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

Bryn waltzed up, brimming with energy, threw an arm around Bruno and placed a smacking kiss on his head. ‘Nearly there, my friend.’ He winked at Swift. ‘I saw you were chatting up the lovely Gwyn and Kat didn’t like it.’

‘You don’t miss much.’

‘You’re right there. I was hoping to talk to Gwyn myself, but she’s already gone. She might be interested in moving here if everything works out. She could cut her losses and leave that hopeless bookshop. Time she had a lucky break.’

‘Has she been unlucky?’

‘Well, her dad’s buggered and in a nursing home. She was seen as a high-flier when she was at school. Top-class brain. But she lost the plot at some point and flunked out. Terrible waste of talent if you ask me, and now she struggles to find the rent on those premises. So, did you like my reveal? I did promise you one!’

‘Pure theatre. Jasmine suffered publicly, as you intended.’

Bryn laughed. ‘Just deserts. We’ve got big plans for this place. The house will be a crafts centre, for starters. And it will be a proper community of owners, not a feudal domain. I’ve told the others we’ll have a meeting here at ten in the morning without Jasmine and Peter, where we can go through everything. Come on, Bruno the bear, we’ve work to do at the big house with Jasmine and Peter while they’re still licking their wounds. Let’s see them squirm while they accept our proposal.’

Swift decided to call it a night and finished his beer. Elinor intercepted him as he headed for the door, staring anxiously into his face. Her breath was sour.

‘What on earth are we all going to do? This is unbelievable.’

‘Bruno and Bryn seem to have a plan. Talk to them about it. Where’s Guy?’

‘He said he’s had enough for one night. He’s hiding in the studio. What will happen about the adoption now, with this hiatus? Everything just thrown up in the air. Fwankie’s all upset too, he senses something’s wrong.’

She swayed as she spoke, and Swift held her elbow for a moment, worried that she might keel over. ‘You should go home, Elinor. You’re not well.’

‘Home. Where is that going to be, I wonder?’ She shivered.

Swift was relieved when Suki came over and gave Elinor a glass of mead. He said goodnight and stopped at the phone on the veranda. He rang Sofia Weber.

‘No news of Caris,’ he said. ‘I caught up with DS Spencer. He’s asking around the people here. There’s been major drama tonight.’ He filled her in on Bryn’s reveal and Bruno’s connection to the farm. ‘Also, I’ve got some news for you about Afan’s past. He was involved in a serious accident. I’ve spoken to someone who was there.’

‘Oh, okay. I need to get the ball rolling on Caris tonight. Can we catch up properly tomorrow?’

He could hear that she was running on empty. ‘Of course.’

‘Make it the afternoon. I’ve got to go back to the hospital in the morning for a few more tests.’

‘I hope everything’s okay.’

‘Oh, hospitals . . . They like to give you more to worry about. Once they decide to process you through the system, they take pleasure in practising on you. I’m sure it was a ten-year-old who stuck a needle in me earlier. Talk tomorrow.’

Swift glanced through the open door behind him. He saw DS Spencer making notes while Elinor talked at him and Frankie pawed at his jacket. He stepped out into the cool, slightly smoky air, glad to leave the feverish atmosphere of the Bivium behind. It was time to put pressure on Kat and explore her earlier discomfort. At the cottage, he wrote her a note.

I’ll take you up on your offer to go foraging. I’ll call for you at 6.30 a.m. tomorrow. Then you’ll be back in good time for your meeting about the future of Tir Melys.

He went to her house and slipped the note under the door. He had the feeling she was going to regret issuing the invitation when she read it. Sometimes it was good to turn the tables. Back outside the cottage, he stood and regarded the crops, silvery and shadowy in the moonlight. A quick breeze chilled his scalp. To the newcomer, this place would seem appealing, tranquil, but something about it made him melancholy and fearful. Perhaps he was projecting his own loss and anxieties onto the landscape. He longed suddenly for the noise and bustle of London.

* * *

It was a clear, dry morning with a fresh wind blowing straight off the sea. Kat was huddled into a bulky grey parka jacket with the hood up. She said she hadn’t slept much, which was probably true of the community as a whole. Bryn’s big reveal would have caused broken, panicky dreams. She acted friendly but he sensed the strain within. Her limp seemed more pronounced. They walked towards the meadow and he asked her how long she’d been foraging.

‘I started when I came here. I’d watched a TV programme about it, that’s what set me thinking, and once I was settled here, I taught myself. I forage throughout the year. The winter months have thinner pickings but there’s still plenty to collect — acorns, beechnuts, chestnuts and sloes. I made sloe gin for Christmas gifts last year.’

She stopped, flexed her injured foot and made a little gasping sound, like an airbed deflating. It sounded phoney and he made no comment. She glanced at him to check his reaction and then carried on. She was such a player. At least her hair was tucked into her hood, so she couldn’t have a nibble.

He asked, ‘What are we looking for today?’

‘Whatever we see, really. There’s no particular plan with foraging. The major finds at this time of year are blackberries, elderberries and crab