Under a Silent Moon Read Online Free PDF

looked her in the eye, held her gaze. The dark bruise, a smudge across the bridge of his nose, made the green of his eyes more striking.
    â€œYes and no—I’m afraid you’ve got me .”
    â€œWell, thank you. I’m glad you’re here. Did you get everything you needed from the briefing?”
    â€œI think so. Presumably you want a network, timeline, that sort of thing?”
    â€œYes, please.”
    â€œWhat about the phones?”
    â€œJane Phelps is going to be the exhibits officer. When she’s back later I’ll get a list of them for you. She’s already put the applications in for the records of all of the phones we have. We didn’t find Polly’s phone at the cottage, unfortunately, but we’ve got the number from the Maitlands.”
    She led him out of the briefing room, stopping at Barry Holloway’s desk to introduce them. But they had worked together on a case before and shook hands briefly.
    â€œWe’ve got you a desk sorted out and the workstations all loaded and ready to go,” Barry said.
    â€œCan you brief me tomorrow morning?” Lou asked. “Before the press conference?”
    Jason looked her straight in the eye once again. “Sure. I’ll see what I can do.”
    Turning away, walking back to her poky little office, Lou wondered why her heart was pounding and her skin felt as if it were on fire.
    16:10
    When Flora got back, Miranda Gregson and Petrie were nowhere to be found. She began mucking out the stables, managing to hold herself together as long as she didn’t think about Polly doing this and now never doing it again. She kept her eyes on the wet straw and horseshit, shoveling it into the wheelbarrow and then over to the heap.
    â€œFlora!”
    Flora groaned. He was back. Connor-bloody-Petrie.
    â€œWhere have you been?” she said, not looking up until his green Wellingtons appeared in her line of vision, directly in her way.
    He was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking casual and jolly as if he owned the stables and felt the need to supervise his own personal shit shoveler. “I was giving that nice police lady a tour of the farm,” he said. “None of you lot bothered to do that, did you?”
    â€œWhere is she now?”
    â€œBack in the kitchen.”
    â€œYou’re in the way,” she said.
    He didn’t move, but his weasel smile dropped from his face, making him look decidedly nasty—which he was. But as well as being an evil bastard, he was also a foot shorter than Flora and she wasn’t afraid of him.
    â€œWhat you doin’ here, anyway? You don’t even live here.”
    She put down the fork and leaned on it. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
    â€œLooks like you’re taking your time about it, if you ask me,” he said.
    â€œI’m not,” she said. “And you should be doing this. It is your job. Grab the barrow and give me a hand.”
    â€œNot me. Your dad’s got important stuff for me to do today.”
    â€œWhat important stuff?”
    He tapped the side of his pointed nose conspiratorially. “None of your business, Flora. You keep mucking out like a good girl and I’ll come back later and check you done it right.”
    That was it. Enough.
    She dropped the fork. It clattered and bounced off the concrete yard, but Flora didn’t even hear the noise because by that time Petrie was facedown in the muck, Flora’s knee in his back. She had him by the scruff of his too big, hand-me-down waxed jacket that made him feel so self-important. He was shouting as best he could, calling out: “No, no! Lemme up! You stupid bi-bi-bitch!”
    â€œFlora! Let him up.”
    She took her knee off his back and turned to see her father in the yard.
    â€œNige!” Petrie was shouting, wiping his face and pulling bits of straw and manure from the front of his jacket. “You see what she did? Did ya