Murder on the Lake by Bruce Beckham Read Free Book Online

last
roamed Britain in the eighteenth century, something that he would expect to be
common knowledge.
    ‘There’s
some up near Bassenthwaite Lake, sir.’  His answer is uncharacteristically
diplomatic: the beavers to which he refers are tame residents of a visitor
attraction.  ‘Perhaps you were thinking of otters?
    Dickie
Lampray looks a little anxious, as if he suddenly realises he lacks knowledge
of the distinction.  Burt Boston seems to detect this failing and, though
serious in demeanour, chips in with a healthy dose of irony in his tone.
    ‘Do
you have Bigfoot in the Lakes, Inspector?’
    The
remark raises smiles, and even Dickie Lampray grins as he realises he is the
butt of the joke.  The claret is oiling the ceased-up cogs of
conviviality, and there is clearly an underlying desire to take the
conversation in a more light-hearted direction, despite Bella Mandrake’s misgivings. 
Skelgill is quick to oblige.
    ‘Bigfoot? 
Aye, she serves behind the bar in the Queen’s Head at Cockermouth.’
    The
group laughs, perhaps with exaggerated relief, and Skelgill beams, quick to garner
the credit for their collective mirth.  Meanwhile, Linda Gray pushes back
her chair and rises to her feet.
    ‘Speaking
of serving – would anyone like seconds?’  Though she phrases the
question with a broad cast, she directs her gaze pointedly at Skelgill, who has
been the first to finish.  ‘Inspector, how about you?’
    ‘Don’t
mind if I do.’  He taps his fork approvingly on his empty plate. 
‘It’s a cracking good hotpot – make sure you put this one in your
cookbook.’
    Linda
Gray simpers bashfully; for a moment she places her hands on the table, as
though the compliment has disoriented her and rendered her a little weak at the
knees.  Watching closely, if surreptitiously, the eyes of the other women
reflect curiously in the wavering light – could it be a flicker of envy,
that so easily has the Cinderella of their little coterie apparently managed to
win over their prince?  Of course, if they only knew Skelgill, they would
understand that, while his stomach is certainly a short-cut to his heart, it is
a route that requires no special emotional dedication or cordon bleu
qualifications, and at best is a temporary diversion from whatever destination
drives his sensibilities at the time.  Nonetheless, Linda Gray pulls
herself together and bows graciously to Skelgill, before turning her attentions
to Dr Gerald Bond, seated beside her.
    ‘Will
you take some more, Dr Bond?’
    The
man pulls a disapproving face, which has the effect of drawing his features
into their bushy surroundings.  He hunches up his shoulders.
    ‘Under
protest, I might be persuaded.’  Now he lifts an admonishing finger. 
‘Much as it pains me – on the day of the week that we ought to be
enjoying Yorkshire pudding – to yield to Lancashire hotpot.’
    There
is a chuckle from around the table, as those present decide to interpret this
‘Roses’ belligerence as an attempt at humour.  This does not go down
entirely well with Dr Gerald Bond, though still he raises his plate for Linda
Gray.
    Burt
Boston and Dickie Lampray both replace their cutlery as if they, too, will take
second helpings, and the latter raises his glass in a toast.
    ‘Three
cheers for Linda!  Once again you have done us proud, young lady.’
    As the
oldest of the women present, Linda Gray seems a trifle embarrassed by this
remark, and the congratulations that ensue.
    ‘Well,
Lucy has to take some of the credit – she helped me to make it –
and she found the chanterelles this afternoon – that’s what’s given it
such a rich flavour.’
    Now
Lucy Hecate’s pale cheeks seem to colour in the candlelight as she rises and circles
clockwise to collect the plates of Burton Boston, who nods his assent, and of
Skelgill.  Linda Gray meanwhile takes those of Dr Gerald Bond and Dickie
Lampray; the remaining women present, it seems, are watching their