"Blood Moon Over Britain"
A Dorchester/Leisure Release
December 2005
ISBN: 0-843-95582-1
©2005 by Morag McKendrick Pippin
Page 2
"His cousin, about an hour ago. A Miss Winterborne. She's in the sitting room now. A bit shaky, she is."
"Did she touch anything? Did you, Sargent ~?"
"Cummings, Sir. Shouldn't think she'd want to, and I certainly didn't." Probably hadn't even entered the room, Fielding thought as he bent, peering under the tub. He picked up the carving knife by the hilt using his handkerchief. It was black and crusted with dried blood. "Find a bag to secure this."
The sargent made a choking sound and fled. He returned a moment later with a canvass shopping sack, hesitating at the threshold. Fielding dropped the knife into the sack and closed the loo door behind him. "No one enters that room, is that clear, Sargent? Now show me the cousin."
Cummings led him down the dark corridor and opened the door to the sitting room. Painted a cheery yellow in a bygone era, now it appeared drab and colourless in the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon. A layer of dust clung to the utility furniture and no ornaments adorned the room save for a few old hunt scenes hanging on the wall. The fireplace was empty and cold.
At first he didn't see her, and then he wondered how he could have ever missed her. She sat straight and motionless in a ladder back chair, staring out the window at the rain. The one spot of colour in the musty room, then she turned the full power of her stunning beauty toward him.
Hair, a vivid auburn, waved back from the translucent skin of her forehead in tall Victory rolls, high Nordic cheek bones, a sharply defined chin, delicate brows, and lips that looked as if they were still red and swollen from kissing her lover.
"Miss Winterborne, I'm Inspector Alistair Fielding, Met." Something murky in her dark blue eyes flickered, but was instantly gone. "I realise you've had a difficult day. I'll do my damnedest not to prolong it, but I have a question or two."
She placed the plain white cup and saucer she'd been cradling in her lap on the window sill with a clatter, and turned her serene gaze on him.
Miss Winterborne was either frightened or hiding something. He wondered which it was.