Free Murder in the Cotswolds by Nancy Buckingham Page B

came at seven and stayed till nearly eleven.”
    Joan repeated his words silently, then gave her brother a bright nod. “Yes, I’ve got that.”
    “Thank heaven. You’d better say we had supper, and talked. Oh, and we played Scrabble. Right?”
    “Had supper and played Scrabble. Right, Georgie.” At least the danger of an ugly scene had been averted. Besides, the dear boy wouldn’t ask her to tell a lie for him without having a very good reason. And after all, it wasn’t much of a lie, just a little fib. A harmless little fib. Fortunately for George, Joan was too unworldly to connect the evening in question with the murder of Mrs. Belle Latimer.
    After he’d left, Joan stood lost in dithering thought. As in all her moments of crisis, she cast her mind back to the days of their childhood. It had been such fun then, with her two-years-older sister and baby brother Georgie. Such fun. Now Mary had been dead these five years, and their dear parents long ago. She sighed, reflecting sadly that her adult life somehow hadn’t lived up to its bright promise. Her Mr. Right had failed to make an appearance, which had denied her the children she’d always longed for. She hadn’t even become an auntie, since Mary hadn’t married either, and Georgie’s wife had been unable to conceive. At her office, although she’d always got along quite pleasantly with the other women clerks, she’d failed to make any close friendships. And it was the same now; though she took part in lots of village activities, she’d never properly been accepted as belonging even after four years. So it was only dear Georgie who really mattered to her, only dear Georgie in all the world who really cared whether she was alive or dead.
     
    * * * *
    Back in the street after leaving Prescott’s office, Kate had said to her sergeant, “Fancy something choicer to eat than we’ll get dished up at the nick?”
    “Well....”
    “What’s the best pub grub in town?”
    “The best? The Black Swan. But that’s very pricey, so....”
    “Lead the way,” she cut in. “My treat today, Tim.”
    “Oh, that’s something else.”
    They chose a table out on the terrace, which overlooked the river. Swans glided by, dipping their orange beaks, but none of them were black. Tim Boulter ordered a pint of bitter and Kate a half of lager. She studied the menu and elected for a mushroom omelette with salad.
    The sergeant cocked a questioning eye at her. “Okay if I have steak and chips, ma’am?”
    “The name’s Kate at times like this. How d’you like your steak, Tim?”
    He had an engaging grin, when he dropped his guard with her. “Just so long as it’s good and thick, Kate. Plus a few peas to go with it.”
    Chatting over their drinks, their relationship eased a little. Boulter’s attitude to her was oddly mixed. One moment he’d be treading eggshells, the next risking a bit of mild cheek. Kate couldn’t help sympathising with the poor guy. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that his mates were ribbing him something rotten for having to be at a woman’s beck and call. Which, fortunately, was his worry, not hers.
    “With any luck,” she said, “you’ll be home at a reasonable hour this evening. That’ll please your wife.”
    “Huh! I doubt it.”
    “You have children, haven’t you, Tim?”
    He nodded. “Two girls. Mandy who’s four, and Sharon is two and a half.”
    “That’s nice.”
    He gave her a wan answering smile with a distinct touch of gloom in it. So Tim was having problems at home. Not something totally new for a copper, especially one in the CID. Kate thought about her own marriage, which in retrospect always seemed ideal, filled with such perfect harmony and understanding. Yet if she were honest there’d been times when Noel had raged at her for thinking more about the bloody job than she did about him—and she’d only been a WPC in those days. She wondered now, if their marriage had not been so tragically cut short and she’d