The Secluded Village Murders by Shelly Frome

Author:Shelly Frome
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BQB Publishing
Published: 2018-06-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

“Hey, it’s not like we got some moral dilemma here,” said Doc, prodding his mincemeat pie with a fork. “I’m talking strictly business.”

Emily scooted to the edge of the settle opposite him as she confronted Doc’s blunt features and closely cropped gray hair. He was wearing a rumpled navy-blue parka over a thick polo shirt and was bearing in on her with no attempt whatsoever at being amenable. It wasn’t enough that Emily was up against a cornered Harriet Curtis, who was clearly up to no good, but now, she had to factor in Doc and this newly acquired sidekick Cyril as well.

Taking another swig from his tankard of ale, Doc carried on. “I mean, here you are on your own. So you must’ve ditched the Curtises who, I know for a fact, have all hitched up. If you can do that, you can just as easy take me to Harriet. Then you can drop me at Bovey Tracey so I can take care of this other matter.”

Emily’s train of thought ran from Harriet to Miranda Shaw by way of Martha Forbes and possibly even Brian Forbes and back again as she continued to glare at him.

“And how about Martha?” Emily said. “And Miranda? How far does your ‘taking care of business’ go?”

“Never mind.”

“Right.”

“Hey, are you listening?” said Doc. “Don’t tell me you still got it in for me. You need to skip the personal crap and start to wise up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it. So quit jerking me around about what I may have said or done or whatever else is rattling around in that brain of yours and stick to what I’m asking here.”

Maud thrusted her broad face between them and asked how the “pair of Yanks” were faring. Emily shook her head, assuming Maud would pick up on the fact that Emily had been looking for Constable Hobbs and was wary of Doc and his dubious companion.

But Maud didn’t pick up on anything. When she headed back to the bar, Doc gave up on the mince pie and dropped his fork on the plate.

“Okay. What’s it gonna take?” Casting up his bleary eyes at the bowed ceiling, he added, “What with everything else, I gotta tell you, I really don’t need this.”

“Ditto,” Emily said, doing her best to hold her own.

Shoving aside the tankard, Doc said, “Right, I get it, I got it. We each got a list, I’m on yours. Hey, give me a break. Things happen. Whichever way it shakes out, you use it.”

“Like your new friend, Cyril.”

“Absolutely like Cyril. I get to Bickington—don’t ask me how—to find a place to crash. The landlady’s flunky is hanging around. He carries my bag, he’s hungry, he’s available. He’s from here, knows every inch, every angle, every corner.”

“So you’re all set.”

“Get off it, will ya? The freakin’ beer is warm, I’m starving, digging into some mystery-meat pie. On top of that, I got only a twenty-four-hour window. Which leaves me zip to play hopscotch here. So let’s cut the tap dance, what do you say? Give me the skinny on where Harriet is hiding out.

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