The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

fissure.’
    ‘As in Dungeon Ghyll?’ Cheryl gave Ben a lover’s smile. ‘That’s a marvellous spot, in Great Langdale. We must go walking there, one of these days.’
    Lysette nodded. ‘Dungeon Ghyll is fantastic, but we have our very own tiny sandstone quarry, the other side of those trees. Robbie Dean is turning it into a garden.’
    ‘Wonderful,’ Cheryl said. ‘Hey, why don’t we check on progress?’
    ‘I’ll lead the way.’ Lysette adjusted her Ray-Bans. ‘We don’t want any accidents. Robbie hasn’t put railings around the top path yet, and there’s a twenty-five foot drop. Are you coming, Malcolm?’
    He shook his head. In the quarry garden, she’d be out of harm’s way. He needed to keep a close eye on Scott Durham, and make sure he didn’t sneak off somewhereto be alone with her. Lysette had volunteered Durham to look after the music this afternoon, and Malcolm hadn’t come up with a good excuse to wield a veto. ‘Supersonic’ had given way to Whitney Houston, wailing ‘I Will Always Love You’. Shit, was he sending Lysette a romantic message, coded in his choice of music? Malcolm wouldn’t put anything past the man. Right now, Durham was chatting to his son, the curly-haired wannabe pop star. The kid had performed a handful of songs like ‘Blaze of Glory’, prompting the guests to clap like mad, even though you could see better on television talent shows any day of the week.
    ‘Gray says Morkel wants a word,’ he said. ‘I’d better speak to them.’
    ‘Business!’ Lysette yawned. ‘Okay, we’ll leave you to it.’
    Making his way down the slope, Malcolm felt a burning sensation behind his breastbone. Heartburn, or simply indigestion? He’d probably over-indulged in the steak and kebabs. Comfort eating, yes, but who could blame him?
    Might Ben Kind, not Scott Durham, be the man Lysette was seeing? What if Ben had taken Lysette to some hotel last night? The way he’d dumped his wife and family revealed a ruthless streak. Perhaps continued close exposure to Cheryl had made him realise she was a pain, and he’d taken a fancy to his lover’s best friend. Would Lysette have dared to ask Cheryl for an alibi if she was sleeping with her best friend’s lover? Or was it a daring bluff, had she never bothered with an alibi because she was banking on her husband’s reluctance to humiliate himself by checking with Cheryl?
    No, no, it had to be Scott Durham. Back when Lysette was sweet sixteen, a weedy, four-eyed loner in her class hadwritten a fawning poem about her, and she was so flattered, Malcolm had to deal with him. The poet was a crybaby, and next time Lysette spotted him in the street, he scuttled off in the opposite direction. But Scott Durham wasn’t as soft as he looked, even though people pitied him because he’d lost his wife, and admired his tireless fundraising for the hospice where she’d died. He was a keen fell-racer, and kept himself in shape. It would take more than a knee in the groin to scare off Scott Durham.
    ‘Malcolm, how the devil are you? Thought I should come over, matter of courtesy.’
    A hand the size of a shovel thumped him on the back as he heard the South African voice in his ear, consonants spat out like bullets from an Uzi. Hansie Morkel was about the least courteous person you could wish to meet.
    ‘You talked with Gray?’
    Morkel mopped his brow with a red handkerchief. The heat was unrelenting, and he was overweight and out of condition, the legacy of too many expense account dinners. Corpulence was all that he and Malcolm had in common.
    ‘I asked a few questions, he had no answers. Not much of a dialogue, to be candid with you. Malcolm, the board will consider a resolution of no confidence in you at its next meeting. Meantime, consider yourself suspended from duty with immediate effect. The lawyers asked me to give you this.’
    He thrust an envelope into Malcolm’s hand. ‘Give my best to that lovely wife of yours. And thanks for the