Murder in Abbot's Folly by Amy Myers Page B

and the wood of the see-saw was rotting.
    A blackboard outside the pub unconvincingly claimed to provide good food, but to her the Bat and Trap looked to be one of those rare establishments, a pub that was still surviving on regular clientele – save that from the outside at least it looked only just alive. A lick of paint might help.
    Inside, however, the pub presented an amazingly different image. It was spartan, but light, clean and welcoming, even cheerful. Georgia recognized Barbara’s son Craig behind the bar and wondered what his take on his mother’s catering projects was, and whether he was playing an active role in them. Barbara would need help.
    Gathered round the bar was a group of regulars, judging by their body language, and there were no prizes for guessing which one was Tom Miller. The leader of the pack – in his fifties and red-faced – was centrally placed in the group, one elbow on the bar, and his shout to Peter of: ‘Over here, mate,’ left no doubt about his identity.
    Peter wheeled himself up to the group, but Georgia received a less cordial welcome and decided to retire to a watching position from the sidelines. There were few other customers, although she was aware of an elderly man watching her from a table near the window. His face seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not place him, so she took a few moments to sip her drink and then strolled over to sit near him, but not too obviously near. At his age – maybe early seventies – he could well have been living in Dunham for a long time and known Robert Luckhurst.
    Once she was seated the conversation at the bar held her attention for a while. Some of the group had dispersed, but two cohorts remained flanking Tom Miller. Peter must have established his position remarkably early or else Miller was uncommonly eager to talk, because the discussion certainly seemed animated, and with so few people in the pub, it was easily audible. Miller’s voice was – like his ego, she suspected – loud.
    â€˜Just what was it like that day, Tom?’ Peter was saying. ‘Long time ago, I appreciate that, and it must have been a confusing situation with so many people crowding into the folly. Still, it seems odd that Tanner consistently claimed his innocence.’
    â€˜So would Jack the Ripper,’ one of the cohorts snarled.
    â€˜I read that Tanner had a witness to support him,’ Peter continued blithely.
    â€˜Yeah,’ Tom drawled. ‘Mick Rider swore blind he walked back with him.’
    â€˜But he didn’t?’
    â€˜I never saw Tanner after we left that folly place. I was at the back of the crowd, so he’d have been in front of me and he weren’t. And before you ask, Frank here can tell you we walked back to the house together, didn’t we, Frank?’
    Frank received a dig in the ribs, and nodded. ‘Bloody Luckhurst.’
    â€˜Did you actually talk to him at the folly?’ Peter persevered.
    â€˜Yeah. It was like this, weren’t it? When we got inside, we could hear Tanner and Luckhurst going at it hammer and tongs in that study of his. Door was shut. So we stood there like chumps, not knowing what to do.’
    â€˜What you want to know for?’ Craig put in from behind the bar. ‘All this is old stuff.’ He seemed a Miller partisan, which was natural enough, Georgia thought. He would have been a babe in arms at that time, though.
    â€˜I prefer it from the horse’s mouth,’ Peter replied blandly, which earned him a suspicious look. ‘Could you hear what they were talking about, Tom?’
    â€˜Not a lot. There was a lot of shouting and yelling.’
    â€˜From inside the room or outside?’ Peter asked.
    Tom grinned. ‘Both.’
    â€˜Tanner picked on you to blame for the murder. Was that only because of the footpath issue?’
    Tom carefully replaced his glass on the counter and demanded a refill. ‘What