MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective , GRETTA MULROONEY [books to read now .txt] 📗

Her head jerked up and she glared at him, her face the colour of one of the dark plums. ‘You heartless bastard! How on earth does Elinor put up with you? You’re a cold, cold fish.’

Guy shot back, ‘Better than being a shark, always lurking in the shallows to trap people. I wouldn’t be surprised if Afan killed himself to get away from you.’ He grabbed his coat and left the room.

Kat put her face in her hands and continued crying, more quietly now. Swift was used to strange reactions to bad news, but he was shocked by the acid exchange. He crossed to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He found teabags and a plastic box full of home-made spicy biscuits. While he waited for the kettle to boil, he opened the cupboards and checked out the crockery. He made the tea in a red earthenware pot and took it to the table, where he poured two mugs.

‘Here, drink this. There’s sugar if you want.’

Kat was chewing on the end of a plait. She reached out a hand for the mug of tea and said pleadingly to him, ‘What happened to Afan? Please tell me.’ She had a hair stuck to her bottom lip.

‘All I can say for now is that I found his body. I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait.’

‘But . . . how did he die?’

‘Kat, I don’t know.’

‘What Guy said — he didn’t kill himself, did he? Afan wouldn’t do that.’

He repeated, ‘I can’t tell you.’ If you were minded to end your life, then Carreg Trefin might seem an ideal location.

‘Oh my God, what will I do without him? How will I fill the terrible gap this leaves?’

This struck him as stagey, but it could be the shock making her sound like a ham actor. She looked terrible, her eyes raw and popping. Whatever Bruno and Guy said, Kat had been under the impression that Afan was an important person in her life. Swift drank his tea and ate a couple of biscuits. It was just the warming tonic he needed — and the sugar was warding off the shock, giving him energy.

Kat blew her nose and dabbed her eyes with the tissue. ‘Afan was going to let me help him make a new mead. Just a small, trial batch. I’d found him an old Tudor recipe using elderberries and meadowsweet. I was really excited about the two of us working together.’ Her eyes welled up again.

He said nothing. He recalled the postcard he’d found and that note of entreaty, we could go foraging early one morning. He suspected that Afan hadn’t wanted to take Kat up on her offer. The hair-sucking alone would be unappealing. She’d constructed a fantasy about herself and Afan that bore little relation to reality. He sat in silence, feeling hollow and lost, while Kat sniffled and sighed.

The others started to troop in, bringing the dampness of rain with them. Suki first, followed by Bryn and the Brinkworths, with Elinor clutching Frankie in one arm and holding on to her husband’s waist with the other. Bruno, Jasmine and Peter arrived together. They were all sombre and they glanced silently at Kat, who by now had a pile of damp tissues in front of her. Jasmine sat in her chair at the head of the table.

‘What on earth has happened?’ She glared at Swift as if he was the cause of the problem.

‘I went for a walk along the cliff path, towards Holybridge. I found Afan’s body. I called the police. They’ll be here soon.’

‘But what happened to him?’ Jasmine said crossly.

‘The police will tell you.’

‘But . . . did he have an accident or something?’ Suki was stroking her left hand with her right. She had little pale marks on her earlobes, where she’d worn studs.

‘I honestly have no idea how he died. Even if I knew, or could guess, I couldn’t tell you. The police would be very annoyed with me, and with justification.’

‘He hadn’t been ill recently,’ Suki said, ‘and he’s always been in pretty good health, except for winter coughs. Maybe he had a heart attack, or a stroke.’

‘I suppose you’re familiar with police methods from your time with Interpol,’ Peter said to Swift.

‘Of course, and I used to work in the Met.’ He’d revealed the information deliberately and noted the sharp glance that Bryn gave him.

‘Interpol, the Met — you do have an interesting background.’ Jasmine tucked some strands of hair under her hat. ‘This is terrible news, hard to believe. Poor, poor Afan. He loved that walk on the coast path.’

‘How long has he been dead?’ Bryn asked Swift.

‘The pathologist will determine that.’

Kat gulped back a sob. ‘We should have searched the path last night. I’ll never, ever forgive myself for not looking there. He was out there all night, all alone in the dark and cold and rain.’

Swift wondered how she could know that, but supposed that it was a natural assumption, given that Afan had gone missing the day before.

Peter said, ‘We couldn’t have gone up there in the dark, Kat. It would have been far too dangerous, and we had no reason to believe that we needed to search for Afan earlier in the evening. You can’t blame yourself. This is all very puzzling, given the email you received, Ty.’

‘It is, yes,’ Swift agreed. He didn’t want to be drawn into too much discussion for now.

Kat pointed at Guy. ‘He said the most awful thing, that Afan might have killed himself!’

Guy stared at her. ‘It’s a possibility. No point in ignoring it.’

Jasmine said, ‘I really don’t believe that Afan would do that. Please, let’s not speculate about what’s happened until the police can tell us something definite. It’s not helpful and it’s distressing.’

Elinor