. He had chosen not to drive because—returning from the “clippings party” the night before—he had found a legal parking space directly beneath his flat. This was such a rare occurrence that Nigel elected to take advantage of his annual street-parking permit. Upon leaving his building, he had ignored the chill, damp wind that defied his mackintosh and guided Cha-Cha westward on Lime Hill Road.

Nigel often walked to work; he had two favorite routes.

The shortest—an easy two-kilometer hike—followed London Road past the back of the Pantiles. The longer, more scenic route—the one that Cha-Cha liked best—took them along Castle Road through the Common.

Perhaps it was the clammy mist that hovered close to the ground, or possibly the occasional icy spots that made the path treacherous, but the Common seemed unusually desolate that morning. Nigel had seen only one jogger and no other pedestrians. Each step made him feel more exposed, more vulnerable to a host of unknown dangers lurking behind trees. He began to wish for the secure feeling of slamming the car door and pushing the Lock button.

Of course you’re uneasy. What happened in the car park would make anyone edgy.

Remarkably, he hadn’t felt any fear when the man in the green Ford Transit van demanded that they stop seeking additional information about Etienne Makepeace. The voice had been loud and the words moderately threatening, but there had been something artificial about the bizarre confrontation. At the time, it had struck Nigel as vaguely theatrical—more pretense than genuine.

But later, as he drove home after dropping Flick at her apartment, he’d begun to think differently. What if the man in the van had been armed? Or what if he had decided to ram Nigel when he “boldly”—or perhaps foolishly—stepped out of the BMW?

Nigel shivered, unsure if it was the wintry air or a stray frisson of anxiety.

At least he had a fine cup of coffee to sustain him. He had brewed a triple shot—three individual pods—of French Roast blend to fill his stainless steel travel mug. Nigel stopped, pushed open the top slide, and took several sips.

Nigel looked around the Common. There was no one in the immediate vicinity. He let Cha-Cha off his lead; the Shiba raced off behind a tree.

The van itself had been an unremarkable Ford Transit, dark green, diesel powered—not new, but not exceptionally old. There must be thousands of similar vehicles in service across England. The only distinguishing feature had been the small loudspeaker temporarily affixed to the roof by what Nigel had recognized as a magnetic antenna mount. The driver had undoubtedly removed the loudspeaker minutes after leaving the car park. Flick had tried to read the number plate but couldn’t. Nigel sighed. Even if he or Flick had opted to notify the police, the plods could never have located the van.

It had been Flick who recognized that the man in

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