The Mystery of Sundays Well by Anne Crosse

Author:Anne Crosse [Crosse, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: THE BOOK FOLKS bestselling Irish crime fiction publisher
Published: 2019-07-20T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

Robert placed his nightcap on the bedside locker and eased himself in between the sheets. His old shoulder injury, which he had acquired when he was working on a farm in France, suddenly reared its ugly head, and much to his annoyance it was giving him gyp all day long.

According to an article in a health magazine someone had left behind in the lounge downstairs, a change in the weather could bring on pains and aches. He’d only picked the bloody thing up and leafed through it to kill time while waiting for James to make an appearance. Normally, he wouldn’t be a fan of health magazines, all mumbo-jumbo as far as he was concerned, with their new-fangled ideas which were in fact old ideas dressed up with new names, like mindfulness, and all that kind of bullshit. However, the information about the reason for pain at certain times of the year did strike a chord with him.

There had been an early morning frost for the past few days, and the coat he’d brought with him wasn’t exactly warm enough for these kinds of elements. He didn’t think there’d be frost this early in the year, but weather nowadays was so unpredictable. All down to climate change, according to the experts, which in his opinion was another load of old tosh, but what was he doing working himself up into a tizzy when he should be staying calm and enjoying a bit of peace and quiet in private.

He took a grateful sip of his beloved brandy and laid his head down on the pillow. The bed, he had to admit, was extremely comfortable. The receptionist had informed him that all the beds in the hotel had been replaced a few months ago. Some business grant from the government was apparently the reason for the big revamp. The sheets and duvet covers were Egyptian cotton, she said. He hadn’t a clue what Egyptian cotton was, nor did he want to know, but the linen did feel really cool and comfortable.

The knocking on the door interrupted his train of thought.

Probably James; he cursed the fellow under his breath. Does he ever go off duty, he wondered as he threw on his dressing gown and made towards the door.

“Is this John Hanton’s room?”

She was quite a striking woman, Robert couldn’t help thinking as he laid eyes on the tall, willowy lady standing outside in the corridor.

“If this is John Hanton’s room, I’m going to be done for trespassing,” Robert said, and laughed.

“111, that’s the number he gave me.”

Robert pointed to the number on the door. “That’s what it says, but I’m afraid you must have been given the wrong number.”

“I should go down to reception and check, but I’d rather not. She’s such a nosey witch, I would prefer not to draw attention to myself.”

Robert took the hint. “Would you like me to ring reception and ask what his number is. It would be no bother at all,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Come in, no point in you standing out there drawing attention to yourself.

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