The Last Party (DC Morgan #1)(58)

‘It’s very important to have diverse representation within one’s friendship circle.’ Blythe read this in the Guardian. She isn’t entirely sure she wants diverse friends – she’s perfectly happy with the ones she has – but it’s good to show willing. Do the Welsh count as a minority ethnic group?

‘It’s a ball-ache alright,’ Jonty says, ‘entertaining the hoi polloi, but we do need to get them on-side. The view’s great, but people want more than that from a second home. They want to wander around the shops and chat to the locals. They want community.’

‘That’s settled, then,’ Rhys says. ‘I’ll draw up a list of the right kind of people.’

Yasmin leans towards Blythe. ‘Is there anything we can do to help with the party prep? Décor, perhaps?’

Blythe bristles. ‘All taken care of, darling. The marquee will go up on the thirtieth, and the deckchairs are coming the same day. I’m still pricing up sand—’

‘No bloody sand!’ Jonty says.

‘And I did wonder about some sort of water feature, to go with the beach theme.’

Jonty puts down his glass with a bang. ‘There’s a bloody lake out there!’ He looks at Rhys. ‘Women, eh? All this, and we have to make small talk with farmers.’

‘Call-me-Clemmie will entertain them.’ Rhys chortles, and everyone laughs.

Blythe claps her hands, like a child. ‘That reminds me! The locals do a swim on New Year’s Day, and I had thought it would be fun to join in, only I asked the girl in the newsagent’s about it and . . .’ Blythe briefly shuts her eyes, then breathes out. ‘Well, let’s just say it’s a closed shop. Anyway . . .’ she looks around the table ‘. . . I thought we’d start our own tradition. The Shore Christmas Day Dip! What do you think, girls? Caleb’s doing it. I’ll cheer you on from the deck – I mustn’t let my meridian lines get cold.’

Felicia doesn’t look up from her phone. ‘Yeah, whatevs.’

‘Tabby?’

‘S’pose.’

‘Rhys?’

‘Can’t wait,’ he says, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Blythe is delighted. She sends a message to The Shore’s WhatsApp group, and fields the thumbs-ups as they come in. Dee Huxley sends a fully punctuated response, complete with a kind regards sign-off. Bless her. Blythe hadn’t relished the arrival of a septuagenarian as a neighbour, but Dee’s young at heart, and very stylish for her age. She also makes a number of barbed comments about Rhys, which Blythe secretly finds delicious.

‘Are the Staffords here for Christmas?’ Yasmin asks.

‘I get the impression that’s a bone of contention,’ Jonty says. ‘Ashleigh fancied Dubai; Bobby wanted to be at The Shore.’

‘They’ve just landed at Gatwick,’ Blythe says, holding her phone aloft. She studies Jonty’s reaction, but there’s not even a flicker. He’s not fucking Ashleigh, then. Or he’s a better liar than she thinks. She has been through his pockets with forensic detail, and found nothing incriminating, but twice she’s caught the drift of a woman’s scent on his clothes. In the summer he took the little boat up the lake most days, sometimes disappearing for hours. It isn’t that big a lake, for heaven’s sake.

That night, when Jonty is in the bathroom, Blythe goes through his things again. She feels his jackets, hung in the dressing room, and shakes the trousers he left draped over a chair. She slides a hand under his side of the mattress, and opens the drawers in his bedside cabinet. Just as she is about to give up, she finds something. Not a second phone, or incriminating letters. Nothing to do with an affair at all, in fact.

She finds an envelope, folded into four, containing a crushed, grainy powder.





TWENTY-FIVE




JANUARY 6TH | FFION


After they’ve left Ashleigh, Ffion rolls a cigarette she doesn’t want. ‘I know who the boat with the red sails belongs to.’

Leo looks at her. ‘Who?’

‘Angharad Evans. She lives at the end of the lake. Bit of an oddball.’

‘The sort of oddball who offers the use of her boat to dispose of a body?’

Ffion shakes her head. ‘It doesn’t fit. We think Yasmin poisoned Rhys, and persuaded Jonty Charlton to knock him out then clean up the crime scene, right? But Jonty’s the one who told us about seeing a boat with red sails. He’d hardly have done that if he’d used the boat himself.’ She lights her cigarette. ‘Besides, Angharad hates The Shore. I mean, really hates it.’

Leo shrugs. ‘So maybe she’s our Plan B. Could she have killed Rhys?’

‘Angharad’s not a murderer. Although, we did use to call her the witch, when I was growing up, and if you saw her you had to stand on one leg, then touch your left elbow, to break the curse.’ Ffion laughs, but Leo isn’t smiling.

‘We should speak to her.’

‘Because I thought she was a witch when I was seven?’

‘Because the team’s spoken to everyone with a boat permit, and I don’t recall Angharad Evans’s name coming up.’

‘She doesn’t need one – her cottage has mooring rights.’ Ffion can see Leo’s mind working. ‘Okay! I’ll take you to her. How do you fancy a boat trip?’