Read Online Mourn not your Dead by Deborah Crombie - Free Book Online Page A

reading again, Will.” Gemma ducked away from a woman wielding an umbrella. “It is a pretty town, even in the rain. Good place to grow up,” she said, thinking of Toby learning to fend for himself in the London streets.
    “But I didn’t—not in Guildford itself, anyway. We lived in a village near Godalming. I’m a farm boy—can’t you tell?” He held up a broad hand for her inspection. “See all those scars? A little tangle with the hay baler.” Touching the pale streak that sliced through his eyebrow, he added, “Barbed wire, that one. My parents must have despaired of raising me to adulthood in one piece.”
    “You’re an only child,” Gemma said, guessing.
    “A late blessing, they always said, in spite of the trips to the doctor’s surgery.”
    It was on the top of Gemma’s tongue to ask him what had become of the farm, but something in his expression stopped her. They walked the rest of the way back to the car park in silence.
     
    HAVING ASKED WILL TO RUN HER BACK TO HOLMBURY ST. Mary in case she was needed, she felt a fool when the constable on the Gilberts’ gate said that Kincaid and Deveney hadn’t returned, nor had Kincaid left her a message.
    “I’ve some phone calls to make,” she assured Will. “I’ll wait at the pub.” She waved him off with a smile, then slowly crossed the road. The rain had stopped, but the tarmac felt greasy beneath her feet and moisture hung heavily in the air.
    The odor of stale cigarette smoke lingered inside the pub, but there was no sign of human presence. Gemma waited for a few minutes, warming her hands at the embers of the lunchtime fire. Her stomach rumbled emptily, and once she’d become aware of it, the pang quickly became ravenous hunger. Another trip to Surrey flashed in her memory, a day when she and Kincaid had shared sandwiches in a tea shop garden, then walked along the riverbank.
    Unshed tears smarted behind her eyelids. “Don’t be a stupid bloody cow,” she said aloud. Lack of sleep and low blood sugar, that’s all that was wrong with her—nothing that a snack and nap wouldn’t fix, and she might as well take advantage of the time on her own. Scrubbing at her eyes, she marched over to the bar, but the reconnaissance didn’t turn up so much as a packet of stale crisps. She had some biscuits in her overnight bag—they would have to do.
    She’d trudged halfway up the stairs, feeling as if her calves carried lead weights, when a body flew around the landing and cannoned into her. As the blow against her right shoulder spun her around, she lost her footing and sat down with a thump.
    “Oh, God! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you coming—are you all right?” The flying body resolved itself into an anxiousfaced young man, broad shouldered and sporting shoulder-length tumbling blond curls. He peered up at her, holding out a hand as if he weren’t sure whether to help her or protect himself from her ire.
    “I saw you last night,” she said, still too dazed to come up with anything more appropriate, “when I came out of the bathroom.”
    “I’m Geoff.” He dropped his hand and ventured a smile. “Look, are you sure you’re all right? I didn’t hurt you? I didn’t know anyone else was around—” Rolling his eyes, he added under his breath, “Brian’ll have my head on a platter.”
    Gemma looked down, past his tatty sweater and jeans. He wore thick socks but no shoes. No wonder she hadn’t heard him. “I’m fine, really. I wasn’t paying attention, either.” She studied him, liking his oval face and clear gray eyes. Although the mustache adorning his upper lip was a mere downy wisp, Gemma thought he must be in his mid-twenties, at the least. Tiny lines had begun to radiate from the corners of the gray eyes, and the creases between nose and mouth spoke of accumulated living.
    Her stomach rumbled again, loudly enough for him to hear, and she groaned. “If you can tell me how to rustle up something to eat around here, I’ll call