Free Classic in the Barn by Amy Myers

would help my apology ring true. Her office is next to the farmhouse.’
    â€˜Keen to see her again, eh?’ The words ‘cover story’ were written all over his face. ‘You left this painting in the car, arranged to meet her at the barn to discuss the Lagonda and killed her. Let’s consider that, just for the sake of argument.’
    â€˜Let’s not,’ I said, trying to stay cool and failing. ‘Why the hell should I kill her?’ My brain decided it had better take a more active part in the proceedings. ‘I’d only just met her. If I wanted to steal the car, it would be a pretty stupid move to have killed her.’
    â€˜Heat of the moment, Mr Colby. All sorts of things can happen.’ He was now watching me more like a hawk his prey than a bulldog.
    â€˜With a gun I just happened to have with me and must have buried with a spade that I also happened to bring along?’
    Brandon managed a nod, as if to cede victory on this one.
    â€˜ Was there a gun at the scene?’ I still had no idea.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜So Polly didn’t kill herself.’ That at least was a relief. I remembered that heartbroken look she had given the Lagonda on that first occasion we’d met. Something inside me tied itself in aching knots. That look hadn’t been for me, and now it never would.
    â€˜You’re not off the hook yet, Colby. Move anything, did you? Such as a gun?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Then it’s unlikely to be suicide unless you’re lying. Anyway, the blood spatters don’t tie in. Sorry about that.’
    That did it. I exploded. ‘Sorry? You think I’d want Polly to have been so unhappy that she killed herself?’
    He gave me an odd look. ‘That’s one way of looking at it. Right. You can go now, Mr Colby, but don’t leave town, eh?’
    So much for a friendly chat. DNA results take time to come through, however. Brandon had probably been winding me up in preparation for the next time, hoping they’d find a gun with some nice DNA on it – like mine – or trace evidence on Polly’s clothes. I suppose I should be grateful that I’d been left with my own. Brandon kindly refrained from pointing out that for a lady I had only just met, I seemed very concerned for her welfare, and I was taken by surprise at my quick release. Dave Jennings might have put in a good word for my overall credibility, but that wouldn’t exclude me from a murder charge. I was only temporarily off the hook.
    It was gone six o’clock by the time I reached Frogs Hill, and never had I been so glad to see it. I’d even been allowed to pick up my car and, thankfully, my Giovanni painting. Pasta would be flying if he heard one of his precious creations was in police custody for the foreseeable future. Normally both Len and Zoe would have departed by then, but although there were no signs of Len, Zoe was still there. For once she was not in the Pits, however, but in the farmhouse itself, to which she and Len had house keys. She came to the door to meet me as I drew up, looking anxious – which was unusual for her.
    â€˜Bea’s here,’ she said without preamble.
    Both of them must therefore have heard the news, and I suppose it was a sign of confidence that I was clearly expected to be able to cope with this situation. I wasn’t sure I was up to it. Apart from anything else, the etiquette books don’t cover what a suspect says to the bereaved family of his alleged victim. Putting that aside, I didn’t know Bea well enough even to guess what she was going through. In the event it proved easy.
    â€˜Hello, Jack.’
    Bea was sitting in Dad’s old armchair, clutching the arms as though it was giving her his moral support. The poor girl was hardly the rosy-cheeked lass I’d met at the art show, although she was doing well. That’s a stupid word to use in such circumstances, I realized. Her