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

‘In Elinor’s case, I suppose she’s signalling her maternal wishes and making up for the affection she doesn’t get from her husband,’ he said. ‘There’s increasing use of emotional support animals recently.’

‘Lucky old Frankie, getting cosseted like that.’ Sofia tapped the table with her good hand. ‘This strikes me as a place where you might run from something or somebody and hide yourself. I’ve got Spence carrying out background checks on all of them. He’s not too bad with a limited, specific task and he’s handy with a computer.’

‘As we’re now sort of co-working, did you find any of Afan’s financial information here?’

‘Absolutely zilch. Must have dealt with it all online, so our techies are investigating the computers at Blasus. I couldn’t do that myself. I have online accounts, but I like bits of paper with figures written on. Seems more tangible.’ She yawned and shook her head. ‘I need to go. I want to catch Caris Murray if I can. Here’s my personal mobile number. I can’t give you a badge but keep in touch, Lone Ranger.’

She handed him a scrap of paper with her number and strode out, smacking her stick against the ground, her coat flapping in the breeze. The sky had lightened, and the sun was hazy but warm. Swift was weary but his mind was busy. He massaged his temples. He’d take Afan’s bike out and get some exercise. He needed to decide what he was going to say to Ruth, and the terms he wanted to negotiate about Branna and the future.

He was cycling towards the chapel when he saw Elinor coming out with Frankie on a lead. She was wearing a baggy wraparound cardigan over a patchwork smock and blowing her nose. He slowed as he neared her, and he saw that her eyes were watery.

‘Oh, hello. I was just in the chapel for a bit. It’s a good place to be quiet. You off for a ride?’

‘That’s the idea. How did you get on with your social worker?’

She picked Frankie up and cuddled him close. ‘It was a bit difficult. Guy arrived back very late for the meeting and said he’d lost track of the time. I could see that Terry was fed up. He asked Guy if he was fully committed to the adoption, and then Guy lost his cool and said he resented being interrogated in his own home by a government flunkey with poor literacy skills. Then he asked why Terry never called him by his proper title — he’s Dr Brinkworth, of course — and Terry said it would be best to set up another meeting and he’d have to bring his manager.’ She gulped and dabbed her eyes. ‘I’m worried now, in case this goes against us.’

‘I’m sorry it didn’t go so well.’

‘Guy has a short fuse, hasn’t he, Fwankie? He doesn’t suffer fools gladly and he never reacts well to stress, that’s the problem.’

‘And what about you? This is stressful for you as well.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’ She glanced back at the chapel. ‘Afan was very understanding when I talked to him about it all a while ago. I visited the chapel, and he was there. He just listened, really. He did ask me if I thought that Guy had the patience to raise a child. He said that his dad had been very self-centred and short-tempered, a frightening man. I told him that Guy isn’t that bad, he just gets wound up. He’s terribly intelligent you see, and very talented, so he sets high standards for himself and others.’

Swift sighed inwardly. ‘Guy’s lucky to have you. You’re very understanding.’

‘Oh, well — he puts up with me going on about things.’

‘Did you tell Guy that you’d talked to Afan about the adoption?’

She blushed and seemed startled. ‘Oh no, I didn’t mention it. That was just for me, a bit of reassurance. Guy hates to think that anyone’s prying into our lives or making judgements. That’s why he finds working with the adoption people so difficult.’ She was clutching the dog tightly, in a smothering hold, but he didn’t seem to mind. ‘I must get back. I want to make sure he’s okay now. He takes these things to heart. People don’t see it, but he feels things very deeply.’ She buried her face in Frankie’s head and set off.

Swift cycled on, enjoying the breeze and the warm early evening scents. He pictured Elinor in the seclusion of the chapel, confiding in Afan as if he was a minister. It sounded as if Afan’s father had been a bully, just like Guy Brinkworth. Would Afan have spoken to Guy about his behaviour? If he had, Guy might have reacted badly, resenting Afan’s disapproval. His short fuse might have flared into violence. Swift couldn’t believe that an adoption agency would deem that Guy was a suitable parent. It would be a terrible blow for Elinor, but he reckoned that Terry should advise her to forget about the hassle of adopting a child with her testy, egotistical husband, and stick to mothering Frankie.

* * *

He’d just eaten some of the chicken hotpot, which was rich and good but far too salty. He’d decided that he couldn’t manage any more and would bin the rest, when there was a knock at the door. Kat was outside, holding a package in baking foil.

‘Hello! Did you enjoy your chicken?’ She was through the door without being invited, standing by the table and scanning his plate. ‘Oh, you haven’t finished, have I interrupted?’

‘It was lovely, thanks. Very filling. I can’t manage any more for now.’

‘I used to make one for Afan every couple of weeks. I’d have left it on the table, like I usually did, but the door was locked,