questions were undoubtedly connected, if only he had some clue as to which ones they might be.
Kincaid arrived at Jack’s to find Winnie installed on the sitting-room sofa, her lap filled with a jumble of papers.
“That doesn’t look a proper convalescent project,” Kincaid commented.
Winnie smiled up at him. “I convinced Jack to start searching for the manuscript.”
“He told you about Simon’s theory?”
Nodding, she said, “And I think on this point Simon’s judgment should be trusted. Unfortunately, I’m not much help yet.” She gestured at the papers in her lap. “This is the best I could do. But it would be easier if I knew exactly what I was looking for.”
“How about a perfectly illuminated sheet of musical notation on parchment, with
“And why don’t we have it rolled and tied with a red ribbon while we’re at it? Seriously, though,
“Simon seemed to think it was possible, and he’s the expert. Where’s Jack, then?”
“Up in the attic, covered with dust and cobwebs. And swearing a blue streak, is my guess.”
Kincaid grinned. “I expect you’re right. Why don’t you have a rest, and I’ll bring you a cuppa in a bit. How’s Faith?”
“Holding up, but terribly worried about Nick. No one’s heard a word from him.”
“I’ll go and have a chat with her.”
He found Faith in the kitchen.
“I see you managed to conjure up something to feed the masses,” he told her, and was rewarded by a smile.
“I made Jack run me to the supermarket this morning, before he went to collect Winnie. There’s fresh bread and roast beef, if you’d like a sandwich.”
“I stopped on the way back from Bath, thanks.” He pulled out a chair. “Are you not joining in the Great Treasure Hunt?”
“I’m going in to the cafe until closing time. Buddy rang—he’s desperate for help. Sunday’s a big day, with all the weekend climbers.” She watched him, her chin up, as if bracing to counter a negative reaction.
“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Kincaid asked gently.
“I’m fine. And it’s only for a couple of hours.”
“I’ll run you up to the cafe, then, and pick you up at closing—”
“I can walk,” she said acidly. “I’m pregnant, not crippled.”
“Faith, it’s your safety I’m thinking about. Until we know more about what happened to Garnet—and to Winnie—I’d just as soon you didn’t go out on your own if it can be helped.”
“Don’t tell me you think Nick—”
“I didn’t say a word about Nick, and, no, I don’t think it’s likely that Nick had anything to do with Garnet’s death. But why do you suppose he hasn’t rung or come by the house?”
Faith grasped the back of a chair. “I don’t know. That day, when he came into the cafe and said I should check Garnet’s fender … I was so furious. I told him to get out. But we’ve had rows before.…”
“You don’t think he’s still angry with you—”
“And now, because of me, the police think he … I’d say he’s got good reason to be narked with me.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case. But if you like, I’ll have a look for him after I drop you at the cafe.”
“Could you?”
“Any suggestions as to where, other than the caravan?”
“He likes to go to the Galatea, on the High Street. And the Assembly Rooms cafe.”
“Do you know anything about Nick, where he comes from, for instance?”
“Somewhere in Northumberland. He’s got a first from Durham in philosophy or something. And I think his mum is well off.”
“So why is he working as a clerk in a bookshop?”
“I don’t know. He’s always on at me about finishing my education, but I can’t see that it’s done much for him.”
“What about Garnet? Do you know anything about her background?”
“Not much,” Faith replied. “Her parents died when she was fairly young, and she didn’t have any other family. She came to Glastonbury for the first Pilton Festival, in ’71, and stayed. What do you suppose will happen to her house?”
“Did she leave a will?”
“She never mentioned one.”
