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A Village Murder
FRANCES EVESHAM
Contents
1
The Plough
Adam Hennessy rose early; he had beer taps to polish, a bar to wipe clean and optics to fill. He yawned. He needed to find another barman, fast. The Plough had heaved with thirsty locals last night, and he’d been run off his feet.
He leaned on a windowsill, as he did every morning, to view Ham Hill above the village, still visible through pouring April rain cascading down the uneven glass of the sixteenth century window.
He yawned again. Sleep. That’s what he needed. He’d be at The Streamside Hotel all afternoon, for Councillor Jones’ wake; Lower Hembrow’s biggest social event this year. Pity he would be there to serve, not on the guest list.
Still, if you can’t do a favour for your neighbours, don’t live in an English village.
Was there time for a nap before lunch?
He walked through to the private rooms at one end of the long, low building. An easel leaned against the wall of the sitting room, inviting Adam to pick up a brush, but the desire for sleep trumped everything, just now.
A muffled thump shook the back door. What was that?
‘Come in,’ Adam called, heart
