By Rebecca Tope
Undertaker Drew Slocombe isn't having an exceptional day. His company is failing, the auto wishes an MOT (safety inspection) and he’s riding one hundred twenty miles to the Cotswolds to hold out the overdue Greta Simmonds’ ultimate needs. regrettably, whilst he will get there, a string of bureaucratic error implies that he’s now the executive suspect of a homicide inquiry. He’s commencing to want he had by no means heard of Greta Simmonds. Thea Osborne and her unswerving spaniel Hepzie are nonetheless pursuing their career as house-sitters, regardless of the disastrous incidents of the previous. in the mean time they're staying in Greta Simmonds’ residence, that is at the moment among possession. Thea is torn among relocating again domestic or anticipating the execution of the need. in any case, she does have extraordinary funds due. Then the invention of a physique in a close-by box takes the choice out of Thea’s arms, and she or he unearths herself embroiled in a homicide research once more. Having befriended the police’s merely suspect, Drew Slocombe, Thea believes him to be blameless. As Thea and Drew interact to transparent his identify, it slowly dawns on them that during a village simmering with secrets and techniques, a method and a cause may be laid at anybody’s door.
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Extra resources for A Grave in the Cotswolds
All right,’ I conceded, as if I had a choice. ’ Karen took it serenely. ‘What a pain,’ she said. ’ I visualised the tedious drive, an hour and a half each way. ‘Hard to say,’ I replied. ’ Darkness fell at about seven, the equinox less than a week away. The children had no plans for the weekend. They would watch too much television, but also play with the chaotic jumble of toys in their bedroom, Stephanie herding her Playmobil figures on and off the brick trains that Timothy fashioned for them.
It was over three years since Karen had come home from hospital, pale and fearful after being shot in the head at close range. Nothing vital had been destroyed, and at first the doctors had assured us that her periods of blankness and problems with eating and sleeping were the result of trauma, rather than physical damage. The very fact of her still being alive had carried us through several euphoric weeks. And she did slowly get better, although the lack of appetite persisted and the resultant loss of weight alarmed me.
Nor did I know the pretty woman who had gone to console Jeremy Talbot. Throughout the burial, she had hung back, giving the impression she thought she ought not to be there. The wind blew fiercely from the east, and I hoped I wouldn’t have a long wait for the gravedigger to arrive, it being unthinkable to leave an open grave unattended. To my relief, I glimpsed a man in heavy boots, leaning on the gate, when we began to straggle back to our cars. He was with two young people, who I took to be idle onlookers, curious as to what was taking place in this quiet corner.
A Grave in the Cotswolds by Rebecca Tope