Folly

Contents

Cover

Recent Titles by Stella Cameron from Severn House

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Author's Note

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

SHADOWS

SECOND TO NONE

NO STRANGER

ALL SMILES

FOLLY

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

First published in 2015 in Great Britain and the USA by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

This eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 2013 and 2015 by Stella Cameron.

The right of Stella Cameron to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Cameron, Stella author.

Folly.

1. Cotswold Hills (England)–Fiction. 2. Murder–

Investigation–Fiction. 3. Detective and mystery stories.

I. Title

813.5'4-dc23

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-626-7 (epub)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-071-3 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-554-1 (trade paper)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

When you make a leap without a safety net you're in dangerous territory. My leap into
Folly
, introducing Alex Duggins, her series, and the world of mystery it inhabits, was taken both as a seasoned writer and with a small army of fabulous supporters. This move was never a risk. Once a writer, always a writer, but still I needed courage and a fresh dose of self-belief. The former I had, the latter I might never have gained without the following people and props:

Thank you Jayne Ann Krentz and Mary Daheim for saying, ‘You can do it.' Thank you Matt Cameron for being my sounding board when I wavered. Thank you Patricia Smith for being the best editor in the world and for working with me.

Thank you Gloucestershire, the Cotswold Hills and your amazingly generous people for answering many more questions than you might have answered with such willing interest and care.

Thank you Terri Farrell for loaning Bogie-the-beautiful to me and to this story.

Thank you Linda Hankins, DVM, Curt Girouard, DVM and the Danville Small Animal Clinic for advice and encouragement.

Thank you Cissy Hartley and
Writerspace.com
for the years of support.

Thank you Sheri Brooks and Dave de Heer for having my back every step of the way.

Thanks always to Dietrich Nelson & Associates, [email protected], for the years of support, but most of all for the friendship.

And this may get whacky, but … thank you to the following for being scrumptious enough to flavor my stories:

Trebor-Bassetts Sherbert Lemons (Detective Inspector O'Neil is grateful, too).

Spring Breweries and in particular their Ambler Ale.

Tesco's Digestive Biscuits and the many brands of similar goodies that have always been part of ‘tea time'.

Marks and Spencer's Battenburg Cake.

All the Cotswold tea shops I love – they are too numerous to single out, as are the pubs. One day I'll write that list!

And last, but really first, Jerry Cameron, my fellow companion and patient sufferer along the often rough road of being a writer's husband; you are the best, my love.

Alex Duggins is not the girl next door. At first glance she could be – but only until you come to know her better. Pub owner, graphic artist and animal lover, Alex returned to her little home town of Folly-on-Weir in search of a chance to regroup following her divorce. Surely she could find peace in the idyllic Cotswold Hills where she grew up.

Wrong, but you'll learn much more about Alex's trials and triumphs, and her close calls with disaster, as you read
Folly
.

A year ago, when I had written this, the first book in what I already knew would be a series, I brought the book out in a narrow print-on-demand program. This was my trial balloon as, after publishing many books with American settings, I moved into writing British mysteries.

How thrilled I was when Severn House came to me with a plan to publish the Alex Duggins series to a wide audience. Nothing warms an author's heart more than having a good publisher who ‘gets it.' And better yet, really loves it!

H
ow long had it taken to change a life forever? A minute, ninety seconds – while he listened, barely understanding, as two men destroyed his own young innocence, and allowed another child to die?

Nothing was ever the same after that day. All the days and years that followed had led to this night of hope and fear.

‘Come on, boy, catch up,' Dominic called. ‘We'll freeze if we don't keep moving.'

The only reason he could see the dog at all in the darkness was that his dark gray fur showed up against a thickening carpet of snow underfoot, and the falling flakes that grew heavier with each moment.

Brother Dominic stopped and watched B
ogie approach like a trotting miniature show horse in slow motion, lifting each foot as if it burned.

‘OK, we'll keep each other a bit warmer.' He swept up his little gray buddy and tucked him inside an old tweed coat. ‘Now, we've got to get a move on. This is a borrowed coat and we need to give it back to Percy.'

Talking to his dog was an indulgence Dominic reserved for when they were alone. He smiled at the thought. They were rarely as alone as they were in the middle of this night, on this hill in the Cotswold Hills that were so spectacular in daylight, yet so pitiless when every step was an act of faith.

He had pulled the hood on his habit up to cover his head and ward off some of the cold. The old, brown cloth was already soaked and starting to freeze.

Silence seemed absolute. Except when a gust of wind sent frigid, leafless branches raking together.

Not a single vehicle had passed on the narrow road that forked away from the tiny village below and rose to traverse the hill. There was a scatter of farms and houses up here, all with feeder tracks from the road. But any people out there were probably tucked up and sleeping by now.

You couldn't see any buildings from the road.

Bogie scrabbled closer and pressed his wet nose to Dominic's neck.

The wind picked up, drove straight at him, and he leaned against it to push his way on. The snow drove into his face and crammed inside his collar.

He crossed his hands over the dog and pushed his bare hands beneath his arms.

This had to be done.

Old wrongs must be put right, lies dispelled quickly, for the sake of peace, his own but more importantly, the others involved. His challenge was to bring secrets into the light without harming the innocent.

His faith should make him unafraid for himself but he was, after all, still human. And his first attempt at reaching out in friendship had gone so badly.

Below lay the village of Folly-on-Weir but he saw only a few pinpricks glowing from windows.

A light bobbed up the hill, getting quite close, he thought, and stopped. It looked like a lantern rising and falling in a walker's hand.

Gone.

Ahead he saw the deeper shade of dark where some woods spread along the side of the road.

As hard as he stared, he didn't see the jiggling light again. Company would be welcome but he shouldn't expect any.

The walk since the last place he'd found to sleep had been long and often difficult.

A voice carried on the wind. Dominic stood still again and strained to hear, but it must have been his thoughts playing tricks.

‘Help!'

There was nothing imaginary this time. It came from the direction of the woods and Bogie, straining around to see and growling faintly, got rid of any doubt that they had heard something.

‘… hurt!'

Without another second of hesitation, Dominic struck off the road and headed for the woods. The uneven ground was treacherous, tripping him repeatedly, but he blundered on, his pulse pounding at his temples.

The stiff, wet hood fell down around his neck.

Once among the tree trunks, his pace slowed. He had to put Bogie down again and grab at branches as he went.

‘Oh, thank God,' a man cried out. ‘I see you, keep coming. Over here.'

Dominic speeded up, not caring what he might walk into, and almost yelled with relief when he saw a crouching figure.

When only feet separated them, the man rose and held his torch so that Brother Dominic could see him better, see how he prepared to attack.

He knew it was too late now but he had to try reason. ‘Why are you here?' he asked.

‘I'm making sure you can't do more harm,' the other said. ‘Because I won't have you spoiling everything,
Brother.
You should have stayed away, damn you.'

P
rivacy and peace.

Early the previous year, Alex Bailey-Jones had come home from London to the Cotswold Hills, to Folly-on-Weir, to bury herself in familiar surroundings and to become too busy to live in the past.

So far she wasn't doing so badly, even if she did catch some curious stares from those she had once happily left behind.

Snow covered the frozen leaves and twigs that crackled beneath her feet. The canopy of tree limbs overhead was bare.

The snowfall had dwindled to a fine, icy swirl. She blinked and turned her head aside.

The woods stood on a knoll overlooking the village below. Up here in the surrounding hills there were homes and farms, each one distant enough from the others not to be overlooked.

On the highest point to the west stood what locals called The Tooth – the jagged remains of Tinley Tower, the folly from which the village got part of its name.