She laid down her folder and said with a smile: “Every hope. There are no guarantees, but I’ve found people on much less information than you’ve given me.”

  “So, you’ll take the job on?”

  “I’d certainly be happy for you to consider me.”

  “I’ve considered.”

  “First, let me give you this.” She handed him a printed sheet. “These are my rates. Would I be right in thinking you’re not setting a particular deadline on this?”

  “However long it takes,” said Alfie.

  “In that case, since I don’t have to make any split-second decisions, I won’t do anything that would involve exceptional expenditure without your approval.”

  Her normal rates seemed perfectly reasonable. He would gladly pay ten times the amount to find his father.

  “However long it takes and however much it costs. But what sort of exceptional expenditure?”

  “Your father may have moved abroad.”

  Another thing that Alfie had never considered. “Please, just do whatever has to be done,” he said. “You don’t need to check back with me.”

  She would have done her homework on him, he was sure, and would know he was well able to pay whatever she charged.

  “In fact,” he said, “let me transfer some funds to you immediately so you can get on with things.”

  “I’d rather you waited until I send you a quote,” she said. “I still have some work to complete for another client, so it’ll be a few days before I can begin.”

  “Even so,” said Alfie, “I’d prefer to pay a deposit now, and then I know it’s all in hand. Otherwise, who knows - I might get distracted and forget.”

  He said it as a joke, not knowing that by the time Lorna Fielding could prepare a quote, he would be in no position to make a payment.

  “I mentioned Edith,” he said.

  He was entirely unrepentant that he had tricked Edith into revealing his father’s affair. She had never realised he knew nothing about it until she told him.

  “If you’ve got the time, I could take you along to the pub and introduce you,” he suggested to Lorna Fielding. “It’s called The Drunken Horse.”

  “I can’t possibly pass up the opportunity of being introduced to a drunken horse,” she said, so deadpan that for a moment, Alfie didn’t realise she was joking.

  *

  It was a perfect June day, and Bunburry was looking its best. The honey-coloured stone of the houses shone in the sunshine, the grass verges were neatly clipped, and the cottage gardens were bright with flowers. Alfie felt a proprietorial pride as he escorted Lorna Fielding through the village.

  “That’s The Drunken Horse ahead,” he said, pointing to an agglomeration of mismatched buildings. “Some of it dates from the sixteenth century. It looks a complete mess, but it’s the hub of village life. It serves the local real ale, Bunburry Brew, and the food is fantastic.”

  He hesitated. “I should warn you in case you ever eat there – there are two cooks: Edith, and her daughter-in-law Carlotta, who’s Italian. There’s quite a bit of rivalry between them. Edith has always dismissed Carlotta’s cooking as ‘foreign muck,’ and it’s got even worse now that Carlotta’s gone vegan. They take grave exception to any diner who prefers the other cook’s dishes.”

  “I think in that case I’ll stick with Edith,” said Lorna. “If Carlotta’s gone vegan, I’m less likely to end up with a horse’s head in my bed.”

  He laughed. She was proving less staid and conventional than he had first imagined.

  “Wise choice. Edith’s definitely the more intimidating of the two.”

  He opened the pub door for her and they went in. The Horse was more crowded than he expected, with a group of what looked like ramblers gathered round two tables, with both Edith and Carlotta serving them meals.

  As Edith laid down the last plate, Alfie ushered Lorna towards her.

  “Edith, could I introduce Lorna Fielding? Do you have a couple of minutes to chat?”

  Edith raised her eyes heavenwards.

  “Alfie, I don’t even have a couple of seconds with all this palaver. There’ll be another one out in a minute, and I dare say they’ll need feeding too. At least some of them want a decent meal, not that vegan rubbish.”

  Alfie was puzzled – what did she mean by another one? And out of where? But before he could ask, Carlotta broke in. She had overheard Edith, and she wasn’t happy.

  “Is not rubbish! It is the food of the future, not destroying the planet like all the rubbish meat.”

  “You’d better not let the farmers hear you talk like that, my girl, or you’ll be in real trouble,” Edith retorted.

  Carlotta snapped her fingers. “I give that for your farmers.”

  Glaring at one another, the two women disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry about that, not the best time,” said Alfie.

  “No need to apologise, it was thoroughly entertaining,” said Lorna. “And now I know where to find Edith.”

  Alfie was about to leave when he saw Emma emerge from a back room with a sallow, dark-haired young man who looked tense and drawn. Emma was wearing her police uniform, black trousers and a white long-sleeved shirt with a black and white checked cravat.

  The man sat down heavily beside the group, not looking at anybody.

  Emma turned to another of the group. “Mr Jones? If I could speak to you now.”

  A balding, bearded man stood up and followed her into the room.

  Alfie realised that Lorna Fielding was standing patiently beside him.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Let’s go to our next port of call.”

  2. Liz and Marge

  Marge opened the door of Jasmine Cottage.

  “Alfie!” she said, then peered through her oversized spectacles at Lorna Fielding with undisguised curiosity. “And who’s this you’ve brought to see us?”

  Alfie was convinced that Liz and Marge wanted to pair him up with Emma, Liz’s great-niece, and he was equally convinced that Emma would prefer being stranded on a desert island for the rest of her life. He toyed with the idea of saying: “This is my new girlfriend,” but while he had been pleased to find Lorna had a sense of humour, perhaps it was too early to test its limits.

  “This is-” he began.

  “Lorna, Lorna Fielding,” his companion supplied, smiling at the small white-haired woman, and shaking her hand.

  “Lorna’s helping me with a project, and I thought you and Liz might be able to help her,” said Alfie.

  “Oh yes?” said Marge, obviously intrigued. “You’d better come in then.”

  She led them into the sitting room with its chintz-covered armchairs and sofa, calling: “Liz, it’s Alfie,” in the direction of the kitchen.

  “It’s about time we had a break,” she said. “We’ve been hard at work all day.”

  “Have we, dear?” came Liz’s voice from the kitchen. “I’ve been coping with a rush order, but as far as I know, you’ve been watching re-runs of The Inspector Lynley Mysteries.”

  “I was doing invoices at the same time,” said Marge defensively.

  “And I can imagine which got more of your attention,” said Liz as she appeared in the sitting room doorway, patting her sandy-coloured hair into place. Alfie deduced she had just taken off the hairnet she always wore when making fudge. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise Alfie had someone with him. I’m Liz Hopkins.”

  “This is Lorna,” said Marge before Alfie’s companion had the chance to speak. “She needs our help.”

  “Well, of course,” said Liz. “If there’s anything we can do. What sort of help?”

  Alfie found himself reluctant to broach the subject. He hadn’t forewarned the ladies of his plan. But he was saved from an immediate answer by Marge offering them something to drink.

  “That’s kind, but no thanks,” said Lorna. “I’ve just had a cup of tea at Alfie’s.”

  “Maybe something stronger?” Marge suggested. “I’m sure it’s gin o’clock.”

  “Really, I’m fine,” said Lorna.

  “Alfie?”

  “I’m fine too,” he said.

  Marge reluctantly sat down on her customary rocking chair, with Liz taking one of the armchairs.

  “So how can we help you?” Liz asked again.

  “Lorna’s a private investigator,” said Alfie.

  “Then we’re very flattered that you’ve come to us for help,” said Marge. “We don’t really count ourselves as professionals, but I have to admit the Bunburry Triangle has quite a good track record.”

  “The Bunburry Triangle?” Lorna repeated, with a questioning look at Alfie.

  This was going even more badly than he had feared.

  “Nothing,” he muttered.

  “Nothing!” said Marge. “I’ve heard of false modesty, but that’s ridiculous. Lorna, the Bunburry Triangle is me, Liz and Alfie. We’re a team of crime fighters. We solve murders.”

  “Marge, dear,” said Liz. “I don’t think Lorna wants our help to solve a murder.”

  Lorna gave a regretful shake of her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  Marge sank back on her rocking chair.

  Alfie steeled himself. “Lorna’s hoping to find a missing person. My father, to be exact.”

  He saw Liz and Marge exchange glances, but he couldn’t read how they were reacting.

  “I thought it would be helpful if you could have a chat with her, tell her what you know.”

  “Very little,” said Liz quickly.

  “It could still be useful,” said Alfie. “I’ve also asked Lorna to have a chat with Edith.”

  This time, there was no mistaking Liz’s expression – alarm.

  “I’m not sure it’s wise to involve Edith, dear,” she said. “She knows no more than the rest of us. If she finds you’ve hired a private investigator, she’ll broadcast it all over the village, you know what she’s like. She’ll stir the whole thing up again, telling everyone what she thinks she knows, and Gussie doesn’t deserve that.”

  Alfie had to concede that she had a point. When he first arrived in Bunburry, it was clear that Aunt Augusta was held in great affection by everyone. She had been a mainstay of the village, involved in everything from the local drama group to the animal shelter. Was it fair to have her pilloried as a home-wrecker who betrayed her own sister? That was over forty years ago, and had she not made amends?

  But he wanted Lorna to have as much information as possible. Despite what Liz had said, Edith might well know something the ladies didn’t.

  “I’d like Edith to talk to Lorna,” he said stubbornly.

  Marge speeded up the rate at which she was rocking, invariably a sign that she was thinking fast.

  “Clarissa’s right,” she declared. “If Edith knows Lorna’s a private investigator, she’ll be so excited she’ll turn the whole thing into a drama. Now why else might Lorna be asking her about your father?”

  The rocking intensified.

  “Got it!” she said triumphantly. “Lorna could say she’s into geneology.”

  “I think that would be a mistake, dear,” said Liz.

  Marge bristled. “I don’t see why. I think saying she’s researching Alfie’s family tree is a very good idea.”

  “It’s a very good idea indeed,” said Liz. “But the word is genealogy. With an ‘a’. It wouldn’t be very convincing if Lorna didn’t know the proper name for what she was doing.”

  “That could work,” said Alfie slowly. “If Lorna said she was researching my family tree, she could pretend to concentrate on my mother and grandparents, and just ask about my father as an aside.”

  Lorna was smiling. “Yes, I can do that. I can see why the Bunburry Triangle is so successful at fighting crime.”

  Marge, who had slowed the rocking chair during the conversation, speeded up again in triumph.

  “And perhaps you could tell Lorna what you know?” said Alfie.

  The rocking chair came to an abrupt halt.

  “You mean now?” asked Marge.

  “Why not? No time like the present. Lorna has kindly said she can stay for a bit longer, and you said you and Liz could do with a break.”

  “Marge, dear,” said Liz, “even if Lorna and Alfie don’t want anything, I could do with a cup of tea after being on my feet all day.”

  Marge sprang up. “Now you’ve said that, I fancy a tea as well.”

  Alfie recognised his own tactic of stalling for time. He was disappointed that the ladies didn’t seem to want to help him. Aunt Augusta was their friend, true, but she was gone, and he wanted to find his father.

  He was working out how to say this tactfully when the doorbell rang.

  “Are you expecting anyone, Clarissa?” Marge called.

  “No, dear, but then I wasn’t expecting Alfie and Lorna,” Liz called back. “I’ll go and answer it.”

  She went off and they heard her exclaim in surprise as she opened the door.

  “Emma, dear, is everything all right?”

  Emma’s voice. “Not really. It’s been some day.”

  “Why, what’s been happening?”

  “You don’t know? You don’t know about the body at the bottom of the old quarry?”

  3. Emma and Neil

  As Liz brought Emma into the sitting room, Lorna Fielding stood up. “I’ll be on my way now. Thank you, it was good to meet you.”

  Liz and Marge bade her a distracted goodbye as she headed down the hall, pursued by Alfie.

  “You’re leaving?”

  She paused on the doorstep. “I think this is a matter for the Bunburry Triangle and the policewoman who’s just arrived, without any superfluous private investigators.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” He had spent most of the time at Liz and Marge’s using the softly-softly approach, which had got nowhere, and was now alarmed the opportunity had been wasted.

  “Let me know when you can come back to Bunburry, and I’ll arrange for us to see Liz and Marge and Edith for a proper interview,” he said.

  “Alfie.” She shot him a sympathetic look. “I think it’s better if I talk to them on my own. There could be things they’d prefer not to say in front of you.”

  He hadn’t thought of that.

  She patted his arm. “It’s all right. I know what I’m doing. It was really helpful to be introduced to them all – we’re off to a good start. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Let me walk you back to your car,” said Alfie. “All these narrow streets can be very confusing.”

  She laughed. “I wouldn’t be a very good private investigator if I couldn’t find my own way back, would I? I think you should go inside and help crack the Bunburry Triangle’s latest case.”

  He watched her walk along the garden path to the white wooden gate, and then go down the three stone steps to the road. She turned and waved, then briskly made her way along the road.

  Alfie returned to the parlour, both reassured and disappointed.

  He found Emma curled up in the armchair he had vacated.

  “I’ve invited Neil here,” she was saying. “I hope that’s all right. He’s in a bad way.”

  “Of course it’s all right,” said Marge. “Poor boy.”

  “Neil?” asked Alfie, sitting down by Liz on the sofa.

  “Neil Walker. He owns the company,” said Emma irritably.

  Alfie was reluctant to irritate her further by saying: “Company?” but Liz came to his rescue.

  “Emma, dear, I don’t think Alfie knows any more about this than we did,” she said.

  “Really? He was in The Horse,” said Emma, startling Alfie who had no idea she had seen him there. He should know by now never to underestimate Constable Hollis. “He was talking to Edith. That’s where it was all happening.”

  Marge glared at Alfie accusingly from her rocking chair. “I think you might have told us, Alfie, instead of just introducing us to your lady friend.”

  “Your lady friend?” echoed Emma. “The one who just left? Who was in The Horse with you? She looks like someone’s mum.”

  Alfie felt unjustly got at. “She may well be several people’s mum, but I’m afraid I know nothing about that, since our relationship is purely professional, and I only met her a few hours ago. As for The Horse, Edith barely exchanged two words with me, and all I saw was the group of ramblers. Were you interviewing them?”

  “Taking witness statements,” said Emma curtly. “And they’re not ramblers.”

  “Perhaps, dear,” said Liz, “you could tell Alfie what you’ve already told us.”

  If Liz hadn’t been her great-aunt, Alfie reckoned Emma would have rolled her eyes. Instead, she uncurled into a slightly more decorous position and said: “This morning, a shepherd who was moving stray sheep from the quarry found a dead body. It’s been reported to the coroner as an unexplained death. A man called Thomas Cox, who was one of the participants on Neil’s course.”

  Neil again. “What’s Neil’s course about?”

  This time, she did roll her eyes. “Alfie, he’s been running the courses for about a year now. Don’t you pay attention to what’s going on around you?”

  “Alfie had to go back to London for a while, remember, dear,” said Liz. “And he’s been quite busy with all his work on the community library, and the new play, and his other volunteering.”

  Alfie gave her a grateful smile. At least she was giving him some credit.

  “Neil Walker set up Forest Adventures, an outdoor survival training company,” said Emma. Alfie recognised the tone his primary school teacher had used when explaining things to particularly slow pupils. “Weekend taster courses and two-week survival courses. This course started a few days ago. Neil’s brought everyone back to The Horse, and is paying for them to stay there until they decide what to do.”

 

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