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Imogen sat in the hotel lounge, on a squashy sofa by the fire, sipping cold tea while the police worked methodically through the staff and guests, taking names and asking questions.
They took pity on the young waitress, a teenager with saucer eyes, wrote down her details and sent her home as soon as possible.
Adam grinned. The cat was out of the bag, now that the girl was released. In half an hour, word would have spread and the whole village would know Imogen Bishop’s husband had been found dead in the garden of her father’s hotel.
He watched from the background as the police went about their business. Yellow police tape marked out the orangery and closed off the path to the car park. Light bulbs flashed and officers in protective suits moved in a practised ballet, searching for and securing evidence.
The long, depressing evening dragged into night as officials came and went until at last, in the early hours of the next morning, an ambulance removed the body to the morgue for autopsy and the police left, tasking a single, forlorn police constable to guard the crime scene, in a garden turned to mud by the combination of April rain and police boots.
Nothing, Adam knew, would be the same again for a long time.
4
Maria
Adam scooped tinned mince into an old dish, his knees creaking. He must order dog food, or he’d be feeding this new arrival The Plough’s best steak. The dog gazed at him with open mouth, panting with excitement. It looked like he planned to stick around.
‘Adam, darling.’
Adam recognised the voice and his heart missed a beat. Maria Rostropova walked through his door, smiling. He wished she wouldn’t do that. It did terrible things to his pulse rate.
A beautiful woman like this was out of Adam’s league. He’d come to terms with that. Still, desire ambushed him every time he saw Maria. That smile, the hourglass figure, and the tip-tilted nose: perfection. Only a tiny scar running from the corner of her left eye and disappearing behind her ear spoiled the flawlessness of the exquisite face.
Adam had worshipped this woman from the moment they met four months ago. The local orchestra and choir, a motley collection of amateur and ex-professional musicians from the surrounding villages, had been rehearsing Christmas songs in the church and they’d built up a thirst.
‘My good man,’ the conductor had boomed. ‘A pint each for the basses and tenors, and a glass of whatever they desire most, for our beautiful ladies.’
Warmed by Adam’s best Hook Norton bitter, he’d taken a fancy to The Plough. ‘We’ll be back. Keep the beer on tap.’
They’d returned often. Free drinks guaranteed impromptu choral performances for the regulars and Maria’s performance of ‘Blow the Wind Southerly’ could bring the drinkers to their feet in appreciation of her voice, by no means diminished by her personal charms.
Today, her eyes opened wide. ‘That poor dog.’ An Eastern European lilt enhanced the husky contralto. ‘He’s so thin. He must be starving. Where did he come from?’
‘No idea,’ Adam confessed. ‘He’s a stray – arrived yesterday. I wedged the door open this morning, but he wouldn’t leave.’
‘Is he chipped?’
‘Can’t tell. Unless someone claims him soon, I’ll have to get the vet to run a scan. Otherwise, there’s no chance of finding the owner.’
The dog trotted over to Maria, rubbing his head against her brightly coloured, floor length skirt. She knelt down, murmuring a stream of nonsense, like a doting aunt with a new-born baby.
She straightened. ‘Let’s not wait. Let’s take him to the vet, now.’ She clapped her hands. ‘But first, I have a favour to ask, Mr Hennessy.’
Why the sudden formality?
‘Adam.’
‘Of course. Such a delightful English name. I came to beg you for help, Adam. You see, as you know, I sing in our choir.’
Adam nodded.
‘I also chair the committee. We plan to give a charity concert in June, and we had this wonderful idea – why not play outside, with nature all around. In a field.’
‘Why not?’ Adam chuckled. He could see where this was leading.
‘We were hoping to use the field behind the church, but there’s been a little – how shall I say – difficulty. An objection. By the farmer. Something about trampling the crops. Poof!’ Maria dismissed the farmer with a wave of the hand. ‘We have to find an alternative, and we thought of your dear little beer garden. Would it not be perfect?’ She smiled that adorable smile.
Adam was not fooled. Maria must have singled out the beer garden the first time she saw it. ‘You’ll be very welcome.’
‘Adam, my darling. You are so wonderful and sweet.’
Adam had rarely been called sweet. He rather liked it.
‘Now.’ She clapped her hands again. ‘Let’s visit the vet. The dog will fit easily in your car, no? Mine has only just returned from the valet, and it would be such a shame to make it all dirty again, wouldn’t it?’
The dog had no chip. The vet shook his head. ‘He’s a stray, I’m sure,’ he decided. ‘He looks as though he’s travelled a long way. That makes me wonder…’
‘Wonder what?’ Adam asked.
‘There’s been a spate of dog thefts recently. Mostly high-end, working dogs – sheepdogs, show animals and such. Not scruffy mutts like this one.’ He scratched the dog’s chest and the animal leaned against him, hypnotised, eyes half closed in bliss. ‘They were hidden in one of the farms north of here, up Hereford way, until it closed down a few weeks ago. Someone searching for a Carpathian sheepdog found them and the police closed the place down.’
Maria shrieked with delight. ‘I know Carpathians. They come from Romania, my home country. My uncle bred them on his farm.’
The vet laughed. ‘I don’t fancy you’ll get your hands on that one – the owner was besotted by all accounts. Anyway, if they stole this fellow by mistake, they probably kicked him off the farm. They wouldn’t want a mutt like him.’
Maria gasped; her hands clapped against the dog’s ears. ‘No, no. Stop saying that. You’ll upset the poor creature. Won’t he, darling?’ She kissed the top of the dog’s head.
The vet raised an eyebrow. ‘He’s most likely been wandering ever since. He’s very young, hardly more than a puppy, and he’s come a long way, but he seems in good health. Is he eating?’
‘He could outdo a weightlifter,’ Adam put in.
The vet looked at his watch. ‘I must
