Cherringham--Death on a Summer Night Read Online Free

against me, what I did?”
    Sarah looked around. Some of the men might look at Jack differently. But a lot of people liked him, respected what she and Jack had done, helping people in the village.
    She doubted that that respect could go away.
    And the villagers who knew Jack … she guessed they’d take the view that what had happened was just “typical Jack.”
    Standing up for people at difficult times.
    I think,” she said smiling, “you’ll be fine.”
    “Great — hate to lose drinking privileges at the Ploughman’s or my standing ‘biscuit’ order at Huffington’s.”
    Sarah stood up. She did feel eyes on them.
    Some people here — not too happy.
    But she guessed Jack could handle that.
    “I dread heading out into that heat,” she said.
    “I know! I think I might sleep on deck tonight. Has to be better than in my cabin. Riley has already gone for that option.”
    “Smart dog.”
    Jack nodded as they headed out of the pub to the still hot pavement outside, the night air doing nothing to cool things down.
    “Wish his owner was as smart sometimes,” said Jack as, with a wave, he turned and headed down the road towards the river.
    She laughed. “Night, Jack.”
    And with that, Sarah went to her car for the quick drive home.

5. A Sleepless Night
    Jack leaned against the hood of his Healey Sprite, sipped his coffee, and looked around the sunlit market square in the centre of Cherringham.
    Even at this time, just eight-thirty in the morning, the place was busy. Last week of the summer holidays, blue skies forecast for weeks to come; he could see the tourists were already out in force.
    Soon the coaches would arrive and the shops and cafes would fill up with visitors from around the world looking for the genuine “Cotswolds experience.”
    “ Come in November,” he always felt like telling them. That’s when you’ll see this place at its best.
    Having lived here for a couple of years now, he knew that the fall was when Cherringham was at its most beautiful: wood-smoke in the air, mist down on the river, the warm stone and the falling leaves blending together, the tea-rooms softly lit, and roaring fires in all the pubs …
    But now, this heat was really getting to people — Jack included.
    Even though he’d lived through plenty of torrid New York summers, last night was up there with the worst of them.
    After getting back from the pub, he’d slept fitfully on the deck of the Grey Goose — all night long he’d been unable to shake off the events of the night before.
    Tim Bell: killer — or wrongly accused? Why had he come back? Especially to face all that hatred?
    And most importantly — how could the guy have been convicted without a body ever being found?
    Habeas corpus not apply here?
    Jack had finally fallen into a deep sleep around two, then woken suddenly at five gasping, dreaming that he’d fallen in the river, the water closing over his head …
    Over breakfast Jack realized he wanted to find some answers.
    Which is why he’d braved the crowds of a Cherringham summer weekend this morning. From here, just across the square, on the ground floor of the Village Hall, he could see the public library.
    He knew from past cases that it had a big local history department. But the library also kept every copy of the local paper for the last hundred years.
    And Tim Bell was bound to be on the front page of many of those copies. He’d thought about telling Sarah what he was up to. After all, by nine-thirty — even though it was a Saturday — she would be working in her office just over the road from where he stood now.
    And they always worked cases together.
    But this one was sensitive. Feelings running high.
    And he didn’t want to pull her in unless there really was something to investigate.
    Jack heard the bell of St. James chiming.
    Nine a.m.
    He tipped the dregs of his coffee onto the pavement, dropped the crushed cup into a trashcan — and crossed the road to the library.
    *
    Two hours later