A Share in Death

Angela was nowhere to be seen. The circle of faces turned toward him, a parody of last night’s innocent social gathering. Hannah was missing, as were Emma and Penny MacKenzie, but the rest seemed to draw together in a hostile shield.

“Mr. Kincaid.” Maureen Hunsinger spoke next, reproach

A share in death 45

ing him with all the directness of a child whose feelings have been hurt. “You misled us.”

Cassie, who seemed to have temporarily abandoned her managerial distinction and banded with the herd, chimed in. “Oh, he’s full of surprises, is our Detective Superintendent Kincaid. All chummy with the local police, johnnyon-thespot to the rescue. A real hero. Unfortunately, it was too late for poor Sebastian.” Her voice was light and mocking. She had recovered her control, all traces of the morning’s outburst erased. Her hair and make-up were exquisitely done and she wore rust, a matching skirt and blouse of some dull material with a webbing of fine, brown lines running through the solid color.

“I resent being treated like some common criminal, shut up together and then interrogated. And fingerprinted, for God’s sake. It’s disgraceful.” Eddie Lyle sounded aggrieved, as if Sebastian’s death had been designed merely to inconvenience him. “You have no idea what it was like—” began Maureen, then blushed, remembering that Kincaid knew exactly what it was like.

“What have they found out? Your friends told us we were to ‘make ourselves available’ until cause of death is established. I must say it’s a hell of a way to spend one’s holiday,” said Graham Frazer. His flat, heavy face gave no hints as to what went on in the mind behind it, but his voice sounded somewhat less aggressive.

No one had offered Kincaid a drink, although they clutched theirs like protective talismans, so he answered Frazer over his shoulder as he walked to the bar and made himself a whiskey. “Look, I don’t know any more about this than the rest of you. It was purely circumstance that I happened to be the first down this morning.”

“That’s all very well for you to say,” Eddie Lyle said querulously, “but you weren’t subjected to—”

“I had to make a statement just as all of you did, signed and sworn,” Kincaid interrupted as he rejoined them, then took a sip of his whiskey. No single malt scotch for the honor bar, this was the rawest of blends and it scorched his throat as it went down.

46 deborah crombie

Kincaid noticed that Patrick Rennie hadn’t yet spoken, though he followed the conversation with interest. Watching which way the wind blew, thought Kincaid, with a politician’s prudence. The man looked more human than he had last night, in a pullover and rumpled cords, his blond hair a little tousled, but how much was manufactured image and how much the real man Kincaid couldn’t tell.

Rennie stepped in now as mediator. “I’m sure Mr. Kincaid has had just as difficult a day as any of us, and has no intention of making this a busman’s holiday. I feel we’re all being rather unfair.”

“Thanks.” Kincaid met his eyes and was surprised to see a gleam of knowing humor. A smooth operator, no doubt, but perhaps Rennie didn’t take himself too seriously, after all. There was no answering spark in Marta Rennie’s eyes. She watched her husband, but unsmilingly, not privy to the brief connection between the two men. Kincaid sensed some tension between the Rennies, but unless his overactive imagination was playing him up again, there were strange little eddies and currents of unease running all through the group, more than he felt could be accounted for by the awkwardness following Sebastian’s death.

“How are the children?” Kincaid turned to John Hunsinger, who was hovering on the edge of the group as he had last night.

“More excited than upset, at least for the day. Their dreams may be a different story.” Hunsinger’s voice was deep and a little gravelly, as if unused to wear. “They said you—”

“You were very kind to them,” Maureen broke in, “They’ve put you right up in the ranks with Doctor Who. What’s horrible is that we didn’t even realize they were gone. They could have been …”

“Where are they now?” Kincaid asked.

“Emma MacKenzie’s taken them on a nature walk. Birdwatching. Can you believe it? They seem to have made friends this morning.”

The group was breaking up, drifting away in desultory conversation now that their attention was no longer focused

A share in death 47

on Kincaid. Janet Lyle still stood near them, quietly nursing her drink, while Eddie buttonholed Marta Rennie. “I can’t think why provision hadn’t been made for an occurrence of this sort. If this were a properly run facility—” a sidelong glance at Cassie “—things like this wouldn’t be allowed to happen.”

Kincaid resisted the temptation to ask him what on earth he thought might have prevented it, and turned to Janet instead. “Janet, you have children, don’t you?”