upright and ran at a brisk trot back to his vehicle, speaking into a radio clipped to his shoulder. Simon stood with his hands on his hips for a moment, then returned to the bench.
Daniel enjoyed the way the blue-white-red light bar on top of the panda car reflected off the water’s surface. Too bad his pal Jack Halsey wasn’t here to see it. They would raise a toast to the whirling lights. That Jack, he was ready to raise a toast to anything at all. It was one of the reasons they got on so well.
Daniel chose kindling from a stack on the porch. Inside, he lit the fire, then set up his kettle on the two-ring hot plate for a good cuppa. He sloshed water into a huge mug and dropped in the tea. When it had steeped to a point dark enough for him, he poured three overflowing tablespoons of honey into it and carried the sweet brew back to the porch.
In his absence, a second official car had arrived, its beam chasing that of the first car across the lake’s surface. Making his tea, Daniel had also missed seeing the blue-and-white crime scene tape being spread over a portion of the footpath, blocking access from either end. Two constables now stood watch along the path.
The Ramseys and the pregnant woman had disappeared, but Daniel knew more cars would arrive, soon to be followed by the SOCOs—Scene of Crime Officers—who would look like giant insects scouring the scene in their lint-free suits. It was amazing what you could learn from television these days. Minutes later, a police van pulled up, and a photographer gathered his equipment from the back. The uproar attracted villagers and tourists, all kept at bay by the tape and the constables on guard.
Daniel sipped his tea, and the liquid burned its way down his raw throat. He glanced at the sun and knew he had time before he had to be at Clarendon Hall. He balanced his chipped mug carefully on the porch railing and, heading back inside, inspected his three chairs. He chose the one with the sturdiest legs and dragged it out from the cottage to the porch. Placing it in his vantage point behind the screen of bushes, he settled back to enjoy the show.
Chapter Three
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
—Edgar Allen Poe, “A Dream Within a Dream ”
9:45 AM
Nora sat in stunned silence at the pine table in Simon’s kitchen. She flashed on the memory of Bryn Wallace’s death in Oxford and shivered. A death like this would set the wheels of an investigation into motion and would engulf her. She would have to be the person who had found the dead man—and not just any man, either.
By the sink, Kate tapped her foot impatiently. She’d called her fiancé, Detective Inspector Ian Travers, and was waiting for him to pick up the phone at the main police station in Kendal. Grabbing a fluffy, loomed shawl from a peg near the door, she draped it over Nora’s shoulders.
Nora roused herself to thank Kate. The scent of strong black tea was helping her maintain her grasp on reality in a surreal situation. She stared into the depths of the mug, forcing her mind from dwelling on the atrocity at the water’s edge. As though he sensed the tense mood, Darby kept quiet watch at Nora’s feet under the table. Her baby had waved an arm, so she felt reasonably confident the shock hadn’t hurt the child.
“Ian, thank goodness. Something awful happened, and Nora”— Kate threw Nora a tense look as she listened. “Yes, she’s right here with me. … No, I won’t. … Nora and Simon both did. Ian, it’s Keith Clarendon.”
*
As they waited for Ian, Kate brought a mug of tea to the female police constable on duty outside the door, then poured her own and sat across from Nora.
“It’s awful—all I can think of is our conversation at breakfast, and how enthusiastic Keith was about my winning the contest.” Nora wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“It is awful. Ian said you’re to stay inside, away from the
Daniel enjoyed the way the blue-white-red light bar on top of the panda car reflected off the water’s surface. Too bad his pal Jack Halsey wasn’t here to see it. They would raise a toast to the whirling lights. That Jack, he was ready to raise a toast to anything at all. It was one of the reasons they got on so well.
Daniel chose kindling from a stack on the porch. Inside, he lit the fire, then set up his kettle on the two-ring hot plate for a good cuppa. He sloshed water into a huge mug and dropped in the tea. When it had steeped to a point dark enough for him, he poured three overflowing tablespoons of honey into it and carried the sweet brew back to the porch.
In his absence, a second official car had arrived, its beam chasing that of the first car across the lake’s surface. Making his tea, Daniel had also missed seeing the blue-and-white crime scene tape being spread over a portion of the footpath, blocking access from either end. Two constables now stood watch along the path.
The Ramseys and the pregnant woman had disappeared, but Daniel knew more cars would arrive, soon to be followed by the SOCOs—Scene of Crime Officers—who would look like giant insects scouring the scene in their lint-free suits. It was amazing what you could learn from television these days. Minutes later, a police van pulled up, and a photographer gathered his equipment from the back. The uproar attracted villagers and tourists, all kept at bay by the tape and the constables on guard.
Daniel sipped his tea, and the liquid burned its way down his raw throat. He glanced at the sun and knew he had time before he had to be at Clarendon Hall. He balanced his chipped mug carefully on the porch railing and, heading back inside, inspected his three chairs. He chose the one with the sturdiest legs and dragged it out from the cottage to the porch. Placing it in his vantage point behind the screen of bushes, he settled back to enjoy the show.
Chapter Three
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
—Edgar Allen Poe, “A Dream Within a Dream ”
9:45 AM
Nora sat in stunned silence at the pine table in Simon’s kitchen. She flashed on the memory of Bryn Wallace’s death in Oxford and shivered. A death like this would set the wheels of an investigation into motion and would engulf her. She would have to be the person who had found the dead man—and not just any man, either.
By the sink, Kate tapped her foot impatiently. She’d called her fiancé, Detective Inspector Ian Travers, and was waiting for him to pick up the phone at the main police station in Kendal. Grabbing a fluffy, loomed shawl from a peg near the door, she draped it over Nora’s shoulders.
Nora roused herself to thank Kate. The scent of strong black tea was helping her maintain her grasp on reality in a surreal situation. She stared into the depths of the mug, forcing her mind from dwelling on the atrocity at the water’s edge. As though he sensed the tense mood, Darby kept quiet watch at Nora’s feet under the table. Her baby had waved an arm, so she felt reasonably confident the shock hadn’t hurt the child.
“Ian, thank goodness. Something awful happened, and Nora”— Kate threw Nora a tense look as she listened. “Yes, she’s right here with me. … No, I won’t. … Nora and Simon both did. Ian, it’s Keith Clarendon.”
*
As they waited for Ian, Kate brought a mug of tea to the female police constable on duty outside the door, then poured her own and sat across from Nora.
“It’s awful—all I can think of is our conversation at breakfast, and how enthusiastic Keith was about my winning the contest.” Nora wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“It is awful. Ian said you’re to stay inside, away from the
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