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

was the one thing he sometimes missed now he was working alone. His thoughts snaked back to Guy Brinkworth. If he had stabbed Afan, he’d have placed the grave goods around him with scorn. It was just the kind of supercilious act that would appeal to him — aren’t I clever?

Chapter 12

Bruno had asked Swift if he’d lend a hand with the bees. Swift had been uncertain, pointing out that he knew nothing about beekeeping. He was also somewhat alarmed at the prospect. He wished he’d never watched Swarm, the film about killer bees invading Texas. Bruno had reassured him that he needn’t do anything with the hives. When he arrived, Bruno was chatting to Bryn Price, the two of them leaning close. They were like conspirators, moving apart as he approached. Bryn said he’d leave them to get stung to death.

‘Ignore him,’ Bruno said. ‘He’s a wind-up artist. Trapping wasps can be your job today. Afan used to do it every autumn.’ He smiled. ‘He called it the “Waspathon”. Wasps are sugar junkies, and they’re busy this time of year because aphids and other pests that they eat have died out. That’s why they’re always bothering picnickers, and worker wasps head for the hives. If one gets in, it’ll bite a bee in half and carry the abdomen away to feed to its colony as well as stealing the honey. Wear Afan’s protective gear, you need to whenever you’re working around an apiary.’

The sun was mild and warm. They worked for a while in companionable silence. As he carried out the job that used to be Afan’s, wearing his hooded jacket and gloves, Swift experienced again that strange sense of tracing his footsteps. Bruno was carefully removing the last of the honey before treating the hives for the winter ahead. Swift followed his instructions and set about organising wasp traps. He filled empty glass and plastic bottles with small amounts of beer and placed them around — but not too near — the hives. When Bruno had completed the work on one hive and was taking a break, Swift decided to broach the subject of Afan’s trips to Cardiff. He explained what Gwyn Bowen and Sion Hughes had told him.

Bruno shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. Afan used to cycle to town around three every Friday. He said he went to Welsh classes. He never mentioned Cardiff.’

‘Did he come back home on Friday nights?’

‘Haven’t a clue. I assumed he did. He was entitled to do whatever he liked. I just don’t understand why he’d need to lie about it.’

‘Did Afan get on well with Caris Murray?’

‘Yeah, they were friendly. Caris is okay, and she works hard.’

‘Some people think that Morgan Callender was her boyfriend, but she says they were more like mates. What did you make of them?’

Bruno said cannily, ‘You’re sounding like a cop now. Bryn told us at supper last night that you’re a private investigator these days. You kept that quiet.’

Damn Bryn and his nosiness. Swift held his hands up. ‘Asking questions is a habit, hard to break.’

‘I guess, but people don’t always like being quizzed. I hardly knew Morgan. He was a skinny, furtive guy. Afan used to talk to him, seemed to find him okay, but generally he was seen as unreliable. Can’t help you with what went on between him and Caris. Sometimes at that age, you don’t even understand what’s going on yourself.’ Bruno’s tone had changed, and he’d become less friendly. ‘So, do we need to watch what we say around you now?’

‘I hope not. I don’t make any secret of the fact that I want whoever murdered my friend to be caught. If I can do anything to make sure that happens, I will.’

‘Sure, okay, can’t argue with that. But bear in mind that we’re used to minding our own business here and living real quietly. We’ve already talked to the police, given statements and had fingerprints taken. That’s a big deal for people.’

Swift said sharply, ‘So is murder. Afan’s lying in cold storage while his killer enjoys the sun and air. All of your lives here are going to be affected for a long time, so you’d better get used to it.’

Bruno sounded petulant. ‘Maybe we’ll get used to it, but we don’t have to like it. Thanks for the help today, much appreciated.’

Swift could tell that he was being dismissed. He walked back to Afan’s, hung up his protective gear and found his phone. The lack of a signal was beginning to grate. He wouldn’t have minded if he’d been on holiday, but now that he was working, it was a real hindrance. He wondered if he might be better off getting a room at the Bridge Arms, especially if the rest of the community were going to react to the news of his job in the same way as Bruno had. He pictured steaming hot water, a deep bath and one of those power showerheads like a dish. But if he wasn’t staying at Tir Melys, he couldn’t observe and listen, and Sofia might cancel their deal.

He met the Merchants heading to the Land Rover as he was wheeling the bike out. Today, Jasmine’s yoga clothes were in blue and red stripes and she wore a matching scarf tied in turban fashion on her head. She resembled a tube of toothpaste and she seemed fatigued. Peter wore an old tweed jacket, patched at the elbows, and flannel trousers.

‘Where are you off to?’ Peter asked.

‘In search of a phone signal. How about you?’

Jasmine replied. ‘I have a GP appointment. Just a routine check-up, to get my meds tweaked.’ She attempted a smile. ‘Are you comfortable in the cottage, Ty, got everything you need?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Keeping occupied? Do ask me if you’re at a loose end, I’ll have no trouble finding work for you.’

‘I haven’t been