MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective by GRETTA MULROONEY (free reads .txt) 📗

‘The Queen was in her counting house, counting out her money,’ he teased.

Jasmine glanced at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing. Just an old rhyme that popped into my head.’

She dished out portions and passed them around. Swift imagined he was back at school. As soon as everyone had a serving, he asked, ‘Has anyone seen Afan today?’

Jasmine frowned at his taking the lead on the subject but said nothing.

‘I came by the refec for breakfast,’ Suki said. She had neat, symmetrical features and her hands were chapped from shaping clay. ‘Afan was here, eating muesli and reading. He always brings a book with him.’

Swift asked, ‘What time was that?’

‘Just gone eight. I made him a cuppa as I was having one myself. I’m not much of a morning person, so we didn’t talk as such. I grabbed a roll and honey. I’d finished by a quarter past eight. Bryn came in just as I was leaving.’

Bryn said, ‘That’s right. I’d had breakfast at mine, but I wanted to check out the ingredients for dinner. We said good morning. Afan headed off while I had my head in the fridge.’

‘Has anyone seen him since then?’ Jasmine had drawn herself up, taking over.

Kat waved her spoon. Swift had noticed her gazing at him intensely throughout the meal. ‘I saw him hoeing the communal allotment around ten thirty this morning. We didn’t speak. He just waved and carried on. I popped in to Elinor and Guy’s on my way here. They both said they hadn’t seen Afan today.’

No one else spoke. The fruit salad was laced heavily with honey and Swift found it too sweet. He took a sip of the sharp wine to clean his palate and asked, ‘Did Afan tell anyone his plans for today?’

‘Plans?’ Kat seemed mystified.

‘I told you, he was supposed to work with me this afternoon,’ Bruno muttered.

‘You see, Ty,’ Jasmine explained, ‘unlike most other people, we don’t usually have “what I’m doing today” conversations. We tend to have the same plans day in, day out here. We work the land and carry out our daily tasks. Each day, each week, each month, we move with nature’s cycle. Steady, routine and no doubt mundane, but that’s what the land demands of us as its stewards. Occasionally, we go to Holybridge to pick up supplies we can’t provide for ourselves, or to sell our products. Sometimes to use the internet in a café there, although few of us have regular need of it.’

Swift asked, ‘Were you all aware that I was coming?’

‘Afan mentioned it on Saturday evening at our colloquy, but he didn’t say what time,’ Peter said.

‘What’s your colloquy?’

‘It’s our weekly information sharing session, just before Saturday supper. We discuss the past week and the one to come, talk about any challenges or developments we need to make.’

‘Although developments are few and far between,’ Bruno commented, glancing at Bryn.

Swift wondered about this need for strange names. Why did a place to hang out in have to be called a Bivium, a meeting room the Parley, a chat a colloquy and the kitchen/dining room the refec? Jasmine’s choices bore the hallmark of a snob. He wondered what her background was and placed another bet with himself that she’d gone to public school. ‘Did Afan say anything else about my visit?’

Peter rubbed his chin. He had deep lines around his mouth. He must have a good ten years on his wife and looked even older, dressed in a fusty cable-knit cardigan. ‘He said you were an old friend. He hadn’t seen you for a while and he’d booked you a room.’

One of the candles sputtered. Bryn leaned forward, licked a finger and thumb and straightened the wick. He rose and brought a tray with a bottle of mead and tumblers to the table. ‘Here. In Afan’s absence, the next best thing is his lovingly made mead.’ He poured a couple of inches of the drink into a tumbler and handed it to Swift.

‘Thanks.’ Swift sipped some. He could taste honey, but it was surprisingly tangy and dry.

Bruno and Suki helped themselves while Jasmine asked, ‘Given that his bike is here and he hasn’t borrowed the Land Rover, does anyone have any idea where Afan might be?’

A general shaking of heads.

‘He does go for long walks.’ Suki had poured cream into her spoon and was sipping it through neat, rosy lips. ‘But not when he’s working — in the evenings, or at weekends.’

‘What if he’s had an accident?’ Bryn turned towards Jasmine. He was stocky and tall, and he radiated warmth, as if he’d been absorbing the cooker’s heat. Swift could smell garlic on his breath, mixed with the wine.

She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s getting on for nine. That has to be a possibility. What to do? We’d better all check the site carefully. There’s no point in going further afield on foot. It’ll be dark soon and visibility will be hopeless in this weather. I’ll call on the Brinkworths and ask them to help. Ty, you can come with me.’

Stumbling around in the dark would be pointless, and he had no wish to follow Jasmine’s orders in the rain. He asked, ‘How far from here to get a phone signal?’

‘Couple of miles, as the road climbs to Holybridge,’ Kat told him.

‘I’m going to drive that way, then. I’d like to check my phone, in case Afan has sent me a text or email. His phone is missing, so presumably it’s with him. If he’s in trouble, he might have used it.’

‘If that was the case, he’d have tried the landline here,’ Peter Merchant said.

‘Maybe. When I rang it to tell Afan I was coming, no one replied, and it didn’t take a message.’

‘The answerphone’s unreliable and sometimes we forget to