Free Murder on the Tor: An Exham on Sea Cosy Mystery (Exham on Sea Cosy Crime Mysteries Book 3) by Frances Evesham Page A

pointed a manicured finger at Libby. “I knew you’d be involved. I wish newcomers like you would mind your own business, instead of poking around in local affairs...”
    “Do calm down, Samantha,” Marina broke in. “I’m sure Libby knows nothing about the explosion.”
    Libby lost patience. “For heaven’s sake, tell me what you’re talking about. What explosion, and why do you think I’m involved?”
    “Well, darling, you and Max Ramshore were at the photography exhibition together, talking to that Miss Bakewell.”
    “Why shouldn’t I have been there? You were there, too, Marina.”
    “No reason at all. I’m just explaining. According to Samantha, the inspector told her...”
    “Chief inspector,” Samantha put in.
    Marina sighed. “Chief Inspector Arnold said Miss Bakewell’s been involved in an accident.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.” An accident? The back of Libby’s neck prickled. What was that nonsense about the beads and a curse? “What kind of accident are you talking about?”
    Marina was enjoying the limelight. “Apparently, she went to see some professor. Perivale, that was the name. After she left his house, there was some sort of explosion.” Professor Perivale’s house? Libby’s throat felt tight. She whispered. “Was anyone hurt?”
    “That’s all we know.”
    Libby’s hands were clenched tight in her lap, the knuckles white. Her nails forced themselves into the palms. She stood up. “Doesn’t anyone know any more?”
    Someone said, “We might catch the local news, if we’re quick,” and Marina switched on the vast television. Libby bit her lip, trying to think, but there was only one idea in her head. What if Max was there? He planned to visit the professor today. He could be hurt, or even dead.
    A local reporter stood in front of a row of terraced Victorian houses that had a jagged-edged gap, like a missing tooth, in the centre. Libby recognised the street she’d visited yesterday. “Police say one person has been taken to hospital, but no one else was in the house,” intoned the journalist. “Neighbours tell us the property belongs to a Professor Perivale, from Bristol University. It’s believed he may be the injured man. We have no further news at this time.”
    Not Max. The words hammered in Libby’s head. It isn’t Max. “Are you all right, Libby?” Marina’s face creased with anxiety. “You’re white as a sheet.”
    “I’m fine.” Libby’s phone rang. She fumbled the buttons with shaking fingers as the name flashed up on the screen. Max. “I have to take this.” She stumbled to her feet and ran to the hall, as Samantha remarked, “Really, some people are so over - dramatic. ”
    “Max, are you OK? I saw the news...”
    “You’ve heard about the explosion, then. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Miss Bakewell’s pretty shaken, though. I’m about to drive her home.”
    “What was she doing there? And what about the professor?”
    “He’s gone to hospital, but the neighbours say he was awake and talking while they put him in the ambulance.”
    “Did you speak to him?”
    “No, unfortunately, the explosion came a moment before I arrived. Miss Bakewell had just left. I’m hoping the shock will make her a little more forthcoming about the photographs. Could you meet us at her house in Wells? We’ll be there in less than an hour. I want to find out what she was doing at the professor’s house, and I think it would be better if you were there. Will you come?”
    Libby looked at the phone. Max sounded stressed. No wonder. “Yes, of course. Max, what do you think happened?”
    His voice was grim. “I don’t know, but the professor could have died. It’s a coincidence, don’t you think?”
    Libby shivered. She dropped her phone in a pocket. The history society would have to wait. When she took a step, her legs shook so much she could hardly walk and she sank down on to the stairs. The adrenaline of fear ebbed away, leaving her exhausted, and she