Read Online Malice in Cornwall by Graham Thomas - Free Book Online Page B

initiated inquiries to see whether there have been recent reports of missing women anywhere in the country or any marine accidents off the south and west coasts.”
    She seemed to accept Powell's peace offering and signaled to Tony Rowlands for another round. “I'm sorry—I guess I'm just a bit tense. This deadline is killing me. I should be up in my room writing.”
    “You know what they say, Ms. Goode: all work and no play …”
    “Keeps the wolves at bay,” she concluded, slurring her words slightly. “And I thought I told you to call me Jane.”
    Powell smiled. “Yes, ma'am—I mean, Jane.”
    She turned to Sergeant Black. “What do you think. Bill?”
    Black regarded her with fatherly goodwill. “I'm thinking that I'd very much like to read your book, ma'am.”
    “You can call me Jane, too, if you like.”
    “Er, I'm more comfortable with Miss Goode, if that's all right with you, ma'am.”
    “Suit yourself.” She yawned hugely. “I think it's past my bedtime—”
    She was interrupted by a commotion in front of the bar. Tony Rowlands, his face an unhealthy shade of redand eyes bulging, was shouting at a slight, unshaven man who had the dark, slightly cadaverous good looks characteristic of many of the locals. “Don't you threaten me, you little bastard! Now get out or I'll break your bloody neck!”
    The smaller man swayed unsteadily. “Tha's right, have it yer way. But I'll be back in my own good time, don't yer worry.” And with that he wove his way precariously amongst the tables, muttering under his breath, and was gone.
    Rowlands stood where he was, breathing heavily for several seconds. Suddenly, he seemed to become conscious of his surroundings, and his eyes swept the room wildly, as if to say, What are you lot staring at? Then he turned abruptly and disappeared through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, leaving Jenny Thompson behind the bar to fend for herself.
    There were a few whispered remarks and polite coughs, but eventually chairs scuffed and glasses clinked as the atmosphere in the pub returned to normal.
    Sergeant Black caught Powell's eye, a quizzical eyebrow raised.
    Powell got to his feet. “I'll settle up.” He walked over to the bar. “A bit of excitement this evening, Jenny,” he remarked casually.
    “Whatever turns you on, Chief Superintendent.”
    “Who was that bloke anyway?”
    She shrugged. “One of the locals. Nick Tebble, his name is.”
    “A regular, is he?”
    Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He comes in here once in a while. Why do you ask?”
    Powell smiled. “Force of habit. Does he usually carry on like that?”
    “Who?”
    “Tebble.” Careful. There was the possibility that the relationship between Thompson and Rowlands was not just a professional one.
    Jenny laughed carelessly. “He keeps to himself mostly, usually drinks alone. Tonight he just seemed to be in a bad mood. He must have said something to set Tony off like that,” she added, as if by way of an excuse.
    “Ah, well, all in a night's work, I imagine, dealing with patrons who've had a few too many.” Powell said. He tipped her generously. “Thank you, Jenny. Until tomorrow.”
    She fingered the note cautiously. “Ta.”
    Back at the guesthouse, after bidding his companions good-night, Powell wandered downstairs with the vague intention of perusing the Spartan library in the Residents' Lounge, hoping for more than a Reader's Digest omnibus. It was still early and he needed to unwind before he'd be able to sleep. He turned left at the bottom of the stairs and walked down the hallway, treading cautiously on the creaking floorboards as he had no desire to arouse Mrs. Polfrock. In fact, he had scrupulously avoided her since he and Sergeant Black started taking their meals elsewhere. He could hear a television blaring in a distant room and there was the lingering odor of fried fish. He shuddered. He stopped at the first doorway on the right. The door to the lounge was closed, a sliver