“Cheers mate. I owe you one.” He stood, rapping on the roof of the car and leaving nothing but the impression of aftershave and an odd accent. Simon craned his neck to look behind the car.
“What an odd fellow. I wonder who he was.”
“You should have asked him.” Jennifer indicated and pulled out again. “He might have been Grace’s lover or something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jennifer. He’s probably a friend of Richard’s from college.” He looked at the time on the dashboard clock. “It’s early yet. How about a nightcap at the White Art?”
“Are you sure?” Jennifer was dubious. “You’ve had several already.”
“A little one won’t hurt. Come on. You know you want to.”
“Very well.” She accelerated toward Laverstone’s only hotel. The internet could wait another hour for her presence.
The White Art was a rambling old building on the corner of Lovatt Street and Taunton Road. Several men stood at the open doorway smoking cigarettes but Jennifer pulled into the car-park at the back and followed Simon into the lounge. She glanced up at the sign as she passed beneath. It depicted a full moon bisected by the lines of a pentagram. “You ought to complain about that sign.”
Simon laughed. “Why should I? It’s been like that since before I was assigned the post here.”
“It’s not right. They should go back to being called the White Hart instead of all this witchery nonsense.”
“It’s good for the tourists. Mike makes a mint when they come to see the village stones. He gets quite a bit of trade in the summer from the folks doing the Stonehenge and Glastonbury tour.”
The lounge was quiet, though a fair amount of noise filtered through from the bar. Jennifer stood at the bar and removed her gloves while Simon flagged down the barman.
“Father Brande. This is a pleasant surprise.” Mike Chapman jerked his head toward the bar. “You any good at darts? We’re being thrashed by the team from Morley Croft.”
Simon shook his head. “Sorry, Mike.”
“No matter. What can I get you?”
“A small scotch for me and...” He looked at Jennifer, his eyebrows raised.
“I’ll have a port and lemon.” Jennifer looked at the other guests. There was no one she recognized.
“There you go.” Simon took out his wallet and laid a five-pound note on the bar. “Is Richard upstairs?”
“I don’t know offhand.” Mike glanced into the bar. “I’ve not seen him, though he might well have come in and gone straight up.”
“Mind if I check?”
Mike shook his head. “Help yourself.”
“Splendid.” Simon touched Jennifer’s arm. “I'll only be a minute. You go and sit down.”
* * * *
“So what did you find out?” asked Jennifer when they got home. She was already seething from the silent car journey. “You were gone for ages when you went to see Richard and then just swallowed your drink in one gulp. It must have been something important.”
“Actually, no. Richard wasn’t there so I left him a note to come and see me. The trouble was I had to go and find a pen and then needed a piece of paper.” Simon looked at her as she took his coat to hang up. “I have to think.” He kicked off his shoes and put his slippers on. “Robert told me some disturbing news. I need to pray for guidance.”
“Tell me something, at least.” Jennifer put the discarded footwear onto newspaper. “You and Robert were cloistered in his study for over an hour.”
Simon headed up the stairs. “You were right all along. I’m going to bed.”
“Right about what?” Jennifer shouted, her exasperation with her secretive brother reaching boiling point, but he gave her no reply.
* * * *
Jennifer was engrossed in an online conversation about Margaret’s dog when the phone rang. She looked at the clock in the corner of the screen. Eleven-fifteen. The ringing stopped, answered by Simon in his bedroom. Minutes later he came thundering down the stairs pulling his clothes on as he went.
Jennifer ran into the hall. “What’s happened?”
His face was grim. “That was Amanda, the maid at The Larches. Robert’s been murdered.”
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