Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4) by Oliver Davies (best black authors txt) 📗

let some warmth and faint music spill onto the street. I headed in, finding it small inside, with beams across the ceiling and flagstone floors. People sat around a mixture of tables, their voices mingling to a pleasant background volume, and I nodded to myself. A very decent place to sit and wait. Fetching myself a pint of beer, I chatted to the barman for a while until the place got busier before going and finding myself a seat.

I tapped my phone against my leg, looking around the pub from my new viewpoint. I hadn’t been here before, Liene had suggested it, but it was a nice place. Cosy. A wood-burning fire warmed my legs, the low ceiling something of a hazard, but so long I stayed sitting in the woollen armchair, I’d be alright. In fact, the longer I sat there, the more inspiration I took for the old coaching inn. The wallpaper in the entryway, the Turkish style rug on the floor, the floor lamps with their mismatched light shades. It was very nice and very much of Liene’s taste, and I could tell why she came here often. The walls on either side of the fire were lined with books, a lot of them local history and walking routes. As it happened to my left, a couple sat with their knackered Labrador panting on the floor by their feet, nursing some hot chocolates in their big coats and wellies before hitting the lanes again. Not a bad place for a pit stop.

I had drunk half of my beer whilst waiting, minding my own business, scrolling aimlessly through my phone and making polite conversation with the elderly couple that until a few minutes ago had sat at the table beside me until Liene arrived.

It wasn’t long. The doors opened, and she bustled in, face and hair windswept, pulling her bag from her shoulder and dropping it on the floor as I stood up from my chair. She kissed me once, a little breathlessly, trying to shrug her coat off at the same time and getting tangled. I reached around, taking the shoulders and helped her out, draping it over the back of her chair. Liene let out a huffed breath and pushed her long dark hair back from her flushed face.

“Sit down.” I smiled, my hand on her back, directing her to the chair. “I’ll get you a drink. Cider?”

“Thanks, Max.” She slumped down, hands and feet already jumping nervously. She pulled her phone from her bag, looking at the empty screen and placed it down, screen side on the table. Then she flipped over, and then she flipped it back again.

“Still no word?” I asked, hovering by the arm of her chair, watching her nervous little twitches with equal parts amusement and concern.

“Not yet. The boss said it would be today, though, and it’s only just gone six,” she added, looking at her watch. I squeezed her arm as I walked over to the bar, leaning against the beaten and grooved wood. She was up for a research grant at the museum, and for the past few days, or weeks really, she’d been a wound-up bundle of nerves.

I was surprised, really, that she hadn’t cancelled tonight, but Liene hated cancelling plans, and the last time I’d seen her properly had been a short hour when I could get out of the station and walk around the park with her for lunch. We’d got rained on, and a group of kids kicked their football into my shin, but otherwise, we’d had a nice time. I ordered her cider and a water, adding it to my tab, and walked back over to our small table where a waiter quickly tended the fire and slid the cold glasses over to her. She picked up the water, taking several huge gulps, her wide brown eyes looking at me over the rim. I grinned at her, and she put the glass down with a sigh.

“Have you at least eaten recently?” I asked her, taking in her appearance.

“Yes, thankfully. You don’t have to chew soup.” She took a sip of cider and leant back in her chair. “Sorry, Max.”

“For what?”

“This.” She waved a hand around her form. “Not exactly ideal date company.”

“I disagree,” I told her, leaning forward to wipe a drop of cider from her lip. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Besides, it’s Friday,” I echoed her earlier words, “and I’d like to go on a date with my sodding girlfriend. Even if she is twitchy.”

She smiled and closed her eyes briefly, tucking her hair behind her ears and leaning forward to me. “How was your day?” she asked, taking my large hand in hers.

“Good, actually. That burglary got all squared up. Mills and I finished the report this morning. Spoke to him before I left, and Sharp’s happy with everything.”

“Very well done, Inspector,” she clinked her glass against mine.

“Thank you, doctor.” She smiled and then dropped her eyes to her phone, the screen blank. Her knees started bouncing again, and she started looking around the room, looking at every table and glass and person.

“Liene,” I tightened my grip on her hand, “it’ll be fine. You’ll get the grant, you’re the best person for it.”

“You’re biased,” she pointed out.

I shrugged one shoulder lazily. “Maybe a little.”

“What if I don’t get it?” she asked, her wide eyes looking fearful.

“Then you keep doing what you’re doing,” I told her soothingly. “You love your work.”

“I do,” she agreed.

“And it would be less paperwork.”

“It would.” She met my eyes again and smiled slightly. “I hate this,” she groaned. “Anxiety. I feel like I’m going to vomit.”

“Shall I ask them for one of those wine cooler buckets just in case?” I asked her teasingly. “Ice bucket, that’s the one.”

She swatted my hand. “Don’t be mean. I won’t think about it,” she decided, putting her phone in her bag and then kicking her bag under her chair. “The email will come when it’ll some. I’m here with