Murder on the Old Road by Amy Myers Page B

up in half an hour. What did Tim tell you?’
    â€˜He was all but incoherent – in a complete panic. I couldn’t make much sense of what had happened. He just said we should get back to the pub. The police are there and will start questioning everyone soon. Did Peter tell you any more?’
    â€˜Nothing apart from the fact that it wasn’t natural causes. It could be a car accident, or she might have fallen downstairs in the farmhouse.’
    Luke’s silence reinforced her own lack of conviction in these explanations. Eventually, he said, ‘From what I could glean from Tim’s gabbling, I don’t think that she died in the farmhouse. Wherever it was, she was found early this morning, and the police roused the farmer, who directed them to the pub.’
    One scenario after another rushed through Georgia’s mind as she could well imagine the chaos there must be now amongst the pilgrims. The sooner they got going the better.
    Luke had not been exaggerating. When they arrived at the Dog and Duck Tim looked even worse than he had yesterday evening. His nervousness was stamped all over his face. There was no point in wondering whether this arose from the murder or the uncertainty that must now hang over his play. He probably didn’t know himself.
    As if in mockery of the dark horror that had befallen the group, the day was fine, and when they arrived Georgia could see the party was spread out across the terrace and gardens. The pub would not officially open until twelve, and so the Chillingham group had it all to themselves until then, although with the camping contingent having joined them again, there were so many people gathered here it was hardly quiet. The coach, baulked of its purpose of picking up luggage, was still in the car park. There was also a police car there, but there was no sign of SOCO or control vans nor of a police cordon, which suggested Anne must have been killed some way from where Georgia had last seen her. She could see two constables sitting apart from the rest of the group, however, no doubt busy with recording details of potential witnesses. The rest must still be at the scene of crime together with all the SOCOs.
    Simon disappeared to fetch some coffee for them – very welcome, as breakfast at Medlars had been non-existent except for a snatched slice of bread – and they found a table on the terrace outside. Julian and Aletta were not far away, but it was Val who came over to them, looking very drawn, with Julian and Aletta following him.
    â€˜Good of you to rush over to help in our little local difficulty.’ Val tried to make it sound light-hearted, but failed miserably, which was hardly surprising in the circumstances.
    Julian and his wife seemed in shock, naturally enough. ‘She was strangled,’ he told them. His face was drained of colour, and his voice held nothing of its usual heartiness. ‘She was found by a local dairyman early this morning in the lane leading to the place where she was staying.’
    Murdered then, Georgia thought; the last doubt had to be dismissed.
    â€˜There’s nothing else on that lane but the farmhouse, so the police tried that first,’ Julian continued. ‘The woman who runs it recognized who she was and told them she was part of the group at the pub.’
    â€˜So here we are,’ Aletta added shakily, ‘awaiting the police’s pleasure. They arrived just as we were getting up at about eight and told us to stay put. Since then it’s been nothing but phone calls for all of us. There’s the next of kin issue, of course.’
    â€˜Who is her next of kin?’ Peter asked.
    â€˜Her daughter. I’ve met her once or twice.’
    Aletta was usually one of those cool women, Georgia thought, who despite the worst fate could throw at them always looked immaculate, not a hair out of place. Today her calm had deserted her, even though that was evident more in her voice and