Free Murder in Hindsight by Anne Cleeland

has been there for quite some time,” he offered in his own defense.
    She admitted, “I bought it for Brighton.”
    There was a poignant pause. While Doyle was recovering from poisoning and her miscarriage, Acton had planned a weekend trip to Brighton to cheer them both up. The pleasure trip was cancelled because Acton had killed Caroline, and then stayed in town to help Timothy with his sister’s apparent suicide.
    “Shall we reschedule?” he offered.
    She thought about it. Neither one of them was much for going out nor traveling; they were very content to live quietly with each other and away from other people—not that it had been very quiet, thus far. “Perhaps when it is warmer; then we can swim.” He had promised to teach her to swim, after the bridge-jumping incident.
    “Will you put the dress on now, so that I can see?”
    “You’ll just take it off,” she responded with a smile. “At least wait until the bruises fade.”
    He relapsed into silence. Something is afoot, she thought, and wished she knew what it was.
    “I must travel to Trestles,” he said.
    This was out of the clear blue, and she stared at him in surprise. Trestles was his estate somewhere to the north of London; he held an ancient barony. His mother, the dowager Lady Acton, was a very unpleasant woman whom Doyle had met on one memorable occasion when she’d been forced to throw the old harridan out of the flat. Doyle had never been to Trestles and, truth to tell, was reluctant to go—Acton had married well beneath him, and a visit to his ancestral estate would only drive home this undeniable fact. However, as he could not spend the night away from her, this meant she was to accompany him.
    “You may stay here, if you like.”
    Immediately, her instinct went on red alert. “I don’t know, Michael; wither thou goest, I will go. It’s past time I took a look at the place, I think.”
    She caught a glimpse of dismay, quickly extinguished. Whatever was afoot, he wanted her well-away from it, which only meant she’d best hang on to his coat tails like grim death. “Right then; I’m not certain when we will go, as yet.”
    Trying to hedge, he was. “Are there horses at Trestles?” She had been put in the presence of horses during the investigation of the racecourse murders, and—to her profound surprise—had discovered that the idea of riding a horse was very appealing. “You can teach me to ride, instead of swim.”
    He had recovered his equilibrium, and replied, “Fair enough.” Rising, he walked over to look out the windows again, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye. She could ask what was distressing him, but it would only force him to give an equivocal answer so she wouldn’t know he was lying. As it was a stalemate, she would await events.
    “Anything happening tomorrow?” he asked.
    Tomorrow is the worst day of the year, she thought. “I was goin’ to go over to the church after work, and spend some time with Nellie, if that’s all right.”
    He turned to her. “Will you be home for dinner?”
    “Yes,” she said, looking up and smiling at him. “Indeed I will.”

C HAPTER 9
    T HE NEXT DAY, D OYLE ASKED H ABIB IF SHE COULD LEAVE WORK early. “Personal reasons,” she explained. Terrified that he would intrude on House of Acton family matters, Habib readily agreed, which was exactly what Doyle had expected.
    “Where are you going?” called Munoz from across the way.
    “Church,” answered Doyle. Then, changing the subject, “How goes it with the lamb to the slaughter?”
    “Good,” Munoz airily replied. “He is very nice to me.” This was said in the tone of someone trying to convince herself that this was a good thing.
    “Not a lot of chemistry?” asked Doyle sympathetically, who knew how important this was, post-Acton.
    “We’ll see. It’s early days.”
    Doyle was beginning to pack up when she received a text from Williams. “Just checking in,” it said. Doyle surmised this was code