Read Online Murder in Retribution by Anne Cleeland - Free Book Online

anywhere. Strange that he had wound up in a London aqueduct with his face shot off in the midst of this turf war. “I’m thinkin’ that you may be right; it may have been a shadow murder,” she mused aloud. Mainly, she was angling to make Acton take a break from his worrying interest in contraband protocols—it made her very uneasy, it did.
    Acton looked up. “Barayev?”
    “Yes. By all accounts he was just mindin’ his own business. Perhaps someone not connected to the turf wars read about all the murderin’ in the papers, and decided to seize the main chance.”
    Acton made the obvious suggestions involving the usual obvious suspects. “A disgruntled wife, or business partner?”
    Doyle frowned with regret—the reason the usual obvious suspects were usual and obvious was because they were so easy to twig. Not in this case, however. “He was a widower, and it looks like he was mainly an advisor—not someone whose death would help anyone else out, financially.”
    Acton looked out the window for a moment. “Perhaps it was a message to another player.”
    This was of interest, and she looked over at him. “That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
    “Yes,” he admitted, and it was the truth.
    Ah, she thought; now we are getting somewhere—when Acton came up with a theory, it was usually spot-on. But thinking on it, she frowned again. “That’s a tangled theory, Michael; it’s a shadow murder to send a message? How would the supposed recipient know it was a message as opposed to just another dead Ruskie in the turf war?”
    “Keep digging,” he suggested. “But first, what can I make that would tempt you to eat?”
    She considered this as he walked over to gently click shut her laptop. It was true she had only nibbled on a dry biscuit that day; it was wretchedly hard to even contemplate taking a bite of anything.
    He led her over to the sofa. “Does nothing sound appetizing?”
    She thought about it. “Somethin’ cold, I think.”
    “Timothy said ginger tea is sometimes helpful.”
    She was touched that he had asked for advice. “That does sound good,” she lied.
    He smiled, seeing right through her. “It’s worth a try; if you can’t do it, you can’t do it.”
    “Do we have ginger tea?”
    “We do now. I will brew some.”
    “Pour it over ice,” she suggested.
    After he prepared the tea, they sat together on the sofa while she valiantly tried to take a few sips. His arm rested on the sofa back behind her, and he held a strand of her hair between his fingers, absently rolling it back and forth whilst he watched her. Frettin’, she thought; I am a sad trial to my poor husband. “It’s the strangest thing, Michael; I have completely lost my appetite.”
    He thought about it. “Is there anything that makes you feel better, even if for a little while? A hot shower? Fresh air?”
    “I feel best,” she confessed, “when I am lyin’ on my back with your weight atop me.”
    His fingers pausing on her hair, he gave her a glance that was openly skeptical. “Is that so?”
    “My hand on my heart, Michael. I think it has somethin’ to do with the heat and the pressure.”
    They regarded each other for a moment before he said, “All right, but you must eat something first.”
    This seemed counterproductive. “I’m to be blackmailed, then?”
    “Choose,” he said firmly.
    “Toast,” she decided. “I believe the ginger tea is actually helpin’ a bit.”
    After she had eaten a half slice of dry toast, they experimented, lying on the tiled floor before the windows so that the heat of the sun was intensified. “Not too heavy,” she cautioned, “I have to be able to breathe.” He adjusted, and it did make her feel better, with the cool tiles to her back and the warm body pressed against her. She even began to feel a bit sleepy, but soon became aware that her husband was not at all sleepy and with a giggle, turned her head to nuzzle his neck as an invitation.
    “None of that,” he said