What Child Is This? (Ellie Kent Mystery series Book 2) by Alice K. Boatwright

Author:Alice K. Boatwright [Boatwright, Alice K.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Cozy Cat Press
Published: 2017-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Wednesday, December 30

Chapter 9

While Graham attended the inquest at the Oxford County Council Coroner’s Court and Isabelle shopped for a dress to wear on New Year’s Eve, Ellie met David Pettibone at The Eagle and Child pub on St. Giles. They sat at a table in the Rabbit Room that was wedged in next to a bricked up fireplace and surrounded by photos of the pub’s famous literary patrons. She suppressed her desire to dwell on the idea that J.R.R. Tolkien might have sat at the very same table and focused on the man sitting across from her.

He was not handsome in a conventional sense, but he had charisma. He knew how to use his assets, for example, calling attention to that shock of thick blond hair by running his hands through it, and Ellie thought his clothes were simply wonderful: colorful and obviously chosen with care from his green tie and flowered shirt down to his blue patent leather shoes. She could see why Charlotte might have pegged him as gay, but he gave off a very sexy energy when he leaned his elbows on the table and smiled at her. So the first question that came to her mind was why every girl at Kingbrook Grammar hadn’t joined the Drama Club. She certainly would have.

She could tell that she wasn’t what he was expecting either. She’d explained on the phone that she became involved because she was married to the vicar who Mr. and Mrs. Davies had asked for help. That plus the American accent had confused him. He took his time to assess her, a woman of about his own age, dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, before turning on the casual, practiced charm of a trained actor.

“We were all very shocked to hear about Deborah. It’s hard to fathom that happening to someone you know. Someone so young. And at Christmas too,” he said, as he carefully stirred two sugars into his tea.

Ellie wondered to whom the ‘we’ in that sentence referred, but all she said was, “Yes. I think you mentioned that the police interviewed you about the murder.”

He pulled back slightly with his hand over his heart. “About the girl, yes. Not about the murder. They talked to all of us from the school, even though I understood they believe her father did it.”

“I’m sure they don’t want to jump to conclusions too quickly,” said Ellie, watching him closely.

“I suppose you’re right. In that case, I hope they catch the one who did it soon because my own alibi is none too good. I was waiting for Father Christmas at my parents’ house in Cheltenham, where Mum and Dad go to bed by nine, and my sister was ill and had knocked herself unconscious with cough medicine.”

“Between DNA and Father Christmas’s witness statement, you should be able to clear yourself,” said Ellie.

“DNA. . . oh, of course, the baby. My God.” He cleared his throat and sipped his tea. “But that isn’t why you wanted to talk to me—Ellie, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

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