The Sinking Admiral by The Detection Club

Author:The Detection Club
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008100445
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2016-04-26T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Amy walked home that Saturday afternoon with the bound proof secure in a carrier bag against the fine spray being flung at her from the sea. Her mind was full of confusion. She didn’t believe the story Ianthe had just spun her, it had all come out too pat, almost rehearsed. But why had the publisher bothered to come up with it? Simply to divert suspicion from herself?

Then again there was the strange behaviour of Bob Christie… What was he trying to cover up with his elaborate lies? She made a mental note that she – or perhaps she and Ben – needed to have another meeting with the editor of The Crabwell Clarion.

Entering her cottage, she took off her ancient Barbour and threw it over a seat-back. Then she sat in her armchair, Ianthe’s proof lying heavy on her lap. There was a click and scratching from ivy on a windowpane, and it startled her. She turned and stared at the window. For the first time since she’d lived in Crabwell, she was aware of a vague uneasiness. Unbidden, the picture of poor old Fitz lying in the boat, dead, came to her. Maybe the village wasn’t as benign as it had always seemed.

Crossing the floor, she locked and bolted the front door, and then, resting her back on the old timbers, she stared about her with a swift assessment of her position here in this lonely cottage, unprotected and unsafe while a murderer lurked… somewhere. She had no safety here, that was plain. In fact there had been no point in locking the front door, she didn’t know why she’d bothered. The back door was so rotten that anyone could pull it open by yanking hard, and in any case, all the putty in the windows was perished and falling away. If anybody wanted to break in, they could open a casement without trouble.

Returning to the chair, she stood a moment, staring about her, wondering whether she would ever feel safe again. Then, hoping to set all thoughts of the murder aside for a while, she busied herself opening her log-burner and laying a fresh fire. Setting a match to the paper, she knelt before it and watched the flames licking around the logs.

If she thought about it, she could have been hungry, but she put thoughts of food to one side. She could always get something to eat at the pub later. With the amount she was owed in back pay, she felt entirely justified in eating as well as possible at the pub’s expense.

Rising stiffly, she walked back to the table and stared at the bound proof. It was possible that in these pages there was some explanation for the Admiral’s death. Poor old Fitz! She dashed away the tears that had threatened, and glared at the manuscript. If there was a motive in here, she would find it.

The Admiral had always made sure that there was plenty of Laphroaig in the pub, and Amy had a bottle secreted in a cupboard.

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