concerned about Kit. Since his discussion with Nathan, Kincaid had been trying to ring Ian in Toronto, with no success.
Martin, to his credit, had offered to help Louise in the kitchen, but she’d refused him with a marked lack of gra-ciousness, and he had been glowering at her ever since.
When Louise had set the last bowl of steaming fish stew before them, Hazel said, “Louise, come sit down and join us, please.”
Louise stopped in the doorway, twisting the skirt of her apron in her hands. “Oh, no, thanks. I don’t think I can bear to sit, to tell the truth, not until John’s . . . I’ll just get some more hot bread.” She vanished back into the kitchen.
Gemma felt as if the painted fish swimming round the walls were staring down at her accusingly. With an apologetic nod at the largest trout, she took a bite of her stew and found it much better than she’d anticipated.
“How long can they keep him?” asked Martin, frowning at his soup bowl. “It’s not like they can charge him with anything—can they?” The sudden appeal in his voice made him sound very young.
“I shouldn’t think so,” answered Gemma, “based on what Chief Inspector Ross said.” She leaned forward, catching the fresh green scent of the boughs Louise had placed on the sideboard. “But, Martin, you have to understand that we’re not privy to all the chief inspector’s information.”
“What sort of information?”
“Forensics results, witness reports—”
“You’re saying he may have more evidence against John than he told us? But John can’t have—John wouldn’t—”
“Martin.” Louise had slipped back into the room, un-noticed, a basket of sliced bread in her hand. “Just shut up. You don’t know anything, and you’ll only make things worse by going on about it.”
“Worse?” Martin’s voice rose to a squeak. “How could asking questions possibly make anything worse? Good God, Louise, anyone would think you believed John had done—” He stared at her, his eyes widening. “That
“You’ve no idea what I think.” Louise bit the words off furiously. “And I’m bloody sick and tired of you swan- ning round my house as if you owned it, spouting your opinions, as if anyone actually cared what you thought.
When John gets back—”
“Louise—” began Hazel, but Martin stood, rocking the table and sloshing soup on the tablecloth.
“Right. That’s it. I’m going, and when John gets back,
Louise and stalked out of the room. A moment later they heard his footsteps clattering up the stairs.
“Louise,” said Hazel again, but Louise turned and bolted back into the kitchen.
The other three sat looking at one another for a moment, then Gemma said quietly, “He’s got no place to go.”
“Maybe I should have a friendly word with him.” Kincaid’s offer was given so swiftly that Gemma suspected he’d been looking for an excuse to leave the room and ring Ian again.
When he’d gone out, Hazel dropped her face into her hands. “And I should go talk to Louise,” she said, her voice muffled.
“You’ve enough on your plate just now,” Gemma told her gently. “Give her a minute to cool down and I’ll go in. But in the meantime, I want a word with you.” They hadn’t had a moment alone since Hazel had spoken with Heather in the barn. “Hazel, Heather did tell you—”
“Yes.” Dropping her hands, Hazel looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Have you any idea why Donald left you his shares?”
asked Gemma.
“No.” Hazel shook her head in bewilderment. “Especially considering the way his father felt about me. I’m the last person Bruce Brodie would have wanted in control of his business.”
“Could that have been
“To show his father up? But Bruce has been dead for years.”
“What if he felt his father had ruined his life by driving you away . . . a bit far-fetched, I’ll admit,” Gemma added with a sigh. She thought for a moment. “But what if Donald meant it as a gesture to prove his commitment to your future together? In which case, he must have in-
tended to tell you what he’d done.” Gemma’s heart gave a lurch as she realized where her supposition led. “Hazel, Donald didn’t tell you, did he?”
Hazel looked appalled. “Of course not! You can’t think I knew—”
“No, no. I’m sorry.” Gemma reached across the table and touched Hazel’s hand. “That was stupid of me. But what if Donald told someone else?”
“You think someone murdered him because of it? But why would someone kill Donald because he’d left his shares to me?”
“Is there any way someone could profit from your ownership?” asked Gemma. “What about Heather?”
“No. Heather’s the one who’s lost most over this, after everything she did for him. Only if I—” Hazel looked down at her stew and seemed to focus great concentration on taking a bite.
“What? Tell me what you were going to say,” demanded Gemma.
“Nothing. It was nothing. We should eat,” Hazel added brightly. “The stew’s getting cold.”
“That’s bollocks.” Gemma caught Hazel’s gaze, held it. “If you keep things from me, I can’t help. You do want to find out who killed Donald, don’t you?”
“You know I do.” Hazel shut her eyes, and Gemma saw her shudder, as if she were recalling the sight of Donald’s body. “All right,” she said at last. “It’s just that Heather made me an offer today. She said Pascal’s firm would buy my shares outright, immediately. She said I could just walk away from the whole thing, easy as pie.”
“That’s what she wanted from Donald,” mused Gemma. “But he wouldn’t give it to her. Maybe she thought you’d be an easier mark.”
“I don’t believe that. She’s my cousin, for God’s sake.
I’ve known her since she was a child.”
“You don’t know her now,” Gemma argued. “You haven’t seen her in ten years.”
“That doesn’t matter. I know she couldn’t have shot Donald. She loved him— I don’t mean they were lovers, but they were friends. She was like family to him.”
Too often, Gemma had seen love mutate into violence, but she didn’t have the heart to share that with Hazel. Instead she asked, “What are you going to do? Will you sell Pascal the shares?”
“How could I? That would mean betraying Donald—
and how could I agree to profit from Donald’s death?
That’s—that’s obscene.” Hazel pushed her bowl away abruptly, as if the smell made her ill. Her eyes filled with the tears she’d managed to hold in check for two days.
“This is too much. And then, when I talked to Carolyn tonight . . .”
“Tim’s mum?”
Hazel nodded. “We were friends, Carolyn and I, and now I’ve betrayed her, too. She kept trying to comfort me, telling me it was all some dreadful mistake and that things would be all right. But it’s not going to be all right.
If I’d had the slightest hope that Tim and I could patch things up, Donald giving me those shares put an end to it.
How can I possibly explain this to Tim?”
“Right now it’s more a question of Tim explaining where he was over the weekend,” said Gemma practically. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Tim had been there, perhaps close enough to touch, and yet she knew that was the last thing Hazel would accept.
“I’m sure he just wanted some time on his own. Why are the police talking to him, anyway, if they think Donald was shot with John’s gun?”
“They have to be thorough,” Gemma told her, feeling a twinge of guilt for having insisted that Ross have Tim
