Mydworth Mysteries--A Little Night Murder by Matthew Costello & Neil Richard

Author:Matthew Costello & Neil Richard [Costello, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-3-7325-6954-0
Publisher: Bastei Entertainment
Published: 2019-08-04T16:00:00+00:00

9. Into the Woods

Outside, Kat saw Nailor disappearing round the front of the house. With Harry at her side, she hurried after him.

Turning the corner, she saw the man she guessed had to be Arthur Shreeve, standing by Harry’s bike.

Squat, balding, dressed in tweeds even in this warm afternoon sunshine, he stood, arms folded, waiting while Fred Nailor trotted towards him.

“What the hell is this piece of junk doing here?”

At that Kat fired a look at Harry.

Did her husband’s eyes just narrow at the word “junk”?

“Sorry, sir,” said Fred, “it’s just—”

“Deliveries, telegrams… how many damn times have I told you? Whatever or whoever it is – tradesman’s entrance, not here in front of my bloody house!”

Kat saw him look across at her and Harry.

“And who the hell are you?”

Kat put on her sweetest smile and stepped forward, aware that her overalls and windswept appearance weren’t going to help much with this introduction.

“Mr Shreeve?” she said, holding out her hand. “Kat Reilly.”

“Who?” said Shreeve, the word hurled into the air like a weapon.

He stared at her hand like it was a wet fish and didn’t take it.

Kat carried on smiling, her hand still proffered.

“I am so sorry about the motorbike. What were we thinking? Leaving it here, dripping oil on your lovely driveway. Harry?” She turned to Harry who now stood at her side. “We really should be careful where we park, don’t you think?”

“You’re so right, my dear,” said Harry, playing along and stepping forward to the bike, as if to wheel it away. “I’ll move it right now.”

Kat turned back to Shreeve who stood speechless: “What must you think of us?”

“Sir Harry – I’m sure that’s not necessary,” said Nailor, interrupting presumably to spare his boss’s embarrassment.

“Sir Harry…?” said Shreeve.

Kat had to admit – that was a great moment. Shreeve stopped dead in his tracks, mid-tirade.

Harry gave Shreeve a little wave: “Two ticks. I’ll have this, um, piece of junk out of your way, Mr Shreeve.”

“W-wait a minute,” said Shreeve, and Kat could see him slowly cottoning on. “Sir Harry Mortimer? Lady Mortimer? From Mydworth? God, sorry. I didn’t realise. There’s no need to… Please, leave your bike there. It’s just – we don’t usually have visitors arrive by…”

”Motorcycle?” said Kat. “A little unconventional, I know, but such a delightful way to travel on a summer’s afternoon.”

“Yes, yes – I’m sure,” said Shreeve, suddenly all smiles. “But I must apologise, I had no idea you were coming to see me?”

“Actually – they came to see me, sir,” said Nailor. “Had some questions about the boy that died. The poacher.”

“Questions?” said Shreeve, turning back to Harry, as if Kat now was no longer important.

“We’re helping Syd Buckman’s parents find out exactly what happened to their son, Mr Shreeve,” said Kat. “How he died. Where he died.”

“He died in my woods with one of my deer dead next to him,” said Shreeve, his voice cold.

Kat saw him look across, towards the house. She turned and followed his gaze – to see the girl in the yellow dress now seated on a bench by the front door, head down in a book.

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