No Going Back by Lyndon Stacey

Author:Lyndon Stacey [Stacey, Lyndon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2010-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

NINE

Fred and Meg Bowden’s house was a white-painted Victorian building standing back from a tree-lined road on the outskirts of Tavistock. As Daniel parked the Merc on a tarmac drive bordered with ornamental brick edging, an outside light came on, illuminating flowerbeds stuffed with shrubs, drifts of snowdrops and clumps of early-flowering daffodils. Someone was a keen gardener, and somehow he couldn’t imagine it being Fred, although appearances could be deceptive: he’d once known a tough duty sergeant who liked nothing better than a spot of knitting for relaxation.

The front door opened as Daniel approached and he was met by a slim, fiftyish lady in faded jeans, a beaded silk top and an ankle-length purple mohair cardigan. She wore her long, salt and pepper hair in a loose knot from which wisps had escaped to hang around her face, and could have been no more than 5 feet 2 in her bare feet, which was how she was at that moment.

‘Daniel? Hi, I’m Meg,’ she said and leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

If Daniel was a little taken aback by this familiarity, at least it boded well for his job security. It was hardly the welcome you would expect from the boss’s wife if you were on the point of being sacked. Come to that, it was hardly the welcome you expected from the boss’s wife full stop – not on a first meeting, anyway.

‘Come on in. Fred’s in the kitchen, cooking. We’re eating late tonight. You’ll have some supper with us, won’t you? Or have you eaten?’

‘No, I haven’t. I’d like that. Thanks.’ Things were definitely looking up, but if he wasn’t being dismissed, why was he here?

‘Come in, then. How’s Taz?’

‘He’s doing well, thank you. He’s still at the vet’s under observation because of his head injury, but he should be able to come home tomorrow, all being well.’ Daniel shut the door behind him and followed Meg down the hallway towards the kitchen, where an ageing black cocker spaniel lay across the doorway. It raised its grey eyebrows enquiringly but made no move to vacate its position. Meg stepped over it without breaking step, but Daniel hesitated.

‘Oh, I’m sorry about Mosely. It’s his favourite place to sleep. I think it’s because he can see all the comings and goings from there. He’s a bit deaf, you see. Just step over him, he won’t mind.’

The kitchen wasn’t particularly large but was fitted out with cream-painted cupboards that stretched from the floor almost to the lofty ceiling. Worktops were of stained timber, the sink an old-style Belfast one, and a bottle-green Rayburn held pride of place under a brick arch on one wall. Fred stood in front of this, stirring the ingredients of a large stockpot with a wooden spoon; the combination of a blue and white striped apron, earring and razor-cut hair giving him a strangely Gallic look. An enticing aroma of curry pervaded the air.

‘Hi, Daniel. How’s Taz?’ Fred said, looking over his shoulder.

Daniel repeated his report.

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