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The Last Party (DC Morgan #1)(68)

Author:Clare Mackintosh

Blythe is delighted. She sends a message to The Shore’s WhatsApp group, and fields the thumbs-ups as they come in. Dee Huxley sends a fully punctuated response, complete with a kind regards sign-off. Bless her. Blythe hadn’t relished the arrival of a septuagenarian as a neighbour, but Dee’s young at heart, and very stylish for her age. She also makes a number of barbed comments about Rhys, which Blythe secretly finds delicious.

‘Are the Staffords here for Christmas?’ Yasmin asks.

‘I get the impression that’s a bone of contention,’ Jonty says. ‘Ashleigh fancied Dubai; Bobby wanted to be at The Shore.’

‘They’ve just landed at Gatwick,’ Blythe says, holding her phone aloft. She studies Jonty’s reaction, but there’s not even a flicker. He’s not fucking Ashleigh, then. Or he’s a better liar than she thinks. She has been through his pockets with forensic detail, and found nothing incriminating, but twice she’s caught the drift of a woman’s scent on his clothes. In the summer he took the little boat up the lake most days, sometimes disappearing for hours. It isn’t that big a lake, for heaven’s sake.

That night, when Jonty is in the bathroom, Blythe goes through his things again. She feels his jackets, hung in the dressing room, and shakes the trousers he left draped over a chair. She slides a hand under his side of the mattress, and opens the drawers in his bedside cabinet. Just as she is about to give up, she finds something. Not a second phone, or incriminating letters. Nothing to do with an affair at all, in fact.

She finds an envelope, folded into four, containing a crushed, grainy powder.

TWENTY-FIVE

JANUARY 6TH | FFION

After they’ve left Ashleigh, Ffion rolls a cigarette she doesn’t want. ‘I know who the boat with the red sails belongs to.’

Leo looks at her. ‘Who?’

‘Angharad Evans. She lives at the end of the lake. Bit of an oddball.’

‘The sort of oddball who offers the use of her boat to dispose of a body?’

Ffion shakes her head. ‘It doesn’t fit. We think Yasmin poisoned Rhys, and persuaded Jonty Charlton to knock him out then clean up the crime scene, right? But Jonty’s the one who told us about seeing a boat with red sails. He’d hardly have done that if he’d used the boat himself.’ She lights her cigarette. ‘Besides, Angharad hates The Shore. I mean, really hates it.’

Leo shrugs. ‘So maybe she’s our Plan B. Could she have killed Rhys?’

‘Angharad’s not a murderer. Although, we did use to call her the witch, when I was growing up, and if you saw her you had to stand on one leg, then touch your left elbow, to break the curse.’ Ffion laughs, but Leo isn’t smiling.

‘We should speak to her.’

‘Because I thought she was a witch when I was seven?’

‘Because the team’s spoken to everyone with a boat permit, and I don’t recall Angharad Evans’s name coming up.’

‘She doesn’t need one – her cottage has mooring rights.’ Ffion can see Leo’s mind working. ‘Okay! I’ll take you to her. How do you fancy a boat trip?’

‘Not remotely.’ Leo takes in Ffion’s expression. ‘My God, you’re serious.’

‘Her place is awkward to get to by road.’

‘Awkward, or impossible?’

‘Well, just awk—’

‘Then we’re driving.’

On the way, Ffion looks out of the window, where glimpses of lake flash between the trees. ‘You’re not keen on boats, then?’

‘I’ve got nothing against boats; it’s water I don’t like. Unless it’s in a glass, or I’m watching it with my feet on dry land.’

Ffion laughs. ‘Noted.’

The road runs alongside Llyn Drych. It’s straighter than the serpentine lake, and flashes of silver dip in and out of sight as Leo drives. Ffion sees him glancing at her when he thinks she isn’t looking, trying to work her out. If he’d reported her for destroying CCTV evidence, she’d have heard from Professional Standards by now. Does that mean she’s in the clear?

She points to a single-track road taking them through the trees. ‘Turn off here.’ They’re at the end of the lake, now, a mile from the village; the forest dense and dark. Half a mile up the track, their path is blocked by a fallen tree. It lies at an angle, caught by the trees on the opposite side, with half its roots still in the ground.

Leo stops the car, and Ffion gets out. ‘Come on, it’s on foot from here.’

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