In Pursuit Of The Proper Sinner by Elizabeth George

and commandeered the telephone. He rang for a doctor. And then, finally, he rang Broughton Manor and spoke to his cousin. Whether they were appropriate or not, Samantha's questions were logical. He'd failed to come home on the previous night, as his unusual absence at breakfast had no doubt telegraphed to his cousin. It was now midday. He was asking her to take on one of his responsibilities. Naturally, she would want to know what had occurred to spur him to behaviour as uncharacteristic as it was mysterious.
    Still, he didn't want to tell her. Talking to her about Nicola's death was something he couldn't do at the moment. So he said, “There's been an emergency at Maiden Hall, Sam. I need to hang about. So will you see to the puppies?”
    “What sort of emergency?”
    “Sam … Come on. Will you do me this favour?” His prize harrier Cass had recently whelped, and the puppies as well as their dam needed to be monitored.
    Sam knew the routine. She'd watched him perform it often enough. She'd even helped him on occasion. So it wasn't as if he were asking her to perform the impossible or even, for that fact, the unusual or the unknown. But it was becoming clear that she wasn't going to accommodate him without being told why she was being asked to do so.
    He settled on saying, “Nicola's gone missing. Her mum and dad are in a state. I need to be here.”
    “What d'you mean‘gone missing?’” Thwack served as punctuation. She would be standing at the wooden work top beneath the kitchen's ceiling-high single window, where generations of knives cutting up vegetables had worn a shallow trough into the oak.
    “She's disappeared. She went hiking on Tuesday. She didn't turn up last night when she was supposed to.”
    “More likely that she met up with someone,” Samantha announced in that practical way of hers. “Summer's not over yet. There're thousands of people still hiking in the Peaks. How could she have gone missing anyway? Didn't the two of you have a date?”
    “That's just the point,” Julian said. “We did have a date, and she wasn't here when I came to fetch her.”
    “Hardly out of character,” Samantha pointed out.
    Which made him wish she were standing in front of him so that he could punch in her freckled face. “Damn it, Sam.”
    She must have heard how close he was to breaking. She said, “I'm sorry. I'll do it. I'll do it. Which dog?”
    “The only one with new puppies at the moment. Cass.”
    “All right.” Another thwack. “What shall I tell your father?”
    “There's no need to tell him anything,” Julian said. The last thing he wanted was Jeremy Britton's thoughts on the topic.
    “Well, I take it you won't be back for lunch, will you?” The question was tinged with that particular tone that bordered on accusation: a blend of impatience, disappointment, and anger. “Your dad is bound to ask why, Julie.”
    “Tell him I was called out on a rescue.”
    “In the middle of the night? A mountain rescue hardly explains your absence at the breakfast table.”
    “If Dad was hung over—which, as you've noticed, is usually the case—then I doubt my absence at breakfast was noted. If he's in any condition to realise I'm not there at lunch, tell him Mountain Rescue called me out mid-morning.”
    “How? If you weren't here to take the call—”
    “Jesus, Samantha, would you stop the bloody hair splitting? I don't care what you tell him. Just see to the harriers, all right?”
    The thwacking ceased. Samantha's voice altered. Its sharpness dissipated, and left in its place were apology, hollowness, and hurt. “I'm just trying to do what's best for the family.”
    “I know. I'm sorry. You're a brick and we wouldn't be able to cope without you. I wouldn't be able to cope.”
    “I'm always glad to do what I can.”
    So do this without making it a case for one of the bloody Crown Courts, he thought. But all he said was “The record book for the dogs is in the top drawer of my desk. That's the