EVERY TRICK IN THE ROOK an absolutely gripping British cozy murder mystery by MARTY WINGATE

Author:MARTY WINGATE [WINGATE, MARTY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books cozy mysteries and crime
Published: 2024-02-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

My heart stopped and restarted with a ka-thunk as I stared at those letters. AIL. That was Nick’s invention, the reason he’d left for St. Kilda, the reason we’d put our marriage out of its misery — a marriage so boring I had felt half-asleep for its entire, albeit brief, lifespan. Now I understood why Nick had been here in Smeaton. He had wanted money from Rupert.

That wasn’t an unfamiliar situation, but one I had never wanted to examine too closely. I turned to the first page of the grant and began reading again. After a moment, I frowned, and went once more to the beginning.

Where was Nick’s name? Amid all the requirements of the grant application — statement of purpose, intent of use, signatories and references and qualifications and promises — I found two names: AIL Directors Terry Fisk and Sam Redman. I crawled through the pages again, setting my finger on each word so not one would escape, yet I found not a single mention of Nick Hawkins.

I began yet again — I’d have the thing memorized soon — this time attending to the application itself. Perhaps this was a different AIL. Nick certainly hadn’t been living in Kent all these years, far too populated for him. At last, I saw the phrase “relocate from St. Kilda to . . .” I got no further when my phone rang. For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was until I saw the caller. Dad.

“Jools, will you take a look in my study when you’re at Marshy End tomorrow morning? I thought I’d brought my journal from autumn 2004 away with me, but I can’t find it anywhere, and I need to check on migration dates for sand martins. Ring me from there, and I’ll walk you through it.”

“Righto,” I said.

“And listen, I’m ready for the phone interview with Radio Norfolk tomorrow morning, but I’d prefer they ring me first. I want to make sure I’ve got my broadcasting setup ready to go.”

This was good — Rupert launching into business meant he hadn’t heard about the knife in my cottage door. He didn’t know both Vesta and Willow were gone and I was doing two jobs at once. I scrambled to bring up the agenda on my computer, shifting the grant applications out of sight, but certainly not out of mind. Should I tell him? Should I ring Callow first? Should Michael know?

“Jools?”

“Yes, Dad, I’m on it. I’ll let them know to ring you ten minutes before. How’s that?”

“You’re doing all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine, of course. It’ll be no problem.” Had Nick lost his job with the institute? But how could he lose his job if he’d started the bloody thing?

An email popped in as Rupert started on another topic. I glanced at the subject line, and my blood ran cold — “Final number for your Walking Festival event.”

I had made sure Smeaton-under-Lyme would not be left in the dust of the Suffolk Walking Festival. I had

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