Free The Evil that Men Do by Jeanne M. Dams Page B

but  . . . oh. Very well.’
    A small woman in a very wet apron approached apologetically. ‘Mr Venables, I’m sorry, but we can’t find the small altar vases anywhere. Could you just  . . .?’
    â€˜Sir, you see I really must attend to matters here. If I see the woman I’ll try to let you know. Well, yes, check back if you wish, but I’m quite frightfully busy at the moment  . . . yes, Mrs Freebody, I believe I know where they are. Excuse me, Mr  . . . oh, dear.’ The man was gone, and the rector scurried off to find the missing vases.
    I gave up. I staggered with my purchases back to the High Street and Tisanes, where Alan and a generous tea awaited me.

NINE
    Y ou seem to have been remarkably restrained in your shopping,’ he said as he helped me stow my parcels around our table in the garden. ‘It seems I will not, after all, have to declare bankruptcy, unless you dropped off some of the booty at the Holly Tree.’
    â€˜No, this is all, unless you count the bespoke ball gown for the Royal Wedding, and the two cases of Dom Pérignon; they’re being shipped. Ahhh!’ The tea was almost too hot to drink, but it was marvellously refreshing.
    â€˜The Royal Wedding was almost a month ago.’
    â€˜Oh, dear, then they must have forgotten our invitation. I’ll have to cancel that order. Actually it works out to several summer tops, a few gifts – I bought Nigel Peter a lovely stuffed airplane, see? – and the new handbag. Isn’t it gorgeous?’
    He duly admired it, in his male fashion, having no idea why it was so special, but content that I should be happy with it. I devoured a couple of sandwiches. ‘Of course, had I been fitted for a gown and splurged on champagne, it would have been in expectation of your winnings on the ponies,’ I added when I had swallowed a scone and more tea. ‘What did you do all day?’
    He was looking at the flowers. ‘Just look at those peonies, will you? They should have bloomed and gone by now, but they’re still spectacular.’
    â€˜Mmm. Did you spend the whole day in town?’
    His knee jogged the table, which was a bit teetery on the flagstones. The plate of jam tarts skidded dangerously close to the edge. He caught it, but at the expense of soaking his sleeve in his tea.
    â€˜Alan.’
    He looked at me just a trifle sheepishly.
    â€˜You’re not usually clumsy. What have you been up to?’
    He removed his jacket, dabbed at the sleeve, gave it up as a bad job, and hung it over an extra chair. I waited.
    â€˜I’ve been talking to the police.’
    â€˜Alan Nesbitt! And without me!’
    He looked both guilty and relieved. ‘I thought you were going to scold me for betraying all those high-flown principles I’ve been spouting.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, take that as read. What made you decide to go, after all?’
    â€˜I didn’t like that little scene at the gallery yesterday, Dorothy.’ He was serious again. ‘I didn’t like it at all. On the surface it couldn’t have anything to do with the body in the quarry. I do wish that didn’t sound so much like the title of a thriller,’ he said in an irritated aside. ‘But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered. You know our favourite theory is that when a good many odd things are happening in the same place at the same time, they’re likely to have something to do with each other.’
    Well, it was my theory, and not even mine originally, but cribbed from some of the mysteries I read constantly. But never mind. I nodded. ‘Go on.’
    â€˜Well, you can say I thought it was dangerous not to know a little more. Or you can say my curiosity got the better of me. I do miss being in the thick of things, you know.’
    â€˜Of course you do. Go on ,before my curiosity gets the better of me. What did you find