Free 7 Pay the Piper by Kate Kingsbury

fighting. And now with that young chap murdered after leaving here the other night, well, it gives the place a sort of bad name, doesn’t it? Might not look too well when it comes time to sell it, you see.”
    “I’m sure all this will have blown over in no time,” Cecily said, trying to sound convincing. “But now that you mention it, did you notice Peter Stewart fighting with Tom Abbittson that night?”
    Michael’s head disappeared behind the counter as he squatted down to close off the barrel. “I might have done, though I couldn’t say for sure. The idiots were all fighting with each other, and as I told Northcott, I don’t really remember who was fighting with whom.”
    He stood up again, dusting his hands on the smocked coat he wore. “I do know that not all of your ten pipers were in here. One of them was missing. Someone counted the rest ofthem, saying something about the Christmas song. You know, nine pipers piping …” He stared thoughtfully at the dark beams that crossed the low ceiling. “Actually, now I come to think of it, that’s about when the uproar started.”
    “But you don’t know who started it.”
    Michael shook his head. “Samuel was in here, I remember, and that daffy colonel. You could ask them, I suppose. Though I wouldn’t expect too much from Fortescue. That man is an insufferable blighter. Ever since he found out I was in Africa and India he’s been bombarding me with his asinine stories. I think he makes them up.”
    “I think Colonel Fortescue becomes muddled sometimes and forgets what really happened.”
    “He’s muddled, all right. Downright deranged, I would say. You really should be more careful, Mother. Some of your hotel guests are definitely barmy, you know.”
    “I’ll be careful, dear,” Cecily promised. “But now I must get back to the hotel before the midday meal is served. Samuel will be frozen stiff waiting outside for me. Please give my regards to Simani, and tell her I sincerely hope she will be feeling better soon. Perhaps we can have tea at Dolly’s some day soon.”
    It was an empty invitation, one offered almost as a matter of habit. They both knew Simani would decline.
    Leaving the warmth of the inn, Cecily shivered in the crisp, cold air. The bare, twisted branches of the huge oak tree stretched across the thatched roof, as if reaching for a hold to support its centuries-old gnarled trunk.
    A lonely crow sat high up on a broken branch, gazing mournfully down on the field below. As Cecily approached the trap, the huge black bird flapped its wings, then glided into the air. Loudly cawing, it winged its way across the field toward the dense woods behind the inn and disappeared.
    Cecily watched it go, for some reason reminded of Michael’s intention to sell the inn. Maybe it was the thoughtof him leaving, too, heading for some remote part of the world she would most likely never visit.
    A deep sense of melancholy almost overwhelmed her, and she scrambled up into the trap, intent on reaching the warmth and security of the hotel … and Baxter.
    She still felt concerned about her manager, wondering again what had caused his despondency the evening before. She would have to keep a closer eye on him, she decided, and if she detected some sign of illness she would summon Dr. Prestwick, no matter how loudly Baxter objected.
    Thinking of the doctor, Cecily made a mental note to pay him a visit as soon as it was prudent. Kevin Prestwick would have been called in to examine the body of Peter Stewart, and might be able to give her some useful information.
    Although he was bound by the irritating regulations that prevented him from discussing the finer details of the murder, Cecily usually managed to get some of her questions answered.
    Upon reaching the hotel, she accepted Samuel’s offered hand to alight from the trap. Thanking him, she added casually, “I understand you were in the George and Dragon the night of the murder, Samuel.”
    “Yes, mum. It was