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

Bruno shook his head. ‘The Land Rover’s here and his bike’s at the side of his shed. He can’t have gone anywhere.’

Jasmine’s expression was kindly but supercilious. ‘He could have gone for a walk?’

Bruno had a broad forehead, a bushy beard and straight black hair that fell in untidy strands. He bit at the side of his thumb. ‘Why would Afan have done that? We were working this afternoon, there was a lot to do. He’s always reliable.’

‘And he was expecting me,’ Swift added.

‘Yes . . . of course . . . Had you told him you’d be here this afternoon?’

‘I emailed him and he replied. He said he’d probably be out working but he’d be back about six.’

Jasmine said, ‘Well, there we are. Let’s wait and see. It’s getting on for five now, so he’ll probably turn up by six. I’m sure there’s a very simple explanation. I expect something cropped up for him. Or . . . Afan does go off-piste sometimes, we all understand that.’

‘Meaning?’ Swift asked.

‘Oh, he likes to take himself off, have a bit of solitary time. He tramps the countryside and the coast paths for miles, makes the rest of us seem idle by comparison. We don’t live in each other’s pockets here, but it is hard not to bump into people.’

Swift saw that Bruno was unconvinced. He asked him, ‘Have you been all over the site?’

‘Everywhere. No one’s seen him since mid-morning.’

Jasmine stood in a fluid movement. ‘I’m sure Afan will appear soon. Bruno, can you show Mr Smith to his room? He’s in Willow.’ It sounded like an order rather than a request.

‘It’s Swift, not Smith,’ Swift said. He had to place his hands on the floor to lever himself up.

‘Swift, yes. Actually, we use first names here. May I call you Tyrone?’

‘Ty is fine.’

‘Lovely. Well, Ty, perhaps you can wait at Croeso Adref once you’ve seen where you’re sleeping, and then with Afan, join us for supper in the refec. We eat at seven thirty. I must get back to my harp practice, I’ve a concert coming up and I’m doing two new pieces.’

Bruno left the room without a backward glance. Swift followed him along a corridor and up a wide wooden staircase. The first-floor walls were painted a pale tangerine and all the rooms had plant names: Sage, Thyme, Magnolia, Bay and at the end, Willow. Bruno threw open the pine door to a small box of a room, just big enough for bunk beds, a built-in wardrobe and adjacent shower and toilet. The light and warmth compensated for its proportions, although Swift didn’t care much for the egg-yolk-yellow walls and he was dubious about fitting his six-foot-three frame on one of the beds.

‘Not much to see,’ Bruno said.

‘Why is this building called the Bivium?’

‘Jasmine named it. She did all the naming. It’s Latin for an intersection. It’s where our lives join and cross.’

‘Is there anyone else staying here?’

‘Nope. The five rooms are for guests or volunteers who want to stay over, but we don’t get that many of either. The accommodation isn’t the source of income it was intended to attract.’

Swift was surprised. ‘Why is that? It’s an interesting place in terms of conservation and community projects.’

‘Sure, but maybe the far west of rainy Wales isn’t everyone’s idea of a good time. A lot of young people head off to more exotic, sunny countries to practise being green. Although, I guess that with the right kind of energy, a lot more could be done here. There have been various ideas and plans but they haven’t come to anything.’ He fingered his beard. ‘Best if you head back to Afan’s now.’

‘I get the impression you’re worried about him.’

Bruno hooked his thumbs through his dungaree straps and mulled that over. ‘I could set my watch by Afan. He doesn’t disappear when work’s scheduled without saying anything.’ He turned on his heel and made off.

Swift stood for a moment at the window. He could hear the harp again, a light, rippling tune. Now and again Jasmine stopped and replayed a phrase. In the distance were the blueish hills of north Pembrokeshire. He could just see Afan’s cottage and Bruno on the path beside it with his pigeon-toed walk, head down against the rain. Beyond Bruno’s huddled figure, Swift could make out an apiary with clusters of beehives. The sky was steel-grey now, the rain thinner but drifting and persistent. Swift guessed that it had set in for the night. He gazed at drenched rows of late raspberries and a rowan sapling sagging in the blustery breeze. A small figure in a hooded raincoat splashed through puddles and pushed a wheelbarrow along the path. Hot, arid London seemed a continent away.

It wasn’t going to be a night to be out and about.

Chapter 3

When they were all seated at the dining table, Jasmine Merchant made introductions, gesturing with her imperious hand movements.

‘This is Peter, my husband, Kat Glover, Suki Mehta and Bryn Price. You’ve met Bruno. Guy and Elinor Brinkworth also live here but they often eat at home. Now, everyone, Ty has come to visit Afan, who is unaccountably not to be found at present. I have explained to Ty that Afan does head off to seek solitude at times and of course, we respect that. Respect is our watchword at Tir Melys. However, Afan was expecting his guest this afternoon, and he’s always unfailingly polite and hospitable. I expect he’ll rush through the door any minute, full of apologies. We’ll have our main course and then if he hasn’t turned up, we’ll discuss.’ She held her hands together in a Namaste greeting and closed her eyes as she intoned, ‘We gently caress you, the earth, our planet and home. May harmony