Kennedy 03 - Where Petals Fall Read Free Page A

retired and afforded the title of local historian, had a wicked sense of humour that Jill loved. Going on appearances – the short grey hair, the sensible shoes and clothes – one could be forgiven for assuming Ella to be a biddable old soul but, despite the fact that she’d recently lost her much-loved husband to cancer, nothing, outwardly at least, lessened her sense of fun or her pithy observations of life.
    ‘So what’s new?’ Ella asked when they were sitting in the shade with a glass of chilled white wine each.
    ‘Not a lot.’ Ella was discretion itself, but Jill didn’t see much point in telling her about the gruesome discovery at the quarry. There was nothing to discuss until they knew more.
    ‘What about this new neighbour of yours? Olive, old gossip that she is, reckons he’s into black magic.’
    ‘The tarot and astronomy,’ Jill corrected her. ‘He runs an internet business. And charges people a fortune for readings, no doubt.’
    ‘Mumbo-jumbo,’ Ella scoffed. ‘Still, if people are daft enough to pay him . . .’
    ‘Quite.’
    ‘He’s a looker, mind,’ Ella added. ‘I’ve only seen him a couple of times, but if I were forty years younger –’
    ‘You’d have to join the queue,’ Jill finished for her.
    Finlay Roberts must have kissed the Blarney Stone. He wasn’t Irish, he’d been born in Scunthorpe, but he was full of charm and flattery. His family were circus people, and he’d travelled the length and breadth of the country as a child. He was still travelling, and was only renting the cottage next door for three months because he remembered the area from his childhood and had always vowed to return. His current job, and Jill gathered there had been many, was running his online tarot business. It meant he could work from anywhere that had internet access.
    Around the six feet mark, he had a rangy, lean body, brown curly hair and striking green eyes. Whenever he spoke of his business, those eyes shone with devilment and Jill found it impossible to tell if he believed in the tarot or if he was merely running a scam. It was difficult to see through the charm to the man beneath.
    ‘He’s attracting a lot of interest,’ she told Ella.
    ‘Strangers always do.’
    ‘Don’t I know it.’ Jill had lived in the village for almost two years now, and some still thought of her as ‘that fancy psychiatrist in Mrs Blackman’s old cottage’. For fancy psychiatrist read forensic psychologist. But what was the point? It was all the same to most people.
    ‘Talk of the devil,’ she murmured as Finlay peered over the hedge.
    From the look of him – old, paint-spattered jeans and ragged T-shirt – one would be forgiven for thinking he’d been doing a spot of decorating or sitting in front of an easel for hours. Jill guessed he’d been doing neither. This, she’d come to realize, was his usual mode of dress. It did nothing to lessen his appeal, though.
    ‘Hi, Finlay,’ she called out. ‘Will you join us in a glass of wine?’
    ‘Is the Pope a Catholic?’ He vanished from view briefly before vaulting the low part of the dividing fence. ‘I wasgoing to follow your example and mow the grass,’ he said, pulling up a chair and positioning it so the sun wasn’t in his eyes, ‘but this is a much better idea, darling girl.’ He smiled at Ella. ‘Mrs Gardner, isn’t it?’
    ‘It is, but I suppose that, devil worshipper or not, you may call me Ella.’
    ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked, grinning, as Jill rose to fetch another glass. ‘I’ll have you know, Ella, that I’ve just read the church magazine from cover to cover.’
    ‘That took a while then,’ Ella said drily. ‘Still, knowing where the nearest chimney sweep hangs out will come in useful . . .’
    Jill left them to it and, when she returned with another glass, they were discussing the burglaries.
    ‘I’ll be chief suspect,’ Finlay said with a grin. ‘I’m a newcomer, I’m a traveller and, to top it all, I’m a