Read Online Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall by Hannah Dennison - Free Book Online Page B

about the location. Spitalfields was named after a hospital and a priory known as St. Mary’s Spital that was founded in 1197. The market itself was established in the 1680s and was a huge tourist attraction—the perfect place to start my new antiques business. I decided to drive up on Saturday anyway to take a look, stay in my flat at Putney Bridge overnight, and return to Devon on Sunday.
    I was jolted out of my thoughts when my headlights caught the orange glare of Patty’s woolen coat. I drew alongside and hit the electric window button.
    â€œCan I give you a lift?” I said.
    Without a word, she opened the passenger door and got in. I was practically overwhelmed by the smell of cooked bacon that oozed from her clothes.
    â€œWhere are you going?” I asked.
    â€œWork. Where do you think?” said Patty. “Stan was supposed to pick me up at six-thirty but he didn’t show up. He’s always forgetting and then I have to walk.”
    â€œI’m glad I was passing by,” I said lightly. “Didn’t you call Stan?”
    â€œWe don’t have a phone,” said Patty. “We can’t afford it. We can’t afford to run a car, either. We can’t make ends meet on my mother’s pension and disability allowance but people like you wouldn’t know about things like that.”
    She was right. I couldn’t know. I also couldn’t win.
    I scrambled for something to say. “Joyce certainly gave that trespasser something to think about today. I’ve never seen anyone run so fast.”
    â€œYeah, well, thanks for telling the police,” Patty said coldly. “Shawn came round and gave us an official warning.”
    â€œI didn’t tell the police,” I protested. “Shawn had already heard about the incident.”
    â€œAnd you expect me to believe you?” Patty said. “My mother’s so upset she had one of her turns. She wanted to come tonight as well but I had to put her to bed. She was in an awful state.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that.” I was already regretting my Good Samaritan gesture and was relieved when we pulled into the pub car park.
    â€œSpeak of the devil,” Patty exclaimed. “There he is.”
    Valentine seemed engaged in animated conversation on his mobile phone. He was pacing back and forth alongside a metallic-blue SUV with LUXRY 1 on the license plate. The new Suzuki model stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the numerous mud-splattered Land Rovers—the vehicle of choice in the Devonshire countryside.
    Even though I couldn’t see evidence of a weapon in the string bag Patty clutched to her chest, I thought it wise to park as far away from Valentine’s car as possible.
    Patty got out, slammed the door, and headed over to the rear of the pub where the kitchens were located.
    I checked my reflection in the vanity mirror. For once, I did not have lipstick on my teeth. Even though Valentine was attractive—despite Mum’s unkind comment about his limp—I wasn’t in the market for romance. My split from David was still raw and the last thing I was interested in was love and all its complications.
    I entered the pub. The Hare & Hounds was a typical Devon longhouse with a low, heavy-beamed ceiling and a massive inglenook fireplace. It was so enormous that seats had been cut into the bricks of the enclosed hearth that flanked the grate where a roaring log fire burned in front of a decorative cast-iron fireback bearing the date 1635.
    Two threadbare tapestries, depicting battle scenes from the Civil War, jostled with a plethora of pikes, maces, and swords. Dozens of heavy antique keys dangled from wires along the beams overhead and copper of all descriptions filled what little wall space remained.
    Tables were grouped in clusters set with oak chairs or embraced by high-backed curved oak benches to provide intimate settings. Through a low arch was a small room known as