A Share in Death

Next to her, pouring a large cream sherry, stood the fluffier MacKenzie sister, her soft gray hair fanning out in an erratic halo around her face as if she had blown in on a gale. Leaning toward Hannah, Penny lifted her glass and whispered conspiratorially, “A special treat. And what,” she continued with an air of innocent confidence, “do you think of our newest addition, Miss Alcock? We met him at the shop this afternoon, a charming young man, so polite. Cassie says he’s with the government, something dreadfully dull. You wouldn’t think it to look at him.”

Hannah followed her gaze across the room, where a tall man leaned against the wall, pinned like a moth by a wellendowed woman in an appalling dress. He didn’t look like a civil servant. Nice looking, mid-thirties, or perhaps a bit older, with rumpled, toffee-brown hair and a slightly irregular

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nose. He listened to Maureen with an expression of amused interest, yet Hannah sensed a watchful quality about him, a stillness that set him apart.

“Kincaid,” said Penny. “His name is Duncan Kincaid.” Hannah looked away and chided herself for indulging in such a ridiculous flight of fancy when she had more pressing concerns. Then, as though aware of her regard, Kincaid turned and met her eyes, and smiled. A Cheshire Cat grin, equal parts mischief and sweetness, and utterly disarming.

Cassie appeared at Hannah’s side with her usual silent efficiency, first heralded by the sharp, crisp scent she wore. It reminded Hannah of burning leaves.

“You and Miss MacKenzie met this morning, I think? Let me introduce you to some of the other guests.”

Cassie performed her duties as professional hostess to perfection, as Hannah had known she would. The meeting she desired so fiercely would be accomplished as easily and effortlessly as any chance encounter. She must not, by some slip of the tongue or uncontrolled gesture, give herself away. Her abdominal muscles were clenched so tightly that she was hardly breathing. She forced herself to relax and inhale deeply, forced herself to say, with a smile as brittle as Cassie’s own, “Yes, I’d like that.”

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the tranquil AIR was thick with the smell of wood smoke and cooking. Kincaid sniffed appreciatively as he walked along the short path from the car park of the Carpenter’s Arms, and his stomach grumbled in response. Maureen Hunsinger’s discourse on the benefits of seaweed and tofu had left him with traitorous visions of steaming steak-and- kidney pie, crisp fried potatoes and apple crumble covered with cream. Cassie had recommended this as the favorite haunt of well-heeled locals, and as Kincaid pushed open the heavy door he could see why. Tarted up the place might be, but the wood fire blazing in the massive stone fireplace at the bar’s end beckoned invitingly. He bought a pint of the local ale at the bar and moved to warm his back at the fire, in no hurry now to eat.

Sunday was a slow night for custom and the lounge was quiet. Kincaid sipped his beer and looked around the room with interest. A few regulars chatted with the bartender about the next day’s racing at Catterick.

At the far end of the lounge, a woman was seated at a small table, reading glasses perched on her nose as she studied a menu. He recognized Hannah Alcock, although he hadn’t met her at the party. Cassie had managed to introduce him to most of the others, but Hannah slipped away early, and alone. She was intent now upon her menu, and thinking he’d not find a better time to remedy the omission, he made his way across the room toward her.

Hannah Alcock looked up in surprise as he stopped at her table and introduced himself. He thought he saw a brief flicker of disappointment cross her face before she smiled at him, but the impression was so fleeting he put it down to his imagination. She slipped her glasses off her nose and quickly folded them into her bag. “A small vanity,”

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she apologized. “The specs are a necessity of age, and I’ve not got used to them. Join me?”

“Thanks. They say near vision is the first to go, then before we know it we’ll be wearing bifocals. Cheerful thought, isn’t it?”

“God forbid.” She laughed. “In that case my vanity could become a serious inconvenience. I know who you are, from the party. Penny MacKenzie was quite taken with you.”

“The feeling was mutual. Penny’s a dear, but I don’t seem to have made much progress with her sister. She makes me feel as if I’ve forgotten my lessons, or my shirttail’s untucked.”

Hannah laughed. “I know what you mean. Is this your first visit?”

“Yes, and only by my cousin’s generosity. And you?”

“Yes. I drove up this morning. It seemed a good idea,” she paused and Kincaid had the feeling she had been about to say something else, “to try a different sort of holiday. I’ve always—”

“Excuse me, Miss. Your table’s ready.” The waitress glanced at Kincaid, uncertain. “Will this gent—”

Kincaid stood up, feeling foolishly inane. “Don’t let me keep you—”