Read Online By a Narrow Majority by Faith Martin - Free Book Online Page A

they went out of their way to avoid the scene and members of the family, or they homed in on it like pigeons returning to the coop.
    ‘Get anything out of her?’ she asked curiously.
    ‘She was pretty sure there was nothing missing from the kitchen, other than what forensics had already taken away,’ Janine replied. ‘But she was a fount of gossip about the Dales – some of it interesting from our point of view. She thought, on the whole, that if either of them had been playing away it was more likely to be the hubby, but she didn’t have any candidates for a possible mistress, and you could tell that that almost caused her pain.’ Janine paused for breath, and to give a cynical smile. ‘She said the kids were spoiled brats, although the little girl was still a quote “sweetheart” unquote.’ Janine, who had no desire to have children of her own, couldn’t understand some people’s attraction to the little horrors. ‘The bridge night was a regular occurrence, so there’s nothing off there,’ she carried on, reading out of her notebook. ‘But she reckoned the missus might drink a bit more than was good for her. I’m inclined to take that with a pinch of salt, though,’ she added, glancing up over her notebook at her boss. ‘I noticed the Dales went in for really high-quality wine and spirits, rather than quantity. And I got the feeling the woman was just envious. She seemed to sort of resent being one of the have-nots.’
    Hillary knew the type. ‘She have keys to the house?’
    ‘Nope, another thing that put her nose out of joint. The missus was always there to let her in and out.’
    Hillary nodded, but could tell the cleaning woman hadn’t roused anything on Janine’s radar. She’d probably have to have a word or two with the woman herself, of course, but for the moment pushed her to the bottom of the list.
    ‘OK. Tommy, I want you to get on with Mrs Dale’s tyre-changing alibi. Until that’s sorted one way or the other, we’re just spinning our wheels.’
    ‘Guv.’
    ‘Frank, I want you to go house-to-house in the village. Pick up the gossip on the Dales.’
    Frank sneered, but brightened up at the thought that the village was bound to have a pub. And since anyone interesting was bound to drop in, he might as well set up house there. Sod tramping from door to door.
    ‘Janine, want to come with me to Woodstock? I want to have a word with our vic’s main competition. What’s his name again?’
    Janine consulted her notebook. ‘McNamara. George, J. A solicitor,’ she added gloomily.
    Hillary grunted. Along with Shakespeare, she knew what she wanted to do with most of those.
     
    Woodstock, the town that skirted the famous Blenheim Palace, the Duke of Marlborough’s little country pad, was a tourist hot spot in the summer, but on a sunny but cold March day, the ancient streets were mostly deserted. Antique shops, rather than anything useful, were the order of the day, but as she passed a small bakery, Hillary hastily averted her eyes from the chocolate eclairs and iced buns. That didn’t prevent her nose from being assaulted by the delicious aromas of baking bread and melting chocolate though. She cursed at having to park so far away, but like all picturesque and ancient towns, parking was a sod.
    McNamara’s offices turned out to be in a higgledy-piggledy row of black and white cottages, with undulating roof, black ironwork, and window boxes full of scarlet geraniums . That must have set the cameras snapping whenever the Japanese tourists descended from the nearby city of Oxford, Hillary mused. Today, though, she barely gave the architecture a glance.
    The brass plaque mounted to one whitewashed wall confirmed that Mullholand, Grath and McNamara did indeed keep their offices here, and she pushed through the glass and wood front door into a tiny anteroom. A secretary/receptionist, working like a troll in the mouth of a cave, peered out at them from a tiny recess under the stairs. She