Page 29 of Murder Most Actual

“Ditch the body in the woods, sling the gun in the loch?” she suggested.

The vicar nodded. “The professor and I were in the library,” he explained, “when we heard.”

“It’s extremely concerning,” added Professor Worth. “First, people falling off balconies; now gunfire. And poor Mrs Ackroyd, she’s taken the whole thing quite to heart.”

Hanna gave him a sceptical look. “Well, I mean, her husband died, so yes?”

“Oh, but it’s not just that.” The professor’s eyes were wide behind his glasses. “It’s this beastly Belloc fellow. She’s quite convinced he suspects her.”

“Well, he’d have to, wouldn’t he?” Liza wasn’t especially happy to be casting aspersions on a grieving woman. “He was pushed from their balcony, and it really is usually the spouse.”

The professor simpered. “I know. Statistically that’s certainly true, but … well … one doesn’t like to think it, does one?”

The four of them had been talking for long enough that fresh snowfall was already beginning to cover their footprints, and so when they arrived at last at the copse, they approached over pristine white ground. The snow-cover faded as they reached the trees—conifers, and quite densely packed—which meant Sir Richard and his aunt were quite close before Liza noticed them.

“Afternoon, ladies.” Sir Richard tipped an imaginary hat. “Professor, Vicar. Dashed bad business this, what?”

“Oh, extremely dashed,” agreed Hanna. “So, are we intending to just wander aimlessly around a small woodland until somebody shoots at us?”

Liza, without really intending to, started running scenarios. The shot had sounded from the grounds, but the grounds were mostly open, which meant that anybody looking out of a window would have seen the shooter unless they’d been deep in the trees or—”The boathouse?”

“It would be out of sight of the hotel.” Sir Richard seemed to be contemplating something. “Worth a try, certainly. Although for the purposes of our bet, I’ll add that this doesn’t count.”

“We don’t have a bet,” Liza protested slightly too quickly. “We’re just both … keeping an eye out for things that might tell us what’s happening.”

The boathouse was a small timber building, somewhat younger than the rest of the hotel, nestled just on the edge of the copse and opening out onto the lake. The party crept towards it, some of the guests at least growing more hesitant as the realisation that they didn’t know what they were going to find grew stronger. Sir Richard had no such problems, strolling with an almost jaunty air towards the loch.

Lady Tabitha was the first to see the body, literally clutching her pearls with shock. The other guests quickly rallied around her, Sir Richard giving her a consoling but utterly mannerly pat on the arm while everybody else tried to take in what they could of the scene.

There on the ground, lying face up with—Liza fancied—a look of shock still burned into his eyes, was Belloc. A ragged bloodstain covered his chest, and beneath him the thin flurry of snow blown in from the loch was staining red.

“Is he—?” asked the professor, turning his face away.

“Yes,” said Hanna with an authority derived from abject panic. “Yes, he fucking is. The fucking detective who was supposed to catch the fucking killer has just been fucking killed.”

“And I suppose he is definitely dead?” asked Lady Tabitha. “Not just … stunned?”

Sir Richard apparently wasn’t in a reassuring mood. “I fear he’s a goner, Auntie.”

While the others were talking, Reverend Lincoln had moved to inspect the body, although Liza noticed he was very careful not to touch it. “Looks like one gunshot to the chest. Probably close range.”

“And recently,” added Sir Richard. “The shot was, what? Five, ten minutes ago?”

Liza stared at Belloc’s corpse. “Long enough to bleed to death.”

“But not long enough that the killer isn’t probably still nearby,” added Hanna, carefully manoeuvring her back to the boathouse.

For a moment, the party let that sink in.

“If we move quickly, we can probably catch them?” Liza suggested, knowing as she said it that it was a really, really bad idea.

Sir Richard grinned. “I’m game if you are. Tracks are faint here but should get better past the tree line.”

This earned a, “No,” from Hanna and an, “Are you certain, dear?” from Aunt Tabitha at the exact same moment.

“What if …?” Professor Worth took a half-step forward, looked at the body, and then took a full step back. “What if we all held very still until we were absolutely certain that they’ve gone away?”

“But we’ve got a chance to catch the bounder,” insisted Sir Richard. “Come on, old boy, faint heart never won fair lady and all that.”

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