Murder Between the Tides Read online

  MURDER BETWEEN THE TIDES

  by

  Michael Campling

  The Devonshire Mysteries Book IV

  Shadowstone Books

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  SATURDAY

  CHAPTER 1

  SUNDAY

  CHAPTER 2

  MONDAY

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  TUESDAY

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  WEDNESDAY

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  SUNDAY

  CHAPTER 34

  MONDAY

  CHAPTER 35

  EPILOGUE

  Author Notes

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  PROLOGUE

  Newquay

  It’s quiet here. But not silent. Never silent.

  Far below, the freezing sea hisses, spitting its angry venom against the unforgiving cliff face. It’s getting dark now, but the white flecks of spume are starkly visible, spattering over the black rocks.

  I take a step closer to the edge, and the rumbling call of the waves grows louder. A sudden sense of emptiness rushes up from the gathering gloom, an icy gust of air swirling around me, tugging at my clothes. I’m light headed, and the stony path that had seemed so solid shifts beneath my feet. My shoes scrape over the damp gravel, but the sound belongs to someone else, someone brave enough to step to the brink.

  Specks of sea spray settle on my skin and gather on my eyelashes. I blink, wiping my eyes with the backs of my cold hands, but not all the salt water on my cheeks has come from the sea.

  A seabird, a European herring gull, slides into my field of view then glides away, its wings unmoving, the perfect white feathers of its sleek body unruffled. I watch the gull for a moment, following it with my eyes until it dives and disappears beneath the cliff’s edge. In the distance, the bright lights of the town twinkle cheerfully, the drab winter streets temporarily brightened by garish strings of Christmas lights.

  Even so, I know that the pastel colours of the painted houses are jaded and careworn, the gift shops and cafes empty and desolate. But soon, for one hotel at least, there will be an influx of visitors. I will no longer be alone.

  And if everything goes according to plan, I will be avenged.

  I take one last look at the hungry sea. Soon, you will have what you desire, I tell the churning waves. You will have your sacrificial offering.

  Then I turn toward the town, and I start walking.

  SATURDAY

  5 December

  CHAPTER 1

  Embervale

  In the front room at The Old Shop, Dan stood back from the window to admire his handiwork. Until a couple of days ago, he’d never owned a single Christmas decoration, but Alan, his neighbour, had assured him that most of the residents of Embervale brightened the village at Christmas by displaying lights on the front of their houses. Sure enough, in recent weeks Fore Street had taken on a cheery glow as more and more houses were adorned with strings of lights.

  Eventually Dan had joined in, purchasing a modest set of multicoloured LEDs, and he’d spent the last ten minutes stringing them backward and forward across the inside of his front-room window.

  He tested the suction-cup hooks that held the wire to the glass and, satisfied that they were secure, he plugged the lights in. The LEDs sparkled into life, and Dan smiled. Perhaps Christmas in Embervale wouldn’t be so bad.

  There was to be a Christmas fair in the village hall, a festive-themed quiz evening in the pub, and the local school children were staging a pantomime. Dan had protested that the school event would be for parents only, but Alan had insisted that everyone was welcome, and the matter was settled.

  For Dan, a lifelong Londoner, Christmas meant crowded streets, frantic shopping trips and a kind of stifling urgency that crept in at around the twentieth of December. In Embervale, they did things differently. Alan had the bit between his teeth, and it looked as though Dan was to be dragged into the festivities whether he liked it or not.

  Time to tackle the tree, Dan thought. The fir tree stood, undecorated, in the corner. It was too big for the room, but he’d bought it on impulse, carried away by the moment.

  He’d gone with Alan to buy the tree, but instead of heading into Newton Abbot or Exeter, Alan had driven them along winding lanes until they’d reached a farmyard. There they’d been greeted by a young man in overalls who’d ushered them into a cavernous barn. A row of freshly cut fir trees leaned against the wall, and they’d taken their pick. The price had been ludicrously low, so when Alan handed over his cash, Dan had grabbed a tree for himself.

  The deal done, there’d been none of the usual fussing about with nylon nets. As soon as Alan had folded down the rear seat of his car, the young man had simply stuffed their chosen trees into the back. The whole process had taken only a matter of minutes and was entirely painless. And if anyone except Dan noticed the dead leaves and strands of straw dragged into the car by the trees’ lower branches, they hadn’t mentioned it.

  In the past, Dan would’ve been annoyed if his purchases had come accompanied by debris. But since moving to the countryside, he’d learned that whatever he did and wherever he went, a certain amount of mud and dirt would be inevitable; it was part of life.

  It’s amazing what you can get used to, he thought. He looked pointedly at the large toolbox that lay open at the side of the room, and at the spirit level propped beside the door. Although the redecoration of The Old Shop had been nearing completion for some months, Dan’s decorator, Jay, always managed to find one more thing that needed doing, and evidence of his activities was everywhere. Once Jay started a job, he was reluctant to let it go, and even though it was a Saturday, he was upstairs, working away.

  As if to prove the point, a dull thud boomed from the ceiling. Jay had persuaded Dan that all the carpets should be removed, and the fine old floorboards stripped back and polished. At the time, Dan had been all in favour of the idea, but since then the noise of the floor sander and the inevitable dust and disruption had stretched his patience almost to its limit.

  A muffled curse came from the room above, and Dan’s heart sank.

  Another thud and Jay muttered a few terse sentences, though Dan couldn’t make out what was said. Either Jay was making a call, or he was grumbling to himself; both were equally likely.

  What’s the problem this time? Dan wondered. His money was on something to do with wiring. According to Jay, the fuse box was one short step away from bursting into flames. Dan knew how it felt.

  Jay’s heavy footsteps thumped on the stairs and, when he appeared in the doorway, his expression said it all.

  “Go on,” Dan said, “tell me the worst.”

  Jay winced. “You’re not going to like this, but we’ve hit a snag.”

  We? Dan thought, but all he said was, “What kind of snag?”

  “I’m not going to lie. It’s bad. The
boards in the main bedroom were okay, but when I got to the landing, it was a different matter. It’s riddled with woodworm, and from what I can see it’s got into the staircase too. It’s a wonder you haven’t fallen through it.”

  Dan scraped his hand down his face. “How much will it cost to put right?”

  “We’ll have to strip out a lot of the old boards and replace them, but that’s not the only problem. The joists are full of holes. You’ll need to have the whole place professionally treated, and that’s not something I can do. We’re going to need a specialist.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to wait until after Christmas, but it can’t be helped. It’ll have to be done.”

  “As it happens, I’ve got a mate in this line of work,” Jay said with a wolfish smile. “For him, this’ll be a small job. And you’re in luck. He can fit you in right away.”

  “You’ve called him already?”

  Jay nodded. “No point mucking about. He can start the day after next. Monday. That’s perfect because I can come in early and rip out the boards. My mate only has a few days free, so he’ll have to tackle the bedrooms, the landing and the stairs all at once.”

  “But I’m supposed to be sleeping in the spare room until—”

  “You’ll have to move out,” Jay interrupted. “He’ll be spraying chemicals all over the place. You can’t be around when he starts. You’ll have to find somewhere to stay for a few days.”

  Dan shook his head in disbelief.

  “Why don’t you ask Alan?” Jay said.

  “He won’t be there. He’s going away for some kind of writing event or other.”

  “There you are then. You can probably stay at his place while he’s away.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Right, that’s sorted then. I’m glad we’ve got that fixed up. I may as well leave my tools here.” Jay headed for the door. “I’ll see you on Monday,” he called over his shoulder. “Bright and early.”

  “Right,” Dan said to the empty room. “It looks as though I haven’t got much choice.”

  ***

  “Woodworm?” Alan said, ushering Dan into his kitchen. “That’s bad news.”

  “Tell me about it. The thing is…”

  “You’ll be needing somewhere to stay.” Alan nodded as though deep in thought. “Mm. I suppose that might work.”

  Dan’s expression brightened. “Really? I can stay at your place while you’re away?”

  “No, that wasn’t what I was thinking. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not keen on people being in the house while I’m not here. Anyway, my idea is better. Much better.”

  “Oh? Are you going to offer me the use of your shed or something?”

  “Of course not. I was thinking you could come with me, to Newquay.”

  “But I thought you were going on some kind of writing holiday.”

  “It’s a writing retreat, not a holiday,” Alan said pointedly. “I’m hoping to get a lot of work done.”

  “Fine, but I’m not a writer.”

  “That needn’t matter. You’ll get a place to stay with bed and breakfast, and you can please yourself during the day. Have you ever been to Newquay?”

  “No, and I’m in no great rush to go to the English seaside in the middle of winter.”

  “There are some lovely coastal walks,” Alan said. “And the town is quite nice. I’m reliably informed that there are even some good places for vegans to eat out.”

  Dan raised an eyebrow. “You were looking for vegan restaurants? Have I tempted you to convert?”

  “Certainly not, but since I booked, I’ve been sent information on every possible kind of dietary requirement and lifestyle. I happened to notice the vegan options, that’s all.”

  “Fair enough,” Dan said. “The point is, I can’t invite myself along to your event. Anyway, I expect it’s all booked up, isn’t it?”

  “I know someone who’s pulled out at the last minute. He’s trying to offload his room, so I’m sure you could get it for a knock-down price.”

  “I see. I suppose, in the circumstances, I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Well, you’d better be quick,” Alan said. “I’m leaving on Monday morning, so if you want that room, you’ll need to book it as soon as possible.”

  Dan hesitated.

  “Think of it as a holiday,” Alan went on. “I’m happy to give you a lift. I was driving there anyway. All you need to do is sit back and relax. You’ll have a few days by the sea, away from all the noise and the dust of Jay’s Herculean labours. I mean, you must be getting sick of it. He’s taking forever to get the job done.”

  “Jay is something of a perfectionist.” Dan weighed his options for a second, but in all honesty, he had little choice. “All right, I’ll come along. If you could tell your friend I’ll take the room, that would be great. Just let me know how much and where to send the money, and I’ll take it from there.”

  Alan smiled. “Excellent. We’ll go first thing on Monday morning. It won’t take long to get there, but I’m meeting the others for lunch and I want to be there in plenty of time. In the afternoon I’ll be doing some work, but after that we could meet up for something to eat.”

  “Won’t you be busy discussing the relative merits of the three-act structure or something?”

  “This is a hotel in Newquay were talking about, not some swanky literary reception. I think you’ll find that most jobbing writers like a trip to the pub as much as anyone else.” Alan chuckled under his breath. “But now that you come to mention it, I might need to escape from the others for a while. They’re a nice bunch, but one or two of them like to talk shop all the time, and it can get a bit tiresome.”

  “Ah, so you have an ulterior motive for inviting me.”

  Alan shrugged. “I prefer to call it enlightened self-interest. Anyway, you’re getting a cheap holiday out of it, so I think you’re doing pretty well. It’s win-win. A tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, and all that.”

  “Mm. Julius Caesar. That didn’t work out too well for him.” Dan stood. “I’d better go and pack. Tell me, what’s the dress code for a gathering of writers?”

  “Comfortable. And don’t forget, bring plenty of warm layers. When the wind comes blasting over the Atlantic, it takes your breath away.”

  “Now he tells me. I’ll be sure to bring a decent coat.” Dan crossed to the door, but he paused before opening it. “Thanks for this, Alan. It is a good idea. You’re right, I could use a few days away from the house.”

  “Well, you’ll get plenty of peace and quiet at Newquay,” Alan said. “I can guarantee it.”

  SUNDAY

  6 December

  CHAPTER 2

  Newquay

  Edward Hatcher breezed through the doors of the Regent Hotel at 9 am precisely, and that was exactly as it should be. But almost immediately his expression darkened; there was no one waiting to greet him.

  Pulling himself up to his full height and removing his grey fedora with a flourish, Edward stalked toward the reception desk and delivered a sharp tap to the gleaming brass bell. An unnecessary contrivance, he thought. Surely the desk should be staffed at all times.

  Edward stood motionless, waiting. The bell’s chime echoed through the empty lobby and faded away, but still no one arrived to welcome him.

  Someone barged through the hotel’s main door, but it was only the taxi driver who’d brought him from the station. And he didn’t look happy.

  “All right, mate,” he said. “Are you going to come and get these bags or what?”

  “In a moment. I have summoned assistance, and I’m sure that a porter will arrive presently.”

  The driver rolled his eyes. “I can’t wait all day. I’ve got another call. Now, you’ve paid your money, and I’ve stopped the meter, so we’re done. I’ll put your bags outside.”

  Edward bridled, flaring his nostrils. “You’ll do no such thing. You may bring my bags into the hotel, and if you’re quick about it,
you may get a tip.”

  “You what? Who the hell do you think you are?” The driver didn’t wait for a reply but turned on his heel and marched out.

  “Wait,” Edward called. But a moment later, he heard the grumbling rattle of a diesel engine as the taxi sped away. “Of all the nerve,” Edward muttered. “I should have taken his number.”

  “What was that, sir?”

  Edward turned with a start, staring at the stout, middle-aged man who’d appeared behind the counter. “Where did you spring from? And more importantly, where were you when I arrived?”

  The man offered an apologetic smile. “Very sorry about that, sir. I was just in the porter’s cubbyhole, answering a call from one of our valued residents.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder, and Edward noticed, for the first time, the small compartment tucked away behind the reception desk. The cubbyhole was separated from the lobby by panels of polished oak, and no doubt it was an original feature of the hotel. Little larger than a broom cupboard, it would have been a place for the night porter to stay warm while keeping an eye on the lobby.

  Edward noted the computer screen sitting on a narrow counter inside the cubbyhole, the display filled with the unmistakable image of playing cards. Online poker, Edward thought. Oh well, it could have been so much worse.

  “My name is Matthew,” the receptionist went on, “and may I take this opportunity to welcome you to the Regent hotel.”

  The man’s smile was genuine, his tone sincere, and Edward’s mood mellowed. “Very well, Matthew. Perhaps you could start by retrieving my luggage from the pavement outside. My driver was less than helpful.”

  “Certainly, sir. First, could I just check that you have a reservation?”

  “Of course. My name is Edward. Edward Hatcher.” He smiled expectantly. His name wasn’t always recognised, but it was important to be ready. One never knew when one might run into an avid reader, and it paid to make the right impression.

  But Matthew showed no flicker of recognition, and he lowered his head to study yet another computer screen. “Hatcher,” he muttered. “Hatcher, Hatcher, no, no.” He flicked an anxious glance at Edward. “If you could just bear with me for a moment, sir, I’m sure I’ll be able to… Ah! Edward Hatcher. Five nights. You upgraded to the Regency suite.”