MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective by GRETTA MULROONEY (ebook reader for laptop txt) 📕

He stood with his back against the dresser, arms folded, unwelcoming. ‘The police have advised you to lock your door, so I hope you are.’

‘I certainly am not! Not worrying about security has always been one of the lovely things about living here. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to harm me, and I’m not afraid of anyone either.’

You’d have no reason to be afraid if you’re Afan’s killer. ‘Okay, that’s up to you.’

‘Exactly. If you put the rest of that chicken in the fridge, it’ll be fine for tomorrow. Just make sure you heat it through thoroughly.’

‘Thanks for the tip.’

She thrust the package towards him. ‘Here, some lemon and honey cake, one of my specialities. Afan’s honey, natch.’

‘That’s very kind of you, but you really shouldn’t go to so much trouble.’

‘I like baking and it’s therapy. I’m so sad about Afan and it’s hard to settle to anything. It’s something to do, otherwise I’d just be sitting at home and crying.’

If he refused the cake, he’d be denying her grief. He took it, sensing that she was relentless and in her own way, formidable. She reminded him of Branna when his daughter was in one of her obdurate moods.

She sat in the armchair and hooked one leg over the side. Her skin-tight jeans strained against her bulging calf muscles. ‘I always sat here when I came over to see Afan. He’d make a cup of tea and we’d have a slice of whatever cake I’d brought.’

He didn’t want her company, but he thought he’d better take the hint. ‘I was about to put the kettle on. Would you like a cup now?’

‘Lovely, yes.’ She watched with that concentrated, unblinking gaze of hers as he prepared tea. ‘It seems so weird, to knock on the door and you open it, instead of Afan. You’re a similar height and build, so it’s a bit spooky, in a way.’

‘Many things seem strange when someone dies. It’s odd to be staying here, using his things and sleeping in his bed.’

She stared and then said, ‘Afan always used the striped mugs for tea.’

‘Okay.’ He sighed inwardly and put back Suki’s mugs that he’d taken out of the dresser. He replaced them with striped ones.

‘I saw that DI Weber came to visit you earlier.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Did she have any news?’

‘She just wanted to ask me a few follow-up questions.’ He brought the tea over, and plates for the cake. He cut two slices and handed her one.

Her jaw clicked as she ate. ‘I suppose you know lots about Afan, given that you worked with him in Interpol. What was he like back then?’

The cake had a strong lemon flavour but it was soggy — more like a pudding, and he could have done with a fork to eat it.

‘He was a good person to work alongside and well respected in his job. How would you describe the Afan you knew?’

She swallowed and took a sip of tea. Then she said solemnly, ‘Serious, fascinated by nature and particularly bees, and very kind. Too kind, in a way.’

‘Oh? What makes you say that?’

She bit into another chunk of cake. ‘Some people traded on his kindness and saw him as a soft touch. He was his own worst enemy. He didn’t like to turn people down.’

From what he’d heard and witnessed, she might have been describing the way she’d treated Afan herself. ‘People here, at Tir Melys?’

She fingered the end of a plait. ‘I don’t want to say anything that causes trouble.’

He left a pause to see if she’d continue, but she was examining the ends of her hair and he guessed that she wanted to be persuaded. ‘Of course you don’t, and I understand that. But I can see how fond you were of Afan. None of us like to think that a friend is being made use of.’

She pursed her lips, her eyes fixed on him. It was like being stalked by a watchful predator. She wanted more. He obliged.

‘I’m sure you looked out for Afan. I can tell that you’re that sort of considerate person. He’d have appreciated it.’

She seemed to deem that sufficient flattery. She swung her leg from the chair arm and leaned forward slightly. ‘It’s true. I tried to care for him, but his soft heart meant he wouldn’t listen. That Caris Murray was always moping and wheedling her way around him. Her boyfriend, Morgan, used to tag along with her sometimes when she came to work here. He was a waste of space, couldn’t focus on anything for more than two minutes. Both of them come from rough backgrounds and I suspected they were on the make and take. I’d see the two of them talking to Afan, very hugger-mugger. When Morgan took off, Caris was telling Afan her sob story. If she saw me coming, she’d switch to speaking Welsh, which was very rude. I saw Afan giving her money once. He was in his shed, bottling mead and I needed some honey. I was about to go in when I saw Caris in there with him. He was handing her a bunch of notes and I heard him saying, “that’ll tide you over.” She kissed him on the cheek and told him he was a diamond. I went back to see him after she’d gone. I didn’t say that I’d seen her take the money, but I told him he was too generous and trusting.’ She fell silent.

‘How did Afan react?’

She found that memory less pleasing. Her expression grew pinched. ‘He got a bit tetchy and told me that people’s lives were often complicated in ways that others failed to understand. That was all he’d say.’

Kat wouldn’t have liked Afan taking an interest in any woman but her. Caris’s