Amanda Cadabra and The Hidden Depths by Holly Bell (best love novels of all time txt) 📕

Lawley. There was a connection to the murder. He felt it, knew it and now … the streamers of lights appearing before his eyes, and Lawley and Samantha’s racing rivers crossing with the subdued explosion of connection. He saw, not what it was, but the certainty that it was there. As yet hidden. The link would emerge in time, but time was in increasingly short supply now. Thomas was mindful of Mike’s urgent words on the phone.

He heard Moffat’s voice speaking in the hall outside the small dining-room. The man entered, greeted Trelawney and laid a tray of tea and toasted, lavishly melting-buttered crumpets on a small sideboard. As the butler withdrew, Amanda appeared, stripping off her blue vinyl gloves.

‘Hello, Inspector. Oo, crumpets! How did it go?’

‘On the surface, not much of a harvest and yet … there is a connection. Simon Lawley is somehow linked to the events of the afternoon at the library.’

‘We just can’t see it?’

‘Yet. But we have to see it soon. Very soon.’

Chapter 28

Intelligence HQ

Trelawney was now spending every waking moment on the case. If he wasn’t grabbing a sandwich, heating up and quickly eating whatever dinner his mother had thoughtfully left in the fridge for him, or getting a few hours of much-needed sleep, he was on the case. Whether he was interviewing, re-interviewing, making his way through reports, writing, researching, coordinating with his team, reading or re-reading the available evidence, he worked late into the night. Trelawney was trying, against the clock, to unravel the tangled threads of the mystery of Samantha Gibbs’s untimely end.

It was lunchtime. Thomas needed a break and some sustenance. He looked around the library, peering over the display stands that formed the barrier between the Situation Room and public access areas. Unusually, neither Nikolaides nor Baker, nor even any uniformed team members, were visible. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to do the one thing he’d managed so far to avoid: visit Sunken Madley’s Intelligence HQ. Otherwise known as The Corner Shop.

‘Oo, look!’ cried Sylvia, as he entered. ‘It’s our inspector!’

‘Ladies, Dennis,’ Trelawney greeted the villagers civilly.

‘’Allo, stranger, we’ve missed you at the dance classes,’ said Joan,

‘Well, I really haven’t —’

‘Oh, we know ’ow ’ard you been workin’, dear,’ insisted Sylvia.

‘Trying to cleanse the stain from our village escutcheon. Good man,’ intoned Dennis heartily.

Trelawney rather thought they enjoyed the notoriety of the aforementioned stain, and would miss it if and when he did manage to eradicate it.

‘Inspector, how can I help you?’ Mrs Sharma asked him warmly.

‘Hello, Mrs Sharma. Please may I have a cheddar and pickle sandwich? I can’t see any in the chill cabinet.’

‘I have some in the back for you. I'll fetch a packet at once.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Sharma.’ As Nalini gracefully disappeared into the mysterious nether regions of the shop, Trelawney saw that the assembled company was looking at him expectantly.

‘How is everyone?’ he asked politely.

‘Hale and hearty, thank you, Inspector,’ replied Dennis jauntily.

’Oh bless you, we’re all well,’ responded Sylvia. ‘We just wish we could say as much for our Jonathan and Mrs Pagely. That upset they are. Poor Matty Pagely is beside herself, though she don’t show it.’

Joan took his arm and added in a lowered voice the entire shop could still hear comfortably, ‘And on another note, not wanting to appear unfeeling —’

‘Callous,’ chipped in Dennis.

‘Or hard-hearted,’ contributed Sylvia.

‘But …,’ continued Joan, ‘there is the matter of the Equinox Ball at The Grange coming up.’

Sylvia took Trelawney’s free arm and looked up at him with concern. ‘Your Amanda is working so ’ard on the piano to ’ave it ready, and the ballroom too.’

‘She’s not m—’

‘You wouldn’t want to disappoint your Miss Cadabra now would you, Inspector?’ asked Joan kindly.

‘She not my —’

‘But we know!’ enjoined Dennis. ‘We have absolute confidence that you can uncover the truth of this sad business.’

Ding!

‘’Allo, Gordon,’ Sylvia led the greeting as Mr French, former head of Sunken Madley School entered.

‘Hello, one and all. And especially to our Man of the Moment. Ah, Inspector,’ said French shaking Trelawney’s hand. ‘We consider ourselves fortunate to have you here in our hour of greatest need. The village is counting on you.’

‘It’s my belief …,’ began Joan.

Ding!

‘Hello, Rector,’ they chorused.

‘Hello, everyone.’

‘I was just about to say, it’s my belief, and my Jim says the same, as that Samantha brought her trouble with her, as people do. That Mr Lawley.’

‘Nonsense!’ objected Mr Handley-Page.

‘Now I know, Dennis, that he can do no wrong on account of his car, but the fact is —’

‘He's not Village,’ insisted Gordon French.

‘That girl were a lost soul, for sure, and who’s to say she didn’t bring a wrong ’un with ’er?’ asked Sylvia.

‘Now, now,’ intervened the rector. ‘Let us not speak ill of the dead or our visitors. Surely no good can come of such speculation. Let us leave that to the very able professional with whom we are blessed,’ Jane added pacifically, looking up at the inspector.

‘Thank you, Rector,’ responded Trelawney, returning her smile.

‘Oh, of course, it’s for you to work out and we know you shall,’ agreed Joan enthusiastically.

‘We all want to be of assistance, though, naturally, Inspector,’ explained Dennis.

‘Indeed,’ contributed French sonorously. ‘And I second the rector’s wise words. I have never subscribed to idle gossip. However, in the interests of furthering your endeavours, Inspector, we would suggest, for your consideration … reluctant as we are to implicate by so much as a hint, a friend of Miss de Havillande’s family —’

‘However remote,’ added Joan.

‘Have you considered the young lady? Pamela?’

‘Piffle!’ declared Dennis, ‘She’s a nice little thing.’

‘She seems to be,’ returned Gordon French, ‘but who can tell what lies beneath?’

‘Indeed, Inspector, I do have to agree on that point,’ chimed in the rector.

‘Oo, I know what you’re remembering, Rector,’ concurred Joan. ‘There was that Imogen Fennel. There she was, meek as a church mouse,’

‘She was very helpful with the flowers, even though hardly anyone ever visits our