Read Online A Maze of Murders by Roderic Jeffries - Free Book Online
Authors: Roderic Jeffries
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Annuig there were two possible routes, one of which went through Torret. Clough had withdrawn a million pesetas the day before Lewis moved into the hotel. Just two more coincidences? The shepherd who found his flock constantly diminishing soon counted the sheep in his neighboursâ fields.
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Son Preda had been owned by the same family for many generations. It was a large estate which encompassed both rich, fertile land and bleak mountainside. When labour had been cheap, up to thirty men had been employed full time, as many again part time at the busiest periods of the year. It had been almost self-supporting. Pigs, sheep, cattle, mules, goats, chickens, ducks, and pigeons had been reared; oil had been pressed from the ripe olives; figs had been sun-dried for both human and animal consumption; almonds had either been sold and the proceeds used for the few things needed from the outside or turned into turrón for a Xmas treat; cheese had been made with the help of vine leaves; wheat had been milled and the bread baked in âRomanâ ovens, fired by wood; oranges, lemons, grapefruit, pomegranates, loquats, cherries, pears, apples, tomatoes, peas, beans, cabbages, cauliflowers, lettuces, aubergines, sweet peppers, carrots, radishes, melons, and grapes had been grown; wine had been made; after summer rains, stone walls had been searched for snails; in January or February, shivering men had climbed the tallest mountain and cut out squares of snow which had been stored in the snow house to provide the supreme luxury of cold in the big heat â¦
Then tourism had arrived. Wages had risen until self-sufficiency ceased to be an admirable objective and became an impossible luxury. The style of government had changed and democratic taxes had been introduced with the declared objective of preventing the rich living off the backs of the poor â as one wag had remarked, before long, the poor were living off the livers of the rich â¦
But although Son Preda could no longer live in the past, its owner had decided it must survive to live in the future. Fortunate still to be wealthy because he was advised by an expert in identifying tax loopholes, he had invested much money in restoring, altering, and adapting. The land was cultivated by a few men and many machines. The very large, two-hundred-year-old house was carefully modernized and then let to whoever was willing to pay the very high rent â¦
Alvarez braked to a stop in front of several stone steps leading up to a wooden door patterned with wrought-iron studs and striated by decade after decade of changing weather. As he stepped on to the gravel and looked up at the four-storey building, he was momentarily taken back to his childhood when the owner of such a house possessed an authority little less than Godâs.
He climbed the steps. On the door was a huge wrought-iron knocker in the shape of a ring hanging from a bullâs nose, while set in the stonework to the side was an electric bell push. Ever the traditionalist, he chose the knocker. The sound it made against the wood was the beat of past centuries.
The door, hinges squealing, was swung back and he faced a woman in maidâs uniform, who looked as if she didnât need to call for a man if a heavy weight needed lifting. âIs Señor Clough here?â
She studied him. âAnd if he is?â she finally demanded.
âI want to talk to him. Inspector Alvarez, Cuerpo General de Policia.â
âI suppose youâd better come in, then,â she said bad-temperedly.
He entered a very large hall, somewhat sparsely furnished. She led the way into the room immediately on the left.
He looked around. The furniture was modern, better quality Mallorquin. Above the carved mantelpiece was a painting of a couple in traditional dress, the man playing Mallorquin bagpipes; ranged along the wall on either side were flintlock rifles. In a mahogany bookcase
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Son Preda had been owned by the same family for many generations. It was a large estate which encompassed both rich, fertile land and bleak mountainside. When labour had been cheap, up to thirty men had been employed full time, as many again part time at the busiest periods of the year. It had been almost self-supporting. Pigs, sheep, cattle, mules, goats, chickens, ducks, and pigeons had been reared; oil had been pressed from the ripe olives; figs had been sun-dried for both human and animal consumption; almonds had either been sold and the proceeds used for the few things needed from the outside or turned into turrón for a Xmas treat; cheese had been made with the help of vine leaves; wheat had been milled and the bread baked in âRomanâ ovens, fired by wood; oranges, lemons, grapefruit, pomegranates, loquats, cherries, pears, apples, tomatoes, peas, beans, cabbages, cauliflowers, lettuces, aubergines, sweet peppers, carrots, radishes, melons, and grapes had been grown; wine had been made; after summer rains, stone walls had been searched for snails; in January or February, shivering men had climbed the tallest mountain and cut out squares of snow which had been stored in the snow house to provide the supreme luxury of cold in the big heat â¦
Then tourism had arrived. Wages had risen until self-sufficiency ceased to be an admirable objective and became an impossible luxury. The style of government had changed and democratic taxes had been introduced with the declared objective of preventing the rich living off the backs of the poor â as one wag had remarked, before long, the poor were living off the livers of the rich â¦
But although Son Preda could no longer live in the past, its owner had decided it must survive to live in the future. Fortunate still to be wealthy because he was advised by an expert in identifying tax loopholes, he had invested much money in restoring, altering, and adapting. The land was cultivated by a few men and many machines. The very large, two-hundred-year-old house was carefully modernized and then let to whoever was willing to pay the very high rent â¦
Alvarez braked to a stop in front of several stone steps leading up to a wooden door patterned with wrought-iron studs and striated by decade after decade of changing weather. As he stepped on to the gravel and looked up at the four-storey building, he was momentarily taken back to his childhood when the owner of such a house possessed an authority little less than Godâs.
He climbed the steps. On the door was a huge wrought-iron knocker in the shape of a ring hanging from a bullâs nose, while set in the stonework to the side was an electric bell push. Ever the traditionalist, he chose the knocker. The sound it made against the wood was the beat of past centuries.
The door, hinges squealing, was swung back and he faced a woman in maidâs uniform, who looked as if she didnât need to call for a man if a heavy weight needed lifting. âIs Señor Clough here?â
She studied him. âAnd if he is?â she finally demanded.
âI want to talk to him. Inspector Alvarez, Cuerpo General de Policia.â
âI suppose youâd better come in, then,â she said bad-temperedly.
He entered a very large hall, somewhat sparsely furnished. She led the way into the room immediately on the left.
He looked around. The furniture was modern, better quality Mallorquin. Above the carved mantelpiece was a painting of a couple in traditional dress, the man playing Mallorquin bagpipes; ranged along the wall on either side were flintlock rifles. In a mahogany bookcase
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