Dead in the Water Read Online Free Page B

rose at the end, he stifled an enormous
yawn, apologised, and went on, “I’m for bed. You can’t get these chaps to do any serious training, but I like to run a few miles before breakfast.”
    â€œGood for you,” said Daisy with a smile and a suppressed shudder. While she admired those who excelled, she considered sports a torture to be avoided if at all possible.
    She felt much the same about bridge, though her mother’s passion for the game had forced her to learn. When, as they headed for the drawing-room, Leigh, Meredith, and Wells invited her to join them in a rubber, she shook her head in feigned regret.
    â€œIt’s kind of you to ask, but I don’t play.”
    â€œWe’ll teach you,” Meredith proposed.
    â€œI’m hopeless at cards. I’m afraid my partner would murder me.”
    They protested, but weakly. She held firm, so they shanghaied Poindexter, who wanted to write a letter, promising him the first dummy hand.
    Lady Cheringham had already settled down with a gardening book. Daisy strolled out through the French windows onto the terrace. The sun had set, but the western sky was a blaze of colour, reflected in the shimmering pink river, and it would be light for an hour or more yet.
    Tish and Rollo, Dottie and Cherry were all on the terrace, very plainly paired off. Daisy didn’t want to disturb them. She ambled down to the river-bank, missing Alec.
    Tomorrow evening she’d have him to herself, for the whole weekend. Fond as she was of his daughter, Belinda, the prospect was heavenly. He had promised not to give Scotland Yard a telephone number for contacting him.
    Only one thing could spoil their weekend: a vital case arising
tomorrow, before he got away. Daisy knew and accepted that marrying a detective was not going to be easy. She didn’t have to dwell on that aspect of things, though. She started to plan their time together.
    A single-sculler slid by up-river with long, lazy-looking strokes, setting a family of grebes bobbing on the V of dark ripples on the rosy water. Then a motor-launch put-putted round the bend from Hambleden Lock, bound for a mooring in the town. Its whistle shrieked a warning at the sculler. As the engine noise died away, the raucous music of a steam calliope, mellowed by distance, floated down the river from the fairground. Daisy was glad they hadn’t been able to go this evening. Now she had an excuse to get Alec onto the Ferris wheel, where a kiss at the top was practically de rigueur.
    â€œDamn!” She slapped her bare arm, squishing a mosquito. Too late—it left a bloody splodge.
    A couple more whined about her head. Scrubbing her arm with her spit-dampened handkerchief, she hastened back towards the house.
    Two figures stood at the balustrade, at opposite sides of the steps, darkly silhouetted against the drawing-room windows. Two red points of light glowed in the growing dusk.
    The form to Daisy’s right was rather smaller than the other. Horace Bott, she thought, and his Woodbines. A whiff of cheap cigarette smoke fought its way to her nostrils through the heavy perfume of the roses.
    She sighed. She couldn’t very well march past without exchanging a word or two, but at least the smoke would keep the mosquitoes at bay.
    As she ascended the steps, the other man turned slightly to
watch her. By the light from the windows, she recognised Basil DeLancey, and a moment later the choking stench of his cigar hit her. An expensive cigar, no doubt, but the smell was perfectly beastly, quite capable of slaying mosquitoes in flight by the thousands.
    She coughed. Instantly, two red-glowing points arced down to land among the rose-bushes.
    â€œOh blast! ” Daisy muttered to herself.
    It looked as if both of them wanted to speak to her. If she paused at the top and let them converge on her, she’d find herself acting as a shield against DeLancey’s Bottshots. Perhaps she could sail through