Cherringham--Blade in the Water Read Online Free Page A

away?”
    A pause. Then: “Some. They don’t know a good thing for the village when they see it,”
    Jack nodded.
    “But you don’t think the boat might have been untied by locals?”
    Michael shook his head. “It might have been untied — but only by the damned idiots aboard.”
    “Sounds like you know the owner …” said Jack, leading Michael carefully.
    “Hmmph. Don’t know him — but I know who he is.”
    “There’s not much happens on the river up here without Dad or one of his pals getting the low-down,” said Sarah. “Isn’t that right, Dad?”
    “Make me sound like I’m always sticking my nose in,” said Michael.
    “Surely not,” said Helen, smiling.
    Jack loved the little jibes that flew harmlessly around Sarah’s family …
    “I might have made the odd phone call this morning, but only to see if my help might be needed moving the damned thing,” said Michael.
    “And was it?” said Jack.
    Michael reached for another biscuit. “No, they’re going to tow it away tomorrow. Then hand the bill to the owner.”
    Finally, thought Jack.
    “And who is the owner?” he asked.
    “Fellow called Martin Kent. Londoner — now isn’t that a surprise? Usually moors the damned thing near Tower Bridge. Close to his millionaire yuppy flat I expect.”
    “Oh Michael — you are terrible. He might be a very decent chap,” said Helen.
    “I doubt it. That thing’s a monstrosity. Insult to real boats everywhere.”
    Jack pressed again. “So this Kent — someone’s been in contact with him?”
    Michael shrugged: “Here’s what I know. The police phoned his mobile — got no answer. They asked City of London police to make contact — but nothing so far.”
    “So officially the guy’s missing?” said Jack.
    “Um, no. Officially he just hasn’t answered his phone or his door,” said Michael. “Not quite the same thing.”
    “But he’s not a regular in Cherringham?”
    “Never heard of him before,” said Michael. “But a pal down at the chandlers says he’s seen the boat moored over at the Magnusson’s berth a couple of times in recent months.”
    “Magnusson’s?”
    “Big house half a mile downriver from us,” said Michael. “Rather large for a weekend getaway. Business type — spends most of his time away. Never shared a word with the man. Helen?”
    “That boat tells me all I need to know about him and his friends. ‘Vulgar’ is the word, I believe.”
    “So — you’d have no idea of anyone who’d want to damage the boat?”
    “No, hang on, Jack. Let’s not be hasty here. Boats come loose. People drink, get sloppy — especially weekenders.”
    Jack looked at Sarah, hesitant to put a pin to that balloon of Michael’s.
    “Michael — there was a bloody smear on a railing … and Joan Buckland—”
    “That mystery-obsessed busy body?!”
    “Um — she found a knife. Nasty one. And—” another pause from Jack, “and that too had blood on it.”
    Michael looked around, as if seeking a place to put his teacup.
    Finally he placed it on the floor.
    “If we had use of our coffee table,” Helen said.
    Michael stood up. “Jack, you must know …” Michael’s voice was low, the tone gone from excitement to concern.
    Jack felt bad about that. But better Michael know what was up.
    “Jack, that kind of talk, that kind of story … well, it really could be quite bad for the Regatta, the whole event …”
    Jack nodded. “I understand, Michael. As of now it’s just the Bucklands, me …” he looked to Sarah, “who would be suspicious. And you know me. If there’s a way, I will keep whatever we do, whatever we find … as discreet as possible.”
    Michael nodded at that. “I know you will, Jack. That’s certainly one thing I’ve come to understand about you. You are, as we used to say, a brick.”
    “So, maybe Sarah and I can chat a bit outside. But I have one other question for you. Being a boat person yourself … if there was something suspicious, who do you think