Preface to Murder, M Morris [best selling autobiographies TXT] 📗

production of each book, with time allocated for plotting, writing, editing and publishing. It rather dispelled the myth that writing was a purely creative art which happened whenever the muse inspired you. Diane had treated it as a business, sticking to a rigid programme of work and hitting self-imposed and demanding deadlines. Ffion admired her self-disclipline.

Diane – or Lula – had written three different series. There was the Highlands series set in Scotland, the covers of which featured rugged men poised on rocky crags and wearing nothing but kilts despite the inclement weather. A billionaire romance series featured images of men with smouldering good looks, and dinner jackets slung over their shoulders. To Ffion’s way of thinking they all looked rather too young to be billionaires. But it was Diane’s latest series, Betrayed, with cover shots of beautiful but wicked-looking women, that had proved to be the biggest hit. Each book was set in a different luxury holiday destination in Europe, and they had titles like Betrayed in Barcelona, Seduced in St Tropez, Cheated in Cannes, Deceived in Dubrovnik, Abducted in Athens, and the latest book, Stolen in Sorrento.

Stolen in Sorrento had been released a month before Diane’s death. Ffion read the blurb.

Scarlett and Katie are sisters and the best of friends. Scarlett is engaged to Jamie, and Katie is engaged to Tom. A road trip around Italy seems like the perfect way to spend the summer before each couple marries and settles down.

But beneath the growing heat of the Italian sun, love and passion take an unexpected turn.

By the time they reach their final destination of Sorrento, loyalties and devotions will be tested to the limit. In the shadow of Vesuvius, lust and desire are about to erupt. But when the hot lava flows, which sister will come out on top?

A shiver ran up Ffion’s spine. The plot of the story sounded as if it might be based on the Italian tour that Diane and Annabel had undertaken with their respective partners before they were married. It hinted at something dramatic happening on that holiday. What – or who – had been stolen? Ffion reached for the photograph of the two couples sitting around the dinner table, the threatening presence of Vesuvius clearly visible in the background. Could it be that Diane’s romance books were not entirely fictional? Was that another reason why she had kept them secret?

Ffion clicked through the filesystem until she found the original manuscript of Stolen in Sorrento. It was only 50,000 words long, a fraction of the length of A Deadly Race. It wouldn’t take her long to speed-read her way through the text, and maybe it would reveal something new. She settled herself in her chair and began to scan through the prose, delving into a world of love and passion, just as the blurb promised.

*

Bridget returned to her car, mired in frustration. Professor Al-Mutairi fed his plants the wrong kind of food! But what he had told her about ericaceous plants was correct. The food that matched the toxicology report was the kind that Vanessa used on her azaleas. Ericaceous plants loved acid-rich soil. So she was looking for someone who grew rhododendrons, camellias, heathers, magnolias and so on. She clapped her hands together and set off for Old Headington.

Soon she was pulling up again outside the Georgian house that belonged to Ian Dunn and Louise Morton. She stepped out of the car and paused for a moment to admire the glorious display of pink blooms on the magnolia tree in the front garden. Then she strode up the garden path and rang the bell.

The door was answered by Louise Morton. She had changed out of her gym wear and was wearing tight stretch jeans teamed with a sheer blouse over a camisole top. On seeing Bridget, she frowned. ‘I thought you’d already spoken to Ian. He told me that you came to see him at the hospital.’

‘I did,’ said Bridget. ‘May I come in?’

‘Ian’s not here. He came home from work and then went out again.’

‘No problem,’ said Bridget. ‘It was you I wanted to see.’

She followed Louise into the lounge and sat down. No coffee was offered this time, and Louise gave Bridget the distinct impression that she would be glad to see the back of her. Bridget settled down in the armchair and made herself comfortable. ‘I was admiring your garden as I came in. It’s looking lovely. Is it you or Ian who looks after it?’

Louise eyed her suspiciously. ‘Me, mainly. But I have a gardener who comes in once a week.’

‘It must be a lot of work,’ said Bridget. ‘Especially the magnolia tree. Do you have a lot of ericaceous plants?’

‘A few.’ Louise looked pointedly at the smartwatch she wore on her wrist. ‘Was there something in particular you wanted to ask me? Because if not, I have plenty I’d like to be getting on with.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Bridget pleasantly. ‘Your job as a paediatrician must be very demanding. It can’t leave you much time for hobbies like gardening. Personally, I can never find the time. My own garden’s a complete mess. But working at the hospital does give you easy access to medical equipment, like syringes. And no doubt you would be fully aware of the effects of phosphorous, magnesium and potassium on the human body.’

Louise stared at her. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘That’s how Diane was murdered. A concentrated solution of chemicals injected into her heart. She died almost instantly.’

‘And why are you telling me this?’

‘Because phosphorous, magnesium and potassium are the principal ingredients of ericaceous plant food, the kind you feed to magnolias.’ She gave Louise a moment to digest the implication. ‘I must say, it took me a while to make the connection. You appeared to have no reason to want Diane dead. There was no financial motive.