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Dead in Devon

Stephanie Austin
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Dead in Devon
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. PROLOGUE
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. CHAPTER EIGHT
  15. CHAPTER NINE
  16. CHAPTER TEN
  17. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  18. CHAPTER TWELVE
  19. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  20. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  22. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  24. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  25. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  46. CHAPTER FORTY
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  48. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  49. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  50. By Stephanie Austin
  51. COPYRIGHT

Cover

cover

Dead in Devon

STEPHANIE AUSTIN

DEDICATION

For Martin

CONTENTS

  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. DEDICATION
  3. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. CHAPTER ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  22. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  23. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  44. CHAPTER FORTY
  45. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  46. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  47. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  48. BY STEPHANIE AUSTIN
  49. COPYRIGHT

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The town of Ashburton is real, and people living there will recognise streets, shops, pubs, cafes and other places of good cheer mentioned in this book, but there are a few foggy areas around the town where fact and my imagination merge, places that will not be found on any map. For taking these liberties, I apologise.

PROLOGUE

Murder is a messy business, especially for the person who has to clear up afterwards: in this case, me. I didn’t commit the murder, you understand, I just found it. Him, I found him: poor Old Nick lying on the hearthrug, his skull smashed in and a lot of what should have been inside it spattered across the tiles of his fireplace.

I knew something was wrong when I arrived at his front door. It should have been tight shut, that door, leaving me staring at the scratched, black paintwork as I waited for Nick’s shuffling footsteps to approach, heard the rattle as he drew back all the bolts and wondered, for the umpteenth time, why the silly old fool didn’t save himself the bother and let me have a key. Very tight on security was Old Nick.

But the door moved at my touch, swung wide as I pushed it, leaving me staring down the corridor at the half-glass door that led to the back of the shop, and at the stairs rising to the flat above. I should have been following him up those stairs, listening to his laboured breathing as he climbed, hearing his radio playing in the kitchen, smelling his breakfast toast.

As I began to go up, I called out. There was no sound of running water from the bathroom on the landing, no movement from behind the frosted glass panel in the door. I tapped on the glass anyway and called his name. As I reached the turn of the stair I could see the main light was on in the living room, although it was daylight outside. I ran up the last few steps, calling out, thinking perhaps he’d had an accident, or a stroke, that he’d been lying there all night: which, as it turned out, he had.