Page 94 of The Chapel of Bones

‘Drinks at the Tradmouth Arms tonight,’ he announced proudly. ‘Even the chief super’s smiling. I invited her, but she made her excuses, thank God.’

‘How’s the back, Gerry? You seem better.

The DCI looked coy and his cheeks turned bright red. ‘Er, I’ve not mentioned it before, but after work last night I thought I’dtry some alternative therapy. I saw it advertised and decided it wouldn’t do any harm to give it a go. Something different and all that.’

‘What sort of alternative therapy?’ Wesley asked, wondering why his boss looked so embarrassed.

‘It was, er . . . Della’s place actually.’

‘Not the goats?’

‘Er, yeah. They hang around to put you in a calm mood while June gives you a deep massage. It’s worked wonders.’

Wesley was lost for words as he tried to banish the image of the DCI being massaged watched by hairy goats. ‘Glad it’s worked,’ he said before following Gerry into his office, where his eyes were drawn to the waste bin by the desk. In it he saw the leaflets about retirement and the police pension scheme torn in two and deposited among the rubbish. The sight made his heart sing.

51

Wesley arrived home at 7.30 to find his mother-in-law sprawled across the sofa in the living room sipping a glass of white wine.

‘Your dinner’s in the dog,’ she said, repeating the witticism she often came out with when he got back late.

At that moment, Pam hurried in. ‘Take no notice. Mum’s offered to babysit.’

‘Have I?’ Della sounded affronted.

‘Yes, you have. We’re going out for a pizza.’

‘We don’t need a babysitter. We’re not babies,’ piped up a voice from the doorway. It was Amelia. As he entered the room, Wesley noticed that she was holding a set of Beast Book cards. The craze was still ongoing – until something new took its place.

‘I know you’re not,’ he replied, ‘but I’m sure there’s nothing Della would like better than to spend the evening with her two favourite grandchildren. Isn’t that right, Della?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘How are the goats? Gerry’s been singing their praises. Says they’ve done wonders for his back.’

He could have sworn he saw Della blush.

‘Er . . . we’re having to get rid of them. Turns out June’s allergic. She’s been suffering from terrible skin irritation ever since we opened. We’re thinking of trying sheep. Could Rachel . . . ?’

‘I’ll ask her,’ said Wesley, trying hard to hide his amusement. He turned to Pam. ‘The team are having a few drinks in the Tradmouth Arms later to celebrate. We’ve just arrested a serial killer.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s worth celebrating. Tell Gerry we’ll be there after the pizzas.’

The look on Della’s face when she found out they were going to make a night of it was priceless.

When they finally arrived at the Tradmouth Arms, the celebrations were in full swing. Gerry’s daughter, Alison, was there, a glass of Prosecco in her hand, chatting to one of the young DCs and looking as though she was enjoying herself.

They saw that Neil had also joined the group. And Annabel was with him.

‘Is all well?’ Wesley asked Neil when Annabel left him to talk to Pam.

‘Never been better.’

‘Miles Fontescue?’

‘His missus was away because her mum was ill. Annabel swears that she and Miles are just friends.’

‘Glad to hear it. What’s in the bag?’ He nodded towards the canvas tote bag Neil was holding in his lap as though it contained precious jewels.

‘We shouldn’t really have brought it to the pub, but . . . Miles gave it to Annabel today. There’s maintenance work being carried out in the family chapel at Fontescue Hall and it was found in an old box hidden under the altar. It had probably been there for centuries and the family had no idea it was there. We’re dropping it off at the museum tomorrow for conservation.’

‘What is it?’