Marsh Blood (The Endel Mysteries Book 2) by Andrews Lucilla & Gordon Diana

Author:Andrews, Lucilla & Gordon, Diana [Andrews, Lucilla]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: romantic mystery, romantic thriller, romantic suspense, mystery and thriller, twists and turns, British thrillers
Publisher: Wyndham Books (Romantic Suspense)
Published: 2019-10-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

‘Nasty dangerous habit, smoking.’ David crouched among the cold ashes that were all that remained of the fodder on the nethouse floor, and lit a cigarette. ‘Put down your fag one moment and the next you’re dialling 999.’

I sat gingerly on my feet that were now encased in the aged pair of spare wellingtons that with four sacks and a spade lived in my car boot from September to April. The sacks now encased the wet mohair rug. The fire seemed to have driven out or killed all the spiders, but about spiders I took no chances. ‘Drop one in stuff as dry as this was yesterday and it’d have gone up in a couple of minutes. Hardly any smoke.’

‘Particularly if the door was shut.’ He crawled over to examine the inside of the door. ‘Yes. Charred by flame. Come out of there, Rose. I only wanted another look at that fungus. And the joint pongs of worse than burnt offerings.’

I didn’t query that last. I followed him out. ‘Another look? Did you see it yesterday?’

‘Not properly. I just noticed a kind of greenish glint and, like you, thought it was natural growth.’ He brushed ash and sand off himself while looking searchingly at the ground round our feet and over the strip of sandy grass between the footpath and cross-dyke. ‘Next time you take me on a picnic I’m wearing me full protective clobber.’

‘Shove in a handy Geiger counter as well.’ I walked nearer the dyke for a closer inspection of the grass. ‘Yes. Ash here ‒ here ‒ and there. He came down to wash his boots.’

‘Or she.’ He lunged for me. ‘Come away from those rushes.’

‘All right. I’ve done enough paddling for one day.’

‘You still haven’t done your stint of walking on water.’ He drew my arm through his and patted my hand. ‘Kindly remember (a) my neck and (b) we’re in full view of the inn.’

‘I’d forgotten that.’ I looked towards the inn and then at his quiet face and thought aloud. ‘Nothing like sex for a good cover story. It’s the one everyone’ll believe as it’s the one everyone wants to believe.’

He nodded vaguely. ‘Let’s get going.’

The short afternoon was dying fast and the sun a great red ball just touching the marsh that had lost its warmth. The land was turning sepia, the dyke water a lifeless dark brown, the birds were beginning to settle for the night, but the frogs were wide awake and so was the sea. In the west the clear sky was pinkish grey; in the east it was heavy with dark clouds that had come up with the tide. We had left the beach well before the water reached the pebbles and it was now growling softly against the wall. We walked back to the car and my mind went back to walking that same path with Francis yesterday. It seemed a lifetime away, and it was.

Trevor, oozing efficiency in a black jacket over his porter’s waistcoat, was running the inn.

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