A Bitter Feast(44)

The children had spotted the play area in the garden behind the pub. “Can we go see, Mummy?” Charlotte tugged at Gemma’s hand.

“Go on, then. We’ll be right behind you,” Gemma said, waving them off. Kit sauntered behind the younger two, looking round curiously.

“Is Viv back?” Kincaid asked when the children were out of earshot. “Was it a positive ID?”

Gemma nodded. “And Booth’s still here."

As they entered the courtyard, Kincaid saw Melody and Doug sitting at a picnic table in the garden. Doug had a pint and Melody had what looked like a mug of tea. They were talking to Mark Cain, who had sat next to Kincaid at the luncheon. Cain looked considerably less aggravated than earlier in the day, and Kincaid wondered what had improved his mood.

“Hello, again,” Cain said, shaking Kincaid’s hand, then turning to Gemma.

“Hello. I’m Gemma James, Duncan’s wife.” Gemma gave Cain a smile, but Kincaid recognized the curiosity in her glance.

“Mark Cain. I’ve come to see if Grace would like to take Bella for a walk. Bella’s Nell’s dog,” he added. “I’m looking after her.”

“I think Lady Addie said she was one of your puppies?”

“Yes. And I was helping Nell with some obedience training.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe it, that Nell’s gone.”

“I understand you were her neighbor?”

“Yes. Nell’s cottage is up King’s Well Lane—the turning is opposite the mill. My farm is the next place beyond it.” Cain frowned. “Nell would have driven right past me last night.”

Kincaid could visualize the lane—he’d gone that way with Ivan that morning. And when he’d glanced at the walking guide he’d bought in the mill shop, he’d seen that the lane was part of a designated-walks loop. He thought he remembered seeing a farm gate, but there had been nothing beyond that other than the junction that led to the main road. Where had Nell Greene been going?

Melody and Doug had finished their drinks and risen to join them. “I’ve given Mark’s key to the cottage to DI Booth,” said Melody. “And we’d better get organized to go back to the house. Duncan, I thought you and Gemma and Charlotte could ride with me, and Doug could walk up with the boys.”

Kincaid started to say he didn’t need a ride, then remembered the grade of the hill and wondered if he felt quite up to the climb.

“She’s coddling you,” said Gemma with a smile. “And you’d better not think of arguing.”

They all looked up as DI Booth came out of the kitchen entrance, followed by Viv Holland. Booth carried a man’s camel hair overcoat.

“Is that O’Reilly’s?” Melody asked.

“Yes, but not much help, I’m afraid. There’s nothing with a London address or anything to indicate where he was staying in the area.” Booth turned to Viv. “Do you have any suggestions, Miss Holland?”

“There are only two places here in the village, the inn and the manor house. Knowing Fergus, I’d try the manor first. It’s a bit more his style.” Her smile was pinched. “You’ll find it just the other side of the church.” To Melody, Doug, and Gemma, she added, “Thank you all so much for your help. I don’t know how I’d have managed otherwise. Now, if you don’t mind, there’s someone else I need to thank.” She walked across the garden to the play area, where Kit was helping Charlotte on the slide.

Kincaid noticed that she had not acknowledged Mark Cain.

“You’ll be checking on Nell Greene’s cottage as well as the hotels?” he asked Booth. “I wondered if I might tag along.”

“Of course,” Booth said. “I’ll run you up to Beck House afterwards.”

Leaving the pub, Kincaid and Booth crossed the road at the main roundabout and took the paved path that meandered alongside the Eye, the river here wider and deeper than it had been beside the mill. Across the road, a wall of golden Cotswold brick with ironwork insets bordered the tarmac, partially concealing the manor house.

“You think there’s something in these deaths, then?” Kincaid asked Booth.

“I certainly think the whole business is odd. But I don’t have enough yet to justify authorizing overtime on a Saturday night.” Booth shot Kincaid an amused glance. “Hence my appreciation of another set of eyes and ears.”

“Happy to oblige.”

Booth walked on another few yards before he added, “Did you have a particular reason for wanting to see the woman’s cottage?”

“Nell.” Kincaid spoke with more force than necessary, then took a breath. “Mrs. Greene. Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that no one’s accounts of her—or my impression—seem to match up with what happened last night.”

“None of the staff I just interviewed at the pub saw any interaction between Mrs. Greene and Fergus O’Reilly. According to the bartender, O’Reilly left about twenty minutes before Mrs. Greene.”

They’d reached the ornate pineapple-topped gates flanking the manor house drive. Kincaid looked back towards the pub, just visible in the fading light. “What time was this?”

“Fully dark, according to the bartender. Half seven, he guessed.”