Free Something in the Blood (A Honey Driver Murder Mystery) by Jean G. Goodhind Page B

as the pigeons squatting around the fancy bits on the abbey roof. It was the way her mother said ‘dear’ that raised her hackles – and falling down the stairs had nothing to do with it.
    ‘Mother, you’ve done this before.’
    ‘It’s my age, dear. One gets very tottery as one gets older. I need you here.’
    Honey gritted her teeth. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’
    ‘Oh dear! I feel quite faint.’
    Her instinct told her that she’d probably only tripped down one stair and that if she phoned Lindsey she’d get the truth. Her sense of duty made her head for home, but she had an inkling her mother had an ulterior motive for getting her there.

Chapter Nine
    It was gone midday and Lindsey was on reception when she got back. She looked extremely business-like, a pen in one hand and a pile of invoices in the other. Her eyes slid sidelong in the direction of the lounge.
    ‘Grandma’s in there. She’s got a man with her,’ hissed Lindsey.
    Honey hunched her shoulders questioningly.
    Lindsey mimicked the same action. ‘I’ve no idea who he is.’
    Forewarned but wary, she followed the smell of fresh coffee.
    Her mother was semi-prone on a settee, bandaged ankle resting on a stool.
    Someone was sitting on a chair opposite her. She purposely refrained from looking at him, positive it was bound to be the professor from wherever; the one her mother wanted her to meet. The one she didn’t want to meet.
    If she didn’t look, perhaps he would disappear.
    Her mother looked up. ‘So! You came back to see how I am.’
    ‘You look good.’
    ‘My ankle doesn’t.’
    ‘I suppose it could be better.’
    ‘You bet it could!’
    Normally she avoided the men her mother chose for her. On this occasion the set of his shoulders and the casual demeanour attracted her attention. She forced herself not to give in and faced directly forward.
    Her mother didn’t leave things there.
    ‘Hannah? This is John Rees.’
    ‘Mother, I can’t stop …’
    Her first inclination had been to throw a killer look at her mother and a contemptuous one at the man she’d found for her. Instead she found her brittleness melting away in the warmth of his smile.
    ‘Hello.’
    ‘Hi.’
    American.
    ‘John’s just opened a bookshop in Rifleman’s Way. He’s from Kansas.’
    John took her hand and shook it firmly. ‘Originally from Kansas. I live in San Diego nowadays. Or rather, I did. Now I live here. In Bath. Best little city in the world.’
    His voice was like silk. His hair was light brown shot with just a little white at the temples.
    ‘Well that’s …’
    She was about to see how nice that was, but the first notes of Beethoven’s Fifth were throbbing against her chest.
    ‘My phone,’ she said, inwardly groaning as she plucked it from her bag.
    Making sincerely meant excuses she backed towards the door.
    She recognised the rough-diamond copper’s voice. ‘I thought you’d like to know; we’ve found Elmer Maxted.’
    ‘Great! How is he?’
    Her eyes strayed back to John. He was tall and lean and had a merry look in his eyes – not at all the dusty professor or accountant sort her mother kept digging up. For once this could be fun. And she had time now didn’t she? The case of the missing tourist was all but over, wasn’t it?
    The police officer – Doherty – was saying something.
    ‘Sorry. Can you repeat that.’
    ‘He’s not OK. He’s dead. Murdered. I need to talk to you.’
    Honey placed her hand over the phone. Her smile flew like a bird to gorgeous John.
    ‘I’m sorry. I have to take this call, but if you’d like to leave your details, perhaps we can get in touch. Unless you’d like to wait.’ She bit her lip. Business and pleasure were colliding here. She was presuming he was here to arrange a conference or something. Anything. He looked interesting.
    ‘Honey? Are you still there?’
    The sound of Steve Doherty’s voice seeped through her fingers.
    Reluctantly, she bent her lips back to the mouthpiece.