The Reluctant Detective (Faith Morgan Mysteries) Read Online Free Page A

Would you like us to fetch someone? Someone to be with you?” Faith asked.
    “One of those old church biddies you mean? No!” He paused again, and turned to them. “No. I’ll call a friend…” The words dried up and his mouth twisted. “We can make our own way to the hospital. I have a car.”
    He swung about abruptly. Faith watched him silhouetted against the window, his mobile to his ear.
    “Hi. It’s me. Look. Something’s happened. Can you come over? Bad? Yeah. You could say that.” A long pause. “Dad’s dead…OK.”
    He put the phone down and leaned with both hands on the counter, arms rigid from the shoulder. His head dropped down.
    Faith was overwhelmed with compassion. It propelled her across the room. She put a hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t crying. She felt as much as heard his shallow breathing. He didn’t respond for a few seconds. Then he shook her off.
    “I’m all right,” he said, straightening up. He glanced at her with a half-apologetic side look, and tossed his head.
    “You can leave. I’ll be fine. My friend’s coming over.”
    He walked ahead of them to the front door.
    The kitchen door led into a spacious hall; Georgian, with high-ceilinged rooms opening off it. The place was better kept and decorated than Faith would have expected for a vicarage. The hall floor was a wide expanse of polished parquet. A couple of modern works of art hung in handsome gilt frames against crimson walls. Possibly originals. Faith glimpsed a front room through a half-opened door. There was a beautiful Persian rug on the floor and a Bang & Olufsen sound system.
    Peter broke the silence.
    “We’ll be in touch,” he said. “You have my card. The senior investigating officer in charge of the case is Detective Inspector Shorter. If you have any queries, just give me a ring. And if you want to talk to someone, these are the contact details for the local Victim Support.” He held out another card. “I’ve written the case number on the back.”
    Don stared at the oblong of cardboard between his fingers.
    “But this is a crime number. You said my father had a heart attack,” he said numbly.
    “It’s just routine,” Faith heard herself saying. “It was a sudden death. Besides, every time the police are called there’s always a number.”
    She thought of the inflammation in Alistair Ingram’s mouth and the peculiar smell. It probably wasn’t routine. Why lie? Because a twenty-year-old who had just lost his last close family member had enough to deal with. The mysteries surrounding the manner of the death would keep. After all, she was a civilian now. She didn’t need to know any better. She looked at Peter. He was watching Don.
    “I should like to come back and check on you later, if I may?” she said.
    Don only half-acknowledged her with an uneasy glance.
    “Are you sure you don’t want someone to wait with you?” she asked again. Don Ingram was pale but he seemed calm enough. “Just until your friend comes. I can stay if…”
    “No.”
    He shut the door on them.
    They stood outside a moment contemplating the green door with its polished knocker. They walked down the drive.
    “What sort of salary does a vicar get these days?” asked Peter casually.
    “Not that much. Mr Ingram must have had a private income.”
    The drive led out onto the village green.
    “Suppose the son will inherit…” Peter said.
    They turned right to follow the road that looped back to the church.
    “You handled yourself like a pro,” Peter glanced down at her. “Done much of this sort of thing, have you?”
    Faith suppressed a smile. His curiosity was palpable.
    “Actually, I was a pro once,” she admitted. “Well, almost – in a previous life. I trained at Hendon. I was in the police for nearly four years.”
    “That’s where you met the boss.”
    She nodded.
    “Aaah!” he said, drawing out the word into two syllables.
    “Ah?”
    “I’m saying nothing.” He grinned sideways at her. She had to