A Colourful Death: A Cornish Mystery by Carola Dunn

sir.”
    “I don’t think so, Pencarrow. The lazy sod was so sure he knew the answers he didn’t bother to ask half the obvious questions.” Scumble sounded oddly pleased. “Hell, he didn’t even bother to think! Didn’t want to risk being confused by the facts, maybe. Too happy to use Auntie as an excuse to pass off the drudgery to us. If he’d done a more thorough job, I’d be worried.”
    “Uh, worried, sir?”
    “That he might be right. We’ll look at the rest of this stuff before we count our chickens, but the way it looks, it’s worth doing my damnedest to prove Pearce wrong.”

NINE
    “Wuff?”
    Eleanor opened her eyes to see Teazle’s bright brown ones under their white fringe, peering anxiously at her from a few inches away. The dog had slept on the bed as usual, with Margery’s permission.
    Margery. Yesterday’s events, never far from Eleanor’s dreams, flooded back to her consciousness. She felt as if only an hour or two of sleep had intervened, though it was broad daylight outside the open window.
    The feeling was probably perfectly accurate, she thought. She had gone to bed very late, and June nights were short.
    From below came the sound of movement, doubtless what had roused Teazle.
    “Wuff?”
    “It’s all right, girl. I expect they have to milk the cows or something. No need for us to get up yet.” Except that, now she was awake, she was going to have to make the trek downstairs and through the kitchen to the loo.
    She sat up, pushed back the covers and felt with her feet for the slippers Margery had lent her, reached for the blue candlewick dressing-gown. How kind the Rosevears had been. They were friends of Nick’s, of course. Or had been. Could the friendship survive the suspicion that now hung over him? They also had been friends of the murdered man. When the police let Nick go, as they were bound to once they bothered to listen to her, would anyone truly believe he wasn’t guilty? Once the police had someone in their clutches, if he was let go and no one else was arrested, people always assumed he must have been released for lack of evidence, not because he was innocent.
    No doubt it would all get into the newspapers, too. What if it spoilt Nick’s chances of selling his pictures in London?
    Yesterday’s sense of urgency returned full force. Here she was in the heart of Geoff’s territory. Margery seemed to think all her lodgers would be eager to show off their arts and crafts, regardless of the sudden demise of one of their number. Eleanor had the perfect opportunity to find out whether any of the inhabitants of Upper Trewithen Farm had a motive to kill him.
    She wondered whether she ought to wait until she had spoken to the police. Once she had provided Nick’s alibi, she would be no threat to the murderer. However, they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to see her. If she delayed, her opportunity might evaporate.
    Besides, now she thought about it, it seemed unlikely that any of them—even Stella and the Rosevears—had any idea as yet of Eleanor’s part in the business. She tried to remember exactly what she had said last night. Surely only that Nick hadn’t done it, no more than what she might be expected to say in his support regardless of whether she actually knew anything about it. Anyway, she wasn’t going to be in any danger in broad daylight. Everyone else would know where she was and who was with her.
    Opening the door at the foot of the stairs, she found Margery already busy in the kitchen. She looked frazzled, as if she hadn’t slept much. Eleanor asked her whether she should let the dog out the back door or the front.
    “The back is better, unless she’s afraid of other dogs.”
    “She doesn’t usually pay them much heed.”
    “She’ll be fine, then. If Doug’s farm dogs are there they’ll want to investigate, but they won’t harm her.”
    The door at the end of the passage opened onto a kitchen garden bright with the scarlet blossom of runner