Free The Price of Butcher's Meat by Reginald Hill

murdered before he could finish his masterwork?”
    “Aye, I remember the case,” I said. “So you’re getting paid in advance for writing this Bed-loving fellow’s life?”
    “I fear not,” he said. “Though my publishers in California, the Santa Apollonia University Press, have made a substantial research grant available to me. There are, however, profitable spin-offs in the form of articles and interviews and seminars. In addition, I have a small retainer fee for my work as a consul tant for Third Thought.”

    T H E P R I C E O F B U T C H E R ’ S M E AT 5 3
    Why was he so keen to impress me with his ability to earn an honest living, if you can call all this airy-fairy arty-farty stuff honest?
    “Third Thought?” I said. “You mean that dotty cult thing the lentil and sandals brigade are into?”
    “How well you grasp the essence of things, Mr. Dalziel! What more is necessary to say? Though the movement’s founder, Frère Jacques, has written a couple of hefty tomes to bring out the fi ne detail.”
    Always a sarky bugger!
    He rattled on about how this Jakes fellow had nearly died and realized he weren’t ready for it, so he’d started his movement to help folk get used to the idea afore it were staring them in the face, so to speak.
    “A Hospice of the Mind, he calls it,” said Roote. “My own initial connection with Third Thought was, I freely confess, based purely on self-interest. Then I had my own close encounter, and as I struggled to come to terms with my lot, my mind turned more and more frequently to Frère Jacques’s teachings, and I renewed my connection, but this time with genuine fervor. Eventually Jacques invited me to become a paid acolyte.”
    He glanced at me sort of assessingly, then leaned forward and said in a low voice, “It occurs to me, Mr. Dalziel, that after your own recent trauma, you yourself might be seeking a new philosophy of being . . .”
    The bugger were trying to convert me!
    I said, “If tha’s thinking of sending me a bill for this chat, lad, I’d advise thee to have third thoughts about it.”
    He laughed so loud the two women at the bar glanced our way, the old bird with a disapproving glower. Probably thought I’d just told a mucky joke.
    Roote settled down after a bit, supped his parrot piss, then said, “So how are you getting back up to the home?”
    “On my own two feet if I have to,” I answered. “If you’re thinking of offering me a lift, I warn you, I’m not sitting on thy knee!”
    He grinned and said, “I’ll be delighted to take you back in my car, though I suspect it may not be necessary.”
    “Why’s that?”

    5 4
    R E G I N A L D H I L L
    He glanced at his watch. It looked expensive.
    “I suspect that within a few more minutes someone from the Avalon staff is going to arrive. They’ll order a drink, glance round, look surprised to see you, have a quick chat, finish their drink, head for the door, then as an afterthought say, ‘Would you care for a lift, Mr. Dalziel, or are you sorted?’ ”
    “What makes you think that?”
    “Because not long after you arrived, Alan will have made a call to the Avalon in case they haven’t noticed one of their convies has gone missing. And he’s probably just been reassuring Lady Denham that she needn’t worry about you frightening off the more sensitive customers all afternoon as you’ll be out of here in ten minutes tops.”
    “Why’d she be worried about that?” I asked.
    “Because she owns the Hope and Anchor,” he said. “In fact, dear Lady Denham owns a great deal of real estate in and around Sandytown. I told you she was wealthy as well as healthy. Moby’s, however, where they are going to lunch, belongs to her dear friend Mr. Parker.
    She enjoys the food there but never goes unless someone else is paying, in this case her nephew, Teddy Denham, who can ill afford it.”
    “For someone not interested in money, you’ve got a sharp eye for how other folk spend it,” I said.
    He