Read Online Rainbow's End by Martha Grimes - Free Book Online

round the rungs. Trevor Sly was everywhere, and in constant jittery motion, even when he was seated.
    â€œWhat’s this funny sediment on the bottom?” asked Trueblood, pint raised to the light.
    â€œI told you,” said Melrose, cherishing his pleasantly familiar Old Peculier. “They’ve got the same thing at Vesuvius. Mr. Sly, where did you get the fruit machines?”
    â€œThe what?” Trevor raised his eyebrows, followed the direction of Plant’s gaze to the back wall and the slot machines.
    â€œThose. They call them ‘fruit machines’ in the States. Though I expect they’d call yours ‘camel machines.’ ”
    â€œMate of mine, lives in Liverpool.” Sly studied the ceiling fan and the flies lazing round it. “I believe he’s in the secondhand furniture business.”
    â€œLorry decor, that it?” said Trueblood, finally taking a drink of his Tangier, and coughing. “My God,” he wheezed, “that’s strong stuff.”
    â€œYou were warned,” said Melrose. He added, when Trevor pushed a menu toward him, “No, nothing to eat. We had a camel for luncheon.”
    â€œYou are a treat, Mr. Plant,” said Trevor.
    Weakly, Melrose smiled, and introduced the subject they had really come calling about. “You know, speaking of lorries, as we were passing Watermeadows, I could have sworn I saw a van. Removal van, it looked like. Is Lady Summerston returning, do you know?”
    â€œFar as I know, yes.” Trevor was at the optics, eking out his portion of gin.
    This totally unexpected answer left both Plant and Trueblood staring open-mouthed at the dispenser of gin and beer.
    â€œBut we—I—thought the property had been let. . . . ”
    â€œA family, that’s what I heard,” said Melrose. “Husband, wife, two children.”
    â€œAnd two Labradors,” said Trueblood.
    Melrose gave his ankle a kick. They’d invented the Labs themselves, for God’s sake. But, then, they’d invented nearly everything, hadn’t they?
    â€œWell, I’m sure I don’t know where you heard that.” Trevor Sly took a puff of his cigarette, laid it, coal end out, on the edge of the bar. And added nothing at all to Melrose’s speculations.
    â€œI think it was . . . Mr. Jenks. Yes!” Melrose snapped his fingers as if in sudden recollection. “You know him, that new estate agent in Long Pidd.”
    Trevor gave a short laugh that was more of a snort. “Oh, don’t I ever. I know him all right. Him as worked for that Sidbury firm and scarpered with their listings. Right villain, that one.”
    â€œReally?” Melrose feigned interest in the villainous estate agent, exaggerated villainy, he was quite sure. All Melrose wanted to know was who in hell was living at Watermeadows.
    Trueblood took time out to gag on another swallow of Tangier and asked, “Didn’t we see a Land Rover up the drive near the fountain?”
    â€œCan’t see the fountain from the Northampton Road, can you?” Trevor rubbed his hands together, twining the fingers in his spidery way. “I seriously doubt you saw a Land Rover, Mr. Trueblood.”
    Hell’s bells, the man doubted and denied but wasn’t telling them one damned thing. “Then you say it’s Lady Summerston come back?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t exactly say that, did I?” Trevor Sly rewound himself on his high stool and smiled.
    â€œI can’t imagine she’d want to live there alone, with just that butler of hers,” said Trueblood. “Not after that murder several years ago.” He was more concerned over the role played in it by his own exquisite secrétaire à abattant.
    â€œBut she’s not alone.”
    â€œNo?” said Melrose, leaning forward.
    â€œShe isn’t?” Trueblood perked up.
    Trevor Sly studied his fingernails, hand flat out