The Reluctant Detective (Faith Morgan Mysteries) Read Online Free

lugging their equipment up the path. Pat Montesque was holding court among a small clutch of the congregation who’d been marshalled around her.
    Faith headed off down the gravel that led round the back of the church.
    “This way, sergeant,” she said over her shoulder. “This is the short cut to the vicarage.”
    They passed the grey wall with its mantle of clematis.
    “Any instructions on how you want to handle this, sergeant?”
    “Call me Peter.” His expression was boyishly engaging. Faith couldn’t help smiling back.
    “If you’ll call me Faith. So – Peter – no one mentioned a wife; is there one?”
    “Mr Ingram was a widower. Wife died a few years back. There’s just the one son.”
    “I think I may have seen him just before the service,” said Faith slowly, visualizing the dark-haired youth in the striped shirt. She almost added “…and I suspect they may have been quarrelling,” but she stopped herself. Time enough for that later, if need be.
    “You’ve known the boss long?” Peter asked.
    She looked hard at the chestnut pony still chewing away in the field of weeds.
    “Some time.”
    Peter nodded to himself.
    The overgrown path turned in front of the side door and wound through some lime trees. They came to the back door of the vicarage. Don Ingram was at the kitchen window drinking from a mug. He saw them and looked irritated. He called out through the open window.
    “If you’re looking for the vicar, he’s at church. It is Sunday, you know.”
    Faith sighed. This sort of thing was never easy – however much you trained for it.
    “Mr Donald Ingram?”
    He nodded impatiently; a posturing boy. Peter looked to Faith.
    “There’s been an accident at the church,” she said gently. “This is Sergeant Peter Gray and my name is Faith Morgan. Can we come in?”
    Don opened the door. There was a flight of three steps down to the garden. He stood in the doorway and looked down on them.
    “What accident?”
    Hadn’t he heard the sirens? Faith wondered.
    “I am afraid your father was taken ill during the service,” she said. “I was there. It looked like a heart attack…”
    Peter took over. “I am sorry to have to inform you, sir, but your father has passed away.” He handed Don his card.
    Don’s face didn’t change. They were only words after all.
    “I am very sorry for your loss,” Faith said.
    Don stepped aside. “I suppose you’d better come in, then.”
    As she followed Peter in, Faith noticed a pretty Georgian salt box with satinwood banding hanging behind the door. The lid was open. It had been converted into a key store. That’s a shame, she thought. But then, who needs that much salt these days?
    It was a large kitchen. The country-style fitted cabinets stood well back from a massive scrubbed pine table.
    “Should I offer you coffee or something?” Don said, looking at Peter’s card.
    “Shall I make some?” offered Faith. What was it about making tea and coffee in a crisis?
    “If you don’t mind, sir,” Peter said, producing a form from the document case he carried. “There are just a few details…”
    Date of birth, place of birth, the leaflet on Sudden Death – Faith knew the routine too well. The tramlines officialdom imposed to cross the unknowable mystery of death.
    “Where is he?” Don asked, staring out of the window once more, his back to them.
    “He’s being taken to the Winchester Royal.” Peter’s tone was professionally inoffensive. “The churchwarden, Mr Partridge, is with him – and another church member. A Mrs Jessica Rose.”
    “Of course!” Don snorted, then paused. “Was…Were they there with him when he…”
    “We all were,” Faith responded, her heart going out to him. “Well, not Sergeant Gray. Your father was taken ill very suddenly during the service. It was very quick.”
    Don took a deep breath. He looked particularly young for a moment.
    “I’d better get to the hospital, then.”
    “We can get someone to take you.