Free Slaughter in the Cotswolds by Rebecca Tope Page A

anger had segued into disapproval and suspicion.
    ‘Not exactly. I just thought a walk would do them good.’
    ‘A walk ,’ he sneered. ‘You think dogs like that expect a walk ? They’re workers; they know theirjob and do it well. Otherwise, they need to stay tied up.’
    ‘OK,’ she said, opting for submission, despite an argumentative inner voice insisting that Cedric Angell had no work for the dogs – that they were superfluous yard ornaments and nothing more. ‘So how do you suggest I get them back?’
    ‘Not my problem,’ he said unpleasantly. ‘I’ve got better things to do.’
    Thea gave him a closer look, wondering how to react to this lack of courtliness. He seemed to be in his fifties, slight and weather-beaten. There were crinkle-lines around his eyes, as if he might do a lot of sailing. He did appear distracted, impatient, moving his feet on the spot as if mentally still walking.
    ‘That’s perfectly true,’ she said calmly. ‘I’m sure it’ll all come right. Things usually do.’
    A look of contempt and disbelief crossed his face. ‘Do they? If that’s your experience, then all I can say is that you’ve been very lucky. As I see it, the very opposite is true.’
    She could feel him needling, wanting her to panic, infuriated by her persistent optimism. She smiled briefly. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you,’ she said.
    He remained stationary for a few more beats, and then set off briskly without another word, leaving Thea to insist to herself that the chancesof anything seriously bad happening to the dogs were very slim. They’d dash about for a bit, as the freedom went to their heads, then turn back for home full of cheerful rabbit-chasing memories. Even if Cedric had been right about the gun-toting farmer, it would be the direst of bad luck for him to encounter the dogs while armed and angry. Besides, they were half a mile from his land and heading in the opposite direction.
    Her instinct was to keep walking and calling, hoping for a glimpse of them. Basil would still have the string trailing from his neck; it might get caught in brambles or on a fence. Then what would he do – howl for rescue or sit quietly trusting that someone would know he was there? In spite of herself, she began to worry. It was a big wide world out there, with fields in every direction, not to mention disused quarries and roads and copses sacred to the pheasant and gamekeeper. A lot of booby traps for unwary dogs unused to having it all as their playground.
    Another instinct was to approach all the houses she could find and report the missing animals, hoping for assistance and concern. But after the encounter with the unhelpful man, she could not rely on a positive reception. And her impression of Cotswold residents was that they were too busily involved with their computers and social clubs to perform anything as time-consuming ascombing the landscape for lost dogs.
    It was only a couple of hours before Phil was due to arrive. He was the fond owner of a pair of dogs himself, and could surely be relied on to make useful and sensible suggestions. He would also chastise her for such careless disobedience. With a sense of walls closing in, she understood that she really might be in trouble. There really might be cause to fear for Hepzie, too, if the delinquent influence of the others overwhelmed her already shaky response to her mistress’s calls.
    They knew the way home, that much was certain. They could retrace their own scent and that of Thea. She should go back and wait for them to give themselves up. If they still hadn’t returned when Phil arrived, then the two of them could conduct a search. But it felt entirely wrong when she turned round and started back, empty-handed and ridiculously lonely.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Phil had other things to think about than missing dogs, and he listened irritably to the story, tutting to himself and shaking his head. ‘I can’t believe you were such a fool,’ he said. ‘I