Pride prejudice and pois.., p.28
Pride, Prejudice and Poison, page 28
“Is there some doubt as to the exact number of her romantic entanglements?”
“I heard rumor of a fourth, but it could be just spite.”
The sound of a car horn outside brought them both to the window. Parked outside was Detective Hemming’s battered Citroën. They watched as he climbed slowly and painfully from the passenger side.
“Go out and meet him,” Farnsworth said.
“But—”
“He’s not here to see me, pet.”
Erin stepped out into the glare of the midday sun streaming through the canopy of dead and dying leaves still clinging to a few trees. Shielding her eyes, she walked toward him.
“Hello,” he said. “You weren’t at your bookstore, so I came here.”
“How are you?”
“I’ll live. The docs gave me something for the pain, so I’m letting Sergeant Jarral do the driving.”
“No doubt he’s thrilled.”
“I just wanted to say thanks. If it weren’t for you, well—let’s just say I appreciate your help.”
“Anytime,” she said, suddenly acutely aware of the insistent chirping of a sparrow on the low branch of a nearby oak tree. “Can I ask a couple of follow-up questions?”
“Sure.”
“How did Winton pull off the attack on Jonathan?”
“It was spur-of-the-moment. When the storm made the lights go out, he grabbed the flowerpot and hit Jonathan with it.”
“So he didn’t cause the blackout?”
“No, the storm did—he just took advantage of it.”
“But how could he see—”
“Jonathan happened to be standing near the flowerpot, and Winton used his little pin flashlight to locate him. In the chaos and confusion, no one noticed.”
“I remember he had one of those penlights!” Erin said. “He used it at his house when I was there.”
“And he confessed to the crank call to your cottage—he was trying to scare you off. I imagine he’ll be sent straight to a prison hospital, since he’s not well. With his confession on record, I doubt there will even be a trial.”
“And he faked the attack on him, I suppose?”
“Yes—actually hit himself in the back of the head with a board to make it more realistic.”
“And tried to frame poor Farnsworth by saying he smelled her perfume.”
“He didn’t mention that detail, but that seems right.”
“Now that the case is over, maybe I can … see you again,” she said, her ears burning.
“I thought everyone in this town was keen on Jonathan Alder,” he said, squinting against the glare as the sun climbed higher in the sky.
“But you make a better Darcy.”
“Do I?” he said, wincing as he shifted position. “Why is that?”
“Because you’re cold and remote, just like him.”
“Do you find me cold and remote?”
“Mind you, I don’t buy it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you’re a softy.”
He laughed—a sad, sweet sound that made her want to wrap him in her arms.
“If you’re right, I wouldn’t be a very good copper.”
“Who says you are?”
“Ouch. That’s harsh.”
Sergeant Jarral climbed out of the car and waved at them. “Sir, DCI Witherspoon is on the line—he wants to know when we’ll be back.”
“Be right there,” Hemming called back to him. “Well,” he said to Erin, “I guess this is good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” she said, looking up at him, and her knees felt hollow. Her hands twitched, longing to reach for his, but she made no move.
“I’ll call you,” he said, turning to go.
She observed his retreating figure as if memorizing it—the square set of his shoulders, the well-shaped head with wavy, wheat-colored hair. He waved one final time as he climbed into the old car, wincing as he bent to climb in. Erin stood watching as the Citroën turned and rattled down the driveway, until it disappeared around the corner.
She stood a few moments listening to the noisy sparrow in the oak tree, wondering what it was chattering about. She felt light and heavy all at the same time—happy and sad, emotionally wrought yet at peace, sadness tugging at a deep sense of contentment. How glad she was to be on this little patch of earth, in this village, at this time of year. Stretching her arms out, she breathed in the sweet, melancholy smell of autumn before turning around and walking back toward the house.
Author Biography
Elizabeth Blake has written ten published novels, six novellas and a dozen or so short stories and poems under other pseudonyms. Many of her works appear in translation internationally. Winner of both the Euphoria Poetry Competition and the Eve of St. Agnes Poetry Award, she is a two time Pushcart Poetry Prize nominee and First Prize winner of the Maxim Mazumdar Playwriting Competition, the Chronogram Literary Fiction Prize, Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Award, and the Jean Paiva Memorial Fiction Award. She was a finalist in the McClaren, MSU and Henrico Playwriting Competitions. She is a Hawthornden Fellow and Writer in Residence at Bydcliffe, Lacawac and Karun? Colonies.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Carole Buggé
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-574-2
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-575-9
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-576-6
Cover illustration by Ben Perini
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
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New York, NY 10001
First Edition: August 2019
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Elizabeth Blake, Pride, Prejudice and Poison
